The Office of Shadow (40 page)

It is always easier to get into trouble than out of it.

-Master jedron

he next morning, Silverdun, Ironfoot, and Sela were sitting in the Shadows' Den reviewing a mountain of reports, bored senseless. Paet came
limping hurriedly in, carrying a satchel stuffed with papers.

"Go home and pack a bag, each of you," he said in passing. "You're
leaving in the morning."

"What, all three of us?" asked Silverdun.

"Be back here in an hour for your briefing," said Paet. He went downstairs to his office and they heard the door slam.

An hour later, they assembled in the mission room. Paet had a map of the
Unseelie pinned on the wall. Red pins showed the current known locations
of cities, and chalk arrows showed their expected patterns of movement. Paet
was pointing at the city of Preyia with the end of his cane.

"This is where you'll be going," he said.

"The Unseelie?" said Silverdun. "There aren't any more dangerous places
you could send us?"

"I'm sorry," said Paet. "I didn't realize you'd only signed up for the safe
jobs."

"Danger I'm fine with. It's suicide I try to avoid where possible."

Paet waved the notion away. "I've been there dozens of times. The cities
are quite lovely, actually."

"I've been in one myself," said Silverdun, recalling his adventure with
Mauritane in the City of Mab just before the Battle of Sylvan.

"Yes," said Paet. "This time it won't be necessary for you to destroy the
entire city."

"What's the mission?" asked Ironfoot. "What are we after?"

"Ah," said Paet. "A useful question. You're going to meet an Unseelie
thaumaturge named Timha, who is a journeyer at Queen's University in the
City of Mab. Or was, rather. He left about eight months ago."

"Where has he been since?" asked Sela.

"We're not entirely sure," said Paet. "We're hoping he can tell us that
himself."

"We're taking him out of the country?" asked Silverdun.

"Yes," said Paet. "He claims to have intimate knowledge about the Einswrath. In fact, he claims to have the plans for it."

"You're kidding," said Ironfoot.

"That's what we've been told."

"We have to get him," said Ironfoot. "I've been through every shred of
intelligence on the subject, and we have yet to uncover anything about those
plans. I'm getting nowhere with my research. If I could just talk to him for
ten minutes!"

"Maybe he can also tell us why they haven't been lobbing the things over
the border at us these many months," said Silverdun.

Paet pointed to a map of the Seelie Kingdom on the wall, larger than
the one in his office. The known locations of the cities were marked with
pins.

"Your briefing documents are being copied as we speak. They contain all
the details, but I'll go over the basics with you now."

He pointed to a pin on the map. "The three of you will travel to the
Unseelie via lock using false papers, arriving here at the Union Locks."

He moved the tip of his cane from the first pin to another pin farther
south. "Once there, you'll travel to Preyia by air. You'll rendezvous with
Timha in Preyia." He now drew the tip of the cane to a dot marked on the
map just above the Seelie border. "You'll have access there to a borrowed
yacht, which you will fly to Elenth, one of the few land-based Unseelie cities,
two days' ride north of Sylvan. In Elenth you'll meet with an Arcadian priest
named Virum. He works closely with his brethren on the other side of the border, escorting believers who are in danger into the Seelie Kingdom. He'll
help you across the border."

"Who's going to fly the yacht?" said Silverdun. "I can't sail something
like that."

Paet pointed at Ironfoot. "He can."

"Captain of the sailing club at Queensbridge."

"Pretty fancy for an army man," said Silverdun.

"I like to win at things," said Ironfoot. "Doesn't much matter what."

"Excuse me," said Sela, holding up her hand. "Why can't the Arcadians
spirit him out of the country themselves?"

"Good question," said Paet. "They're too afraid. This Timha is a highly
placed thaumaturge who's just fled from a top-secret research laboratory. He's
carrying on his person the plans for the most powerful weapon ever created.
The Arcadians believe, and justifiably so, that if they were caught assisting
him, the retaliation against the Church would be apocalyptic. Further, Timha
is not himself an Arcadian; some of their members are unwilling to go out on
a limb for a nonbeliever. Regardless, Everess tried everything he could think
of to convince him, but Estiane refused. As Silverdun may have told you,
Estiane and Everess are not the best of friends."

"To put it mildly," said Silverdun.

"Personally," said Paet, "I prefer it this way. I'd much rather have this
man's fate in your hands than in those of a bunch of peace-loving monks.
When they're caught, they don't fight. They simply surrender and go to their
deaths like sheep."

"Only you, Paet, could make peace sound like a bad thing," said
Silverdun.

Without warning, Paet took a thick glass paperweight from his desk and
hurled it at Silverdun's head. It struck Silverdun's temple, and Silverdun, who
had been leaning back in his chair, fell over backward and crashed to the floor.

"Ow!" said Silverdun, picking himself up.

Paet shrugged. "I learned everything I know about management from
Master Jedron," he said.

"Bastard!" grumbled Silverdun, clutching his hand to his head.

"Paet," said Sela, tentatively. "What if I didn't go?"

"Excuse me?" said Paet.

"I've got a project going; something I've worked out from going over a
number of documents, and-"

"Analysts I've got," said Paet. "But I only have one of you."

Sela looked down at her lap and said nothing.

"Sela," said Paet. "Would you excuse us, please? I'd like to talk to Silverdun and Ironfoot alone."

Sela nodded and stood up. She glanced at Silverdun and smiled primly.

Once they were alone, Paet came around to the front of his desk and
leaned back against it.

"You're going to be in Unseelie territory," he said in a low voice. "And
that means that it is absolutely imperative that neither of you is taken, dead
or alive."

"What does that mean?" said Ironfoot.

"If one of you is killed there, you must bring the body back with you."

"Why?"

"I can't tell you that. If it happens, the answer will be obvious, though I
don't recommend trying it just to find out."

"What if carrying a body around isn't feasible?" asked Silverdun. "If one
of us is dead, it probably means that things have gone badly."

"True," said Paet. "In that case, it is equally imperative that you sever the
head, if possible, and return with it. That's better than nothing."

"And why is that?" asked Ironfoot.

"Because Mab has ways of getting information out of you, even if you're
dead."

"Failing even that, however," he continued, "you must ensure that the
body is destroyed utterly. Preferably by fire."

"Well, this is quite a conversation we're having," said Silverdun.

"What if we're captured alive?" asked Ironfoot. "What do we do then?"

"If one of you is taken, the others must do everything in their power to
retrieve him. If, however, that is impossible, the one who's been captured
must end his own life. All you need do in that situation is concentrate very
carefully on dying. You will not only die, but your body will explode in a
most dramatic fashion."

"Urn," said Ironfoot, "I'm not aware of any spell that allows that to
happen."

"It's not a spell," said Paet.

"With no offense to Silverdun," said Ironfoot, "I have far less trouble lopping off his head than I do Sela's. I just can't imagine doing it."

Paet stared at him. "I thought you understood, I was only referring to the
two of you. If Sela dies, leave her."

With that, Paet ushered them out of his office and shut the door behind
them.

How great is Mab?

You might ask how deep the sea, how fiery the sun!
Perfection itself bows before her.

How gracious is Mab?

Mab's grace and mercy know no limits.To her people
she is a mother.To her allies a protector.To her enemies
a correcting hand. Even those whom she has slain cry out
their gratitude from the afterlife, thankful now their
wickedness is at an end.

How wise is Mab?

Mab's wisdom knows no limits. The only thing of
which she is ignorant is ignorance itself. Is there anything
she has not seen? Is there any secret whose depths she
has not plumbed? Look into the heart of any mystery and
you shall find the Unseelie flag already planted there.

How powerful is Mab?

All power is Mab's power.All strength is her strength.
No enemy can stand against her unless she suffers them
to stand. In war she is unconquered and unconquerable.
In persuasion, she is truth itself.

How loving is Mab?

To speak of love is to speak of Mab, for they are one
and the same.

Imperial Catechism

ver the years Mab had overcome an array of foes, but the Great Enemy,
the one who could never be slain, was boredom.

Mab had attempted every diversion, delved into every fantasy and fetish
and addiction. She had gotten lost in music, in dance, in poetry, in cockfights, in mestina. Every pleasure to be had, she had tried: wine, men,
women, children, orgies. Sweets, fox hunts, fencing, croquet. Sewing, pottery, Elemental sculpture. Each provided its small measure of diversion; each
was a coal that burned bright for its season and then went cold, leaving the
taste of its ash in her mouth.

For a hundred years she had tried being a man. She had lived as a hermit,
as a peasant girl, as a fox in her own fox hunt. She had been and done everything there was to be and do, but it was never enough.

In order to allay her tedium, she had by virtue of necessity been forced
to think big. She had wrested control of the Unseelie Lands millennia earlier,
conquered all of Faerie north of the Contested Lands. She had spread her
influence over worlds, even destroyed one.

The only one who had ever stood in her way was Regina Titania, and
Mab both loved and hated her for that. A small part of Mab prayed that the
Seelie queen would never be brought down, because then Mab would have
everything; the game would end. And what then?

But Titania tested her and taunted her. The ancient rivalry was not
enough. What good was a rivalry if not to win it?

Now matters had come to a head. Her new city was built. The Einswrath
weapons were being cast in her Secret City. A very special girl awaited her in
Estacana, though the girl didn't know it yet. All the stars were in agreement.
The time was now. The final battle in the ageless war was about to be joined.

Hy Pezho, that Black Artist, had given her the means of her sure delivery
from this endless fencing match. He had been a genius, a man of towering
intellect, who divined the secrets that lay beyond common understanding,
who opened a window into places Mab herself had never seen. And ultimately, this is likely why she had killed him. He had upset the balance. Now
she had no reason not to answer her own challenge. Now she was forced to
move against her ancient foe. Now the battle was, if not a foregone conclu sion, then a near certainty. Hy Pezho had, without realizing it, forced her
hand.