The Rising (The Alchemy Wars) Read Online Free PDF Page B

us—that your comfort is completely uncompromised.”
    “So I’ve noticed. You must be Anastasia Bell.”
    “I am.” Again that unctuous smile. “The duke was right about you.”
    “He survived? That’s a shame.”
    “Yes, though you did him no favors. I’ll admit I appreciate your notion of poetic justice more than he does,” said Bell, pointing to one of her own eyes. “Since you admit to knowing Henri, I assume you also admit to being the one known as Talleyrand.”
    “It brings me great pain to have to tell you, Mademoiselle Bell, that our mutual friend’s information is outdated. I no longer carry that title.”
    “It’s not the first instance of Henri being mistaken. He told us you were dead.”
    “Very nearly.” Berenice paused to rub her eye. “Don’t fault him for a lack of effort. He really did fuck us.”
    Bell’s laughter was like that of a noblewoman caught unawares by the blunt pronouncements of a longshoreman. It carried just a hint of scandal, of thrill in taking momentary enjoyment of something untoward.
    She said, “Oh, well. Doubtless even a disgraced spymaster carries all manner of fascinating information in her head.” Berenice tensed without intending to; Bell saw this. “But don’t worry. We won’t have to be crude about extracting it.”
    Berenice groaned, rubbing her eye again. “In that case, I wonder why my comfort is so important. Gratifying as it is, one assumes this is a bit out of character for you.”
    The head of the Guild’s secret police force waved off the question as if shooing away a bothersome housefly. “Oh, again, that’s something more suited to Vega’s expertise than my own.”
    “I see.” Berenice plucked the glass from her eye socket. “Damn this thing,” she muttered. She blew on it, as if clearing away dust.
    “Hmmm. I’d heard about your eye,” said Bell. “It’s a shame you couldn’t find something that matches. But I think it’s safe to say that once you’re working for us—”
    Berenice snorted. “And people accuse me of overconfidence.”
    “—we’ll have no trouble at all outfitting you with something slightly less conspicuous. No need to call attention to your wound, after all. I’m sure we can give you a better and more comfortable fit as well.”
    The tendrils of unease twined through her insides gave Berenice a firm cold squeeze. Turning somebody was long, hard, delicate work. Frequently painstaking—best suited to the patience of a craftswoman. So the matter-of-fact way Bell tookit for granted that she could and would turn Berenice… The temptation was to discount her as a loon, and she would have, if not for what Jax had told her about Pastor Visser.
    “Good with glassworks, are you?” Berenice asked.
    “As with so many things,” said Bell, “our skill in that arena is without equal.”
    “The Chinese make better porcelain. I’d bet their glassmaking is likewise superior.”
    At this, Bell shook her head. Smirking, she added, “Nobody makes glass like we do.”
    You’re telling me.
Berenice knew well the strange bauble that Jax had shown her, the lens or prism that had somehow broken his bonds and imbued him with Free Will. Thus turning him into a rogue and leading, somewhat indirectly, to Berenice’s current predicament.
    Inspecting the piece from her eye for dust and scratches, she said, “This’ll scrape the inside of my head raw if it isn’t clean as a newborn’s conscience.”
    She popped the glass in her mouth. It coated her tongue with the faintly metallic taste of blood. The doctor made a little grunt of disapproval. Bell was unmoved; surely she had witnessed far more unpleasant things as Tuinier. But she did frown.
    “If you’re trying to choke yourself,” she said, “it won’t work. You wouldn’t even reach unconsciousness before the Stemwinders and Dr. Vega unclogged your throat.”
    Berenice swished the bauble around her mouth, as though giving it a good tongue scrub. She wedged it to