Most of the day had gone by the time they finally said their goodbyes, Serrin taking Barbara’s number and promising to call. Judy had remembered him. She was fifteen now, painting cards and murals and even getting a commission for a couple of posters. She had her mind set on compgraphics and Matrix sculpting. She still had the same gifts and sensitivity Serrin remembered, but now she was worldly for a kid of fifteen. Somehow that disappointed him. It was as if Manhattan was already beginning to take her over. He hoped she would hang on to what she'd started out with. The disappointment made the goodbyes less difficult, though.

Thus it was after dark when he started making the calls from his hotel room. It was a long shot, and he had called Seattle, Philly, DeeCee, and half of California Free State by the time he roused Kerman.

The bleary-eyed face stared unhappily at him through the static. “You fraggin’ pointy-eared SOB. What you wake me up for?”

“Wake you up? Are you kidding, it’s five-fifty.”

“Yeah, well it’s only three-fifty here, you scumsucker. When did I ever get out of bed before five?”

Serrin grinned. “You missed a beautiful day. Here I am in the Rotten Apple, walking in the winter sunshine and admiring the poseurs and wannabees in the Village. And you just sleep your life away.”

“Look, chummer, life starts at midnight. Spare me the drek. What you want?”

“Kerman. I’m involved in something in Britain. Old London town. Funny thing is, it rings a bell and I can’t place the connection. I had to get out of the Smoke for a couple of days so I flew over to see if I could check out a few things with some people. I didn’t think of you till the last moment, or I’d have come back just to see your sweet smiling face in the flesh.”

The man was yawning affectedly. “Yeah, yeah. What do you want?”

“All right. What do you know about Jack the Ripper?”

Kerman was not amused. What the frag should I know? You’re the one who’s been in London. Didn’t he go a-merrily butchering over there a century or two ago?”

“Yeah But it may be that someone’s getting into some very accurate re-creations. That’s NFP, so keep it to yourself for now, please. Funny thing is, I seem to remember some crazy Jack stories in Seattle two, three years ago. I was only in and out of the city then, didn’t pay any attention, and missed the full version. You remember anything?”

Kerman rubbed his chin, avoiding the unpleasant spot on it, and screwed up his face in concentration. “Yeah. Got it. There was some madman serial killer around. Nothing special in that, but I remember mutterings about the Ripper. Story wasn’t around long. There was a big Mitsuhama/yakuza story that broke right after, if I remember right, and that pretty much took over. Look, can I get back to you on this?”

There was a whining “Hun-ee, come back to bed” from somewhere behind and to the right of Kerman, clearly audible over the phone.

Serrin grinned at Kermans wince of discomfort. “Sure. But make it this evening. I haven’t got long.”

It was three and a half hours before the return call came. Serrin was eager for it; tracking down the Manhattanites on his list had yielded little more than some desultory invitations for drinks and the usual litany of polite “how ya doin’s.”

“Pointy!” Shaven, bathed, and resplendent in a dinner jacket and bow tie, Kerman beamed at the elf over the telecom screen.

“Hi, there, chuninier. Hey, you’re looking good.”

“Naturally. But no time to waste. Here’s how it pans out. Know about Global Technologies?”

Serrin recalled the small skillsoft and simsense corporation in Seattle, but couldn’t remember any details.

“Yeah. What of it?”

They’re the only lead I could get. Rumor associates them with the Ripper thing, but who knows if that’s just a little bit of street slander. If I believed ten percent of what I hear about Renraku, I’d have to believe they were run by baby-eating Satanists who drink nuclear waste for breakfast and piss it out in the water supply. But my source is good on this. For a little something, I could give you a name and address in Manhattan that might get you further. Can’t make any cast-iron promises, but it’s interesting.”

Serrin groaned audibly. His credsticks were running low uncomfortably fast. “Hey, you sleazeball, what about that Atlantean business? Hell, you ripped me off big-time on that one. If we’d split it, we’d have made fifty thou apiece for that fake drek we sold ‘em.” The Atlantean Foundation probably still believed the “artifacts” were genuine. That scam had been a real joy.

“That’s business, ear-features. Five thousand gets you a name and something to check out.”

“What? You fraggin’ vampire,’ Serrin squealed, and they got down to some serious haggling. By the time Serrin had cleared a credit transfer of three thousand, he got a name he should have remembered himself, and cursed his corrupted-disk memory.

It was past ten at night, but SoHo only really came alive around then anyway. He had never seen Her Ladyship, and the telecom got a pre-recorded from a troll who looked more machine than meat. Okay, what the hell, Serrin decided, the security rating’s good. Let’s give it a whirl.

25

Serrin found the place easily enough. The house looked like an architectural impossibility; narrow, seeming to lean a little on one side, its five stories looking like almost too many to stand upright. The ground-level floor was a florist’s shop, but it was closed now. Didn’t find too many fresh flowers in Manhattan these days. There wasn’t much to indicate what went on in the floors above the shop. Serrin rang the ancient intercom by the side door. It buzzed into life.

“I’m here to see the Lady. Name’s Serrin Shamandar. She doesn’t know me personally, but I need some information and I can pay.”

There was a long pause. “Just a minute,” the distorted voice boomed. “I’ll have to confer with Her Ladyship. She don’t take many visitors.”

The link clicked into silence.

It was ten minutes before the voice was back again.

“You may come in to discuss the possibility of an appointment, but be warned that we take serious precautions against any form of magical assensing or spell use. Any action suggesting active spell use will be construed as a hostile act and you will be dealt with accordingly.”

Well, of course I know there are countermeasures, Serrin thought. Think I didn’t try assensing already? He was about to voice a curt rejoinder when he realized he’d been listening to a pre-recorded message. The door swung open before him, and an array of cameras tracked his long and painful passage up the five flights to the top floor. Spirits, hadn’t these people ever heard of elevators?

When he finally dragged himself up the last set, he was breathing hard. Before him was a heavy steel door; he touched the detector panel to trigger it into scanning mode and stood back. Within seconds, the door opened.

Most serious runners in Manhattan knew of Her Ladyship, but few had ever seen her or set foot inside her domain. She never left this place, existing as an information sponge, soaking up everything and anything. Even top corporations came to her when desperate for a lead from her deranged mind. Her information was so vast and so valuable that no one dared harm her, for fear of what tidbit she might have stored away only to be revealed if she were killed. The place was said to be the weirdest cybercomplex outside of the really heavy corps. In Manhattan that had to be very weird indeed. Serrin was braced for the expected, but not to encounter anything like the troll.

Looking upward from the metahuman’s enormous feet, which had to be at least size eighteen, Serrin didn’t register anything too odd about the steel-reinforced boots or the heavy olive-green pants. It was only when the troll took a step forward that he heard the hiss of the hydraulics. Across his chest, looking for all the world like a row of military medals, a row of sensor panels and lights blinked a neon mantra.