Existentially Challenged, page 22
“My office, now,” commanded Danvers as he slipped out and closed Elizabeth’s office door behind him. There had been a very uncharacteristic but very slightly Anderson-like harshness to his voice.
“What do you make of Diablerie’s actions?” asked Elizabeth.
Alison looked at her. She had placed her hands behind her desk and was somehow displaying even less emotion than usual. Her eyes were fixed upon Alison in total scrutiny, like two searchlights mounted to the top of a sheer prison wall.
“Uh,” began Alison, immediately looking to the floor. “I . . . I’m pretty sure he was lying about not knowing about the chapel. Or the body.”
“Good,” said Elizabeth charitably. “Disregarding everything he says is a good start. So what do his actions suggest?”
The thought that immediately amplified Alison’s anxiety was that this was a test, one that she was losing points on for every moment her mouth hung open in silence. “Uh.”
“Feel free to think aloud,” prompted Elizabeth.
Finally, Alison found her voice. It helped to try to imagine the sort of thing Elizabeth would think. “There’s something significant about Modern Miracle. Or he thinks there is. He thinks they’re going to be in the middle of something important.”
“Which they are now,” pointed out Elizabeth. “But what makes you think this?”
“It was Rajesh Chahal who tipped us off about them. But from the way Diablerie has focused on it, it makes me think, maybe he already sort of knew about it? And . . . wanted to investigate? And . . . Chahal just . . . gave him the excuse?” She was scanning Elizabeth’s face for the slightest sign of encouragement, drawing her words out longer and longer. At the moment the question mark dropped, she winced like a bomb-defusal expert snipping a wire.
“Good,” said Elizabeth softly, putting her out of her misery. “But what was the point of that little piece of theater in which Chahal passed on the tip, if both of them already knew about it? Are you sure it was Diablerie being given the excuse?” Alison’s face remained blank, so she helped her over the last hurdle. “You were there too, Alison.”
Alison’s brow furrowed. “Me? But . . .” Realization smoothed out her frown, then stretched it in the other direction. “He knows I talk to you.”
“He wanted the Department to investigate officially,” confirmed Elizabeth, with an almost imperceptible nod. “That was my conclusion. So.”
“Why would Diablerie want that?” finished Alison, Elizabeth somehow effectively prompting her with nothing but a pause and a shift of glance. “Maybe he needs the Department’s help?”
“Or there’s a danger he’s not willing to risk himself,” said Elizabeth, looking off to the side with one finger to her chin. “Or he’s trying to distract us from something else entirely. The only way to know for sure is to keep investigating.”
“Right,” said Alison, sitting back with relief. The exam was over, and it didn’t seem like she was going to have to take summer school this year at least.
“Perhaps some more background would help,” said Elizabeth, shifting back in her seat to take a storyteller’s posture. “Where had we gotten up to?”
Alison sat up like a Labrador hearing the sound of kibble hitting the bottom of a metal dish, then almost as quickly dropped her gaze when she remembered the answer to Elizabeth’s question. “Uh. The, er. The knee thing.”
Elizabeth glanced down at her crippled leg as if it were that one remaining dinner party guest who just refuses to leave. “Ah yes,” she said. “I insisted upon being rescued from the Ministry bunker, and in response, Nicholas Fisk shot me in the knee. Then he took my mentor, Mr. Teapot. I never saw him again. My last memory of him, he was being held face down on the back seat of the car, with a gun to his head, as it drove away.”
She was recounting the memory the way a bored waiter would read aloud today’s specials. Not a single shift of the eyes or twitch of the facial muscles indicated any emotion that she was harboring about these events. Then she stopped talking and didn’t resume for several seconds of frozen silence. She stared straight into Alison’s eyes throughout, but somehow wasn’t looking at her.
“So what happened next?” prompted Alison.
“I remained where I was for some time,” said Elizabeth, turning her eyes to the ceiling. “I had not been outside since the shadow had first appeared. The sky was black. Not with night. The air felt thick, as if I was breathing in dust. It was clear that any measure we had taken to prevent the shadow’s influence from leaving the bunker had been futile.
“Somehow, I was brought to a hospital. Some kindly passing soul perhaps. It was in chaos. They couldn’t handle the patient load. My knee was bandaged, and I was left on a stretcher in a corridor for two hours, nothing to do but listen to passing snatches of conversation. The shadow had brought hysteria and road accidents, as well as magical incidents that no one knew what to make of. Mass possessions, attacks from infused ferals, all over the country.
“I decided to leave. I couldn’t be sure I wasn’t spreading some terrible magical infection. And I was haunted by thoughts of the remaining survivors in the Ministry bunker, still quarantined without news or hope. I stole a crutch and some pain medication and made my way back to the Ministry.
“When I returned, the complex was silent. There were numerous bodies strewn about the connecting hallways. Some dead from Fisk’s assault. Others from . . . other ways.” By now, her voice was like the sound of a distant stream at the center of a rocky, impenetrable mountain range. “But it was finally peaceful at least. Everyone who was still alive was confining themselves to their offices in small groups. It seemed the major agitators had been shot, or had killed each other. The remainder were . . . waiting for someone to take charge. I could sense them watching me from cracks in their doors as I limped back to Mr. Teapot’s office.”
As she stared at the ceiling, lost in memory, Elizabeth’s hands came up from under the desk and subconsciously gripped the armrests of her huge chair.
“I realized there that it was up to me to decide on a course of action,” she continued. “Staying in the bunker no longer had a purpose. I planned to unite the survivors. Leave the city. Split into discrete units to minimize the damage that could be caused by possessed members. And do what we could to oppose the influence of the shadow.
“But as for that evening, I was exhausted. I needed a clearer head to make plans. I took enough pain medication to keep my mind off my ruined knee and fell asleep in Teapot’s chair. I awoke to the sound of a looping radio broadcast, reporting that the volcanic ash cloud had moved on, and that everything was back to normal.”
“I remember that,” said Alison, somewhat redundantly. Her interjection finally stirred Elizabeth from her trance, and she met her gaze curiously. “Five days after the ash cloud came down, that broadcast was on every TV channel and radio station for, like, six hours. Mum complained because she’d wanted to watch the repeat of Neighbours.”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth, after a moment’s awkward pause. “I went straight back up to the surface, as did most of the staff, and by then the skies were completely clear. The possessed ones that were too far gone had simply died where they stood. The rest returned to normal, with no memory of their time under the influence. The world moved on. The media and the public accepted our lame explanations for the carnage, and the Hand of Merlin returned for their regular meetings within a week.” She caught Alison’s look. “Yes, it felt just as much an anticlimax at the time.”
“But why did the shadow go away?” asked Alison. “What defeated it?”
Elizabeth heaved a sigh. “Ten years and I still have no satisfactory answer. Taking over the administration of the Ministry was my main focus, but every effort I could spare went toward investigating that question. Nothing but dead ends.”
“What do you think happened?” asked Alison. “I mean, what seems likeliest to you?”
Elizabeth met her gaze again, her eyebrow raising a fraction of a centimeter in pleasant surprise. “Good question. I want to believe that it was Mr. Teapot. Either by combining forces with Fisk or in spite of him, he found a way to defeat the Ancient. Of all the occult experts and operatives in the country, he had the best chance. He was the most knowledgeable, the most qualified, the most connected. But as I said, I never saw him again. And Fisk was no help, the next time I saw him.”
Alison frowned. “You saw him again?”
“Oh yes. As I said, I was making every effort. I found him just a few weeks later.”
“And what did he say?”
Elizabeth was still scrutinizing Alison. The merest hint of a smile stretched the corner of her mouth for a moment, like a glimpse of a drowning person’s hand amid calm seas. “Alison, do you think you’re improving as an investigator?”
Alison had been gradually leaning forward in rapt attention throughout the story, but Elizabeth’s question sent her leaning all the way back as surely as if she’d been shoved in the chest. “Oh. Um. I don’t know.”
“You have made achievements,” said Elizabeth, fighting a losing battle with the tiny smile her face was trying to make. “As I recall, it was you who first deduced the identity of the Fluidic Killer.”
“Oh yeah, that,” said Alison, flushing. “It was only because I had all the facts before everyone else. I think someone else could have put them together quicker.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I just think . . . there are a lot of people who are . . .” Alison made a sweeping gesture that, half unconsciously, ended with her pointing at Elizabeth. “Naturally smarter than me.”
Elizabeth gave a little wince of sympathy. “In my experience, Alison, ninety percent of what people call ‘intelligence’ is learned skill. It can be taught.” She pinched her chin between thumb and forefinger. “Why don’t we create a learning opportunity here.”
Alison blinked several times. “Um?”
“Find out what happened to Nicholas Fisk,” said Elizabeth, placing her hands on the desk. “If you can do that by yourself, with your own capacity for research and deduction, then I will fill in the remainder of the details.”
“Okay,” said Alison, thrown for a loop. “Is it . . . are there records? On the department server?”
“You’ll have access to everything you need,” said Elizabeth, suddenly cold and turning to her laptop. Alison must have burned through the small allotment of humanity Elizabeth had reserved for her that day. “Your standing orders remain the same. Assist Diablerie with whatever he asks. Report his actions directly to me. And if you have time, continue monitoring the Modern Miracle online community. Keep abreast of the wind direction.”
“Right,” said Alison uneasily. “What about the vampire? Or the conduit or whatever it is?”
“You ascertained that real healing magic was in use during your first encounter with Modern Miracle,” summarized Elizabeth, with not even a hint of a question mark.
Alison remembered the sensation of her head wound being closed by magic, with the usual fondness that people have when they recall their impromptu surgical procedures. “Yes?”
“Then it’s no longer a matter for the Office of Skepticism. Investigations can handle it from here. But you will have to write up a witness report for Mr. Hesketh.”
The floor shook slightly at the sound of a door slamming, coming from somewhere around Richard Danvers’s office.
“Or someone else,” added Elizabeth.
36
The anger of Richard Danvers was more of a precision instrument than the anger of Sean Anderson, but no less to be feared. It was like the difference between a sledgehammer and a scalpel.
“Mr. Danvers, I was just about to report the new victim . . .” said Adam, the moment he sat down, as Danvers was stomping his way behind his desk.
“Really?” said Danvers sharply. “And why didn’t you do so the moment they were found? Thought the evidence could stand to mature for a couple of nights first? Did it not occur to you that the family of the victim might be going insane wondering where they are?”
“We don’t know who it was!” blurted Adam. “Actually, I’m—I’m not even completely certain there was another body,” said Adam. “Alison’s the only one who saw it. And then the whole crime scene got destroyed by pyrokinesis, and, and . . .”
Danvers didn’t interrupt him. He simply stared, his eyes flashing from under his lowered brow like hidden spikes in a clenched fist, until Adam’s voice faltered and died.
“Alison has perfect recall,” said Danvers steadily. “She wouldn’t make it up. She’s got no imagination. She’s never needed one. And besides, there’s plenty an investigator can deduce, even from ash. Have you even mentioned anything to Sumner? This is his case!”
“I just . . . wanted to be sure,” muttered Adam.
“No. You wanted to prove you could crack the case by yourself. That’s not how it works, Adam. This is a team. If you can’t work as part of the team . . .” He leaned heavily onto one of his armrests and pinched his eyes. “Maybe this is my fault. I thought you were ready to set out on your own.”
“I am!” said Adam, half rising out of his chair. “Mr. Danvers, I’m so close to proving that girl’s a conduit. The way they used pink lights . . .”
“This is exactly the problem, Adam!” barked Danvers, pushing him back into his seat with a sharp glance. “You aren’t looking for the truth. You’re trying to prove your theory. You’re supposed to get all the facts in front of you and find the theory that fits them all, not latch on to the first idea that . . .” He suddenly stopped ranting and leaned back, releasing the rest of his breath in a sigh. “I shouldn’t have to explain this to a professional investigator.”
“I am sorry,” said Adam, although his tone of voice implied to Danvers that he had been mentally preparing the word but and had lost his courage at the last moment.
Danvers felt himself soften as he watched Adam stare at the floor, his knees vibrating slightly as he fought the urge to draw them up to his chest. His anger had completed the necessary deconstruction; now it was time for the not-angry-just-disappointed voice and the partial reassembly of Adam’s self-worth. “Look, I think I get what’s going on here,” he said tactfully. “I think you might have gotten too used to being part of the superstar team-up. It’s hard to go from that to having to reinvent yourself at the ground level. Is that fair to say?”
Adam nodded, still staring at the floor.
“Perhaps I should pull Victor off Pacifications and partner the two of you together again as a distinct unit, and . . .” The sudden, alarming change in Adam’s expression gave him pause. “What’s the matter?”
“Victor . . . he quit,” admitted Adam.
“What?!” Danvers’s not-angry-just-disappointed voice was forced to rapidly return to the bench. “He quit? Since when?”
“The other night.” Adam saw no point in lying anymore. Better a prolonged bollocking now than the prospect of an additional bollocking at an uncertain point in the future. “The . . . crime scene that got destroyed by pyrokinesis? There was a slight, slight possibility that it was Victor.”
“How slight?” asked Danvers, aghast.
“Er, not sure. I didn’t see them. Alison did.”
“Alison again,” Danvers leaned back in his chair like the arm of a medieval trebuchet winding up for another fling. “Maybe I should have a long talk with Alison. She might be interested in an upcoming vacancy in Investigations. So he quit because you confronted him on it, I take it?”
“Yeah,” said Adam, barely audibly.
“And what made you think it was him? Because if we have to bring in the world’s most powerful pyrokinetic, we’re going to need a lot more than an arrest warrant.”
“He’s been . . . posting on the Modern Miracle forum.”
Danvers blinked. “And what has he been posting?”
Adam sank in his chair even further. With his red hair in its usual ponytail, he now resembled a pile of crumpled black laundry with a squirrel sitting on top of it. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know,” repeated Danvers slowly. “Well, thank goodness. There was me thinking you didn’t have a good reason to alienate our most powerful asset.”
“Mr. Danvers, I . . .”
Danvers was covering his eyes. “Adam, I can’t deal with you right now. Get out. Clear whatever belongings you have out of the Investigations office. Go and sit in the cafeteria, and I’ll figure out where to put you later.”
Adam slowly stood on wobbling legs, turned to leave, then a strange surge of emotion caused him to turn back around, lean forward, and urgently slam his hands on Danvers’s desk. “Mr. Danvers. I swear I can crack this case. Just give me twenty-four hours.”
Danvers gazed back in astonishment. “I . . . cannot believe you actually said that.”
The two men stared each other down in silence for an increasingly awkward few seconds, until the tension was finally broken by the ever-familiar sound of Anderson’s heavy footfalls in the hallway. His bulky silhouette appeared behind the frosted glass that separated Danvers’s office from the rest of the building.
Danvers and Adam both closed their eyes in anticipation and simultaneously relaxed when Anderson’s footfalls continued straight past the door and moved on to harass some other civil servant.
“Sometimes I think we should build a railway crossing in the corridor for when he turns up,” muttered Danvers.
37
None of the senior staff at the Department of Extradimensional Affairs could remember which cubicle had been officially assigned to Nita Pavani, nor indeed assigning her a cubicle at all, and yet, she had undeniably carved out a section of the work floor for herself. Her workspace was like a carefully curated shrine to decorative rain sticks and animal figurines, and the collection of inspirational printouts was seriously encroaching upon the workspaces of her assistants. Some of whom hadn’t even realized they were her assistants until several months after she had started issuing orders.
