“I think people can change,” said Cawthorne. “Especially if they’ve been buried alive for a few centuries.”
“If Pawn Reid wasn’t dead, not the way they thought, then who knows how his powers — and his mind — might have warped?” put in Odette.
“This is one of the reasons the Checquy has developed such intricate burial procedures,” reflected Felicity.
“Oh?” asked Odette.
“Yeah, Rook Thomas instituted them a couple of years back. It was one of the things that got her into the Court. Before her, people were just buried any old how. Now their bodies get shot in the head and incinerated, and the ashes are spread from four different mountains around the country,” said Felicity. “It’s a very beautiful ceremony.”
“She got a program under way to retrieve all the Checquy bodies that have ever been buried,” said Cawthorne. “But apparently, they haven’t disinterred everyone yet. Anyway, I thought you might like to know.”
“Thanks for that, Mr. Cawthorne,” said Felicity. “And thanks for everything else.” Odette chimed in with her thanks, and the Retainer said all the appropriate things before disconnecting. The two women drifted into sleep.
*
“I still can’t believe how well that worked out!” exclaimed Odette as the car drew up in front of the hotel.
“I still can’t believe we survived,” said Felicity.
“That’s what I mean,” said Odette.
“I am completely exhausted. When I get back to my room, it’s a hot shower for me, followed by a hot bath, followed by a hot meal, followed by bed.”
“Throw in a massage from a hot masseur, and I’ll follow your lead,” said Odette. “Even once they’re repaired, my muscles are going to be aching for days.” Leaning on each other, they limped through the lobby. Dressed in their Checquy-issued plain tracksuits, they caught some disapproving glances from the staff and other guests. God knows what they think of us, thought Felicity. Before, we were in evening gowns. Today we look like we’ve been in a bareknuckle boxing match. It took all her strength to push the elevator call button, and the wait seemed interminable.
Finally, the doors slid open, and the inevitable Checquy security guard eyed them flintily for a moment before recognizing them and stepping forward to help them in. They slumped on his shoulders, and he awkwardly leaned them against the wall and pushed the buttons for the Checquy and Grafter floors.
“Hold the lift!” came a voice, and a blond woman slid in. The Checquy security guard stiffened a little. “My shift is over, I might as well go up instead of sitting in the bar all day,” the woman said. “Odette, you look exhausted. I heard you were going out to a site. Looks like it was a rough one.”
“Sophie, it was amazing,” said Odette, smiling. “Insane and terrifying, but amazing. I don’t know how you people can do this every day.”
“Well, we don’t do it every day,” said Sophie wryly. “Some of us just pull guard duty in the lobby of a five-star hotel.”
“Do you two know each other?” Odette asked Felicity.
“I don’t think so,” said Felicity.
“Ah, Pawn Felicity Clements, this is Pawn Sophie Jelfs,” said Odette. “She’s one of the security guards for the delegation.”
“Good to meet you, finally,” said Pawn Jelfs.
“Thanks,” said Felicity. “You too.” She leaned back against the wall of the lift and then noticed the elevator security guard was frowning. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t recall a Pawn Je —” he started, but Pawn Jelfs snapped up her arm and chopped the side of her hand into his throat. Then, with the same dizzying speed, she held up two tiny aerosol cans and sprayed them into the faces of Felicity and Odette. They crumpled to the floor.
47
Odette opened her eyes and felt incredibly happy.
Saskia!
Her delight was instinctive, rooted in her heart. Her friend’s arms were around her, holding her close, and she could smell Saskia’s familiar perfume. Then she remembered everything and felt her face crumple into tears. No! No, no, no.
“Je suis là, ’Dette,” she crooned. I’m right here. “Nous sommes tous là.” We are all here. Despite herself, Odette held her friend tight in a one-armed hug and pressed her face into Saskia’s shoulder. She felt a kiss on her hair. “It’s all right, Odette. You’re home.” Odette allowed herself one more moment of that comforting embrace, one more moment not to have to worry about anything at all, and then she drew back.
“It’s really you,” Odette said in French.
“It really is.”
And it was. Sitting on the end of the bed, barefoot, Saskia looked completely unchanged from when Odette last saw her that horrible day in the hotel. Her friend’s hair was pulled back loosely from her face, and she was wearing a short skirt and a T-shirt with a cardigan over it. So completely inappropriate for a terrorist, Odette thought fondly.
“You’re wearing your own face,” said Odette. “I’m glad.”
“Yes, we have different ones for when we go out — they’re very simple, clumsy things,” said Saskia. “Not a real face, but an overlay. Very clever; we even have ones for different races. Gloves too. Pim came up with them.” Odette nodded and looked around to take stock of the situation. She was sitting up in a queen-size bed made up with soft cotton sheets. The room was hardly bigger than the bed and had no windows, but a gentle light glowed from overhead.
Am I in a cell? she thought. I don’t think so. The walls were the sort that were put up in offices when the renter had a large space to fill and wanted to create rooms. A metal frame covered with plasterboard. Unless there’s some sort of material reinforcing it, I could kick through it, she decided. There was a print on the wall, an ink engraving of buildings she recognized from Prague. Nice picture.
“It’s not a cell,” Saskia said, and Odette started. She was no longer used to someone who knew her so well. “It’s just a room we had available. We have to make do with what we’ve got, I’m afraid.”
Odette looked down at herself. She was wearing a fresh T-shirt, plain orange. A peek under the blankets revealed that she was wearing her original underwear. On her left thigh there was a fresh bandage. Her right arm was in a sling, one of those rigid polyester ones that held the injured limb against her. When she tried to wiggle her fingers, however, she couldn’t.
“Simon took a look at your poor arm,” said Saskia. “He said you must have done something to your muscles without any prep at all?”
“Yeah,” said Odette. Saskia raised her eyes to heaven and shook her head.
“I expect you had your reasons, but it will take a good bit of work to rearrange and repair them,” she said. “One of us will get to it once we have a free moment. In the meantime, it will need to remain immobilized. Believe it or not, a sling is actually the best thing for it. That, and a little judicious paralysis to make sure the muscles move as little as possible.”
Odette nodded but carefully flexed some other muscles. Her spurs remained firmly, and pointedly, sheathed. Saskia was looking at her with calm eyes.
“We’ve taken a few precautions, Odette,” she said. “Don’t be hurt, please. We love you, but you’re still torn, and we can’t take any chances. Not that it would make a huge amount of difference. The reservoirs for your spurs were completely drained,” she sniffed. “Do I want to know what you were doing?”
“I was fighting something,” said Odette. I was saving the life of someone who saved my life, she didn’t say. Saskia nodded.
It was odd, almost like a dream. Saskia was so calm and so obviously delighted to see her. Odette simply had no idea what was going to happen. What do I say? Are we going to talk about what they’ve done? Then she caught sight of the shoes that were standing by the door. Black heels with a cream canvas sheath coming up from the leather and metal buckles.
“Nice shoes.”
“Vivienne Westwood,” said Saskia, pleased. “I’ve gone very London since we arrived. It really is amazing to be here, despite everything. Have you been able to see much during your stay?”