“You look very nice,” said van Suchtlen warmly.
“But you’re not wearing the hat,” said Odette in a helpful tone. Alessio shot her a look that promised retribution of the direst sort, and then, with absolutely no expression, he placed the boater on his head. The entire table clapped politely, Alessio closed his eyes in an effort to endure the agony, and Odette took the opportunity to snap some pictures with her phone.
“What a fascinating outfit,” she said quietly when Alessio sat down next to her. “I’m sure it’s full of historical and cultural significance.”
“I’m sure it’s so that I’ll make an easy target if they need to shoot me,” said Alessio.
“Is that a teapot on the crest? Why would there be a teapot?” asked Odette.
“To torture me,” said Alessio. “This uniform is probably revenge for my ancestors’ invading their country centuries ago and slaughtering their people.”
In unison, they looked to the end of the table, where one of the ancestors in question was drinking a cup of tea and playing with his smartphone.
“Well, you can take it up with him if you like,” said Odette. Alessio made a little moaning sound as he picked at his blazer. “It’s not that bad,” she said soothingly. “And Grootvader Ernst likes it.”
“Grootvader Ernst was born in a time when men wore tights. And hats with feathers in them!” Great-Uncle Marcel shot them a look, and they both went quiet.
The schedule for the day was quite straightforward. The entire delegation would travel to Apex House, the administrative headquarters of the Checquy. They would be scanned and registered by a security detail before Alessio went off with his school group and the rest of the delegation was formally welcomed to the negotiating table by half the Court (the Lord was obliged to meet with the Prime Minister every Wednesday morning, Rook Kelleher had the flu, Chevalier Whibley was on his way back from a journey overseas, and Bishop Alrich would apparently crumble into greasy ash if he appeared during normal business hours). After that, everyone would split up into work groups to address various issues.
“And be polite at all times,” said van Suchtlen. “They are as wary of us as we are of them. Be professional, be normal. Endeavor not to do anything that will result in them obliterating us.”
9
Blackness. Blackness and cold, and a terrible weight pressing down on every part of her. That was all Felicity knew. It was everything. There was no room for any thought. All she could do was cling to the one warm thing that existed. She buried her face in its softness and felt arms closed tight around her. All around them, the cold darkness moved, surging, compressing, pushing them along. And it lasted for a long, long time.
*
Light!
It unfolded all around her. And it was not the terrifying green glare of Pawn Jennings’s power but a soft, gentle warmth that soaked pinkly through her eyelids and stroked her skin. There was heat against her front, and the chill on her back was not as bad as it had been. For a few seconds, she floated in the light.
And then she fell, flailing, untangling, for perhaps a meter before she flopped down onto a softish, yielding surface. The smell of plastic and nylon was familiar. Crash mat, her brain supplied vaguely. Like in gymnastics at school. She tried to open her eyes, but they were sticky, and she had to rub at them before she could see. On her hands, she could see little crystals that melted away into water. Frost.
Felicity was exhausted, but she managed to lift herself up on her elbows and look around. She was sprawled on a blue Olympic-style crash mat in a white room with windows that looked out onto a gray sky. The crash mat appeared to be the only furniture. The whole place felt delightfully warm.
If this is the afterlife, then everyone has been extremely wrong about it.
Next to her was the curved brown back of a naked man. Great, another one, she thought weakly. At least this one seems to be a little more standard-issue. This naked man had a nice back, from what she could tell, but he did not seem to be doing well. All she could see of him was covered in a rime of frost, and he was shaking. The muscles in his shoulders and arms twitched violently. Well, that’s not good, she thought. I’d better do... something. It took all her strength, but she sat up. She could feel her head wobbling on her neck like a baby’s.
It was at that point that Felicity realized that she, too, was naked. Her armor and coveralls had vanished. There was no sign of her gun or her wristwatch. Even the smears of rubbish-based visual and olfactory camouflage were gone. All she was wearing was a thin, swiftly melting coat of ice and frost. She gave a moment’s thought to spreading her Sight out beyond the room, but even the idea left her exhausted. I think it’ll be easier just to stand up and open the door.
There was a door, and somewhere beyond it, a bell was ringing. She was just getting to her knees when the door opened and a woman in a nurse’s uniform bustled in. She was black and in her late fifties or early sixties. The nurse’s eyes widened when she saw the two naked people on the mat.
“Oh Lord,” she said in surprise. “He’s brought another with him!” she shouted back through the doorway. She spoke with a strong Caribbean accent. “You all right?” she asked Felicity, who nodded. The nurse cast a quick diagnostic eye over her and then descended on the naked, twitching man and hurriedly gave him an injection. His shuddering eased, then stopped completely, and the nurse carefully rolled him onto his back. It was Pawn Chopra. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was settling into an easy rhythm.
The nurse briskly toweled Chopra dry, spread a blanket over him, and kissed him on the forehead. Then she took a pair of glasses out of her pocket and put them on the mat by his head.
“His contact lenses will have been lost in the journey,” she explained to Felicity. “And he always likes to wake up and find his glasses waiting for him. Now, let’s dry you off and get you a robe.”
“But I’ve got to let them know we’re still alive!” exclaimed Felicity. “They’ll think we all died in the fire. And the naked Homeowner in the OOM!” She stopped under the nurse’s politely uncomprehending gaze. “Are — you are with the —” began Felicity, but the nurse held up her hand.
“I’m not with your little group,” she said.
“You’re a civilian?” squeaked Felicity, aghast. She was aware that not only had she mentioned highly classified matters to an outsider, but she also probably sounded insane.
“I’m just a nurse in the hospital, but don’t worry, we called your people as soon as you came through. I’m Cedella. Please don’t tell me your name, I don’t need to know it, and I really prefer to keep my knowledge of you people to a minimum.”
“I — yeah, okay,” said Felicity, still slightly taken aback. “Um, you said this is a hospital? What hospital? Where are we?”
“This is the William Harvey Hospital,” said Cedella. “In Ashford.”
“Ashford?” repeated Felicity in bewilderment.
“In Kent,” said the nurse helpfully.
“Kent. Why — how are we in Kent?”
“Him,” said Cedella, patting Pawn Chopra gently. “This is the room that Sanjay was born in. I was here twenty-one years ago when he came into the world. And now, periodically, he comes back.” Felicity stared at her.