“On her part, perhaps,” Lucy said. “For our part, however, I would suggest that less radical solutions are still available, assuming we have not tied ourselves to the fortunes of the Martynova family.”
“We are outnumbered and badly positioned,” Lord North said. “Without meaningful support, I very much doubt that we can hold out.”
“There is another option, though, is there not?” Timothy suggested. “My intelligence indicates that Emily Muir has recruited her own forces and seized control of the Far Shores.”
The room was briefly consumed with questioning looks and hushed conversation.
“We have not heard this, Lord Vidal,” Lucy said politely. “Perhaps you could provide verification?”
“You can trust my sources,” Timothy said, smiling. “I will say no more than that.”
“What good does Emily Muir do us?” Sanjiv wondered. “She and her sister defected to the Anathema!”
“She has certainly spent some time in the Outer Dark,” Lord North acknowledged. “I have had dealings with Miss Muir in the recent past, however, and found her to be reliable and discreet, if not trustworthy.”
His words rustled through the room like a sudden wind, startling everyone except Collette and Sofia.
“That was a bold maneuver, Lord North,” Sanjiv observed. “I would have preferred to know of such a thing sooner.”
“I’m certain that you would, Lord Mehta,” Sofia replied. “Lord North is hardly required to disclose his personal affairs to you, however much advantage you might be able to gain from them.”
“This is more than boldness,” Peter said, seething. “This borders on treachery, Lord North, and I will be making a formal complaint.”
“We can discuss this another time, if truly necessary,” Timothy Vidal-North said. “I don’t think it to be among our priorities right now.”
“I agree,” Nathan Drava said, with a quick glance toward Henry North. “I think we need to talk about next moves. I think we need to take a closer look at the old Muir estate. If we can occupy the manor and the gate, then…”
“Then the road is ours, at least outside the city,” Lord North said, shuffling his papers. “That gives us a place to start.”
“We cannot stop there,” Timothy Vidal-North said. “We have to push on immediately for the city.”
“We are very aware of the plight of your wife’s and my cousin’s families, Lord Vidal,” Sofia said. “We begin by sending a scouting force to the Muir estate…”
Timothy opened his mouth to object, and Sanjiv stirred in his seat.
“…to confirm that we can use it as an advance base,” Sofia said, smiling politely. “If the location is secure, a larger force will be sent forward immediately, with Central as their ultimate goal. Kevin, Collette…would you please start assembling a strike force? Draw from all household and retainer personnel, and plan for significant enemy contact.”
Kevin nodded and stood, waiting for Collette to gather her notebook before hurrying from the room.
Timothy bit his lip, and then nodded.
“That’s all fine,” Nathan Drava said, his voice breaking. “There’s just one thing left to decide, then. Who do we send to do reconnaissance?”
“My son is already occupied with assembling and leading the main force,” Lord North said, glancing at his wife, who gave him a nod. “I was thinking that I might take a bit of a drive out to the Muir estate myself, for old time’s sake. Sofia and I passed several happy afternoons there, when we were younger, and I dislike the idea of interlopers having the run of the place.”
Another stir passed through the room.
“You compound folly with folly,” Peter complained. “And to what end?”
“Are you certain, Lord North?” Sanjiv leaned forward in concern. “The area is full of Thule patrols, and if you are killed or taken, our cause is all but lost.”
“Do you think there is anyone capable of doing so?” Lord North’s eyes were flinty, full of sharp edges. “Do you imagine me to be in any danger at all, Lord Mehta? Have you forgotten what we did together in Varanasi, that August when the ghouls came swarming from the Ganges like a plague of toads?”
Sanjiv shook his head.
“I have not forgotten. That is why I worry,” he said, grinning. “You relied upon me almost entirely.”
“I prefer to think of it as a collaboration,” Lord North said. “One in which I was the principal.”
“You were an assistant. An able one, yes, but…”
“With your retirement from the field, I have no further rivals to consider,” Lord North said. “Don’t worry, Lord Mehta. My wife knows what is to be, and she has approved the venture. What more assurance could one want?”
“I would have the affair be ended, my Lord,” Lucy Kent-Mehta said, looking fondly at her husband. “And ourselves triumphant, of course.”
“I’m coming with you, Lord North,” Nathan Drava said, his butler swooping in to gather his things as he left the table. “With your permission, of course.”
Lord North glanced at his wife. She nodded serenely, with a fond look at the young Lord.
“Very well, Lord Drava,” Lord North said, throwing on his heavy woolen coat. “Let us see for ourselves whatever there is to see.”
***
Lord Gao was the first to advance through the open gate to the fenced Thule compound outside of Central, while the rest waited a short distance away.
The day was mild, but the remnants of smoke still lingered in the air, poisoning every breath with charred carbon. The wind slunk through the trees and brushed feebly against their clothes. The road was empty, save for a couple of burnt out and abandoned cars, left over from the exodus of Central during the fighting, and the remainder of an ad hoc roadblock that had been hastily assembled a few days before, and abandoned even more quickly sometime in the last twenty-four hours, judging by the half-eaten MREs and the nearly depleted batteries in the slumbering laptops.
They had expected to fight their way from the city to the Thule compound, but nothing of the sort was required. The greatest challenge was navigating the wrecks and broken checkpoints strewn liberally about Central.
Only one checkpoint had been both manned and foolish enough to attempt to stop the convoy of three black SUVs. A handful of Thule militia had occupied the crude barrier, depending entirely on firearms, in the absence of any protocols of their own. At a nod from Anastasia, Mai crushed their implanted psychic defenses, and then tore through their unprotected minds like a racoon in a chicken coop, leaving nothing behind but feathers and blood.
The remainder of the drive had been uneventful.
“It seems very quiet, Mistress,” Mai observed, as Lord Gao strolled through the open gate. “This is not their primary facility, but I had expected something more in the way of a welcome.”
“As had I,” Anastasia said. “You sense nothing?”
“Not a thing,” Mai confirmed, closing her eyes. “The compound is empty, or the remaining residents are skilled enough to make it appear that way.”
Lord Gao marched down the driveway, pausing occasionally to check on a body.
There are four of them, Mistress, he thought, heading for the house. All dead. Not particularly fresh. Yesterday, perhaps?
We are too late, Anastasia thought. The battle has occurred without us.
Lord Gao made quick work of determining the garden, outbuildings, and main house estate were all unoccupied. The Black Sun contingent watched the search through the vampire’s eyes with Mai’s assistance. Many doors had been forced, kicked in by someone who had been in a hurry.
There were more bodies.
Three had died at the door to the manor or beside the main stairs. Two had their throats slit, and appeared to have died unawares, the same as the ones outside. The final body, a woman, had a phone in one hand and a gun in the other. Her head had been bashed in with a frying pan, which had been discarded beside the body, the dent on the pan matchin
g the curvature of her skull.
Another four had died attempting to hide, likely after they heard that struggle, found one by one cowering in closets or hidden beneath beds.
They had died cleanly.
The final two bodies were located in the basement.
Two men had been tied to chairs and questioned.
Paul Lethe-Thule. Gaul Thule’s cousin. No protocol or accomplishments of note, Anastasia said, of the older of the two dead men. I cannot remember the other man’s name, but he was the business manager for the Thule estate.
Their questioner had been in a hurry, which was the only mercy they were shown. Lord Gao did not linger long on their missing teeth and fingers.
This was not a battle, Lord Gao thought, climbing the stairs back to the main floor. This was a massacre, perpetrated in stealth.
Anastasia nodded as she followed Donner and Blitzen through the gates into the Thule estate.
By an ally, or one of similar intent, she said, walking over the first of the bodies without a glance. A retainer of mine, perhaps.
The intruder killed five guards before being noticed, despite the security and the cameras. Lord Gao examined the body at the base of the stair, a black-haired man whose neck was sliced so deep that his head lolled over onto his right shoulder. This is the work of my son, Mistress. It could only have been Daniel who destroyed this compound.
At least one of my suitors is still in play, then, unlike poor Peter Rurikovich. Interesting.
Anastasia stopped in front of the manor, looking the old house over skeptically, like a potential buyer. Mai produced a small brush from her bag and used the opportunity to dust Anastasia’s slippers and the base of her skirt.
Anastasia put a finger to her lips, which were painted a violet that deepened to black at the edges. Lord Gao rejoined them, his hands folded behind his back, while the Weir roamed the garden, running protective circles around their Mistress.
“There is still the old Thule estate in Central, before we move on to their ancestral manor in Iceland.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Mai said, moving on to her Mistress’s hair. “I will send word to begin preparations immediately. We will need better intelligence, and the route must be secured before we visit.”
“Another delay? How unfortunate.” Anastasia considered it while Mai finished teasing her curls into place. “Very well. In the meantime, we shall put some effort into locating my remaining retainers.”
“Yes, Mistress. Will you be staying in Central for the interval, then?”
Anastasia nodded.
“I will have the house prepared,” Mai said. “I shall also begin locating an appropriate chef.”
“I want a search done for any remaining Thule associates or family in Central. I would assume most of the relevant parties are dead or underground, but we would be remiss not to look.”
Mai nodded, already relaying telepathic instructions.
“I want an update on the statuses of Serafina Ricci and Chandi Tuesday,” Anastasia said. “Mai, I would appreciate you taking a personal interest in that issue.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Mai said. “Right away.”
Anastasia turned toward the gate, the Weir falling in on either side of her.
“Burn this place to the ground, Lord Gao,” Anastasia ordered, gesturing at the estate around her. “Leave nothing standing.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Lord Gao said.
“Take the heads, then burn the bodies,” Anastasia added, from the gate. “It’s not much, but perhaps it will serve as a down payment on my father’s funeral.”
“Of course, Mistress,” Lord Gao said. “Right away.”
***
Maxim woke from dreams of pain to a reality that was no better. His brain was fogged by morphine and trauma, but he knew instantly that he was in a tent, and a moment later, that it must have belonged to Ksenia, the only female in Simeon’s squad.
Even in the field, without luxuries like showers and cosmetics, women still smelled better.
He was so loaded that his head felt like it was floating just above the inflatable pillow, while the fingertips of the hand that wasn’t swaddled in bandages seemed to be able to pick out each thread of the sleeping bag beneath him. His mouth felt dry and distended, as if it were stuffed with cotton balls, and his entire face was profoundly numb.
Despite that, he hurt.
His hand throbbed, but that was nothing compared to the searing pain centered in his knee, where Alistair had shot him. Nothing had ever hurt so badly before, and it was all Maxim could do not to whimper.
He took what seemed like a very long time to compose himself.
I’ve covered all the openings, so the tent is dark. It’s safe to open your eyes, if you want. Ksenia’s thoughts came from somewhere nearby, confirming his suspicion, but not surprising him. They were cousins from friendly families, for one thing, and for another, they had attended officer training together. I’m sorry about the pain. The doctor gave you a shot, earlier, but…
“It’s fine,” he said, cracking open his eyes to the dim and dusty space.
Or that’s what he meant to say. His dry throat and cottonmouth strangled the words before they made it to his lips.
Ksenia put the nipple of a squeeze bottle to his lips.
“Drink,” she said. “Don’t try and talk. Our telepathic implant is still working.”
It took him three tries before he managed to get some of the water down his throat. He felt bad about spitting water all over Ksenia’s sleeping bag, but she did not seem concerned. He took a few more sips, and then she took the bottle away to prevent him from getting sick.
You got some IV fluids a couple hours ago, Ksenia said, propping his head. Matheus just finished working on you.
I better not get cancer, Maxim thought warily. I don’t trust that kid.
I do, though, and you trust me. He very likely saved your life last night. They don’t have a full surgery kit or anything out here. We did what we could with what we had, but Matheus’s protocol made the difference.
Maxim accepted it, but he did not like it.
He was not alone in that. Biological manipulation was a deeply unusual sort of protocol, and Matheus’s variation, the innocuously named Binding Protocol, had been known to occur only once prior, in conjunction with the Black Sun’s most shocking defection to the Anathema.
It was creepy enough that the kid could potentially give you cancer just by thinking about it, but it was even worse that his protocol was associated with a legend that haunted the whole cartel. Matheus had not been popular among the Black Sun or at the Academy and was known to have been recruited as an assassin almost immediately after his Introduction.
He had refused that recruitment publicly, but no one was reassured.
He had elected to follow the path of his adopted father and brother and begin to serve his family and cartel in the field, distinguishing himself as a medic and an Operator, but not gaining much in the way of acceptance. No unit had been willing to take him until Simeon had chosen him, at Ksenia’s near insistence.
Ksenia had a big family, even by Black Sun standards, with easily a hundred relations in China and Hong Kong. Matheus was an orphan adopted by one of her many, many uncles.
Matheus had not yet given anyone cancer – that Maxim knew of, anyway – or done anything harmful with his protocol at all, to friend or foe, but who could know for sure? They could have all been dying from secret tumors, cunningly implanted in crucial organs as they slept.
It was not likely. But it was possible.
It came down to the hands, for Maxim. More accurately, it was the way Matheus used his hands in the course of employing his protocol.
The idea of Matheus messing around in his guts like a faith healer was sickening.
It was only your knee and your hand, Ksenia thought. He did not have to reach inside you anywhere important. Why would Matheus give you cancer, anyway? I think he likes you, and we are all on the same side,
anyway.
I still don’t like it.
Why?
I just don’t.
“Well, get over it,” Ksenia said. Now that his eyes had adjusted, he could see that she was folding clothes, still halfway dressed for the field. “I’ll expect you to thank him properly when he comes back.”
“Enough about that,” Maxim growled. “Where is Simeon?”
“He’s talking to our hosts, trying to borrow their apport station.”
“Our hosts? Where are we?”
“We are camped just outside the Far Shores campus, which has somehow become the personal kingdom of Emily Muir.” Ksenia smiled ruefully. “She’s intolerably pleased with herself, let me tell you.”
“How did we end up at the Far Shores?”
“That vampire, Leigh Feld, pretty much fought Alistair to a standstill,” Ksenia said admiringly. “She couldn’t take him down, but with the rest of us around to help, he couldn’t deal with her conclusively either. They fought for a while, then he backed off and disappeared. Leigh radioed for help and they brought us back here. You were in the infirmary until this morning.”
“About that,” Maxim said. “Why am I in your tent?”
“I’m trying to protect you from being more exposed than you already have been,” Ksenia said, tossing aside the shirt she was folding angrily. “Maxim, what the fuck were you doing? You had Gabriela Thule, and you let her live?”
“I took her prisoner,” Maxim objected weakly. “We could have used her to get close to the rest of the family.”
“We weren’t told to take prisoners, and you know it,” Ksenia said. “We were sent to kill the Thule Cartel. You messed up, Maxim. The most important job of your entire life, and you messed it all up.”
“That’s not…”
“I want to know why,” Ksenia said, leaning over him. “Why didn’t you just kill her?”
“She was just a kid,” Maxim protested. “It’s not so easy, okay? I’ve never…I never had to kill someone like that. A kid.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Half the cartel soldiers are…”
“It wasn’t like that,” Maxim said. “She wouldn’t fight back.”
The Church of Sleep (Central Series Book 5) Page 46
