Caine Black Knife

I said again. “I’ve been there.”

“Caine-”

“Tell them I saw it in a fucking dream.”

“What?”

“Just do it, huh?”

“Really, Caine, consider: the Emperor is also the Mithondionne, after all. Adopted grandson of the bloody elf- king who magicked up the dil T’llan and closed them all however many centuries ago. If there were a dil in Purthin’s Ford, don’t you think he’d have mentioned it?”

“Unless he had good reason not to.”

I looked down at my hands. I spend a lot of time staring at my hands.

“You know why I was up here in the first place? I was covert for the Monasteries, working an exoteric identity as a Boedecken scout and ogrillo expert for a half-private expedition. They were after a magickal artifact- this giant fucking runecut blush diamond, big as my head. A Legendary artifact, ramping up on True Relic. If they found it, my job was to backdoor an Esoteric strike team. If it was what the partners thought it was, the Monasteries were fucking sure gonna swallow it at one bite no matter who got chewed up.”

“So?”

“So it was the Tear of Panchasell.”

“Panchasell-?”

I nodded. “That bloody elf-king you were talking about.”

“But-but-the Tear of Panchasell-that’s just a legend-”

“Or something.”

“It was never found-”

“It was never recovered.” My lips curled under. I couldn’t fit that many teeth into a smile.

“Well, I-still, I wouldn’t give it too much thought. Even if these Artans manage to find a dil, it’s not like they can open it; even the power of Our Beloved Father is barely-”

“Will you shut up about Our Beloved Fucking Father? What do you have on the BlackStone compound and operations?”

“Not much. Just what we’ve been able to bribe out of a couple ellie delivery grills.”

“No scry on them, either? You’ve never even had an Eye inside?”

“Caine, BlackStone’s a griffinstone producer. They don’t want us to know what’s going on in there, and they have power to burn.”

“Yeah, whatever. Write another fucking report, will you?” I lurched to my feet and dragged my sorry butt back over to the window.

Hell stared back at me. “Son of a fuck-my-ass bitch. They already know I’m here, too.”

“They do?” Tourann sounded more surprised than skeptical.

“Faller will have had somebody over in Riverdock, watching the steamers unload.”

“How do you figure?”

“It’s what I’d do. Not that he’s expecting me-though he might be, shit, I hadn’t even thought of that-but on general principle. He’ll want to know who’s coming and going.” I shook my head and tried to unclench my jaw. “Any Artan would recognize me. Any. I’m amazed the fucker didn’t buttonhole me for an autograph.”

I swung back around toward Tourann. “What do you have for resources on the ground here?”

“I don’t have authority to talk to you about that.” He shifted uncomfortably again. “I will tell you it’s not a lot.”

I waved a hand. “Never mind. I haven’t even been here a day and I know more than you mopes already.”

“More of what?”

“Don’t bother mirroring the Duke. It’s a waste of time.”

Tourann blinked. “I-what?”

“Forget about it. They already know. Deliann does, anyway. Son of a bitch.”

“He does?”

“Listen, this Khlaylock girl-three years is a long damn time to be Champion, isn’t it?”

“That’s part of why they call her Khrylget.”

“Three years, though. . She stand for Champion before the Assumption? Or after?”

Tourann coughed, frowning. “You mean the Assumption, right?”

“Yeah. The one your better half doesn’t like to talk about much. The one where I cut Our Beloved Fucking Father in half and jammed a foot of sword through His Beloved Fucking Brain.”

Tourann coughed hard enough that he had to wipe spit off his chin. “I don’t actually know-I could look it up for you, but I don’t have the records handy-”

“Make a note to check it out. Because if she never stepped up till after the Assumption, well. . it might be significant.”

“I don’t see it.”

“It has to do with the Covenant of Pirichanthe, and Ma’elKoth and Assumption Day, and it’s. . complicated.”

I found myself staring at the scars on my hands again. “Just find out.”

It was all I could say.

“There’s a cold-post board in Weaver’s Square. The date’ll be posted in numerics on a note that says, ‘Rod, here’s your box number.’ You have that?”

“Yeah. Rod here’s your box.” I rubbed my eyes. “Yeah, I got it. All right, last thing before I get out of your station. I need some eyeball with the Monastic agent-in-place.”

“I don’t have any official-”

“But you know who it is. You have to. Give.”

Tourann took a deep breath. “You know the Monasteries are decidedly unwelcome on the Battleground.”

“Yeah, I heard. And there’s no way in any given variety of Hell the Council of Brothers would let a whole nation of Khryllians go unmonitored.”

“Well, yes. So-” The bishop tilted his head with a sort of preparatory flinch. “-sometimes the best way to hide a really illegal activity is inside a mildly illegal activity, you follow?”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re warming me up for something I’m not gonna like?”

“Remember what I told you about the Cainists?”

“Oh.” I rubbed my eyes again; this couldn’t be good. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“It gets worse.”

“Worse than that?”

“I’m afraid so.” Tourann nodded sympathetically. “You know her.”

I stopped rubbing my eyes; if I kept going, I just might jam my fingers into the sockets up to the second knuckle. “You have got to be motherfucking kidding me-”

“If only I were. I’ve had to deal with her myself once or twice.”

He wrote an address on a scrap of paper and passed it to me. I crumpled it in my fist. “Fuck me inside out.”

“I’m sorry. I truly am.”

“Not as sorry as I am.” I sighed and let my fist fall. Out the window, the fat bitch lolled in the firelight on the ledge. I took a deep breath, sighed it out, then turned back to Tourann and began, “The chalice with the palace-”

He held up a hand. “I’ll put myself away, if you don’t mind. I’m usually out only after midnight.” He made a half-apologetic wave toward the window. “It’s been a year since I could have a brandy and watch the evenfires.”

“What about the Bishop?”