«Mmmm. Short blond hair?»
«That’s right.»
«Usually draws themself wearing blue, that’s reasonably standard. How old’s the ba’sib?»
«Ba’sib?»
«Or sister? This one. See, here is the kid’s depiction of themself, and they appear over and over with this second kid in red with long curly hair.»
«A sister?» The paper crunched as if he nearly ripped it. «I’ve heard no mention of a sister.»
«Wait, the attributes are varying. The hair was red there, here it’s got blue streaks, and here they have wings. I think you’ve got yourself an imaginary big sister here.»
«Perfection!» he half-shrieked. «Twenty seconds and you have it, my exquisite Julia! Let me leave fresh offerings at your divine altar!»
The ardor of his thanks would not let her speak for some few moments.
«You can use that?» she asked.
«Oh, yes. God’s as good as mine.» Another pause before his words grew fast and serious. «I have your word you won’t start poking, right? I swear I’ll bring you the proof when I’m ready, but if you probe, or if you breathe a word of this to any living soul, I swear by Lord God Jehovah Himself I’ll kill you, dearest Julia, even you.»
She took a long, smug breath. «Too late.»
«What do you mean?»
«It’s too late not to breathe it to another living soul. I’ve got a witness hidden in the closet.»
Anger drove the voicing from Dominic’s breath, leaving it shallow as a ghost’s. «What?»
«You never asked if we were alone in the office, barging in like this. At this close distance I’m quite sure they’ve heard every syllable.» Her voice played, not laughter but its beginnings peppering her syllables. «You know what I use that closet for.»
«A spy?»
«We’ve had quite a session today, too: proof of God, Jehovah, Jehovah’s universe, Carlyle de la Trémoïlle … »
Dominic took one long breath to steel himself, and then a second. «Julia, Julia, you clever stupid bitch.» Furniture crashed across the room, a sound of shattering, a body hitting wall or floor, and I heard the croak of a throat losing all breath at once. «Why now?» Dominic screamed. «If you wanted me to kill you I could’ve done it any time, why now? The one week that I don’t have time to get away with murder!»
She struggled to gain breath enough to whisper. «To see that look on your face.»
Violence shattered another fixture of the office. «Damn it! I really would’ve shown you, too! You’re a week away from seeing God, Julia! What stupid time is that to make me … damn it! Damn it and damn you!» I heard the hiss of cold steel being drawn.
«Oh, don’t I at least get to watch you kill my witness first?» Her voice still teased like a disappointed playmate. «I’ve always wanted to see you do the deed in person.»
«You think this is funny, bitch? I don’t have time for … Fine. I’ll count that as my teacher’s last request.»
The sword made a strange, strained singing as it turned from target to target.
«The key’s on the bookshelf,» she volunteered, «no sense you wrecking the door.»
A fresh crash must have been some part of him striking some part of her. «You try anything while my back’s turned and I’ll flay your face off and show it to you.»
«Mmm. You would, too, wouldn’t you?»
I backed up as the key clicked in the lock.
«Your spy’s lucky I don’t have time for anything elaborate, just a … Mycroft?»
At first Dominic was just a looming blackness with a sword, but my light-starved eyes soon adapted to the glare enough for detail. He had removed his jacket and his gloves, baring the black of shirt and waistcoat, but the rest of him was fully clothed. Rain had undone his ponytail, letting the black-brown tresses fall damp around his brow and neck, framing a face which was a mask of horror and delight. He laughed, Julia with him, uproarious belly laughs, both of them doubling over as laughter’s agony wracked their guts.
«Mycroft Canner!» Dominic repeated. Even the sword hung loose in his fingers as the great joke had its day. «Oh, my dear Julia, what a cruel and fabulous thing you are! Come here!» He hefted her from the litter of broken coffee table where he had flung her, and landed a kiss which threatened to maul her face in its enthusiasm.
Julia reveled in her victory kiss, eyes dancing at the tickle as he lapped the blood his wrath had spilled from her lip. «Mmm. You’re welcome, though I wish you hadn’t smashed the office so.»
«I’ll have it fixed.» He flexed his shoulders. «Oh, you brilliant woman, I feel as refreshed as if I’d had a good duel! And thou, Mycroft!” He switched to English here, tucking his sword point under my chin and reeling me toward him like a hooked fish. “I thought I’d have to go on a long hunt for thee, yet here thou art, delivered in the flesh. So much less effort, not that thou couldst have hid from me for long, couldst thee?”
A tap of the blade against my shoulder bade me kneel, and I obeyed, tucking my hands behind me like a prisoner and keeping my eyes on the floor. “No, Brother Dominic.”
Julia had fresh eyes for me now that I seemed to matter. “I didn’t know you needed Mycroft.” I dared a glance up at her, and saw that she still wore her socks, while her jacket and open shirt clung to her arms and shoulders like a cicada’s half-discarded skin.
“Everybody in the world needs Mycroft,” Dominic gloated, “but they’re not getting him anymore. He’s coming home like a good slave, and not leaving until I say so.” The rapier traced my jaw line. “No more playing around with toys for thee.”
I could not afford to let tears fall here. “Yes, Brother Dominic.” Trust the Major. The Major is the most experienced tactician to walk this Earth in centuries. Trust the Major: Bridger will be safe.
“You’re not still using Mycroft, are you?” Dominic asked Julia, letting the sword hang limply in his hand, as a violinist lets his bow droop when he stops to chat. “I wouldn’t want to interfere.”
“No, Mycroft’s done with confession for today.” Julia drew close enough to pet my head, gently, as one does for an old dog no longer strong enough for vigorous scratching. “They’ve had a hard day today, our Mycroft. You know the last surviving Mardi just came back from the Moon.”
Dominic’s brow twitched. “Is that so?”
“Mmm. Tully Mardi. Exposed Mycroft in the street in front of a dozen people, with the Servicer uniform in plain sight no less. Mycroft will need our protection even more now than usual, poor thing. And I’d recommend switching them from an outdoor pet to an indoor pet; outside’s not safe anymore.”
Dominic laughed darkly. “Such a thoughtful protectress thou hast in Julia, Mycroft, when she’s so cold to everybody else. It’s quite unfair.” His light kick showered me with shards of desk. “Clean up this mess. This is thy fault after all, is it not, stray dog?” His actual words were ‘Chien errant,’ in French, his common title for me.
“Yes, Brother Dominic.”
“Apologize to the Pontifex Maxima for ruining her office.”
“I apologize, Your Holiness.”
He sheathed his blade. “Now, work.”
I dared not raise my eyes, but could see Dominic’s smile reflected in a fallen cup as he watched me crawl. Dominic has never sodomized me, hard as you may find that to believe. He gets no satisfaction subjugating something which has never shown the faintest hint of fighting back.
But thou must fight back, Mycroft. Would that be your advice here, my brave reader? Fight for thy freedom. So much hangs upon thee at this moment, not just Bridger but innocent Carlyle, brave Sniper whom these perverts’ dark deal threatens. Save them! This is thy moment, when thine oppressor’s blade sleeps in its sheath. This Dominic may be a master swordsman, but thou, thou art Mycroft Canner.