“Has he got something to do with these murders? Just today, I saw the news—”
He waved her inquiry away. “You don’t need to know about any of that, my dear,” he said. “But if you’re at risk—”
“I’m not. I’m not. At least be reassured about that.” “So you know all about it?”
“Yes,” he said heavily. “I know a little something. And so does Dowd. In fact, he knows more about this whole situation than you and I put together.”
She wondered about this. Did Dowd know about the prisoner behind the wall, for instance, or was that a secret she had entirely to herself? If so, perhaps she’d be wise to keep it that way. When so many players in this game had information she lacked, sharing anything—even with Oscar—might weaken her position; perhaps threaten her life. Some part of her nature not susceptible to the blandishments of luxury or the need for love was lodged behind that wall with the woman she’d woken. She would leave it there, safe in the darkness. The rest—anything else she knew—she’d share.
“You’re not the only one who crosses over,” she said. “A friend of mine went.”
“Really?” he said. “Who?”
“His name’s Gentle. Actually, his real name’s Za-charias. John Furie Zacharias. Charlie knew him a little.”
“Charlie. . . .” Oscar shook his head. “Poor Charlie.” Then he said, “Tell me about Gentle.”
“It’s complicated,” she said. “When I left Charlie he got very vengeful. He hired somebody to kill me. . ..”
She went on to tell Oscar about the murder attempt in New York and Gentle’s later intervention; then about the events of New Year’s Eve. As she related this she had the distinct impression that at least some of what she was telling him he already knew, a suspicion confirmed when she’d finished her description of Gentle’s removal from this Dominion.
“The mystif took him?” he said. “My God, that’s a risk!”
“What’s a mystif?” she asked.
“A very rare creature indeed. One would be born into the Eurhetemec tribe once in a generation. They’re reputedly extraordinary lovers. As I understand it, they have no sexual identity, except as a function of their partner’s desire.”
“That sounds like Gentle’s idea of paradise.”
“As long as you know what you want,” Oscar said. “If you don’t I daresay it could get very confusing.”
She laughed. “He knows what he wants, believe me.”
“You speak from experience?”
“Bitter experience.”
“He may have bitten off more than he can chew, so to speak, keeping the company of a mystif. My friend in Yzordderrex—Peccable—had a mistress for a while who’d been a madam. She’d had a very plush establishment in Patashoqua, and she and I got on famously. She kept telling me I should become a white slaver and bring her girls from the Fifth, so she could start a new business in Yzordderrex.
She reckoned we’d have made a fortune. We never did it, of course. But we both enjoyed talking about things venereal. It’s a pity that word’s so tainted, isn’t it? You say venereal, and people immediately think of disease, instead of Venus. . . .” He paused, seeming to have lost his way, then said, “Anyway, she told me once that she’d employed a mystif for a while in her bordello, and it caused her no end of problems. She’d almost had to close her place, because of the reputation she got. You’d think a creature like that would make the ultimate whore, wouldn’t you? But apparently a lot of customers just didn’t want to see their desires made flesh.” He watched her as he spoke, a smile playing around his lips. “I can’t imagine why.”
“Maybe they were afraid of what they were.”
“You’d consider that foolish, I assume.”
“Yes, of course. What you are, you are.”
“That’s a hard philosophy to live up to.”
“No harder than running away.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve thought about running away quite a lot of late. Disappearing forever.”
“Really?” she said, trying to stifle any show of agitation. “Why?”
“Too many birds coming home to roost.”
“But you’re staying?”
“I vacillate. England’s so pleasant in the spring. And I’d miss the cricket in the summer months.”