15 – Stars and Shadows

Carmichel let out a long string of fae swears and clamped his hand down on Curt’s arm.

‘What-’ Curt started to ask.

‘You,’ Carmichel said, ‘I know you’re going to do something stupid, so before you do, know that I can and will stop you.’

‘For fuck’s sake,’ Magnolia said. ‘No one is going anywhere. Just- Stop for a minute.’

Curt looked at the image on his phone again. This was the dumb frozen yogurt joke writ into real life.

Something bad. An agent had been kidnapped.

Something good. They had a chance to save them.

Something bad. There was another auction lot they needed to win.

Something good. There wasn’t a lot of interest in the statue.

Something good. Remington wasn’t a competitor.

Something bad. He had an agent working for him, and they needed to know as much as possible.

‘O’Connor.’

He looked up, becoming aware that Mags had been trying to get his attention. ‘What?’

‘Send me a couple of those photos. I need to send them back to Jones.’

He texted two of the clearest photos from the set, and Mags immediately forwarded them.

‘Let’s lay down some ground rules,’ Mags said. ‘First, we cannot extract Bekker right now.’ She paused, and her forehead creased. ‘If he calls sanctuary, then we’re compelled to-’

‘You will not be trying that,’ Carmichel said. ‘I don’t care what comes out his mouth.’ His tone was low and severe and without room for argument. ‘Not against Remington. Not tonight.’

‘I’m simply stating what the rule book says,’ Mags said. ‘It’s not for situations like this. I don’t think anyone would blame us for not attempting a rescue.’ She looked over the box’s barrier rail and down at the group of assistants. ‘But we need to make contact. At least ask if he’s doing this of his own volition. And try to confirm if it’s Bekker or a sim made to look like him.’

‘And this is the point where Curt volunteers,’ Carmichel said.

‘Of course it is,’ he said, turning to look at his friend. ‘Tactically, it makes sense.’ That was a nice way of saying, “I’m expendable”, but Carmichel’s attitude said he fully understood the subtext. ‘You,’ he said, stabbing a finger in the fairy’s direction, ‘are the most recognisable of the three of us. You can’t approach without being seen. And even with your known proclivities, wouldn’t it be gauche to attempt to seduce someone working for tonight’s host?’ He turned to look at Mags. ‘And your mother is opposite us. It wouldn’t take much for her to notice you. No one is looking twice at me. I make sense.’ He smiled at Mags. ‘You specifically said I blend in. Let me take this.’

‘Agreed.’

‘Can we at least decrease the chances you’re going to get yourself killed?’ Carmichel asked. ‘There are facilities on the lower floor. I can use them and take a moment to get a closer photo. That would let your people do a visual confirmation that he’s not a sim. Next, let’s limit it to three questions or less. In. Out. Thirty seconds. It’s more than likely he’ll report the interaction to Remington after, but if we can well clear before that happens, then all the better for us.’

‘Go get the photo,’ Mags said, ‘we’ll work on the questionnaire.’

Carmichel nodded and left the box. ‘It’s cute,’ she said. ‘You’ve got such a protective older brother.’

Curt let himself smile. ‘I’m beginning to appreciate it. Even if it makes me feel about five years old sometimes.’

Mags looked at the photo again, then towards where Bekker stood. ‘I think it really only needs to be one question. “Bekker, who is your Duty to?”. As soon as he knows he’s talking to the Agency, it’ll be up to him what information he chooses to share.’ She flicked to his profile. ‘No family. No kids. No emotional strings we can pull on. He was in a good position to fall if he did run.’

He looked at Remington, who was introducing a fancy dagger. ‘Why him though? I mean, it’s a stupid, rhetorical question, but- If Remington’s like what you both say. If he- I am trying not to think about a week-long snuff film. Why- Why would you turn to someone famous for killing one of your own kind?’

‘You ran from the Solstice to the Agency, and half of them think that agents eat humans.’

‘It’s…not half,’ he said. ‘And I-’ It was true. He technically could have run into Fairyland or just tried to disappear off Solstice’s radar, but- All he’d been thinking about was fulfilling a promise. Getting a child safe. It hadn’t occurred to him to go anywhere but the Agency.

He’d expected mercy. Humane treatment, even as a prisoner of war.

If they extracted Petersen’s memories, he’d be the star of a snuff film that lasted far longer than a week.

No. It wasn’t the time to think about that. He was safe. Safe enough. And if Petersen came for him again, Carmichel had at least armed him with magic that would give him a chance to escape.

‘Nothing else I should ask?’

‘Just listen, I suppose,’ she said. ‘Get his vibe. But Carmichel’s right. In and out as quick as you can. This is something for someone else to follow up on later. We just have to give them a place to start.’

Five minutes later, Carmichel returned with the phone full of photos for Jones and his techs to dig apart.

Curt looked out over the theatre again, seeing numerous changes to the crowd below. People leaving, having already bid on their desired lots; others coming in, waiting for other items.

And in a box across and closer to the stage, Francis was looking his way.

He caught the man’s eyes, who looked surprised to have been noticed. Francis smiled, nodded his head, and turned back towards the stage.

Not important. Not something that was going to interfere with getting to Bekker.

At Magnolia’s urging, he took off his jacket. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but it would change his general outline. All Remington would be able to see from his position in the bright lights of the stage and would grant them a little more anonymity until the end of the night.

Unless Bekker started shouting or otherwise disrupting things in a way that would get Remington’s immediate attention and bring the auction to a screeching halt.

But he had to rely on unspoken rules of the night and that someone in the assistant role wouldn’t want to cause a fuss for his employer.

The hall behind the boxes was quiet, only occupied by two servers mixing drinks at a cart. He passed them, found the stairs at the far end, and let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

Carmichel had grabbed him as soon as the chance of a dangerous situation had come up. Had known – even before he had – that he’d offer to be the expendable member of the party. To stick his arm into the trap and wait for it to be torn off. To put himself on the shit list of a man delusional enough to call himself a king.

It had just been…natural.

It wasn’t an active wish to die. It was just…cosmic background radiation that dragged at his heels. A never-ending question of “why not just get it over with?”.

The day he’d escaped Adelaide, Agent Farnshaw, that Agency’s doctor, had told him a reason to keep breathing.

So far, there was only inertia.

He exited onto the lower auction floor. The dagger had sold, and they had moved onto a vase.

Bekker still stood amongst the assistants, though his attention was on a phone now, the bright light on his face a small pool of colour in the shadows.

A few more steps. A couple of polite pardons as he slipped between not-currently-occupied servers, stagehands, and assistants waiting for orders.

Bekker, by chance or design, was at the back of the crowd, near to the wall. That worked well, as it would keep him out of Remington’s line of sight. He leaned against the wall, his own phone in his hand, a match-three game on the screen, just so that it looked like he was occupied. Another peon waiting for an order.

This hadn’t been part of the plan. Mags had expected him to walk straight up to Bekker, ask the question, and go from there. Direct and straightforward, as was Combat’s wont.

It wouldn’t hurt to observe for a moment.

From his angle, he could only half-see what was on Bekker’s screen, and moving to get a better look would be suspicious, so it would have to do.

Luckily, it was easy to see what he was doing. The colours and layout on the screen told him that Bekker was scrolling through his feed for The Mount – Fairyland’s most popular social media platform.

That…gave some interesting possibilities.

If he was on his personal feed, and it wasn’t some business or official account for Remington, that could mean that he had other apps, therefore, other ways of getting information on him.

Curt opened The Mount app, something he’d signed up for but rarely used, then opened the “find nearby” feature and hoped that Bekker would have the feature active. Most people did.

The nearby page popped up with a few dozen names and profile pictures.

Halfway down the list was a man with a silver beard, though the name wasn’t “Bekker”.

The ex-agent was apparently going by “Finn van de Hoek” now.

That was one piece of info. He could get more.

He opened one app after another. Rose Room gave nothing, which wasn’t surprising. If he was on the clock, he wouldn’t likely be after a quickie. No Gateway account. Stars by the Dozen, a photography app, showed an account, but there were less than ten photos. Four more apps, all busts.

The Mount was a good lead. They had his new name, something they might not have learned otherwise.

He closed everything, opened his wifi settings so that there was something neutral on his screen, leaned forward, and tapped Bekker on the shoulder.

Bekker turned, The Mount still showing on his phone. ‘Can I help you?’

Curt waved his phone. ‘I keep getting patchy wifi. You don’t seem to be having a problem. Could you see if I’m connected to the same service?’

‘Absolutely not my job,’ Bekker said, ‘but all right.’ He stepped closer, hand extended to take the phone.

‘Bekker, who is your Duty to?’ he asked, keeping his voice as low and calm as he dared.

Bekker’s hand stopped reaching for him, hovered in the air for a moment, and then dropped to his side.

‘Hello, Agency,’ Bekker said, not hesitating for a moment. ‘Took you long enough. I don’t know how many of you are here tonight, but I’ve been expecting this all evening.’ Bekker looked him up and down. ‘Go on,’ he said, his voice jovial, ‘ask.’

‘I already asked.’

‘Not to the Agency, child,’ Bekker said. ‘The other thing I will say is, I chose this. I think that should forestall all your other questions. Now, this is your chance to walk away. I suggest you take it.’

Curt put a tight smile on his face. ‘Enjoy your evening.’

He quickly slipped through the group of assistants and left the theatre, not looking up at the box at all. There was no need to give Bekker any hint of who he was with.

A clean escape, at least for now.