The Raven King
Page 19

Laumonier sounded dubious. “How do you suppose to get these answers?”
“One of us goes over there,” Laumonier said, “and queries him.”
Over there meant to the Back Bay home of their old rival Colin Greenmantle and queries meant doing something unpleasant to him in return for half a decade of wrongs. Laumonier had been in the magical artefact trade for as long as they’d been in Boston, and they’d had little competition until the preppy upstart Greenmantle had got into it. Sellers had got greedy. Artefacts had got expensive. Hired muscle had become necessary. Laumonier felt that both Colin Greenmantle and his wife, Piper, had watched far too many mob movies.
Now, however, Colin had shown some weakness by retreating from his long-held territory of Henrietta. Alone. There was no sign of Piper.
Laumonier wanted to know what this meant.
“I’m not opposed to that,” said Laumonier, breathing a cloud of cigarette smoke into the close room. His insistence on smoking made it impossible for the other two to quit, an excuse all of them appreciated.
“Well, I am,” Laumonier replied. “I don’t want to make a mess. And that mercenary of his is terrifying.”
Laumonier tapped ash off his cigarette and glanced up at the streamers as if imagining setting them alight. “The word is that the Gray Man is no longer working for him. And we’re perfectly capable of discretion.”
Laumonier shared name and goals, but not methodology. One of them leaned towards caution and one towards fire, leaving the last as peacekeeper and devil’s advocate.
“Surely there is another way to find out about —” Laumonier began.
“Don’t say that name,” the other two interrupted at once.
Laumonier pursed his lips. It was a dramatic gesture, as all of the brothers had quite a lot going on in the mouth area, an effect that skewed handsome, sort of, on one of them and obscene, sort of, on another.
“So we go over there to talk—” Laumonier started again.
“Talk,” snorted Laumonier, playing with his cigarette lighter.
“Stop that, please. It is like you are a schoolboy thug.” This Laumonier had retained his accent to use in situations just such as this. It added weight to his disdain.
“The lawyer says I shouldn’t commit another misdemeanour for at least six months,” Laumonier said plaintively. He stubbed out his cigarette.
Laumonier buzzed softly.
Although it would have been unsettling for any of the brothers to randomly buzz, there was an additional creeping discomfort to the sound that immediately chilled the atmosphere.
The other two regarded each other suspiciously – wary not of each other, but of everything that was not each other. They examined the buzzing brother for signs of medical infirmity and then for evidence of an ancient amulet stolen from a French tomb, a mysterious bracelet shadily acquired in Chile, an ominous belt buckle pilfered from Mongolia, or an inscrutable scarf crafted from a Peruvian gravecloth. Anything that might carry supernatural side effects.
They found nothing, but the buzzing did not stop, so they methodically searched the room, running hands under chairs and along ledges, occasionally glancing at the other to be certain that there was only one buzzing Laumonier still. If it was malevolent, Greenmantle was the most likely candidate. They had other enemies, of course, but Greenmantle was the closest to home. In all the ways.
Laumonier found nothing of supernatural interest, only a cache of desiccated ladybirds.
“Hey. It’s me.”
Laumonier turned back to the buzzing brother, who had both stopped buzzing and dropped his cigarette. It glowed impotently on the pressed metal floor. He frowned off at the harbour in an introspective way somewhat opposed to his usual nature.
“Was that him?” Laumonier asked.
Laumonier frowned. “It was not his voice, was it?”
The previously buzzing brother asked, “Can you hear me? I’m new to this.”
It was certainly not his voice. And it was certainly not his facial expression. His eyebrows moved in a way that they had always been capable of, surely, but never been asked to. It made him look at once younger and more intense.
Laumonier collectively felt a twinge of possible understanding.
“Who is this?” demanded Laumonier.
“It’s Piper.”
It was a name that had an immediate and visceral effect on Laumonier: rage, betrayal, shock, and then back around to rage and betrayal. Piper Greenmantle. Colin’s wife. Her name had not been breathed in conversation before, and yet here she was busting into it anyway.
Laumonier said, “Piper! How is it Piper? Get out of him.”
“Oh, is that how this works?” Piper asked with curiosity. “Is it creepy? A possession-phone?”
“It is you,” said Laumonier wonderingly.
“Hi, Dad,” Piper said.
Although it had been years, Laumonier still knew his daughter’s mannerisms very well.
Laumonier said, “I cannot believe it. What do you want? How is your p.o.s. husband these days?”
“He’s in Boston without me,” Piper replied. “Probably.”
“I was just asking to see what you would say,” Laumonier replied. “I already knew that.”
Piper said, “You were right; I was wrong. I don’t want to fight any more.”
The Laumonier who had stubbed his cigarette now dabbed his eye in a sentimental way.
The Laumonier who never stopped smoking snapped, “Ten years and now you ‘don’t want to fight any more’?”
“Life’s short. I’d like to go into business with you.”
“Let me make sure I have my facts straight. You nearly got us sent to jail last year. Your husband killed a supplier for some artefact that doesn’t exist. You are possessing us. And you want to do business with us? That does not sound like Colin Greenmantle’s pretty little wife.”
“No, it sure doesn’t. That’s why I’m calling. I’m turning over a new leaf.”
“What sort of tree is this leaf attached to?” Laumonier asked suspiciously.
“A nice one with supernatural roots,” Piper replied. “I’ve got something amazing down here. Huge. Buy of a lifetime. Of a century. I need you to pull out the stops, get everyone down here to bid for it. It’s gonna be big.”
Laumonier looked hopeful. “We —”