“Lord Stephen MacAlasdair,” he said. “Unexpected and, I hear, insistent. How very…dramatic. You may leave us,” he added, waving a hand at the butler.
Colored fire flashed in the lamplight. Green didn’t wear shoes, but he did cover his hands with gemstones. Stephen wasn’t surprised.
“My business is important,” he said, “and a matter of some haste.” Etiquette advised that he apologize for the intrusion, but etiquette didn’t generally handle men who made deadly homunculi.
“So I’d inferred. Still, I’ll take the liberty of assuming that it won’t take us out of this house,” said Green, draping himself over one of the chairs, “and ask you to make yourself comfortable. I’d offer refreshment, but I’m not entirely sure I have your sort of food.” He met Stephen’s eyes squarely and smiled. “Maidens are very rare these days, you know. I’ve seen all sorts of articles saying as much.”
“And from whatI’veread,” said Stephen, “I know enough to be careful of any food you’d serve me.”
That was an educated guess and a general principle of dealing with the Unseen World, but it hit. Green’s eyes flickered, and a hint of concession appeared in his smile. “And so the dance begins,” he said. “I had wondered, you know. Reclusive as you’ve been, Alasdair’s son, your name is not unknown in certain circles. Neither are your whereabouts.”
“And you’re part of those circles?”
One didn’t ask for names or titles. There were rules.
“Indeed. You could think of me as an ambassador, if you wanted.” For a second, Green’s eyes turned from human green to the deep color of the primeval forests. “And no, I won’t tell you from which court.”
“I could hazard a guess or two, perhaps,” said Stephen, sitting down in a chair opposite Green, “but I’m more curious about other things. Whether making homunculi falls under your diplomatic duties, for instance.”
Green’s mouth opened a little in surprise and, yes, dismay. “That’swhat you’re here about? I had no idea you’d run into that fellow.”
“No?” He didn’t quite growl the word. “Whatdidyou know?”
“Very little,” said Green. He sat up and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I didn’t ask, you understand. Men come to me for assistance, betimes, and their reasons for wishing it are very rarely interesting and even less often my concern. I see that I was wrong in this case,” he added, watching Stephen’s face, “and Iamsorry for it. I hope this won’t be a source of any trouble between us.”
“Between my house and your court, you mean,” said Stephen. “And you may get your wish—depending on what you tell me.”
Relaxing, Green assumed some of his previous nonchalance. He turned his hand upward and studied his fingers. “I’m certain I can tell you a number of things. Shall I start anywhere in specific?”
“The man you worked for.”
“I work for no man,” said Green, with a scornful ring in his voice. “Say so again and I’ll remind you less kindly, Alasdair’s son or no.”
Stephen closed his eyes and took a deep breath, stifling the urge to change. A small diplomatic advantage didn’t give him all the power in the room, he reminded himself, and Green was likely to be a lord in his own manner and to serve greater lords still. The world contained mightier things than dragons.
“My apologies,” he said. “I’ve spent too long in this world, perhaps. What can you tell me about the man you…assisted?”
“He called himself Mr. King,” said Green, calming down into his prior languid speech, “and while I doubted the truth of it, I’m hardly one to question whatever name a man pleases to take on himself. He was passing tall and rather more than middle aged, as mortals go. Knowledgeable enough, in a very…scattered…sort of way. Still, he’d found out enough to know that I could make changelings and to actually assist a little in the process.”
“And why did you help him?”
“A few pages of an interesting book from America. I tried to negotiate for more, but—” Green shrugged. “He had no bloodline or prospects of heirs, no secrets, no talents such as my kind value. Nothing else but money, which I didn’t want, and service, which he wouldn’t give. He seemed rather insulted that I suggested it.”
Stephen fought back an ironic smile. “How strange. What sort of money?”
“Gold, of course. He knew better than to offer bank drafts, at least.”
“Or he didn’t have them,” said Stephen. Ward had been not quite penniless when he’d escaped, but he’d spent some time in America learning magic. Stephen had never heard that turning lead into gold was actually possible, but spiriting money out of a bank vault or jewels out of a bedroom would certainly be within the power of most magicians. “Anything else?”
Green smiled now, his eyes dancing. “Well,” he said, drawing out the word while Stephen waited and tried not to glare, “I did have him followed, of course. After he left with his new toy. He went to an office building—give me a moment.” He pulled a silver rope and summoned the butler. “Bring me the book in the top right drawer of my desk.”
“An office building?” Stephen asked when the butler had vanished. “He can’t live there. People would talk.”
“I very much doubt that he does. He came out again an hour later—but so did the sun, and my servant doesn’t do well in the full light of noon. I thought I’d spent quite enough time on the man in any case. He’s unbalanced, he lacks perspective, and he’ll die on his own in a few years. Ah.”
The butler came back and handed Green a small leather-bound ledger, then vanished.
“He has wonderful conversation,” said Green, flicking through the pages, “if only you get to know him. Or so I’d imagine. Thirty-Nine Brick Lane is the building you’re looking for. Consider this a gesture of goodwill on my part.”
