Bookburners The Complete Season Two

by Max Gladstone

  “And one unanswered question is Perry,” Grace said.

  “That’s one. Yeah.”

  “So we go back to what we used before the Orb—research and hard work,” came a voice from the doorway. Asanti stood there in a blue flowered dress, dreads piled high. She crossed her arms and frowned at them. “We have a new mission. Briefing in five minutes. Get some more appropriate clothes on.”

  “Finally,” Sal said.

  • • •

  “Where is Menchú?” Grace asked as they joined Asanti at her desk. Liam sat in a nearby chair, staring into his laptop. He barely acknowledged them when they entered.

  “More meetings,” Asanti said. “I’m heading this one.”

  Grace’s expression didn’t change, but Sal could feel her tense up.

  “I’ve received a message from an old friend. Of sorts,” Asanti said. “We’ve been given a mission that might help us fix the Orb.”

  “Message?” Liam asked, not looking up. “Was this sent by courier? Why don’t you just email, Asanti? Join us in the future.”

  “The message was delivered in person, yes. And it’s more secure. You of all people should know the dangers of the internet,” Asanti said, looking at him pointedly. He flushed but didn’t look up.

  “What’s the activity? Demons? Books? Something to punch?” Sal asked.

  “I don’t have a lot of information right now, but the source is to be trusted.”

  “‘…Is to be trusted?’ What does that even mean?” asked Liam. “Do you trust the source?”

  “Passive voice,” Sal said. “Politicians use it all the time. It implies something ‘just happened’”—she made air quotes with her hands—“or that something just is, with no active person behind it. Mistakes were made, no one’s fault, not really. Stuff like that.” She regarded Asanti, whose face gave nothing away. “In this instance, I’ll bet it means Asanti doesn’t fully trust the source, but we should follow this information anyway.”

  “Regardless of the identity of the source,” Asanti pressed on, “I feel this is a lead we need to look into.”

  “Does Menchú know anything about this?” Grace asked, her posture rigid.

  Asanti looked at her as if she were deciding whether or not to lie. She finally shook her head. “Not yet, no.”

  “Know about what?” Menchú asked from the top of the spiral stairs.

  The team waited for him to descend, Asanti crossing her arms and setting her jaw.

  He looked like hell, like he had been battling seven demons who were better at arguing than fighting with fists and claws. Sal guessed that meetings with the Order leadership were probably a lot like dealing with demons that used politics as weapons and withheld tea as torture.

  Menchú would probably not appreciate the simile.

  “Asanti has a lead for us. Information to help fix the Orb,” Grace said, moving to his side. Concern creased her brow.

  He waved her off and slumped into Asanti’s empty desk chair. He rubbed his face and sighed. “Why is everyone so uptight, then?”

  “It’s a mission,” Asanti said, “and I intend to lead it.”

  “Now ask her where she got her lead,” Grace said, still not looking at Asanti.

  Liam had closed his laptop and sidled up beside Sal. “Daddy’s girl,” he muttered.

  “There is so much wrong with that statement, I’m not even going to begin to unpack it,” Sal whispered back.

  Menchú raised his eyebrows at Asanti in silent question.

  Asanti kept her cool, not even letting a defensive tone into her voice. “I heard it from the Maitresse. She’s the source.”

  Grace and Liam both swore in different languages. Menchú’s eyes narrowed.

  The Maitresse? Sal wracked her brain. She hated it when everyone immediately knew what was going on and she didn’t. That name… it had an effect on the others, for sure. Then, memories of a tall, powerful, stern woman loomed large in Sal’s mind. The Maitresse, the head of the Market Arcanum. The woman strong enough to govern and police the world’s biggest magic users for three days during the yearly days-long market. She’d known all about Team Three, and spoken of them—and to them—as if they were cockroaches found in a filthy tissue.

  “Wait, the Black Market lady? The one who hates us? You’re buddies?”

  “We’re acquainted. How do you think we get an invitation to the Market Arcanum every year?” Asanti said.

  “The Order of the Dragon,” Menchú said. “We know exactly where that invitation comes from.”

  “True,” Asanti admitted. “But knowing someone on the inside doesn’t hurt. I’ve known her for some time.”

  “Wouldn’t she be leading us into a trap?” Sal said, looking at her teammates for support. Liam nodded along with her.

  “She has her issues with the Church, as every magic user in the world does,” Asanti granted. Grace coughed rudely, but Asanti ignored her. “But our relationship goes beyond that.”

  Menchú had remained silent and glared at Asanti. Fatigue lined his face deeply, and Sal pitied him. He looked as if his world was unraveling, with the meetings pulling him one way and the strife within the team pulling him another. She wondered if he still trusted Asanti, who had been acting on her own more and more recently. Not necessarily against him directly, but her decisions were certainly rubbing him the wrong way.

  “Why would she offer us help?” Liam asked. “A broken Orb lets her kind work all the magic they want without worrying about us finding out. This is a like a black hat hacker offering help to Detective Sal over here to fix her scanner.”

  “There’s something else you’re not telling us,” Menchú said, not taking his eyes from Asanti.

  Asanti looked at them all in turn. “Yes, there’s more. The Maitresse says that her plans for this year’s Black Market have hit a snag, and she needs our help.”

  “And the Orb?” Grace asked.

  “Our priorities intersect here; helping her will lead us to information.”

  “We have the Team Four schematics.”

  “And Frances is studying them, as she’s studying the Orb. But to fix it, we need materials and knowledge we don’t have. That’s where the Maitresse comes in.”

  Menchú shook his head. “It’s not worth being in her debt. We can find other ways.”

  Asanti eyed him with her inscrutable gaze. “Arturo,” she said softly. “I owe her.”

  “Shit,” Liam said.

  • • •

  Asanti won them over, as she knew she would. She was bound by her debt, and they wouldn’t let her go alone.

  They were spitting mad at her, but that couldn’t be helped.

  Liam, in particular, was enraged that Asanti didn’t know very much at all, beyond the most general mission particulars.

  “You don’t know where she wants us to go or what she wants us to do,” Liam said.

  “She doesn’t have the information. There is a threat against the market. We have to stop it,” Asanti said.

  “All right, good,” Sal said, pulling out a notebook from her back pocket. “What do we know? Do we know what the threat is?”

  “Something has been stolen from the Maitresse. She wouldn’t tell me what it was,” Asanti said.

  “So we start where she lives. Which is?”

  “Iceland.”

  Sal shuddered. “Of course it is. You couldn’t send us to the southern hemisphere for an adventure this time of year. Whatever. How long have you known the Maitresse?”

  Grace frowned from her position leaning against a bookshelf. She refused to sit, as if she were so angry her spine couldn’t bend. “What’s your point?”

  Sal shot her a look. “I’m doing my thing. You do your thing when we need something to hit.” She focused on Asanti. “So? How long?”

  Asanti shrugged. “Decades, on and off.”

  “So you know her well. What was different about her this time? I mean, physically, or her mannerisms, or even what she carried.�
��

  Asanti thought. “She was wearing a black cape over a red dress. That wasn’t strange. She looked younger than the last time I saw her, but her particular focus of magic allows her to look whatever age she prefers to. So that wasn’t strange either.”

  “Was she frightened? Paranoid?”

  “No. She was… more centered than I’d seen her in a long time, actually.”

  “Could this be a test for us?” Liam asked. “Maybe there is no threat, and she just wants to see if we’re trustworthy?”

  Asanti shook her head. “No, she knows us. And she wouldn’t waste a debt on a frivolous test. She needs us to retrieve something.”

  “Why us?” Sal asked, scribbling. “We’re the last people someone like her would call.”

  “I asked her that,” Asanti said. “She said she couldn’t tell any of her more powerful associates.”

  Sal nodded and chewed on the end of her pencil. “A weapon, then. Something that can be used against her in the wrong hands. something we’re unlikely to fuck with. A book, do you think?”

  “She knows better than to send us after a book or a magical weapon,” Menchú said. “No matter Asanti’s debt, she knows we wouldn’t return something that powerful to her.”

  “It’s information,” Grace said softly. They all looked at her. Her eyes had gone unfocused, as if she was remembering something. “A secret can be used as a weapon in the wrong hands. In the right hands, no one cares. Other wizards could destroy her if one of her secrets got out, but we don’t have the power to find her vulnerable spots, even if we had the secret ourselves.”

  “Yes,” Sal said, scribbling more. “So we’re looking for someone who steals secrets and information. Who does that?”

  Asanti looked at Liam. He made an exasperated noise. “Shit, who doesn’t do that? It’s not unique to any one kind of person or demon or wizard. Most hackers hoard information just for the hell of it.”

  “Do we think she’s been hacked?” Sal asked Liam.

  “No,” Asanti said. “She isn’t online. Doesn’t trust the internet for precisely this reason.”

  Liam snapped his laptop shut. “Off the grid? Then I’m out. I got nothing.”

  “Now, hang on, the Maitresse is off the grid, but the thief may not be,” Sal said. “Asanti, can you think of anything else about her?”

  Asanti paused, something pulling at her. It finally clicked. “Yes,” she said, “actually. She was carrying a cell phone. I’ve never seen her do that before.”

  Liam’s eyes practically gleamed with interest. “Now you’re talking. What kind was it? Apple? Samsung?”

  Asanti threw up her hands to fend off his questions. “I have no idea, I don’t pay attention to that kind of thing.”

  Sal put her hand on Liam’s forearm to silence him. “What do you remember about the phone? Was it large?” She pointed to Liam’s huge phone sitting in its sturdy case beside his laptop. “Was it in a case? What color was it? Did it have a little apple on the back? Did it have just a screen, or buttons to push?”

  “It was a weird shape. Like someone took a rectangle and shifted the top over an inch or so. It was a diagonal phone. Does that sound like one you’ve seen before?”

  Liam looked like he’d been given a Christmas present. “No! I haven’t heard of that kind!” He practically dove back online to do research.

  “I think the first thing we need to do is ask her for more information,” Sal said. “It’s possible the thief is still close by; if they stole from such a powerful person before, they might want to do it again.” Sal swallowed and then added, “Which I guess means we’re going to Iceland.” She got out her own phone and launched a weather app. She grimaced. “And it’s the best time of year for it.”

  • • •

  They landed in Reykjavík in the afternoon. Sal looked at the snow-covered city and pulled her jacket around her.

  Grace had been mostly silent during the trip, probably because Menchú had stayed behind. Despite his irritation, he had been reluctant to let Asanti go without the team backing her up.

  Before Grace had stopped talking altogether, Sal asked, “Did he tell you what Asanti’s debt was?”

  “No. I don’t think even he knows,” Grace had said.

  “Must be something big,” Sal said. Grace made no answer. Sal found herself wishing she’d sat with Liam. Even if they had bickered, it would have been more interesting than Grace’s stoic silence.

  “Now to rent a car. Our destination is only a four-hour drive from here,” Asanti said cheerfully, and the other three groaned.

  “First, I want some smoked salmon,” Liam said. “You can’t get good smoked salmon in Rome.”

  “Priorities, sure,” Sal said as he headed for a duty-free store.

  “Is this going to be as bad as the Liechtenstein trip?” Sal asked while they waited. “Because that sucked.”

  “We’re going to be remote, yes. But hopefully our friends back home—”

  “Arturo,” Grace interrupted. “He’s the only friend back home.”

  “—Our friend back home,” Asanti allowed, “won’t be suffering the same fate as those of us who did not attend the Black Market did.”

  Liam returned with two large boxes of smoked salmon and they headed for a rental car kiosk. Asanti paid for the car and they drove into the windy afternoon.

  2.

  After miles of highway, snowy dirt roads, and a terrifying, one-way, icy, pothole-riddled path, Asanti brought the car to a stop outside a small stone cottage.

  “Um, does anyone else see something weird about this?” Sal asked. She turned in the back seat of the tiny Fiat, causing Liam to complain when her elbow poked him in the ribs. Behind them, heavy snow weighed down pine tree branches. In front of them, the cottage sat in a little bubble of spring, with green grass and flowering vines running around the stone wall marking the territory of the Maitresse.

  “Rustic,” Grace said.

  “Impossible,” Sal countered, climbing out of the car and rubbing her lower back.

  “Not quite the glory of the Black Market,” Liam said. “Aside from the weather magic, of course.”

  “She doesn’t live at the market,” Asanti said. “Any more than you live at the Vatican.”

  “Menchú does,” Liam countered.

  “As productive as this argument is, can someone tell me if it’s safe to cross whatever border we have between the seasons?” Sal asked, frowning at the clear line on the ground where snow was on one side and lush grass on the other.

  Grace wasted no time in walking up to the gate and through it. When she didn’t seem to suffer any ill effects, the others followed.

  The cottage door opened and a figure approached Asanti, smiling broadly. It was the Maitresse, and yet it wasn’t. Sal felt like she was looking at the “before” photo from a supermodel’s before-and-after shots. She wasn’t less perfect, but she was less glamorous.

  The first time Sal had met her, the Maitresse had been tall, broad, impeccable, imposing, practically crackling with magical energy. Now, she looked like a pleasant suburban woman who didn’t get out much. She wore a yellow blouse and blue skirt, with a paisley apron around her waist. She had flour stuck under her nails and in the creases of her knuckles.

  And yet power radiated from her. It was a warmer power, not so sharp. She still looked very much like someone not to fuck with.

  “Asanti,” the Maitresse said.

  “You don’t seem surprised to see us here.”

  “I’m not. I knew you would come. You seem surprised, though.”

  “I haven’t seen this aspect of you in a long time.”

  “It’s not one I show to many,” the Maitresse said. “It’s comfortable. Also useful when I want others to underestimate me.” Her demeanor instantly changed from matronly to regal, and she looked down her nose at Grace, Liam, and Sal. “Bookburners,” she said.

  “Maitresse,” Liam greeted her, bowing slightly.

  Menc
hú taught him that, Sal thought. No way he’d do that on his own.

  Grace answered the woman with a curt nod.

  The Maitresse’s eyes fell on Sal, who brazenly took a step forward. “Exactly why aren’t you surprised to see us on your doorstep?”

  “I told Asanti to bring you. And I knew you wouldn’t pass it up—that you would come looking for more clues, Detective. It’s who you are,” the Maitresse said—and then she was Asanti’s friend again, taking her by the arm and leading her inside. Sal exchanged a confused look with Liam before they and Grace started to follow the two women.

  The cottage door slammed shut after Asanti went inside, as if blown by a sudden wind.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Grace said, elbowing past Liam and pounding her fist on the door.

  “Asanti, let us in, we need to stick together!” Sal said. “Besides, Liam needs to pee!”

  Liam shot her an outraged look. “Why me? Why can’t the urine excuse be yours?”

  Sal shushed him.

  The door cracked open. Asanti peeked out. “She says only I’m allowed inside her home, but she’s invited you all to wait in the back garden.”

  “And if we have to pee?” asked Sal.

  Asanti’s eyes darted around. “I don’t recommend the garden. Go behind the car,” she said, and the door shut again.

  “Icelandic hospitality is not what I expected,” Sal grumbled.

  “What did you expect?” Liam asked.

  “Hospitality,” Sal said.

  They headed off toward the garden.

  • • •

  “I wish you’d let them enter,” Asanti said, joining the Maitresse in her warm kitchen. A loaf of bread was rising in a bowl near the woodstove. Dried herbs and a few dead-but-not-cleaned animals hung from a beam.

  “I don’t let Bookburners inside my house,” the Maitresse said.

  “And yet, here I am,” Asanti said, raising an eyebrow while she studied the woman she had known for much of her life. She knew that one of the fonts of power that the Maitresse had access to was the maiden/mother/crone aspect. She had most often seen the “crone” aspect—although the Maitresse was less a hag and more a queen, all wisdom and experience and absolute authority. Now she was “mother,” with her power more gentle and nurturing, and less apt to leap to “off with their heads” to solve a problem.