Lilith Saintcrow - The Red Plague Affair

The man paused, taking stock of her jewellery, her frock, the charming and very expensive hat perched on her curls. Emma suffered this second examination with much less grace than the first, smoothing one gloved wrist with her opposite fingers. “I am not accustomed to such bold treatment, Mr…?”

He actually took a step back, paling as he realised his survey of her person was not genteel at all, and further taking note of the quality of her dress and posture, as well as her accent. “Yes. Of course, madam. Happy to. If you will follow me? Harold, champagne! Mr Bruin, refreshments to the Rose Room! I do hope you shall find it accommodating, Mrs…?”

“ Miss Bannon. Mikal, my card.” She held Rudyard’s gaze with her own. The monkey still had not made a sound, but now it scrambled up the tall man’s clothing and perched nimbly on his muscular shoulder. Its fur brushed his hair, and the contrast between the two textures was striking in its own way.

The concierge paled still further as he took in Mikal’s leanness as well, the Shield’s olive-green velvet coat and the knives worn openly at his hips, and finally realised – for he was no Clare, able to discern the facts of a situation at a glance – that Emma was not merely Quality but sorceress , and one powerful enough to require at least one Shield. Mikal produced a cream-coloured carte with a flick of his fingers and an unsettling, brilliant, white-toothed smile.

A curious crystalline silence, full of rustling, filled the coffee room. Rudyard finally took notice of her Shield as well, and his colour underwent almost as interesting a change as the hapless little hotelier’s.

The Indus sorcerer said something very fast and low, and – wonder of wonders – actually gave a half-bow, the monkey riding his shoulder with queer grace and managing to stay in place during the entire manoeuvre. It was the first time Emma had seen Rudyard perform such a gesture without a mocking edge, and she cocked her head, replaying the odd words.

No language I know, and not a language of Discipline. Some tongue of the Indus, perhaps?

Even more shocking was Mikal’s reply. Her Shield sounded faintly pleased, but the edge to his tone was quite as intriguing as the words themselves. At least he spoke good Englene. “You are forgiven, Kshatriya . But only if you do not displease her.”

“Your kind have no power on these shores. Nevertheless, I shall endeavour to be pleasant.” Rudyard’s eyes were suspiciously round, and he very carefully retreated, the broadsheet dropping from nerveless coppery fingers. When he blanched thus, he appeared paradoxically more Indus than Isle, and Emma’s pulse leapt before her training flexed itself, controlling her heartbeat and glandular functions so she could act without her body’s cries disturbing her concentration. “Come, Bannon.” Rudyard reached for his brow, as if to lift a hatbrim, and visibly collected himself. “Your servant, ma’am. In every way.”

It was a very good thing she was accustomed to the Indus sorcerer’s mercurial temper from their dual studies at the Collegia, for her jaw was suspiciously loose as the hotelier croaked a pale polite word and managed to bow and scrape the entire way to the Rose Room, whose only claim to roses was the overblown cabbagey herbage on the wallpaper. She observed a decorous pace, glad the coffee room was almost deserted, for this was a scene she would have rather avoided.

If Mikal’s presence would frighten the Chessmaster of Lahore, it would certainly make questioning him much less tiresome. And perhaps, she reflected, it was time to turn her attention to the matter of her Shield’s provenance.

She had put off that particular question long enough, and that it chose to rear its ugly head now was simply to be expected. The walk did her some good, therefore, since Emma Bannon’s hands were, for the first time in a good while, not completely steady.

“Morris? Is that all?” A flute of champagne, bolted as common water might be and followed with a draught from a silver-chased flask, had done wonders to steady the half-Indus. Still, he was rather pale, and his tone far less biting than usual. “What a relief.”

The monkey sat in his lap, shivering. Its fur bristled, grey sheen quivering with light that did not sting her eyes. Was it some manner of animus ? She had read of the Indus sorceries of animal avatars, sometimes employed in place of a Shield to care for a sorcerer’s physical well-being. She had never actually witnessed one, and probing at the creature with her non-physical senses would be… impolite.

Besides, it might make the man more difficult to handle.

“A guilty conscience, Kim?” She held her own flute, but had not sipped of it yet. The bubbling liquid within trembled slightly, and she studied its fluid gleaming. It was a good pose, and would perhaps hide her discomfiture.

Rudyard did not like being addressed by his Christian name – as an Indus boy instead of a sir – and Emma used the resultant pause to marshal her thoughts and calculate her attack. Mikal was at the door, arms folded and his yellow eyes half-lidded, his manner perhaps a trifle too tense to be called his habitual calm.

Perhaps the half-Indus sorcerer discommoded him.

The Chessmaster was a fortress, certainly. But Rudyard could be breached with relative ease. The problem was retaining enough civility to use him as a resource later.

Rudyard’s face actually twisted, and he darted her a glance of such venom she was almost cheered to see it. “In the Great Lady’s service, Bannon, such a thing is not uncommon. If you possessed such a thing as a conscience , it might well be uneasy.”

She tilted her head a fraction. “Women are generally held to be creatures of sentiment and morality, albeit frail.” And your hatred of us is well known .

“You are not properly a woman, are you? Not with that over your shoulder, and a Prime’s will in you.” But his voice dropped, and the monkey, its clever face a mask, grabbed his shirt-front with one tiny hand and patted at his lean dark face. “Never mind. Morris’s working quarters are in Bermondsey. Faithgill Street. Twenty-seven, I believe.”

Just outside the Black Wark. A chill traced its fingers down Emma’s back, but her face gave no indication. She stored away the fascinating titbit of that over your shoulder , and continued studying her glass. “I see. And when was the last time you saw the good physicker genius?”

“When I returned from Keshmir, some weeks ago. He was engaged upon a commission that… overlapped with some of my concerns.”

Emma waited.

Rudyard sighed, shook his head. “A problem of some bloody tribesmen, among others, and how to make them docile.” Now he looked weary, lines appearing as he sagged briefly into the chair’s embrace. “Some benighted folk do not see the benefit of being under Britannia’s… protection.”

In other words, rather dirty business you don’t care to speak of, even if it is your duty to Queen and Empire. And this genius has some part in it. “I see.”

The half-Indus sorcerer’s head jerked up. He poured himself another generous measure of champagne. The monkey rode his lap with some aplomb, still silent. “How penetrating of you. Since you grasp all the complexities, let me add some advice, which you will no doubt ignore. Science for its own sake is as deadly as sorcery for its own end. The genius Morris, unprepossessing as he is, is a most dangerous man.”

Most intriguing. “What, pray tell, is his speciality?”

“She didn’t tell you?” His laugh was bitter as heavy day-old tea. The monkey hunched down, then half-turned, one beady little ancient eye fixed on Emma. “Poor Em, thrown into a snake -pit, blind. He’s a genius of Biology. His speciality is tiny things, and he was working with an Alterator named Copperpot – a cracked man, to be sure. That’s all I know. Go and see what you can accomplish, Bannon.”