Four Roads Cross (Craft Sequence #5)(83)

She was not.

Ms. Kevarian took a silver watch from her pocket. She snapped it open, consulted its face, closed it again.

Tara gripped Abelard’s shifting shoulder. “Pull yourself together.”

The shivers slowed, and his form congealed. She helped him to his feet. “Thank you,” he said. In the crystal globe’s silent center, even a whisper carried. “Does everything you do hurt this much?”

“Are you both decent?” Ms. Kevarian asked. “I have a tight schedule.”

“Yes,” Tara said.

Her old boss’s footsteps were loud as drumbeats as she turned. The face was much as Tara remembered: sharp, marked with thin lines cut by decades of Craftwork. Black eyes flicked over Tara, right to Abelard, and back to Tara for a second review. The mouth, efficient as a lizard’s, turned up at one corner. “It is good to see you, Ms. Abernathy. I’ve heard much about your work with the Church of Kos. The community is palpably relieved Kos’s church finally has a competent full-time advisor—even if their gain was my loss.”

She felt a thrill. Once she would have done anything to please this woman. Once? “It’s good to see you, too,” she said. “You remember Abelard?”

“Of course. You have come up in the world, Technician. Congratulations.”

He bowed his head, too nervous for the formality to take. “Thank you.”

“You’re on a case?” Tara said.

“As ever. The Shining Empire this time. A member of their Divine Guard has died. I’m charged to resurrect her without disturbing the giant monster whose consort she is. An interesting problem. What can I do for you?”

“I don’t suppose you can tag out of your current case for a few days? We have a situation here.”

“Kos is in trouble,” Abelard said. “And Seril.”

“In three days,” Tara explained, “our creditors and shareholders will challenge Kos’s by attacking Seril. I have to focus on a long shot that might save us, and I need—we need,” she corrected with a glance to Abelard, “to stall the enemies at the gates.” She produced a folded document: a copy of Ramp’s challenge.

“Who’s the opposing counsel?”

“Madeline Ramp, with Daphne Mains assisting.”

“Ramp. Interesting.”

“You’ve worked with her?”

“A practicing theorist—the most dangerous kind.” Ms. Kevarian flipped through the document. She nodded at various points. “Ramp was involved—you’re aware of the Alt Selene outbreak, in the eighties?”

“I know she lives in Alt Selene. I didn’t realize—”

“She waded into the singularity and killed it before the city died. She wrestled omnipotence into submission. I’m sure she has a raft of interesting stories.” Ms. Kevarian shrugged. “Also a prominent contributor to the Forum on the Will and Its Transformations, the misguided knitting circle Alexander passed off as a journal. She’s competent. I wish I could help.”

“You can’t?”

“The Shining Empire case is consuming the overenthusiastic murderball coach’s proverbial one hundred ten percent of my time. In a week, I could assist. But you do not have that week.”

“This is a formal request from the Church of Kos,” Tara said. “There’s budget behind it. We’re not asking for a favor.”

Abelard stepped forward. “Technical Cardinal Nestor and Cardinal Evangelist Bede sent me to retain your services.” He seemed proud he’d said the whole line without stumbling. Strange he should be so daunted by a pro forma request, yet able to deliver that speech in front of the tribunal. Tara always found heart-baring stuff harder. “Ma’am.”

“I wish I could abandon this project,” Ms. Kevarian said. “But several hundred miles of coastline and a hundred million people are in danger of attack by, I swear, giant moths, if I abandon my work. However.” She slid the folded paper into her pocket; Tara felt the information slip from dream to dream, like playing cards sliding past each other. “Thankfully, my firm has other partners.” A black notebook appeared in her hand; she paged to the end, frowned. “Young Wakefield should be through in Regis by now, and has experience with this sort of thing. Wakefield’s no friend to gods, but the challenge won’t require empathy to defeat. If that’s all…”

“It’s not,” Tara said, “actually.”

“Is this the part where you ask for your old job back?” But from Ms. Kevarian the jab felt easy. “I’m afraid you may be too expensive for us at the moment.”

“Nothing like that,” Tara said. “This long shot I have in mind. I need to talk to people who might not take a meeting from me otherwise.”

“I can make introductions. With whom do you wish to speak?”

“I need to see the King in Red.”

“We have not spoken in a while,” Ms. Kevarian said. A deep pit lay beneath those words. Tara felt that if she stepped wrong she might tumble through them and fall forever. “We are not so close as once we were.”

“We need Seril’s lost portfolio. The custody chain stops with him. There’s no time to bring formal action against the King in Red—I doubt we could win in court. His pockets are deep. But I need to try, and the Deathless King of Dresediel Lex won’t take my card.” Ms. Kevarian darkened in the dream. Don’t press her, a wise inner voice counseled Tara, but Tara never had much truck with wise inner voices. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize there was bad blood between you.”