Chapter Forty-Seven
Principal Billings was a little ironic when I called early Friday to say Jesse wouldn't be in, observing that meeting manitous wasn't an excuse one heard every day, but lost the attitude when I told her heightened threat level meant we couldn't adequately boost two perimeters. She'd seen my interview, with Christy's, but hadn't run a threat calculus.
"Christy showing up is possible. She'd be a distraction, pulling guards off Jesse, which might offer others opportunity, and with me and Adam in St Louis all day, in the open, we're stretched. Having Jesse seen with us on TV will deter Christy. But Jesse'll be back Monday, and we're hoping the threat level will drop sooner than later."
And not to be dead when it did, but I left her reassured. Breakfast was silent as we surfed, but if having one's emotions picked over by a hatful of strangers for millions of others is never good, they were on Jesse's side. There were, doubtless, other people than Christy who hadn't seen PBS, though viewing numbers had been way high in all time zones and there were already clips on YouTube, but it was Christy's attitude as much as evident ignorance that rankled. The Bad Mother is something of a taboo — Bad Fathers are standard, mothers get automatic sainthood — but Christy had managed to make herself a prime example, and they thought Jesse's stellar performance was even more admirable given the burden of such a parent. Some recalled Dim Future's argument that preternaturals were by definition unfit parents, noting the superior job Adam and I must have done. That was picked up in assessments of my interview, domesticity registered with thoughtful amusement. The Washington Post op-ed made me laugh:
Not everyone can introduce you to the notably polite and useful fairies at the bottom of her garden, nor make what looked like very good brownies while offering matter-of-fact eyewitness testimony that ghosts are not souls and can be exorcized. And the surprises continued, a leading presidential candidate answering difficult questions, knowing history and theology, putting interviewers at ease, and showing considerable grace under pressure while reminding us all that threatening those she loves is foolish, and that her responses are precise, proportional, and effective. By the end I would not have been surprised to discover my own hair had turned electric blue, and the sense of political hope and invigoration Mercy Hauptman generates with every appearance is in telling contrast to the extraordinary paralysis that still grips both National Committees, every bit as delinquently as her understated rebuke to their silence about those shots implied. And after today's scheduled events who knows what colour anyone's hair will be, including Ol' Manitou River's? (Except, in the case of other candidates, confused yellow.) What is happening is profoundly bewildering but increasingly inspiring, and I for one am taking Mercy Hauptman's (often very good) jokes much more seriously than the many tired, sour, and depressing jokes that are her opponents.
"Ouch." Jesse grinned as she finished reading over my shoulder and slid back into her chair. "Confused Yellow would so not sell as hair-dye."
"I dunno, Jesse. It's called peroxide, isn't it?"
She shuddered. "Stone age. That stuff is toxic. But saying you do good jokes and they are bad ones is a nice line."
"Un huh. Did you get an answer from Penny?"
"Dwayne. It's the lights. Surprise. He'll try to swap in LEDs."
"Not sure Billings would find Marsh Sedge to Forest Foliage a convincing case for expenditure from the stretched maintenance budget."
"And insane as that is, Dwayne will be making a point about ungreen fluorescents, way greener LEDs, lower bills, and broadcasts with strong green concerns. Which Marsh Sedge is anyway."
I laughed. "That's my Jesse. How're you doing inside?"
"I'm OK, Mom. Yeah, Birth Mom's now out there, but as I am too it's better this way, I figure. No nightmare itch about that one any more. And the dignity line's good."
"Your line in the first place. But that's a fine way of dealing, and you can work out some rage this morning. Range session, but exercise first." I overrode protest. "Seriously, Jesse. If you're gonna walk into a high-risk zone, you're limber and sharp, and know what you're gonna do if and when. For you the most likely action will be firing. Make sure you have the Missouri license."
She swallowed. "You think I'll be aiming to … dismiss."
"If it happens and you've got a heart-shot, you bet. But slugs have a lot of momentum, and a shot anywhere can knock a vamp off course or off balance. Everyone will work out — not to rubbery exhaustion, but a light sweat, getting in the zone. Then showers, early lunch, briefing, go."
A glance round the table won uniform nods, and she sighed.
"What happened to days off school? Workout gear it is."
We had to stagger use of gym and range. Adam would have liked to bring the whole pack and ring me five deep, but that wasn't the point, they had jobs anyway, and Tom Yearman had wolves with the PD at Gateway Park. But besides Warren, Darryl, Auriele, and Joel, Adam was borrowing the Freed, under Ramona, while David and his crew, Dan and the Joes, Brent, and Jill made another eleven. Zee, Tad, and Irpa were meeting us Underhill, Irpa collecting Frank and Rachel, Jeremiah and Ros. Coyote was getting himself there. Ramona knew about the problem, and the Freed would work out before heading over.
With me inside the Secret Service were at a loose end, and watched with professional approval as we worked though stretches, weights, light and heavy bags, pulled-contact sparring, two hard minutes of Skuffles-in-the-Middle, and, after checking weapons (though not, to Jesse's regret, harpoons, which had proven too awkward), the range. They picked up fast on the atmosphere, my gut conviction of imminence communicating itself strongly enough to make for a sense of impending combat. It might be nerves fooling me, but I really didn't think so, and neither did my magic. Something powerful was moving somewhere that wasn't Ol' Manitou River — maybe the luck, the dead, or Undead, maybe something else in play — and I'd bet the sense of spannungsbogen in the Garden would be higher, that final half-inch of draw as release beckoned. As I finished up the senior agent gave me a look.
"You really do think it's today, don't you?"
"Call it a feeling in my water. Logic says Bonarata should steer clear of the power that'll assemble, and if he understood it he might, but I don't think he does and magic tends to attract magic. Are the St Louis squad good for briefing?"
"They are. Surprised, as principals don't usually brief, but respectful."
"Thanks. I promise not to confuse anyone more than I have to."
His smile was wry, and I took off for the shower, followed by the problem of dressing. I went for a deep russet skirt and blouse combo, a high collar covering a heavy off-white ballistic tee that fell to mid-thigh. Adam had got it from somewhere, and though it wouldn't stop large calibres at short range, it would stop or deflect smaller ones and spread impact energy a little. The blouse didn't work so well with my gold chain, though, and I chose a pendant Coyote had given me last birthday, after I'd surprised him by commemorating the day of the River Devil with, not a Purple Heart, but a coyote-brindled version, commissioned from a jeweller Auriele knew in Portland. He'd been tickled, and his response had been a beautiful polished section of branch from the Petrified Forest in Arizona, a rough circle with astonishingly vivid streaks of red, blue, white, and coppery brown. The back was unpolished, and I'd superglued a loop of cotton yarn that went around a button to ensure it wouldn't swing up if I had to roll or jag. Then it was my other accessories — Carnwennan on one hip, Zee's wooden dagger behind it, Glock on the other, Thunderbird's feather, cloak, which obligingly folded itself back, and Manannán's Bane. Adam, delayed by a call, came in holding a handset and whistled.
"Looking good, love. Ramona's on her way. I've got Tom Yearman on the line, saying crowds are already building big. Gateway Park and space over the river filling, plus people in tourist boats hanging mid-stream, so they're under pressure to put up local repeater screens."
"Hell." That wouldn't do, and my brain clicked back to my Google session, then sideways to riverboats. "No can do, Tom. Explanations later. For now, repeater screens at Busch Stadium and the Rams' Dome, both close and taking tens of thousands." And far enough away the time-lag would not be easily seen. "And scream loudly about riverboats. I doubt Ol' Manitou River would harm them, but hey, Mississippi manifesting, who knows what the water will do, crowded riverboats right on top of it, public hazard. It'll keep the PD busy and distract excluded media guys."
/OK, Mercy. I take it this matters?/
"Might be critical, Tom, or nothing. Can't take the chance. My gut is telling me tonight's the night."
/Hear you. I'll do my damnedest. See you soon./
"Yeah. Go safe, Tom."
"Good thinking, love. Stadia should work." Adam's old-fashionedness extended to correct plurals. "And the boats are idiotic. Someone should have thought of that."
"Me, probably."
"You just did. I meant in St Louis. Sinking even one would mean double-digit casualties." He blinked. "And I'll stop venting. Handset's from my study. Darryl's got a checklist of representatives arriving safely, and governors. Caroline, Penny, and crews are already there."
"Right." I glanced out of the window. "Ramona turning in, a Benny's van behind. I'll defend a tuna and sweetcorn, but I'd make it a quick shower."
"I'm gone."
And he was, at a wolf-trot, so I headed down and, after a word with Darryl, briefly out. Those of the Freed coming on four legs had already changed, and their wolves enjoyed coach travel, so it was something of a sight as Ramona pulled up. She grumbled about the damage wolf-claws did to her nice leather upholstery, but wolves using seat-backs to avoid the jam in the aisle was a small price for their cheer as they spilled out, two-legged packmates following more decorously. They were happy to tote Benny's boxes, and as we flooded back into hall and kitchen the smells brought everyone in short order, Adam in a power suit that wasn't hurt by the Glock on his belt and slicked-back hair.
I wasn't the only magic-user eating against possible power drain, and despite nerves and disinclination to be heavy-stomached extra slices went down fast enough. Between two with decent amounts of pepperoni I choked down high-cal emergency rations Adam had rustled up from the SEALs, a cross between Datrex and Grizzly Bear bars that got in even more calories with very little taste except disguising sugar. It was impressive chemical engineering, but they weren't going to offer Benny any competition at all.
Then it was time to brief, and even with the four-legged sitting neatly Adam's study was crowded, so I didn't summon Skuffles, who knew it all anyway. Frank and Rachel were patched in from Philly, Jeremiah and Ros from Lexington, with wolves who'd accompany them. There were surprised looks at the numbers from Secret Service guys in St Louis, then a cooler sweep of appraising eyes, and I took a breath, seeing Caroline, Penny, and crews present as asked, despite limitations it imposed.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your time. There are five things. First, Dwayne and Al, those three seconds, please. Second, logistics, and that's Adam's department."
"Ladies and Gentlemen. Jesse and I are coming, as is Warren Smith, while Frank and Rachel Lafferty, Jeremiah and Ros Stourbridge, and Irpa Thorsden will join the principals before we arrive. Secret Service, you have the perimeter, and that's your business. Ramona Velasquez and the Freed Pack, on two legs and four, will be on the crowd, watching and scenting to supplement Tom Yearman's wolves and the PD. Jesse's usual trio of Dan and the Joes are on her, reinforced by Zee and Tad Adelbertsmiter. David and his crew are in trios, on me and Mercy, who will also have Brent and Jill. Darryl, Auriele, and Joel are on Frank and Rachel. Jeremiah and Ros have these three wolves from their pack, on two legs, and Irpa will have another troll, glamoured human. Clear?"
"Clear, Mr Hauptman." The senior agent had been jotting and recited it back to Adam. "That's a lot of people with guns if any shooting starts."
"Tell me, Agent. But we know what we're doing. Mercy?"
"Don't assume guns only, Agent. There are blades and magic too. Moving on, three, despite what should be very good reasons for nothing untoward to happen, my gut is telling me something will. Bottom line, we expect to be attacked at some point today, and it has nothing to do with Ol' Manitou River — it's those shots fired last week. The most probable time is leaving Gateway Park or the motorcade. If it happens, the attack will trigger a magical defence you will all experience, time dilation. Extending from me and the cloak, time will run at a fraction of normal for those around me, but within that zone you can move at your own speed. The attackers will remain at whatever their top normal speed is, but we will have time on our side by a ratio, though I don't know exactly what. Therefore, four, Secret Service agents, if you become aware you're in a zone of time dilation and hear me or Adam give an order telling you what to target, do it fast and don't try double-guessing our priorities — there will be magical threat assessment involved you can't duplicate. Clear?"
The senior agent thought about it. "I can accept that, Ms Hauptman, if this time dilation is for real. It has not been in any brief."
"Too right, Agent. And it isn't something you demonstrate or practice — very serious magic is involved. But I assure you it is real, and the second I know an attack is coming I will start to extend it. When it reaches you everything outside will look half-frozen in slow motion. But by then Adam and I will have been inside it for real-time tenths that will subjectively be whole seconds, so we will be able to make a full, or fuller, assessment, of who and what is coming at us. Yes?"
"Yes. That makes sense, for some value of sense. You imply a ratio of … slow to normal time that's in … double digits?"
"At least, and I'll try for more, Agent, but the energy drain is very heavy. And Al, Dwayne, I have no idea what the effect on your cameras will be, but if it happens max the frames per second."
They agreed, giving me looks. So did Caroline, Penny, Vince, and Don.
"Finally, five, assuming it happens and we have a volley of shots and other action, you are expecting magical stuff — avatars shifting, Joel as tibicena, Skuffles, trolls and Zee dropping glamour. PD and NPS guys are not. I've nothing against any of them but I don't know them, so as soon as shooting and whatever stops, assuming no-one's down, please check anyone carrying you can see and make sure they don't go idiot pop just because someone's suddenly a bear, or seven-foot-tall with a sword, or a twenty-foot troll plus club. Those are all on our side. Ramona, that's for you and the Freed as well — you've got the speed to disarm if necessary. And along the same lines, there is establishing a secure perimeter around any scene that's left, and keeping the crowd calm. Don't hesitate to use an Alpha roar, or dominance. Or trolls, if willing — they get people's attention well."
"You could say, Mercy. Points taken."
"Then that's it, for me. Everyone's clear on logistics, that if there's an attack time dilation means taking targeting orders from me or Adam, and that we need to check any PD or NPS … mis-reactions. Yes?"
Everyone was, and after we'd checked the GPS co-ords and photo the NPS had sent, we signed off. When I'd told David's crew, Dan, and the Joes they had one-day, two-way Underhill permits I'd done safety drills, but repeated them for everyone, adding that we might have to wait in the Garden of Manannán's Death.
"I'm not going to explain, but if anyone wants to say anything about any fountain, statue, or duckpond you might see there, wait until you know I'm in a very mellow mood. Let's go."
Wolves and others blinked, but started organising themselves under Adam's direction, and as I burned off a little tension in a coyote shake the senior agent eyed me.
"Good briefing, Ms Hauptman, but you do keep pulling rabbits out of hats. Slow time is useful for a bodyguard. Transmission delay in case a vampire translocating in is judging its move from TV?"
"Yup."
"Could work more than one way."
"Yeah. But we're expecting them to be off, and Bonarata's not good at planning for mistakes. It's one more factor we know about and he probably won't. Going up against anyone that powerful you play all the odds you can."
"Right." He considered me. "You've got serious spine, Ms Hauptman. Your husband and daughter too. Good luck."
"Thanks, agent. We need all we can get."
I sent messages to Zee, Irpa, and Coyote, and tallied the crowd. The cloak had to expand to let everyone get hands or mouths on hem, but it was used to that and let me know when we were set. Mindful of Jesse as well as Underhill newbies I went more formal than I usually was these days to ask it to open a way to the place of its making for — I named everyone — all passing through with the let of its maker, and gave a count before we took the three steps.
The Garden once again afforded a large enough clearing for everyone, and there was still no sign of excavations, but I'd been right about spannungsbogen, tension within fountain and statue sky-high. It wasn't helped by Zee and Tad staring, and Underhill was there with Edythe, so I swiftly named first-timers, receiving a nod before Edythe took over.
"Mercedes Elf-friend, I have had no clear vision, but some hours ago, by Overhill time, a great disturbance began in the near future. Something happens soon that has deep effects across a very broad front."
"I am glad to hear it, Edythe. Today soon?"
"I believe so, but cannot aver it."
"Right. Is there anything you can judge from long experience?"
"Without a vision there is only awareness of an imminent … vortex, you might say. A decision-point where things end and begin. It might be anything. But awareness was swift when it came, which means it affects me, and when there is an obvious candidate …"
I was certainly being one of those, and nodded.
"Right. If you will, Edythe, without fear or favour, and acknowledging all impossible uncertainties, your best guess?"
Her gaze narrowed as she heard that impossible. "A guess, then, and no more. Your commitment has not changed, so it is not you, but it may be the Undead have committed, in some way."
Bonarata had to have been a busy vamp, and probably hadn't translocated in with much time to spare. Check the site, and decide it would do. It made sense, and wasn't the only evidence.
"That rings for me, Edythe. Underhill, may I ask when the tension around here jacked up to its present level?"
"Ah. I thought you would sense it. And yes, by Overhill time, it might be when Edythe became aware of her vortex." She gestured to an opening arch. "But here are Irpa and the others."
"Surprise."
"What is, Mercy? And woo! That incomplete triad has some fizz going."
"You bet." I waited until Frank, Rachel, Jeremiah, and Ros plus their wolves had emerged. "Everyone, we are even more probably on for an attack today. Edythe says time hits a vortex very soon, and Underhill says the would-be triad's fizz ratcheted up about the same time. Two big magical ducks have lined up with my gut certainty, so it's when not if."
"Right. What is it with you and ducks, Mercy?"
I grinned. "Ask the pond when it's there. You're staying Ms Thorsden?"
"Have to campaigning, but Vanna's coming as Ms Anonymous. She'll be here any time, and you ought to meet."
"OK. Have Jeremiah's wolves been named to you, Underhill?"
"They have, Mercedes. I always know whom I contain, but I appreciate your courtesy."
Edythe gave me a look, deducing, I thought, that ap Lugh might not, but for once I gave her one right back, and she said nothing. Fortunately, Vanna soon turned up by arch, and in a sensible dress and flats, with an oversize bag from which a full clipboard peeked, looked every inch the efficient PA. It meant more introductions, but I left it to Irpa to explain the fizz and rising certainty, and took leave of Edythe and Underhill. Giving the cloak GPS co-ords still struck me as half-way silly, however it worked, and the familiar thought was a comfort as we took those next three steps. Whether the cloak had planned some distracting humour or just liked the NPS I wasn't sure, but with the second step I became aware the arch before me had the same weighted-catenary curve as the bigger steel one it was close to. I sent amused thanks, and the cloak gusted roses as we emerged into a circle of Secret Service agents. Tom Yearman, the St Louis PD captain and the NPS guy were there, a photographer, and Penny and Caroline with crews, on different sides. There was barely room for our numbers and cameras had to scoot backward, but as soon as Adam and I did wolf introductions Tom took Ramona and the Freed, pointing out where his wolves were, and I got a clearer sense of the place.
We were sixty-some yards inland of the Arch, north of the entrance to the underground visitor centre. That was closed, like the Arch stairs and elevators, but people were all around. Sturdy cordons, with a police and wolf line now supplemented by the Freed, were keeping a corridor twenty yards across that ran more than halfway to the line of the Gateway Arch before cordons angled north and south to curve around the legs of the Arch down to the river. Crowds stretched as far as I could see, a solid mass of faces making a lot of noise. Within the wider clear area before the Arch a gaggle of governors waited, representatives forming their own phalanx with some Army Engineers in dress uniform. There was also, after all, a huddle of rivals, divided by party but in more sympathy with one another than anyone else, hanging in awkward lobes around the senior senators in each camp. Closer, Missouri was waiting with the Mayor, Coyote in best buckskin beside him, and as soon as I'd shaken hands with the PD Captain, who looked at guns and daggers but said only he was with me as liaison, and checked the NPS guy was happy with his photos, we went to say hello.
I wouldn't have bet a red cent on Coyote not having said something to goose Missouri and the Mayor, but he was being helpful, his easy greeting to Jesse forestalling any retreat into formality. I named principals, including Zee, officially representing Gray Lords, but let guards begin whatever slide into peripheral anonymity they could manage. Al and Dwayne knew to keep them as out of shot as possible, and had juicier images available, because Frank, Warren, Irpa, and Jeremiah all kicked Missouri's political senses right back in, and preternaturals were letting age show in their eyes. Nor did I let him settle, feeling Adam's amusement and seeing Ros's and Rachel's as I shifted register.
"How are your fellow governors doing?"
"Ah … well enough, I dare say, Ms Hauptman. The Columbia Basin group are being … very helpful, irrespective of … affiliation. We were … surprised by the, um, representatives you have selected."
"By positive discrimination, you mean?"
"Ah … yes, frankly."
"Frankly's always good with me, sir. And yeah, presenting an Ol' Manitou River of colour with a bunch of Anglos who shy from thinking of the Mississippi Basin's history didn't seem wise. More importantly, you're aware of the representatives' geographical range and connections to the lives of the river?"
"Ah … yes." Those Ahs could get to annoy me, but he was trying. "That logic is clear. Your staffwork is impressive."
"Networks as much as staff on that one, sir. But I am as deadly serious about river freight as about pollution and bison." He blinked. "You'll be central in the WashU conferences, so we should talk about that soon. You closed the river to corral those tourist boats?"
"Ah … yes, I did. Mr Yearman was very clear that crowding a great manitou was not a good idea."
"Un huh. Did commercial traffic squawk much?"
I finally got a smile.
"Less than I expected. It also made the Secret Service much happier."
"I bet. But note that less, hey? For my money, they get that they want Ol' Manitou River as a friend. Safety, S&R, flood warnings, piloting — a lot of stuff in this for them. And St Louis is a natural hub for river business, with Cairo and New Orleans. You could talk to Illinois and Louisiana about that. Shall we head on down?"
The nudge towards opportunistic politics settled him and the Mayor a bit, and their uncertainty over what would be happening meant they were happy to defer to me. All the waiting groups were looking at me anyway, so when we were close enough to be heard without having to shout I drifted to a halt, Dwayne staying on me while Al went wider.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. Assuming most of you will consent to be read by Ol' Manitou River, it's going to be a day of ever so many introductions. Starting with a bunch more is Pelion on Ossa, and lots of you already know one another, as your … self-sorting indicates, so how about mingling? Representatives, slate candidates, make yourselves known to your state governors, while I say hello to those new to me? Thanks."
Frank, Rachel, Jeremiah, and Ros were primed to move towards governors, Coyote's summons pulled First People among representatives, and the rest followed. I saw the premiers of BC and Alberta bringing Saskatchewan, and angled towards them, shaking hands and taking them to meet Engineers — the Chief, his principal Deputy, and the Deputy Commanding General for Civil and Emergency Ops. I'd thought the Man had been exaggerating, but they really were happy I'd included them, and if anyone could imagine what having the river on our side might practically mean, they could. They'd been with representatives because as soon as they'd seen the lists I'd given the Secret Service they'd grokked it geographically and through occupations, and as Civil and Emergency Ops was African-American grokked ethnicity too, and been granted permission to be read by the Man. Better still, though their respect for and curiosity about me and Jesse were right there, they were sharply interested in Adam, as a vet, Warren, for his history, and Irpa, for bridges she had built and ideas about protecting them from earthquakes. The Canadians were into that, and I made sure to speak to Saskatchewan, pointing out to all three that their positions outside US politics and history were a valuable resource for the new Basin group, before Adam, Jesse, and I slid away to meet governors, the PD Captain tagging along.
My rivals were still mostly huddled. A couple of younger female outsiders excluded from the DC show had been brave and stepped out to talk to representatives, but the rest were still shooting themselves in the feet by looking so marginalised. Really, though, was that my problem? as I remarked to an appreciative Washington and Oregon while they steered us through their peers. I'd put the question about being read to governors, and they could do the political calculus, but I offered reassurances about it being painless and Medicine Wolf's impeccable record in discretion. Adam and Jesse backed me, Adam adding that it had helped him with war memories, and Jesse how kind it had been and how much she was looking forward to meeting a second great manitou. With at least one camera always on us those were also reassurances for the public, as was news of the Man's permission regarding the Corps of Engineers officers.
"They already think Basin-size," I told New York and Georgia, "and are up the sharp end with levees south of Cairo. I didn't ask the President to allow it without good reason."
"You instigated the idea?" New York gave me a speculative look. "You do push buttons, Ms Hauptman, don't you just? I'm pretty marginal here, with just that little bit of the Allegheny in the Mississippi Basin. The Carolinas too, and Michigan. What sort of role do you see us playing?"
"Up to you, sir, but ideally a helpful one. Canadian premiers and for the Colorado group Mexican governors offer extra-national perspective. You have a different kind of distance, yet that bit of the Allegheny means you're in on any or all of flood control, dam removal, hydropower, and river freight. And for you, sir" — I turned to Georgia — "we are radically recontextualising that water war you and Tennessee have been having for ever. All sorts of opportunities. Dam demolition will mean sorting out drowned thalwegs, and we are very wasteful people — lots of slack to take up if we really set minds to it, controlling usage and adding recycling. As we need way better filtration of discharge, limiting extraction will also be a long-term cost-saver."
The water war was a sure route to his heart, and he knew what I meant about thalwegs, because if the law says a state line is the median navigable line of a river, and the river gets drowned in an artificial lake, it takes more than GPS and sonar to sort out where that border runs. We left him explaining to New York and bagged the rest of the governors as swiftly as we could, greeting representatives along the way, and finding all the caution and uncertainty you'd expect with a rising sense of excitement. They were beginning to fire ideas at one another, sparked by new connections and juxtapositions, and messages about global audience figures didn't hurt. They were also aware I was manipulating the blocking of a world-stage, and with only my rivals to go I made a point of seeking out the two women with an offered hand. With a deep breath one began to apologise for her party's silence and her own, and I held up a hand.
"Not on either of you, ma'am. You weren't part of that DC circus, and I know of no insult you've offered. Your silences were too politic, but I understand, and you're sensible enough to have mingled as asked, so thank you. First impressions?"
"A lot of interesting people who think the world of you, Ms Hauptman. You hosted them all to be read by Medicine Wolf?"
"Arranged, yes, hosted, no, though their needs were looked to. It ensured Medicine Wolf could brief Ol' Manitou River and gave them experience of a great manitou before they get more on global TV."
"Yes, I realised that. You're also driving home the racial point. Points."
"Yup. No burking it this time, but today it's mutely explicit, if that makes sense. Tomorrow at Sacajawea State Park I'll address it directly, because once I do it's a campaign issue, however it's way bigger than anyone's campaign." I shrugged. "Spills over, I know, but I'm trying to observe the distinction."
"I've noticed, Ms Hauptman. But my, ah, party colleagues remain …"
"In denial?" I asked cheerfully. "Deep water? A blue funk? Let's go find out."
Adam and Jesse swept them along, and with all my rivals' eyes on me, making it easy, I gave them a soulful survey amid deepening silence.
"Well, gentlemen, you do all look very dull dogs, standing about in your collective sulk, but we need to get on so I'll ask your sensible colleagues here to make introductions, east to west. Be aware my willingness to shake hands does not mean your various kneejerk and just jerk insults are forgiven or forgotten. Your silence over shots fired at our house also means I am still looking for things to drop you all in from as great a height as I can manage. But Ol' Manitou River is waiting, so, going this way, I'm Mercy Hauptman, Elf-friend and Troll-friend, among other things. My husband and mate, Adam. Our daughter, Jesse. And" — I pointed with Manannán's Bane — "my not-exactly but very helpful father, Coyote."
He solemnly held up a hand. "How, notably-foolish-even-for-the-Beltway palefaces."
My self-naming, as if they needed it, caused murmuring, and Coyote's deadpan joke triggered laughter. I gave him a daughterly look.
"Now, now."
There was more laughter that didn't much offset a truly unpleasant experience. They were all feeling my scorn and returned a furious, fearfully fretting dislike. More than one reminded me of Paul's addiction to bigotries and use of them as psychic fuel, and their grips were mostly weak, though one senior senator had a reputation as a crusher, and tried it. I squeezed back hard enough to surprise him.
"Trying to crush my hand, Senator? How … original. I can't say better luck next time, but you'll be shaking Adam's hand in a moment, and he can benchpress four times his own weight."
He let go with alacrity, and Adam switched Jesse in for a perfunctory shake before exerting real pressure and speaking in a low growl.
"Politics means I let insults to Mercy pass, Senator. Doesn't mean I forgive them, the let does not extend to assaults, and you now have no leeway whatever. Nor does your federal rank give you any immunity. Ask your old pal Heuter."
Al lingered on the senator's shocked face as we passed on without another glance, Caroline murmuring a comment about research showing how many men used grip-strength to intimidate smaller men and women. After a beat while I shook the next hand, she added that not realising by now that machismo didn't work on me seemed a further indicator of really not having read the memo, and I shot her a laughing glance. The other senior senator was wiser, apologising for failing to condemn the shots but blaming the National Committee, and I nodded.
"Late and weak, senator, but better than nothing, so thank you."
He did better with Jesse, offering congratulations pleasantly. And we were done. Eyes were still on me, and when I gave Manannán's Bane a twirl silence was swift.
"Thank you, everyone. Perhaps you'd all now move to the river-steps. Preternatural and local emissaries with me, Basin governors and other politicians to my left, representatives to my right."
Coyote drifted up as I waved to crowds, and saw Jesse do the same for kiddos on adult shoulders.
"Those rivals really are a dopey lot."
His voice was low enough to be private, and I nodded.
"And nasty with it. The women are OK. All set?"
"Yes. The manitou appreciates the absence of boats." He grinned. "I was hoping someone might fall overboard so it could rescue them, but it's not to be."
"Happily. And no pushing anyone in."
"No River Devil to find, so no need, riparian daughter. I won't do it just for fun, you know."
I gave him a dirty look, and Jesse gave him a swift prod.
"Behave, Gramps."
"It's a distraction, Graught. She'd only fret about something else."
"Well, find a different one."
We came around the line of café buildings along the top of the river steps and the expanse of great brown river lay before us, clustered boats up- and downstream indicating the limits of the closed zone. Jesse hadn't seen it before in person, and whistled.
"OK. Seriously big. And muddy. Googlemaps isn't so good with things like that."
"About six-fifty yards wide, Jesse, and two hundred thousand plus cubic feet per second, which more than doubles at the Ohio confluence."
"Just call it a lot of water, Graught."
"Instead of Ol' Manitou River?"
He laughed, ruffling her hair, and Adam and I shared the thought that Coyote's distractions had more than one target. The crowds were solid on both sides, filling Sullivan Boulevard, save a strip fifty yards wide in front of the arch, and I gave more waves as we went down to the middle of the uppermost landing. Preternaturals formed up, and Zee slid forward to shift role to Fae emissary. He'd resume bodyguarding afterwards, and the apparent subordination amused him, probably for the same reason he used maximally unglamorous glamour, though it might also be another miscue for Bonarata. Governors and representatives assembled without too much jostling for position, Senator Stupid loudly complaining that he should have been consulted about arrangements. A degree of solemnity settled in as the tableau was completed, talk ebbed among the crowds, and I gave Coyote a nod.
He went coyote-headed, and slowly stepped down to the middle landing before beginning a shuffling, foot-sliding dance accompanied by more of those noises you can't make with either human or coyote voices — part drone, part spirit incantation, and part who knew what? It started at a slow tempo that increased over a minute before he spun to face out over the river, arms wide, and howled, a long pure note that resonated in the air. And Ol' Man River just stopped rolling along.