“How boring,” said Myfanwy tightly.
“Well, they seem to be doing a lot of surgery,” said Lady Farrier. “And I must say, if you have to get operated on in these sorts of circumstances, I expect that the Grafters would give you the best chance on earth.” Myfanwy took a deep breath. Of course, it was only an imaginary breath, but it helped her to calm down. It was difficult to reconcile the serene sunshine of this moment with the bloody, panicked reality she’d just experienced. Be calm. Be cool. Be collected. She was secretly rather grateful to Farrier for bringing her here. It was such a lovely scenario that the possibility of dying abruptly seemed quite absurd.
“Speaking of the Grafters,” said Myfanwy, “I suppose I’d better tell you a few things, just in case I don’t pull through.”
“Oh?”
“Well, it’s best to be prepared for the worst.” She smiled a little smile. She’d been able to assume her predecessor’s life only because the old Myfanwy had been extremely well prepared. “I have some grave concerns about the merger.”
For the first time, Farrier’s reserve cracked. “What on earth are you talking about? You’ve been the main force behind this!”
“I know, and on the face of it, everything is going well. Yesterday they provided the list of all the Checquy operatives they’d suborned. There’s only a few left, by the way. Most of them were killed at that drinks reception, and then a guard at Gallows Keep was killed in a car accident a couple of months back. Oh, and a morgue attendant at the Rookery committed suicide a few weeks ago. So the Grafters are showing good faith there. They’ve turned over huge swaths of information about themselves, and I’ve had it all checked. It’s legitimate. The real estate holdings, the personnel details, the bank accounts and investments — everything is as they said. Of course, inevitably there are some peculiarities. Their finances, for instance.”
The personal wealth of the Grafters was substantial, but most of it was in assets that were decidedly nonliquid. Rather, they were gelatinous, viscous, bony, oleaginous, gastric, and cartilaginoid. Broederschap funds tended to be sunk into unique biological items or substances that were rare but that appeared to be of no material use to anyone except the Broederschap. They did not hold stocks or shares, instead investing their money back into their own research and themselves. An astounding amount of money, for instance, had been poured into Ernst’s body, but he was not living the lifestyle of the rich and famous. They were discreet, circumspect. “Their cash reserves are less than you would expect, but I’m not surprised that they’ve lied about the money.”
“Well, I am!”
“I anticipated Ernst would have some assets tucked away just in case negotiations were to break down,” said Myfanwy dismissively. “I would estimate he’s kept fifteen to twenty percent of their wealth off the books, but if anything along those lines ever comes to light, I would urge you to overlook it.”
“Overlook it?”
“Once they’re part of the Checquy, their finances will be under the same scrutiny that ours are.”
All operatives of the Checquy had their finances gone over with a fine-tooth comb by the fiercest and most merciless auditors in HM Revenue and Customs. The unique position of the Checquy and the dangerous repercussions of any corruption meant that every penny every employee earned and spent was accounted for. Random audits of private accounts were an irritating but not unexpected occurrence. As a result, every employee was fanatical about getting a receipt for every transaction, including charitable donations to street beggars.
“If it’s not the money, then what are your concerns?” asked Lady Farrier.
“It’s what I’m not seeing. There are gaps.” Warming to her topic, Myfanwy put down her teacup. “Look, I’ve plotted all the data they’ve given us, and some things just don’t make sense. For instance, they maintain a research residence in the capital of every Western European country except France? Their facilities in Seraing and Vienna happen to catch fire and be destroyed now? And there are other things. I’ve identified a lacuna in their population demographics.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Odette Leliefeld appears to be the only Grafter between the age of nineteen and twenty-six.”
“That’s not why you gave her a bodyguard, is it?”
“No, but there are a number of things about that girl that worry me. She has far fewer implants than anyone else in the delegation except the kid.”
“She’s young,” said Farrier. “Perhaps they don’t give them too many to begin with.”
“Perhaps.” Myfanwy shrugged. “But the disparity is notable. Someone should go through the profiles of all the Grafters and compare.” The Lady nodded. “Especially given the fact that she was added to the delegation at the last minute, both she and her brother.”
“These could all be coincidences,” objected Farrier.
“Yes, which brings me to the final point.” Myfanwy described the mission in which Clements had lost her entire team, and the possible implications. “Talk to Clements about it. And don’t punish her for withholding information — I ordered her to be silent.”
“I can’t believe you’ve kept this to yourself.”
“I don’t know for sure that it means anything,” said Myfanwy. “And you know the tensions that exist at the moment.”
“So what do you think is going on?”
“I don’t know,” said Myfanwy. “Not for certain. As far as I can tell, either the Grafters are not committed to the merger, or there’s some other party that has followed them. Miss Leliefeld was shocked at the Italian restaurant, but I’m certain it was the shock of recognition. In any case, I don’t want you to be caught off guard.” She winced and put her hand to her back. In the dream, her skin was smooth and unbroken, but she’d felt a jag of pain. That can’t be good. “Lady Farrier?” she asked hesitantly.
“Yes?”
“Could I ask a favor? If the Grafters aren’t able to save me, would you mind staying with me here until I... until I go?”
“Of course,” said the Lady.
“And just one more thing?”
“Yes?”
“I’m a little tired of tea. I don’t suppose we could have some champagne?”
*
“And the Antagonist stood here for half an hour?” asked Bart.
“About that, yes,” said Sander. The Chimera tracker rubbed his nose, which was bigger than it had been at the start of the mission but was still within the bounds of plausibility. Bart and Laurita looked around. Over the past three days, Sander had led them through the streets of London, tracking their quarry from the Italian restaurant to a spot on a busy street by Hyde Park. There were tall, impressive buildings in front of them, and the park behind them, but nothing of any particular interest. “He’s been back here several times since.”
“How can you tell?”
“There’s layering and variations in the scent,” said Sander confidently. “He came here directly from the Italian restaurant, but he’s definitely returned since then. Sometimes it’s right after he’s bathed, sometimes it’s right after he’s eaten.”
“And it’s a male?”
“Oh yes.”
“Well, I suppose that’s a good thing,” said Bart thoughtfully. “That will mean there are fresher trails, correct?” It had taken the tracker days to lead them to this spot. Trailing an old scent through a city of millions of people had proven to be incredibly difficult, not least because Sander was unable to deploy his full complement of sensory organs in public. They’d had to keep stopping and standing about awkwardly while he froze in the middle of the footpath and dredged up a hint of a scent from the city. On several occasions, they’d had to retrace their steps to intersections and try different routes. Twice, he actually had to lie down on the footpath and sniff, which had gotten them some very suspicious looks. Fortunately, the pedestrians of London were far too polite and jaded to interfere or comment.