Tarot is a character from the Amber game, a Broken Pattern Adept and sorceress; in this setting, she happens to have wandered into the In Nomine universe, and got a job at IOU, as part-time lecturer in various remedial classes for Celestials. Getting involved in a few angelic ops, she managed to get her very own file down in Hell, and her name on a couple of Wanted lists.
Matters really went to hell in a handbasket - so to speak - when one Deborah, a Lilim (see Truth Is Stranger Than Friction) needs to examine the celestial anatomy of Malakim, to see "if their wings bend that way" for reference in her writing of angelporn fiction.
Unfortunately, the less-than-brilliant demons who she persuades to fetch her a Malakite mistake the honourable, if somewhat withdrawn, and hitherto unidentified Tarot for a Malakite.
Which is why matters begin with Tarot sitting in an assault-proof birdcage, in the Guildhall of Free Lilim, in Shal-Mari, in the middle of Hell...
Tarot says, blandly, "Yes, I am an extraterrestrial, and I will give you the benefit of my knowledge of otherworld pornography if you will help me get out of here without being caught..."
Deborah says, "How much benefit? Demonstrations?"
"Dictation of romantic novels with a high consensual sadomasochistic content. My sworn lord has a strange sense of humour when it comes to giving me texts to learn a foreign language."
"No demonstrations, eh? Oh, well. Okay. Lemme get a tape-recorder."
Tarot folds her legs beneath her, sitting behind the iron bars of the cell with a resigned air. "We might want to negotiate your releasing me first."
"Oh, right. Hm. Okay, you tell me what you know, and I'll open the cage. How's that?"
"It shows that I have given you a very poor idea of my intelligence. I was thinking more of some sort of bargain to reach a way back to Earth."
"Oh, well, for that... I still need a Malakite. Wanna help?"
Tarot considers. "I could possibly try and negotiate a set of controlled meetings for discussion - I take it that is what you want? - assuming that you are not the type that Malakim try to kill on sight. Even then, I might be able to manage you a temporary pass onto neutral territory."
"Well, I need to find out which way their wings bend, you see. It's for a book I'm writing."
Tarot blinks. "Are they not the same as Mercurian.. no, wait. They tend to be designed more for strength, yes, and speed, and of course Impudites have leather wings, so that would be different again." She looks thoughtful. "Do you have a pen and paper? I could try and sketch a few..."
"That would help! Here, have some. Sorry the pen leaks -- it was cheap." She passes them in. "Of course, I really need to *see* one to get the right *words*, but this will definitely help."
Tarot begins sketching schematics of Malakim in different poses: mainly in motion, or perched on some high point. She says, absently, "Can you get me to a Tether out of here, if we can come to some agreement?"
"Oh, sure thing. Niiiiice there. How may Malakim have you known?"
"Perhaps a dozen or so, here and there. I fear that my drawings are more the accurate type than the," she glances around the odd enthusiastic positioning sketches that dangle from the bookshelves, "artistic type. There is a certain sheen of colour, too, like the wings of starlings, so that they catch shimmers of blue and green and purple when the light catches them. Always the black, though, like the fringes of a starless night."
"Ooooo. That sounds *yummy*. I have got to meet one or two of those. They'd probably try to kill me, though. They think Lilim are demons."
"You have heard of IOU? There is an enforced truce on campus grounds, as long as nobody tries to actively corrupt humans. I have at least one Malakite student there." Tarot continues to sketch in the upsweep of a wing, a curious figure in the cage: she still wears her jeans and black leather jacket and black t-shirt from earlier in the day, and her hair braided back from her face. "Even the Malakim observe the truce."
"That sounds veeeeeery interesting. But corporeal. They don't have wings there most of the time." She pouts appealingly for a moment before she forgets herself and oooos more at the drawings.
Tarot says, with the air of one who makes absolutely no commitments, "I suppose it might always be feasible to arrange an assignation in the Marches." She sets down the paper. "But in the meantime, I need to get out of here, and back to my body."
"Oh, well, if you insist. Okay -- these are good. Is your body near that IOU place? I might be able to make some contacts there, at least..."
Tarot's voice is dry. "I was at a town some twenty miles away when I was kidnapped. I imagine that my body may have been sent to IOU, or be in the local hospital. If I were to be returned to it, and could say that it was with your help..." She lets the sentence trail off artistically. And makes her face a mild blank before it can display the fear that she's controlling.
"Okay, that's cool. Okay, here's the deal. I let you out and give you a boost back to your body. You let me tag along, and make sure I make it to this sanctuary without getting killed. Deal?"
Tarot considers. "That sounds reasonable. I accept, assuming that you do not deliberately act in a way liable to get us attacked by resident angelicals."
"No problem. Lilim's honor."
A pause. "Ah, you do have a Heart? I believe that you need one of those, no?"
"Nah. It just means I'll need a Tether to get back. No problem. Okay, we can go." She opens the door, and offers a hand out.
Tarot rises, reaching out to take the hand. As she does, there comes a shout down the corridor. "Deb? Hey, Deborah! Bal here to see you! It's the usual one."
"Oh, tell him I'm *busy*, would you? I'll get the manuscript to him on time..."
"He says you said that the last three times, that the printers are getting involved with each other, that he wants to negotiate the film rights on the Scale thing, that he's got a promo deal that you wouldn't believe, that he wants to do a photo shoot with you, and that he's got some of those anatomy texts you wanted." A sigh, and in lower tones, "I'm telling her, I'm telling her, all right!"
"Anatomy texts?" The Lilim bites her lip and looks at Tarot. "Can you stay put for just a *little* longer? I *promise* I won't let anything happen to you if you do."
Tarot takes a breath, then nods. Her eyes have shifted to brown. "Do I have to sit in the cage, or can I get out of it first?"
"Um. You sit here, and I'll leave the door open a crack, and cover it with, uh, with..." She rummages in her piles and comes up with a large sheet. "This!" She drapes it over the cage. "That okay?"
Tarot says, from behind the sheet, "Thank you for leaving the door open." She does not express any further comment, quite possibly because she is busy considering the best words for the situation.
A knock on the door, and a wheedling Balseraphic voice. "Debs, sweetie! Can I come in?"
"I don't know, *can* you? The door's open, the door's open. Just don't *touch* anything, and leave that soul of yours in the hall!"
There is a muttered groan from outside, then a Balseraph slides in. Three pairs of dark glasses are propped along his nose, and his wings have been painted in what is evidently the latest fashion. He has three folders pinned under one arm: as he slides towards Deborah for a embrace and air-kissing, ("Sweetie!") they begin to slip loose. "Cutie, it is _so_ good to see you hard at work."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Okay, what do you want? I'm busy, and you're keeping me from *finishing* that book. Every moment you're here is a moment I'm not producing, you know."
One pair of eyes swivels to regard the sheet-draped heap in the corner of the room. "Well, I got the anatomy stuff for you, Debsie. Don't say your agent never looks out for you." A folder is waved in her direction. "And tell me, whatcha think of this idea: you, with one of these Impudites I know, right in front of Prince Andre's favourite brothel for a photoshoot! We run splash pictures all over, talk about you getting genius right from the source. I've got Lucian lined up to do some leatherwear for you. And..." he pauses. "Is that thing in the corner something from Tech?"
"That thing in the corner is mine, it's in progress, and you're not looking at it till it's through or I tear up this draft of my next book." Deborah takes hold of a thick stack of parchment. "Photoshoot, eh? Which Impudite?"
He winces. "Honey, don't destroy that priceless genius! It's that one you said you liked, Oshia, the one with the silver earrings and the cute..." he gestures meaningfully. "Look, I see you next to him in a fairly chaste sort of bodice, not too much hanging out, while he acts the bad guy, you know, a hint of threat... we get that touch of danger that sells this stuff..." His tail slides towards the sheet that covers the cage, under cover of a pile of manuscript and discarded novels.
"Fine, fine." She wanders over and steps on his tail, slipping and doing a fall in the middle of her papers. "YAAAGH! Who let the frotling in here?? Oh, it's your tail."
He retracts his tail, fussing over it. "You scratched my varnish! Do you realise how much it costs to get this stuff painted on?" His wings fan out as he tries for balance, a no doubt quite inadvertent breeze rustling through the room and rippling at the sheet.
"If you're going to leave it where I'm *walking*, of *course* I'm going to scratch it. Look, set up Oshia, set up the shoot, fine, thanks for the anatomy books, now will you please go away so I can keep writing?"
The sheet begins to slide slowly off the top of the cage as the Balseraph retracts his wings. "Okay, honey. Say, you haven't been," he pauses artistically, "looking in the best of health recently. Sure you're taking care of yourself?"
"I'm fine. Now *go*, okay?" Deborah leans against the cage bars and tries to prop the sheet up. It's not working.
As the sheet crumples slowly over her shoulders, Tarot is revealed in the cage, one of Deborah's books open in her hands. She looks up, as though taken by surprise, and says to Deborah, "Are you absolutely certain about the dialogue in this section? He overuses the word, "agonising," even in reference to "delicate"."
"Ah, well, you have to expect that with Habbalah, you know?" Deborah yanks the sheet off her shoulders and tosses it to one side, obviously discarding the notion of trying to cover the cage up again.
The Balseraph, of course, is doing the triple-ripple-blink in interest.
Smoothly, Deborah explains, "Literary Critic. Got a good deal on her, figured that it might be a good way to check some stuff." She's standing in front of the unlatched door...
Tarot's voice contains a note of annoyance, though for some reason her eyes have shaded to peacock colours of green and blue. "I could wish that your Geasa did not come so heavy at the price, lady."
"Terribly sorry," Deborah says blithely. She sets down the manuscript against the cage door, propping it closed lightly, and takes her Bal agent by one wing, steering him out the door. "I got the idea from your little soul," she explains, hip bumping against his mid-section. "Thought, 'now, why shouldn't I have one of those to give me a hand?' And what do you know, there this one was..."
The Balseraph takes advantage of the situation to stroke Deborah's back with the tip of his tail. "Well, guess you've got the right of it, Debsie. Though, I don't know, that cage is kind of clunky. I could get you a deal on a nice collar or something, it'd take up a lot less room, we could use her in the publicity shots..."
"That sounds pretty interesting, actually -- why don't you go look into it for me? Come by next week, maybe?" She bats her eyes at him, with all her Lilim charm...
He smirks, with the Balseraphic confidence that everything will work out Just Fine for Him. "Sure, sweetie. Oh, by the way, Lucian is booked to come by in an hour or two for the costume stuff, so just treat him sweet, okay? He's got swatches of leather you would not _believe_."
"Of course, of course. I'll let him up."
He vanishes out of the door, trailing behind, "Oh, and I hope you're working on that thing with the Malakite, I've got a market for that..."
"Definitely!" she calls, then closes the door. "Gah. At least he didn't try to test whether you were talented enough to critique this stuff."
Tarot's brows rise as she closes the book. "That would have placed me in a difficult position, as I have no particular wish to indulge Balseraphic fantasies. Who is this Lucian, and will he complicate matters?"
"He's an Impudite costuming fellow. I could hang around for him, he probably wouldn't be much of a nuisance. Or we could split now."
Tarot rises to her feet, unfolding from her cross-legged posture. "How close is the way to the surface, and is it likely to attract more attention if you are found to be missing? I have no particular animus towards you, or wish to get you into danger."
"Oh, we just cut through the elevator down to the Tether room, I wave to sis, and poof! We're outa here."
"Do you normally take human souls up to the corporeal world with you, or will your sister take care not to notice?"
"Well, if we put this around you..." Deborah picks up the sheet and offers it. "She may not notice."
Tarot picks up the sheet, and considers it. "Toga-style, or over my head like a ghost, or imitating mummy-wrappings?"
"A robe. Those are always popular. Here, lemme do this..." She quickly flicks it around Tarot until she looks almost Dominican... "Now, let's get out of here before my agent decides he's forgotten something -- like you."
Tarot manages a heavy nod, under the white cloak-wrappings. "Lead the way."
As the two figures begin to make their way down the stairs, scantily-clad Tempter and white-robed human, there's a clatter from below, and a complaining voice a few flights down. "Yes, yes, I know I'm early, but what can I say, I got that new work taken up _right_ on the spot by Media. So, all right, I've got the swatches, I've got a seamstress, I've got the roughs, where's this Deborah person?"
Deborah groans. "Lucian. I'd know that voice anywhere. Oh, great... Look, will you hang around if I let you go? Knowingly promise to give me a hand when I get back up the Tether?" There's a ringing note to that "knowingly promise" bit...
Tarot hesitates a moment, then says, choosing her words, "I knowingly agree to assist you to meet a Malakite peacefully in celestial form when we are both upside, as long as you do not take any action to violate the University rules, and to help you find a place at the University."
"Done deal." Tarot experiences the rather *odd* sensation of having a bracelet form around her wrist. Deborah tugs her the other way. "We'll take the back elevator. Maybe he won't catch sight of us..."
Tarot considers the elegant bracelet around her wrist as she stumbles after Deborah, picking up the skirts of the makeshift robe with her free hand.
From the stairs drifts a phrase, "... and I got some genuine feathers - yeah, _real_ feathers - from some Seraphim and these Mercurians, and two from a Malakite, and I figure, do the whole outfit with them, straps to support at the breasts, you know..."
"That sounds interesting," Deborah mutters, looking backwards. "I'll have to get back to that."
Down a hallway, into a cargo-lift, down, down, down...
The lift door opens, and Deborah steps out, beckoning behind her for Tarot to follow.
In the room, there's the Tether terminator, and a bored Lilim on duty.
"Hey," Deborah says, strolling forwards and waving a manuscript chapter. "Could you check this first draft for me? I need a cold-read on it, see if the dialog works."
The other Lilim takes the draft, only glances at the sheet-wrapped Tarot, and starts reading, back to the Tether.
Tarot keeps her head bowed, hood across her face, as she heads for the Tether termination point. Her robes rustle faintly, as she manages a near-Balseraphic glide.
And in a rustle of upwardness, she opens her eyes in the hospital bed where her body has been placed...
Meanwhile, down below, our favourite Balseraphic Agent is idly telling his pet soul, "Oh, and check this description against the General Files, I want to know who dear Debsie is collaborating with..."
The soul heads off to General Files, and begins to do some checking. He blinks at the surprisingly large file that arrives from the description he gives, then looks up at the Big Tough Djinn that accompany it. "Okay, wretch. Where did you get that description?"
"Urm, um, my Master gave it to me, said that his pet writer was talking to it, had it captured..." The soul cringes and cowers.
He puts one big hand on the soul's shoulder. "So now you're going to take me to have a word with your Master, aren't you? I'm sure he'll want to cooperate with the Game. And you're going to give the name of this pet writer to these helpful Calabim here. Aren't you."
"Um, eh, the angelporn author, Free Lilim, Deb. Um, my master's this way..."
Imagine the soul being marched through the streets of Shal-Mari, a Djinn on either side, the fat file in his arms. Imagine them coming stomping into the skyscraper in Perdition where the Balseraph works. Imagine their sticky feet on the polished glass floor. Imagine their hammering fists on the door. "Consignment!"
And the Balseraph slides to the door, peering out in horror. "What are *THEY* doing here?" it demands of the soul.
One big Djinn sticks a hefty foot in the door, while the other peers over his shoulder. "We're here to ask why you're busy researching a known Brightsider who's messed up several operations of the Princes. Considering cooperation, are we? Thinking of going Renegade, are we? And what's this about angelporn?"
"WHAAAAAA???? I don't know anything about it! I saw this soul, thought she was cute, sent my servant here" (glareglareglare) "to get some info about it! Thought she'd make some nice shots!" It curls a tail around some glossy photographs and waves them in the Djinn's face, trying to figure out how to slam the door and bug out the window.
The Djinn's foot stays firmly wedged. He reaches out for the photos. "Okay, so what's this about the soul belonging to some pet writer of yours? And how long have you known about this? Don't even think of running, chickenwings, or you'll be the next star of _How NybbasTV Cooperates With The Inquisition_, either that or we'll turn you over to one of the Princes with a request-docket on her file to question you themselves."
The Balseraph rears itself up and folds its wings arrogantly, twitching the photos away. "I just found out about it a few hours ago and sent my servant to investigate. How was I to know that my client had caught someone on the Game's most wanted list?"
The second Djinn outside settles its chins on its hands, slouching. The first grunts, "All right. So where is your "client" holding her? I hope the security's good?" A gaggle of Impudites and souls are watching from the end of the corridor, a couple of them taking notes for the next Dramatic Expose script.
"Ah, urm... It's in Shal-Mari," the Balseraph admits, some bit of self-preservation telling it that just maybe it should go with the truth that's current, rather than the one it can make...
A low rumbling comes from the Djinn's throat. "Not in the blessed Guildhall?" Behind him, the hackles rouse along the other Djinn's spine, and it begins to heave itself upright.
"Ah, well, yes -- very secure cage, sitting there reading manuscripts, commenting on them, ah, I'm sure that my servant can show you over there."
"Yeah, yeah, the Lilim, right. Okay, you just step over here so that Izran can get a fix on you, so we can be sure of finding you, then we'll take your slave and leave you in peace."
"I'm going to be here all day!" the Bal insists. "You don't need to be keeping tabs on me!" (invoke, invoke, invoke) It edges away nervously.
(and the poor soul huddles, deciding that he has definitely been in better situations, like almost any)
(rolls dice, adding in the reaction factor of Game-trained) The Djinn look at each other, then shrug. "All right. But remember that if you run, you're going Renegade."
"Of course! Wouldn't dream of running!" . o O {Now, if I can just get the Boss to assign me somewhere with no forwarding address...}
(and the Djinn exchange looks that say as soon as they're on their way, they'll be alerting the local Game-outpost to watch this Balseraph very closely)
(of *course!*)
And the Djinn are led by the soul towards the Guildhall. Hm, does the approach of two obvious Game-Djinn being led by an unhappy (and possibly recognised) soul cause any information flows among the Lilim? In particular, does anyone rap on Deb's door and say, "Hey, sis, I've got something you Need to know..."
Probably -- or at least a general intercom notice of, "Gamesters coming with a pet soul -- anybody got a guilty conscience?"
Deborah looks at the empty cage. Deborah looks at the Geas-hook within her. Deborah decides to take a brief vacation.
Someone knocks on the door. "Hey, sis, you wanna come on down with me and try resonating that pair for Needs?"
"Actually, I gotta take some stuff upstairs -- promised big sister Tahapenes that I'd bring her a draft of some of my latest. Have fun!" And she hurridly packs a great many manuscripts and computer disks...
"Hey, Sisters, everyone who owes me a favour, just go and delay those Djinn down there while I just stroll downstairs - and don't ask why, right?"
"What, they trying to interfere with your new book?" "Get 'em, girls!"
"Hey, cutie! Want a backrub?"
(grunt) "Not here for backrubs." (snort) "Don't care. Out of the way."
"Oh, you know you *want* a backrub. And some cuddling. You're just too sweet!"
And the Djinn struggle through the tidal wave of Lilim downstairs, the pitiful soul clinging to a hind leg of one and whimpering. "All right, we want the room of one Deborah, a writer of angelporn..."
"Oh, *honey*, what do you want *her* for? I have copies of all her books, and I'll rub your back while you read them!"
"Bah." And they shoulder their way - though not _that_ fast - towards the stairs.
And get shoulders and wings caressed and stroked, as Lilim consider the uses of a hook in a Gamester.
And Gamesters remember the warnings of their Master about getting hooks from Lilim...
Though they are so tempting....
As the Impudite cameramen from Kobalite Kamera wriggle through a window on the roof, and get some nice moving-across-the-floor shots of the Lilims wriggling round the Djinn?
Definitely! And then sets up to shove a camera and mike into their faces as soon as they get to the elevator!
"And you! Yes, you, Servitor of the Game! Are we to assume that this is the new hot wedding sensation of the season?"
And the Djinn go, "WUG???" They peer at each other, and then work at crowding the interferences out of the elevator. At high velocity, if possible..
"One, two, three..." And Impudites go flying into the packed Lilim outside, closely followed by camera and microphone.
("Hi, cutie -- where'd you fall in from?") The soul, trembling, points to a button on the panel. "She's on that floor, esteemed masters!"
A Djinn mauls the button, and the lift creaks upwards towards Deborah's corridor. As the doors open on the corridor, her room door is visible at the end, with a sign on the front saying "KEEP OUT : CREATIVE ARTIST AT WORK!"
The soul starts dragging its feet. "Um, that's her room, can I go now? Please?"
The Djinns disregard him, as the leader bangs a fist on the door. "Game here! Open up!" The door wobbles in the frame.
There is dead silence beyond. Finally, annoyed, the leader bangs again. The door's lock isn't firmly fastened. It swings open, and is nothing beyond it but an empty, and rather messy, room. And an empty giant birdcage.
"She got away. Damn. Quick, Erztheb, you take the back stairs, I'll take the front ones..." And they head off, leaving the whimpering soul as small game and knowing that at least one of them is attuned to him so they can find him...
The soul looks around and sidles for the elevator-area, hoping that maybe they won't get around to looking for him till an attunement wears off.
Two Kobalite interviewers pick up their cameras from the floor, and approach him. "Tell me, sir, did you imagine this morning that you'd be involved in a Game-investigation? What have _you_ to tell our viewers? Reports of harassment? A message to cooperate with our beloved police?"
"Uh, uh... Well, you see, I was following my master, a Servitor of Nybbas, and, um... Hey, you're not Media! I shouldn't be talking to you!"
One turns to the camera. "You heard it here first! Private cooperation between the Game and the Media. We're talking an eye in every brothel here." He pivots back to the soul. "So, what kind of publication are you looking to get out of this one? And who's your master?"
The soul pauses, then gets a cunning expression. "What say I give you an interview, and then a full exclusive scoop?"
"Sounds good! Okay, just come over here, pose next to these nice Lilims - go on, cutie, it'll get you into the publicity shots - and tell us _all_ about it..."
"And you're going to do me a few favors for this, right?" the soul continues, going over to pose. "Like, some expanded exposure..."
"Oh, I'm sure we can manage that," lies the Impudite blithely. "Now, from the top. Your master - is that the porno-boss whatshisname? - and his vivid, salacious affair with the Lilim Deborah, and their angelporn business, and the Renegade connection..."
"Okay, here's how it started..." And the soul goes on to spin something worthy of a Balseraph...
And the cameras churn away. And it appears later as the hottest new feature in the Kobalic Cinemas Korporate. Until the Game comes to try and confiscate the copies...
And then it's *really* hot in the bootleg black market!
Meanwhile, a Lilim sneaks through in the back door...
Deborah sneaks round a back corridor, taking the quickest route towards the Tether in the basement, and muttering as she tries to stuff her disks and papers into a backpack while running silently, activities that do not mesh well.
Meanwhile, the other Lilim has figured this quickest route, and waits in a recess, listening to the sound of stumbling feet...
And Deborah turns the corner. Not just angels can Trip.
The backpack (and most of its contents) goes flying across the floor, as Deborah does the belly-flop-on-the-floor that some Kobalite is going to be sorry he missed. "WHAT TH--!!??"
The Lilim pounces for her back, twisting her arms up behind her. "Going somewhere, are we?"
"Well, *duh*!" Deborah says. "Lemme go, I'll give you a signed book, 'kay?"
The Lilim gets a knee firmly into Deborah's back, and fumbles a pair of handcuffs from her belt, beginning to clip them round Deborah's wrists. "Tell me, Sister... do you think that Prince Asmodeus will enjoy reading it?"
"Urm. I dunno. I hear Djinn aren't usually interested, but I have got some, well, um... Hey, you're really making a mistake, here, I'm just trying to make a date, okay? What are you hauling me in for?" The dissonance jangles at the edge of her consciousness, and she starts to struggle in earnest. "GET OFFA ME!!!"
The Lilim leans forward to murmur in her ear, "You either cooperate here and now - and don't make too much of a fuss - or I let the Djinn who are just smashing your room door down have you. Do you really want to fall into the hands of the Game, Sister?"
"Urg.... That's not a good option. Tell you what, you let me up, and I don't make a fuss and I hang around and clean up my stuff..."
"Yeah, sure, honey, I believe you. Look, I've got someone holding the back door, and either you trust us and come with me right now, or I carry you, or I throw you to Asmodeus' people for collaborating with a Renegade. I hear that's what they're talking about. You been collaborating with _angels_, Sister?"
"Have *NOT*!" Deborah cries indignantly. "Look, at least let me bring along my stuff, okay? It's my only draft of my next book!"
"Sure. Tell you what, I'll hang the bag on your shoulder, you walk nice and easy the way I pull you, and we get out of here quietly before the Game catches up with you. Okay, Sister?"
"Yeah. But you take the cuffs off as soon as we get clear, *okay*?"
"Okay. Let's get a move on. Here, let me help you up and hang the bag on you."
"Okay, okay. My notes! Get the notes that fell!"
The Lilim sighs. "Sure, sure. Look, I'm being cooperative." She shovels the notes higgledy-piggledy into the bag, then grabs Deborah by an elbow, tugging her along one of the corridors that leads to an exit into a back alley of Shal-Mari.
Deborah stumbles along, hands working frantically at the cuffs.
There's a hefty, large-handed Calabite waiting with a lean Balseraph around the corner of the alley. "All right," the Lilim says, "I'll take the cuffs off. Coast clear so far, Avicinis, Jebus?"
"Clear," mutters the Balseraph.
Deb peers at them. "Lust, right? Gotta thank you guys for this. What say I dedicate the next book to Lust, hm?"
"That's a nice thought," smiles the Lilim. "We can talk about it further while you're safe out of sight. Keep your head down a while, give the Game a chance to forget about things. You might even be able to get some new material, all that sort of thing. Okay, now we cut down the back here towards the Prince's area and the Bordello..."
With a rather fixed smile, Deborah goes with the others, considering that she has a better chance of talking her way out of troubles with Lust than if the Game gets her...
So, skip to a nice quiet room somewhere in the Bordello, set up for interviews, with all the distressing instruments next door, and just with a desk and a few comfortable chairs.
Asuka puts her elbows on the desk, leaning forward. Avicinis has left. Jebus is coiling on a nearby chair. "So, tell me, honey. Is it true about the angel in your birdcage?"
"I don't know. What have you heard about angels in my birdcage?" Deb blinks innocently.
She ruffles through two sheets of paper lying by her on the desk. "Well, honey, Zerethei down the hall says that you had this empty birdcage in your room when the Djinn kicked the door down - want us to try and pick up your manuscripts, by the way?
Deborah nods. "If you could, please."
"- and that soul who was being interviewed for the cameras was waffling on about you importing angels for your publisher's sex racket, and your publisher was requesting some files from the Archives with some, you know, heavy security seals on? I mean, I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation for it all, but..."
Deborah decides to start with the truth and figure out what they want to hear from there -- though resonating first might be a good idea. "Well, I was trying to get an angel captive, to work on some of the scenes, but the idiots I hired got me some kind of human. Totally useless, no wings. Couldn't see which way they bent. Not even an *Elohite*. So I got a Geas on it and let it go."
"Okay." Asuka checks the second sheet of paper. "Human, right. Yes, we've got a bit of a file on her. Open-ended Geas, or something particular?" Her tone is light, quite casual, but the hungry Need in her eyes is for an answer of the former.
"Particular. She's supposed to help me with my research," Deborah admits reluctantly.
"Oh, good." Asuka puts down the papers again. "Excellent."
Jebus leans forward, preening one wing. "You are going to be cooperative about getting her back, aren't you? You must know who she is, after all." A pair of eyes watches her from under lowered lashes.
"Know who she is? Not really. Some human they managed to drag down. I didn't know the artifact would do *that*. Why would you want her back? She seemed kinda, well, a cold fish."
Asuka and Jebus exchange glances a moment. Asuka says, "That's kind of the problem, you see, Sister. The Prince himself wants a word with her. And she's been involved with some Renegades, and you know how the Game feels about that, may their steel-wire underwear rust. Now, I know that you don't want to have to explain to anybody _important_ about letting her go..."
Deborah draws herself up. "I didn't know anyone wanted her, and you know as well as I that Mother frowns on egregiousness. I don't want to have to explain that, but if nobody *told* me to catch her, then it's only serendipity. I didn't know she'd be more valuable on the open market, or you'd have gotten a bidsheet." She relaxes deliberately. "I... might be able to get in touch with her. I'll have to go corporeal for that, though."
Jebus rears up slightly, preening a wing. "Oh, you needn't worry about that. She could probably manage the resources to get down here if she really wanted to. A letter from you would help, though. What do you think would interest her? Or worry her?"
Asuka says, more gently (and yes, playing good cop to Jebus' bad cop), "I don't think Mother's going to go to bat for you against half the Princes, sister." She looks down at the first sheet. "Right, we had request-dockets on her file from Asmodeus, Baal, Kronos, Vapula, Kobal, our own Prince... and thanks to that damn Balseraph, it's all over the place that you had her under contract and under Geas. We need to try and put the best face on it that we can."
"Who believes a Balseraph??" she asks, looking wild-eyed. "Yeesh. What's with all the Princes wanting her? Why didn't anybody tell *me* about this?? It's not my fault!!!"
Asuka's voice is soothing. "Look, nobody's blaming you. We're trying to help. I'm not pretending that you won't owe me something if I can get you out of this, but that's fair, isn't it? No such thing as a free lunch. If we can get her down here, and make it look like you're helping us, or that you did it, then you're out home free and you can get back to the Guildhall without having people knock your door down every day." She pauses. "And about why the Princes want her... well, there was that Ruzael business, and then there was that London business, and then there's that IOU business, and apparently she's got some weird Songs or something..."
Deborah drops her head into her hands. "And she seemed so quiet, too... Okay, okay, right. Um. I'm not sure what would interest her. Um... I don't know anything about her!!!" She does the Big Tearful Lilim Eyes thing.
Asuka shows no sign of being overly swayed by Sisterly wiles. "Need a hanky? Okay, scuttlebutt says she's _probably_ some kind of Ethereal. Or Grigori-spawn. Or whatever. She's got this thing about honour, though, which is why your people might have thought she was a Malakite. We just have to give her a bit of an impression that you're in trouble down here, and that it's her fault, and _hopefully_ that'll get her to do something stupid. She's hanging out in a safezone as it is, or we'd have tried to pick her up before."
"Oh. Um. Okay. You want me to write her a note asking her to come and help?"
Jebus stirs. "Along those lines. We're thinking of a panicky tearstained appeal for help, throwing yourself on her mercy, because you're about to be handed over to the Game or used as a personal throw-rug by the War or something. Then we keep you somewhere nice and safe, and set a few rumours going. We'll have to make it _look_ convincing, mind..."
(a strong Need, in his eyes, to do well out of this and get a Vessel and get back to Earth and find his little toy and a few Wind/Theft-Servitors who need smearing round the room painfully...)
"Um. How much 'convincing' do you need it to look? I mean, I don't want to have my arms broken or anything. I'd need assurances if you wanted me tied up or anything..."
Asuka sighs. "We're not going to hand my Sister over to the Game, Jebus. Control yourself. We were thinking more of suggesting that Lust and the Game were fighting over you, which should let her think that she's got a chance of getting you out. You'll be kept in here, we'll leak word to a few known informers, suggest that the Game will be getting their hands on you soon - oh, and if you behave, we'll even arrange a working word processor and a chance to meet Prince Andre.
Deborah bites her lip prettily. "Well, if you arrange the meeting, I'm sure I'd be *way* too distracted to do anything like writing. Um. Sure. Leak stuff, that's fine. Should I try to smuggle a 'help' letter out?"
Jebus nods, and Asuka smiles encouragingly. "We'll help with it. Okay, so we'll have to get a Djinn in to attune to you, just so we can keep track if the Game tries to kidnap you or something. You'll be sensible and just keep your head down in here, stay out of the way?"
"Well, I'm not likely to *want* to go roaming around with Gamesters looking for me!" Deb points out. "Do you have to do the Djinn thing, though? What about giving me a summoning-token or something, so I can call for help? Djinn are creepy about their attuned. I *researched* all that Djinnporn, you know!"
Asuka does look genuinely regretful. "Sorry, Sister, but it's to cover _our_ backs. As long as you're okay that way, then we don't have our bosses complaining that we should be keeping you locked up or something. We can get you a token if you want, though. Jebus?"
Jebus uncoils from his perch, and drifts across, to come close enough that Deborah can pluck a token. The feathers of one wing brush against her back, distractingly.
"Urm..." Deb reaches out and gingerly plucks a small feather from the thumb-joint area. "Thanks. Are you sure you have to use a Djinn, though? Can it be a temporary thing? Really, they spook me."
Jebus keeps on riffling his feathers across Deborah's back. Asuka shrugs. "Okay. Just a temporary thing. We'll get a nice, well-mannered one. Anything else, before you get down to writing your plea for rescue?"
"Um. Promise it will be a temporary lock-on, sis. *Promise.*"
Asuka frowns. "If you'll *promise* to help write a nice convincing letter."
"I'll do my best!"
"Dear Human with the Technicolor Eyes - I've got a problem. A big problem, with my agent. I know you only promised to help me get those anatomy sketches I wanted, but perhaps we could work something else? Fast? I'm in big trouble. I think it's your fault, but I won't hold a grudge. --Deborah"
Deb shows it to her sister, who is undoubtedly leaning over her shoulder. "How's this?"
Asuka looks thoughtful. "Sounds good. Okay, we'll funnel it to her through someone reasonable. Just ignore the rumours about the terrible things we're doing to you, and sit right here in comfort. Anything we can get you to keep you happy - beside a Malakite?"
"Um. How about a typewriter and a news update and can you keep the Djinn from staring at me like that, *please*? Shouldn't he be on a leash or something?"
"Okay. I'll order you the typewriter. Balthasar, go stare at the in-house television instead, unless the nice Lilim lets you look at her. News update is that Michri-jeru's the latest Arena star. Apparently he lasted a whole ten minutes in the ring with Property of the Game. Saminga's threatening squishy war, so Our Prince is off being his usual self. The Game's trying to find you. We're denying we've got you publicly, but delaying tactics privately. Anyone in particular you need to know about?"
Deborah holds her head in her hands. "You're keeping the Game away, *right*??"
"Sure we are." Her voice is soothing. "Sure we are. Look, it's to our advantage to be helping you right now. Think about it. We're not going to gain anything by letting the Game have you. Now isn't common sense a better motivator than altruism?" She picks up the letter. "We'll see about smuggling it out..."
"Thanks. Altruism. Bah. No such thing." And she thinks _Oh ethereal gods, I hope I'm wrong... I don't think they're going to keep me away from the Game without me binding..._
Asuka nods, and heads out with a sway of the hips, the letter in her hand...
(Meanwhile, on Earth, Tarot has the note smuggled to her, and hears dire rumours of Deborah in Trouble. Feeling some obligation in the matter, she requests that the ArchDean obtain an audience for her with Lilith, and the bargaining begins...)
Lilith says, "So, do you have any Seraphim? They're so cute in leather."
Tarot says, vaguely, "Would you be interested in a public display of disorder and riot at a certain public school which Asmodeus is maintaining as a Tether, lady?"
"Very. Especially if you can get the administration kicked out. What are we talking, dear?"
Tarot ticks off items on her fingers. "Public riot - perhaps at their school prize day - and exposure in front of newspaper reporters, or maybe even a camera team if I can persuade them, hopefully resulting in the resignation of the headmaster and maybe others of the governing body. In return, I am looking to get one of your Daughters out of a trial for treason - and do not worry, they will know precisely who to blame. Me."
"This sounds good. Very good. What will you need to get poor Debbie out of hock without linking back too severely to me?"
"I understand that she is in public imprisonment, lady. I think that I will need a couple of people who I can contact and ask for help in organising a diversion, access to a Tether upside when it comes to running for it, and a location where we can lie low if necessary. I already have a disguise, skeleton keys, and a way downside."
"I can manage that. Some servitors of Theft... Passes to... let's see -- here's one of Lust's, and here's one for Theft, and little Fleurity owes me something. And as for a safehouse... Hm. Have you considered IOU?"
Tarot's mouth quirks. "I have a lecturing post there already, lady. I meant more some general location in Shal-Mari where I could take cover for a day or two while scouting the area, and where I might be able to hide with Deborah for a day or two in the other side if we were not able to run for a Tether immediately. Are there any slums or tenements or the like where two people could hide?"
"Mmmmmm.... You're sure about Shal-Mari? I think your best bet there would be one of Fleurity's dens -- the folk there aren't generally awake enough to notice odd goings-on. If you could manage to get past a Game-station, into Valefor's Principality..."
Tarot nods. "I thank you for the advice. Do you require your favour before or after I go down there, lady?"
"I'd much rather before. You might not make it back, you see..."
"Very well. That gives me two days before the prize-giving. Where would you like me to send the first editions of the papers?"
"Try a notification to 'lilith@IOU.edu' and I'll pick it up myself. A pleasure doing business with you."
Tarot inclines her head, rising. "I am sure that I have done very well out of the deal, lady, and shall recommend your business practices."
(And the *bong* of a Superior vanishing...)
HEADMASTER PEPPERED BY RIFLE CORPS! The events at Saint Sebastian's on their recent Sports Day have sent a frisson of concern through a lot of our public schools. Everybody has seen the photographs of the Combined Cadet Force barricading the kitchens and manufacturing stills in there, and the court proceedings against a number of the Board of Governers for embezzlement are still in progress, but few have excavated the sordid rituals of sustained abuse practiced on the lower forms as thoroughly as we have. It is only in keeping with our great American tradition of the will of the people that the entire school exploded with civic discontent, a number of the javelins being pressed into service as ... (Continued on Page 5 inside)
And then Tarot gets all her passes and Hell-ID delivered via Campus Mail, but suspiciously undamaged.
Presumably she's made arrangements to go Down through a Tether that will keep half an eye on her unconscious body, or at least see it sent safely to the IOU hospital. Okay. Time to slip the notice of the agents doubtless watching her, and get to that Tether...
---