CHAPTER 24
Emma had walked through the reading rooms quickly at first, trying to get a feel for what they held.
The problem was, as soon as she turned back, the rooms behind her had switched themselves round.
She recognized none of them. It had been worse once she’d thrown stairs into the mix.
Tired as she was, she had to smile. The Library had a sense of humor, it seemed.
And then this room had turned up. Tall windows, a tapestry of a river winding around a fruit tree.
And shelf after shelf of books titled things like Mortal Theory: Man and Manifest; or Perish the Thought: A Brief Philosophy of Mortality.
Magical texts devoted to mortals, written by residents of the Night City.
She hadn’t dared leave for fear the room would disappear on her.
But after hours of backbreaking work, she had covered exactly a tenth of the upper gallery.
Nothing had held the secret to crossing into the mortal realm.
She slumped on the top step of a spiral staircase.
Perhaps if she hadn’t spent so long dodging Nat’s attempts to take her to the Library, she might have had a more realistic idea of the task she was undertaking.
But then, if it were easy, then anyone might have done it.
And if there was one thing Emma knew about herself, in the flood of her returning memories, it was that she was patient.
As a mortal, she had sat unmoving for hours, until her stillness set the creatures around her at ease.
She had watched a seal colony until her fingers wrinkled from salt spray.
She had seen a Guilder deer and its fawn pick their way to the river’s edge, even as the current numbed her feet.
She stayed when others admitted defeat and went home to hot drinks.
It was why the otters had danced for her alone, in the bend of the river outside Gabriel College.
Seeing what was hidden from others had been a wonder, equal to any of the Night City’s.
And she had only ever needed her own mind and eyes to do it.
“Loved your speech.” The velvet moss voice came from behind her, in the gallery.
Emma jerked round, spilling books from her lap. The messenger—her messenger—lounged against a stepladder.
“Quite a showing, your trial.”
“You were at my trial?”
He widened his eyes, which did nothing to hide the dancing mischief in their depths. “I? Would this humble vassal miss the trial of my own dear lady fugitive?”
At her hearty scowl, his grin widened.
“Oh yes,” he continued, fingering his curly beard. “I was there. To face down the Judge with a bargain of your own, and win? La! My dear.”
He produced an apple from nowhere and tossed it high into the air. Catching it in one hand and biting down, he said, “Sh’been a long time sh’ince I’ve seen old Misery enjoy himself that much. But you’ve got that nasty extra debt now—a whole mortal life, no?”
“I’m not going to think about it yet,” Emma said firmly.
“A thousand extra years of service? You should.”
“You should try not abandoning people on the street.”
“I prefer to think of it as delivering people back to the bosoms of their friends. Are you not a fox maiden now, and among sisters?”
Emma was on her feet before she knew it. The remaining books in her lap cascaded down the spiral staircase. She ignored the protests from the reading room below. Her eyes were narrowed on the messenger.
“You dropped me outside the Court on purpose.”
“Perhaps I did leave you where it might be—ah, easier for you to find your way in. But no good would have come of your avoiding your summons.”
Emma turned to pick up her fallen books, hoping her silence conveyed the full chill of her disdain.
“But it would be a mistake, you know,” the messenger said quietly.
“What would?”
“Not to think about how you can pay off that debt.”
Emma’s eyes snapped to his. “Why would you care?”
“There are ways, you know.” Tossing the apple up and down, he looked at the ceiling, at the walls, anywhere but at Emma. “For someone who’s clever. There are things they could do.”
Caught despite herself, Emma moved closer. She tasted secrets. “Like what?”
“I am sent by one far more powerful than I. Perform for them the smallest favor, and the rewards will be great. What do you say?”
It was what she had been looking for. What Saskia and Nancy had not been able to tell her, and what none of these books had contained.
A way to earn more than a fox maiden could.
To be free of her debt. To go home. She was about to open her mouth, when she heard the Sister’s voice, and her warning: City dwellers do not give, as a rule.
Almost always, a gift they offer will be a bargain in disguise.
Emma’s lips drew back from her teeth in a fox snarl. “No, thank you. Unless you care to name your terms. I won’t be taken in by your gift.”
The messenger gave a delighted laugh. “Oh, I’m half in love with you already. Right you are, my lady. Business it is. I tell you what my sender wants of you—”
“And who is this sender, messenger?”
“Robin.”
“What?”
“Messenger Robin.” He swept a deep bow, eyes twinkling. “My lady.”
“That’s not an answer to my question.”
“No fact escapes your cunning eye, lady fox. My sender does not wish to be known.” Robin sighed, tapping the tree on his tunic. “And as a lowly City messenger, I obey. But I assure you, they are more than generous.”
Emma made a noncommittal sound. She had always liked to know all the facts before making a decision. To lay out her data and analyze before giving her conclusions. She mistrusted simple tasks with anonymous instigators.
“So what do they want from me?”
“Share all you know of the Turnbulls, and there will be a nice little reward for you. Enough to pay off—oh, perhaps two hundred years of your service?”
That was double what any of her sisters owed to the House of Foxes, for information she would have given gladly.
It would be a relief to talk about the Turnbulls, to release the gall choking her insides.
She wanted to know why so much would be offered for so little.
But she had learned enough of the Night City not to show her hand.
“Of course. No one else could tell you, because—because there’s never been anyone like me in the Night City before.
” She tried not to sound as though she were guessing.
If the mystery patron thought she had value, she would act like it. “Someone connected to the Turnbulls.”
“Certainly nobody close enough to have useful information. Your coming stirred the hornet’s nest of the Court. How many newcomers to the City do you think are called to a full trial in the great chamber, with the Judge himself?”
“Not many, I hope,” said Emma, rubbing the tender spots on her arms where the Boars had bruised her.
“Which gives your knowledge great worth. You were even with them during a sacrifice.”
“I was the sacrifice,” she reminded him drily. “So tell me more about this generous bargain. What are your terms?”
“Our terms, O Gorgon of suspicion, are these: You tell me all you remember of the Turnbulls. Even details you might think unimportant—on this matter, no corner of your knowledge should remain unshared.”
“And if any part of the bargain is not met?”
“A little transformation. Frog’s legs for twenty years. Webbing and all,” Robin said promptly.
Emma nodded as though thinking it through. In reality, she was remembering the tailor at the Court. The trick in her words. Emma had sworn to match cunning with cunning. To turn the Night City’s game to her own ends. And she had just seen her first opportunity.
She tried to sound casual. But she held every word in her mouth before saying it aloud.
She had to get it right. “So this is our bargain. Your sender wishes to know all about the Turnbulls: We will share complete confidence on this matter. Everything there is to know. You and I swear this bargain now, and I will receive a reward at the end. If the terms of the bargain aren’t met, that means twenty years with frog’s legs. We agree?”
“It’s a bargain.” Robin shook her offered hand.
Emma kept her face smooth to hide the unholy glee within.
She kept her end of the bargain. She told Robin every last vicious, rage-filled detail about the Turnbulls.
It felt like soaring, letting her vitriol flow free.
She particularly enjoyed describing Piers Popwell as a bloated weasel intestine.
Robin blinked, but wrote it down. At last, with a sheaf of scribbled notes, he stood to leave.
“Oh no, Messenger Robin,” Emma told him. “Not yet. Time for your part of the bargain.”
Robin turned, eyes wary. “Lady?”
“I believe we just agreed to share full confidence, on the matter of your sender wishing to know about the Turnbulls? Such full sharing between us, I believe, would include the identity of your sender.” She paused, enjoying herself immensely. “Would it not?”
His face went comically blank. Then he broke into a roar of laughter. “Oh, you are magnificent. You have tricked me. Me!”
“I have. You must tell me who sent you, or suffer the punishment we agreed. What was it again?” she mused, gazing up at the reading room ceiling. “Something about frogs?”
“But I am fond of my legs,” he complained. “Truly, the beauties at Court have said that they are my finest feature.”
“How sad for you.” Emma grinned. “But just think how much faster you may deliver messages. Bouncing down the corridors of the Court. All who look on you will be stunned.”
“Enough, enough.” Robin buried his face in his hands. “Lady fox, you have me.”
“So who sent you?”
He raised his head slowly. “The Night City itself.”
She had expected some courtier, hungry for gossip. It took her a moment to recover her breath. “It can’t be. The Night City’s power is knowledge. It must have all it needs on the Turnbulls.”