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Back Four Roads Cross Save as PDF
Chapters (75)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. 63
  66. 64
  67. 65
  68. 66
  69. 67
  70. 68
  71. 69
  72. Acknowledgments
  73. Also by Max Gladstone
  74. About the Author
  75. Newsletter Sign-up

Abelard, beside Tara, sat statue stiff. He’d almost smoked his cigarette to the filter. Ash dripped onto his robe.

That was the trap: Ramp, plain speaker, chaining fact to simple fact and every link biting into their collective throat.

“You can check our books,” Tara said.

“It’s the implicit guarantee of support that concerns us, not the quality of your records.”

“There is no implicit guarantee.”

“I wish I could believe that.” She displayed her empty hands: a gesture evolved by tool-using apes back in the mists of time to show they bore no weapons. It didn’t work well for a Craftswoman, whose weapons were invisible. “Unless you show me a binding document forbidding mutual support, my clients will not accept the absence of such a guarantee. We move a lot of power through Kos’s church. We’re not here to play the bad guys, Tara. We just want to protect ourselves.”

“What’s the point of a superfluous document?” she asked. “Kos has issued the party in question two start-up grants of soulstuff while she develops her own operation. Plenty of gods offer short-term dispensations of grace. He hasn’t guaranteed loans for this party, or offered regular assistance, as a review of our books will show.” She did not say: and if he has, you can’t prove otherwise. Nor did she say: and I hope he’s listening. “I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing.”

Ms. Ramp had a wide smile. “Not for nothing.”

Tara risked a quick blink to survey the conference room with a Craftswoman’s eyes. Standard darkness and lightning lines, distorted by the warmth of Kos’s presence within his temple. Ramp was many armed and wetly glistening; beside her, shadow-wrapped clockwork wireframe, sat Daphne.

Daphne’s hand lay palm up on her lap. Lines of spiderweb silk glimmered there: letters. LUNCH?

She almost laughed, but managed to keep her composure. Daphne watched Ramp, and Tara, and the Cardinals and Abelard, with the determination of the perfect young associate.

“I,” Ms. Ramp said, “will review Kos’s recent records myself this afternoon. I hope what I find confirms your story, and sets my clients at ease.”

“Of course,” Tara replied, to both.

27

27

Captain Maura Varg drummed a syncopated rhythm on the interview room table in the Temple of Justice. A column of light drifted through the high window.

Cat sat across from her, with Lee to the left, composed and silent. “We’re here whenever you’re ready to talk, Maura.”

“Don’t like the beat?” Varg accelerated, drumrolled. “Keeping a different pattern with each hand’s the hard part. And I want a Craftsman in the room before I talk to you.”

“Stop drumming.”

She did, leaned back in her chair, and planted her boots on the table.

“Boots down.”

Varg returned her feet to the floor. “I could do jumping jacks.”

“Cut the shit.”

“Bring me a Craftsman.”