“I know she lives in Alt Selene. I didn’t realize—”
“She waded into the singularity and killed it before the city died. She wrestled omnipotence into submission. I’m sure she has a raft of interesting stories.” Ms. Kevarian shrugged. “Also a prominent contributor to the Forum on the Will and Its Transformations, the misguided knitting circle Alexander passed off as a journal. She’s competent. I wish I could help.”
“You can’t?”
“The Shining Empire case is consuming the overenthusiastic murderball coach’s proverbial one hundred ten percent of my time. In a week, I could assist. But you do not have that week.”
“This is a formal request from the Church of Kos,” Tara said. “There’s budget behind it. We’re not asking for a favor.”
Abelard stepped forward. “Technical Cardinal Nestor and Cardinal Evangelist Bede sent me to retain your services.” He seemed proud he’d said the whole line without stumbling. Strange he should be so daunted by a pro forma request, yet able to deliver that speech in front of the tribunal. Tara always found heart-baring stuff harder. “Ma’am.”
“I wish I could abandon this project,” Ms. Kevarian said. “But several hundred miles of coastline and a hundred million people are in danger of attack by, I swear, giant moths, if I abandon my work. However.” She slid the folded paper into her pocket; Tara felt the information slip from dream to dream, like playing cards sliding past each other. “Thankfully, my firm has other partners.” A black notebook appeared in her hand; she paged to the end, frowned. “Young Wakefield should be through in Regis by now, and has experience with this sort of thing. Wakefield’s no friend to gods, but the challenge won’t require empathy to defeat. If that’s all…”
“It’s not,” Tara said, “actually.”
“Is this the part where you ask for your old job back?” But from Ms. Kevarian the jab felt easy. “I’m afraid you may be too expensive for us at the moment.”
“Nothing like that,” Tara said. “This long shot I have in mind. I need to talk to people who might not take a meeting from me otherwise.”
“I can make introductions. With whom do you wish to speak?”
“I need to see the King in Red.”
“We have not spoken in a while,” Ms. Kevarian said. A deep pit lay beneath those words. Tara felt that if she stepped wrong she might tumble through them and fall forever. “We are not so close as once we were.”
“We need Seril’s lost portfolio. The custody chain stops with him. There’s no time to bring formal action against the King in Red—I doubt we could win in court. His pockets are deep. But I need to try, and the Deathless King of Dresediel Lex won’t take my card.” Ms. Kevarian darkened in the dream. Don’t press her, a wise inner voice counseled Tara, but Tara never had much truck with wise inner voices. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize there was bad blood between you.”
“I’ll contact him,” Ms. Kevarian said. “I cannot guarantee it will help your cause.”
“I’ll take the chance.”
“I should go. The Imperial guard needs its monsters. It has been pleasant to see you both. I must visit Alt Coulumb soon, in peacetime.”
“I’d like that,” Tara said.
Ms. Kevarian turned to leave.
“Um,” Tara said, which stopped her. Stupid syllable, but she’d spent the entire conversation curious. “When we worked together, I called you Boss. I’m not sure what I should call you now.”
She blinked owl-slow. “Elayne, Ms. Abernathy.”
“Tara.”
“Tara.” She seemed to find that amusing. “Good luck.”
And as Elayne smiled, the glass world shattered into day.
42
Black cuts lined the lips of the man in the hospital bed. When he spoke, his skin pulled against fresh scabs. “Water.” His Kathic bore an accent Cat didn’t know.
She nodded to Lee, who poured him a cup and passed it over.
“You’re in Alt Coulumb,” she said. “In Blacksuit care.” She rested one hand on the rail at the foot of the bed. “We recovered you from an exploitative indenture two nights ago. I’m Officer Elle. This is Officer Zhang. You can call me Cat, if you like. What’s your name?”
The h in “Ko’hasim” had a rough edge Cat didn’t look forward to failing to imitate. “Call me Hasim.”
The name structure at least she could place. “Talbeg?”
“I am a Doctor of Divinity from Agdel Lex.” He finished the water. Lee poured him more. “Alt Coulumb. Are the others here?”
“A few went to intensive care. Most are unconscious. The girl, Ala”—she pointed to where the child lay asleep—“told us we should talk to you, or to the woman with the braids, who’s passed out. She’s fine,” she said when he opened his mouth, “just sleeping. You all had a long night.”
“What happened?”
“We hoped you could tell us,” Lee said.