A Local Habitation

“News spreads fast these days. There’s this amazing invention called ‘the Internet’—have you heard of it? We use it to tell each other things.” I wrinkled my nose at him, and he shook his head. “Oh, come on. We’re sandwiched between two major Duchies. You really think we wouldn’t have the best rumor mill in the Kingdom?”


He had a point. Dreamer’s Glass was gaining a reputation for strangeness when I vanished in ’95. Being considered weird by a race of people who don’t see anything wrong with turning their enemies into deer and hunting them through downtown Oakland is an achievement. From what I understood, the Duchy just got stranger as Duchess Riordan, the local regent, became more paranoid about insurrection. Eventually, it got to be too much, and one of the larger fiefdoms declared its autonomy and split off, forming the County of Tamed Lightning.

The politics almost make sense. The technological advances behind them, not so much. Faerie was just starting to dip its toes into computer science and the Internet, and Tamed Lightning wanted autonomy partially so they’d be free to push those borders even further. I don’t get it. The world I’m used to is simpler than the one I’m living in. There’s too much steel and silicon these days, and I’m still not sure whether that’s better than iron; I can barely handle my answering machine, much less all these strange new methods of keeping in touch. The technology that was in its infancy when I left had grown into a spoiled teenager by the time I returned, complicating everyone’s lives and making a nuisance of itself down at the mall.

“Not that anyone bothered to tell us you were coming,” Alex continued. “If we didn’t have a picture of you in the database, we still wouldn’t know who you were.” Pausing, he asked, “Where are you?”

“What?” I snapped back into the present. “I’m right here.”

“You weren’t a moment ago.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Now that I was paying attention, I really was sorry; I hadn’t meant to zone out. “I guess I didn’t expect anyone to know who I was.”

“You can’t go around pissing off half the nobles in the Kingdom and expect to go unnoticed,” he replied, cheering up again. “I swear Jannie was more excited by the trouble you caused with that Goldengreen affair than she was by the concept of fiber-optic Internet connections. And that’s saying a lot.”

“Hang on—Jannie?”

“Yeah, Jannie. The lady whose company you’re standing in?”

“You mean Countess Torquill?” Maybe this orange-eyed Ken doll could point me toward Sylvester’s niece.

“Who?”

Or maybe not. “Aren’t you talking about Countess January Torquill?”

“What?” he said, eyes widening. Then he laughed, the rich, delighted laugh of a man confronted with something genuinely funny. “Oh, man. Oh, wow. Can I tell her you called her that? She’ll have an aneurysm.” I don’t like being laughed at under the best of circumstances. This wasn’t the best of circumstances. I glared. He stopped laughing. “What’s wrong?”

“Will you please tell me who you’re talking about?” I asked, plaintively. “We’re here on official business from the Duke of Shadowed Hills, and I’d really like to know what’s going on.”

Alex cocked his head to the side. “Sylvester sent you?”

“He’s worried about January, so he asked me to check in.”

“Please don’t get pissed at me for asking this, but . . . do you have any proof?”

“What?” I blinked at him.

Looking sheepish, Alex shrugged. “Proof. Do you have anything to prove that Sylvester sent you?”

“Just this.” I offered him the folder I was still carrying. “Really crappy directions to Fremont, our hotel reservations, and some stuff telling me whose fences I shouldn’t climb over.”

Alex flipped it open, scanning the contents before offering a quick nod. “Okay, good enough for me; if you’re dumb enough to be faking all this, I figure that’s your lookout, and the real Toby Daye’ll show up soon to beat your face in. Come on, I’ll take you to January.”

“Let me tell Quentin.” I reclaimed my folder and turned, moving to stick my head back into the cafeteria. Quentin was at the table we’d been sharing, shredding a napkin into long, narrow strips. “Hey.”