All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [291]
And where was the League’s leader this time to stop the gods’ petty disputes and rally them?
Cornelius’s gaze fell upon his computer and Fiona’s passionate e-mail.
Her, perhaps, if her great threat were removed.
Violence—why was that their solution to everything? Were not there other ways?
Yes . . . but none better to permanently solve problems. He had seen so much: He knew this was the unpleasant truth. Or was it because he had seen so much that he was blind to any alternatives?
“Open the vault,” Cornelius whispered. “Retrieve the Death Warrant for Eliot.”
The others looked at him.
“Why do you say this?” Gilbert demanded. “More coldhearted mathematics?”
“This is not based on calculation,” Cornelius replied, “but rather that Fiona’s brother among all the Immortals and Infernals has been her greatest ally . . . and is now her greatest vulnerability.”
Aaron looked as if he wanted to challenge this assertion, but he instead cupped his hand over his chin, thinking.
“What if she follows him as she ever has?” Cornelius continued. “But this time to the other side? Or worse, what if Eliot becomes so twisted that he . . .”
Cornelius didn’t need to finish that thought. They had all seen brothers and sisters among their ranks murder one another.
“Very well,” Lucia said. “Kino? Cornelius?” She strode to the vault door, slender key already in her hand.
Kino joined her, and Cornelius fumbled out a key ring from his pocket.
Amid the keys to his VW bug, the trailer he lived in, post office box, and pool room, was the one required: the worn metal cylinder with vein-like ridges (more circuitry than mechanical lock).
He walked to the hinge portion of the vault door and found a proper keyhole.
Lucia and Kino held their keys. “On three,” Lucia said. “One, two—three.”
They inserted their keys.
Cornelius then dialed in the combination, sliding tiles encrusted with ancient symbols into the proper alignment.
As he did this a series of clanks and clacks and mechanical ratchetings vibrated within the vault door . . . but there was also a grinding noise that he’d never before heard.
Lucia’s brows scrunched together at the noise as well.
Kino pulled on the door, his muscles tensing as tons of metal swung on a perfectly balanced hinge. He entered the vault chamber.
Cornelius peered through. Within were rows of sealed, spirit-filled Ming vases; jars of blue fluid containing floating brains, a lockbox kept for The King’s Men whose extra-dimensional spaces were best left forever sealed, Leonardo da Vinci’s one true notebook . . . and similar, dangerous and fascinating objects.
Kino grabbed two alabaster scroll tubes and marched out.
Lucia hovered near Kino’s side, looking childlike next to his great height. Kino unstoppered the containers and shook out their contents—one for him and one for Lucia.
As they unrolled them Kino’s dark features turned pale, and Lucia’s face flushed deeper and twisted in outrage.
She held up the document for all of them to see: it was not the vellum Warrant of Death they had put in there for safekeeping, but rather a rolled-up New York Times crossword section.
“Where are they?” she demanded.
“The vault is impervious to force,” Kino said. “Proof against any thief.”
Cornelius approached. He took the newspaper crossword and held at arm’s length, squinting.
“Thirty seven across reads: fastest bird,” he said. “That would be a peregrine falcon.” Cornelius noted and recited the penned-in answer: “P-E-A-R-A-G-R-I-N.”
Only one among them had the talent to enter the vault without the keys. And only one spelled so poorly . . . even when he was sober.
“Proof against any thief,” Lucia screeched, “but not foolproof. I want Henry found. I want him dragged in front of this Council!”
Cornelius slowly shook his head and took his seat. One might as well try to bottle the four winds.
He saw that his computer simulation was almost done. Good. Objective analysis would be most welcome at this point.
“We must draw new warrants,” Kino suggested.