by Ben Farthing
Loretta leaned in close to Everard. "Remember, keep your mouth shut and your head down. The Ailuromancer is not a patient man."
"You ever hear about what happens to people who abuse cats?"
"Yeah," said Everard. "Wait, no. Dogs, sometimes. But not cats."
"That's because they don't last long in D.C."
Everard wasn't a cat person, but you had to respect someone who took a stand for something they loved. Or had some kind of supernatural connection to.
They reached mahogany double doors, which Roland pushed open to reveal a three story room with walkways around the walls. Bridges crisscrossed each other in the open air, including a covered bridge with a curved roof. Ramps connected the different walkway levels. It may have been a library at one point, but now every surface was covered in carpet. Expensive carpet, but carpet nonetheless.
"The reskinned would love this place," whispered Everard.
"That scum will never set foot in here," said Roland.
Everard was going to enjoy outing Inc's secret dealings.
Several couches and armchairs formed a small sitting area on the highest walkway, a bar on one side, and a pianist on another, playing something soft and classical. About fifteen finely dressed people chatted and sipped at their glasses.
A small man, plump and hairy, picking at a shrimp cocktail, called down to them. "Please, come join us."
"That's him," whispered Brian.
Silky hair somewhere between blond and white was perfectly combed behind his ears, and his matching beard was thick but neatly trimmed. He wore a gray sharkskin tuxedo with black lapels, although he'd probably be more comfortable in a silk robe.
Roland ushered them up the nearest ramp.
"How the hell did people confuse me for him?" asked Everard.
"Bill Bill knows what he's doing," said Loretta. "He denied that people would see anybody but the Ailuromancer. Throw in the cat, and people see what they see."
They walked around the second level, which was littered with string, feathers, bells, bottle caps, and other junk.
"But that gut!" said Everard. "I know I don't have a six-pack, but my gut's not that big."
"Just think," said Brian, "once you get your bent down, you can make people see whatever you want. You'll never have to exercise again."
"And I'll never have to deal with any of this insanity ever again," Everard muttered. As they walked up to the third level, Everard wished he had some Benadryl.
Cats lounged about the party. Everard counted five: three white Persians, an excited Bengal with its orange and black leopard pattern, and a hairless monstrosity that he was pretty sure was called a Sphinx.
"Please," the Ailuromancer, presenting with open arms the couches and table, "make yourself comfortable."
No way they were feeling comfortable with this crowd. Everyone here was in evening wear, while Everard, Loretta, and Brian's casual wardrobe had been through a lot today. Vomit stained Everard's collar, and blood stained the band logo on Brian's chest. Loretta looked put together, all things considered.
It wasn't just the clothes. It was the company.
Everard immediately spotted the CEO, Bowman, and a third suit. He exhaled slowly, reminded himself he wasn't in 12 Corcoran. "Are they going to try anything?" he whispered to Loretta.
"They won't attack you in the Ailuromancer's home, if that's what you’re asking," said Loretta. "Now if you'll excuse me."
Loretta slipped away to join a different conversation.
Everard stood awkwardly next to Brian, looking for the best way to get everyone here to watch the video of Bowman and the Narco Saints. He scanned the room.
The members of Inc stood out as underdressed, since everyone else was in tuxes. Tough to dress up when you are the dress.
The CEO flashed a charming smile and lifted his glass in greeting. Bowman and the other suit—who must have been the CTO—talked to a bald man Everard thought he recognized.
Fiametta Vine sat nibbling on a cracker. Everard wondered if she'd brought any of that lemonade. His head still hurt.
Formal wear had a way of anonymizing its wearer, so the rest of this gathering of Periphery Denizens could have been any collection of blue bloods, except for a slender woman in a dress that was all angles and ribbons and looked like it belonged on the runway. She approached Brian and drew him into a hug.
Everard was close enough to hear what she whispered.
"I'm so sorry about Renae. I've already told your parents I'll cover the costs of the funeral. Thank you for not breaking our agreement with the Burgesses."
Brian mumbled thanks. He presented her to Everard. "This is Nuo Che. She's the First Chair of Capitol Bohemia. Nuo, this is Everard."
Everard shook her hand. "So you're his boss?"
"In a manner of speaking."
"You do that dancing thing, too?"
She gave him an amused smile. "Capitol Bohemia is a collective of artists and art enthusiasts. My talents don't lie in dancing."
"She's a designer," said Brian.
Everard looked at her dress for some evidence of a bent. Maybe she did something to clothes like Bermuda did to historical trinkets.
Nuo kissed Brian's cheek. "Keep listening to him. He's a good kid," she said to Everard, then went and joined Fiametta Vine.
"She seems nice," said Everard.
Brian nodded agreement.
"Inc's sort of in charge here, right?" asked Everard.
"Not in the Ailuromancer's house, but they lead the D.C. factions usually, yeah."
"But Capitol Bohemia and Fiametta Vine were at the Burgesses meeting."
"Us and the No-Goes are friendly with the National factions."
"What about the rest of them. How loyal to Inc are they?"
"As loyal as money can buy."
Everard nodded. This could work. He needed a bigger screen, though.
He wandered to the bar. Like most of the guests, he kept his distance from the edge of the carpeted floor. It dropped two stories to the ground floor below.
The bartender, a tall, skinny man with a protruding Adam's apple, gestured to Everard to hang on while he served Bowman, the CTO, and the bald man.
Everard sidled up close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation.
"Four miles, each way." Bowman patted the bald man's back. "And that was just because we'd forgotten the cooler. That's the kind of commitment you can expect from Iberra."
The bald man responded uncomfortably. "It's not their commitment I worry about."
The CTO could have been a late night radio announcer, with his smooth, low voice. "Is it the software?"
"That's part of it. I had a guy look at it, and he says it's doing way more than analyzing workflow."
Bowman sipped his drink. "With all due respect, Senator, the team at Iberra are the only ones qualified to tell you what the software does."
Senator. Inc was lobbying Congress. Whether to secure more contracts and thus more money, or for something more directly related to furthering the Bloat, Everard didn't know.
"What'll it be?" The skinny bartender interrupted Everard's thoughts. He moved down the bar away from the lobbying suits, forcing Everard to give Inc space if he wanted to order.
"A beer."
"Fitzwilliam requested only local breweries. I've got Lost Rhino, Heritage, and Heavy Seas."
"Do any of them do anything for a headache?"
"Depends on how many you drink."
"I'll have a Heavy Seas."
The bartender set a stein and a bottle in front of him.
"You know these guys well?" asked Everard.
"It's the first time the company's sent me."
Perfect. "Then they probably didn't tell you they're celebrating record profits for a deal they all went in on together."
The bartender raised an eyebrow. "All these people went in on the same deal?"
Everard shrugged. "It was a team effort. But listen, I put together a little celebration video
I'd like to show everyone. You don't know where I could get a TV or something, do you?"
"Not myself, but I could radio the butler."
"That would be amazing." Everard slid him a generous tip. He picked up the bottle and walked away, keeping an eye on Bowman.
Loretta was deep in conversation so Everard found Brian. He was sitting on a chaise lounge, by a table with an assortment of hor'devours. Mostly high quality meat and fish artfully plated, except for a loaf of banana bread, half-encased in plastic wrap.
A drunk fifty-something woman was flirting with Brian. A white Persian sat on Brian's lap, purring as he scratched behind its ears.
Everard sat down and sipped his beer. A Sphinx cat hopped up next to him. At least it was hairless. Maybe he'd be fine without Benedryl.
The Ailuromancer sat down across from Everard, holding a shrimp cocktail. "You must be the new rebellist. Everard, is it?"
"Yes." Everard scratched the oily skin behind the Sphinx's ears. He needed to not piss off the Ailuromancer long enough to out Inc. But if he already wanted to kill Everard, it might be too late for that.
"Call me Fitzwilliam, please." The Ailuromancer smoothed his sharkskin lapels, then held out his hand like he was presenting the guests. "Even if you don't realize it, you're one of us, so no need for formalities."
"Thanks." How long would it take to get a TV here?
"You're entirely new to the Periphery, as I understand it." He slipped a shrimp into his mouth, and daintily licked the red sauce off his fingertips. "It's kind of you to grace me with a social call, even if I do rank somewhere below those colonial bureaucrats and the Cursed Strongman."
"Undone Duncan sort of kidnapped me, and I had some urgent business with Mr. President." Everard scratched his face, leaving behind a slick smear. This cat was greasier than a cheeseburger. "But once I learned about you I thought to myself: now there's a man to know. You obviously carry the respect of your community."
Brian jerked his head away from the flirtatious woman in shock. Everard shrugged. His business sometimes catered to the wealthy. He knew how to talk to them.
Brian went back to flirting, and probably eavesdropping.
Fitzwilliam waggled his finger, a claw visible beneath the nail. "That I do, I still do. I had George Cloony over for cocktails the other day, and his publicist was telling me I needed to get out more. Pound the pavement, as if I'm some kind of small town mayor looking for reelection."
"Some people." Everard shook his head and put on his best for shame face.
More animated with the show of sympathy, the Ailuromancer continued. "I told him I'm not a famer; I don't need the public to adore me to know my own worth. I believe George is paying that man far too much."
Everard wiped the cat grease onto his jeans. "People don't know the value of a dollar anymore." Rich people loved it when you said that.
"I was trying to tell Roland that exact thing over breakfast. But he doesn't care, do you?" Fitzwilliam looked around. "Where is he?"
Roland entered the room two stories below, a flat screen television in his arms.
"What is he doing now?" Fitzwilliam pursed his lips. Both cats tensed up, and let out low warning growls. "Oh, I bet Miss Che wants to show off her latest work."
The cats relaxed again.
"Now what were you saying?"
Everard cleared his throat. "I was about to thank you for the invitation. Like you said, I'm new here, but I still recognize the privilege."
"Didn't Shadow inform you of the dress?"
Everard tugged at his sweaty t-shirt. "I'm so sorry about that. Loretta has been dragging Brian and me through all sorts of adventures."
"She does get into trouble, that one." Fitzwilliam smiled, flashing his teeth. "Ultimately, though, I'd say a man is responsible for his own image. Don't you agree?"
"In most circumstances, sure."
"In which circumstances would he not?"
How about one in which your neighbor make everyone think you look like a murderous recluse? "Maybe when he's unaware of his appearance until after the fact."
The Ailuromancer tapped his nail on the cocktail glass. "I disagree."
Roland and the bartender set up the TV.
"Excuse me," said Everard. "I need another beer. Bring you anything?"
Fitzwilliam shook his head. He flashed another smile, this time showing feline fangs.
Everard nodded like he wasn't being threatened, and headed for the bar. One disaster at a time.
Maybe once he showed Inc what happened when they threatened him, the Ailuromancer would back off, too.
Loretta grabbed his arm. "You said you wanted to help, right?"
"Where'd you come from?"
"The CTO and Bowman are too wrapped up in that Senator, and I still need to get the CTO alone."
"I could distract Bowman for you."
"It's like you read my mind." Loretta slipped gracefully into another conversation.
A video proving Inc was funding Undone Duncan should be adequately distracting.
The bartender tossed Everard the remote. "Should be good to go. There's an HDMI cable in the back if you can't screencast."
Everard didn't know what that meant, but he had wired his phone to his TV before to blow up blueprints.
He hooked up his phone, turned up the volume, started the video, then wandered back around to Brian.
The screen was black at first, when his phone had still been in his pocket.
"Too valuable to who?" came Everard's muffled voice, followed by Brian's voice whispering, "What are you doing?"
The Ailuromancer's guests turned to see what was playing, but continued their conversations. They went silent at Santa Muerte's voice.
"Don't play dumb. The Narco Saints are loyal to Undone Duncan."
The guests murmured as Santa Muerte encouraged Everard to join Undone Duncan. The screen still dark, the battle continued.
Everard looked for Bowman's reaction. He'd stood up from the bar. Slow realization came over his expression.
Loretta made eye contact with Everard. She glared, shook her head, then headed towards the CTO. She didn't approve of Everard's method, but she was still taking advantage of the distraction.
Recordings of Brian's music, Everard firing the flintlock, and plain old gunfire had replaced the buzzing conversation of the party.
"Turn this off," ordered Bowman.
"But I thought-" started the bartender.
"Turn it off!"
Everard and Brian shouted at each other. Fiametta Vine gave a little whimper at the fear in their voices.
The Ailuromancer had placed himself at the front of his guests. "Leave it playing. I want to know what it is."
The CEO came to Fitzwilliam's side. "Perhaps there's a better venue for this sort of entertainment."
Fitzwilliam kept his eyes glued to the dark screen. "Who turned this on."
Everard stood up. "I did."
The guests looked at him, but then back to the TV as Everard's phone was ripped from his pocket into the Narco Saint corpse's hand. The shot was crooked, but it clearly showed Everard, unarmed and silenced, next to Brian, cold and furious and circled by bits of pastel light. The light dashed at the camera, and the camera fell.
The shot remained still, pointed up at the bricks of the theater.
The CEO cleared his throat. "Fitzwilliam, it would be best if we turned this off."
The Ailuromancer held up a hand, quieting the CEO. "Why did you turn this on? What is so interesting on here that you interrupt my guests?"
"Inc tried to have me killed this morning."
"That's a lie," said Bowman.
In the video, Santa Muerte gave orders to the Narco Saints, and then made a call.
"And they killed Brian's sister."
Brian continued to pet the Persian, but his other hand reached for the speaker in his back pocket.
"I thought that was the Lynch Mobbers," said one of the guests.
"It was t
he Lynch Mobbers," said the CEO. "Mr. President confirmed it. Now can we please get back to enjoying our host's graciousness?"
"I still don't understand," said Fitzwilliam, "why the rebellist wants us all to see this. Is he showing off that he was beaten by a second rate gang?"
"I'm showing you that Inc is working with Undone Duncan's organization."
Bowman scoffed and started to yell but the CEO cut him off. "That's a heavy accusation, son."
"And they're the ones behind these booms. They're trying to force their enemies out of the city."
"The booms are probably fireworks," said the CEO.
The other guests murmured disagreement.
"At worst, they're some creation of the Perforated Woman."
Everard almost said and the CTO, but remembered at the last second not to draw attention to Loretta. He couldn't spot her, or the CTO.
On the video, Santa Muerte said, "they're here. About time."
Although the camera still filmed the sky and the theater wall, Bowman's arrogant tone and gravely voice was unmistakeable. "Did you kill him?"
"You said not to," answered Santa Muerte.
The guests gave varied reactions, most confused, a few looked offended for Bowman.
The Ailuromancer licked his lips. "This is better entertainment than I ever could have hoped to provide."
Santa Muerte tried to negotiate higher payment for Everard.
"Collecting the rebellist was part of the original contract," came Bowman's reply.
Fitzwilliam leaned close to the CEO's face, close enough that Everard felt uncomfortable for him. "Contract for what?"
Bowman strode for the TV. "That's clearly not my voice."
Everard moved to cut him off. "Don't touch that."
"Stop," spat the Ailuromancer. The animalistic fierceness of the order brought Everard to a halt. "Please don't touch my things."
Bowman took his hand off the TV. "It's not my voice," he said, more calmly.
There was nothing else incriminating on the video. Everard had scrolled through it several times, hoping for a chance glimpse of the wired barrel, but from here, the video only caught the sounds of Loretta rescuing them, followed by Santa Muerte picking up the phone and ending the recording.
He hoped Bowman's voice would be enough. "Everyone here recognizes it. You had Undone Duncan's gangs on the lookout for me."
