“Lots and lots of preventive maintenance,” Michael replied steadily. “And about twice as much repair work as I usually do.”

“Sorry.”

He smiled. “Small price. She’s worth it.”

The reasons I like Michael have nothing to do with swords and the smiting of evil.

I got on the phone and dialed McAnally’s Pub.

“Mac,” answered Mac, the ever-laconic owner.

“It’s Harry Dresden,” I said. “Is Sergeant Murphy there?”

Mac grunted in the affirmative.

“Put a beer on my tab and tell her I’m on the way?”

Mac grunted yes again.

“Thanks, man.”

He hung up without saying good-bye.

I made another call and spoke to a humorless-sounding man with a Slavic accent. I muttered my password, so that no one in the kitchen would overhear it, but the connection was so bad that I wound up all but screaming it into the receiver. That kind of thing is to be expected when you’ve got a wizard on both ends.

It only took the Jolly Northman about ten minutes to get my call through to my party.

“Luccio,” said a young woman’s voice. “What’s gone wrong, Harry?”

“Hey!” I protested. “That’s a hell of a thing to say to a man, Captain. Just because I’m calling in doesn’t mean that there’s some kind of crisis.”

“Technically true, I suppose. Why are you calling?”

“Well. There’s a crisis.”

She made an mmmmmm sound.

“A group known as the Knights of the Blackened Denarius has kidnapped Baron Marcone.”

“The crime lord you took it upon yourself to assist in joining the Accords?” Luccio asked, amusement in her voice. “In what way is that relevant to the White Council?”

“These Denarian creeps are also signatories of the Accords,” I said. “Marcone’s retainers are crying foul. They’ve asked me to formally protest the abduction and summon an Emissary to resolve the dispute.”

Seconds of silence ticked by.

“In what way,” Luccio repeated, her voice much harder this time, “is that relevant to the White Council?”

“The Accords don’t mean anything if they aren’t enforced and supported,” I said. “In the long run, it’s in our own best interests to make sure they’re supported now, before a precedent is set and—”

“Don’t bullshit me,” the captain of the Wardens snarled, a hint of an Italian accent creeping into her speech. “If we take formal action it could provoke a war—a war we simply cannot afford. We all know the Red Court is only catching its breath. We can ill afford the losses we’ve already taken, much less those we might assume in a new conflict.”

I made sure to keep my voice steady, grim. “Mab has contacted me personally. She has indicated that it is strongly in our own best interests to intervene.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. I hadn’t ever specified who we meant. And with any luck the mention of Mab would keep Luccio’s attention completely. The only reason the Red Court hadn’t wiped us out in the years-long war was that Mab had given the Council right-of-way through the portions of the Nevernever under her control, allowing us wizards to stay as mobile as our opponents, who had considerably less difficulty employing mortal vehicles to maneuver its soldiery.