Uncertain Allies cg-5

by Mark Del Franco

  The agent escorted us to another set of elevators. With the additions to the building, elevators were scattered about in order to access odd sections and floors that didn’t reside in a standard vertical. “He’s not Guildmaster. Nigel should be Acting Guildmaster.”

  “Nigel resigned the position before Manus went into the coma. You were there the day he did if I remember correctly,” she said.

  Manus liked having Nigel as his second because he knew Nigel didn’t want the job. If he had any idea that macGoren was acting as de facto Guildmaster, he would have awakened from his coma without outside help.

  “Then you should do it. You were Guildmaster once,” I said. Briallen had been Guildmaster a few times in Eagan’s absence, but not in my lifetime. As the twentieth century progressed, she had found other interests and kept her hand in local affairs only when reason demanded it.

  Brownie guards opened the doors to the hall. “I wasn’t asked, and I have better things to do right now,” she said.

  “No one asked macGoren.”

  “Let it go, Connor. It’s a thankless job that no one except Ryan wants. No one can do a good job at it unless they commit. Let’s hope Gillen Yor figures out how to wake up Manus before Ryan does something stupid,” she said.

  Ten flights higher, we exited onto a narrow concourse in a tower that hung over empty space. We entered a sky bridge that connected the tower to the main part of the building by an intricate mesh of steel holding together a hallway of glass walls and ceiling. The rounded bank of windows to either side showed an amazing view of the Charles River to the north and Boston’s outer harbor to the south. The stark exposure left humans feeling uneasy, but the fey were not afraid of heights.

  The bridge joined the Receiving Hall in a seamless transition. A grand medallion design in the floor marked the threshold, a mosaic of stones set with Maeve’s favorite sigil—three cups arranged in a circle, one each in bronze, silver, and gold, embossed with birds, symbols of her penchant for bestowing valuable gifts at a great price.

  In the hall proper, tall narrow windows of leaded glass let in light that reflected off a gem-encrusted ceiling. Between the windows, pilasters shaped like trees rose, their branches splitting in a uniform symmetrical pattern to form the ceiling vaults. Crystal lanterns hung from the branches and threw subtle golden hues. Power radiated throughout the room, the power of the Seelie Court and the power of essence. It was the heart of the Guildhouse, shimmering with essence in every nook and cranny.

  MacGoren, at least, had chosen not to claim the Guildmaster’s chair at the far end of the hall. Instead, he sat at the head of a table that had been brought in. His pale wings spread up and to the sides, their surfaces shifting in hues of red and gold. He did his best to appear formidable, but his innate smugness prevented him from succeeding. Since coming to Boston, he had become a major player in the city and the social scene, his good looks and money opening doors with ease. I had noticed younger Danann fairies on the street mimicking his hairstyle, wavy plaits of blond that stopped at the shoulders.

  MacGoren had Maeve’s blessing, which made his rise swift and easy. Manus ap Eagan had been ill for the last few years, and Maeve wanted him to step aside for macGoren. As an underKing of the Seelie Court, Manus was entitled to choose when he wanted to retire, but he had refused. He might have been ill, an odd occurrence among the powerful Danann fairy clan, but he never seemed to think he would die, a more rare occurrence. His falling into a coma allowed macGoren to take advantage of the situation.

  My second surprise of the day was finding Eorla seated to macGoren’s left. Rand stood at attention several feet behind her, his gaze in a constant sweep of the room. He trusted the Guild less than I did. Nigel sat to macGoren’s right. While he declined to run the Guildhouse, he always had a hand in the governing of the place. Unlike macGoren, he didn’t care what his official title was or whom it impressed.

  Briallen leaned on my arm as we approached. “Be on your toes because I may not be able to advise you as openly as I’d like.”

  She assessed the two empty seats, then sat next to Nigel and across from Eorla. MacGoren’s lips dipped in annoyance as I took the chair at the opposite end of the table from him. We didn’t like each other. I knew about a few skeletons in his closet. Nothing that Maeve didn’t know, but he would have bad press to deal with if I went public. I hadn’t. He didn’t know I wouldn’t. If I did, I would lose any advantage I had over him.

  “I suppose I should thank you for coming,” he said.

  “Don’t hurt yourself,” I said.

  Briallen shot me a warning glance. “What’s this about, Ryan? Where’s Melusine?”

  Melusine Blanc was the director who represented the interests of the solitary fey. She was a water sprite, strange and quiet. Neither the Celts nor the Teuts called her an ally, which gave her more power in close voting. It was unusual for her not to show for a board meeting. The dwarf representative wasn’t there either, but I had never heard of his attending a meeting. I didn’t even know who the current one was. The Guild board of directors had become a strange collection of people, which made Manus’s role challenging, what with all the conflicting agendas. If Manus had to grapple with them, MacGoren didn’t have much hope.

  “This isn’t a board meeting, per se,” macGoren said.

  Eorla folded her hands on the table. “Nevertheless, Melusine sends her regrets.”

  I chuckled at her small smile. Since declaring the Weird under her protection—and the solitaries that lived there—Eorla had in effect become their representative. Melusine might have objected, but she didn’t. She probably liked the power Eorla brought to the table. Eorla had shown a little of that power by making it clear to macGoren that Melusine had spoken to her, not him. I did like her style.

  “Then what is this?” Briallen asked.

  MacGoren pushed a folder toward me. “A compromise.”

  Inside the folder was a series of legal documents with my name written all over them. I skimmed the first few pages. “You’re having the charges against me dropped?”

  MacGoren had done some political maneuvering to discredit Eagan, part of which was helping the local and federal police accuse me of a long list of felonies. Eagan knew what was going on and managed to turn the tables on him. He didn’t have time to clear up my legal problems before he collapsed. I wasn’t sure he would have. I appreciated the problems Eagan caused macGoren, but I had to look over my shoulder every time I left the Weird and Eorla’s protection.

  “In exchange for your agreement to hold the Guild harmless for any past actions,” macGoren said.

  I didn’t have a prayer of holding the Guild legally responsible for anything they did to me. I was broke, and it had the power and resources of the Seelie Court behind it. That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to expose their actions when I could, but a courthouse wasn’t going to be the best route for me. “Seems easy enough.”

  “There are contingencies involved,” he said.

  The other shoe dropping was expected. I made a show of boredom as I flipped through the documents. “Such as?”

  “You will submit to the jurisdiction of this Guildhouse, present yourself for examination by Nigel Martin, and assist us in bringing Bergin Vize to justice,” he said.

  Of all the things I could have predicted, being offered a job wasn’t on the list. “You’re hiring me back?”

  He pursed his lips. “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

  I glanced at Eorla. Vize wanted her protection, and she had refused to grant it so far. The issue was eating her up, I knew, since she had raised the monster as her own son. MacGoren was sending her a message that the Guild hadn’t wavered from its intention to take Vize out at the first opportunity. “I have no idea where Bergin Vize is,” I said.

  “Finding him should be a keen motivation for the benefits we are offering you. I understand you have personal reasons for pursuing him as well,” he said.

  I pushed the folder back. “I�
�m not signing. I’m done playing the victim in Guildhouse games, macGoren. Let the feds arrest me. I’m sure you don’t want it public that you bribed a police commissioner and were instrumental in causing the riots in the Weird, to say nothing of a few other things I know you want buried. I can make those charges disappear on my own if it comes to that.”

  He smiled. “I had nothing to do with Scott Murdock’s choices. Unfortunately, he is dead. There is no connection to me.”

  I smiled back. MacGoren didn’t know that the commissioner had had quite the heart-to-heart with his son Leo before everything went to hell. “Maybe. And maybe the commissioner confessed to a credible witness about what happened. You do know that Eagan knew what you were doing? He never told me his sources, but I’m sure they won’t remain quiet for long either.”

  By the expression on his face, he didn’t know Eagan was onto him. He looked at Briallen. “Unless this matter is resolved, Lady Briallen, you run the risk of harboring a fugitive.”

  Briallen shifted in her seat, chuckling low. “Me?”

  “I have reports that you have entertained this man at your home knowing full well the charges against him,” he said.

  “Is that why I’m here, Ryan?” she asked. “To blackmail me into pressuring Connor to sign? You’re playing way out of your league. I don’t answer to you or the human government and never will.”

  With a languid undulation of his wings, macGoren settled back in his chair. “I’m sure Maeve will be interested in your position. I believe she is quite keen to have the matter of Connor Grey settled.”

  Briallen eyed him with impatience. “Threatening me with the wrath of the Seelie Court, now? You really don’t know what you’re doing. Go ahead. I’m a member of the Court, and you’re not. Maeve will have to move carefully against me if she wants to maintain support.”

  Unflustered, MacGoren arched an eyebrow. “Nigel?”

  Nigel cleared his throat. “Sign the papers, Connor. We may not agree on things anymore, but I do not wish you ill. Unlike Briallen, you are not a member of the Court. If you don’t sign, the High Queen will accuse you of the murder of Ceridwen underQueen. I have that from her very lips. Ryan’s shenanigans won’t even come into play.”

  I fell back in my chair. Vize had killed Ceridwen, and everyone knew it. The High Queen didn’t like me, but I didn’t think I attracted enough of her attention to resort to framing me for murder. “Is this how you make friends again, Nigel?” I asked.

  He scoffed. “I’m trying to save your life, Connor. Sign the damned papers. You want to go after Bergin Vize anyway.”

  “Since you know that, Nigel, then you know I don’t need or want the Guild’s permission to do it. The only thing you need my agreement on is to be your guinea pig, and that isn’t going to happen,” I said.

  Eorla leaned down and retrieved a briefcase from beside her chair. She placed it on the table. “Is that everything, Ryan? Are you finished?”

  MacGoren narrowed his eyes as he stared at the case. “The offer is firm.”

  Eorla opened the briefcase and withdrew some papers. She handed a set to Ryan and another to me. “I believe the offer is moot.”

  Briallen leaned over to see the documents. I skimmed through them, trying not to laugh. Briallen smiled as I handed them to her, and she passed them to Nigel. The U.S. attorney general was suspending the investigation and dropping all charges against me. MacGoren went white with anger, his wings flickering with points of red essence. “When did this happen?”

  Eorla closed the briefcase. “This morning. I would have sent it over by messenger, but since you called this meeting, I thought I’d save the expense and deliver them personally. I believe we are done here.” She nodded to Briallen and Nigel. “I trust you both will have good days.”

  She lifted the briefcase and walked down the hall, Rand following close behind.

  Nigel tossed the papers on the table. “Maeve will make her accusation, Connor. You won’t be able to stand against her.” He didn’t threaten. I almost believed he didn’t want it to happen.

  I stood. “Tell Maeve to bring it on, Nigel. I will blow her accusation out of the water.” I looked at macGoren. “I guess I’m done, too. Thanks anyway, macGoren. How’s Keeva, by the way? She should be having the baby any day now, right?”

  Keeva was my old Guild partner. She and Ryan had had an affair, and she had returned to Tara to have the baby that resulted. He glared at me. “Get the hell out.”

  Briallen wasted no time joining me at the elevator. When the doors closed, she let out a peal of laughter. “That was brilliant. I have never underestimated Eorla and her resources. She knows how to keep things entertaining.”

  I laughed, too. “I should be angry, but that was so perfect, I can’t be.”

  “I don’t know what Maeve sees in Ryan,” Briallen said, as we arrived in the lobby.

  “What we just saw—a lapdog to do her bidding.”

  She slipped her arm through mine as we walked to the car. “I am concerned, though. Nigel wasn’t playing along. Maeve is gunning for you. She won’t stop until she’s satisfied.”

  “What the hell is it, Briallen? I know I’ve interfered with a few of her plans, but she wants me dead?”

  Briallen settled into the backseat. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s about Ceridwen. You were there when she died in Maeve’s service.”

  As an underQueen of the Seelie Court, Ceridwen had come to Boston to interrogate me. A series of events led to her death, which sent the entire Seelie Court into alarm. “Maeve betrayed her, Briallen. She left Ceridwen alone without help, and that’s why she died. Ceridwen made me promise not to tell.”

  Briallen gaped, something I did not believe possible. Briallen always knew more than she let on, and this was something she didn’t know. “Now I see the problem.”

  “And why I’m calling her bluff to publicly accuse me. If the other underQueens and -Kings find out, Maeve is in deep political trouble,” I said.

  “Can you prove it?” she asked.

  “More than you know,” I said. Ceridwen may have died, but she had returned as one of the Dead, trapped on this side of the veil instead of moving on to the Celtic afterlife. I didn’t tell Briallen because Ceridwen had asked me to keep her existence a secret. She was in hiding somewhere in the city. If I needed her, it would only be a matter of time for her to hear about it.

  “You do have a target on your back, Connor. You have to be careful.”

  I slumped in the seat. “Great. I thought you were going to say you’ll talk to Maeve and tell her it’s all a mistake.”

  Briallen looked away, her face troubled. “The mistake is hers, Connor. One, I think, we will all end up paying for.”

  7

  Hours later, I was alone, leaning against a wall, my back to the door as I watched the action at the pool table at Yggy’s bar. Low-hanging lamps illuminated the game in a stark circle of light that didn’t reach much beyond the table. This early in the evening, the regulars played each other, moving the action along with a gesture or nod before sending their shots into pockets with a sharp clack. The real money to be made would happen later, when the newbies showed up and tried to beat them. A subdued murmur ran through the crowd. The loud voices that accompanied liquor-loosened tongues were hours away yet, as people settled in with early drinks and companionable conversation.

  The old dive gave calm refuge to fey of all stripes in the Weird. If you had a beef with someone, you had to take it elsewhere, or you found yourself banned by Heydan, who ran the place. Heydan kept his own counsel, and an appearance outside his office was rare. I knew who he was but had never had the pleasure of a real introduction. Meryl knew him somehow. I was curious about that, but there wasn’t much value in asking her. She wouldn’t share it unless she wanted to, and so far she hadn’t. Of course, under the circumstances, I might never hear that tale. I pushed the reminder of her condition aside and tried to focus on the pool game.

  After leaving Brialle
n at her house, I had wandered back to the Weird, contemplating the strange path my life had taken. Back in my days as a Guild investigator, the twists and turns of the ruling classes were not a part of my world. Sure, I met the players and partied with them, which was social, and questioned them, which was work. I was never, though, a part of the political apparatus. Despite my high standing, I didn’t have any influence because I wasn’t interested. I saw now that Nigel had used me more than once as a political tool, but that was doing my job regardless of the political ramifications, not doing my job to create them.

  Yet, now that I had no ability—or even an official job—I was called into meetings with Guildmasters and high druids, given ultimatums by fairy queens, and tempted by elven spies to do their bidding. For the last year, I had found myself pulled into one monarchial plot after another through no intention of my own. I thought I was doing a job—like assisting Murdock on a case—or helping a friend—like sharing information with Keeva, my old Guild partner. The next thing I knew, the world was blowing up around me, or people were trying to kill me.

  Dwelling on the unanswerable was not my forte. I preferred concrete problems, like why this mysterious blue essence seemed to be connected to old Dead essence. I had put the word out that I would be at Yggy’s tonight, and I wanted to see Banjo, a gruff guy who had helped me out a couple of times and knew the lay of the land when it came to strange happenings in the Weird. He was also a dwarf, so I hoped he might know something particular about the recent disappearances given that so many of his people were missing.

  Banjo hadn’t shown yet. At a glance, no dwarves were in the bar. The problem with arranging meetings with people you didn’t have direct contact with was never knowing if they had gotten the message. If they showed up, great. If they didn’t, you didn’t know if they’d decided not to come or had never gotten the message. It took patience.

  A slender solitary sat next to me on a stool. Her skin had the dark yellow coloring of the mountain elf clans, her hair a brittle patch of brown that looked like bramble bushes. She watched the game with no emotion, a short plastic cup in her hand. Unlike the other loners in the bar, she didn’t check out who was coming and going but kept unwavering attention to the gameplay in front of us. She nursed her drink with brief sips.