"Do they own this place now?" Doc said quietly.
"The Aquarium is closed for New Year's Day. The Highborn has been courteously extended its use." Mr. Patrise pointed to the right of the aquarium building: a narrow finger of land extended out into the lake. A street down its centerline ended in yellow-striped barricades. "The breakwater was twice as long before the Shadow fell, and the Planetarium was on the end of it. Apparently our stargazing offended someone." He paused, looked into the distance. "The dome was bronze, on a marble base. It sank like a little Atlantis. The fire paused then-nobody remembers just how long; it might have been as long as five minutes. Then, suddenly, there were Ellyllon at the Art Institute, helping to save its contents. Draw what conclusions you choose.
"Now, we have an appointment. Remember your instructions."
One of the armored elves opened the doors for them. They entered a large, high-ceilinged space lined with aquarium tanks; in the center was an enormous cylindrical tank, clear all around. Inside were corals, and darting, brilliantly colored fish. There were halt a dozen Ellyllon in green Standing at attention around the room. They did not move. A weirdly Ugly, flat-faced elf-a Mam, Doe supposed-appeared from around the coral tank; he wore a metallic green robe that trailed on the floor twice his height behind him. He approached Mr. Patrise, bowed, then bowed again to Doc.
They followed the Mani down stairs and around a curving corridor to a wide, domed space, an open auditorium flanked by green plants, stepping down to an expanse of open water. The Mani bowed again and left them there.
Mr. Patrise stood quite still before the blue pond, looking straight out. Doc did the same.
The water rippled. Small waves broke on the pavement before them, making thin puddles around their shoes. A figure in green and white, blue and silver, rose into view.
The Highborn woman wore a long, floating cloak of deep green stuff, which spread out on the surface of the water for two yards in all directions; it was fantastically puffed at her shoulders and fanned high behind her head. Beneath it was a tight-fitting garment that seemed to be made of fish scales. Her white legs were uncovered, and her very small feet were in silver boots. Her hair, which was elven silver with streaks of green, was circled by silver hoops that trailed blue-green ribbons.
Her face was angular and beautiful-though among Truebloods it seemed only the Mani might not be-and her silver-coin eyes were tilted, shadowed with deep green.
"You are good to answer my request," she said. There was a rushing whisper under the music of her voice. Doc had never been to an ocean, but he had held a seashell to his ear: that was the sound. He started to make some polite reply, then remembered not to.
Mr. Patrise said, "My lady Glassisle, I present to you Doc Hal-lownight, my household's healer."
"Was it then the Healer's oath?" Glassisle said. "It was our understanding that death breaks such vows." She looked directly at Doc, and-carefully-he looked back. When he caught her eyes, the echoing whisper beneath her voice grew louder, and he looked down. "Or was it the patron's charge, which we know well is not broken?"
"My healer and my swordbearer were in company of battle, my lady. Which well we know, also, is unbroken."
As the water calmed around Glassisle, her reflection steadied. Doc saw that it did not match the figure standing on the surface: there was still a woman there, the same size and shape, but the image below the water wore a cloak of green seaweed and a breastplate of scallop shells, and her bare arms and legs were white veined with blue and silver, like marble.
Doc turned his head slightly toward Mr. Patrise. His reflection also showed full-length in the water puddled on the stone floor, though that shouldn't have been possible given the light and the angle. Patrise's image wore a deep blue cloak lined with red, and bronze armor over red cloth, like pictures of Roman soldiers Doc had seen in books.
Doc turned back to Glassisle, and fixed his gaze on her reflection, suddenly very afraid to look down and see his own.
The water moved and the reflection shattered. A long-nosed dolphin broke water by Glassisle's feet. It gave a screech, then a sound like high-pitched chuckling.
"This is a paladin of mine, Healer," Glassisle said. "He has a question for you. A reply would be gracious."
Doc looked at Mr. Patrise, who nodded gravely.
The dolphin swam to the edge of the pond. It spoke: the words were squeaky, but recognizably English. "Greetings, Dockallown-ite."
Doc leaned forward. "Hello." Okay, I've been a dinosaur, ami nam Vm talking to a fish.
"How long," the dolphin said, "do you carry your young?"
"Nine months," Doc said, then, "Three seasons; three-quarters of a year."
The dolphin nodded, chirping. "How do you teach them to breathe?"
Doc thought hard. "Before we… emerge, our lun«; s arc rilled with fluid. That must be drained out. Then we… touch the child, enough to wake it. If it makes a good, loud sound, we know that it is breathing well."
"And if no… loud sound?" The dolphin sounded intensely interested.
"We can push air in. Sometimes we have to do that foi a long time, with a…"
"Ma'sshine?" the dolphin said.
"Yes."
"Yes. We arrgga-" The dolphin ducked its head below water, came up making a gargling noise. "Argue over ma'sshines. But some are good. For life."
"Some of them are, yes," Doc said.
"Good thing to learn. Our thanks, Dockallownite."
The dolphin jumped, stood on its tail for a moment, then dove, splashing Doc with water. He stood quite still. Glassisle laughed loudly.
"We are pleased at you, Healer," she said, "and grant you the gift of an Ellyll's life. Use it well. As well we welcome you to visit us
… if you learn to breathe water."
She sank out of sight below the surface; in a moment even the ripples were still.
The Mani led them out of the building, and the doors were shut with a bang. Doc felt a shiver, and told himself it was just that he was soaking wet in the cold moist air and the lake wind. At the car, Jesse had a towel over his arm; he tossed it to Doc, then draped a blanket over Doc's shoulders. They got into the car.
Mr. Patrise opened one of the drawers beneath the seat, handed two paper parcels to Doc. "Dry clothing, courtesy of Boris. He said-I quote exactly-'I suppose you're going to see that damp woman again.' "
As Doc changed, Mr. Patrise poured a cup of hot chocolate from a vacuum pitcher. Doc took it gratefully.
"That was important, right?" Doc said. "The damp woman."
"It was."
"Did she give me, or you, the right to kill Whisper Who Dares? Or did I get that wrong?"
"You were given the life of an Ellyll. If you can think of more than one way to interpret that-well, the Trueblood certainly can."
Doc thought about it. He felt a hollowness under his breastbone. "Cloud's life…?"
"Is not anyone's to return. But thank you for the thought." Patrise leaned back and folded his hands. "Do you want to kill Whisper?"
"And then what? Cut the bullets back out of him?"
"You want to know about that, don't you, Hallow."
"Yes, I do."
Mr. Patrise said, "Do you know what alchemy is?"
"Turning lead into gold."
"Not really. Alchemy is a way of treating materials as if they had souls. Transforming matter by transforming its spirit. Gold does not tarnish or corrode, which makes it a metaphor for perfection, immortality, spiritual purity. All the alchemical processes are analogies of life processes, stages in the spiritual journey: birth, coupling, nourishment, fasting, shriving. Death and rebirth."
Doc started to speak. Mr. Patrise looked at him, plainly, placidly, and Doc was silent.
Patrise said, "Do you know who John Fitzgerald Kennedy was?"
"Sure."