“It’s pretty fucked anyway,” Flynne said, then wished she’d put it another way.
“I’m familiar with it, so yes, it is, though that isn’t what I mean. I don’t like what these people are doing, these continua hobbyists, Zubov included, though I do find it fascinating. Some might think you more real than I am myself.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m very old, elaborately and artificially so. I don’t feel entirely real to myself, frankly. But if you agree to assist me, I shall assist you in return, insofar as I can.”
“Got a male version of this? Peripheral?”
The Detective Inspector raised penciled eyebrows. “You would prefer one?”
“No. I don’t want to be the only one who’s seen this, been here. I need someone who’ll back me up, when I go home and tell them what’s going on.”
“Zubov could arrange it, I’m sure.”
“You’re after whoever sent that gray knapsack thing to kill her, aren’t you? And that asshole who brought her out on the balcony?”
“I am, yes.”
“I’ll be a witness. When it comes to trial. I would anyway.”
“There shall be no trial. Only punishment. But thank you.”
“I want that peripheral, though. And fast. Deal?”
“Consider it done,” said Lowbeer. The other badges undimmed, the din of Cheapside flooding back, now with an added booming of big church bells. “We’ve had our chat,” Lowbeer called up. “Thank you so much for bringing her by. Goodbye!”
Cheapside was the size of one of the badges then, then smaller, gone. Flynne blinked across at Lev. He was seeing her, she saw, and so was Wilf Netherton, but Ash’s weird eyes were fixed on blank veneer.
“Actually, Inspector,” Ash said, “I believe we can borrow one. Yes. Of course. I’ll speak with Mr. Zubov. Thank you.” She turned to Lev, seeing him now. “Your brother’s sparring partner,” she said. “Your father keeps it in Richmond Hill, brings it out to remind Anton of his folly?”
“More or less,” Lev said, glancing at Flynne.
“Have them send it over in a car. Lowbeer wants it here.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t ask. You wouldn’t have either. She said that we need a male peripheral, soonest. I remembered that it was there.”
“I suppose it’s the easiest way,” said Lev. “Who’ll be using it?” He looked at Flynne.
“Bathroom’s in the back?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“Excuse me,” she said. Stood.
In the narrow steel toilet-shower room off the little room in the back, its door closed behind her, she looked into the mirror. Unbuttoned the black shirt, finding a bra she hadn’t been aware of and breasts slightly larger than her own. Not hers, and that was comforting, and so was the small flat mole over the left collar bone. Which was why she’d looked, she realized, buttoning up the shirt, though she hadn’t understood until she’d done it.
She wondered if it needed to pee. She didn’t, so she’d assume that it didn’t. It drank water, Ash had said, but didn’t eat. Whoever had cut its hair had done Carlota proud.
She turned, opened the door, and returned to the room Netherton had pretended was his office at Milagros Coldiron. He and Lev were gone. Ash stood by the window, looking out. “Where did they go?” she asked.
“Up to the house. Netherton and Ossian will wait for it to arrive. I hope you like jaw.”
“Jaw?”
“It has a rather prominent jawline. Extremely high cheekbones. A sort of fairy-tale Slav.”
“You. . know it?” Was that the word?
“I’ve never seen it with a human operator. Only with cloud AI from its manufacturer. It belonged to Lev’s brother.”
“He’s dead, Lev’s brother?”
“Unfortunately, no,” said Ash.
Okay, Flynne thought. “Is it athletic? Like this one seems to be?”
“Extremely. Quite off the scale, actually.”
“Good,” said Flynne.
“What are you up to?” asked Ash, her eyes narrowing until Flynne could only see her upper pupils.
“Nothing Lowbeer doesn’t know about.”
“Quite good at power relationships, are we?”
“How long till it’s here?”
“Half an hour?”
“Show me how to call Macon,” Flynne said.
48
Lev’s entranceway was cluttered with parenting equipment. Miniature Wellingtons, coatrack clumped with bright rainwear, a push-bike reminding Netherton of the patchers, things to hit balls with, many balls themselves. A few stray bits of Lego edged fitfully about among lower strata, like bright rectilinear beetles.
Netherton and Ossian sat on a wooden bench, facing these things. The end nearest him was smeared with what he assumed was partially dried jam. Anton’s sparring partner was expected momentarily, from Richmond Hill. Ossian had rejected his suggestion that they wait outside.
“Had the nannies shitting themselves, that did,” Ossian said now, apparently apropos of nothing.
“What did?”
“Your buggy, there.” Indicating, Netherton at first thought, the burdened coatrack. “Against the wall.” He pointed. “Cloaked.”
Netherton now made out the outline of a folded pushchair, currently emulating what happened to be nearest, in this case grubbily off-white wall and the brown tartan lining of a weathered jacket.
“The grandfather had it sent from Moscow,” Ossian said, “when the girl was born. Diplomatic bag. Only way to get it in.”
“Why was that?”
“Has a weapons system. Pair of guns. Nothing ballistic, though. Projects very short-term assemblers. Disassemblers, really. Go after soft tissue. Take it apart at a molecular level. Seen footage of doing that to a side of beef.”
“What happens?”
“Bones. It’s autonomous, self-targeting, makes its own call of threat levels.”
“Who would pose the threat?”
“Your Russian kidnappers,” said Ossian.
“It does that with a baby aboard?”
“Being shown pandas against the trauma, by then. Headed home, nannies or no, in armed evasion mode.”
Netherton considered the faintly visible, harmless-looking thing.
“Zubov’s missus wouldn’t have it. Never gotten on with the grandfather. Sided with the nannies.”
“How long have you worked here, Ossian?”
Ossian regarded him narrowly. “Five years, near enough.”
“What did you do previously?”
“Much the same. Near enough.”
“Did you train for it?”
“I did,” Ossian said.
“How?”
“Misspending my youth. How did you train to stand up smart and lie to anyone?”
Netherton looked at him. “Like you. Near enough.”
A shadow darkened one sidelight. Chimes sounded.
“That would be itself,” said Ossian, standing, tugging down his dark waistcoat. He turned to the door, squared his shoulders, and opened it.
“Good evening.” Tall, broad-shouldered, in a dark gray suit. “Pleased to see you, Ossian. You may not remember me. Pavel.”
“Quick about it,” ordered Ossian, stepping back.
The peripheral entered, Ossian closing the door behind it. “Pavel,” it said to Netherton. Pronounced jawline, strong facial bones, eyes pale and somehow mocking.
“Wilf Netherton.” Offering his hand. They shook hands, the peripheral’s grip warm, careful.
“The garage,” said Ossian.
“Of course,” said Pavel, and strolled ahead of them, toward the elevator, entirely at home.
49
This Pavel had cheekbones you could chop ice with, Flynne thought, but his voice was nice.
“Personality’s AI,” the Irishman said. “We’ll have that turned off before your man moves in.”
“I’m Flynne,” she said.
“Pleased to meet you,” said the peripheral, eyeing the Irishman like he had no fucks to give.
“Programmed to take the piss,” Ossian said. “Part of the sparring functionality. Makes you want to beat it out of them.”