Midwinter 02: The Office of Shadow

by Matthew Sturges

  Silverdun approached the gate, but before he could peer in, another carriage turned onto the road. It too stopped in front of Blackstone House, and Ironfoot emerged from it. He examined the house with the same reservation that Silverdun felt.

  "Strange place for a government office," he said.

  "Ministry of Ghosts, perhaps?" offered Silverdun.

  Ironfoot smiled. "So what happens? We go in, get accosted by a few vengeful spirits, and then Paet shows up and laughs at us while we're wetting our breeches?"

  "I was thinking roughly the same thing."

  "When I was in the army, they tied new recruits in burlap sacks and rolled them down the hills in the Gnomics," said Ironfoot. "Big, tall things, these hills. They'd have races with them."

  "And how did you fare?" asked Silverdun.

  "I won four out of five," said Ironfoot. "It's all in how you arch your back."

  "Universal, I suppose. In my first session of Corpus, the senior hall minister handed me a four-hundred-page stack of bills and told me I'd be voting on them the next day, so I'd better read them all."

  "How far did you get?"

  "I never even glanced at them," said Silverdun. Seeing the look on Ironfoot's face, he added, "I wasn't much of a legislator."

  "Do you find yourself wondering if we've made a terrible mistake?" asked Ironfoot.

  "Every day. But then, I've made a career of joining the wrong team," said Silverdun. "One gets used to it after a while."

  "That's encouraging," said Ironfoot glumly.

  "Right on time, I see," came Paet's voice behind them.

  Silverdun turned. Paet was standing in the street, leaning on his cane. There was no carriage anywhere nearby.

  "Where did you come from?" said Silverdun.

  "I'm a Shadow, Silverdun," said Paet. "It's part of the job. Shall we go in?"

  Paet approached the gate and placed his palm on one of the bronze bars. He said a word of unbinding, and the gate swung open.

  Paet led them up the walk. It was darker here than outside, the mosshung willow branches filtering out what remained of the daylight. It smelled of roses and loam.

  The front door of the house was black; the paint on the door and the trim was chipped and peeling in places.

  "The servants have clearly been on holiday for some time," said Silverdun.

  "You can grab a paintbrush and take care of it if you like," said Paet. He took a ring of keys from his pocket and placed one in the front door.

  The door opened into a totally empty room. Dust lined the windowsills and blanketed the wooden floors. A soot-blackened fireplace hulked on one wall. Very little light found its way through the drawn shutters. Paet produced a tiny witchlight torch from his pocket and lit their way toward the stairs.

  "Come on," he said. As they walked, Silverdun noticed that while their steps kicked up dust from the floor, they left no footprints.

  They climbed the stairs to the second story, which was as dusty and empty as the first. Their steps made hollow echoes. Paet led the way to a back bedroom, where an empty bed frame lurked in a corner.

  "Through here," said Paet, indicating a closet door. He opened the door and stepped in, beckoning for Silverdun and Ironfoot to follow. Silverdun stood in the closet, crowded against Paet and Ironfoot, feeling foolish. Paet smelled like pipe smoke. He closed the door and they stood in the cramped space for a moment while Paet found another key on his ring in the torchlight. He placed it in the closet door lock and turned. The closet seemed to turn upside down, and Silverdun's stomach heaved. Ironfoot gulped.

  Silverdun looked down, and now he could see light coming from under the closet door. Paet opened it and they stepped out of the closet into a small reception room. A pretty young Fae woman stood when they entered.

  "Good evening, Chief Paet," she said.

  Silverdun looked around, disoriented at first, until he realized what was going on. The entire house had been quite expertly spellturned. They had simply stepped into a turned version of the bedroom they'd just left.

  "Good evening, Brei," said Paet. He removed his cloak and handed it to her. "I'd like you to meet Ironfoot and Silverdun, our newest Shadows."

  "A pleasure, gentlemen," said Brei, reaching for Silverdun's and Ironfoot's cloaks as well. She smiled at Silverdun. "I've got keys for the two of you, and there's tea or coffee if you'd like some."

  Silverdun and Ironfoot looked at each other. Perhaps this wasn't going to be so bad after all. "Tea, if you please," said Silverdun.

  Paet led them from the reception office into what should have been the hallway. In this turning of the house, however, all of the other upstairs inner walls had been removed, creating an open office space that was filled with desks.

  "Welcome to the Office of Shadow," said Paet. "Your new home."

  Paet walked them through the office, briskly introducing them to a dozen different office workers: two copyists, a translator, and a cluster of analysts, whose job it was to read all of the documents and memos pertaining to intelligence, and to prepare briefs. One shelf along the wall was lined with message sprite jars; all the other walls were covered with maps. Papers were stacked high everywhere, on desks, in baskets; more bulged from a row of special drawers along the wall beneath the message sprites.

  One of the analysts was a young woman with a strong Eastern accent, a lilt that Silverdun had grown accustomed to in his days at the prison of Crete Sulace, and now found that he missed. When Ironfoot was introduced, she smiled, her eyes wide. "I've so been looking forward to meeting you," she said. "I've read all of your monographs on forensic thaumatics."

  "Well, I'd be happy to discuss the subject with you anytime you like," said Ironfoot.

  "Come along," said Paet. "You can flirt with the help another time."

  Ironfoot shrugged. "We'll talk later," he told the analyst, who grinned at him.

  Paet pointed to the stairs. "My office is down there, as is the mission room and the Shadows' lien, which is where you'll be spending most of your time."

  They went downstairs. Here, the layout of the house hadn't been altered. The main room with its fireplace was here, but it now held several tables surrounded by chairs, all covered in maps and scrolls. A row of books-atlases, almanacs, and censuses-lined one wall.

  "The mission room," said Paet. "This is where you'll be briefed on your various assignments."

  Through one door was a large office that was Paet's. It was sparse and neat. Another door opened to a smaller office with three desks in it, all three of which were empty. The room smelled a bit musty. Paet turned on the witchlamp on the wall, and the office filled with a warm yellow glow.

  "This is the Shadows' Den," he said. "This is your office."

  Silverdun ran his finger along one of the desktops, leaving a line in the dust there. "Hasn't been used in a while," he said.

  "It's been a while since we've had anyone to use it," said Paet. "It's about time, too.,'

  "Where does the front door lead?" asked Ironfoot.

  "Turns back in on itself," said Paet. "Very handy if you need to induce a gag reflex."

  "Three desks," said Silverdun.

  "Hm?" said Paet.

  "In the so-called Shadows' Den. There are three desks, and only two of us.

  Paet smiled. "Ah, yes. I thought Everess would have told you. You've got a colleague. She'll be joining us shortly. Everess is bringing her."

  Ironfoot and Silverdun shared another glance. She?

  "In the meantime I've got work to do. Get yourselves acquainted with things; have Brei show you where to find things like pens and ink and so forth. When Everess shows up, we'll talk."

  "Excuse me, Paet?" asked Ironfoot.

  "Yes?"

  "Where's my laboratory?"

  "I'm sorry?"

  "My lab. Everess promised me a lab. For my research."

  Paet smiled. "Did he?" he said.

  "Yes, he did."

  "Hm."

  Paet went into his offi
ce and shut the door, leaving Ironfoot and Silverdun alone in the mission room.

  "That was interesting," said Ironfoot.

  "Pens," said Silverdun.

  "Indeed."

  "I was expecting something quite a lot more sinister, weren't you?"

  "I was expecting a lab."

  "It seems nothing is quite what we expected."

  Ironfoot smiled. "It'll all fall out. Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I'll go consult with Brei about those pens." He made for the stairs.

  "Like hell," said Silverdun, following. "I saw her first. Besides, you've got your Eastern analyst on the hook already."

  There were footsteps on the stairs. Silverdun looked up and saw Everess descending, followed by a vision in a white dress who was, quite simply, the most beautiful woman Silverdun had ever seen. Their eyes met, and Silverdun nearly lost his breath.

  When Everess had told her that she'd be working with two men, Sela hadn't thought much about it. She'd assumed that these men would be like Everess himself, fat and officious, though it occurred to her as she stood on the steps, staring, that it was a foolish notion. The man at the bottom of the stairs was nothing like Everess. His hair was long and dark, and it flowed beautifully when he turned his head to look at her. When she looked into his eyes, she felt dizzy. Those eyes.

  Was this love? Did it really happen this fast?

  There was another man standing next to him, but Sela barely noticed him. She stared until the dark-haired man finally tore his eyes away from her, but even before he did, a thread wove itself between them, red and orange and gold. When it connected it felt as though it were pulling taut, drawing her physically toward him. It was silly, of course; the threads existed only in her imagination. She could neither feel nor actually see them. But still.

  She noticed that Everess was looking at her strangely. "Have you and Silverdun met already?" he asked.

  Silverdun. His name was Silverdun.

  "I'm sure I would remember," said Silverdun, approaching as she and Everess continued down the stairs. The other man rolled his eyes from some reason that Sela couldn't quite make out. No matter how deeply she was able to read those around her, there was still so much they did that baffled her.

  "Well then, I suppose introductions and brandy are in order all around," said Everess. "Where the hell is that gravedigger Paet?"

  "Right here," said Paet, stepping out of his office. Paet had no love for Everess, that was clear, even without a thread to read. And when a thread finally did connect the two, it was green and brown both ways, with a hint of violet fear emanating from Everess. He was afraid of Paet, only a little, but she knew he would never let it show.

  She watched the connections form between all of the men in the room; it was a fascinating, nascent web, but she didn't have time to consider it all because Everess was introducing her all around. The sad, angry man with the cane was Paet. The confident, intelligent one was Styg Falores, but she was to call him Ironfoot. And the breathtaking one was Perrin Alt, Lord Silverdun. A lord, no less!

  "But not much of a lord," said Silverdun, after Everess gave his title. "You can simply call me `Silverdun."'

  Sela suppressed a silly grin. She would call him whatever he liked!

  Then fear soaked her. Surely these weren't the appropriate emotions for someone in her position. Although the more she thought about it, the more she realized she didn't actually know what her position was.

  "Have a seat here in the mission room," said Paet. "Now that we're all assembled, it's time to talk about why we're all here."

  "Just so," said Everess. "You may begin, Chief Paet." Everess wanted Paet to remember who was in charge. Paet behaved as though he didn't realize it, but Sela knew he did.

  Sela sat as far as possible from Silverdun, who seemed to be studiously ignoring her. The thread between them was so strong that she could almost feel his thoughts. She was adrift on the sea of him, trying to ignore him and failing.

  He looked at her, an eyebrow raised. He smiled a faint, almost imperceptible smile and shook his head ever so slightly. No. He waved his hand in a quick gesture, and the thread between them simply vanished. He was gone. She almost lurched in her chair at the sudden loss of him. She looked down, and when she looked back at him he had the oddest look on his face. She had no idea what it meant. Sadness? Confusion? Curiosity?

  No one had ever done that to her before. It was disarming and distressing. At least now, however, she could concentrate on what Chief Paet was saying. And just in time, it appeared, as he was now addressing them all.

  Paet sat on the edge of one of the tables and looked across at Silverdun, Ironfoot, and Sela in turn. "I cannot tell you how happy I am to see the three of you sitting here before me," he began. Which was strange, since Sela could easily sense that he was in no way happy. What he was feeling was more like a grim satisfaction. But it had been Sela's experience that people rarely said what they truly felt.

  "It has been five years since there was another Shadow in the building other than myself. Five years since my ... injuries precluded me from performing active fieldwork. For most of that time, I've been afraid that there would never be another.

  "The events of the past year, however," Pact said, tapping his cane against the edge of the table, "have demonstrated to the Crown just how crucial our efforts are. And despite the objections of some members of Corpus, who believe that what we do is unsavory at best and morally reprehensible at worst, Lord Everess has convinced the queen that our work ought to continue."

  Everess beamed. There was a time when Sela might have thought him a fool for being so easily flattered, but she realized now that there was nothing that Everess said or did that was not calculated. He was a fascinating man.

  "I realize," continued Pact, "that the three of you have been kept mostly in the dark as to what it is the Shadows actually do. There are two reasons for that. The first is that we have strict rules about secrecy, and we do not discuss our missions, tactics, or strategy anywhere outside this building. There are no exceptions to this rule. Thus, we could provide only the vaguest of notions about what it was that you've gotten yourselves into.

  "And the other reason," he said, not smiling, "is that if we had told you the extent of our work, there's a chance that you wouldn't have agreed to join us."

  Silverdun and Ironfoot chuckled, as did Everess. Sela, however, did not. "That wasn't a joke," said Pact. The chuckles stopped.

  "I will not equivocate," said Pact. "You will be asked to lie. To cheat. To steal. To kill, when necessary. You will be sent to the most dangerous places in the known worlds. If you are caught, we cannot in most cases admit publicly that we are aware of your existence. You will routinely be asked to perform duties that would be, to even the hardiest Fae soldier, impossible. And in return you will receive a bit of money, but almost nothing in the way of prestige, or honor. Quite the contrary, in fact; you may over time lose whatever sense of honor you once had."

  "Somehow I don't see that being much of a problem for Silverdun over there," quipped Everess.

  Silverdun made an extremely rude gesture toward Everess. "Pray, continue," he said to Paet.

  "In short," said Paet, clearly annoyed at the interruption, "you have been conscripted into the most difficult career in all of Faerie."

  "And after all this," said Ironfoot, "what if we decide it's not for us?"

  "That is not an option," said Paet.

  "You can't be serious," said Ironfoot.

  "I am serious. I do not recommend that you test me on this. As a result of your ... training at Whitemount, you are no longer permitted a life outside the Shadows."

  "This is madness," said Silverdun.

  "You've spent time at Crete Sulace, Silverdun," said Paet. "If you decide life as a Shadow isn't for you, perhaps you could renew some old acquaintances. I'm sure Everess told you when he approached you that once you agreed to enlist with us, there was absolutely no turning back. Did he not?"

 
Everess smiled a cold smile. "You wanted the best," he said to Paet. "I got you the best. Sometimes certain allowances must be made in the recruiting process."

  There was silence in the room for a moment. Sela could feel Paet's fury, and Ironfoot's astonishment. Everess was so good at masking his emotions that very little trickled out into the extraordinarily thin thread between him and Sela. Silverdun she still could not read at all. His mood, however, was not difficult to fathom.