"This from the woman whose family was just killed en masse, and who doesn't seem to give a damn."
"Jacob, we've covered this. I'm out of my fucking mind," she said stiffly, then clenched her hands in her lap. "Or I've spent my whole life learning to carry on in the face of tragedy, and doing whatever is necessary to advance the family. To put the strong face forward, no matter what. Which is its own sort of madness, isn't it?"
I stared her down. I honestly couldn't tell if she was finally opening up a little bit, or just being crazier. Strange girl. Strange family, what was left of it.
"What does the Church say about all this? If anyone's going to see a pattern in something, it's those old apopheniacs."
"I think you made up that word," she said. "But I like it. The Church of the Algorithm has been quite silent on this one. None of the attacks have touched them, that we know of."
"But they could have."
"Of course. They lie as well as us. After all, they're hiding an angel in their basement, aren't they, Jacob?" She smiled at me. No one believed my stories from two years ago, especially not the industrialists. They could afford not to believe me. "But we have agents. I think we would know."
"Do you know the guy living in the Manor Tomb? Up in that old tower on the west side?"
She squinted at me, trying to make a decision. Secrets to tell, secrets to keep.
"That has something to do with the balance of power in the Council, Jacob. Are you sure you want to know about it?"
"I asked. I could knock you down and kick you until you tell me what I want to know, if you'd rather."
"Not really to my taste," she said, smiling wickedly. I decided right there and then that I never wanted to find out what was to this girl's taste. "Fair enough. There has been a rumor circulating that the Patron Tomb is finally dying. And not just in the process of dying, but really, nearly dead. You know he's been on the Council since before the Church rose to power? Before the Artificers Guild was disbanded and its leaders strung up, even."
"How could I possibly not know that, Lady Bright? I'm the son of a Founder, remember."
"So easy to forget sometimes, what with your rough and tumble ways, Mr. Burn." She looked down at her fingers, preened away some bit of dust from her nails. "But yes. The Patron is dying. And that's what makes your father's condition so interesting. Because if the Patron dies, Burn becomes the premier Founder seat."
"What does this have to do with the guy in the tower?" I asked.
"That's someone the family has brought in to sustain the old man's life," she answered. "Someone from outside the city. An expert. Of what, no one seems willing to say."
I felt my heart sink. I began to suspect what kind of expert he was.
"Anyway," she continued. "There are two ways this plays out. First, the Patron dies. Per the terms of their contract, the Patron's death will move the Tomb Right of Name on to the Family Verde, who bought it from him all those generations ago. And the Tombs are out of the Council."
"Seems like Angela would do everything she could to prevent that."
"Yes. Unless…" she held up a second finger.
"Unless?" I prompted.
"Unless the Family Burn is declared incapable of performing their duties. Say, if it was shown that their seat was held by a madman, with no declared heir. Angela has positioned herself to be declared the ward of that seat, in perpetuity. The Tombs would maintain their position in the Council."
"And if the son were reinstated?" I asked, the barest quaver in my voice. "What then?"
"The son?" she asked. "You mean the criminal, the murderer, the thug who takes rides with dangerous girls, who is wanted for conspiracy and theft and, oh, a thousand other things? That son?"
"I see your point."
"Maybe. But that son would still have a legal right to the seat. If he were reinstated, of course." Her eyes glittered and she leaned closer to me. "And he didn't get himself killed in the process."
"I really can't tell if you're threatening me, or offering to help."
She laughed. "Such a blunt object, Mr. Burn. It's going to be a joy, watching you crash through the Council. Assuming you take up your father's letter and claim your right in the Massif."
"How do you know about that?" I asked, sternly.
"Like I said. We have agents."
"Sure. Your agents are everywhere, all seeing. That's why you know about the wall of dead cutting this city off from the rest of the world."
"Wall of dead? You're being dramatic, Jacob."
"Wall of dead. I was under the city, I saw them. There's an army of the cog-dead standing watch on the shores of the Reine, keeping even clever boys like me inside today. Tell me," I looked back out the window, at the looming hulk of the Chamber Massif. "Is that part of your Council-ordained curfew?"
"It is not," she said carefully.
"So. Maybe you don't have all the cards."
"Maybe." She unfolded the gloves one last time, then pulled them on her thin fingers. "But I have you."
We were getting very close to the Chamber, now. I shifted nervously in my seat.
"What's the warrant on me for?" I asked.
"Murder, conspiracy, insurrection." She laughed with her eyes. "There's something in there about our black-toothed friends. They're holding you responsible for a lot of this trouble."
"Do you think I did that stuff?"
"Not at all. But I think the Founders would like to see the Family Burn raised up or gone forever. Either one works for them. And I guess you're the key to that." Again the smile, hopelessly dead of normal emotion. "What with your father and all."
"Is that why you're turning me in? Something to do with getting back at the Founders?"
"Who said I was turning you in, Jacob?" She pounded her fist on the carriage wall, and we stopped. The Chamber wasn't more than a block away. It was a dark shape, sketched in light from the windows, barely seen through the driving rain. It was still early in the day, but the storm had brought an early night. "I'm giving you a choice. You want to know what's going on, I know. You wouldn't have risked coming to me, otherwise. Come with me, risk arrest, and see what's going on in the Council. Or get out of the carriage, and never show your face in this city again."
"Hell of a choice," I said.
"Hell of a choice," she agreed.
I stared down at the old building. The Chamber Massif was a dangerous place, especially for a guy like me. What were they going to do? Arrest me. Try me right there. They had that kind of power. And someone in that room was keyed in to what was going on in the city, not just the curfew, not just the attacks. Answers inside, and nothing out here but the rain and a chance to get away. Hell of a choice.
"Can you do something about these?" I asked, holding my wrists in front of me. "And maybe get my revolver back? Don't want to go in naked."
She smiled nastily. "Cuffs, no. Revolver, yes," she said, producing the weapon from the folds of her riding dress and tucking it backwards into my vest pocket.
"Well," I said. "Thanks for the ride, ma'am."
I popped the door and stepped out. It was coming down, cold and hard. Veronica Bright tutted at me as I stepped into the rain.
"Jacob, you disappoint me."
"Yeah," I yelled over the driving rain. "That happens."
I ran to the alley, getting some cover from the rain in the sloped walls of the building. The carriage door closed behind me. A few moments later the engine clattered back to life, and they continued on. I watched them disappear into the Massif's covered barbican. Hell of a choice.
"Took you long enough," Wilson said. He stepped from the shadows, knives in his hands.