Chapter Forty-Nine

There were a lot of fae in the Garden of Manannán's Death, clustered round fountain and statue, and a buzz of conversation that died as they felt us enter, but I ignored them because there was also an arch amid roses through which Zee's forge was visible. He was pouring charcoal while Tad worked a wooden lever controlling the bellows. Underhill stood by the arch, watching, and turned with a warm smile, skipping forward.

"Mercedes Elf-friend." The others got nods, with a quizzical look at Grizzly Jill and the clothing Brent carried, but she peered at me, rose eyes flickering, then at Skuffles. "I am very glad you and Skuffles survived, and you coped with my power well, but you have taken harm from the blackest witchcraft. Salt water has cleansed you, but I have a cordial to restore bruised magic and offer it freely, asking no return." Her formality softened. "It has no hidden dangers, on my word."

I trusted her, more or less, and my mouth still hurt, as well as my arms. "That sounds good, Underhill, and would make us glad. Bonarata's dust really did taste as unspeakable as you'd expect."

"Then drink, and be eased."

I hadn't seen the chased golden goblet appear in her hand, but took it with a smile, wondering if it was what ap Lugh drank, and did see a matching golden jug pop into her grip. Skuffles opened her mouth and as Underhill poured rotated dentition, swallowing gratefully. I sipped, tasting a flavour with chamomile, mint, green tea, and something smokier. The stinging in my mouth, like little ulcers though I knew there was nothing physical, swiftly eased, and I felt Adam relax. My arms still ached, but that was impact.

"That does feel better, Underhill. Does the flavour have a name?"

"No. You should come and see your Untenanted Duckpond."

"Let me check on Excalibur first?"

"She will be well, Mercedes, but do. I will wait."

"You don't mind?"

"Not in the least. A new bonding for that one is a fine thing."

I returned the goblet and took that under advisement, but Skuffles had trotted to the arch, peering through.

May we enter, Dark Smith?

"Ja. Come on in, wary of fire and edge."

A large metal bucket was heating, Excalibur sticking out at an angle, but Tad had stopped working the bellows. I was fascinated, and so were Adam, Jesse, and Brent. Even Jill peered through the arch, head swinging in the gloom. On the far side a doorway spilled light, but the forge was windowless and high-roofed. Two anvils of different sizes stood on one side, and a long work surface strewn with tools ran along the other, more hanging on the wall above — I recognised hammers, punches, files, and a wire-drawing plate, but others were beyond me. Neatly arrayed at one end were three swords in varying stages of completion, with a halberd that looked to lack only polish. Skuffles kept close beside me, tail tucked.

"What are we watching, Tad?"

"Dad's soaking her in heated oil, Jesse. Vegetable. He sees witchcraft better than me, and from what I picked up there's black magic, bits of Bonarata, and some other, even worse thing its glued to."

"From She of Livorno?"

"It must be, Mercy." Zee spoke without turning. "It is very old, half-fae, and stinks of the undead. This should not have been possible, and Gwyn ap Lugh should see it. The original spell was extreme, and Bonarata's theft strengthened it. Severed from him it is powerless, but obdurate."

"Mmm. Hot vegetable oil dissolves it?"

Tad nodded. "Dissolves organics, Mercy, and heat expansion helps crack it off. We'll do at least one more cycle and use a bronze scraper to make sure it's completely clean, then it's just drying and a proper polish with crushed peanut shells."

I blinked. "You polish swords with peanut shells?"

"If you're sensible. Fish scales work too, but smell worse."

"Eeuw." Jesse made a face. "Peanuts over fish it is. Why no windows?"

"You can't see the colour of hot metal in daylight, and it's colour plus sound and feel under the hammer you need to guide your hand."

"Bellows."

Tad went back to work, and after a moment Adam and I stepped out with Skuffles, leaving Brent watching Jesse. Jill gave me a very ursine stare, and I retrieved the clothing Brent carried. Underhill laughed, and a glade opened among the nearest roses. I set the clothes on a small bench it sported, and Jill gave us speaking looks before lumbering in. We turned, walking towards fountain and statue, and Underhill rubbed hands.

"You're going to adore this, Mercedes. I do. Clever Excalibur. And clever you. It's a much better answer than Merlin ever managed."

I was confused by that, but there was a distraction, because the crowd now included ap Lugh, Nemane, Baba Yaga, and The Dagda. I took a deep breath and smiled pleasantly.

"Ah, Gwyn ap Lugh, Gray Lords. Greetings. The Dark Smith believes you should see the stain Bonarata's stolen magic left on Excalibur. He's cleaning it in his forge." They all looked at me with a certain wariness. "I expect he could bring it out if the iron in there is a problem."

"Indeed. Greetings, Mercedes Elf-friend. Adam Hauptman. We are very glad of your success and safety, Mercedes."

"Not just mine, Gwyn ap Lugh. But do look at that stain, if you will. I'd like to have a conversation about some related matters once I've seen the new duckpond."

Ap Lugh sighed and Nemane glittered beady eyes at me.

"We did what we must, Daughter of Coyote."

"As do all, Nemane. You just didn't do all you should. But let's not go there yet. The last fragment of She of Livorno waits on you."

Curiosity flickered amid beadiness and she nodded curtly, ap Lugh and Baba Yaga following her to the arch. The Dagda considered me.

"I do not fit in the Dark Smith's forge, Mercedes Elf-friend, and do not sense witchcraft well anyway. This that you and Excalibur have wrought is much more interesting. Come and see."

He stood aside, and we went forward staring. Where fountain and statue had been points on a line, the new work made them equidistant points on a circle, a curving bank of roses behind it insisting on circle rather than triangle. The Untenanted Duckpond of Valorous Impossibility was duck-shaped alright, an adaptation of Audubon's fighting male eider, with its reared posture and half-spread wings but looking back, rather than striking forward. The duck itself was … painted? laid in micromosaic? somethinged onto the bottom, visible though crystal water, and plumage mixed the colours of Skuffles and Underhill's roses, but the eyes were a hot gold I knew from photos, and not entirely unaware. Webbed feet spread on fine sand, and over feathered shoulders and farther wing, receding with Audubon's exact perspective, water stretched to an unseen horizon, a square block of white stone rising from it a little way offshore. On it something black rested. My head spun for a moment, the cloak rustling satisfaction as Manannán's Bane warmed in my hand, and I knew, the magic becoming transparent to me. The access conditions were set, but didn't apply to me, and I looked at Underhill, knowing she knew.

"May I take a look?"

"Only you can, Mercedes."

"Excuse me a moment then, everyone. I'll just fetch that scabbard. Does it have a name, Underhill?"

"Ceulydd. It is potent but less aware than Excalibur."

"Good to know. I won't be a moment, I hope."

I thought about it, fighting dizziness as I imagined the plane of that sea, and at the right moment took a single step that should have dumped me in the duckpond but landed me on the block of stone, Ceulydd at my feet. I stooped to pick it up, assuring it Excalibur was well. Less aware seemed right, but so did courtesy, and I looked around. The beach the impossible duck stood on was at the base of steep cliffs, stretching away on both sides, and the other way I was ringed by a flat horizon. It wasn't Manannán's sea — no selkies swam in this fresh water where there would never be storms — but it was an echo, minus Manannán, and I'd not only duckponded him but pressed his echo into service, as Underhill had with the water of the fountain and ice of the statue. And it was well. It was a peaceful place where Excalibur would be safe between wielders, available only to the righteously needy with a sense of humour. The duck provided an aim for departure, and I imagined the Garden at right angles and leaned into another step that landed me beside Adam.

"How long?"

"A minute, maybe. Don't do that again, please, Mercy."

"No need." I kissed him, not caring who saw. "But once was necessary. Meet Ceulydd." I held the scabbard out, seeing complex designs in the stiff leather. "It stops bleeding from the wounds of edged weapons. I don't know about slugs, but that's worth a bunch. And the embroidery's really pretty."

He stared at Ceulydd, then at me. "If you say so, Mercy. Can you tell me what's going on?"

"This bit is the sword on the stone. That's what you meant about Merlin, isn't it, Underhill?"

"Surely. Being in stone does not suit any sword, Dana was a mistake — he was infatuated — and comatose kings are all very well but cannot prevent their swords being stolen. Excalibur at large without a true wielder once that werewolf dug her up has been a concern." She smiled up at us. "Merely finding a wielder would have been a pleasure, though there is no mere about Excalibur, but a true home at need is a splendid bonus." She cocked her head. "Even I would have a hard time retrieving anything from that rock without Mercedes's let, Adam Hauptman, and the access conditions she has set are hidden from any who cannot meet them."

"What fun's a riddle with an operating manual? I thought Uncle Mike could open a wager. The pot should be sizeable before a winner emerges."

Underhill clapped hands. "I will tell the book to inscribe the question. But here are Gwyn ap Lugh and the others. Do be gentle."

I gave her a look and she laughed, standing aside with a gesture as ap Lugh, Nemane, and Baba Yaga came to a halt facing me beside The Dagda, and Jesse, Brent, and Jill slipped round them, staring at the Duckpond. I met ap Lugh's expressionless look, then Nemane's black-eyed stare.

"Well, Nemane? It seems fae magic does not always need a fae body."

"Indeed. I was mistaken."

"Yet only in honest belief, Nemane, whatever you feared." She blinked, and I used the main gauche. "But you knew about the ghosts, didn't you?"

There was a tense silence before she drew herself up, eyes glittering. "What of it?"

"Only this. Why would you think I'd refuse to help them, had you asked?" I waited but there was no answer, and I sighed. "Stop me, any of you, if I err. You knew She of Livorno had been dismissed, and that Bonarata had taken some of her powers, including the magic of rejoining. You also knew about his unutterably vile predation on ghosts to reinforce it, and the resistance to staking. Someone tried it and died badly?"

"Yes." Baba Yaga sounded tired. "Several someones."

"I regret their loss. Continuing. He had immunity to sunlight, staking, and decapitation. Perhaps some to immolation as well, but I don't know if you knew that. Close contact with Joel's magmatic form didn't fire him up though it was charring flesh. And an invulnerable Undead is really not good. But Wulfe trailed his bait, and you came up with a cunning plan."

Ap Lugh looked both guilty and off-balance. "An unusual problem requires an unusual answer."

"Surely, Gwyn ap Lugh. And again, why would you think I would refuse to serve against Bonarata? The only answer I can see is because I like Stefan, and your collective revulsion at the Undead made you assume I'd be reluctant. And I am being very polite when I say that if so, you made a grave category error."

"Did we?" Nemane was cross at being caught out. "Your Undead Warrior has given you no aid."

I fought to keep gold from my eyes. "Do you realise, Nemane, that I could truthfully call that a lie? Stefan told me about the invulnerability to staking. And I would never ask him to fight Bonarata directly — he was vulnerable to the most potent Undead in ways I am not. Nor you. To call him mine is also perilously close to falsehood for a Gray Lord speaking in this garden. You should be more careful."

She didn't like it but I was right, and The Dagda's hand rested on her shoulder.

"Yes. Not yours. His own. Or someone's."

"His own, Nemane. And I would never refuse to help ghosts. But the point is that the balance between us, mediated by Underhill, is that of friends, who do not weight every scruple of their dealings for error or advantage, nor wilfully seek to deceive, sending one another into peril incompletely warned." I held up a hand as mouths opened. "Stefan's words were more honest than your silences. Tell me of the ghosts, Nemane. I sent them onwards, and will dream of them."

Her hand came up to rest over The Dagda's, and her voice lost its edge.

"Truth. Very well. Faerie queens are predators, as are black wizards. She of Livorno predated on her progenitors, and enslaved their spirits as ghosts. I believe she fused fae enchantment, such as queens use, with the call of ghost to ghost, and what drew her to the Undead was their powers of mental coercion and enforced infatuation. Certainly she was then able to bind ghosts of those she killed by feeding, and because that power was built around her mother's it had a fae tenacity of true life."

"That I know. It had light within." That shocked them. "I saw it, sickly and false yet light still, but cannot analyse it. Irpa?"

"I have never seen the like, Mercy, but light and Undead black witchcraft must eat at one another. Then you hit it with a lot of magic and knocked something out of it. That was ghosts?"

"Yes. Did you see the two spark-jets?"

"We both did, Mercy." Vanna leaned in. "The nearer to you was more fae, though ill and vile. The farther was from the braid of ghosts?"

"Un huh. I sent avatar magic down Excalibur's fuller. The sick light was in what was left, and it was fae, not Undeadness." I lost the battle with my eyes and rage spiked. "So why did any Gray Lord think I'd be a better bet when ignorant? And how could any make such a profound mistake?" I hauled it back in, then looked at Gwyn ap Lugh. "Is there any true answer, besides nature and ingrained habit?"

There was a silence, Adam holding my hand tightly and Jesse resting a hand on my shoulder, before ap Lugh shrugged his elegant shrug.

"Not really, Mercedes. Underhill counselled openness but it comes hard to us. Stefan Uccello rankled for many, Manannán for some, your emergence as a power for more, to whom you were as unknown as you are new under the sun. I cannot say I do not understand. Neither can I say you have not been wronged, when we are all already perilously in your debt, nor deny that some saw … advantage in increasing the risks you would face. I did what I could, with Edythe and Baba Yaga, and Underhill."

"And so gave yourself away, Gwyn ap Lugh. Fae help so freely offered bespoke a grave sense of debt."

He shrugged again. "And the graver now you have … exceeded anyone's expectations save perhaps your own."

"Oh, those too, Gwyn ap Lugh. So there is a debt owing to me?"

"None can deny it. That which the Dark Smith has just dissolved and burned was the last of a great evil that has shamed us these many millennia, and the deed is yours."

"Everyone keeps saying that, Gwyn ap Lugh, but the deed is not mine alone, by any accounting. Think about that, if you will. And know I will hold no marker on the Fae, nor any fae, now or ever, for such is not the Path of Mercy. Yet you acknowledge a debt, so will you hear now the geas I will lay upon all who are or become Gray Lords, in perpetual discharge of that debt, leaving us mutually outbalancing ourselves?"

I heard Jill mutter under her breath Not boring is good, remember. Then ap Lugh stood straight, all Gray Lords with him.

"To lay such a geas upon us, discharging all debt, is just, Mercedes Elf-friend and Troll-friend. Speak as you will."

There was a lot of breath-holding, but my rage had dissipated and I'd been thinking about this one for a while.

"Within friendship, Gwyn ap Lugh and all Gray Lords, matters of debt and geas are simple. I would not punish but rebuke and reform you, as we have the Undead." They could chew on that. "So my geas is simply this."

Irpa hadn't been wrong about the power I had in that moment, and my voice held … I'll call it duck-power, the triad's absolute rightness.

"You will swear that you will never again seek to deceive me or mine, by omission or commission, and further, that on each century's anniversary, by Overhill time, of this day of Bonarata's dismissal, all Gray Lords will gather around the Untenanted Duckpond of Valorous Impossibility to break bread together and with sincerity discuss the mistakes each has made since the last gathering, considering how to avoid repeating them." Will you accept this geas?"

"I will, Mercedes." Underhill was smiling. "You do not disappoint, Elf-friend. And I will bake bread to break for these dinners. It will be quite the tradition." She eyed Gray Lords. "Bear in mind that Mercedes Elf-friend could justly have specified we dine in the Untenanted Duckpond, and where would we be then? You ignored me, at your peril, yet escape with no more than a command to be honest and a hundred-year dinner with some searching of consciences. Count yourselves uncommonly fortunate Mercy is so very surprising."

Quite what they made of that was moot, but with Underhill tapping a dainty foot they weren't going to argue, even Nemane swearing without demur, however she shot me another beady glance or three. The battle and fertility types weren't happy either, but I gave ap Lugh a smile.

"Isn't mutual outbalancing a fine thing, Gwyn ap Lugh? Apropos of which, admitting no obligation, I offer simple apology for not asking your let for extra humans to pass through the Garden today before I secured Underhill's. Annoying, isn't it?"

To my relief he only stared for a second before smiling ruefully.

"And yet I am left glad it was so very calculated an annoyance, Mercedes. Your aim is precise."

"Coyotes try. And I believe we are done here, so if Excalibur's clean and dry I must get back to Gateway Park."

"Indeed, though only minutes have passed Overhill since you arrived. And you are yet hungry, I deem, for you spent much power in your deed."

'I am, Gwyn ap Lugh, but I will not sate my hunger Underhill."

"Nor would I expect it. A delivery of Benny's best, to the parking lot of the Basilica, in fifteen Overhill minutes?"

The order must already have been placed, and that spoke to another layer of meanings and warnings. Or peace offerings. He was Master Underhill, and would have known who passed through even without Edythe telling him. And what Ben called a score draw in soccer was an acceptable result against any fae, never mind a bunch of Gray Lords.

"That would be good, Gwyn ap Lugh, but make it twenty minutes, if you will. Should I expect you at the debate?"

"I think not, Mercedes. Television is close enough, just now, I believe."

"Un huh." Abruptly I'd had enough of … faeness covered it. So had Adam and Jesse. And Jill, who did not think Underhill counted as beneath the sky, and would like to get back to a real one. "Let's call it a good day for everyone, then, even the Undead, and I'll get back to a different set of problems incurred in dismissing Bonarata. Who knows how it'll go, but a Fae statement might be called for."

"That we can manage, Mercedes Elf-friend."

"Glad to hear it, Gwyn ap Lugh. Farewell all. I'll see you around."

Other fae thronging the Garden were silent, parting without a word, but Uncle Mike had joined Zee and Tad in the forge, watching Tad wield peanut shells, and looked round as we paused at the arch.

"All honour to you, lass." He gave a warmer smile that his usual stage-Irish grin. "I wish there'd been time to run a book on what your geas would be. House would've taken the pot. And here you go."

He gave me an envelope I knew contained $870, and passed to Jesse.

"Stash that, please. We'll open a Duckpond Fund. What I'd really like to see, Uncle Mike, is the losing suggestions. And Underhill has asked your Book of Wagers to inscribe a new question where the House has a good chance of the pot. I hope that's not a problem."

"Not at all, Mercy. The Book doesn't travel well, though, and you visiting will be a lot of excitement for a small bar."

"I expect it will, Uncle Mike, but you might have to get used to a Secret Service detail. All else aside, I need to meet Wulfe somewhere. You could have a happy hour."

Zee laughed without looking round. "He is more likely to double his prices in celebration than halve them, Mercy. And Excalibur tells me you and she have made her a new refuge when she is between wielders. I will not speak thanks in my forge, but you make me very glad."

"Happy to do so, Zee. Excalibur and the cloak did the work. You should take a look. For a broadsword and flower garment they do a really extraordinary magical duckpond."

Zee and Uncle Mike looked at one another, and Uncle Mike shook his head.

"Can't argue with that, Loan, however you parse it. And wouldn't Manannán have his seaweed in a stew if he could see himself now? It's a righteous making."

"Three thoughts to treasure." Zee was very cheerful. "You have Ceulydd, I see. Where had she got to?"

"The duckpond." He blinked, and I grinned. "You'll see. She has ties, but the belt on this skirt's a bit thin for the weight."

"With Excalibur sheathed they will look after themselves, Mercy, and you will not feel their weight. Tad?"

"All sorted, Dad."

He wiped Excalibur's blade one last time, an unmarred and gleaming length, and held it out, gripping the guard. The weight was again perfect in my hand, and though I had to stretch the blade slid home into Ceulydd easily. Adam held the Glock as I undid the belt, removed Zee's dagger for Adam to pocket, and added a broadsword to my armoury. Carnwennan snuggled up, and the cloak adjusted itself. Adam was predictably admiring, but it felt superbly right, and I let the feeling settle for a moment.

"This will take some getting used to. But meanwhile, Ol' Manitou River — tick. Vamps — tick. Fae — tick. Let's go deal with humans."