Page 8 of The Dark Mirror (The Bone Season #5)

8

THE DEAD OF NIGHT

The Palazzo della Notte had come to life in the time I had been with Pivot and Ducos. People strode between its rooms with brisk purpose, some murmuring in pairs or small groups in the corridors. These must be the organisers, responsible for issuing orders to the people in the field who risked their lives for information.

Anyone here could be working for Grapevine. Harald was dead, but there might be other traitors.

As I headed towards the concierge, I slowed, remembering something Arcturus had told me. To help root out the Mime Order, Nashira had summoned her heir, Vindemiatrix Sargas.

Her principal duty for the last two centuries has been to monitor the free world.

Perhaps Vindemiatrix Sargas was the one behind Grapevine, gathering intelligence for her family. She must have built a significant network of humans or Rephs to watch the free world for her – a network she might also deploy to infiltrate and damage Domino.

I picked up a phone before finding the others on a balcony. They were sitting in the shade of its awning, Nick leafing through a newspaper. It was hot enough to toast bread on the table.

‘Paige,’ Nick said, seeing me.

‘Buongiorno, sweet.’ Maria was eating a cooked breakfast. ‘I hope you slept better than I did.’

‘Once I’d had a midnight jog,’ I said.

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ I sat down and shed my suit jacket. ‘How’s the arm?’

‘Still wrapped in a nice layer of padding and painkillers.’ She passed me a cup of coffee. ‘I see you survived Command. I’m scheduled to see Pivot at noon. Is she terrifying?’

‘Not at all.’ I unfastened a few buttons on my blouse. ‘She asked me about the Rephs.’

‘Me, too. I told her as much as I could.’ Nick looked at me over his sunglasses. ‘She asked me if the Sargas ever meant to reveal their presence to the public. Do you know?’

‘Warden said that was their aim, but only once they felt secure.’

‘Yes, because a public declaration of their presence would cause mass hysteria,’ Maria said. ‘I can’t imagine the religious fervour and doomsaying that would follow that announcement. It would be the breaking news that broke the world.’ She let her head fall back. ‘Still, too hot to think about that. I don’t know how people in Italy get any work done.’

I helped myself to fruit and yoghurt. The platter came with an orange, a rare and expensive treat in Scion. I peeled it and breathed in its sweetness. France sent clementines to England, but I hadn’t had a proper orange since I was a child. It tasted like sunlight and summer.

‘Paige,’ Nick said, ‘did you ask Pivot about your contract?’

‘They expect me to work until January, at least. Apparently I’m too useful to lose.’

‘Pivot said the same to me. I feel like we’re being punished for being good at our jobs.’

‘They might be willing to let Maria go.’

‘I resent your implication,’ Maria said. ‘I was exceptionally good at my job. It’s hardly my fault if I’m also exceptionally good at burning things.’

‘Radomír said you could leave,’ I said, ‘and the Mime Order respects you. I’ve made a case for you returning to London to support Eliza, possibly accompanied by a Domino agent, so they can see it’s a legitimate resistance. Are you happy to do that?’

‘Of course.’

‘What about Ver?a?’

‘I won’t pretend it will be easy, but she always knew I wanted to return to Scion. You’re Underqueen,’ Maria said. ‘If you want me to go now, I will.’

‘Not now,’ Nick said. ‘You can’t go back with your arm in that state, Maria.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. You’re the resident medic, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, and I can’t clear you to make the Alpine crossing with that injury. If you start bleeding or get an infection, you won’t just be a liability to yourself. You’ll endanger your guide.’

‘He’s right, Maria. It would ruin the whole plan,’ I said. ‘Wait until you’re healed.’ She bit the inside of her cheek. ‘In the meantime, I’ll try to get a message to London.’

‘Good. I want a welcome party.’ Maria checked her phone. ‘Ver?a just left for the airport, to get more information on Cordier and Lauring. Hopefully we can find out why you were abducted.’

I still couldn’t believe the ease of travel here. In Scion, one had to request authorisation to leave a country months in advance.

‘I see you got a phone.’ Nick held out a hand for it. ‘Let me put our numbers in.’

‘Thanks.’ I passed it to him. ‘I need a walk. Want to come?’

‘Well, I currently only have one patient,’ he said, nodding to Maria, ‘and she looks quite comfortable.’

‘Perfectly. Bring me back a gelato, please,’ Maria said. ‘And a souvenir. When we return to the horrors of Scion, I’d like to remember that I once spent a beautiful weekend in Venice.’

Nick showed me the streets around the Palazzo del Domino first. Once I had them memorised, he took me to the Rialto Bridge and the district of San Marco, which housed some of the famous landmarks of Venice. We had a drink in a Baroque coffeehouse, then walked some way along the promenade by the lagoon, cooled by a breeze from the Adriatic Sea.

I couldn’t get used to the Venetian waterways. Every so often, I would hear the swash of an oar, or the slap of a wave breaking on stone, and my body would bead into a cold sweat. Still, with Nick at my side and the sun burning down, I found I could stay in the present.

‘I like coming down here at night,’ Nick said. A seagull winged overhead as he spoke. ‘Being able to go out after dark without any fear of Vigiles … I’m going to find it hard to give that up when we go back.’

‘I should take advantage while I’m here. Maybe we could run the slates.’

‘I’d really like that.’ He linked my arm. ‘I still can’t believe we’re outside Scion, Paige.’

‘I remember a time before Scion. It must be even stranger for you.’

Nick had been born under the anchor, in the Swedish village of Molle. He had spent almost thirty years inside.

‘The first weeks were hard,’ he said. ‘Do you miss London?’

‘I do, though I miss Paris more. It let me breathe again.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘You know I was never meant to sit on a throne. In Paris, I had the same kind of freedom I did as a mollisher, and none of the scrutiny on an Underqueen.’

‘And you had Warden.’

‘Yes.’ I cast my gaze towards the horizon. ‘But I need the Rose Crown. I have to go back.’

‘It will be easier now Senshield is gone, even with martial law. Eliza will have bolstered our numbers, and we’ll have support from Domino. We’ll cross the Alps together,’ he said. ‘We can liaise with the French syndicate, then go straight back to London.’

‘Okay.’ I looked up at him. ‘Where did you get your hair dyed?’

‘Domino has a cosmetician. He covers scars and tattoos, deals with hair, does enamelling, that sort of thing,’ he said. ‘You can make a booking with the concierge.’

‘I might do that.’ I brushed a loose curl back. ‘Let’s get Maria that gelato. Whatever a gelato is.’

It turned out to be something like ice cream. Nick bought us all a cone. I went for chocolate and tried to stop it dripping as we made our way back to the Palazzo del Domino. It reminded me painfully of a conversation I’d had with Liss and Julian, before the end of the Bone Season. We’d discussed what sort of ice cream we would eat when we got out.

We’ll savour the culinary delights of London, and then we’ll save it from the Rephs.

When we reached the Strada Nova, Nick stopped to buy a miniature gondola for Maria. All the way there, I had been evaluating the rooftops. It had been months since we had gone for a run. Venice would be perfect for it, with narrow gaps between many of its buildings.

By the time we returned to the Palazzo del Domino, Maria was dozing in the shade. I woke her so she could eat the gelato, then left to book an appointment with the cosmetician.

Once it was done, I almost went to my room. Using the time before the meeting to rest would be sensible. Instead, I explored the Palazzo del Domino. I visited the courtyards and the terrace, then wandered through the corridors. Finally, I came to a room with a plasterwork ceiling and books lining the walls, where several amaurotics were on computers.

‘Excuse me,’ I said quietly to a woman. She took out an earbud. ‘Can anyone use these?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Thanks.’

I took a seat in front of one. Protean was already open, waiting for a query. Unlike the insular Scionet, this network was connected to the whole of the free world. Maria had warned me not to look too far, but I needed to blunt my curiosity. I tapped in Scion latest news .

The results numbered in the tens of millions.

Maria hadn’t been joking. A curdling sensation filled my stomach, for no reason I could explain.

A few popular stories had been highlighted. I took a breath to steel myself, skimming the headlines and previews. The New York Times offered a long read on the situation in Spain and an opinion piece on why Norway had reneged on its historic opposition to Scion. Candid , an entertainment website, had summarised what Scion was and what it wanted – I could only assume its readers had been asleep their whole lives – while Publishers’ Review was discussing a book deal for a Scion defector.

Each time I went to expand an article, I stopped. I couldn’t even get used to there being more than one news source. In Scion, there was only the Descendant . I needed to narrow this down.

I typed Paige Mahoney .

My name clocked up hundreds of thousands of hits. There was speculation about who I was, and why Scion was offering so much money for my capture. I selected the first result, which took me to a virtual encyclopaedia called Omnia. The entry included a school photograph Scion must have provided to Incrida, which showed me at sixteen, with a face on me like I was chewing a thistle.

Paige E. Mahoney (born 14 January 2040) is an individual

with extrasensory perception who was, and may remain, a career criminal in the Republic of Scion . She is a fugitive from Inquisitorial justice whom Scion classifies as a ‘preternatural’ (see Inquisitorial law ) for reasons that remain unclear. Mahoney is believed to have been born in Ireland before its annexation by Scion. She came to global attention following her red notice listing on the International Criminal Database , uploaded on 3 January 2060 at the request of the Republic of Scion England .

Mahoney is a person of interest to multiple authorities. An anonymous Gazebo user reported a sighting in Berlin on 17 May 2060. Her current location remains unknown. As of September 2060, the Republic of Scion is offering an unprecedented reward of ￡20,000,000 for her capture and return.

I read the entry again. The entire time I had been in Paris, I had been wanted in the free world.

Scion had prematurely told its denizens that I was dead, only for me to slip the noose and vanish. It hadn’t been able to broadcast my survival to its own denizens, but it had issued the red notice in case I should ever leave the empire. To make sure I had no safe place.

‘There you are.’

I started. Ducos had appeared over my shoulder.

‘Don’t sneak up on a dreamwalker,’ I warned her. ‘If I jump out of my skin, I might end up in yours.’

‘Perhaps you should pay more attention to your surroundings.’ Ducos leaned in to see what I was reading. ‘So you discovered Omnia. Searching for oneself is usually seen as the height of vanity, but I suppose it’s understandable in your case. You are gaining a reputation.’

‘Just what a spy needs.’ I closed it. ‘Do you have a minute?’

‘I could spare one. We’ll talk in the bar.’

Ducos led me downstairs. We sat in the corner of the bar, which was empty at this time of day.

‘Pivot said audiovisual communication with Scion is dangerous,’ I said, ‘but what if I wanted to send a message to someone in London?’

‘It would take a long time, and no small degree of risk,’ Ducos said. ‘What sort of message?’

‘I want to tell the Mime Order I’m alive and contact the leader of the Ranthen. Terebell might have news about Warden.’

Ducos lit a cigarette. She still favoured the slender French ones she had smoked in Scion.

‘I may as well tell you how it all works,’ she said. ‘For someone inside Scion France to contact the outside, the insider goes on foot to the border with a foreign phone. This allows them to connect to a Swiss or Italian network, and ensures Scion can’t monitor the call or message. The point on the border with the highest chance of success, where the anchor has no permanent detectors or signal jammers, is in the French Alps.’

‘And for us to contact them?’

‘All messages and intelligence must be carried and exchanged by Domino couriers. Either they must cross the barrier, or entrust the message to an insider at the border.’

‘There’s a physical barrier across the entire border?’

‘Most of it. It’s known colloquially as the Fluke.’

‘So either way, a courier would have to risk their neck.’

Ducos nodded. As I considered, a possibility occurred to me. Perhaps I could reach Terebell another way.

‘Thanks. I’ll get back to you.’ I stood. ‘Is there a cemetery in Venice?’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘There are two,’ she said. ‘The old Jewish cemetery on the Lido, and the Isola di San Michele, which is in the Venetian Lagoon.’

‘Have there been any recent burials?’

‘Why could you possibly want to know?’

‘In case you’d forgotten, I’m voyant. It’s in my interest to know where the spirits are.’

‘I saw a water hearse the day before I left for the Alps. The vaporetto goes to the Isola di San Michele from the Fondamenta Nove, but I recommend you ask Noemi, our gondoliera, to take you there in her taxi. She makes appointments in the bar from six until half past seven.’ She checked her watch. ‘I need to go. Is there anything else, Flora?’

‘One more thing. Could you translate a message into Italian for me?’

‘Why?’

‘If I can’t get a message to Terebell physically, I can try it through the ?ther.’

Ducos eyed me.

‘I only have a conversational grasp of Italian, but I can ask one of my colleagues if it’s something more complex,’ she said. ‘Send me the message. I’ll have it translated within an hour.’

The heat and the long walk had worn me out. I took off my dissimulator and examined my own face in the mirror. My skin was almost as pale as the flower that was draining me, worsening my dark circles.

I sent Ducos the message I needed translating. Her reply came in moments.

Are you calling their leader here?

After a pause, I wrote back: By voyant means. If I can’t get to her, maybe she can get to me.

I’ll need to inform Pivot. Will she need assistance crossing the Fluke?

I doubt it, but one step at a time. The séance might not work. Can you send me the translation?

It arrived a few minutes later.

I found the tin of blue aster from Ver?a and pressed a patch on to my hip. A cold tingling came first, and then a sense of calm. I could feel my silver cord thickening, resisting the dust, so my spirit felt more rooted. No longer locked in a state of strained vigilance, my body folded on to the bed, and I closed my eyes, my breathing deep and slow.

When I woke, I felt restored, but my skin flamed, as if I was running a fever. According to the clock on the nightstand, I had been asleep for more than five hours. I hadn’t remembered anything new.

The gondoliera would be in the bar by now. I slung my shoes back on, then applied my dissimulator.

It was time to take matters into my own hands, and use the gifts the ?ther had given me. There might be another way to contact Terebell – one that didn’t involve sending a courier into danger. It had to be worth a try.

By the time I got downstairs, I was burning up. I went to the bartender, who grimaced when he saw me, though he covered it with a smile. I must look more of a wreck than I thought.

‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘Is the gondoliera here?’

He nodded to a woman sitting at a table. She was a stocky medium, with tight dark curls piled into a ponytail.

‘Salve.’ A dimple appeared in her cheek as she smiled. ‘Posso aiutarla?’

‘Good evening.’ I dusted off my crisp English accent. ‘Sorry, I don’t speak Italian.’

‘You want to book a trip?’

‘If you could slot me in. I’d like to visit the Isola di San Michele, preferably when it’s quiet.’

‘It closes to visitors around four, but I imagine you could find a way inside.’ Noemi flipped open a notebook. ‘I trust you are not going to do anything illegal or disrespectful.’

‘Of course not.’

People might not always believe in clairvoyance here, but it wasn’t against the law, to my knowledge. What I was about to do would be a death sentence in Scion.

‘It might be easiest if I stay overnight,’ I said. ‘Could you come back for me in the morning?’

‘You would stay in a cemetery overnight?’

‘I don’t think the skeletons will attack me.’

Noemi chuckled. ‘You are braver than most.’ She tapped a pen on her notepad. ‘I have a free slot this evening, if you want. It would be best if we go around dusk, so fewer people will see my boat approaching the island. Could you meet at the canal entrance at eight?’

‘Sure.’

That gave me half an hour. As I rose, I heard two familiar voices. A moment later, Maria and Nick entered the bar. Maria took one look at me and bit down a grin.

‘Go on,’ I said. ‘I could use a laugh myself.’

‘Paige, you’re as red as your aura.’

I looked down. My shoulders and upper arms were scarlet, and a lighter flush had spread across my chest. ‘Great.’ I sighed. ‘Mind you, sunburn is the nicest problem I’ve had in a while.’

‘You two grab us a table.’ Nick shook his head. ‘I’ll get you some aftersun, Paige.’

‘I’ll have to skip dinner. I’m going out.’

‘This late?’

I nodded. ‘To the cemetery island. I’m going to try to send Terebell a message.’

Maria looked curious. ‘Through the ?ther, you mean, like we did in London?’

‘This is something more subtle. And experimental.’

‘Let us come with you, then. Any sort of séance will need a group of us.’

‘I appreciate the offer, but I need a psychopomp, specifically.’

‘Those odd little spirits that lurk around hospitals?’ she said, frowning. ‘I’ve never known a voyant to get close to one. I don’t think even Jaxon managed it.’

‘That’s why I need to go alone. They’re skittish.’

‘At least let me get you that aftersun,’ Nick said. ‘I’ll be quick.’

‘I can see you’re going to insist.’

‘Sit with me, in the meantime,’ Maria said. ‘I’ll tell you about my chat with Pivot.’

Nick left, while Maria and I went to the internal courtyard. Maria lit the candle on our table, piquing the interest of a few ghosts.

‘Pivot wanted my perspective on what happened in Bulgaria. Probably wondering why multiple agents are burning things down,’ Maria said. ‘To my surprise, she wasn’t angry. She also explained why I was asked to save Kostas in the first place. Domino usually prohibits rescue attempts.’

I was very familiar with that rule.

‘Kostas was the only survivor of a Greek sub-network,’ she continued. ‘Before he was captured, he was investigating a string of suspicious disappearances in Athens. The majority of missing people were voyants.’

‘Another Reph city?’

‘It seems possible, as I said to Pivot.’

‘Nashira must have sped up her plans. I don’t suppose your man caught wind of a code name for the prison?’

‘I wasn’t told, but this could be a lead, nonetheless. What if Warden is there?’

I considered it.

‘Nashira wouldn’t put him that far away. Not unless she’s there as well, which I doubt,’ I said. ‘She’ll want to stay as close as possible to London.’ I shook my head. ‘All that death and misery to get rid of Oxford and Versailles, and more prisons just spring up in their place.’

‘I know. The good news is that Pivot cleared me to return to Scion once I’m healed,’ Maria said. ‘The next crossing is in November.’

‘Let’s hope Eliza can hold on that long.’

Nick returned with the aftersun and a shirt with long sleeves. At least the hat had protected my face. ‘Keep your phone on,’ he told me. ‘I’ll check in later.’

‘Have a fascinating night.’ Maria tossed me her lighter. ‘Here. In case you need a numen.’

‘Thanks.’

I collected my new satchel before I headed to the quay, where Noemi waited on the stern of a black gondola with pale accents. Now the sun had set, lamps were flickering to life across the city, gilding the water. Somehow I doubted the cemetery isle would have much light.

Noemi rowed a short way along the main canal, muscles working beneath her freckled brown skin. Curled up in the seat, I was too aware of the water lapping the sides of the gondola.

The boat slid between tall dwellings, past candlelit windows and colonnades. By the time Noemi stopped at a pier, the sky was deep blue, and all I could see was darkness below. There was a sharp edge to the breeze, making me grateful for the jacket I had packed. Noemi secured her gondola before we moved to a larger boat with the same colouring.

‘This won’t take long,’ she told me. I nodded and ducked into the upholstered cabin.

Noemi steered the taxi across the lagoon, to a walled island. I stepped on to a jetty. As far as I could tell, only birds and insects lay ahead of me. And spirits. There were plenty of those.

‘Be in this spot at sunrise. I’ll meet you,’ Noemi said. ‘Call Widow if you need help.’

‘Got it.’

As her taxi left, I took a torch from my satchel and switched it on, keeping its beam low to the ground, so it wouldn’t be seen from afar. No voyant worth their salt would be afraid of burial grounds, but since my torture, I had lived with a fear of the dark.

It didn’t take me long to find a way into the cemetery. I walked slowly, using my torch with more confidence now I was out of sight. The main danger would be poltergeists, and I sensed none. There were only revenants and wisps – and a single psychopomp, standing out like a shout among whispers. I could sense it, keen as a knife against my skin.

I passed walls of plaques, inscribed with names and dates, posies of flowers left between them. Tall evergreens guarded the memorials, tapering up to points. There were statues of angels with wide, feathered wings – not just remnants where they had been smashed off.

Most voyants spurned religion. We knew what came after death. But I had never been quite as uncharitable as Jaxon, who had sneered at the books and ritual objects collecting dust at the black market. I could understand why amaurotics clung to the hope of more. In any case, none of us knew what awaited us at the end of the ?ther, beyond the last light.

Still, I wasn’t going to pray or kneel. I had seen enough to be fairly sure that only the dead would come when I called.

I followed my sixth sense to the psychopomp. Once, these spirits had acted as guides, shepherding the dead to the Netherworld. Even though they had lost that role, they sought out places where death was common – hospitals, execution grounds – or where spirits might stand guard over their own remains, like cemeteries and morgues. The Ranthen had given them a new purpose as messengers, but they were exceptionally shy around the living.

Arcturus had told me more in Paris, as I taught him the finer points of cooking one evening, while I was trying to heal. He had said the psychopomps lingered with the recent dead to comfort them, so they weren’t alone and stranded when they first entered the ?ther.

Psychopomps may fear the living, but they would be drawn to a spirit like yours . I could almost hear his deep voice. You can dislocate from your body, even leave it. To a psychopomp, that would act as a summons.

It would think I was dying?

And come to guide you. A dreamwalker can dwell among the dead, and persuade them she is one of them.

It was a long shot. I could perform basic séances and invocations as a voyant, but sending messages through psychopomps was a Ranthen art, not meant for the likes of me. But if any of my allies knew where Arcturus was, it was Terebell Sheratan. I couldn’t give up on him.

If I could pull this off, it would be faster and safer than sending a human courier to London. Assuming I didn’t botch the whole thing and summon Nashira to Venice, of course.

When I was ready, I sat beside a row of headstones. I would use my spirit as bait, to hook a wary fish. First, I took out the lighter from Maria, brass engraved with roses. She had been good to entrust me with this; a lighter was about as close as a pyromancer got to a favoured numen. I flipped the lid, so a flame snapped up, and planted it in the ground. Once I had switched off my torch, I dislocated my spirit, letting myself drift.

Whenever I moved my spirit from the middle of my dreamscape, it sent ripples into the ?ther. I kept them as soft as I could. As soon as they touched the psychopomp, I had its attention. It clung to its instinct to guide the dead, even if there was nowhere to lead them. I shifted my spirit back into place, then dislocated again. A fish splashing in distress.

For a long time, I held very still, my neck and sitbones aching. Moving a muscle could break the trance. Even the gentle kick of my heart might frighten a psychopomp.

Hours might have passed – hours of patient fishing – before it brushed my aura. It had darted away several times, no doubt confused by what it was sensing – this woman who was both dead and alive.

Now it circled me, sending cool prickles along my skin. This might be the first time in history that a human had ever got so close to a psychopomp. Without a medium, spirits had limited ways to communicate, but it was clearly trying to reassure me, so I would follow.

I can’t follow yet , I wanted to tell it. I still have so much more to do.

Time to take my chance, before the spirit realised it had been tricked. I glanced down at my phone, reading the message from Ducos. She had sent a few pointers on pronunciation.

Rephs spoke Glossolalia, the language of spirits. I couldn’t. But the majority of spirits could understand mortal languages, especially if their deaths had been recent. In this cemetery, I was willing to bet that most of them had a strong grasp of Italian.

‘Aiutami,’ I said very softly.

Help me.

The psychopomp recoiled at once, but I had piqued its curiosity. I willed my body still and quiet. When I was sure it wouldn’t bolt, I spoke again, hoping my pronunciation was passable.

‘Cerco colui che si oppone al nemico.’

I seek the one who stands against the enemy .

Now my new friend was interested. It circled me again, as if it were paying close attention.

Arcturus had told me how best to speak to a psychopomp, in case I ever wanted to give it a try. It was wise to avoid names or places, or anything else that might be hard for a spirit to convey in Glossolalia. I hoped a Ranthen ally would understand the enemy as Nashira Sargas.

‘Chiedo che venga qui,’ I said, slow and clear.

I ask her to come to this place.

‘Chiedo che venga qui il più in fretta possibile,’ I continued. I ask her to come as soon as she can. ‘Dille che è una mortale che la manda a chiamare.’ Tell her it is a mortal who calls her . ‘Riferiscile questo messaggio da parte mia. Ti ringrazio.’ Thank you for bearing this summons for me. ‘Please … tell Terebell I’m here.’

The psychopomp hesitated for a long moment. It had no eyes, no form, but somehow I knew it was looking at me.

And then it simply disappeared.