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“If you can get proof of what you say, they’ll take your deal,” Dylan translates.
Keyser speaks up next—and talks for a while.
Rowan rolls her eyes when he’s done. “The great humanitarian that is my husband-to-be says you can’t be trusted, and that the proof wouldn’t prove anything as far as he’s concerned. He also says the virus isn’t such a big deal; it will just grow the number of available helpers, thus improving the quality of everyone’s life. He also says we can use helpers to quarantine impacted areas—which is no doubt a euphemism for ‘burn everything to the ground’ and contradicts his ‘more helpers’ point.”
Shegan speaks again.
Rowan nods approvingly. “This more reasonable dude says their job as the rulers is to do everything they can to get people the cure. He also worries the virus might be spreading through Necropolis now, thanks to this messenger. Finally, he says they should vote on this.”
Yay. Another pucking vote.
The Parliament confers, and Rowan explains that if the majority of the giants remain seated, we’ll be allowed to get the proof we need. Otherwise, the default ruling stands—as in, we get killed.
We all watch with baited breaths.
Keyser stands up.
A colleague of his does the same.
This is it.
History is about to repeat itself.
Chapter Twenty-Two
No more giants stand up.
The vote has just gone in our favor.
A relieved exhale escapes my lips as Shegan speaks rapid-fire Necronian at Rowan, who nods and replies in a respectful tone.
“I’m to head the investigation,” she translates. “Let’s go before they change their minds.”
We hurry out of the room and head down the corridor in silence.
When we enter the lobby, Dylan looks at Rowan. “You didn’t have to put your neck on the line for us in there.”
“What are you talking about?” Felix asks.
“When she told them Exozar was guilty, she said she was suspicious of him too—that he’s been acting strange lately,” Dylan explains.
“As in, I lied,” Rowan says. “Exozar and I haven’t spoken in months.”
Dylan nods. “And after she said that, Keyser told her to be sure she means what she says and made it clear that by doing this, she’s aligning her fate with ours.”
“I’m beginning to have a feeling that he doesn’t want me even as a seventh wife,” Rowan says ruefully. “I don’t know if I should cheer or be insulted.”
Ariel stares at the necromancer as if seeing her for the first time. “You shouldn’t have done that. Our chances aren’t good.”
“But thank you,” I say hurriedly. “I bet you helped the vote.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t as self-sacrificing as you might think. I can use logic just as well as anyone—and it says my fate is already tied to yours.” She nods at Stanislav. “More precisely, his.”
“You think the messenger has gotten you sick, so you want the cure,” Stanislav says, wiping at his slightly bleeding eyes.
Rowan nods. “Bingo.”
“That room was spacious and you stood far away from the messenger,” Dylan says reassuringly. “Your viral load would’ve been small and chances of infection insignificant.”
Stanislav holds out his bloody fingers. “Isn’t that what you told me at the hub?”
“And I wasn’t wrong,” Dylan says. “Given how long it took you to develop your first symptom, the viral load you must’ve inhaled was small.”
He glares at her. “Yet I’m still sick.”
Rowan bends down and scratches her dead pet under his whiskery chin. For a zombie, Frank looks too much like he’s enjoying the grooming—but what do I know of such things?
“There’s something more important we should discuss,” Rowan says after she’s done with her pet therapy. “How are we supposed to figure out if Exozar is guilty or not?”
Everyone exchanges startled glances. Everyone except Valerian, that is, who pointedly looks at me.
“If you could get me access to him, I could determine his guilt,” I say, doing my best to sound more confident than I feel.
Felix and Ariel still look confused, so I say, “I’m supposed to be playing the detective right now, and in the past, that’s always involved my powers.”
Rowan has her zombies hold the doors as we exit. When we’re outside, she says, “What’s your power?”
I explain about dreamwalking as we make our way south, with Rowan’s helpers lumbering after us like extras in a horror movie.
“New question,” Rowan says when we stop next to a drab building that looks eerily like the one we were imprisoned in. “How will you understand his dreams if you don’t speak Necronian?”
I grin under my mask. “Good point. You or Dylan have to volunteer to go in with me.”
“Rowan volunteers,” Valerian says firmly. “She’s more familiar with local customs and such, so she’ll make a better translator.”
LEGO letters show up in the air as he speaks, and they say:
Also, this way we can check two necromancers for the price of one.
I nod. “Rowan it is.”
“And I guess Rowan agrees,” she says dryly. “Though the word ‘volunteer’ clearly means something different in English than it does in Necronian.”
