Elayne landed on the summit of the obsidian pyramid at 667 Sansilva, by the King in Red’s office dome. Approaching from the air, she’d been overcome by memory: the greatest battle of Liberation was fought here, forty years ago. Here, Kopil broke gods on their altars. Forty years gone and still, to her eyes, rivers of rainbow blood rolled down the pyramid’s steps, and ichor slicked its surface.
Purcell clutched his briefcase with both hands, fingers white-knuckled against leather. He did not share the memory. He was just afraid of heights.
No time for appointments or the front door—not that the secretary would be on duty this late. Lights glowed within the translucent crystal dome in the center of the roof. The master was home.
Elayne knocked three times on the dome. “Old man,” she said. “Let us in.”
“Elayne.” Kopil’s voice in the air beside her. “A pleasure.”
“I’ve brought a guest. Don’t kill him.”
“A friend?”
“Not really. But you should hear his story.”
“Come along, then.”
“Come here, Purcell.” She crooked her fingers, and though she used no Craft, he staggered toward her, obedient as a zombie. “Through the crystal.”
His face was paler than it had seemed under the hospital’s ghostlight. “Do you know where we are?”
“Do you think I’d land on a strange pyramid for fun?”
“But this—”
“He’s not as bad as he looks,” she said. “So long as he’s not kept waiting.” And before he could object again, she walked through the dome. He followed her.
The crystal parted, pricking her skin like a waterfall of blunt needles. The King in Red sat at his desk, the sloped block of red-tinged obsidian that used to be an altar. The office looked much the same as on her last visit, maybe a little cleaner than usual.
“You should have seen it, Elayne.” Kopil stood, the fires of his eyes stoked and fierce, finger bones scraping over glass. His robe blew about his body in an unfelt wind. Bad form—wasted power, wasted focus. That said, he had power to spare. “I never imagined they’d go this far. They want to fight the God Wars with one priest and few suicidal kids. I will give them such a war as to burn their memory from this or any world.” The lights in his eyes went out, and on again. “Who’s that?”
“Lord Kopil, Deathless King of Dresediel Lex and Chief Executive of Red King Consolidated, meet Jim Purcell, insurance agent from Aberforth and Duncan.”
“Ah,” Purcell said.
“Does it speak?”
Purcell tried to reach into his breast pocket and remove a business card. He succeeded on the third attempt. “It’s a—a pleasure to meet—”
The card jumped from his hand and floated across the room. The King in Red reviewed its front and back, then vaporized it. Purcell, fortunately, did not faint.
“Elayne, I appreciate the thought, but I’m covered.”
“You are,” she said. “The Skittersill isn’t.”
“I fail to see how that’s my problem.”
“You’re about to bring God Wars weapons to bear on the Chakal Square protesters.”
“I don’t need a lecture about proportional response. They chased off a commando squad. They’ve started to sacrifice people. Their gods are awake, and gathering strength. If we don’t stop this now we’ll be fighting full-scale Wars in weeks.”
“You haven’t stopped fighting them in forty years.”
“Nor has Temoc. Nor have you.”
“I don’t plan to burn a city to the ground tomorrow.”
“You’ve never governed, Elayne. With all due respect. You have never ruled. Sit on this side of the desk for a while, and you’ll see things differently. Without the work my people do, there is no water in this city. How long do you think the Skittersill would last in that case? Or Dresediel Lex itself? I must save my people.”
“And in the process, you get to kill some faithful. Gods too, if you’re lucky.”
He grinned. He was always grinning. “I never said I wouldn’t enjoy it.”
“Why?”
“I dislike the faithful’s smug superiority. Their assumption that gods will protect them. They strangled human progress for three millennia, sent millions to their deaths in dumb wars backed by dumb theology. They killed the only man I’ve ever loved. Or maybe I’m just bent that way. Take your pick.”
“I meant, why are you killing them now? The proximate cause, please.”
“We’re not doing this cross examination thing. I don’t have time.”
She put the cold into her voice, the chill that had broken better men than him on the witness stand. “You don’t have to sleep. And how long does it take to plan a mass murder? If you like being manipulated into a war crime, fair enough, but don’t drag me with you.” Purcell, beside her, drew back. Poor guy. Should have left him outside until this part was done. “Now. What’s the proximate cause?”
“Temoc sacrificed a man in cold blood.”
“After all but starving his gods driving off your Wardens, which he wouldn’t have done if the Wardens hadn’t attacked, which they wouldn’t have done if Chakal Square hadn’t broken into a riot, which would never have happened if Tan Batac wasn’t shot. Isn’t that right?”
“Objection. Counsel is leading the witness.”
“None of this would have happened but for Tan Batac’s attempted murder. Do you disagree?”
“Fine. If not for that, we would have left Chakal Square without incident.”
“The question is, who benefits from this state of affairs. Purcell’s masters at Aberforth and Duncan insure and protect the Skittersill property Tan Batac and his partners control. The accords void their pre-existing deal—they call for more protection than Aberforth and Duncan provide at the prices Batac and his people pay. Purcell, how high are the new premiums?”
“I don’t feel comfortable quoting the precise figures.”
“Estimate.”
“Ah,” he said again. “I believe it’s an order of magnitude difference. At least.”
“So. Ten times the cost to protect Skittersill properties, as long as they’re occupied and used for their current purposes. That was the deal. All along, the accords shackle Batac and his partners. They don’t own what they own.”
“So Batac made a bad deal. He’s only human.”
“He made a bad deal, unless he thought most of the Skittersill would be destroyed between the signing of the accords and the new insurance regime’s establishment.”
“You’re saying he might be happy I’m burning the Skittersill. Fine. I’ll joyfully oblige.”
“I’m saying he wanted you to burn the Skittersill before the accords were signed. I’m saying that was why he agreed to the accords in the first place.”
“You think he wanted me to destroy his property, knowing he’d get nothing for it?”
“Nothing but fee simple ownership. The ability to use the burned ground for anything he and his partners want. Those crystal palaces in our plan—the district rebuilt, everything our friends in Chakal Square wanted to stop. Those buildings are undefended now, not even a shade of fire resistance. You attack, and they go up like tinder. People will die—not protesters, people who just happen to live nearby. Batac gets the Skittersill wiped off the map, and he doesn’t even look like the bad guy. After all, everything went down while he was comatose.”
“You think he took out a hit on himself?”
“I think,” she said, taking a slow breath to compose her thoughts. “I think it’s possible he had himself shot. There’s no evidence. The assassin in Chakal Square may never be found. But Batac will profit immensely from what you do tomorrow.”
“You have no evidence.”
“Can you think of another reason he’d make that deal?”
“A weak case.”
“Are you willing to risk being manipulated into a mass murder? A crime from which someone else reaps the profits?”
“I thought reaping prophets was the whole point of religious war.”
“I’m not joking.”
The King in Red rested his hips against the desk. He crossed his arms, tapped forefingers against his bare tibia. “What do you want from me, Elayne?”
“Don’t let one man profit on the wreckage of a war he caused.”
“Look. I understand. You’re a genius. I’ve never known a Craftswoman like you.”
“Don’t you dare patronize me. You have been playing at war while people die.” Visions of the boy bleeding in the hallway of the Monicola Hotel. She forced them from her mind. Growing too emotional. Bad tactic. Skeletons don’t like emotion. Makes them nervous.
“You want a clever solution,” he said. “You want that moment when whole world ties together in a knot, and you chop the knot in half, because that’s the way it works in court, with Craft and pure theory. We don’t have that luxury here. History has happened. I need to resume control of Dresediel Lex. I will do that with fire, to show that rebellion and sacrifice will not be tolerated. You can try to stop me.” He sounded tired. “If that’s how you want to play the game. You might be smart enough. You’re cleverer with the Craft than I am. But you don’t have the strength. So I’d advise against it.”
Which was the other thing about skeletons: he did not know how much his saying that made her want to try. For him, it was a statement of fact, free of adrenaline and glandular rage. Beneath the masks of performed emotion he was just a man still here twenty years after his body died. She stared into the abyss of his eyes, and he stared back.
“You’ve made your choice,” she said. “And you’ll live with it.”
“To live with something, you have to be alive.”
“I would stop you if I could. You’d thank me for it in the end. But I don’t think I can. All I can do is ask you. What would you have done, if you wanted to destroy the Skittersill without getting blood on your hands?”
He didn’t answer.
“Do you think it’s right that anyone profit off what happens in Chakal Square tomorrow? Do you think it’s right that bystanders will die while Tan Batac grows richer?”
The sky above Sansilva was the only part of the city not covered by Craftwork clouds. Stars glittered like glass slivers spilled on velvet. Purcell’s was the sole breath in the room.
“I won’t call off the attack,” Kopil said.
“Then help me save the people outside the square. Help me save the Skittersill.”
She waited. She did not hold her breath.
He nodded.
“Thank you.”
“Even if Tan Batac is innocent, he will be enraged when he learns what you’ve done.”
“I’ll survive.”
“And in exchange for my aid, I want your word: you will not protect the rebels in Chakal Square. Save their surrounding hovels, and the wretches crouched within them. The people in the Square are mine. Better, in fact, if you stay away from the Square altogether.”
She could not meet his gaze, but she did anyway. “I will not protect Chakal Square. I will not protect those inside its borders. Nor will I set foot on its stone.” The promise convulsed between them, and settled, harder than steel.
“Very well.”
“What,” said Purcell, “just happened?”
“We have an agreement,” Elayne said. “You’re about to give me the contract. I will sign it for Tan Batac.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Allow me to demonstrate.”
“No. I mean.” He’d retreated from them both already, and he took a few more steps back, hugging his briefcase. He glanced for a door or some other avenue of escape, but found none. “Tan Batac can’t sign, and no one else can sign for him.”
“I represent Batac and the King in Red in the Skittersill matter. Your insurance contracts are a piece of that matter. I can sign in Batac’s place.”
“The contract won’t bind.”
“We’ll make it work,” she said. “Trust me.”
“Batac’s Concern will refuse to pay. The courts will not honor the contract.”
“I will provide the initial funds,” Kopil said. “Batac will settle the rest when he awakes.”
“But he hasn’t agreed—”
“He will.”
Purcell’s head jerked left and right. “I’m sorry. I know you think you know the man. But there’s a lot of soul at stake. If Batac protests the deal when he wakes up, who’s liable for damage to these properties? Or for the expense of protecting them? You can’t just—”
“You mistake me,” said the King in Red. “I do not say a man will sign a contract because I believe he will sign that contract. I say he will sign, because he will sign. Do you understand?”
Purcell took another step back. His skull made a loud hollow noise as it struck the crystal dome. He looked up at the Craftsman and Craftswoman approaching him, and held out the briefcase.
“Good man,” Elayne said. She opened the briefcase without touching it, and snapped her fingers. Contract pages fanned out to hover in a circle around them. She scanned them, found the page she sought, fished a pen from her pocket, and marked Tan Batac’s name on solid line there, with an added glyph tying the name into the contract they’d signed months back to appoint her mediator. Flimsy argument. Any competent court would overturn Elayne’s right to sign. But once in a while there was an advantage to being war buddies with the Powers that Were. Invisible gears shifted and meshed as the Craft took hold. “So mote it be.”
“So mote it be,” the King in Red echoed. The contract stacked once more and floated back into the briefcase, which clicked shut. “He does have a point, though. That signature is too weak to hold by itself.”
“I’ll enforce it.”
“I will not hold back on the assault for your sake,” he said.
“I know.”
“Fair enough.” He turned from her to Purcell. “As for you, Purcell. You will accept my hospitality tonight.”
Purcell was sweating. “I’d really prefer to return to the hospital. Or to my family.”
“Mr. Purcell. You are privy to a number of plans that cannot be announced until they become accomplished fact. This pyramid is large, and we have many apartments set aside for our guests. Some are more comfortable, and some less. I hope you will agree to stay in one of the more comfortable rooms.”
“And if I … refuse?” That word only made it past his lips over the extreme protest of his survival instinct. An interesting world we’ve made, Elayne thought, where bureaucrats risk death for technicalities.
“Well,” the skeleton said, turning his head as if he’d never considered the possibility. “I suppose we’d have to house you in a less comfortable room.”
There was not much air in Purcell to begin with, but what there was went out. “I’ll go.”
“Good.” Behind Purcell, the floor screeched open to reveal a staircase winding down. Two Wardens climbed from the shadows. “These men will take you to an apartment. Ask if you need anything. It may be granted. And don’t worry. All this will be over tomorrow afternoon.”
Purcell followed the Wardens down. Elayne felt a pang of pity as the floor swallowed them. “What now?”
“We attack after dawn, as planned. Who knows how long the battle will last?”
“Not long.”
“Probably not.” Kopil sagged. “I wonder why I am helping you.”
“A shred of goodness left in your heart?”
“Not even a shred of heart,” he said. “Mostly I’m helping because you asked.”
“I should go,” she said. “You know how weak that signature is. Aberforth and Duncan will fight tooth and nail for every thaum I pull from them.”
“Yes. And I plan to use gripfire.”
Stars watched. Worn obsidian carvings danced their frozen dance. Books sat on shelves, dead words on dead wood from dead forests.
“On civilians,” she said.
“They’ve sacrificed to blood gods. That makes them enemy combatants.”
“You mean you think they deserve it.”
“Well,” he said. “More or less.”
“More or less,” she echoed, and walked away from him.
“Where are you going?”
“To the front.” The wall flowed apart, ushering her from the pyramid’s chill into the demon wind. She walked without looking back, toward the pyramid’s edge and off, and flew south alone toward Chakal Square.