Jackaby and I exchanged a quick glance.
“You have a reputation for finding things,” Arawn continued. “You have made something of a career of it in your realm, have you not?”
“I am a private investigator, if that’s what you mean,” said Jackaby.
“Then privately investigate those cracks in my wall. Find them on your side, and I will repair them on mine. Help me to seal the rend, and I will consider your debt repaid.”
“Who are the Valinguard?” Jackaby asked.
Arawn smiled weakly and did not respond.
“Where is the Mag Mell?”
Arawn drew a slow breath. “My envoys will be checking up on you. Good-bye, Seer.”
Virgule straightened up as we emerged into Seeley’s Square once more. The veil-gate closed behind us almost the moment we were through. “Lord Arawn is done with you?” Virgule asked.
“Well, you know how it is.” Jackaby shrugged. “He might have wanted us to hang about for a cup of tea, but we have places to go, ducks to feed. Quite a talker, that king of yours.”
Virgule scowled. “What did the Fair King have to discuss with a pair of humans?”
“Not certain we should divulge that information,” I said. “A bit above Mister Virgule’s pay grade, don’t you think, sir? You’re what, a first lieutenant?”
“I’m a captain.” Virgule bristled, gesturing to his forest green robes, which were apparently indicative of his rank.
“Right,” I said. “Yes, still—it’s all rather inner-circle, top secret stuff, the things we were discussing with your king. I don’t imagine you’re allowed to know.”
“Was it about the Dire Council?” Virgule asked. “Because I know all about the council. I even know about the last holdouts of their acolytes.”
“Do you?” Jackaby raised an eyebrow.
Virgule nodded emphatically. “I was there when the Emerald Garrison raided Hobb’s Hill. We flushed out a whole mess of sympathizers. I was the one to bring our report to the general.”
Jackaby suppressed a smile. “Old news, Hobb’s Hill. Our conversation with Arawn was of a much more sensitive nature. It would take a far higher clearance for you to know about, for instance . . . the Valinguard.”
“The Valinguard?” said Virgule. “That’s no secret! The Valinguard are Lord Arawn’s most elite force. Every one of them is at least a twelfth-order magus, unparalleled in combat, subterfuge, and spellcraft. When the Fair King wants something important done right, he sends the Valinguard.”
“Obviously all that.” Jackaby made a show of dismissing the captain with a wave of his hand. “It’s their latest mission that’s so hush-hush. I’ve said too much. I really shouldn’t . . .” He trailed off, and Virgule took the bait.
“I know about that, too!” he said, eagerly. “The rend! They’re looking for the rend in the veil, right? The Amber Scouts couldn’t find anything, so the Fair King got impatient and sent his Valinguard to find the rend and seal it immediately. They’ve been gone for weeks. That’s not normal for them. We’re all on alert to bring any news directly to Lord Arawn.”
“Well,” said Jackaby, “it seems you’re not too far out of the inner circle after all.”
Virgule looked pleased with himself.
“Although—don’t tell Lord Arawn I told you about all that,” Jackaby added. “I would hate for him to know that I gave away so much confidential information.”
Virgule nodded graciously.
“Before we go,” I said, “I don’t suppose you know the fastest route to the Mag Mell from here, do you?”
Virgule stiffened, and he narrowed his eyes. “What did you just say?”
“The Mag Mell?” I repeated, wondering if I had said it correctly.
Virgule’s expression darkened. “Is that some sort of threat? The Mag Mell is a fairy’s ultimate reward. It is where the noblest and bravest of our kind go when they are dead. The fastest route to the Mag Mell”—he fixed me with a grim gaze—“is death on the battlefield.”
A shiver tickled up my spine and set the hair on my neck on end.
“My associate was only joking, of course,” said Jackaby. “Or trying to joke. Ghastly sense of humor, that one. Best to just ignore her, I find.”
Virgule nodded sourly, still eyeing me. He escorted us out of the circle and over to the knothole in the tree, where I retrieved my iron key and Jackaby collected what appeared to be a few tinkling coins and a wrapped butterscotch.
“We need more help,” Jackaby mumbled, half to himself, as we reached the edge of the park.
“It’s bad, isn’t it, sir?”
“It isn’t good.” He sighed. “Arawn’s arrogance is going to get a lot of people killed. He thinks his defenses are unbreachable—yet someone nicked that crown out of the heart of his own castle. He thinks his army is unbeatable—but his most elite soldiers were just massacred.”
“At least the king agreed to work with us in the end.”
“He hasn’t agreed to work with us, he’s agreed to send us into the same trap that killed his best soldiers. His preliminary scouts couldn’t find the rend, and his Valinguard just died trying. Arawn would rather let us blunder into the same fate than admit that he’s out of his depth.”
“So we’re not going to go looking for the rend?”
“Of course we’re going to go looking for the rend,” said Jackaby. “And the crown, the spear, and the shield. There’s too much at stake now to start worrying about little things like being brutally murdered.”
Chapter Five
The Mason Street Police Station was busier than usual. The typically quiet detention hall was packed with haggard officers processing detainees. None of the uniforms even bothered with us as Jackaby pushed through the crush and made for the hallway to the rear. We wound our way through the corridors to the commissioner’s office.
The dimly lit room was a sea of paperwork, atop which Commissioner Marlowe appeared to be keeping afloat by the sheer buoyancy of his enmity.
“Jackaby,” he grunted as my employer rapped on his open door.
“Marlowe.”
“Good afternoon, Commissioner,” I said. “Please pardon our intrusion.”
“Miss Rook. To what do I owe this”—Marlowe’s eyes flicked back to Jackaby, who had begun conspicuously leafing through a stack of confidential reports—“this visit?” He took the stack from my employer and deposited it in a cabinet behind his desk.
“We may need to borrow a few of your boys,” said Jackaby. “There is a—what would you call it, Miss Rook?”
“Cataclysm?” I suggested.
“A tad dramatic. But also accurate.”
Marlowe’s eye twitched. “Every one of my best men has worked double or triple shifts this week already. I have no intention of loaning out the few remaining hands I haven’t already exhausted. But out of morbid curiosity, how many of my officers were you hoping to borrow?”
“Some,” answered Jackaby. “Possibly most. Probably the whole lot, actually. How quickly can you get all of them assembled so that we can have a little chat?”