The Office of Shadow (10 page)

Now it was Silverdun's turn to ignore her. "What things, exactly, have
changed, as you see it?"

Everess clenched his teeth, looking at Silverdun as though he were a
child. "Everything, man. The balance of power, the status of relations between our kingdom and the other nations of the world and other worlds.
The very nature of warfare itself."

It was true, Silverdun knew. The implications of a weapon powerful
enough to level an entire city were enormous. No one, however, seemed to
agree on what those implications might be. But clearly Everess was about to
tell him.

"Go on," Silverdun said.

Everess reached for a glass of brandy, took a generous swallow, and
launched into what Silverdun assumed was the stock lecture to which Heron
had referred. "Certainly you can see that we have reached the end of an era, Silverdun. A cornerstone of propriety has been annihilated before our eyes. Your
compulsory army days were long after my own, but you were certainly taught
as I was: cavalry, battle mages, infantry in evenly spaced lines politely slaughtering one another on the battlefield. All those pretty tactics and stratagems,
all those brilliant battles of old, always applicable. We used them against the
Western Valley upstarts the first time they rebelled; we used them against the
Gnomics a dozen years ago, and against the Puktu barbarians in Mag Mell a
thousand years before I was born. But now all that has come to an end."

"I understand what you're saying, Everess," said Silverdun. "But what of it?"

"If Mab had one of those things, then she's certainly got more of them.
We can only assume that she hasn't got a flying city full of them, or we
wouldn't be having this conversation today. We'd be in an Unseelie work
camp fetching water, or we'd be ashes in a hole somewhere."

"It tells us nothing of the kind," said Heron. "I believe that what it tells
us is that she hasn't got any more of them."

"What this tells us," continued Everess, "is that the kind of war we were
trained to fight has become obsolete in a single blaze. This new weapon of
Mab's means that an army is no longer necessary at all! All one needs is a trebuchet and a tailwind and he can lay waste to anything he sees fit, from a safe
and happy distance."

"Nothing will stop war," said Heron. "And war with Mab will soon be
inevitable, as it has been twice before, and nearly was a year ago.

"I could not disagree more," said Everess. "We are entering the age of a
new kind of war. What matters now is not just where our troops are placed. What matters is information and influence. We need to know what Mab's
game is. We need to know what Mab's allies are up to, and where our own
allies stand. We need to know how many of these accursed things Mab's got,
how many she plans to build, and how long before she decides to fly south
and begin incinerating the Seelie Kingdom. And we need to do whatever we
can to disrupt that process at all costs."

He stared at Heron. "With the right tools, we can prevent that war."

Everess smiled at Silverdun. "And I believe that you are just the man to
help in that endeavor."

"You want me to be a spy?"

"More than that," said Heron drily. "He wants you to become a Shadow."
Heron made a melodramatic spooky face at him.

"You mean the mythical spies from the Second Unseelie War?" asked Silverdun. "I was under the impression that they didn't actually exist."

"Oh, but they did," said Everess. "And they shall again."

"This is a lovely fantasy," said Secretary Heron. "But the way to stop Mab
is through diplomacy and, if it comes to it, war. All of your playing at spies
won't change that, Everess."

Glennet had been observing without comment. "I understand your objections, Madam Secretary," he said, leaning in. "But I'm afraid that the Foreign
Committee in Corpus is willing to give Lord Everess the benefit of the doubt."
He paused, giving Heron a conciliatory look. "For the time being."

He looked at Silverdun. "And for what it's worth, I agree that Lord Silverdun would be an excellent choice."

"Fine," said Heron. "Play your games. But understand that I will expect
complete reports of all your activities."

"Done," said Everess. "I'd be a fool not to keep you apprised of our
progress."

"And if I find out you've been keeping vital information from me," she
said, "there will be repercussions."

"If all goes as you believe, Secretary Heron," said Everess, sniffing, "then
there will be nothing of value to withhold."

The conversation moved on to other topics, though the chill between
Everess and Heron never thawed. Silverdun, however, barely paid attention.

"What the hell was that all about?" said Silverdun. They were at a table at a
cafe on the Promenade, just outside the Foreign Ministry building, a few
blocks from the Evergreen Club. It was night, and the Promenade Green was
filled with musicians, jugglers, and solo mestines. It was dark, the Green illuminated only by witchlit lanterns. Nightbirds sang from hidden perches.

"If there's one thing that ought to be obvious," Silverdun continued, "it's
that I have no interest in politics or governance. When I left school and took
up my title, I sat in Corpus exactly once, and I was so bored I stopped paying
attention after about ten minutes. I voted on six bills, and to this day I have
no idea what they were."

"Oh, stop it," said Everess. "That's not why I asked you here."

"Then why am I here? You come to the temple with vague presentiments
of doom, talk me out of my cozy monastic life, and now suddenly you're
offering me a job as a spy?"

Everess took two glasses of brandy from a passing waitress, a wisp of a
girl with conjured wings who fluttered a few inches off the ground. He
handed one of the brandies to Silverdun.

"Calm down, lad. There's someone I'd like you to meet before we begin
the sales pitch."

Everess looked up over Silverdun's shoulder. "Ah. Here he comes now."

Silverdun turned and looked. At first he saw no one. No one that Everess
might be referring to, anyway. A jongleur, a skald, a mestine conjuring
dancing bears. "Who might that be?"

As he said it, he noticed someone approaching, someone vaguely
familiar. The recognition of his presence was like that of an optical illusion
in which the eye is required to swap the foreground of an image for the background. Two faces or a vase. No one there or someone.

This no one was nearly upon them before Silverdun recognized him.
Odd. Not only did his dress and manner cause him to stand out boldly in the
mostly upper-class Promenade, but he also walked with a heavily pronounced limp, dragging his left leg behind him, using a thick wooden cane in its
place.

"Lord Silverdun, I'd like you to meet Chief Pact. Pact, Lord Silverdun."

"Hello," said Paet simply. His expression was affectless, his eyes slightly
squinted though it was night. The winged waitress was passing back by, and
Paet took a drink from her tray without her noticing. He sat.

"I'm no expert on manners," said Silverdun drily, "but I believe you're
supposed to bow and tug a forelock when you meet a lord of the realm, Paet."

Paet looked Silverdun in the eye and shrugged. "Drag me before the
Sumptuary Court then."

Silverdun looked to Everess, who was saying nothing. "Well, this is a
kick in the teeth, isn't it? Insolent one, this Paet."

"That's `Chief' to you, milord," said Paet. His expression hadn't changed
at all during this exchange.

Silverdun frowned. "I believe I'm supposed to kill you for talking to me
like that. I'm an iconoclast, however, so I'll wait to hear why Everess here has
inflicted you on me before I do."

Everess laughed out loud. "Ignore him, Paet. He won't really kill you."

Paet shrugged. "He's welcome to try."

Everess sighed. "Now, now. This isn't how I wanted this meeting to go
at all. Paet, calm yourself. Silverdun, shut your mouth for a moment and
listen."

Paet and Silverdun eyed each other carefully. Silverdun wasn't as disapproving of Paet as he'd let on. The impropriety was nothing; he'd been
treated far worse at Crete Sulace, by prison guards who, due to their low
birth, could have been hanged for looking him in the eye. It was important
to keep up appearances, however, lest someone mistake him for a tiresome
social reformer. Still, there was something disquieting about Paet.

"Earlier this evening," said Everess, "we discussed the Shadows. The
mythical spies,' as you put it."

Silverdun pointed at Paet. "Are you telling me that this fellow here is a
Shadow?"

"Not a Shadow," said Paet. "The Shadow. There's only one. Now,
anyway."

"This is true?" asked Silverdun.

"He's quite serious," said Everess, nodding. "When the group was disbanded after the Treaty of Avenus, it was decided to keep one Shadow in
service into perpetuity. In case they were needed again."

"And you believe they are needed."

"It requires a certain type of person to do the work that must now be
done. And I know that you are exactly that sort of person."

"I?" said Silverdun. "The `rude villein' whose most recent distinction was
being the first monk in history ever to be given the sack?"

Paet smiled at Everess. Under the squint, which appeared to be a permanent feature, the smile looked rueful, whether it was or not. "He makes a fair
case against himself, Everess. Perhaps he's not the man you thought."

"Yes he is," said Everess, who had developed his own squint now. Silverdun had a feeling this wasn't a good thing. "And despite his endless
protestations, he knows it. He only needs to realize it."

"So, what? You want me to become the new Shadow? Take over from
Paet here?"

"No," said Everess. "You're going to lead a small team of Shadows. The
group is being re-formed. Chief Paet here runs the day-to-day affairs of the
Information Division. You'll be the lead Shadow."

"You want me to work for him?" said Silverdun, incredulous.

"You need him," said Everess.

"More than you can possibly know," said Paet.

Silverdun scowled. "Are you always this ... ominous?"

Paet tapped his cane on the ground. "You'll be hearing from me shortly,"
he said.

Silverdun and Everess watched him leave. Silverdun blinked, and that
same odd trick of the eye occurred, foreground into background, and Paet
was gone.

"Interesting fellow, isn't he?" said Everess, once he'd vanished.

"I can't say I'm in love."

Everess chuckled. "Give him time. Paet's a good man. His experience has
made him what he is. All for the love of Seelie. The Seelie Heart; isn't that
what Mauritane called it?"

"Mauritane excels at convincing others to fling themselves at death in the
service of abstractions." Silverdun sighed. "You're not helping your cause."

"This is good work," said Everess. "We need you. And let's be frank. You
need us."

A remark leapt to Silverdun's lips, but he suppressed it. Perhaps if he
stopped arguing the point, Everess would shut up about it.

"Tell me this, Everess," said Silverdun, quiet. "Was I chosen for this
because of my strengths or because of my ability to get intelligence from the
Arcadians?"

"I never do anything for only one reason," said Everess. "Either way, it's
time for you to stop pissing around and get to work."

Silverdun wanted to disagree, but couldn't.

"You're mad," said the goat, hopping up and down.
"I am indeed," the bear replied."But there is strength
in madness."

from The Goat and the Bear,'' Seelie fable

he Copperine House sat on an estate nearly a day's ride outside the City
Emerald, set back from the Mechesyl Road, just beyond a small ridge
dotted with spruce and fir trees. This was the beginning of the Western
Valley, where the high mountaintops held snow year-round, and the evergreens were the only trees that grew. Here, though, the conifers mixed in
with deciduous life, speckling the landscape with points of darkness in a
world of color.