Bluebird, p.18
Bluebird, page 18
“How open minded of you. Is that your reason for being here tonight? To speak with the high and the low?”
“Work and pleasure. That’s probably the case for most people here.”
“I imagine so, yes. Do you enjoy your job?”
Now what would a Madime say to that? “Yes, although it is a lot of work. Delegating is trickier than people assume.”
A pause flitters between them as a passing guest steps close enough to hear them, and her fellow Kashrini almost glares at the party-goer before his eyes fade back into showing nothing at all. Is he, too, looking to be uninterrupted? Or does he simply not care for the guests here? She can’t really blame him either way. Such excessive opulence and grandeur does little to endear her to the people here.
“Just so,” he says when they have privacy again. “If I may ask an… informal question? One Kashrini to another?”
If her ears were physically capable of pricking up, that’s what they’d be doing. “Go ahead.”
“You’re a Madime, you probably know all the people here tonight, don’t you? I’ve heard rumors that a compass is going to be here.” She almost chokes on her own spit. He continues, voice lowering even further, “A compass named Triton.”
“Triton, huh?” She forces it to come out as bland as oatmeal. “Sounds sort of familiar. What do you want with them?”
“My associates and I are looking to locate someone,” he tells her easily, so open, so unsuspicious…
First, he gets her form of address wrong, then he admits to trying to contact a compass, and then tells her that he’s not alone? It appears as though she and Ginka are not the only people sneaking around at this event. Only, unlike the two of them, he’s complete garbage at keeping his cover intact.
“I’m really not sure,” she says, smiling at him. “But I can go ask around, if that would help?”
His shoulders sag ever so slightly in relief. “Thank you. That would be… much appreciated.”
“No worries.”
She gives him a final forced smile before walking back towards the main ballroom, keeping her steps measured and even. This party is really getting interesting, and damn it, there was already enough interesting in it for her liking. There is such a thing as too interesting, and it’s called a heart attack.
A beep chimes against her ear.
“What is it?” she asked as soon as she adjusts the link to send her voice to Ginka.
“Target spotted. He’s sneaking down a side corridor.”
“Not suspicious at all.”
“It looks like he’s calling someone – I can see him holding something up that might be a link.”
“How kind of him to show me exactly where my mark is.”
“What’s our play?”
“I’ll, uh… I’ll try and dance with him.”
“Can you even dance?”
“Passably. And there are so many other mediocre dancers spinning around in circles right in front of us, so even if I fail, I won’t stand out.”
Besides, it’s easier to lift things from someone when you can go with their own movements. Makes it harder for them to feel the departure of their stuff. That’s a lot tricker when they’re standing still.
“Fine. But if he starts to suspect anything, anything at all, retreat and let me try. I’ll watch your back.”
“Copy that.”
Rig scans the room. There’s a bunch of elevated areas around the massive dance floor, some covered with sculptures, some with buffet tables, and one with a damn fountain. A number of tall doors are set around the room and in between them are small alcoves, ostentatious ornaments, and corridors leading towards the other – probably off-limits – sections of the palace.
“Turn twenty degrees to the left. Straight ahead. The entrance is behind the statue of the leaping tyth cat.”
She pivots, finds the corridor and statue in question, and strides straight ahead.
Things get a little quieter once she passes the statue, something about the curvature of the ceiling affecting the sound reverberation – or something like that. Quiet enough that if she puts her back against the corner and doesn’t make a sound, she can pick out the faint sounds of Janus talking to someone.
“–more time,” he’s saying, in a rushed tone.
The voice that responds is so very distant that she has to hold her breath to hear it. There’s a staticky lilt to it as well, so Ginka was right about him calling someone on his link.
“I’ve been…” She’s only getting every other word, but she thinks the voice is male. Possibly. Maybe. “…leniency will not last. I’ve given you… tracking codes for X-74 as well as… Quite the risk you’ve taken.”
“None of them are on my level, even if they do figure out I’m here,” Janus brags. He doesn’t sound as confident as he had when she’d chatted with him on the Ascetic homeworld. “I promise, you won’t regret this.”
“Overconfidence will…”
“It’s not overconfidence. X-74 can kill all of them with her hands tied behind her back. I’ve lured the others here for convenient clean up – you’re welcome, by the way – and then I can get what I need once they’re dead.”
“…results… Sooner rather than later.”
“I’ve already got the sister. She’s the best bait for those schematics, now that I’ve managed to track down the developer. Come on. You know that this is the best chance any of us have gotten in years.”
An icy chill runs down Rig’s spine and makes her shudder. The smug way he says that sets her blood on fire, that gloating pride of having got Daara in his clutches, the way he’s tossing that information around to – to what? Buy himself time? Is he talking to his boss? Got in trouble with PI higher ups for not instantly dragging her in?
“…a few more tries. Further failure will not…”
“You won’t be disappointed, Lord Umbra,” Janus promises. “I’ll get you the plans before you know it. And my link?”
“…if you follow through. If not…”
“I understand.”
Silence. The call must have ended.
Okay… she has to calm down and think. Easier said than done. Pyrite doesn’t usually use titles like ‘lord,’ and if that was Janus’s boss, then why did Janus have to explicitly say that he had Daara? Surely his boss would already know? And who’s X-74? Who are the other people that Janus has lured here – is it Triton? Why would Janus be trying to kill Triton?
There are so many variables – too many – and she can’t stand it, her brain whirling around in circles trying to figure it out.
Janus’s footsteps draw near.
Shit – act casual.
She darts out from behind the statue and snags a glass of champagne from a passing server before wandering back towards the corridor just as – hopefully – Janus will be leaving. If not, she’s going to look really awkward trying to bump into someone who’s not there.
Janus walks out.
She very purposefully bumps into him.
Champagne spills onto the floor as she jerks back just in time to avoid getting any on her suit or on his.
“Oh gods!” She shoves the glass onto the statue plinth and makes a show of embarrassment. She tilts her voice just a pitch deeper. “I’m so sorry, do forgive me. I can’t believe I was so clumsy.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He adjusts the lapels of his dark suit and gives her a roguish grin that’s probably tailored to make people swoon. “I’m lucky to bump into a pretty lady like yourself. I’m Darian Janus. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
He offers his hand, a pleased twinkle in his eyes when she shakes it. She rests her fingers just against his wrist, trying to see if she can lift his link, but the telltale feel of metal isn’t there. How annoyingly clever. He’s not wearing it on his wrist. And another interesting realization – he actually used his real name. Didn’t even throw a fake title on there or anything as an explanation for his presence here tonight.
“I’m Madime Ana,” she replies, “Not going to give me your title, or do you enjoy making people guess?”
“While I’m sure that would be a fun side benefit, I have no title whatsoever. I’m sure that must come as a shock for a Madime such as yourself, but it’s true.”
Running her eyes up and down his form serves multiple purposes. It makes him think she’s taking another look at him now that she knows he’s not titled. It might also make him think she’s checking him out, should she take a flirting approach later. And, most importantly, it lets her scan him for places he might have hidden his link.
“I can hardly be scandalized by that, I suppose,” she tells him. “After all, being Kashrini, you can imagine the more humble origins I have.”
“Quite right.” He bows to her, offering his arm. “Care to dance?”
Well if he’s going to do the hard work for her, she won’t protest. “I’d love to.”
After offering a silent apology to June – who she hopes would approve, given the criminal circumstances – she takes his arm and lets him guide her onto the dance floor.
It takes her a minute to recognize the music. Regardless of what Ginka says, she does know how to dance. Tapping her hand against her thigh in time to the beat as they walk onto the floor helps her get a feel for the rhythm, and then Janus places one hand on her waist and takes her own with the other, leading her in a slow sort of dance that has enough twists and spins to let her slip her hands into his pockets, if need be.
“Tell me,” she asks, “what’s an untitled man like yourself doing here?”
With ease, he spins her around; she takes advantage of the movement and glances at his belt, only to be disappointed at seeing nothing more than a buckle. No link there, either.
“I’m here on someone else’s invitation,” he confesses. “As spectacular as this party is, I didn’t originally intend on being here – I know,” he adds with a laugh, “scandalous. Don’t tell the Governess or she might have me shot for disrespecting her.”
“Oh? What made you decide to attend?” She gives him her most winsome grin. “The lovely company?”
“Business, I’m afraid. Surely a woman like you knows that even the most lovely of parties can’t escape shop talk.”
Does she ever. She conjures up the memory of her old spire’s Madime, a strict and pompous sort of man, and draws her next words from him. “Those of us in such positions have obligations too important to be placed on hold for an evening.”
“We see eye to eye, Madime. I’m glad that being what you are has not interfered with making you into the most accomplished woman I see before me. You are a credit to the history of your institution, I am sure.”
“Thank you. It’s always good to hear such unbiased opinions from my fellow Pyrites.”
Pride wells up within her at the confused furrow of his brow. Take that. He can’t even figure out how he’s being insulted.
The lights and colors of the ballroom spin past her as he twirls her in his arm, dipping her down for a vibrant beat in the song. Her pink shoes shine on the reflective dance floor, and for one moment everything seems to slow down as her eyes catch movement. His jacket flashes open just the tiniest of bits and there.
A link, clear as anything, tucked against the inside pocket of his jacket.
He pulls her back up from the dip and she goes with the motion, pushing herself up as well – just a little too much, a little too fast, and little too hard. As a result, she smacks against his chest. In that second of distraction, where his mind is probably focused on the fact that he banged into her, she snakes her hand into his pocket and takes the link. Her fingers flip it around, cradling it in her palm.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, smoothing out his jacket and attempting to look flustered. As her fingers slip down his silk suit, she clips the link to the inside of her sleeve, hiding it against her wrist. “I’m all wrong-footed today, it seems. It’s been a while since I danced, I didn’t mean–”
“It’s quite alright, think nothing of it. Clearly my eyes weren’t sharp enough.” The smile he gives her is a little flat. “What you said before, about being Kashrini…”
“Hm?”
“I haven’t seen many of your kind at this party, but I’m sure that you would have paid more attention to the comings and goings of your fellows. I’m looking for someone. A Kashrini.” As much as she desperately wishes otherwise, she doesn’t think he’s talking about that infiltrating servant. The galaxy doesn’t have a habit of letting her off the hook like that. “She’s a technician, lower class – probably skulking about somewhere. I imagine she’d be quite noticeable. Arsonists aren’t known for subtlety.”
Pro: Her disguise is fucking fantastic.
Con: Literally everything else.
She pretends to scratch her head, opening up her link at the same time for Ginka. “An arsonist? At this event?”
“It’s likely,” he replies. “Although she could be elsewhere. She’s been travelling in the company of a Zazra; have you seen one?”
“A Zazra? No, I don’t believe so.”
His hand tightens around hers and she’s not sure he knows he’s doing it. “I’m not surprised if you haven’t seen her. She knows how to hide, but I know that she’s here. Madime, if you see either of them, I must ask that you tell me at once. They’re dangerous people, the Zazra especially so.”
Over the link, Ginka swears, “Shit.”
An idea occurs to her. “Well,” she says slowly, drawing the word out, “there was this one Kashrini.”
Janus perks up. “Do tell.”
“They’re a servant – and they’re suspiciously awful at it. I almost thought that they weren’t a servant at all, except it seemed silly at the time to question the Governess’s security. But if there is a dangerous Kashrini on the loose here tonight…”
He stops dancing, coming to a sudden and nearly disastrous halt – another dancing pair avoided colliding with them by inches.
“Where are they?” he demands.
She gestures in the vague direction of the fake-servant. “Oh, somewhere over there.”
“Thank you for telling me, ma’am,” he says. He bows sharply and quickly. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
He dashes off as though rabid animals are on his heels.
“Damn straight I will,” she mutters.
“This is bad,” Ginka’s voice says. No kidding. “Meet me in the alcove next to the buffet table.”
She turns and weaves her way through the whirlwind of dancers to the edge of the room. The beat of the music seems to match the tempo of her pounding heart. Faster and faster and faster. PI might be tough, but they only have just one guy here tonight. Hopefully she’s thrown him off her trail; and they’ve got the link, she’s got the link, they’re almost done with all this. Even stealing the diadem is still doable. Right?
The alcove is blessedly quiet, and Ginka’s lurking form is a welcome sight.
“What the fuck was that?”
“Hello to you, too.” Rig glances over her shoulder to check and see if anyone’s followed her.
“Janus?”
“Can’t see him. I think my lure worked.”
“Good job coming up with that.”
“Yeah… about that – I didn’t come up with anything. I really did meet a weird Kashrini servant. He and some of his friends are looking for Triton. Seems as though we’re not the only people infiltrating this party, Cactus, though we certainly seem to be doing the best job of it. Hopefully–” although she’s not really all that hopeful, “–Janus and that fake servant will duke it out while we get what we need and run.”
Ginka presses a finger to her lips, flattening out her frown, humming thoughtfully as she stares intently at thin air. “It may buy us some time. This is getting worse and worse; do not go through with your fool plan to steal from the Governess.”
“But that’s my job–”
“That doesn’t matter right now,” she snaps.
“You don’t get it,” Rig replies, trying to hold back her sparky anger. Just because Ginka’s right about the timing of it all doesn’t mean that the diadem isn’t important. “That’s Kashrini and she’s wearing it like… like it’s a fucking trophy,” she hisses. “That’s what Pyrite does, okay? They take and they take and they take, and if I don’t stop them every chance I get then they win, and I can’t–”
“Your sister or your job! Pick!”
Rig tenses, the sudden question kicking her in the gut. “I… It’s not that simple.”
Ginka draws herself up. “It is. I get that this is a difficult decision for you. Do you think that I’ve never had to pick between my work and someone I care–” She cuts herself off. “Make up your mind now, Rig, or else this operation is over and we figure something else out, because I refuse to work alongside someone who’s going to abandon the mission at the drop of a hat.”
She needs Ginka. She needs to find Daara. Deep breaths. Her mind spins in circles to try and rationalize the decision and spits out, “I can come back for Moor’s stolen jewelry?”
“Good decision.”
“Cactus… I’m sorry.” The upbeat party music seems almost insulting. Doesn’t it know what Moor has done? Doesn’t it know what Pyrite does? “Pyrite’s taken everything from my people. And I’m… I’m getting tired of Pyrite taking everything from me – my values, my ideas, my lines that I try to draw in the sand. Maybe you don’t know what it’s like to have Ossuary take you from you, but it feels fucking awful, okay?”
To her surprise, Ginka just laughs. It’s short and sharp and it sounds like broken knives. “Trust me,” she says bitterly, “I understand what it’s like. So take it from someone who also knows: one day, you will have to choose – yourself or your faction. In your case it’s your job or your sister, but there will be a choice, and if you don’t make it, the galaxy will make it for you. You just chose your sister over your job. You made your choice. Stick with it.”
“You’re a fucking cynic,” is all Rig can blurt out.
“So what?”
So it’s depressing and horrible and defeatist. She sighs. “Whatever. You want to focus on the task at hand? Go for it. You’re right; I pick my sister.”
