“Kun je je voorvader deze dans?” he asked. Would you grant this dance to your ancestor?
“Met alle plezier,” she replied with a smile. With all pleasure.
He was, of course, a good dancer. Centuries of practice ensured that. And there was a courtly dignity to the slow but stately steps he led her through.
“A big evening,” he said. “Are you having a good time?”
“I am,” said Odette. “They’re just people, once you get to talking to them.”
“Most people are,” he said. “I am very proud of you, Odette. You have been a credit to us this evening.”
“I think it will all work out, Grootvader.” He didn’t say anything but nodded, his face solemn. As the song drew to a finish, she stepped back and gave him a little curtsy. Then they joined in the applause for the singer.
“And that is the end of the evening, I believe,” said Grootvader Ernst. “We shall make our thanks, and then it will be time to go back to the hotel.” Making the thanks actually took another half hour; Odette circumnavigated the room, speaking with everyone she had danced with and then thanking the Court members. Alessio was nodding off on a chair against the wall and submitted to being guided up the stairs. Eventually she found Clements waiting by the door. The Pawn was quiet in the car but acknowledged that she’d had a good time.
The delegation was decanted at the front of the hotel. Yawning receptionists at the desk stood up straight when the elegant party glided by. As they walked through the lobby, Odette saw Pawn Sophie Jelfs sitting in the bar. I’m so glad she wasn’t killed in the attack, she thought, and she smiled, putting on an expression of exaggerated relief. The Pawn looked exhausted and her hair was messy, but she held up a drink in toast and smiled back. She raised her eyebrows at Odette’s dress and made an impressed face.
In Pawn Clements’s room, Odette helped Felicity take off her dress. As the gown shivered and unclenched, the Pawn slumped a little and took a deep breath. “Thank you for lending me the dress,” said Clements. “And putting all that work into tailoring it for me.”
“It really was my pleasure,” said Odette.
The Pawn gave the garment a wistful little stroke and then handed it back to Odette, wished her a good night, and closed her bedroom door. Odette wandered back into the room she shared with Alessio and carefully hung up the dress. She looked over at the bed, where her little brother was already asleep. Worn out by the revelations of the evening, he’d drifted off almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. Odette gave a moment’s thought to picking up the tuxedo components that he had scattered across the room but then snorted and walked away. I’m not his mother, and if he shows up looking crumpled at some other event, that’s his problem. It’s how he’ll learn.
In a fit of hypocrisy, she stepped out of her dress and just let it lie on the bathroom floor. But at least my dress will straighten itself out, she thought defensively. Once it’s had a good meal of applesauce and been dusted with some paprika and cuprous sulfate.
As she ran her bath and added the various chemicals and powders, she thought wistfully of sleeping in an actual bed. There really is something extremely comforting about a pillow and a blanket, she mused. And you hardly ever wake up to find that your sheets have congealed into a solid around you. One of her fellow students had once mixed the chemicals wrong, and the staff had had to chisel him out. She contemplated just falling into the tub but remembered that she still had her makeup on. And the strategic underwear that she’d worn to suit the dress. If Alessio came in to wake her up and found her in that, they’d both be scarred for life.
“Oh, fine. I’ll be responsible, then,” she said to no one in particular. She even remembered to put her headphones on before sinking blissfully into the steaming slime. I am going to sleep forever. And tomorrow is Saturday, she thought blissfully as her heartbeat slowed. I don’t have to do anything.
Wake up!” the voice thundered in her ears. She thrashed in the slime, her brain jolting into action. As she opened her eyes, something floated down through the murk and clonked her on her forehead. She clutched at her forehead and instinctively opened her mouth to make a noise, and the slime rushed into her mouth. Oh, gross! Fuming, she clamped her mouth shut and scrabbled around for whatever had hit her. It was her phone. Apparently, her jerkings had yanked the cord of the headphones and pulled the phone into the tub. I may have to murder someone, she thought. When she surfaced, she saw that the murderee would be her brother. She spat out the mouthful of slime, which, though it smelled delightful, tasted like a combination of shampoo, antifreeze, and Bloody Mary mix.
“It’s Saturday morning,” she said acidly.
“Grootvader Ernst has called a meeting,” said Alessio.
“It’s Saturday morning.”
“Everyone except me has to be there,” he said.
“It’s Saturday morning.”
“It’s in fifteen minutes, so you’ll be eating breakfast there,” he said, leaving the bathroom.
“But . . . it’s Saturday morning,” she said to the cruel, uncaring empty room.
Odette was well aware that she was not looking her most impressive as she entered the royal suite. A frantic shower had gotten most of the slime out of her hair, but it was still damp, and, in a moment of resentful rebellion, she had pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. It’s Saturday morning, after all, she thought sulkily. They can’t expect me to be wearing a business skirt the morning after a party.
As it turned out, everyone was dressed casually, which rather took away from her rebellious gesture. Even Grootvader Ernst, behind his newspaper, was wearing a button-down shirt without a tie or cravat. There was a contemplative silence in the room that suggested that nobody was particularly thrilled to be awake. Much yawning took place behind hands. Odette helped herself to the buffet that had been laid out and then slumped into her chair at the conference table. She realized that, in the present company, she would not be able to have her illicit coffee without receiving pointed remarks about her throat.
Resting her chin on her hand, she took a mouthful of scrambled eggs and looked resentfully up the table to where Grootvader Ernst sat. He was reading the Times, the front page of which was completely devoted to the attacks. Too tired even to turn her head, Odette moved her eyes in their sockets and saw that almost everyone was staring at their leader. He turned a page.
Thank God we were summoned early to watch you read the paper, she thought. Then everyone jumped as he scrunched the paper down and regarded them all.
“It is early,” he said, “but there are things I want us to deal with immediately.”
And that is as close as we are going to get to an apology.
“Last night went very well. I am proud of you all. You conducted yourselves admirably, and I am confident that the Checquy has come to terms with the problem of the Antagonists. It seems that we drastically overestimated what their reaction would be to our, ahem, insurrection. Last night I spoke with the Prime Minister, and he assures me that they completely understand the situation. He was especially grateful for our work in the aftermath of the attacks. Marcel’s and Odette’s efforts with the casualties have not gone unnoticed, and they have put us in a very strong position in the negotiations.”
Well, if you want to take a selfless act and make it selfish, I suppose that’s your privilege, thought Odette.
“Now, it is important that we continue to build upon this excellent foundation. I am aware that this is the Saturday morning after a long and exhausting week, but we must strike while the iron is hot and before the tumor spreads.” The meeting attendees were quickly given assignments. To Odette’s bewilderment, she received no task. Even Alessio has something to do this weekend, she thought. Her brother was going off with the school group for a day of various activities that would culminate in a night at the theater to see a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The next day, he’d go to the Victoria and Albert Museum, Sir John Soane’s Museum, and then some famous restaur
ant.
No explanation was given for Odette’s lack of orders, and when she offered to assist people, she was politely but firmly rebuffed.
“The Checquy provided the placements for the day,” said Marie as she bustled off to address a million pressing tasks. “And you’re supposed to stay in the hotel. Maybe they want you to keep an eye on your damaged bodyguard. Anyway, it’s a day off. Enjoy it!” Odette nodded glumly. It was too late to go back to sleep, and even if she’d wanted to, the bathtub of gel would be cold. She returned to the suite, where Alessio was just heading out the door.
“Clements went down to the Checquy security floor,” he said hurriedly. “She said she’d be back in a bit.”
“Okay, you have a good time,” said Odette. “I’ll see you tonight.” She turned on the TV and saw nothing but footage about the attacks. I don’t need to see any of that. She sat on the couch and thought crabby thoughts about the world in general.
For God’s sake, you’re in a five-star hotel. There’s a million things to do. Full of resolve, she stood up. World-class gym, a pool, excellent room service, a spa. And Clements to drag along to them all. To her mild surprise, that final prospect didn’t depress her spirits at all. She picked up the phone and dialed Clements’s number.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Odette. Are you busy?”
“No, we were getting a briefing, but it’s over,” said the Pawn. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. What are you doing now?”
“I was going to—nothing,” said Clements. “I don’t have any plans.”
“Well, I was kind of at a loose end,” said Odette. “You want to go to the gym?”
“Oh,” said Clements. “Okay, sure. Come meet me here and we’ll go together.”
Odette changed into exercise clothes and made her way to the elevator, stopping by Marie’s suite to let her know that she was going off the floor, that she was taking her minder, and that she wouldn’t leave the hotel or talk to strangers.
“That’s good,” said Marie absently. She was staring intently at her computer screen and typing feverishly. “You could do with some more time at the gym.”
44
The two guards at the elevator nodded to her when she approached and waved off her explanation. “Clements alerted us to your intended movements,” said one of them, pointing at his earpiece. As he spoke, the elevator slid open. Inside was a man wearing civilian clothes and a bored expression. Odette recognized him as one of the Checquy guards. He didn’t have any weapons, but presumably he didn’t need them.
“Going down,” he said.
“So you’re guarding the elevator all day?” she asked.
“This hotel has six elevators,” he said grimly. “And as of last night, each one has a Checquy guard in it. Plus two in the service elevator.”
“It looks like a plum posting,” she said.
“This is what happens when you lose the poker game.”
She made a sympathetic face and disembarked on the Checquy floor. It was very different from the Grafter floor. Still nice (although not quite as nice), but it had a different air about it. Probably because there aren’t armed guards at every junction, she thought. Also, many of the doors were open. As she passed by, Odette couldn’t help sneaking a peek in. They were in an almost military state of tidiness. Many rooms contained people doing things on computers, and all of the people looked startled when they saw her walk by.
Clements was standing in a room with another Pawn, a woman in shorts and a tank top who appeared to be covered in thorns. Despite herself, Odette looked at the twin beds, checking for signs of shredded sheets, but they were both immaculate. Maybe she can retract them, she thought. The thorny woman gave her a level look and nodded silently before Clements hurriedly ushered Odette out of the room.
“She’s just coming off the night shift,” the Pawn explained. “Best to leave her to sleep.”
“Ah,” said Odette.
“The Rookery upped security overnight, so they’re hot-bunking it.” She caught Odette’s look of complete incomprehension. “That’s where we schedule the shifts so that beds are always occupied.”
“Well, if they’re short of beds, it’s fine if they want to share the ones in our suite,” said Odette in the generous tones of a person who knew no one would be sleeping in her bathtub. “We’re not using them during the day, after all.”
“I’ll let them know,” said Clements. “So, you want to go to the gym? You don’t want to go out?”
“I’m having a day at home, apparently,” said Odette. “Everyone else got assignments. I was assigned to stay in the hotel.”
“Which means I’m having a day at home as well,” remarked Clements. “Well, then, the gym it is, I’ll just—” She paused as her mobile rang and she saw that the call was from a private number. “One second, I’ll just see who this is.”
“Hello?”
“Pawn Clements, this is Rook Thomas. Don’t say anything.”
“. . .”
“Good. Shortly you’re going to be assigned to a mission. Request permission to take Odette with you. Present it as your idea. Now hang up.”
Clements terminated the call, and stared at her phone.
“Wrong number?” asked Odette.
“Survey,” said Clements.
“Pawn Clements!” came a call down the corridor, and they looked over to see a Pawn leaning out of a doorway. “They want you in the ops room.” Clements turned her gaze back to Odette.
“Why don’t you come with me?” she said.
The operations room was actually a suite with an armed guard posted outside. She regarded Odette warily and had to mutter something into a throat microphone and, presumably, receive an answer in her earphone before they were let in. Inside, a number of people sat at desks that obviously did not belong to the hotel. They were all talking on headset telephones in low tones and typing madly. Whiteboards with grids marked on them lined the walls. Odette caught a glimpse of her own name paired with Clements’s. One of the bedroom doors opened, and a man in tactical armor came out. She caught a glimpse of gun racks and other weaponry before the door closed. Were those halberds? she thought incredulously.
Clements led her over to one of the other bedroom doors and knocked. A call of “Come!” came, and they came. It was quieter in there; only two people sat at desks typing. The bed was covered in stacks of files. Near a low desk stood an extremely short person. As in, coming up to just above Odette’s waist. Alessio could have rested a drink on his head, although, judging by the man’s manner, his muscles, and the two pistols in his shoulder holsters, that would have been the second-to-last thing Alessio ever did (the last one being dying messily while apologizing profusely). The short man was talking on one phone and scrolling madly on another. He glanced at them and held up an imperious hand for them to wait. Clements nodded, and they both stepped back and waited. And waited. Finally, Odette turned to Clements.
“He’s not, like, a dwarf, is he?” she whispered. Clements looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “I mean, he’s not a mythological dwarf? Like in Tolkien?”
“There’s no such thing as mythological dwarfs,” said Clements. “Commander Derrick isn’t even a Pawn. The Checquy recruited him because he’s brilliant at what he does. He arranged the security for that pop star who got drunk and made all those comments that managed to offend every major religion.”
“Right!” said Commander Derrick, finishing his call. “Both of you sit down.” They sat. He spoke with an Irish accent and had a deep, growling voice. “So, Pawn Clements, you’re wanted at a site in the Scottish Lowlands. Some sort of manifestation in a church in a little piece-of-shit village up north. A few civvy deaths. They’ve got it contained to the building, but the Rookery wants you to scope the place out before they send in the team.” The Pawn’s brow wrinkled as she took in the order.
“A car will be along in a few minutes to take you to the nearest helipad,” he cont
inued. “They’ll fly you to London City Airport, and from there a private jet will take you to Dundee. Briefing file will be in the car.”
“Yes, sir,” said Clement. She seemed a little uncertain and looked over at Odette. “Um . . .”
“It’s all right, Pawn Clements,” said Odette. “I know that you need to go. You have responsibilities.”
“We’ll assign another minder for her,” said Derrick. “No problem.”
“Yeah,” said Clements. “Unless . . . you’d like to come along?”
“Oh!” said Odette, startled. When she thought about it, the idea was tremendously exciting. Certainly it would be far more interesting than staying in the hotel, and she was rather touched that Clements would invite her. She didn’t have to ask me along. “Would that be allowed?”
“Buggered if I know,” said Commander Derrick sourly. “I’ll have to check with the Rookery, and that’ll probably take longer than we can afford. Clements is supposed to be departing shortly. Maybe if we get permission, we can send you up after her.”
He put a headset on and muttered some words into the microphone. As he waited for an answer, he stared at them. Odette heard a tinny little response come through the headset, and Derrick looked surprised.
“They say it’s fine with them if it’s all right with the Broederschap.”
“I’d need to get permission from Grootvader Ernst,” said Odette. “Although I really don’t think he’d have any objection. He’s always saying we should get out more. Do you know if he’s in a meeting at the moment?” she asked Commander Derrick. He muttered into his headset and then shook his head at her.
“He’s receiving a haircut from the hotel hairdresser.”
“Thank you.”
Odette was put through to Grootvader Ernst by his assistant and he approved the idea immediately. “It sounds like an excellent plan,” he said. “It will do you good to get out of the city and away from the paperwork and tension here. Combat can be very invigorating.”
Stiletto Page 57
