The Dire King Page 11

  Alina shook her head in disgust. “You have no right to define me. I am Om Caini. You know nothing of our history and nothing of our heritage.”

  “Is it your heritage to pick on human beings every chance you get? Because I’m beginning to know a little something about that.”

  “How dare you! My people chose peace. Humans broke that peace. Do your children not learn about that in human school? No, I suppose they teach you all lies about noble human heroes defeating a race of lowly dogs instead, do they?”

  “Erm, neither?” I said. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone besides Charlie who has ever even heard of the Om Caini. Well, Jackaby. But he knows about everything. Most of New Fiddleham thinks your brother is a werewolf. They’ve heard of those.”

  Alina wrinkled up her nose. “Of course they have. Idioti. Still, better a werewolf than a human. At least wolves open their eyes.”

  “Then open mine,” I said, as gently as I could. “I’d like to know. Really. How did humans break the peace?”

  She regarded me dubiously. “How much do you know about the days before the veil?”

  “Until a few months ago,” I admitted, “I was not aware there was a veil at all, let alone that there was a time before it. Please tell me.”

  She shook her head. She still looked cynical, but a little less disgusted, in spite of my ignorance. “This is basic history,” she said. “Pups in our tribe know it before we know how to read. Millennia ago, when the veil was new, all of the noble races divided. Those who lived by magic were given the Annwyn. Those who lived by toil and earnest work were given the earth. Those who walked the line were given a choice. And so it came to be that the world was split in two.”

  “Does that mean the Annwyn used to be physically connected to the earth?” I asked. “Like, another continent?”

  Alina rolled her eyes. “More than connected. They were . . . ugh, you are too simple to understand. Here, I will show you the way we show the littlest whelps. Cross your eyes. Like this. You see two of me? Yes? Two trees? Two everything? You see the world split into two worlds. That is how the Annwyn was divided from the earth.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I think I understand. They’re really the same physical space, only one side got all the magic bits and the other kept all the mortal bits.”

  “Yes . . . but also not the same at all. Remember, this is how we explain it to the simple children. The details are . . . beyond you.”

  I bit my lip diplomatically.

  “After the divide, my people remained on earth. We trusted men, held dominion alongside men. We were loyal allies. Their quarrels had always been with the magi and the fair folk, not with those who walked the land by their side, and so our kingdoms were united, for a time. There was trade, there was sport, there was courtly respect—but humans are only ever satisfied to be victors.”

  Her eyes grew cold again.

  “My ancestors watched as our people were slaughtered during the first of the Breed Wars. They packed their things and fled from their ancestral homes, fled from their own kingdoms, but there was nowhere for them to run. In each new country they were met with greater hostility. We are nomads now. The Om Caini are strong. We have made a good life out of what we were given, but we have not forgotten our past. We have learned to be guarded. We have learned the worth of human promises.”

  “Human beings can be horrible,” I conceded. “Monstrous. But there are good people, too, if you really look. People who make the world better. This city is full of . . . of doors opening. Charlie taught me to see that. I cannot take away what was done to your family, but please try to see what Charlie sees. He sees hope. He believes in this town. He has seen it at its very worst, but somehow he still believes. He sees a future for us here, together.” Something unexpected stirred inside me as I put that into words.

  “You still don’t get it,” Alina said, pushing herself up from the roots of the willow. “This is not Charlie’s future! This isn’t some silly human story about star-crossed lovers! Kazimir cannot stay here. Charlie may not have a throne and a castle to come home to, but he is no less a king. You have no idea how much it grieves me to watch him, my brother, Suveran of my people, running errands for an arrogant human fool and his insignificant assistant. You selfish humans would have a noble king as your lowly servant? How can you let him lower himself to this? Does it make you feel powerful? Does it make you feel proud? Our people need my brother. Why won’t you let him come home?” And with that she stalked off hotly toward the house.

  “Charlie chose this!” I yelled after her. “Nobody is keeping him against his will!”

  “Because that would be unthinkable,” came Morwen’s muffled voice from the cellar.

  “Oh, shut up.” I slid down against the tree.

  “Give her time,” Jenny said, drifting slowly to my side. “She’s young, she’s headstrong, and she’s overwhelmed in a strange new world. Sound familiar?”

  “I wasn’t so bullheaded when I got off the boat,” I said. “I was nice.”

  “It sounds to me like that girl has spent her whole life being taught to keep her guard up. It’s not her fault. It will take more than one uncomfortable afternoon around the house to bring it down. Be patient. Charlie loves her, doesn’t he?”

  “He does,” I said. “I can’t imagine why. She’s a nightmare!”

  “Why don’t you take your own advice, then, Abigail. Try to see what Charlie sees. He’s not such a terrible judge of character, you know.” Jenny gave me an encouraging wink. “He did choose you, didn’t he?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Out of respect for my employer, Chapter Thirteen has been omitted. Accounts of these hours can now be found in the Dangerous Documents section, but only if you really know where to look.

  Chapter Fourteen

  As the day wore on, the mythical menagerie of creatures pervading our house had begun to settle into their own idiosyncratic routines. The ladies of a feather sharing my bedroom flocked together to the duck pond after lunch for a quick birdbath. The satyrs alternated between sneaking up to peep at them through the bushes and slipping into the library to harass the nymphs. Several swarms of spriggans, pixies, and other wee folk had found their way into the walls by midafternoon, which kept the passages a bit less crowded but generated a near-constant chittering, skittering sound that occasionally ended in eruptions of plaster. By early evening, Chief Nudd had returned with a few members of his horde and they had joined the gnomes at their dice game in the foyer.

  In addition to the steady stream of the furry, flighty, and fantastical, I was also pleasantly surprised to greet a few familiar human faces. I had been checking on Shihab when I heard Hank Hudson’s voice in the hallway.

  “Mr. Hudson,” I said, stepping out to greet him. “You’re back. Lovely. Is Charlie . . .” I glanced up and down the hallway.

  “He an’ that sister of his skedaddled upstairs to have a little chat. Said he’d be back down soon. Jackaby around?”

  “Ah, of course. No, he’s still out, but we’re expecting him any minute. Did you two meet with any support while canvassing the city?” I asked.

  “Loads!” Hudson said, brightly. “Surprising amount, actually, along with one story after another about stuff ol’ Jackaby had personally done to save a shop, or soothe some ailing granny, or rescue some kidnapped baby. Yer boss sure keeps himself busy, don’t he?”

  “He’s not a fan of sitting still,” I agreed. “Ah, that may be him now. If you’ll excuse me.”

  The front door closed as I came around the corner. It was not Jackaby, but Lieutenant Dupin. He was off duty, but still wearing his uniform and visibly nervous.

  I thanked him for coming and finally shared with him the full details of Steven Fairmont’s unholy rise from the dead, as well as Charlie’s and my part in putting a stop to the creature. Dupin listened attentively, looking solemn and a
little wan by the end.

  “I know it sounds like lunacy,” I concluded, “but there you have it.”

  “Lunacy has become reality in New Fiddleham of late,” Dupin sighed. “Thank you for your report, Miss Rook, and for your service. Will you tell Detective Cane—or Barker, or whatever it is now—will you tell him that there are still officers like me who have not lost faith in him as one of our own. Marlowe may not have put his support in writing, but he has his own sort of inner circle. Some of us are still loyal to his command over Spade’s. We will heed the call when you need us.”

  “You can tell him that yourself if you would care to wait,” I offered. “He just nipped upstairs. I’m sure he won’t be long. Why don’t I just put a kettle on?”

  Dupin smiled regretfully. “Your hospitality does you credit, Miss Rook,” he said. “But I think, perhaps, I have overstayed my welcome as it is.”

  I glanced behind me to see what he was talking about. The gnomes and goblins were glaring daggers at Dupin, and I could see several pairs of eyes peering out from the doorway that led to the rest of the house. None of them looked welcoming.

  “Good night, Miss Rook, and good luck.”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake,” I scolded the house after he had gone. “He’s on your side. You’ve got ears, haven’t you? He wants to help.”

  The sleepy giant sat up, which brought him to a modest looming rather than a full towering. He opened his mouth and rumbled something that sounded like a pride of French lions growling at each other from within the depths of a deep cave.

  “Come again?”

  “He said yon copper was nae much help when they was lockin’ up grannies an’ babes in irons,” Chief Nudd said. Violet hats bobbed behind him as the gnomes nodded their agreement. “Ye kinna blame folk for bein’ a mite skittish ’round a uniform.”

  I scowled. “No, I suppose I can’t. But we can’t meet prejudice with prejudice, either. Like them or not, we will need all the help we can get.”

  Another friendly face arrived shortly after Dupin had let himself out. Hatun walked like royalty in her rags, nodding amiably to the various figures around her. She was a woman with a unique view of the world—a view at least partially shaped by her perpetually shifting residence. Hatun had no house, but all of New Fiddleham was her home. She looked out for her city, and for everyone in it, from the wealthiest citizen in the tallest building to the lowliest troll under the darkest bridge. Truth be told, she preferred the company of the troll.

  Hatun was met with a much warmer reception than the policeman had been. Though it probably should not have come as a surprise, I was taken aback by just how many of our paranormal lodgers seemed to know her by name, and how thoroughly unfazed she was by their appearances. Jackaby had once explained that at different times, Hatun saw the same world that everyone else saw, or the world as it really was, or the world as it really wasn’t. It was hard for Hatun to be certain which version was real at any given moment, so she had learned to appraise reality flexibly. In addition, as I had experienced firsthand, Hatun sometimes saw the world as it was going to be—which I found to be by far the most unsettling.

  Hatun promptly sat herself down on the bench in the foyer and took out a pair of knitting needles already hung with a mess of wool—or rather she took out one knitting needle and what appeared to be an ice pick with a cracked handle—and began to knit and purl away merrily while an unruly pile of assorted colors spilled out of her floppy satchel like drunken, flamboyant spaghetti.

  “It’s lovely to see you again, Hatun,” I said.

  “Miss Rook. Hope your boss is happy. I keep clear of waiting rooms, as a rule,” she said. “No hospitals. No dentists. I haven’t sat down to have a proper wait in a proper building with a proper roof and everything for nigh on two decades now. Hope he appreciates the lengths I go to. You can tell him I’m here.”

  “I’m afraid Mr. Jackaby is away just at the moment,” I said. “He should be back shortly—but I should tell you, he’s rather busy making arrangements for some very urgent matters—”

  “Of course he’s busy.” Hatun cut me off, finally looking up from her knitting. “That’s why I’m here. You look very pretty in that frock, by the way, dear. Orange really is your best color.”

  “Oh, erm, thank you. It’s . . . it’s green. Why did you say you were here?”

  “That young fellow and the great big hairy one who smells like dried meat came around earlier, and they told me all about the meeting.”

  “Oh, of course. Misters Barker and Hudson. Yes, I’m afraid the big meeting they’re organizing is set for tomorrow evening. Tonight there will only be a handful of us getting ready.”

  “Handful suits me, dear. Never been a fan of big crowds, anyway.”

  “Oh, erm, I don’t know if Mr. Jackaby really intended for—”

  “Jackaby doesn’t ask for help,” she said. “Not like this. I’ve known him a lot of years. He accepts it from time to time, usually when everything else has slipped through his fingers or blown up in his face, but he has never reached out for it like this before. Never.”

  I opened my mouth and then closed it again, not sure how to respond to this.

  “He’s scared out of his damn mind,” Hatun cussed. “And he should be. He’s the only person in this whole city people can turn to when they’re facing something bigger than they know how to wrap their brains around. I’m not stupid. If he’s grasping for straws, then whatever this is, it’s bigger than him.”

  “It’s not good,” I admitted. “But I am still hopeful.”

  “No you aren’t,” said Hatun, waving the needle as though she were swatting the words away like fruit flies. “Hoping is a thing that other people do while people like you are rolling up your shirtsleeves and getting to work. I know. I’m like you, Miss Rook, and I am rolling up my sleeves, too. I’ll be joining you folks tonight, thank you very much, and I will not be waiting around for the pretty version that you’ve trimmed up with a nice bow for the crowd tomorrow.” She turned back to her wool, and the clicking resumed.

  Jenny drifted up behind me. She would never have shown herself to a visitor under normal circumstances. “Let her stay,” Jenny said. Hovering gracefully beside the bench, she turned to Hatun. “I’m sure Mr. Jackaby would be honored to have you with us. Thank you.”

  “Hey. I know you.” Hatun squinted her eyes. “You used to go walking by the park with that handsome Carson boy, didn’t you? Used to see you out and about almost every day. What was it, five years back?”

  “More like ten,” said Jenny, softly.

  “You look different.” Hatun peered at the translucent figure hovering in front of her. “Were you less dead back then?”

  Jenny’s eyebrows rose. “Erm, yes. Much less.”

  “That’s what it is, then. Yep, I knew I remembered you.” The needle and ice pick resumed their clicking. “So. You been well?”

  “Have I been well, since before I died?” asked Jenny. “Well. I’ve had a few ups and . . . downs.”

  Hatun nodded amiably. “I expect so.”

  “Make yourself comfortable, Hatun,” I cut in. “Mr. Jackaby should not be much longer. I’ll just go and put the kettle on.”

  “Don’t fuss over me, dearie,” Hatun said, leaning back as she clicked away. She gave a glance to the corner as Nudd and his horde cackled and the gnomes shook their stubby little fists and grumbled. “Go mingle with your friends. I think that handsome fellow over there is making eyes at you.”

  I glanced where she was looking. “I don’t think so,” I said. “Also, I believe that one might be a lady. Although it is hard to tell with goblins. I think the males have less hair. Or more hair? Anyway, I’m spoken for. I’ve been going with Charlie Barker, remember.”

  “Which one’s Charlie again?” Hatun asked. “Is he the one who killed all those people, or the one who can turn
into a hedgehog?”

  “Into a hound. And he hasn’t killed anybody.”

  “Oh, well, he sounds nice, then.” Hatun’s knitting dropped into her lap. “Just mind the . . . the . . . the blade.”

  “The blade?” I said.

  Hatun didn’t answer at first. Her eyes were out of focus and she looked as though she were trying to look through a heavy mist. A tingle rippled up the back of my neck. I had seen that look before. “The blade,” Hatun said, hollowly. “The black blade, the spear. Not the spear—the Seer. Under the blade, the Seer—oh!” She winced as though struck. “The Seer falls. The Seer is lost.” Her head sagged.

  “The Seer is lost? What do you mean lost? Jackaby’s lost?”

  “Hmm?” Hatun lifted her head. “What’s that you lost? Got to be more careful, dear. That’s why I keep a spare one tucked away in my stockings, just in case.”

  “Mr. Jackaby!” I said. “You were just talking about Mr. Jackaby!”

  “Was I?”

  “Please try to remember,” I implored her. “How is Mr. Jackaby going to be lost?”

  “You’re talking a lot of nonsense. Jackaby is right there.”

  I spun. True enough, Jackaby had just walked through the front door. Lydia Lee was behind him, looking rather jumpy as she closed the door.

  “Honestly, Miss Rook,” Hatun chided, resuming her knitting. “Can’t go around saying all sorts of silly things. People will start to say you’re crazy.”

  The Dangerous Documents section was officially crowded beyond capacity. Jackaby stood at the head of the table, and I slid in on his right. Hudson shuffled in next to me, then Jenny, Chief Nudd, Lydia Lee, and Hatun. Hatun sat in one of the only chairs and Nudd stood on the other. Charlie slid in apologetically just as Jackaby was getting ready to speak. He squeezed in at the far end, between Miss Lee and Nudd.

  “Thank you all for coming again,” Jackaby began. “Let’s not waste time. To begin with, I would like to reassure everyone that, while there appears to be an upswing in paranormal activity on the whole, there do not appear to be any further walking corpses in New Fiddleham, which we can all agree is a very positive first step.”