Thalia counted five guns and twelve throwing knives. “How many manticores are you expecting?”
“This outfit”—Aristides gave a little shrug of his shoulders so all the weaponry shivered menacingly—“is just for daytime.”
Thalia said, “You have a lot of experience in this line of work.”
“I have, yes.” Aristides stood a little taller. “I killed my first manticore when I was fifteen. That made me a Skinner, but I became the Skinner for Manhattan and its boroughs two years ago. I went up for it the time before that, but they chose the mayor’s nephew instead. He got killed in the Bronx in 1903. After that, they picked me for the job.”
Thalia asked, “What’s the difference between a Skinner and the Skinner?”
Aristides smiled. “The manticore that attacked you outside looked like a man at first because that’s the shape they Trade to. A Skinner makes the manticore Trade. Anyone can call himself—” With a glance toward Thalia and then Nell, Aristides added, “— or herself, as the case may be—a Skinner the first time they kill a manticore on purpose. The Skinner, on the other hand, has to take responsibility for any manticores in his range. He—or she—has to manage any freelance Skinners on the job, lest they muck things up. He has to talk politely to the mayor and the chief of police upon any manticore topic they’d like to discuss. He has to be brisk with the newspaper reporters—lie to them sometimes, even.”
Nell looked intrigued. “Can women truly be Skinners?”
Aristides nodded. “There have always been women who were Skinners, yes. Not so much these days, not here in the East. It’s civilized here, in the nicer neighborhoods anyhow. But last I heard, the Skinner of San Francisco is a woman.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Ryker cautioned his sister. “You may train to be a stage magician. You may operate your kinetoscope. Under no circumstances may you undertake a career killing manticores.”
Nell frowned. “You never let me do anything fun.”
Ryker frowned back. “No, and I will never let you get yourself killed either.”
To forestall Nell’s next objection, Thalia clapped her hands briskly. “Time we set off.”
Aristides made short work of loading up Ryker’s Pierce-Arrow. Ryker was behind the wheel, Aristides in the front passenger seat, and Thalia in the rear seat immediately behind him.
Aristides brought out one of his pistols, as Ryker signaled his servants to open the gate. To Thalia, Aristides added, “Keep your bag closed. I’ll be the one shooting when the time comes. That’s enough lead to be flying around. I don’t need you blazing away too.”
The car pulled out of the Ryker courtyard, of necessity going slowly at first, but gathering speed while Ryker worked his way up the gears as they headed for Amsterdam Avenue. Disorderly traffic, horse-drawn and motorized, meant the potential for speed inherent in the Pierce-Arrow was never realized. They crept southward.
Pedestrians were more than mere distractions as Ryker threaded their way among the carriages and horse-drawn buses. Any one of them could be a manticore in its human disguise. Despite Aristides’ instructions, Thalia kept one hand on the weapon in her reticule as she watched out the windows. Aristides was vigilant as they made their way downtown, but there was no sign of a manticore.
Ryker drew up before the stately assembly of towers and turrets that housed the Sylvestri embassy. Aristides let himself out and stalked around the car, ready for any threat, until it became obvious that no one, not even the doorman, took any notice of their presence.
Although the architecture was French chateau, the magnificent pile was named for the people who had funded it, the Dakota. Although some Dakota were Solitaires, and a few were Traders, many of their people were Sylvestri.
Aristides came back to the driver’s window. “Stay in the car,” he told Ryker. He opened the rear passenger door and offered Thalia his hand. “I’ll escort you inside, Miss Cutler.”
They were met on the doorstep by a white Solitaire doorman of great stateliness. Thalia presented her card and introduced herself and then Aristides. “I am here to see Mr. David Nutall.”
“Come in, Miss Cutler, Mr. Skinner.” The doorman held the door for them, but from the dubious expression on his face, it was clear he didn’t think they’d be staying long. “I will see if he is at home.”
Thalia raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t Nutall’s home, this place.
“Do you want me to come in with you?” Aristides asked.