1

She slept in a field of wind-blown grass; she laid among the slow-living as the sun spun into night, and day, and night again.

She slept, in the light, in the dark, waking only to appreciate the flowing stars. A dream, or two, or twelve – she indulged, fearful of waking to a world unchanged. The wind soothed the burning behind her eye, and she saw the silhouette of the stranger, waiting in the shadow of the moon, tall and beautiful and dead.

Look at me, she said.

I am sorry.

~

Red carpet rolled out from the VIP lift. An honour guard of fusiliers stiffened into salute as Edward Finley sauntered out, munching on a slice of cake. James shook his hand vigorously, cream and all, and gave his elbow a smack. The two men beamed at each other like the best of friends.

“Ed, how are you?”

“Cowen, faring well?”

They stood shoulder to shoulder and smiled at the gathered press. Phosphorous lights blinked in their rigid faces. No one asked questions. The few that raised their hands were quickly pulled away.

“My colleague, Maestro Mina Enri of the House of Juniper,” said James.

“Maestro Enri, faring well?”

“Edward, good to see you.”

They shook hands. Sam could see Enri’s hand rummaging inside her pocket, rubbing off the crumbs.

“An old friend from my school days, encoder first-class, Joran Guiyu.”

The big man swaddled forth, sweat running rivulets around his blackout goggles.

“Joran, faring well?”

“Ed.”

Sam set down her bags just in time.

“My apprentice.”

Edward Finley grinned at her breasts. Sam gave a deep bow and resisted the urge to pull tighter her coat. She hid behind the press as the three VIPs from the Floor of Seventeen posed together for one more round of smiling and nodding, then the fusiliers snapped to attention, Edward beckoned, and they started for the lift.

“Come on, Lucia,” said Sam.

Lucia slung the box across her back and parted the crowd with the billowing of her cloak. Her chainmail inlay jingled as her armoured boots fell on the carpet like muted thunder. Her blindfold was midnight black and threaded with hair-thin copper wires coalesced into the rays of a rising sun. Her brittle white hair was tamed under silver clips and cascaded to her shoulders. Her lips glistened like roses in the morning, more vibrant than living flesh. Sam could hardly look at her.

The VIP lift contained five divans each the size of a small room. Hundreds of unfathomable delicacies waited upon a gargantuan buffet. A grand piano played itself by the far wall, its open top exposing thousands of copper cylinders spinning in sequences too complex for eyes to follow. An archway of flowering vines led to a resplendent garden full of miniature trees and steaming pools.

Twenty butlers in orange tux stood inanimate, five in each corner.

The doors slid shut. The counter showed one hour and forty-five minutes to the Floor of Twenty. The signal light blinked a single time, and the floor began to vibrate almost imperceptibly. Sam felt dizzy. The VIP lift imparted a sense of unsteady motion, as if they were zigzagging through a maze.

Edward dropped himself onto a divan and dove into a half-finished cheesecake. “Relax,” he said, his voice suddenly flat. “Going to be a long week.”

James sat. Sam manoeuvred herself to the buffet and began stuffing her face with salami and mutton stew.

“You take out the red carpet for everyone?” she heard James ask.

“Jack’s idea,” said Edward.

“What isn’t?”

“What?”

Enri came up looking sheepish. Sam poured her a glass of gin. The Maestro smiled at her.

“I heard you bought half the houses on your Floor,” said Edward.

“Just diversifying my portfolio.”

“Doing well then?”

“Yes – thanks to Jack and his generosity.”

“Yeah?”

“None of us would be where we are without his support. Joran?”

The encoder grunted.

“There’ll be changes coming,” said Edward Finley.

“Yeah? Like what?”

“You’ll find out.”

“From you?”

“What?”

Sam spotted a tray of pickled pineapples and began stuffing them into her pockets. Then she spotted the macadamia-stuffed dates and lamented the fact that she only had two pockets and not twelve.

Edward pushed on. “Diversifying your portfolio, is it?”

“Honestly, I stopped keeping track a while ago.”

“A private lift is not a house, Cowen, last I checked.”

“That’s what diversity means. I’m glad you have taken an interest in my affairs.”

Ed laughed. “I don’t care what you do with your money. It’s a free market. Buying eighty-seven houses to hide one lift – whatever, not my business. I just like to think out loud, seeing that I am uh, not as bright as some of you geniuses at schemes and plans and murder-mysteries, and I wouldn’t have any idea what you’d hope to achieve with…whatever it is that you think you are doing. So, just thinking out loud.”

Enri prodded Sam on the chest. “Why do you get to be here?” she asked. “My staff had to be rescheduled. And the giant too! Cowen gets special treatment – again!” she sniffed. “Pour me another.”

Sam poured her another.

James shrugged. “Logistics are easier optimized when supply chains are in-House.”

“I should have thought of that, had I been cleverer.”

“You are a capable and outstanding individual, Ed. Our collaborations have always run smoothly.”

Edward laughed. “Shut the fuck up. Wipe that smartass grin off your fucking face.”

Sam suddenly felt much too full. Enri gulped down her second tonic like water.

Joran hyperventilated. “Now, Ed –”

“There’ll be changes coming,” Edward snapped. “I’m not running Jack’s fucking errands ever again, you hear me? I’m not a busboy, picking up children.”

“Huh.” If James had a hundred eyebrows, he would have raised them all. “You want to talk about it, whatever it is?”

“We know what you are doing. Jack knows, the old man knows, I know, fucking Edwin knows and he can’t even properly take a shit. So I really don’t understand why I have to sit here and make nice with you when, really –” he clicked his fingers, and the butlers took one step forward. “– I got an hour and a half to fuck you up and end your little schemes before they give us any trouble.”

James shrugged. “You can try.”

The two men stared at each other, Edward glowering, James smiling pleasantly. The encoder hyperventilated and wiped sweat from his armpits. Lucia simply stood there, perfectly still.

Enri giggled. She shoved the empty glass into Sam’s hand and grabbed the gin by the bottle. “Men are so dumb, aren’t they?” she declared. “They bite each other’s head off at the first opportunity and think it’s some kind of achievement. You and I, darling,” she threw an arm over Sam’s shoulder and drew her back. “We just stand in a corner and let the masculine do their business. And also, we shall drink, copiously.”

“It was you,” said Sam. “You told them.”

Enri squeezed her a little harder. “Sometimes, darling, it is much easier to put down your cards and let the boys play, because playing is all they do, they are obsessed with playing, and we can’t beat them no matter how hard we try, because we just don’t care that much about their games. My mother, bless her heart, once told me –”

Edward burst out laughing. It was a false, awkward, phlegmy noise, like he was squeezing air from his lungs to make room for bullshit. “Just kidding, Cowen,” he declared, obviously not kidding. “It’s a test,” he explained, obviously lying. “I can’t try. I’m too dumb to make moves for myself, you understand! I’m just doing what I’m told.” he chuckled without humour. “I got ten thousand tethers, three apprentices and a secretary. I could never dream of standing up against you…giants! But – enough of that, I need to go take a shit, so excuse me, but when I get back I’m going to drink and be at peace. Ha!”

Ed Finley disappeared into the bamboos, laughing at the greenery.

James and Joran exchanged a look. Sam freed herself from Enri’s grip and started for them. James held up a hand.

The butlers around the room advanced another step.

“This you, Ed?” James called out.

“I wish!” came the response, then a pause. “Good luck!”

Lucia set down the box and pulled away the straps. A six-foot length of steel came away with it, sharp as a blade on one edge, flat like a hammer on the other, ending in a drill-like tip.

Joran hummed appreciatively, all symptoms of panic erased. “You got it working.”

“Excited to see your routine?”

“If I wasn’t about to be pulverized, yeah.”

Sam looked around. Having seen these things bring down a giant in the middle of what must have been a thousand bystanders, there was no way any of them was going to survive the collateral violence – except James, who gets to hide inside a box.

The Maestro raised his hands and the Green poured from his fingertips. Thousands of ephemeral strands alighted upon the ceiling, the walls, shifting like electric arcs yet supple like silk, flexible and unyielding all at once. When they touched Lucia, they disappeared through her skin as if absorbed into some subdermal vortex; when they touched the butlers, they began to tremble. As one, they lifted one leg and wobbled, as if unable to choose between forward and back.

James spoke, his voice soft and loud, not quite emanating from his mouth. “Kill me now and Lucia dies with me.”

Sam shivered; Lucia’s eyes were moving rapidly under the blindfold.

The butlers jerked, struggling against forces invisible. For a moment it seemed as if they were going to lunge. Then some decision appeared to have been made, and they retreated until their backs were against the wall. As one, they bowed. James lowered his hands and the Green blinked out of existence.

“Astounding,” Enri muttered.

“What did you just do?” asked Joran, unable to hide his envy.

James lowered his hands. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead. He nodded at Sam. “The Maestro had seized –”

“Attempted to.”

“– attempted to seize –”

“Well no, more like I demonstrated that I could have.”

“The Maestro had demonstrated that he could have seized the secondary tether while the primary was still active.”

Joran’s face was blank. “What does that mean?”

“Means I fought him for control,” said James. He approached the buffet, wobbling on his feet. Sam gave him water.

“Him? You mean Ed?”

James laughed, then coughed and sputtered on Enri’s coat. “Sorry. Didn’t know you were still here.”

“No hard feelings, James,” said Enri, shaken.

“Oh no, there definitely are.”

The sound of running water echoed in the walls. Edward emerged looking pleased with himself. “Trouble has a way of sorting itself out, doesn’t it?” He plopped himself onto a divan and shook his arms. Three diamond-encrusted bracelets fell onto the cushion. “No hard feelings, Cowen. You know how it is. One man tells you to do this and another tells you to do that. No way to satisfy them all – so what do you do? Family is family. But – you know what, if they wanted it done right they would have sent someone else. Can’t really blame me for fucking it up, now can they? I am me.”

James looked at Enri, at Joran, at Ed. He shifted between three kinds of smiles and said nothing.