They each chased their own thoughts for a time, trying to put it all together. After a while, Geraint slapped his hands on the table. “What have we got?” he said. "Francesca chases something wild into the Transys subsystem here in London. But it was something she met purely by accident. So what?"

Francesca disagreed. "Who says I met it by accident? And don’t forget, the second time I was specifically asked not to enter any other system apart from the Fuchi subsidiary where I was virus-dumping."

“Fuchi?" Serrin hadn’t heard any of the details of Francesca’s run. There hadn’t been time yet. "But we were out at a Fuchi installation."

“Unbidden. No one asked us to go,” Geraint observed dryly. "But let’s say, just for the sake of argument, that it was Transys paying you. That’s why they didn’t want you snooping around their place.”

“Yeah, okay, but why? They have mages a dam sight fancier than me. So why bring me all the way from Seattle to snoop somewhere just down the road from one of their own research labs, and in a totally pointless way?”

"I don’t know the answer to that,” Francesca said, "but just as you were told, implicitly, that Transys was a no-go area, so was I, indirectly.” Francesca was beginning to look more alive and alert. "What about that?"

“And we all ended up with something related to Fuchi." Serrin was chasing that theme again. “So, is Transys hiring us to shaft Fuchi? Poisoning a Matrix system and taking pot-shots at a big wheel at Longstanton?”

“Nobody asked us to get Kuranita,” Geraint insisted. He just couldn’t see a way past that. “And what about those other poor sods who got burned at Longstanton? Did Transys hire people for a raid that hadn’t a hope in hell? Strange thing to do, paying people to make a complete hash of everything. Francesca was hired to make a real hit, which she did. It just doesn’t match up.” Gemini retreated to the coffee maker.

The argument went on for at least two more hours, but they just kept treading over the same territory and running into the same blocks.

By the time the sky had washed from gray to black over the rain-lashed streets of London, Francesca had begun to stifle a series of yawns. Serrin, meanwhile, had begun to cough heavily, getting almost red in the face.

"You need something for that,” Geraint said, heading for the bathroom.

"Yeah, it didn’t get any better in the Stinkfens.” Serrin turned his chair around to face the departing figure. “If it hadn’t been for that lady I’d probably have died of pneumonia.”

When Geraint returned he was carrying a big glass bottle filled with viscous brown liquid.

"What the frag is that?" the mage complained as he took the bottle. "Dr. Jerome Browne’s Original Victorian Cough Syrup. This some kind of joke?”

"No, dear boy. Most assuredly not. Prescription only. Works like a charm. Uses a tried and true recipe from East Anglia. That land has always been thick with mists and general unhealthiness, and this stuff was all the rage two hundred years ago. The original mix came back on the market a few years back. I swear by the stuff.”

“Swear at it more likely. It smells like some monster with killer gut-trouble got this bottle stuck up its-”

“Shut up and take a good mouthful, you coward,” Geraint taunted.

The elf complied, spluttering and pulling a disgusted face at the filthy taste. "Oh, that’s evil. Are you sure it works?”

"Just wait and see.” The noble did not think it prudent to tell Serrin that the original recipe included laudanum and a nice shot of opium to soothe the inflamed membranes of the lung lining. By the time Geraint had put on his overcoat to go check out the contact address, his two friends were both sound asleep in the chairs where they sat.

The man flicked at a grease spot on his tie with a vestige of irritation as his subordinate passed through the automatic door. The waiting game was almost over.

“What was in the report?”

"Oh, very punctilious. Dates, times, places, expenses. He’d make a wonderful bureaucrat."

The figure lounging in the recliner snorted derisively. “Doubt it. Indeed, we’re hoping that’s precisely what he wouldn’t make. Did they make checks?"

“Uh-huh. Checked the Registration Services system. We triggered the Jones file when the Welshman came browsing. He grabbed it from limbo, thinking he was being real clever.”

Sniffing and exhaling, the older man brought his hands together in his lap, a study in concentration now.

“Well, there really shouldn’t have been anything in there. I think it would have been too much to leave any trail in that file. They’d have smelled a rat."

“What do you think they’ll do?”

"They’ve got lots of avenues to explore, but I doubt Ms. Young will be doing much Matrix-hopping. We sit tight. It won’t be long now anyway.”

“We could take the kidney option." They shared an unpleasant laugh.

“No, I think we were right to reject that one. Someone in the Met police might have begun to wonder if we’d dished up that little item to the Chief Superintendent. We can’t be sure they’ll try the police again anyway. Besides, maybe Swanson wouldn’t dispense the information. No, let’s wait. The pot’s stirred and they’re resourceful enough. After all, that’s why we chose them."

Now the wheels begin to turn more swiftly. Elizabeth Stride does not suspect what is going to happen to her, but it will be swift, final, and terribly messy.

16

Rani felt weak and shaky when Smeng unlocked the door and brought her a bowl of soup and a cracked paper cup dripping soykaf. Draining the cup, she found that the powdered soya milk had formed a disagreeable sludge at the bottom, but at least the stuff had been hot. Following it up with the thick soup, Rani felt a whole lot better. She’d have preferred solid food, but her stomach gurgled with satisfaction anyway. The belch she stifled with a hand over her mouth.

He grinned, looking down at her. “No need to watch your manners here, girl."

Rani smiled, but she had some questions. "Why did you help me last night? What’s it to you? And what were you doing in the Toadslab anyway?"

He shook his head to halt the torrent of questions. “Hey, not so fast! Don’t rush me, girl. Two of our blood had birthdays so we went out on the town. We also had a little business up there, something to collect and deliver, remember?” She nodded and he went on. "We don’t get out too often. Six of us hadn’t ever been above ground in their lives. It was an interesting time for them.

“As for you, well, we were just on our way home. We can smell the fascists a mile away. Sometimes the skins, White Lightning and their friends, learn about one of our little jaunts up to the surface and lie in wait for us. We’ve lost blood to those slints a few times. It’s always good to have a chance to settle the score. You’re an ork, ain’t you? We got the same enemies.”

She smiled sadly. Growing up meant learning the ways of the world, but when those ways included crazed fascist street thugs, learning the lessons wasn’t much fun. She decided to pursue other queries.

“Who lives down here? I mean, I’ve always wondered, ever since I was a kid and my uncle Ravi used to tell me about the Undercity. He used to sit me on his knee at Saturday tea-times and we’d have chapatis and bhuna, and he’d go on about India and the dust and heat and the sacred places and buildings, and then he’d talk about the city beneath the city. He’d never seen it, of course, and I used to think he was making it all up to entertain me. But I didn’t care. It was swell."