The Book of Lies

by Melissa McShane

  “There’ll be a moderator who directs the discussion. Just speak your mind and it will be fine.”

  “I don’t like the idea of being responsible for something that goes into the Accords. That’s a lot of, well, responsibility.”

  “You don’t want the division of time to become permanent, do you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then you’ve already got responsibility. Stop whingeing and be the woman I know you are.”

  That made me blush. “Lucia—”

  “I’ll deny I ever said that. Now, go mingle, and I’ll see you later.”

  “Can we sit together at dinner?”

  “The named Neutralities have their own table. Good chance for you to meet your counterparts. I’m sure Gauthier is looking forward to meeting you in person. He said as much upstairs.”

  “You’re staying here?”

  “This is the only vacation I ever get, Davies. You think I can afford a hotel this swanky on what the Board pays me?”

  “Yes, actually. I know what the Board pays you.”

  “Well, if I get the chance to stay at a four-star hotel on someone else’s dime, I’ll take it. Sorry you have to work. It’s probably not much of a vacation for you.”

  “Not really, but it’s kind of fun, getting to know all these people. Though I don’t know how they manage to keep it a secret from the hotel employees.”

  “There are two dozen paper magi doing nothing but maintaining full-on magnifica illusions so nobody who works here has any idea we’re anything but a conference of heating and cooling system salesmen and -women.” She tapped the monocle attached to my lanyard. “The magic for seeing through the illusion is bound to that.”

  “But it just makes things look blurry.”

  “You’re not supposed to use it, you’re just supposed to hang it around your neck like you did. Though you probably don’t need one, seeing through illusions like you do.”

  “I’ll hang onto it anyway. It’s kind of pretty.”

  Lucia shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She drained her glass of wine. “I’m going back for seconds. That bartender is easy on the eyes.”

  She left me standing alone with half a beer, toying with the monocle. Would it make me extra-able to see through illusions? Or just have no effect? I’d find out eventually, but until then, I intended to enjoy myself. More people had entered the bar, all of them wearing badges on lanyards. I didn’t know any of them. I hesitated, unwilling to walk up to strangers and introduce myself, even if they were strangers who had everything in common with me.

  “Ms. Davies!” A big, broad man with the thickest mustache I’d ever seen approached me, his arms spread wide. “Good to finally meet you! I’m Herman Goetz, custodian of the Wernher Node, and I feel I know you already, you have been of so much help to me.”

  “Mr. Goetz, how nice to meet you.” I did remember Goetz, who was a frequent customer via mail-in orders. “It feels odd, speaking to you in person. You’re much…taller than I imagined.”

  Goetz laughed, a booming noise that drew attention from everyone around us. He wrapped me in an enormous hug, and I was overwhelmed by the scent of peppermint schnapps. “Good girl! Sit, talk with me, I wish to know what happens when you receive my letters.”

  I didn’t exactly want to talk shop, but I didn’t know how to turn him down, so I sat at one of the tables across from him and let him buy me another beer. I told him the routine, which was to my mind fairly boring, but Goetz sat with his beefy elbows on the table, drinking it in. About the time I realized we had an audience, Goetz boomed out, “I will come to Abernathy’s in the morning and you will for me do an augury in person, and you are all invited to watch!”

  “Oh, um, Mr. Goetz, actually the oracle prefers to—”

  “Nonsense! Everyone should know of the great work you do!” He banged his fist on the table, rattling my bottle. I made a quick grab to keep it from falling over.

  Red-faced and extremely conscious of the people surrounding our table, I said, “I’d love for anyone who’s interested to visit the store. We’re open from ten until two.”

  “Excellent!” Goetz banged the table again. “You should speak to these people as well. I do not wish to dominate your time.” He shoved back from the table, forcing a couple of people to hop out of the way, and bowed. I smiled weakly and gave a little wave of the fingers, and stood as well.

  The bar was full now of lanyard-wearing men and women, all dressed in some variation on business attire. I saw no more blue jeans. And all of them wanted to talk to me. After another fifteen minutes I felt dizzy and over-warm, since I was still wearing my coat, and the beer was telling me it had been a bad idea on a mostly empty stomach. I smiled, and answered questions, and rarely got a chance to pose questions of my own, not even important ones like “where is the bathroom?”

  Finally, my bladder protesting that it had had enough, I excused myself and almost ran back to the lobby, where I found a short hallway leading to the restrooms. Even those were upscale and beautiful, with marble counters and stalls with doors that went from floor to ceiling. I was grateful there wasn’t a bathroom attendant, though I did wish there were some way to tell whether a stall was occupied other than by knocking on the door.

  Eventually, relieved in body and spirit, I washed my hands and crept from the restroom, hoping not to run into anyone else who might want to talk to me. I’d never thought being Abernathy’s custodian would be so overwhelming.

  4

  I decided to take the opportunity to check in. The woman at the desk had my name on a list and shortly handed me an envelope with two key cards. She looked dismayed when I said I had no luggage, but politely directed me to the elevators. “Welcome to the Grandison, Ms. Davies,” she said, just as if I were some visiting dignitary. Hers was the only voice that hadn’t echoed since I registered, and I thanked her and strolled across the lobby, avoiding the eyes of the uniformed men who looked as if they resented me for not having luggage for them to carry.

  In the elevator, I shed my coat and draped it over my arm and immediately felt better. I watched the display as the numbers climbed higher…and higher…what floor was this suite on, anyway? The top one, apparently. The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open on a hallway carpeted in plush navy blue. It was so silent I could hear the hum of the elevator, or maybe it was the blood rushing through my ears. In either case, it was eerie.

  I walked slowly down the hall, looking for my room number. The doors were spaced very far apart, with light sconces on the walls between and, at every third sconce, a flower arrangement set in a fan-shaped brass holder mounted beneath the light. Dark purple and white flowers with five petals stood out against the creamy wallpaper. I didn’t know enough about flowers to recognize what these were, but they looked real and smelled sweet enough to make my head ache a little.

  I walked more rapidly, turned a corner, and kept going. I hadn’t thought the hotel was all that big from the outside, but maybe that was an illusion, the non-magical kind, generated by expensive architects. To my relief—I’d begun to wonder if I would just circle this floor endlessly—my room was about halfway down the new hall, white with a brass peephole and a key card reader next to a lever door handle. With only a couple of tries, I managed to work the key and let myself in.

  The sun had set, and the room was unlit. I groped for the light switch and then stood just inside the door, gaping. This wasn’t a hotel bedroom; it was a sitting room, with blue and gold overstuffed chairs grouped near one side of the window that took up the entire wall. At the other end of the window was a dinette table, glossy in the soft track lighting, surrounded by chairs that looked as if they were waiting for dinner to be served. A cabinet next to the dinette turned out to contain a small refrigerator and mini-bar, fully stocked, with an expensive coffee maker atop the cabinet. The room was bigger than my living room and kitchen combined.

  I opened the door nearest me and found a bathroom, complete with shower and van
ity table. Brown and gold wallpaper made it look cozy, and the marble countertop made it look expensive. I fingered the plush white towels and the thick terrycloth bathrobe. They probably added a bundle to your bill if you kept it. I would bet my next month’s salary that Lucia took hers home every time.

  The next door led to the bedroom, and again I gaped at the king-sized bed with royal blue bedspread and four enormous white pillows, the blue and gold striped chairs with square ottoman off to one side of the room, the flat-screen TV bigger than my own. I could picture myself cuddled up in the bed, watching movies while rain beat against the big picture window nearby. There was another bathroom, done in rose marble and shades of pink and gold, and a safe in the wall, and I made the sudden decision that I was sleeping here tonight, thank you very much. As long as I had to travel back and forth for work, I might as well enjoy a little comfort. Well. A lot of comfort.

  I hung my coat in the closet and put my conference bag beneath it, then freshened up a bit in the rose-colored bathroom. Why the suite needed two bathrooms, I had no idea, but I guessed rich people could make demands the rest of us couldn’t. I dithered about carrying my purse downstairs and finally decided I needed somewhere to keep my key cards—and, again, why I needed two key cards was a mystery I didn’t care to unravel.

  No one had missed me. The crowd in the bar was noisy the way any crowd gets when its members are sufficiently lubricated with alcohol. I decided against any more beer and settled in to a seat in one corner, watching my peers and wondering what they were like. Which one was Rebecca Greenough, Lucia’s archenemy? Who would be my fellow panel members? I caught the bartender looking at me and smiled politely. He was cute enough, but I missed Malcolm, even though he wouldn’t have been here if he was home. Too bad, because that enormous bed had all sorts of possibilities.

  A clear tone rang out, like a church bell, and someone said, “If you’ll all make your way to the ballroom, dinner is served.”

  I let the tide of people sweep me along, out of the bar and across the lobby to the stairs. I felt even more dizzy caught up in the crush, and over-warm even though I’d left my coat in my suite. If I was getting sick, this was going to be a miserable week.

  The ballroom, Kilimanjaro, was to the left of the stairs, filled with round tables covered with white tablecloths and sparkling with crystal and silverware. I searched the room for the table Lucia had referred to and saw Claude Gauthier holding a chair for an unknown woman. I hurried in that direction, giving the tables a wide berth and politely smiling at everyone I passed. The noise of over a hundred people chattering echoed in my ears, adding to my dizziness, and I reached the table and sat with a feeling of profound relief.

  “Helena!” Claude stood again and came around the table to embrace me. “How good to see you in the flesh. You look warm. Here, let me assist you.” That strange echoing effect was back.

  I tucked my purse under my chair. “Thank you, I do feel a little warm,” I said, and sipped the ice water in the glass he handed me.

  “You must allow me to make introductions,” Claude said, “as the rest of us are well-known to one another.” He gestured toward the elderly man on my left. “May I present Iakkhos Kalivas, custodian of the Labyrinth.”

  Kalivas’ face was a mass of wrinkles, and he wore his white hair long in back, possibly to balance how it was receding in front. The overall effect was as if his hair was sliding off his head. He also wore a headset strapped to his forehead, covering one ear and with a slim microphone bud extending from the earpiece to lie along his cheek next to his mouth. Both earpiece and microphone were made of clear glass that glimmered like an oil slick with shaky rainbows. “I’m pleased to meet you,” he said with a perfect Midwestern accent. “I wish now that I’d made use of Abernathy’s so we’d have something to talk about.”

  His lips weren’t synchronized with his words. A translator, and a piece of glass magery, if I wasn’t mistaken. “I know so little of the other named Neutralities, I’m sure I’ll pester you with questions about yours,” I said, making him laugh.

  “See? Friends already,” Claude said. “Next, we have Diane Lakin, custodian of the Fountain of Youth.”

  Diane Lakin looked no older than me, which I guessed made sense—except weren’t custodians not allowed to use their Neutralities on their own behalf? Something of what I was thinking must have been visible in my expression, because Lakin chuckled and said, “I really am only twenty-five.”

  “Oh! I…was wondering about that. It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Lakin.”

  “Call me Diane. I don’t think I can keep a straight face with someone my age calling me Ms. Lakin.”

  “All right. In fact, I hope you’ll all call me Helena. I’ll feel less awkward.”

  “But of course,” Claude said, as if that was an obvious conclusion. “On my other side is Parvesh Chhitri, and the lovely lady next to you is Nimisha Rai. Both are disciples of the Sanctuary.”

  “Samudra Magar is the custodian of the Sanctuary, and he cannot leave it,” Nimisha said. With her smooth dark skin, she could have been any age from twenty to forty. “We represent him at this conference.”

  “The Sanctuary is in Nepal, isn’t it? In the mountains?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Then you’ve come a very long way.”

  Nimisha smiled, but it was a tired expression that told me I’d said something inane. I opened my mouth to apologize, but she overrode me with “Not quite so long as some, but it is a long journey, yes.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m—” Even my own words were ringing. “I think I must be unwell. Everything’s echoing.” I sipped water, and closed my eyes, but the echoing continued.

  “Perhaps you need to lie down?” Nimisha said.

  “I don’t want to make a fuss.” I felt over-warm again and reached up to unbutton the next button on my blouse, not caring if it was immodest. My hand brushed the monocle on the lanyard and I yelped—it burned like a match across my skin.

  “Are you hurt?” Claude said.

  “This thing burned me,” I said, pointing at it. Nothing could induce me to touch it again.

  “May I?” Iakkhos said. His fingers, which trembled slightly, removed the monocle from the lanyard. “I don’t feel any heat.”

  Instantly the echoes ceased, and when I opened my eyes, the rainbow effect had disappeared from Iakkhos’s translation device. “What did you do?”

  “Just removed your illusion-piercing magic. Do you feel better?”

  “I do. I wonder—I think it interferes with my own ability to see through illusions.”

  Claude began laughing. “I should have thought of that! Interference indeed, my dear. The two magics would be at war with each other. Give it to me, and I’ll return it to the conference managers and have them make a note for next time.”

  “So the echoing—”

  “The magnifica alter the perceptions of the hotel staff so they hear nothing but inane chatter no matter what we say, and see nothing extraordinary when magic is done. There is not much of that, given that we are Neutralities and non-magi, but Iakkhos’s translation headset looks like an ordinary Bluetooth receiver to them.”

  I sighed. “I’m glad it was so simple. I was afraid I was coming down with something.”

  “Which would make this conference really unpleasant,” Diane said.

  A server approached our table carrying a laden tray in one hand and a folded stand in the other. She unfolded the stand and set the tray on it, picked up a wooden bowl, and cracked a couple of eggs one-handed into it. “What’s that—are they serving raw eggs?” Diane said, craning her head to see more closely.

  “Caesar salad dressing,” I said. “I’ve heard really fancy restaurants and hotels make it right at the table, to show how fresh it is.” I smelled mashed garlic and anchovies, and it took me back to my mother’s kitchen.

  “Fascinating,” Iakkhos said. “It smells incredible even at this stage.”

  “You know about
food, then,” Claude said. “I did not realize you were a gourmand.”

  “I’m not, really, but my mother is a fabulous cook and she always makes her own Caesar salad dressing.” There was the scent of fresh Parmesan, underlying the stronger odors. The server worked rapidly, whisking ingredients together without spilling a drop. I suspected the anchovy paste was fresh, too. I had never really appreciated how good my mother was until now, considering how much a meal like this one would cost if it weren’t underwritten by the Board.

  The server tilted the bowl and showed its contents to us, creamy and sharp-smelling and perfect. She then poured it over a bowl of romaine and tossed the lettuce thoroughly. Out came the block of Parmesan and a grater—she wasn’t stinting on the cheese, thankfully, it was my favorite part of a Caesar salad. We all watched in fascination as she tossed the salad again, then rapidly but respectfully served each of us. A sprinkling of croutons, some ground black pepper, and she whisked her tray away, leaving us watching her in silence. It was like being part of some ancient ritual, sacrificing heads of lettuce rather than people.

  Claude cleared his throat. “Let us begin,” he said. I took a bite. Heavenly. The dressing was maybe a little too salty, but Mom always said that was a possibility with Caesar dressing—it was the anchovies that did it. Besides, it was a tiny quibble.

  A basket of sourdough rounds appeared on the table next to me, and I helped myself, then passed it to Iakkhos. “So, can I ask what the Labyrinth is? Or should we not talk shop at the table?”

  “It’s perfectly acceptable to discuss our Neutralities at dinner,” Iakkhos said with a smile. I had to look at his eyes rather than his mouth, because I found the asynchrony disturbing. “The Labyrinth is the oldest of the extant named Neutralities—”

  “I think the Fountain is actually older,” Diane said. “But it was discovered rather than created, and we count from the time of its discovery.”