Four Roads Cross (Craft Sequence #5)(52)

“That’s the one.” They stopped in front of a lift. Abelard pushed the UP button, and as they waited, asked, “You know her?”

There were many ways to answer that question. “She’s a demonic transactional specialist. She was coauthor on a paper I read back at school. Very high-level stuff.”

“What was the subject?”

“Strategic modeling in distributed action networks.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’d take more than an elevator ride to explain.” The doors dinged and rolled open. “What matters is the name of the first coauthor.”

Abelard followed her into the lift. “Denovo.”

A demon in suspenders with a slim, collected smile. The skeleton on the slab. “Alexander Denovo.”

“She’s here for revenge.”

“There are many stories about Madeline Ramp,” Tara said, “but revenge isn’t her style. Denovo worked with lots of people. She’s a Craftswoman, a successful academic, a partner at a top-level firm. There are lots of reasons someone might hire her.”

“Denovo could get to people, though. Influence them.”

“He was subtle, and strong, but I doubt he could have bound someone and left her high-functioning enough to operate as a partner in a named firm. He was a renowned scholar for decades. The fact someone worked with him doesn’t make that person automatically horrible. It just means she could stand being in the same room with him long enough to agree on a paper topic.”

“That’s enough to make her suspect in my book,” Abelard said.

They reached the sixtieth floor and the doors rolled back. Up here the priesthood’s architects had abandoned stone and stained glass for pale wood and wall-to-wall carpet—practical. It was easier to set up sympathetic tricks with stone. To listen through wood, a Craftswoman needed a splinter from the same tree. Not a perfect ward, but every little bit helped.

The conference room at the hall’s end had its blinds drawn. Tara checked her own reflection in the glass, straightened jacket, adjusted cuffs, smoothed skirt. Decent armor for a meeting, coupled with her high confidence after solving the indenture problem. She could deal with Madeline Ramp.

She opened the door and stepped inside.

And stopped on the threshold. Abelard bumped into her, which was fortunate. If not for him she might have remained frozen forever.

Cardinal Bede sat at the conference table smoking, and Cardinal Nestor beside him. At the far end of the room stood Madeline Ramp: round faced and smooth as a lizard in a lavender suit. She wore thin leather gloves—at least, Tara thought they were gloves. “Ms. Abernathy!” Ramp said. “Pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from my colleagues. I’m glad to see they didn’t undersell. I was just explaining our position to your clients.”

Tara was not looking at Ramp. The Craftswoman might have turned into an eel for all she cared. Tara had last seen woman beside her—pale hair, full mouth, pockmark on the left cheek—being carted comatose from the Hidden Schools. She was awake now: dressed and sharp, and smiling. “Hello, Tara.”

“Daphne,” she said. The name fit out Tara’s mouth, which was a feat. She walked, wooden, to the desk and sat. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” Which was a dumb thing to say, but she had not prepared any one-liners for the occasion.

“You already know each other,” Ms. Ramp said. “Wonderful! Then we can get right to business. Ms. Abernathy, I’m here on behalf of a consortium of Grossman and Mime clients—” A folded piece of paper lay on the table before her, and with a flick of a gloved finger she floated it to Tara. Tara could have guessed most of the names. Take every bank and private equity fund mentioned more than once a year in the Thaumaturgist, cross out those run by gods or their representatives, and that was the list, less a few exceptions. Alphan, HBSE, First and Major, a double handful of Concerns representing net deposits of a few hundred million souls. Church shareholders and creditors.

No surprises, but that didn’t make reading the list any easier.

“—To investigate allegations Kos Everburning has substantial off-book liabilities. I know you’ve heard the same reports I have, and I want to stress that we hope to resolve this situation in a straightforward, mutually agreeable fashion. We’re not interested in posturing, and the last, and I do mean last, thing my clients want is for this to affect their bottom lines.”

Ramp’s eyes were flat as the gold circles that sometimes flashed inside a cat’s. And beside her sat Daphne Mains: former classmate, fellow victim, the woman whose breaking had forced Tara to confront the blight Professor Denovo made of her life, the woman Tara thought dead in every way that mattered.

Focus, dammit.

“I’m happy to hear,” Tara said, “your clients are concerned about proper bookkeeping and the risks of disguised liability.” Especially since most of them had their own dump heaps for underperforming assets, she did not say. “But Kos Everburning’s dealings are all aboveboard.”

“As I told Ms. Ramp,” Bede said.

“I wish I could leave it at that.” Ramp’s wide smile showed too many teeth. “But what are we to make of reports Kos is backing a fledgling goddess?”

Abelard sat down beside Tara, stiffly. The question had been directed at Bede and Nestor, but if Tara let the Cardinals speak there was too much risk they would lie, or try something clever. Madeline Ramp would eat their clever alive. “I’ve heard the same reports,” Tara said. “And I understand why they give your clients pause.” Don’t look at Daphne. Watch her boss, and keep your voice level. Were Ramp’s teeth filed to points? “There is another goddess operating in Alt Coulumb, by mutual agreement with the Church of Kos. Their relationship is based on nonoverlapping magisteria. A few onetime grants of soulstuff have changed hands, but no formal dependency exists. Your clients can rest assured her presence does not alter Kos’s risk profile.”