The Maitresse looked at her sharply, then glanced around at the throngs of eager eavesdroppers. As one, the crowd found urgent, attention-requiring business with their hands and feet. “Let’s discuss this more privately,” she said. “Follow me.”
The Swede began to follow her, the bear lumbering at his heels. The Maitresse flicked him an unamused glance. “Come alone,” she said. “Unless you feel I’m somehow a danger to you?” She smoothed a black glove along her forearm.
Povel pouted. “Of course not.” He signaled for his bear and his followers to remain where they were and wait for him.
The Maitresse led Povel and the Team Three delegation to an unoccupied room; a study, from the shelves of books lining the walls. Sal wondered if they were magical, not that she could do anything about it if they were.
The Maitresse motioned for Sal and Grace to sit on a damask love seat, and directed the Swede to a leather easy chair with a bronze patina. She stood between them, hands folded. “Tell me what you’re missing.”
“Chess pieces,” Sal said. “Asanti sent them to trade in exchange for a book.”
The Swede turned on Sal. “You are trying to swindle me!” he announced. “Nothing has been stolen. This is a trick to get out of the deal!”
“Why would we do that? All we want is the book. You’re the only one who cares about the damn chess pieces.”
“And you don’t get the book if I don’t get the pieces,” the Swede spat. He crossed his arms and sulked.
The Maitresse raised her chin. “If any of you would like to confess to something, now is the moment, before I tear the truth out of you.”
Povel glowered. “I have no confession to make.”
“The Society aren’t thieves,” Grace said. Her hands were restless.
“So be it.” The Maitresse held up a hand. A pulse of awful sensation pierced Sal, as if a searing light tore through every scrap of her being. She winced. She was gratified to see that Povel did, too.
The Maitresse pursed her lips. “Curious. Neither of you is trying to cheat the other, after all,” she said. “And the pieces are … not here at the Market any longer, or if they are, they have been hidden from me. It looks like there truly is a thief among us, and quite a skilled one.”
“So what are you going to do?” Sal asked.
“Take measures to make sure this can’t ever happen again,” the Maitresse said. “Maintaining the integrity of the Market is of utmost importance right now.”
Grace snorted. “Make him give us the book. We held up our part of the bargain!”
The Maitresse’s gaze was level. “He doesn’t have to give you the book unless he also gets what he bargained for. He never took possession of those chess pieces. So if you still want the book, I suggest you strike a new bargain.”
Grace and Sal exchanged a glance. “Give us time to think it over,” Sal said.
• • •
Sal dialed Asanti as soon as they could find a private nook free from curious ears. She filled the archivist in on breaking events as quickly as she could.
“That’s bad,” Asanti said slowly. “Very bad.”
“What happens if we don’t complete the deal?” Sal asked slowly.
“It was sealed at the Market last year, so if you don’t conclude your part in it … well, a lot of things happen, and none of them are pleasant. First, the Swede will be angry with you, and he’s not much on his own, but his family isn’t to be trifled with. We’d be disinvited from the Market forever, of course. And we’d all fall under the Market’s curse, which is no picnic.”
“Tell me about this curse.”
“… I’d really rather not. Just try to fix the problem.”
“But what if I can’t find the chess pieces?”
“Maybe he’ll take something else in trade. A year of your life, an hour of sorrow—give him anything he wants. I’ll find a way to repay you.”
“Says the woman who wouldn’t be handing over a year of her life.”
“I would if I were there, Sal. You were never supposed to be in this position. I’m sorry.”
Sal spared a few uncharitable thoughts for Cardinal Fox, without whom Asanti would be in the mess she had created. “I’ll see if we can talk him down. Buy another year, sub in another chess set.”
“There is no other chess set.”
“Then is there anything you can do to help me find the lost pieces?”
“I’m sorry,” Asanti said, “I wish it were different. But you’re on your own.”
4.
The Society’s dedicated hospital room in the Vatican had become all too familiar to Menchú over the years. He’d spent plenty of time there himself, though not recently, and he was keenly aware of the troubles the room held. Pain, of course; boredom, a sense of powerlessness. The worst of them all was the loneliness, and so he made a point of visiting frequently whenever one of his team was admitted.
Sometimes, he needed the visit and the reassurance more than they did. Liam was swaddled in white gauze and unexpectedly not gazing at a screen. Instead, he stared at the drop ceiling, brow furrowed.
“Am I interrupting?” Menchú asked. He set down his gift on Liam’s table. It was a box of pretty macarons. Menchú wasn’t sure if Liam would eat them, but it was better than coming empty-handed.
Liam jumped at the sound of Menchú’s voice. “Yeah, my schedule’s jam-packed,” he answered. “You should’ve called ahead to my secretary.”
“I’ll do that next time.”
“Father, I’ve been thinking. Let’s say that you’ve done some things you didn’t mean to, and you’re not going to do that anymore, but … you can’t erase the things that you’ve done, can you?”
Menchú schooled his face into compassion, shielding Liam from the twinge of pain he had caused. “Regret can’t undo your actions. That’s true.” Menchú knew that as well as anyone.
“Since I got my memory back, I’ve been thinking of all the awful things I did, and—”
“Liam, it’s not your fault.”
“You say it’s not my fault, but if I’d made some different choices then things would’ve turned out pretty differently. That’s as close to my fault as makes no difference.”
Menchú studied Liam’s face. “You’re doing your penance already, Liam. That’s why you’re here.”
“I guess,” Liam said. But he still looked unconvinced.
• • •
Sal took a deep breath. “There are ways to catch a thief that don’t have anything to do with magic,” she said. “Let’s do a little bit of old-fashioned police work. Let’s ask a few questions and see if we can figure out your classic motive, means, opportunity.”
“Who would want those chess pieces, anyway?” Grace asked.
Sal shook her head. “If the Swede wants them that badly, somebody else must.”
“That’s not strictly true,” Grace said. “Not everyone has a collector’s mindset.”
“But why else would someone take the chess pieces?” Sal thought it through. Sometimes a homicide took place not out of any particular hatred, but for the insurance money, or to remove a threat. Someone might have taken the chess pieces in an effort to squelch the deal and gain the book for themselves. Was this book in such demand?
“Let’s start knocking on doors,” Sal said. She looked around for likely candidates.
First they spoke to the woman with the disturbing kente head wrap. She looked Grace up and down as they approached. “A very interesting specimen,” she said. “I’d give you a fine price for it.”
Sal’s fists balled up. “Christ, why is everyone trying to buy her?”
The woman shrugged. “You don’t see a weapon like that come along every day.”
“Not a weapon,” Sal protested. “A human being.”
“Not anymore,” the woman said.
Grace shrugged. “It’s accurate enough,” she said. “I don’t mind.”
Sal cleared her throat and tried to steer b
ack to the matter at hand. “Ma’am, who would be interested in the Sexton’s Codex?”
The woman laughed in their faces. “Everyone would.”
“But who could steal from under the Maitresse’s nose? Help us out. The Society could be good allies if you just—”
The woman shook her head. “You want me to help you? So you can burn the Sexton’s Codex? It would be a moral imperative to thieve in order to prevent you from obtaining it.” Her eyes widened, and she looked around, as if afraid the Maitresse might have heard her. “Not that anyone would ever steal at the Market.”
“Someone would,” muttered Sal.
“Come on,” Grace said, tugging at Sal’s wrist. “We’ll get nothing from her.”
The rest of their investigating went much the same way. The feather-men sneered and said they deserved whatever happened to them; the gremlin warned them against angering the Swedish family Povel came from. Nobody had any idea who had taken the chess pieces, or even who had the power to do so. Or if they did, they certainly weren’t saying.
One of the goth kids approached Sal: the young man with pale hair. “What do you want for her?” he asked, nodding toward Grace. “We can give you anything you like. Jewels, self-knowledge. One perfect day. We can erase a memory forever …”
Sal shuddered, remembering her last Market, and a time when she had bargained away a memory. “No thanks,” she said. “I’ve heard that offer before. But do you know—”
“Nobody knows anything about those stupid chess pieces,” the young man said. “And frankly, if you’d have asked me before it happened, I would have said nobody would have dared to take them. Povel’s family is very … I shouldn’t talk out of place.”
“Very what?” Grace pressed.
“Very … old. With everything that comes with it.” He tossed his bangs out of his eyes. “It’s really too bad for you, Bookburners. You’re on the wrong side of history. It’s almost tragic.”
Finally, Grace pulled Sal back toward the Maitresse’s garden. “I have an idea,” Grace said. “But you’re going to have to trust me.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“We’re going to strike a new bargain after all.”
• • •
The Swede was busy playing at some dice-centered game with a group of bald, sweater-clad people with clammy skin and fishlike eyes. He leaned back when he saw the delegation from Team Three enter. “Did you find my chess pieces?”
“Not yet,” Sal said. Grace observed a tightness around her eyes, and a carefully staged blankness to her expression: game face. “I’m still wondering if you had something to do with the disappearance yourself. Like maybe you decided not to hand over the book, but you didn’t dare break a contract you signed here.”
Povel toyed with the dice. “That’s quite an accusation,” he said. “From a liar and a deal breaker.”
“What?”
“How can I be sure you ever had the real pieces at all?”
Povel’s gray woman cleared her throat. “You’ve been over this. The Maitresse said that neither party is—”
Povel spoke right over her. “You’re all the same, Bookburner. I should have known not to do business with you. Someone else will buy the book. There’s still time.”
“Or we can just keep it,” said his gray-suited accountant, or lawyer. Or, from the look of it, his babysitter.
“We’ll renegotiate the deal,” Grace said. This was the part where she had to tread carefully. She did nothing without being painfully aware of the likely results of her actions. And she knew what she was doing here, as well.
The Swede looked her over, like he had before: like she was a piece of art he was considering buying. And this time, he probably was.
“We’ll add a rider to the contract.” Grace swept her hair behind one ear. “We get the book no matter what. You get the stupid chess pieces if we find them. And if we don’t, we’ll give you something else.”
“Grace.” A look of horror was creeping over Sal’s face.
But the Swede studied Grace, his smile expanding like a shadow growing longer as the light failed. “So! The pet dares to speak for the master. What are you offering, exactly?” he asked. “You know this book is very precious to me. A family heirloom. I would not part with it for some worthless trinket dangled in front of my eyes.”
Grace tipped her chin up in challenge. “Me.”
The Swede laughed out loud. “So you do have a price after all! How very charming, that the pet is so loyal.”
The accountant stood up hastily. “Sir,” she said, “be very careful. Last time this Bookburner was here, she struck a ‘bargain’ with the Network and it destroyed their device.” She jabbed a finger toward Sal.
The Swede waved her aside. “Idiots,” he pronounced. “Do not insult me, Ström. I am not half so foolish as they.”
He circled Grace, sniffing her hair. He examined the palms of her hands and her teeth. “Very nice,” he murmured. “What a quaint curiosity you are. I wonder if that Russian madman ever knew how well he had succeeded.”
“Grace?” Sal said, her voice edged with nervousness. “I can’t let you do this.”
“I don’t see that you have a choice,” Grace said. “This is between me and the gentleman here.”
“But Asanti wouldn’t want you to—”
“I think you’ll find Asanti’s wishes aren’t my top priority,” Grace answered. “You’ll also find that Cardinal Fox is very much at peace with my giving my life in order to keep magic out of the world. Maybe this is what giving my life looks like.”
“You’re serious,” the Swede marveled. “How magnificent.”
“Is it a fair price?” Grace asked.
“You for the book? I think it would just about do.” The Swede examined his fingernails coyly. “If it must.”
“But if we find the chess pieces, you have to take them, and not Grace,” Sal interjected. “We’re not changing the deal, unless the pieces can’t be found.”
“A technicality, but fine. So it shall be.” Povel unfastened the gleaming red collar from around the neck of his stinking bear.
“What’s that?” Grace asked, suddenly wary.
“Call it an escrow account,” he purred. “This is my way of ensuring that you won’t run away from me once staying is inconvenient to you.”
“You don’t trust us?” Sal demanded.
“Not especially!” He fastened the collar around Grace’s neck. It should have been loose around her; the bear’s neck must have been five times thicker than her own. But it somehow closed around her tightly, squeezing every inch of skin around her neck.
It smelled like snow but felt hot, like a living thing. She could swear it even had a pulse beating against her throat. But maybe that was her own heart, pounding against the constriction.
The Swede grinned. “Don’t touch it with your fingers,” he said. “You wouldn’t want it to think that you’re trying to take it off. Believe me on this one, you’re better off not testing it, even with your endurance for pain.”
He slid back into his seat, chuckling, and picked up his dice. “I can’t wait to see how this will play out.”
“Are you okay?” Sal asked Grace, subdued.
“Fine,” Grace said. “Come on. Our business here is done.”
A bouquet of laughter trailed them out of the room, but Grace couldn’t tell whether it was related to them and the deal they’d struck. Probably it was.
Despite Povel’s warning, she reached toward the collar and felt a sharp jab in her fingertips, as if it were covered with invisible needles. He’d been telling the truth. Grace should have expected as much.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find the chess pieces,” Sal said, her voice reassuring.
Grace didn’t answer her. The words were meant for Sal’s benefit, anyway.
“You didn’t have to do this, you know. We could have found another way.”
“I did it. It’s done.”
�
��Grace.” Sal put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you trying to get away from us, or are you trying to get away from yourself? Because the second one can’t work, and from where I sit, it sure as hell looks like you’re trying to kill yourself lately.”
“I’m not trying to kill myself,” Grace shot back. “And even if I were, I’m not sure I could. Poison, guns, knives, what’s it to me? I’m indestructible. The only thing that can get me is time.”
Sal clenched her jaw. “You’re deflecting,” she said. “But you can’t hide the things you’ve been doing. I can see right through you. Listen, when I saw that sea serpent eat you, I thought you were gone forever. And it made me realize a few things.”
Grace met her eyes in challenge. “Like what?”
“Like it would really suck if you died!”
Grace sagged. Feelings welled up in her: a geyser that could no longer be contained or hidden. It was no use. “You know this is all there is for me,” she said. “I’m never going to be able to live a normal life. I’ll never be able to settle down. All I have is the job.”
“We’re looking for a cure. Grace, we’re looking, I swear. I brought Asanti those candles from the Team Four quarters, and Frances has poked at you a hundred times, hasn’t she? After everything we’ve been through together, how can you not believe in us?”
“It’s not you that I don’t believe in. No matter how hard you look, you can’t guarantee that a cure is even possible. I no longer believe that it is.” She reached out and touched Sal’s hair, gently. “You’ve been good to me, even when I didn’t deserve it.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“I’m tired, that’s all.”
“Tired?”
“Have you ever thought about what it’s like for me? The thing that happened in Middle Coom, that was barely three weeks ago by my clock. I’ve only known you for a few months, at most. I’ve seen Arturo grow old in the blink of an eye. I’ve lost so many friends—they’ve all lived their lives and had families and grown old and died, while I stayed … the same. I’ll always be the same. There is no future for me.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I can’t bear the thought of seeing Arturo die. Or Asanti. Or you. Or even Liam. And I don’t want to keep making new friends just to lose them all over again. There’s no point in living if it means living past everything.”
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