She felt a hard blow to her lower back, as if someone had punched her.
Her breath rushed out of her. She swayed forward, but something held her against the bench. Something that hurt her deep inside. I believe I’ve been stabbed, she thought in amazement. One of those damn crystal things. He grew it out of the bench and into me. This revelation did not upset her nearly as much as she would have expected. She looked down hesitantly and saw, to her distant relief, that there wasn’t anything coming out of her stomach. But pain was spreading in her guts. Her head swam and she realized, with a feeling of dread, that she’d released her mental grasp on the man sitting next to her. Falteringly, she turned her head to look at him. Once again, he was breathing heavily; a veneer of sweat shone on his face, but he was able to turn and look back at her.
“Who are you?” he asked in an intense low tone. “What are you? How do you know about me?”
Keep him here, Myfanwy told herself. She couldn’t muster up the focus to use her powers on him, but if she could delay him, then maybe Ernst or one of the others would come. So she mumbled something incomprehensible.
“What?” he said, and he leaned closer to her. It was odd that no one in the crowd had noticed anything. Probably because there was no obvious blood, and since she didn’t have the breath to scream, people continued to walk by. It was like getting killed in the middle of My Fair Lady.
I’m supposed to say something to him, thought Myfanwy, but she couldn’t make her mouth do what she wanted. The man was speaking, but she couldn’t hear him.
Her last thought was that she was supposed to call Jonathan.
29
“Myfanwy, as long as we’re talking, can I get your thoughts on a bit of administrivia?”
“Certainly, Lady Farrier,” said Myfanwy. She carefully spooned a dollop of Devonshire clotted cream onto her scone and then placed a teaspoon of strawberry jam into the center.
“Some would call that heresy, you know,” remarked the Lady of the Checquy. She herself appeared to be of the “jam, then cream” school.
“I’m not bound by the petty strictures of society,” said Myfanwy, and she took a delicious bite. “Anyway, what can I do for you?”
“Do you have any thoughts on possible Rooks?”
“You don’t like the job that Andrew Kelleher is doing?” asked Myfanwy, lifting her teacup. “I thought we had agreed to make him permanent.”
“No, he’s fine,” said the Lady. “Apart from the smoking.”
“Joshua Eckhart smokes,” remarked Myfanwy.
“Not from his eyes,” said Farrier.
“Well, you know I’ve been pushing for Colonel Hall. He’s extremely experienced and extremely capable.”
“Not a Pawn, though,” said Lady Farrier.
“I don’t think that should matter,” said Myfanwy. “Although, if we’re keeping Whibley as a Chevalier — and we should, because he’s very good — then we should try and get another woman onto the Court.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Lady Farrier.
“Wait,” said Myfanwy, suddenly suspicious. “Why are you asking me this?” She glanced around. They were sitting on a balcony in the Ascot grandstand, looking down on the brilliant colors of the crowds and horses. It all seemed a good deal quieter than it had before. “How did I even get here?”
“Well, you’re not here,” said Lady Farrier. “I thought you knew that.” Myfanwy looked at her in horror. “Think a moment. I’m sure you’ll recall getting impaled in the back. I presume it was by the serial killer you were trying to track down.”
“Oh God,” said Myfanwy, dropping her cup of tea, which unraveled into vapor. It was all coming back to her, like a dream you suddenly remember in the morning. “I’m not awake at all.”
This was not the first time Farrier had interviewed Myfanwy in her mind. The Lady of the Checquy possessed the ability to enter (and interfere with) other people’s dreams. As a result, she was one of the few people who knew about Myfanwy’s amnesia. She had never revealed the amnesia to the Checquy, since she owed the old Myfanwy a debt of honor, but she’d always been cautiously reserved, even after the new Myfanwy had proven herself.
“So where am I really?” asked Myfanwy.
“Currently, you’re lying facedown on the conference table in the boardroom at Ascot Racecourse, bleeding all over the place,” said Farrier. “Dr. Leliefeld is doing his best to keep you alive. I thought we’d take this opportunity to have a chat in your unconscious mind and make some preparations, just in case.” She took a bite of scone.
“You’re canvassing me on my possible replacement while I’m dying?” asked Myfanwy.
“There’s no better time,” said the Lady reasonably. “And we’re not absolutely certain that you’re going to die. They’re working very hard. Did you know that the Leliefeld girl has surgical tools inside her? She just hiked up her dress and two scalpels slid out of a slit in her thigh.”
“Yes, it’s in her file,” said Myfanwy testily. “How bad do I look?”
Lady Farrier shrugged. “I am sorry, truly, but I’m afraid that I have no idea. I didn’t see much except the end of a crystal spike coming out of your back.”
“Oh God!”
“Don’t worry, we covered it up marvelously. Apparently, there wasn’t much blood because the crystal thing had absorbed a great deal of it. Graaf van Suchtlen had to carry you through the enclosure, wrapped in his coat, but he told everyone you’d fainted from dehydration.”
“Well, that is a relief,” said Myfanwy. “Was there a lot of attention?”
“No. Everyone seemed to think it would be in bad taste to take photos of a sick woman, and I arranged for us to use the boardroom. It’s private and doesn’t look out onto the racecourse, so no one will see us.”
“Thank you,” said Myfanwy gloomily. “Did they catch the killer at least?”
“No, I’m afraid not. He was gone by the time the graaf found you.”
“And none of the people at the exits saw him?” she asked. “No smell of blood?”
“No, but there wouldn’t be. Pawn Clements spent thirty minutes reading the history of that bathroom. She watched the crystals erupt out of the wall and impale that man half a dozen times, but there was no sign of the murderer. Then she thought to look at the history outside the room. The man had walked up to the door and put his hand flat against it, and then the crystals appeared.”
“That explains why our people never found any evidence at any of the crime scenes,” mused Myfanwy.
“I’ll pass that on to the investigators if you don’t pull through,” promised Lady Farrier.
“Oh, good,” said Myfanwy. She looked at the scones and shrugged. They might only be figments of the imagination of a dying mind, but that seemed like all the more reason to eat them.
“Hmm,” said Lady Farrier. She looked up at the sky and frowned.
“What?”
“I —”
*
“She’s waking up!” shouted Odette.
“Well, she shouldn’t be,” said Marcel tightly. “That chemical could knock out a hippopotamus.”
Myfanwy’s eyes opened a little. She was facedown, and while her head was cushioned by a bunched-up, formerly white tablecloth, she could feel that the rest of her was lying on polished wood. Her hands twitched, and she felt a warm liquid pooling around them. Her back was wet and hot. As she woke up a little more, her brain pointed out that there was a horrendous pain lancing through her lower back. Instinctively, she thrashed and screamed and felt her powers flash. There were shouts of pain and confusion.
“Jesus!” said somebody.
“It’s her!” said somebody else.
“Knock her out again!” exclaimed Odette. Myfanwy felt two firm fingers pressing against her throat, and then she was gone.
*
“Well, that was unexpected,” said Lady Farrier. “More tea?”
“Please,” said Myfanwy breathlessly. The other woman poured the tea into the cup that was suddenly back in front of her. “It — it didn’t seem to be going very well.”
“No, I’m afraid not,” said Farrier. “When they removed the spike from your back, you started bleeding rather badly.”