Borderline (The Arcadia Project, #1)(65)

“Berenbaum assures me Rivenholt is still alive,” I said more seriously, “and he’s going to arrange for me to meet with Vivian Chandler and Inaya West.” Those things were both true. If they chose to connect them in a way that sounded Project-related, all the better.

“It might be too late,” said Teo, offering me his arm as we headed for the sloping sidewalk. I ignored it but made a mental note under the heading Reasons Not to Strangle Teo. “In the ten years I’ve been with the Project,” he said, “the Queen has never sent an emissary here. I think the shit’s already hit the fan.”

Caryl gave Teo a bland look. “Let us postpone hysteria until we have spoken to the man.”

Caryl’s use of “man” notwithstanding, the creature sitting in the leather armchair in the back bedroom had not even bothered with a facade. I suppose he looked vaguely human, aside from being beautiful enough to burn trails of fire down my optic nerves. The green raccoonlike markings around his eyes might have passed for a mask in dim light, but the eyes themselves shone like pools of mercury, and on closer examination he had only four fingers on each hand.

“Greetings, allies mine,” he half sang, rising to reveal a height in excess of seven feet. “My name is called Duke Skyhollow, Right Hand of Her Majesty, Queen Dawnrowan of the Seelie Court.” He put his emphasis on all the wrong syllables. Not someone who spent a lot of time on this side of the Gate, apparently.

“We are honored by your presence, Your Grace,” said Caryl. “I am Marchioness Caryl Vallo, and my companions are Viscount Tjuan Miller, Viscountess Gloria Day, Baron Mateo Salazar, and Lady Millicent Roper.”

What the hell?

“I thank thee of thy welcome gracious, my lady,” Skyhollow said with a theatrical bow.

“And I thank you for your patience. How may we serve Her Majesty?”

“The Queen is under large distress,” the duke said. “We wish to know why Her Majesty’s agent reports not.”

“Her Majesty’s agent?” Caryl echoed. “You must mean our errant viscount. I was not aware that he was representing Her Majesty in any capacity.”

“Nay,” said the duke. “Not a viscount, the agent of whom I speak. It is a commoner.”

Caryl was speechless for a full four seconds, though no sign of shock or distress appeared on her face. “I see. So you mean to say another fey besides Viscount Rivenholt has failed to return to Arcadia as scheduled?”

“At this time, the return of the commoner was not to expect. It was to report at dawn and dusk on its progress. However, twice it hath failed to report, and thus demandeth Her Majesty its ASAP return to Arcadia. Thou art ordered in this matter to assist.”

“Because we’re so great at rounding up rogue fey this week,” muttered Teo behind me. He seemed to be having an easier time than I was untangling the duke’s syntax.

“Give me the commoner’s name,” said Caryl with the alacrity of someone given a stay of execution. “I shall locate the corresponding file and begin the search immediately.”

“Of the hircine persuasion is this commoner, and its name is called Claybriar.”

“I know him,” said Caryl. “A regular through LA5. There was nothing on his latest entry form about a mission for the Queen. You are certain the Queen said Claybriar?”

Fuck, I thought. Out loud, apparently, to judge by the way every head swiveled around to look at me. Claybriar. Brian Clay. He was fey, he was fey, he was fey. What the double hell.

The duke turned his masked silver eyes on me. “Wherefore doth the lady ejaculate?” Teo attempted to stifle a sudden coughing fit.

“It’s Brian Clay,” I said to Caryl.

“That is Claybriar’s registered alias. What of it?”

“Brian Clay is the fake cop I’ve been talking about.”

She stared at me a moment. “If you had told me the man’s name,” she said crisply, “it would have saved me a great deal of confusion.”

The duke made an irritated sound. “Speak please to me.”

I turned to him. “Tjuan and I, uh . . . Viscount Miller and I ran into this ‘agent’ in another part of town,” I said.

“Provide more detail,” demanded the fey.

This was an awkward position for me for a number of reasons. “I . . . I defer to Viscount Miller.”

Tjuan studied me for a moment, his expression shifting subtly; then he turned to the duke. “This was a couple of days ago,” he said. “He was looking for Viscount Rivenholt. He said something about a missing woman.”

The duke sniffed. “I see.”

Caryl spoke up gently. “Claybriar is one of the few commoners who visits here regularly. He has never posed as a police officer before, however. May we ask the exact nature of his mission?”

“You may not,” said the duke. “In this matter, the Queen and I alone are authorized.” He gave “authorized” the same tone a new bride uses with the word “husband,” half-sincere and half as though it were all a crazy joke.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” I said, “but don’t you think it would be easier for us to find Claybriar if we know his purpose here?”

“Mayhap,” said the duke, his silver eyes giving off such an intense radiance that I saw spots when I looked away. “But of less concern to me is your ease than my imperative to following Her Majesty’s commands.”