Wicked Bronze Ambition

85

The coachman dropped us in front of the Machtkess place while sunrise remained a looming threat. Denvers was waiting. He had no question or comment. Mariska was in a bleak mood. Her future could be nothing but a plunge over a precipice into the abyss.

Tara Chayne exploited the captive audience situation mercilessly, needling Mariska, trying to winkle out details by taunting her twin with what we knew already.

The technique was new to me. It might be proprietary, working only inside the Machtkess crew. Whatever, it did work in that Mariska became unable to keep her mouth shut. Still, yammer as she might, she didn’t give us anything really useful. In the main, she just hemorrhaged emotionally.

Maybe when you’re twins who have been at each other for three generations, you develop a shorthand script for cutting each other up.

Denvers was an amazement. He was the miracle man I always wanted Dean to be, with a better attitude. He had a breakfast ready when we got there. He began serving dogs and all as soon as he sent the coach on its way. He freed Mariska without comment, settled her in a chair that snagged her bony butt and held her down. She and Tara Chayne both seemed embarrassed around Denvers, like children who had done something naughty and expected to hear about it. Their manners toward each other were impeccable and ignored everything that had happened before they settled at the table.

The oddest thing was, Chase Denvers was younger than they were by more than a generation.

The dogs were settled and happy. Mariska picked at her food. Tara Chayne wolfed hers. I proceeded at a workmanlike pace. Denvers posted himself behind me. I sat opposite Tara Chayne. Mariska was between us, at the side of the table, to my right. He announced, “Madame Hedley-Farfoul wakened me in the night, having evaded and slipped our best wards.”

That pleased neither sister. It bothered me less because I didn’t know the woman. Mariska stopped eating altogether. Tara Chayne asked, “What was on Orchidia’s mind?”

“She was obscure. Her principal interest seemed to be locating your gentleman friend here, however.”

I pointed at my chest. Me? Couldn’t be me, surely. But Tara Chayne took a cue from Denvers and nodded.

Not good. Not good at all. “She say why?”

“She did not. As I reported, sir, she was opaque. Nevertheless, it did seem related to the tragedy involving your spouse.”

“How so? Wait. Never mind. Question withdrawn. You said she wasn’t forthcoming.”

He nodded, expression bland. The dummy was catching on. “She most certainly was not, sir.”

“Any cues in her attitude?” I was hoping she hadn’t gotten any crazy ideas about me or mine being connected to what happened to her twins.

My own twins had distant looks. Mariska cocked her head like she was trying to hear something faint from far away. Tara Chayne whispered to herself. Only her centipede heard her. It came out from under a sideboard, swam away through the air.

I wondered if she would ever put that thing away again.

Why would she in these exciting times?

Or maybe it wouldn’t let her.

Too often sorcery works that way. Once out of the bottle, it stays out.

Denvers considered carefully before telling me, “I believe she just wanted to talk, sir, about your mutual losses. But she did seem to feel that patience had become a luxury.”

Been there a few times. You just want to hurt things and break people till your own pain and anxiety go away.

“Then we’ll hear from her soon,” Tara Chayne said. “And she’ll make her interest clear. Chase, you’ve outdone yourself. I’m almost tempted to give you a raise.”

“Almost, ma’am?”

“Almost. If I actually did you’d be making too much to be hungry enough to always do your best. You’d start slacking off and then I’d have to fire you.”

Denvers said, “Very well, ma’am. Perhaps you are correct.”

“Of course I am. Never in the history of opinions have I been wrong, except for that one time when I thought I was wrong.”

“Yes indeed, ma’am. It is an amazement, how you can be so perfectly right in every instance, even when you disagree with Madame Mariska, who is also correct on every occasion.” Denvers turned to Mariska. Maybe she was supposed to threaten to hire him away, but her head wasn’t in the game. She was wandering the wilderness of her thoughts.

Tara Chayne said, “Harumph!” An expression you hardly ever hear these days, unless you’re around folks way older than you are. “All right. You’re safe for now, Chase. Tell me what you learned about the conflict on the Hill last night.” Sounding thoroughly confident that Denvers would have something to report.

Denvers launched a lengthy exposition that made it sound like he had directly witnessed two discrete incidents, one of which had dragged on for an hour, generating substantial collateral damage, then ended in a no-decision when the neighbors turned all buzz-kill on the duelists.

I observed, “Once again youthful high spirits are stifled by old sticks in the mud.” What’s a little property damage when you’re having fun?

My jest hit the floor and lay there twitching in terminal tremors.

The encounter had blown air through the banked coals of clan hatreds born generations before the tournaments began. This flare-up had involved more participants than the anointed sets of Champions and Companions. Neither family would take a ritual defeat.

Another flaw in the tournament concept had surfaced.

I said, “Bet that’s got the Operators all excited.” Seemed to me that nobody needed to sabotage anything. The tournament could go belly up all on its own.

Nobody wanted to stick to the once-upon-a-time formalized rules.

Hell, most people didn’t want to play. If anybody was going to get hurt, they hoped that would be the shithead Operators.

Mariska finally asked, “Orchidia really is involved?”

“Orchidia truly is, oh yes!” Tara Chayne burbled maliciously. “She lost her twins. She is not happy. Some have gotten hurt already, including your dear friend K’thul Hoo, who is no longer with us. More are going to get hurt. The Black Orchid does not fool around!”

Tara Chayne sounded thrilled. Mariska was aghast. “K’thul Hoo C’thug? What. .?”

Moonblight added, “Orchidia might accomplish what we couldn’t last time. She might rid us of the Operators and their agents forever.”

Moonslight began to shake.

Only then did Tara Chayne get it.

Mariska Machtkess would be on the Black Orchid’s list. Mariska was the quarry that had drawn Orchidia to my house in time to deal with the squid-headed doom.

Denvers said, “The second incident was considerably smaller and not nearly as flashy, but your guest will find it of more personal interest.” He faced me. “There was an attack in which your daughter was targeted. Thank heaven, it failed.”

I frowned. My daughter? What was he blathering about? I have no daughter, nor any other known offspring. Just some informally adopted. .

“Excuse me, sir. Your stepdaughter is what I should have said.”

“Oh. Kevans? Oh! Shit! What happened? She’s all right? How bad-”

“Relax, sir. She wasn’t harmed and she’s quite safe now, thanks be to Bonegrinder, Kyoga Stornes, and a mysterious intercessor of unnaturally large size with an exceptionally foul temper. Witnesses said that he appeared to take the assault personally.”

Naturally, I got all angry impatient and demanded details only the attackers could know. Denvers, however, delivered to the extent that I wondered if he wasn’t making stuff up so he could answer increasingly minute demands.

“Stop it, Garrett,” Tara Chayne said. “Shut up and listen.”

“Huh?”

“You’re so tired you’ve started making yourself obnoxious. We didn’t rest well last night. I suggest we do so now, in real beds, and pick it up after lunch.”

Before I could commence to begin to start taking anything wrong, Denvers said, “I’ll show you to the guest quarters, sir. Your associates have been bedded down in the foyer.”

Guest quarters? Associates? I pushed back from the table and rose, snagging a roll as I went.

I had not yet cleared the room when the twins began to bicker, each bone weary and Mariska handicapped by the ration of terror found wriggling on her plate only moments ago.

I checked the mutts. They were all tangled up and sound asleep. Not one cracked an eyelid. All had bulging bellies. I told Denvers, “Thank you.”

He nodded, gestured for me to follow.

Guest quarters were back by the kitchen and just big enough to contain a cot. The door had a lockable outside latch I pretended not to notice. Good man Denvers went away without securing it.

I was as tired as I’d been in ages. So tired that I never had a thought about how my staying out all night might cause some worry elsewhere.