The Peripheral

121

There was a park where the assemblers had long since collected, from beneath the deeper oligarchic burrowings in Notting Hill, the various excavating machines which the pre-jackpot wealthy had entombed in situ, back when removing them from whatever deepest point would have cost more than abandoning them beneath concrete. Mechanical sacrifices, like cats walled up in the foundations of bridges. The assemblers, going everywhere, had found them, bringing them to a certain park, their method having been exactly that by which Lowbeer had introduced the Russian pram’s gun to the arm of the peripheral’s interrogation chair, or brought Conner’s terrible cube straight up through the granite foundations of Newgate, astronomical numbers of the microscopic units being employed in shifting particles of whatever intervening matter from front to back, or top to bottom, of the object being moved, solids seeming thereby to migrate through other solids, the way al-Habib had stepped through the curved wall, in Edenmere Mansions.

The rescued excavators, perfectly restored, had been arranged in a circle, their blades and scoops uplifted, paint and windscreens gleaming, to become a favorite of the area’s children, Lev’s among them.

Passing this now in the ZIL, on the way back to Lev’s, the streets quite empty, he saw the moon catch the edge of a digger’s upraised scoop.

He looked at Flynne’s peripheral. She was gone now, back to Coldiron to check on everyone, and he was anxious to reach the Gobiwagen, to access the Wheelie, to see her there, to see what was going on.

Lowbeer’s sigil appeared. “You did very well, Mr. Netherton,” she said.

“I scarcely did anything.”

“Opportunities to do very badly were manifold. You avoided them. The major part in any success.”

“You were right about al-Habib. And the real estate. Why did he kill her?”

“It’s still unclear. She’d been involved with him for some time, apparently was instrumental in bringing her sister aboard. She may have been jealous of his relationship with Daedra, which was largely simultaneous with your own. The aunties’ latest iterations suggest she may have been considering shopping him to the Saudis, or perhaps was merely toying with the thought. They’re a fantastically unpleasant family. I’ve known her father since I was Griff’s age. A co-conspirator in the Gonzalez assassination, so I expect Griff will soon be dealing with him in that light. In our own continuum, however, he’s far too well-connected ever to be troubled by any of this. She’ll need a good publicist, now.”

They were turning into Lev’s street.

“Daedra?”

“Flynne,” said Lowbeer. “That Hefty Mart buyout has attracted another magnitude of media attention in the stub. We’ll speak tomorrow, shall we?”

“Certainly,” said Netherton, and then the coronet was gone.