“But why would some partner of hers want to ‘screw things up,’ as you so eloquently put it, son?”
“I’m not sure. A warning? Or just to get some things into the public records as quickly as possible—insurance that could be used later on? We may never know.”
The silence hung thickly. “And?”
“And then the thing with Samkiel. Why would you approve him doing that for Anaita unless you were helping her out—or pretending to? Because if she wanted the protection of being able to claim she’d been investigating it herself in case things went bad, well, then her partner would want the same thing. And what better protection than being able to say, ‘I sent her to my old ally Samkiel precisely so I could keep an eye on what she was doing. If I’d known she was involved in a crime against Heaven, of course, I would have acted immediately’ and blah blah blah.”
Karael’s voice was even flatter than usual, and usually you could balance a full drink on it without spilling a drop. “You know that proves nothing, son. It’s just speculation.”
“This is all speculation, of course, sir. It’s kind of what I do.” I tried to sound more confident than I felt, but it’s hard to be really brave when you know the person you’re accusing of high crimes can extinguish you as easily as a birthday candle on a cupcake. “But it leads to the most critical unanswered question—what did Eligor want? Why would the Horseman risk his own standing in Hell, give his enemies the means to destroy him if they found out, just to make a deal with Anaita? Who we already know was a bit unstable, not as careful as she should be, prone to silencing allies, and not generally beloved in Heaven?”
“Tell me.”
“Because he didn’t really want a deal with Anaita—he wanted to make contact with someone else. Someone he could make a long-term alliance with. Someone who didn’t make the kind of mistakes that Anaita made, and who would almost certainly become even more powerful after she was gone. Somebody like you, Lord Karael.”
It was a magnificent silence, which gave me plenty of time to wonder what it would feel like to be erased from reality.
“So you’re suggesting that I was involved with Anaita’s madness from the beginning?” Karael said finally. “That she thought I was her partner, but in truth I manipulated things from behind the scenes all along the way, and then left her to hang when the time was right?”
“In a word, sir—amen.”
“Then it’s your turn to answer a question, Doloriel. If all this was true, why haven’t I destroyed you, too? Why would I leave a loose end like you dangling?” The air of good-old-boy, drill-sergeant familiarity that always colored Karael’s speech in my presence had abruptly disappeared. He was clipped, precise, and as calm as a deep, deep pond, but I could see the darkness roll through his glowing presence like a storm. “In short, why do you still exist?”
“That’s the one thing I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t believe bumping off witnesses is really your style, but I doubt that’s the most important reason. It might have something to do with what Anaita said about knowing me when I was alive, but maybe that’s not even true, or if it is true, it’s irrelevant to the bigger picture.” I had run out of tricks and revelations. I suddenly realized the next words might be the last I ever spoke. “I can only guess that for some reason, sir, you think you might need me someday.”
The roil of darkness coagulated, and for a moment I was facing something from which no light gleamed, as though Heaven had tipped sideways, and I was looking down into a hole full of ultimate nothingness. Then, as suddenly as an eyeblink, it dispersed, and I was looking at Karael’s misty but luminous shape again.
“An interesting guess, Doloriel. You will never know if it’s right—in fact, you’ll never know if any of this is right—but you will definitely know when I do want something from you. I’ll tell you one thing now, and one thing only. I have ambitions. Ambitions that you couldn’t begin to understand.”
I couldn’t help myself. “But why would you want to change anything? It’s Heaven, right? Heaven is perfect.”
Karael squeezed out the gleam that indicated a smile. I honestly could not tell you what kind of smile it was, amused or angry. He’d stopped pretending to be my bluff, gruff commanding officer and was now something much more distant and difficult to read. “We all have choices, Advocate Doloriel, whether we are angel or mortal. We make our own path by those choices. And since we are all different, it stands to reason that some of us make better decisions than others. Those who make the best decisions should be allowed to do so for the good of all. Do you understand?”
I couldn’t tell whether I was hearing the plain, unvarnished truth or just another excuse for a fascist takeover. I came extremely close to pointing that out, but there was no question Karael was different from Anaita, and I really had no idea what he planned. Maybe he was right. Certainly the Highest couldn’t be too pleased about how things had been running lately. So for once I kept my mouth shut.
He seemed satisfied with my silence. “Exactly. As for your being useful, well, you had better hope so, Doloriel. Leaving aside all this conspiracy talk, you are an angel who was a single tick of the great Paslogion away from utter destruction. I’d suggest that in the future you do what you’re told. At least when I’m the one telling you.”
And just like that, Heaven vanished and I was back in a hospital bed, full of hurt and stitches, but also—and quite remarkably—still alive and still in possession of my very own soul, however ragged around the edges it might be.
forty-nine:
the station
I SPOTTED HIM from about a block away, on the corner of Broadway and Spring, last-minute Christmas shoppers flowing around him like a tall, sharp rock in the middle of a stream. Of course, in that long coat and Dickensian top hat he was hard to miss. My pale friend was doing a funny little two-step, of course, scarf fluttering in the brisk wind. Everything seemed back to normal.
“Mister Dollar Bob!” he said when he spotted me. He tipped his hat. “Such a pleasant thing to see! So happy to notice you are all attached, body-parts and such.”
“Yeah, Foxy, same to you, I guess.” My body parts were intact and connected, all right, but my knees were still wobbly from the previous day’s interview Upstairs. “How’s business?”
He performed a little samba-move, one hand pressed against his belly—step, step, spin, stop. “Very good now. Was a little worried. Foxy Foxy is not in the munitions field. He does not make bang-bang guns like your other friend Mister Orban. War is bad for business.” He smiled, his teeth impressively white considering they had to compete with his albino complexion. “But now—no war! All happiness, all good things. So now Mister Fox is happy, happy!”
“War? You talking about Heaven?”
“Of course! When the folks Upstairs or Downstairs have a really big fight, all of us mousies hide in the grass.” He laughed. He really did sound relaxed.
I wished I felt the same, but the cold, gray day really fitted my mood. I’d survived my face-to-face with Karael, but that, I felt sure, had been only because I was no threat to him whatsoever. In fact, I was totally irrelevant. I’d been through Hell, literally, lost everything I cared about, all to get some answers, but the only real answer seemed to be, “Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.” And I wasn’t even going to receive that last consolation of the stubborn idealist, a hero’s death. I was walking around alive only because I didn’t really know how to do anything else. And because I needed to leave the apartment occasionally to buy more booze.
“Yeah, well, I’m happy for you,” I said. “Enjoy the holidays.”
“Hold on, Mr. Dollar B. I have a message for you.”
“Message?”
“A friend is waiting in the square. You might want to drop by.”