“Freedom,” replied David simply. “A chance to help humanity and reunite with old friends. This might be their last chance to break free unless they intend to serve Prusias and his kind forever. Is that what they intend?”
“They intend to survive,” said Madam Petra frankly. “Even with Elias Bram’s return, an alliance with Rowan is the shortest path to their own destruction. Candidly, I’m amazed that Rowan would make such an absurd proposal, much less preach to others about helping humanity. While your Director was sipping tea and hiding behind her walls and treaties, the rest of civilization faded away. Do you remember what the world used to be like?”
“Of course.”
“No,” said Madam Petra, rising to pace before the broad window. “I mean do you remember? Not some foggy, pleasant haze about life before Astaroth, but how things really used to be? Do you remember governments and cities, skyscrapers and television … Elvis! Do you remember Elvis and Andy Warhol and Star Wars and satellites?”
“Yes,” said Max, realizing that almost anyone else would think the woman was raving mad. “And I remember Miles Davis. My dad used to listen to this album. And I remember you. My mother would buy any magazine with your picture on it; she said you had style.”
The smuggler gave a rueful smile and glanced at her daughter. “Katarina remembers, too. I wish she didn’t. We were living in Paris when they announced that the government had been dissolved. The authorities told us to paint Astaroth’s sign on every door and window, lest the Demon’s interrogators come knocking. You should have seen it—bankers, lawyers, doctors, and officials all weeping in the middle of the night and painting that terrible symbol on anything they could reach. And for most of them, it didn’t even matter. They were still sent to prisons or reeducation camps; they still died in plagues and fires or fell to whatever came scratching at their windows once the city really fell into chaos. The things I’ve witnessed …”
The woman fell silent at this and turned to gaze out at the placid gray lake.
“When my husband was dying, we used every contact and pulled every string to gain admittance to the Rowan field office. Niels had been bitten by a vye, you see. He was infected. Each day, his sanity ebbed and he became more dangerous. We had to tie him down … I couldn’t let Katarina near him. I begged your Agents for aid, but they had no more antidote and cited ‘other priorities.’ In the end, I had to kill Niels myself. So you can imagine I find it a little difficult—a little amusing—that Rowan should presume to make appeals based on duty to one’s fellow man. But your people did teach me a very valuable lesson—when things go dark, you look after your own and adapt as best you can.”
“I can’t argue with anything you’ve said,” replied David. “When Astaroth rose to power, the world was falling apart. Rowan couldn’t help one in a thousand who needed and deserved their help. But Piter’s Folly is an outlier, Madam Petra. Whatever free humanity exists is seeking shelter at Rowan—hundreds are arriving every day and the harbor towns and inland settlements are growing. Whether you love Rowan or despise it, our realm represents the best chance for humanity to survive and maintain some semblance of freedom. Surely the Workshop doesn’t want to play a role in its destruction.”
“Katarina,” said Madam Petra, leaving the window and smoothing her daughter’s hair. “Dmitri will be wondering why this meeting has run so long. I want you to go downstairs and ask the chefs to make you some lunch. If he pesters you, say that we’re discussing a possible gold-mine partnership. The Broadbrims are afraid of anyone else knowing their discovery and thus we don’t want to be disturbed. If he seems impatient, make him sit for a portrait. I want him occupied. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” replied the girl, slipping out the door and closing it firmly behind her.
Madam Petra turned back to her guests. “My sources tell me that there are over eight hundred thousand people living within your realm and almost ninety thousand sheltered within Rowan’s outer walls. How many of those can you muster to defend it? How many of those are old men and women, or children too young to heft a sword or stand a watch? Prusias has over twenty million subjects; his main army is nearly bigger than your entire population and there are no crones or quaking boys among its ranks. The King of Blys doesn’t need the Workshop to conquer Rowan; he just needs an excuse. And you gave him one when Bram destroyed Gràvenmuir.…”
“Perhaps Prusias is getting ahead of himself,” said David. “We passed the remnants of his forces on the road. It looked like Aamon is winning.”
Madam Petra gazed about the room, at its rich décor and strange luminescent paintings, before shrugging at David. “Does it look like I plan to flee from Aamon?”
“No,” said Max. “But the docks of Piter’s Folly are filled with others who aren’t as optimistic.”
“Of course they are,” laughed Petra, returning to her seat. “Who do you think is feeding the rumors? The only thing I like better than a frantic buyer is a desperate seller. The sheep are selling me their homes and property for a pittance. And when Prusias wins this war, they’ll come skulking to my door and buy them back at thrice the price. War doesn’t destroy fortunes; it makes them.”
“How do you sleep at night?” asked Max, incredulous at her callous pragmatism.
“Like a baby,” she purred, finishing her champagne. “It’s a hard world we live in. If others aren’t smart enough to play the game, it’s better that I have their chips.”
“What makes you so certain that Prusias will win?” asked David.
“Now, that’s valuable information,” replied Madam Petra, examining her nails. “What will you give me for it?”
“Some valuable information in return,” said David.
The smuggler flashed the very smile that had once charmed the world. “Oh, I like this,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “Dazzle me, David Menlo. What little tidbit is worth Prusias’s big secret?”
David gestured toward Toby. “My friend here is not a goblin.”
Madam Petra blinked. Her smile faded. “Of course he is,” she scoffed. “I saw him through the pinlegs.”
“And the pinlegs was mistaken,” retorted David. “Allow me to present the illustrious smee. Toby, if you’d be so kind as to take your natural shape.”
A moment later, Madam Petra was staring at the smee’s mottled, yamlike body slouching in her expensive chair. The woman’s lip curled.
“Charmed,” said Toby, dipping his twisty head.
“Er … likewise,” she muttered, glancing quizzically at the creature before returning her attention to David. “And you think this is worth information about Prusias’s war machines?”
“Tut-tut,” chided David. “You’re not seeing the possibilities, my dear Madam Petra. Our associate just fooled your pinlegs. He—”
“Fooled the pinlegs,” she repeated, sitting up. “His aura wasn’t detected.…”
“Our particular talent,” declared Toby proudly. “I must confess I was somewhat pleased to see my companion’s illusion fall a smidgeon short of the smee standard. You see, many have tried to replicate—”
The smuggler cut him off with a pointed question. “Do you ever work on commission, my fine fellow?”
“I—I haven’t,” stammered the smee. “But I … well, I suppose we could arrange something. Perhaps we could discuss it over dinner?” he added hopefully.
“Very well,” said Madam Petra, sitting back. “One interesting tidbit deserves another, and your friend is most interesting.” Once again she put on the spectacles and called the pinlegs over from where it had been lurking by the fireplace. It responded at once, clicking over the rugs and hardwood floors and climbing atop the desk like some hideous remote-controlled toy. Coming to rest by its tube, the creature settled down in a twitching, salivating jumble of legs, segments, and pincers. The smuggler gazed down at it.