Page 122 of The Song Rising

“Don’t flatter yourself, Jax. A nemesis is an equal.”

“You must think very highly of him. It seems my warning about his true nature fell upon stubbornly deaf ears.” He pressed his fingertips together. “I reported my findings. You know what happened next. A little . . .lessonwas taught.” His tongue caressed the word. “The Ranthen traitors were left alone for days with the spirit of the Ripper.”

I must have misheard him.

“The Ripper,” I repeated.

“Delectable, I know. One of the poltergeists Nashira keeps, the same one you faced at the scrimmage, is the very poltergeist we voyants have hunted for a century.” He looked back at the window, so the light fell on his face. “I am almost tempted to write and tell Didion, but no. Far more amusing for him to search in vain for the rest of his days.”

No wonder Warden and the Ranthen hadn’t trusted me. No wonder if they still didn’t.

“You monster,” was all I could say.

He held up a finger. “Survivor. Traitor. Marionette, yes. But not monster. This is what humansare, Paige. Only the Sargas can regulate our insanity.” His hand returned to the arm of his chair. “Do you remember what Nashira said about me in November—how long it had been since she had last seen me?”

I thought back. “She said . . . that you had been estranged from her for twenty years.” I served myself a coffee of my own. Might as well die with caffeine in my veins. “Trouble in paradise?”

“She wanted me to be her Grand Overseer, given my talent for spotting powerful voyants. Someone to guide the red-jackets. I was allowed to leave the penal colony, but as a Scion employee. I was to make a regular payment of at least one higher-order clairvoyant every two months.”

“A regular payment.” I paused. “The gray market.”

“Very good. I was its architect.”

“The Rag and Bone Man—”

“—is an associate,” he said calmly. “I let Nashira believe I would obey her. Then, one night, I escaped. Shed my old form. A skilled backstreet surgeon created this face.” He pressed a finger to one cheek. “I needed wealth to achieve my dream of taking I-4. I kept in touch with the Sargas through calls to the Residence of Balliol, promising to continue my work, but refused to meet again in person.”

“How did you get your hands on I-4?”

“I reported its mime-queen and her mollisher, who were detained within a day. Then I announced myself to the Unnatural Assembly,” he said. “I found a place to live in Seven Dials. Seven for my number. Seven for my name. I employed the Rag and Bone Man to assist me with my payments. He extended our network somewhat, as you learned in the weeks preceding the scrimmage.”

“Then why build the Seals?” I asked. “You had your gray market. Were you planning to send us all to Sheol for extra money?”

“Every mime-lord needs a gang.”

“You’re no ordinary mime-lord.”

He fell silent, gazing out of the window, the remnant of a smile on his lips. It wasn’t difficult to piece it together.

“Youdidplan to send us there. Some of us, at least. You arranged my arrest.” I could hardly get the words out. “You kept Nick busy so he couldn’t take me home, so I’d have to get the train on my own. You arranged for there to be a spot check on that line. When I got away, you told me to stay at my father’s apartment. Then you tipped them off.”

“Imaginative, Paige, but incorrect. Why would I want you taken? Remember”—he lit a cigar—“it was I who rescued you.”

He was still looking away. My hand moved to the table and delicately liberated a piece of paper from the stack.

“Who, then?”

“Hector,” Jaxon said. My fingers worked quickly, rolling the page up small. “He met you on the platform, if you recall—to alert Scion when you stepped onto the train. I understand that it was out of spite toward me. Our Underlord was asking for more than his fair share of profits from the gray market, you see, and I denied his request. So he took my prized mollisher and pocketed the money he received from Scion for you. The Rag and Bone Man later, at my behest, arranged for him to be slain by the Abbess. I was originally going to have him removed by cleaner means—a nice gunshot, perhaps—but for his greed, I ensured his death was . . . rather bloodier.”

Hector.

All that blood in his parlor, the decapitated bodies—all because Jaxon had wanted vengeance for the theft of his most cherished possession.

Me.

“And that cleared the way for you to be Underlord,” I said.

He inclined his head.

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