Firmly, she extended her good hand to Mirabilis. But just as she was about to shake on it, she abruptly pulled her hand back.
“One more thing,” she said. “Miss Pendennis must be allowed to participate in the Grand Symposium and advise me as need be.”
Mirabilis sighed.
“As you wish,” he said, reaching for her hand, but again she held it away from him. She watched his face closely as she spoke the next words.
“And Mr. Stanton, too.”
Mirabilis’ eyes widened, then narrowed again, calculation shifting behind them. He was silent for a long time. His hand hung in the air. He made no move to take hers.
“Impossible,” he said.
“I’ve heard you say several times that nothing is impossible.”
Mirabilis continued to stare at her. She began to feel quite uncomfortable under that gaze, so she blurted out: “Mr. Stanton’s attendance is a condition of my participation.”
Mirabilis smiled gently at the force of her statement, but there was no pleasure on his face. He reached for her hand with a sigh. He gave it three firm shakes.
“Agreed,” he said.
“Well, that was infinitely worse than I expected,” Miss Pendennis said, not very encouragingly, as they left the office and headed back upstairs.
“Do you think he really believes that setting some kind of ‘Precedent’ is going to work?” Emily puzzled. “Or was it all just eyewash to get me to participate?”
“Well if it was, he sure wasted his fine breath, didn’t he?” Miss Pendennis said wryly. “Given that all he had to do was offer you a little money.”
“I don’t know what kind of sums you’re used to,” Emily looked at her, “but twenty thousand dollars is hardly a little money.”
“It is if someone’s asking you to cut your own throat to get it,” Miss Pendennis mused, but then said no more. “Anyway, I have no idea what Mirabilis really has up his sleeve. But one thing’s for sure. If it’s a credomancer’s plan, it’s sure to have a half dozen double-reverses, with some curlicues and manipulative filigree tacked on for good measure.” She lifted her hands in a gesture of plaint to the pitiless heavens. “Oh, give me good old earth magic anytime!”
Emily nodded in agreement as they reached Miss Pendennis’ door.
“Well, we’ve got a lot of work to do, and less than fifteen hours to do it.” Miss Pendennis’ face brightened when she saw that there were two large steamer trunks sitting in the center of the floor of her room. “Thank the goddess! They’ve arrived.”
The big woman knelt before one of the chests, unlocked it, and threw up the lid. A large square leather case bound in steel and fastened with two heavy steel hasps was nestled into the top of the trunk. Miss Pendennis took this case out, straining against its weight, and laid it aside. She pulled out the wooden shelf insert that had supported it. When the drawer was removed, a compacted foam of silk and lace billowed out extravagantly.
“It’s the best I could do on short notice,” Miss Pendennis said as she looked through the trunk. “Have a seat, I’ll be with you in a moment.”
There was a little table in the corner of the room; on it was a pot of coffee and the morning newspapers. Emily sat, glimpsing a picture of something snakelike.
Pulling the newspaper closer, she saw that the front page featured a hastily composed engraving of the Cockatrice. The picture was surrounded by smaller cartouches in which were depicted some familiar faces: there was Stanton—the expression on his face somewhere between dauntless and displeased—and his father right next to him, the pair of them surrounded by illustrated swags of bunting. Farther down was a menacing-looking picture of poor old Hembry, and below, in a pretty flowered cartouche, a dreamy-eyed Rose Hibble.
“Credomancer Thwarts Attempt on President’s Life!” the headline screamed in black blocky text. “Warlock Son of Senator Argus Stanton Subdues Wild-Eyed Anarchist Miscreant!” the subhead exclaimed. “Extreme Excitement at the Philadelphia Exposition!” the sub-subhead added rather tiresomely.
Emily scanned the thrilling account. She noted with interest how the story had been altered to avoid any mention of the Manipulator, or of her own presence on the scene. In fact, the stories mostly focused on Stanton’s superhuman heroics, his forthright desire to uphold the principles of Justice and Liberty upon which American Democratic Ideals were based, and the admirable modesty of his assertion that he “really didn’t do anything.”
Miss Pendennis straightened, a dress in her hand. When she saw Emily reading the paper, she snatched