Getting a hold of someone one nation over wasn’t so simple as it might’ve been back on Earth. Middara had no phone lines, no cell towers, and Brahma was far from a cooperative neighbor eager to share information with them. But bureaucracy was a world Nyx could navigate as skillfully as the ancient ruins she sometimes explored. It took days—days poor Enoch could ill afford, but eventually she got her response.
The message was only a single sheet, written in elegantly scrawled letters like a knight’s missive. After florid greetings and pointless ceremony, the letter finished with one sincere line. “I will be at the embassy tomorrow. Meet me there.”
Nyx was there, though the investigator had been infuriatingly sparse with details. With no time, without even a physical description, she was forced to sit outside and wait, conscious every moment of Enoch’s diminishing faculties. The child had gone from occasional injections to a constant IV drip of the most potent sedatives either magic or chemistry could conjure. But still he woke in the night to cackling madness, terrifying his loyal friend and often breaking whatever was used to contain him.
Maybe Lymn was right. Maybe we can’t save him.
She reached one hand down to the edge of the bridge beside her, where her familiar had just clambered up, a glowing bracelet in his mouth. She took it, stroking the little creature’s back. He looked like a sugar glider, but with a long body like a ferret, and a propensity for getting into places he shouldn’t. How he could sneak anywhere with bright green fur, Nyx couldn’t guess, but he never ceased to amaze her. More importantly his claws were sharp, and his nose for magic was even sharper.
Her familiar didn’t speak, only made a pleased squeaking sound, nodding towards the embassy.
A second later the doors opened a figure strode confidently out, like a conquistador landing in the new world. He dressed a little like it too, his armor an absurd amalgamation of eastern and western styles, with thick metal plates running down his legs, but nothing more than a heavy breastplate protecting only some of his face.
“Christopher Amaya?” she asked, rising from her makeshift perch on a bridge-railing. Nyx glided down in front of her, then bowed slightly. Maybe playing along with his chivalrous fantasy a little would make him more cooperative. “Is this yours?” Halphas had a way of stealing things from people he wanted her to meet.
“Sí sí, Christopher Amaya. Lo siento por el retraso, pensé abía perdido alguna cosa preciosa. Tu animal lo ha encontrado para mi.”
Nyx winced, offering the rosary. “I, uh… don’t speak Spanish.”
He frowned, then answered in thickly accented English. “If I must use your barbaric language, then I must. I’m sure your… creature was just being helpful. But now it is returned, so it has done no harm.”
Christopher stuck out one meaty hand, swallowing both of hers in a grip that could’ve bent steel. “If you know me, you must be the one who wrote about the Ortiz family.” He reached up, replacing the rosary around his neck with reverent care. “I am eager to talk.”
Then he looked up, at the other massive structures of the High District. Here were many of the city’s oldest buildings, its most important civic functions. They were mostly carved from white marble, with the hints of steel underneath that let them grow so tall. But this stranger looked as though he’d just stepped off on the wrong floor. “This is Elenia? The thorn in the Empire’s side for almost a hundred years is… this place?”
“Small, but fierce,” Nyx muttered, her tone darkening a little. I just need what he knows. Don’t piss him off before that. She turned, leaning over the edge of the bridge. The wide river Acheron wound its way below, its water clear despite the city. “We didn’t build this place in the fifth century.” We’ve got plumbing.
Christopher only laughed again. “You are too kind, uh…” He hesitated. “What title is appropriate?”
“Nyx,” she said. “You’re not my student, so even Professor would be too much.” Then she had an idea. “I know a great place less than a block from here. We could get lunch, and talk there. Somewhere more private.”
“So long as the food is less boorish than your architecture, I accept.”
They didn’t have far to go, a block like Nyx had said. But it was busy today, and instead of the private booth she’d imagined, they were crammed into a table on the second floor. At least they had a good view of Elenia below, its citizens seeming neither barbaric nor insane. Nyx went over the menu. “Las Delicias is the real thing,” Nyx said, running a finger down the menu. As though she hadn’t already known what she would order before they sat down. “Really authentic. Maybe the taste of home will help you relax.”
His eyebrows went up. “Wrong continent, señorita. This is Mexican food. In Spain we have...” His eyes skimmed the menu, seeming momentarily disappointed. But when their server arrived a moment later, he ordered without complaint. “When in Elenia, I suppose.”
Nyx fought the instinct to fly away in embarrassment. She waited until the server was gone, then turned to more important subjects. “You were the lead investigator in the Ortiz family’s, uh…” She trailed off. “Accident?”
Christopher shook his head, his one red eye going dark. “Not an accident, and not just an investigator. Their mother, Mary, was cousin to my uncle’s father, or…” He shrugged. “You wouldn’t understand. We were close, this is what matters. Your letter didn’t say what new information you might have.”
Of course it didn’t, because you never would’ve gotten it. Nyx told him. She told him almost everything, right up to the name of the Dark Mother or a description of her symbols. There was no king around to tell her to be careful what she shared—Nyx told him everything.
By the time she’d finished, both of their plates were empty, and her companion had two sugar-rimmed glasses by his plate. He hadn’t taken a third. “So I was hoping you might be able to help me find her,” she finished. “Or at least more information about her plans. Assuming Silvia really is behind any of this.”
The man no longer seemed patronizing. He had listened intently through her whole story, and had even casually tossed one of his daggers onto the table, where it would be within easy reach. “I wouldn’t put it past her,” he finally said. “That girl was a scourge on the house from the moment she entered it. Cruel and capricious.”
“I read the note you sent, in Salma’s file. You thought things were sour, but didn’t say how.”
He nodded curtly. “I visited often enough, in the days after Sandra and Salma returned from your… Institution. Had to fill some of the holes in their instruction and…” He trailed off, looking away. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Nyx lied.
“They were so friendly at first. But as the years passed, they became… strange, like her. The older sister had acquired an evil religion—all the stranger since she did not have a Pagan education like her sisters. But she corrupted them, and it was all they talked about by the end.”
“The Dark Mother,” Nyx whispered, as quietly as she could.
He nodded. “When the estate burned, I found things I did not put in that note. Things tucked away. The Deacons who oversaw the investigation would’ve burned it all… so I kept my mouth shut. Until I could use it to find more.”
Christopher reached sidelong into his heavy satchel, removing a dark volume from within and handing it to her. Its pages were tattered and stained, and prominent latches across the front had been pried off. “Sandra’s diary. Most of what I know came from in there.”
He reached down into his pack again, then stuck out his hand towards her. Nyx took it, dreading what he might put in her hand. Burned bones? Or the last message of the dead scrawled while they burned?
It was worse. A little cloth envelope, with something gnarled and withered inside. Nyx opened it, and recognized the shape instantly. It was a charred and withered tongue, torn violently out by the roots.
Nyx almost lost her burrito back onto her plate. She shoved the little bundle back, gripping the table with her other hand until her knuckles went white. She took a few deep breaths, then looked up. “Was that the only, uh… piece?”
Christopher Amaya nodded. “Before you ask, yes. The servants died from the smoke, not the flames. I checked, and none were missing their tongue. My best guess is this came from one of the family—murdered. Probably by Silvia.”
A question danced in her mind, one Nyx very much didn’t want answered. But she needed to, for Enoch’s sake. “Did you find the weapon?”
Christopher was already moving. He unwrapped something from his bag, holding it out for her. It wasn’t a dagger, or a set of snips, or any other grisly implement she might’ve expected to sever a tongue. Instead of it was…
Nyx winced, offering the rosary. “I, uh… don’t speak Spanish.”
He frowned, then answered in thickly accented English. “If I must use your barbaric language, then I must. I’m sure your… creature was just being helpful. But now it is returned, so it has done no harm.”
Christopher stuck out one meaty hand, swallowing both of hers in a grip that could’ve bent steel. “If you know me, you must be the one who wrote about the Ortiz family.” He reached up, replacing the rosary around his neck with reverent care. “I am eager to talk.”
Then he looked up, at the other massive structures of the High District. Here were many of the city’s oldest buildings, its most important civic functions. They were mostly carved from white marble, with the hints of steel underneath that let them grow so tall. But this stranger looked as though he’d just stepped off on the wrong floor. “This is Elenia? The thorn in the Empire’s side for almost a hundred years is… this place?”
“Small, but fierce,” Nyx muttered, her tone darkening a little. I just need what he knows. Don’t piss him off before that. She turned, leaning over the edge of the bridge. The wide river Acheron wound its way below, its water clear despite the city. “We didn’t build this place in the fifth century.” We’ve got plumbing.
Christopher only laughed again. “You are too kind, uh…” He hesitated. “What title is appropriate?”
“Nyx,” she said. “You’re not my student, so even Professor would be too much.” Then she had an idea. “I know a great place less than a block from here. We could get lunch, and talk there. Somewhere more private.”
“So long as the food is less boorish than your architecture, I accept.”
They didn’t have far to go, a block like Nyx had said. But it was busy today, and instead of the private booth she’d imagined, they were crammed into a table on the second floor. At least they had a good view of Elenia below, its citizens seeming neither barbaric nor insane. Nyx went over the menu. “Las Delicias is the real thing,” Nyx said, running a finger down the menu. As though she hadn’t already known what she would order before they sat down. “Really authentic. Maybe the taste of home will help you relax.”
His eyebrows went up. “Wrong continent, señorita. This is Mexican food. In Spain we have...” His eyes skimmed the menu, seeming momentarily disappointed. But when their server arrived a moment later, he ordered without complaint. “When in Elenia, I suppose.”
Nyx fought the instinct to fly away in embarrassment. She waited until the server was gone, then turned to more important subjects. “You were the lead investigator in the Ortiz family’s, uh…” She trailed off. “Accident?”
Christopher shook his head, his one red eye going dark. “Not an accident, and not just an investigator. Their mother, Mary, was cousin to my uncle’s father, or…” He shrugged. “You wouldn’t understand. We were close, this is what matters. Your letter didn’t say what new information you might have.”
Of course it didn’t, because you never would’ve gotten it. Nyx told him. She told him almost everything, right up to the name of the Dark Mother or a description of her symbols. There was no king around to tell her to be careful what she shared—Nyx told him everything.
By the time she’d finished, both of their plates were empty, and her companion had two sugar-rimmed glasses by his plate. He hadn’t taken a third. “So I was hoping you might be able to help me find her,” she finished. “Or at least more information about her plans. Assuming Silvia really is behind any of this.”
The man no longer seemed patronizing. He had listened intently through her whole story, and had even casually tossed one of his daggers onto the table, where it would be within easy reach. “I wouldn’t put it past her,” he finally said. “That girl was a scourge on the house from the moment she entered it. Cruel and capricious.”
“I read the note you sent, in Salma’s file. You thought things were sour, but didn’t say how.”
He nodded curtly. “I visited often enough, in the days after Sandra and Salma returned from your… Institution. Had to fill some of the holes in their instruction and…” He trailed off, looking away. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Nyx lied.
“They were so friendly at first. But as the years passed, they became… strange, like her. The older sister had acquired an evil religion—all the stranger since she did not have a Pagan education like her sisters. But she corrupted them, and it was all they talked about by the end.”
“The Dark Mother,” Nyx whispered, as quietly as she could.
He nodded. “When the estate burned, I found things I did not put in that note. Things tucked away. The Deacons who oversaw the investigation would’ve burned it all… so I kept my mouth shut. Until I could use it to find more.”
Christopher reached sidelong into his heavy satchel, removing a dark volume from within and handing it to her. Its pages were tattered and stained, and prominent latches across the front had been pried off. “Sandra’s diary. Most of what I know came from in there.”
He reached down into his pack again, then stuck out his hand towards her. Nyx took it, dreading what he might put in her hand. Burned bones? Or the last message of the dead scrawled while they burned?
It was worse. A little cloth envelope, with something gnarled and withered inside. Nyx opened it, and recognized the shape instantly. It was a charred and withered tongue, torn violently out by the roots.
Nyx almost lost her burrito back onto her plate. She shoved the little bundle back, gripping the table with her other hand until her knuckles went white. She took a few deep breaths, then looked up. “Was that the only, uh… piece?”
Christopher Amaya nodded. “Before you ask, yes. The servants died from the smoke, not the flames. I checked, and none were missing their tongue. My best guess is this came from one of the family—murdered. Probably by Silvia.”
A question danced in her mind, one Nyx very much didn’t want answered. But she needed to, for Enoch’s sake. “Did you find the weapon?”
Christopher was already moving. He unwrapped something from his bag, holding it out for her. It wasn’t a dagger, or a set of snips, or any other grisly implement she might’ve expected to sever a tongue. Instead of it was…
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