The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [88]
Above all else …
Albrecht claimed those three words meant the Ninth superseded all other Desiderata and, after long deliberation, the Philosophers agreed. Albrecht was not expelled, and he went on to become the most celebrated Seeker agent in the organization’s history. It was said he would certainly have become a Philosopher himself were it not for his death at the age of thirty-seven.
Of course, Deirdre had heard it whispered often enough among her fellow agents that Hadrian Farr was the next Marius Lucius Albrecht incarnate. So perhaps it was only fitting that he invoked the Ninth Desideratum himself—for the third time in his career. And certainly there was no doubt that Grace Beckett and Travis Wilder were in danger. As was their otherworldly friend, the one they called Beltan. The Philosophers had had no choice but to grant Farr a dispensation.
Deirdre stood and walked over to Farr. “I don’t understand why you’re upset, Hadrian. The Philosophers agreed with you.”
“Yes, they did. Except I’m not entirely certain that they should have.” He leaned toward her, elbows on knees. “These are the Philosophers, Deirdre. The dread, all-powerful, maddeningly inflexible, and mysterious Philosophers. By God, they should have put up something of a fight, don’t you think? Instead they granted my dispensation with barely a moment’s thought. For all their mumbo jumbo about history and the weightiness of duties, they seem perfectly willing to send one Seeker, one journeyman, and a bit of muscle to counter Duratek in what is clearly the most important case of this century.”
“Maybe they have confidence in us,” Deirdre said with a shrug.
“Well, I’m not certain I do.” He rummaged in the seat cushion beside him, retrieved the second liquor bottle, and finally managed to struggle the cap off. He downed half the contents.
Deirdre frowned. “So breaking the Third Desideratum isn’t enough. Now you’re going after Number Six. A Seeker shall not allow his judgment to be compromised.”
“Oh, and you’re a fine one to quote from the Book. And don’t tell me that was crème de menthe I found you drinking in Soho.”
She affected her most pious look, learned in imitation of her devoutly Catholic great-aunt during one of her summers in Ireland. “I was on a break from the Seekers at the time.”
He laughed: a rich, booming sound that completely startled Deirdre. In her experience, Farr had always been unfailingly—sometimes exasperatingly—composed no matter the circumstance. She had never before heard him utter a sound containing the ring of desperation.
“No, Deirdre. Don’t you see? There’s no such thing as a break from the Seekers. It’s not a social club you attend when the whim strikes. It’s a holy marriage with no hope of annulment. Until death do us part.” He raised the bottle and downed the remaining liquid.
Deirdre watched him drink. The fact was, his words did disturb her. Why were the Philosophers willing to invest so much faith in two people when so much was at stake? She didn’t understand. But then, there was much the Philosophers did and said that she failed to understand. They had purpose and knowledge unknown to the rest of the Seekers.
Behind her, the computer let out a soothing electronic tone. She returned to the table. The data had finished streaming, and the summary report filled the screen. Deirdre scrolled through the rows of information. As she did, her sense of unease grew.
“This doesn’t make sense,” she murmured.
A rustling of linen behind her. Farr.
“What have you got there, Deirdre?” His voice was low and measured again; the Hadrian she knew.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I really don’t know.”
She hadn’t told Farr about her encounter with Glinda that last night in London. It was hard enough to understand herself why she had gone looking for the woman, let alone explain it to another. A dozen times Deirdre had replayed the conversation at Surrender Dorothy, but still she could not fathom what it meant. Only Glinda’s