Barclay
took a drag on the blackroot cigarette. The musky odor of the smoke surrounded
him as he watched the rain pour down from the awning. It had been raining since
the previous morning, and indeed, Barclay had heard that it was raining just
about everywhere. He had not received a briefing on it, though, so he filed the
information away. Montaso and Kern were out on assignment, so it was just
Barclay, Darron, and the Nascine woman.
His
glasses were beginning to fog, so he took them off. He could see decently
without them, but they had long ago become a part of his look, and he
understood how important appearances could be.
Darron
was growing restless. It had been an error to send Kern out instead of him –
frankly, he thought Darron might be better suited to what Kern was doing, and
vice versa. Still, Barclay would keep things in line, as he always had. His
primary concern was about Nascine.
Emily
Nascine was an accomplished thief, but not a very good intelligence officer.
The operation in Omlos proved that. Barclay had not actually heard about Omlos
on his end – it was only in preparation for the Nascine operation that he found
out.
He
had taken to smoking blackroot to deal with his stomach problems. A man named
Fipps who lived in Gensdon swore by it. He was Stag’s Head, which made Barclay
a little skeptical, but the blackroot smoke did help with the churning in his
stomach.
The
cabin was new. The wood had not been painted, but it was treated with chemicals
to keep the rot away. The rain was pretty heavy, and there was a muddy river
forming somewhere from the top of the hill and flowing down a little too close
for comfort.
If
anything, the rain might make it hard to burn down the cabin when they were
ready to move on.
Ten
miles north was the shared space with Retrein. There was a little concrete
bunker – something dating back to the Brothers’ War, supposedly – that had the
space in the basement. When Nascine was ready, they would send her back through
there.
Barclay
took out another cigarette and lit it before tossing the first one into a
puddle. The smoke had a pungent, fungal smell. It was not particularly
pleasant, but he could feel his nausea settling.
He
preferred the quick assignments. Being on the job for too long made him feel
uneasy. It was always best to get it over with in a couple hours. Two days was
acceptable. He would never let it show, but when it got longer than that, he
started to feel uneasy.
He
had a wife and kids, though they knew him by a different name. Neither that one
nor Barclay were his original name, but he’d burned that whole past down long
ago.
Barclay
kept four separate identities as a matter of course. There was Barclay, the
House Agent, Matterly, the family man, Schmidt, a loner who possessed what he
thought of as the “transitional” properties that he would use to transform
between the first two identities, and finally there was Spindler. Spindler he
had never touched, but he kept up appearances – a bank account, a passport, an
address - as best he could.
Spindler was the contingency plan. If something ever went wrong, he would drop
everything, go be Schmidt for a day, and then be Spindler for the rest of his
life.
His
hope was that the House didn’t know about Spindler, but he could not be sure.
One superior, long ago, had joked that “the House always wins,” and Barclay
took that as a caveat to any plans he might have made. Still, on the off chance
he needed it, and on the off chance it worked, he would be happy that he had
put in the effort.
A
particular cough that he had rehearsed with Darron let him know that Nascine
was awake. Barclay tossed the cigarette away and went indoors.
Nascine
was pacing, wearing the sweatpants and sweatshirt they’d gotten for her. The
dark circles around her eyes gave her a strangely glamorous look, despite the
dourness of the setting. He had thought it was make-up at first.
“When
are you guys going to release me?”
“You’re
not a prisoner here, Emily.”
“But
you don’t want me to leave.”
“We
want you to be safe. This can’t happen again.”
Nascine
laughed. “Agreed.”
“We
can’t tip our hand to the Opponents. If they knew that we were the ones who had
rescued you, well… it would complicate matters.” Barclay walked over and put a
hand on Darron’s shoulder. “Darron here will help you build a story.”
Darron
took his cue and stood up from his chair. “We have some of our own people at
a hospital in Knightsgate. They’ll release you from the hospital, claiming that
some passers-by called an ambulance for you after pulling you out of the
Lockey. If the Opponents, or the Rookery, for that matter, try to check in,
they’ll find that there was shoddy record-keeping that day.”
Nascine
stopped pacing. “You want me to lie to the Rookery?”
“Not
lie. We want you to omit a few details. For your protection as well as ours,”
said Barclay. “We agree that there is likely an Opponent Agent or Agents within
the Rookery. We do not wish to alert them to our presence, you understand.”
Nascine
nodded. Again, as Barclay had surmised, the subtleties of spycraft were not her
forte. Given her physique and background, he imagined she would be the ideal
person to send on a jewel heist, but the cloak and dagger stuff, not so much.
Still, she seemed capable of learning.
“How
do I get back there?” asked Nascine. “And where am I, for that matter?”
“We’re
at an isolated location in Western Narcia.”
“Narcia?”
“Yes,
Darron will explain how on the way back.”
“And
when will that be?”
“Can
you walk all right?” asked Barclay.
Nascine
looked down at her feet. She flexed them, lifting one leg and then the other.
“I think so.”
“Then
you can go whenever you like.”
Nascine
raised her eyebrows. “Just like that?”
“Just
like that,” said Barclay.
Nascine
opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself.
“What
is it?”
“I
only expected you to want something in return.”
Barclay
shook his head dismissively. “You were drowning, we were watching. We weren’t
just going to let you die.”
Nascine
nodded slowly. “Well, thank you. For that. And keeping me safe.”
“My
pleasure,” said Barclay, and gave a polite little nod.
They
waited an hour for the rain to stop, but it was relentless. Eventually, Nascine
decided that she was willing to brave the storm, and she and Darron embarked on
their journey to the shared space.
Barclay
sat in the cabin alone for a time after that, lighting another Blackroot
cigarette.
The
orders had been fulfilled. Nascine was going back to Ravenfort, alive and well.
Certainly the Rookery would have its eyes on her, but it was his hope that the Opponents
might as well.
They
had had some success in Arizradna, though Barclay was hesitant to declare
victory just yet. After all, there were other events going on in Retrein that
he could hardly guess at. The situation down south involving the Bone King and
the Vastani had not turned out so well, but there were other projects in the
works.
Still,
it would not do to think about it all too much. Barclay was down a few rungs of
the ladder. He operated out in the field, and preferred to leave the long-term
planning to others. But these recent years had been exciting. Finally, there
was one great goal that the House was moving toward. Naturally, there would be
resistance among those who preferred the status quo, but that sort of agent was
an endangered species. For now, Barclay was happy to do his part to purge them
from Retrein. And with Nascine released back into that environment, he expected
many would drop their guard, and both the House and the Rookery would have one
fewer threat to deal with.
It
was totally dark outside by the time that Kern got back. The cabin was
illuminated only by an electric lantern.
Kern
looked positively haunted. His skin had gone pale, and the light from the
lantern seemed to be too much for him.
“Nascine
is gone. Darron took her there.”
“I
saw…” began Kern. “What was that thing?”
“Don’t
worry about it. It won’t harm you. What did you think of the coffee?”
Kern
shook his head. “Disgusting. Literally painful to drink.” He shivered a little.
“And my stomach has been acting up ever since.”
Barclay
pulled out his cigarette pack and shook one out. “Try this. It helps settle
it.”
(Copyright Daniel Szolovits 2013)
