Peace Talks (The Dresden Files, #16)(101)

“Yes,” Marcone said, his tone bored. “I also saw your signature at the bottom of the Unseelie Accords, I believe.”

“And?”

Marcone’s voice was mild. “And mutual defense in the case of an aggressor nation is stipulated therein.”

“Mab was the Accords,” LaChaise spat. “You saw what the Titan did to her.”

“And so I did,” Marcone replied.

“If she can do that to Mab, what chance do any of us have?” LaChaise asked. He looked around at the rest of the room. “All of us signed because all of us fear Mab. Do any of you think you can stand up to Corb and Ethniu when even Mab gets swatted down like a fly? Let this mortal throw away his short life if that is his desire. The rest of us were doing business long before these recent Accords, and we can do it again quite comfortably.”

LaChaise turned to leave, trailing half a dozen ghouls in the wake of his massive presence.

“Are you a coward, sir?” Marcone asked, his voice deadly quiet.

The ghoul whirled, light and fast for all his bulk, and a low growl bubbled across the room.

“A question, sir,” Marcone said. “Not a statement.”

“Tread carefully, mortal,” LaChaise said. “I would be pleased to use your own entrails to make sausage links.”

“I ask the question,” Marcone said, “because your next actions will show everyone here what you are, LaChaise.”

LaChaise quivered, his face contorting in rage. Actually, it started contorting from human form into something more bestial, uncomfortable crackling sounds coming from the ghoul’s bulky form as his shoulders rounded and hunched and his back kinked.

Marcone’s voice cracked out. “You are a guest, sir. In my house.”

LaChaise’s eyes had already gone hideous and vaguely serpentine. His weight had shifted to take a step toward Marcone, but the words locked him into place as rigidly as bonds of steel. He looked around the room to see the entirety of the leadership of the Accorded nations staring hard at him.

“Baron Marcone is correct,” Etri said. “You are signatories of the Accords, as are we all. You are obligated to come to Mab’s defense. As are we all.”

LaChaise’s jaw had extended slightly, and it made his voice a snarling, gobbling thing. “Your people are bleeding from a tussle with a mere White Court assassin,” the ghoul hissed. “Do you think you can challenge a Titan, Etri?”

“Not alone,” Etri said calmly. He turned to Marcone and nodded firmly. “Svartalfheim does not make commitments lightly. We will stand in defense of this city.”

Marcone returned the nod.

“Fools,” LaChaise said. “This is hopeless. The enemy has been given free reign to prepare. We have mere hours to assemble our own forces, assuming the attack has not already begun. Do you think Corb means to fight fairly?”

“Obviously not,” Marcone said. “Which tends to make me think that he is not invincible—otherwise, he should simply have attacked, without any of this … drama. It is an attempt to destroy the Accords without firing a shot—to divide us, make us easily taken one at a time.”

“And the Titan?” LaChaise demanded. “Did you see what she was wearing?”

“Titanic bronze,” Etri noted. “An alloy beyond the skill of even my people. Only the Hundred-Handed Ones knew its secret.” He looked at Marcone and clarified, “Mere physical force will never stop her. Only the most puissant of powers stands any chance of doing more than annoying her.”

“A problem to be overcome,” Marcone said, and looked at Cristos. “Perhaps our clever friends of the White Council have a solution.”

Cristos looked at Ebenezar. The two of them traded looks with Martha Liberty and Listens-to-Wind, and the Senior Council put their heads together for a brief conference. Listens-to-Wind looked up from it and nodded at Marcone. “Perhaps. And in any case, we will stand with you and summon a complement of Wardens to the city’s defense.”

“Perhaps they can do something,” LaChaise scoffed. He looked around at the rest of the room. “What does this city, this mortal, mean to any of you? I say it’s better to let the Fomor expend their strength on the mortals.”

“Idiot,” snapped Ferrovax, a plume of thick volcanic-smelling smoke rushing from his nostrils. “You know the mortals as well as I do. Once you awaken them, frighten them, you anger them. They will lash out at any supernatural threat they can find—and may I remind you, LaChaise, that you do not enjoy the safety of dwelling beneath an ocean they have barely explored.”

“The wurm is right,” Vadderung said. He exchanged a nod with Ferrovax. “We must stop Ethniu here and now. If she is allowed to sack a mortal city of this size, there will be no way to contain their rage. Blind and foolish as they are, they are many, and full of the courage of ignorance. None of us will be able to carry on business in the face of that—and Corb and Ethniu will simply sit in their palace under the sea and laugh while the rest of us try to survive.”

“I don’t see how all of us dying in a foolish battle is an improvement,” LaChaise said in an acid tone. “If Ethniu can do that to Mab, what can any of us do against her? What weapon do we have against her?”

Marcone stared at LaChaise as if the ghoul were a simpleton. “Courage, sir,” the robber baron of Chicago said. “Skill. And will.” He turned to Vadderung and said, “I wish to hire the entirety of the available Einherjaren for a night.”