And given that Nicodemus and Chauncy worked for the same organization, I probably couldn’t trust the Denarian either. He was probably lying. Probably.
But what if he wasn’t?
Keep him talking, I decided. Fish for information. It wasn’t like I had a lot to lose, and knowledge was power. I might find out something that would give me some kind of edge.
Nicodemus lit the pipe with a match and puffed on it a few times, watching my face with a little smile on his lips. He read me, easily. I avoided looking at his eyes.
"Harry—may I call you Harry?"
"Would it matter if I told you no?"
"It would tell me something about you," he said. "I’d like to get to know you, and I would rather not make this a trip to the dentist if I can avoid it."
I glared at him, shivering under the freezing water, the bump on my head pounding, and my limbs aching beneath the ropes. "I’ve got to ask—just what kind of freaking dentist do you go to? Ortho de Sade? Smokin’ Joe Mengele, DDS?"
Nicodemus puffed on the pipe and regarded my bonds. Another expressionless man came in, this one older, thin, with thick grey hair. He pushed a room-service cart. He unfolded a small table and set it up over to one side, where the water wouldn’t splash on it. Nicodemus toyed with the bowl of his pipe. "Dresden, may I be frank with you?"
I figured the cart would open up to show an array of hardware intended to frighten me with its potential torture applications. "If it’s okay with Frank, I guess I don’t mind."
Nicodemus watched the valet set out three folding chairs and cover the table with a white cloth. "You have faced a great many dangerous beings. But by and large, they have been idiots. I try to avoid that whenever I am able, and that is why you are bound and held under running water."
"You’re afraid of me," I said.
"Boy, you’ve destroyed three rival practitioners of the Arts, a noble of the vampire Courts, and even one of the Faerie Queens. They underestimated you as well as your allies. I don’t. I suppose you could think of your current position as a compliment."
"Yeah," I muttered, shaking freezing water out of my eyes. "You’re way too kind."
Nicodemus smiled. The valet opened the cart and something far more diabolical than torture hardware was there. It was breakfast. The old valet started setting out food on the table. Hash browns. Some cheese. Some biscuits, bacon, sausages, pancakes, toast, fruit. And coffee, dear God. Hot coffee. The smell hit my stomach, and even frozen as it was it started crawling around on the inside of my abdomen, trying to figure out how to get away and get some food.
Nicodemus sat down, and the valet poured him some coffee. I guess pouring his own was beneath him. "I did try to keep you out of this affair."
"Yeah. You seem like such a sweet guy. You’re the one who edited the prophecy Ulsharavas told me about?"
"You’ve no idea how difficult it is to waylay an angelic messenger."
"Uh-huh," I said. "So why’d you do it?"
Nicodemus was not too important to add his own cream, no sugar. His spoon clinked on the cup. "I have a fond memory or two of your mother. It cost me little to attempt it. So why not?"
"That’s the second time you’ve mentioned her," I said.
"Yes. I respected her. Which is quite unusual for me."
"You respected her so much you snatched me and brought me here. I see."
Nicodemus waved his hand. "It worked out that way. I needed someone of a certain metaphysical mass. You interfered in my business, you were convenient, and you fit the recipe."
Recipe? "What recipe?"
He sipped at his coffee and closed his eyes in enjoyment. The bastard. "I take it that this is the portion of the conversation where I reveal my plans to you?"
"What have you got to lose?"
"And apparently you expect me to tell you of any vulnerabilities I might have as well. I am wounded by the lack of professional respect this implies."
I ground my teeth. "Chicken."
He picked up a piece of bacon and nibbled at it. "It is enough for you to know that one of two things will happen."
"Oh, yeah?" Master of repartee, that’s me.
"Indeed. Either you will be freed and sit down to enjoy a nice breakfast …" He picked up a slightly curved and sharp-looking knife from the table. "Or I will cut your throat as soon as I finish eating."
He said it scary—without any melodrama to it at all. Matter-of-fact. The way most people say that they need to take out the trash. "Ye olde ’join up or die’ ultimatum," I said. "Gee, no matter how many times I get it, that one never goes out of style."
"Your history indicates that you are too dangerous to leave alive, I’m afraid—and I am on a schedule," Nicodemus said.
A schedule? He was working against a time limit, then. "I’m really inconvenient that way. Don’t take it personal."
"I don’t," he assured me. "This isn’t easy for either of us. I’d use some sort of psychological technique on you, but I haven’t gotten caught up on some of the more recent developments." He took a piece of toast and buttered it. "Then again, I suppose not many psychologists can drive chariots, so perhaps it balances out."
The door opened again, and a young woman came into the room. She had long, sleep-tousled dark hair, dark eyes, and a face a little too lean to be conventionally pretty. She wore a kimono of red silk belted loosely, so that gaps appeared as she moved. She evidently didn’t have anything on underneath it. Like I said, Undertown is cold.
The girl yawned and stretched lazily, watching me as she did. She too spoke with an odd, vaguely British accent. "Good morning."
"And you, little one. Harry Dresden, I don’t believe you’ve been introduced to my daughter, Deirdre."
I eyed the girl, who seemed vaguely familiar. "We haven’t met."
"Yes, we have," Deirdre said, reaching out to pluck a strawberry from the breakfast table. She took a slow bite from it, lips sealed around the fruit. "At the harbor."
"Ah. Madame Medusa, I presume."
Deirdre sighed. "I’ve never heard that one before. It’s so amusing. May I kill him, Father?"
"Not just yet," Nicodemus said. "But if it comes to that, he’s mine."
Deirdre nodded sleepily. "Have I missed breakfast?"
Nicodemus smiled at her. "Not at all. Give us a kiss."
She slid onto his lap and did. With tongue. Yuck. After a moment she rose, and Nicodemus held one of the chairs out for her as she sat down. He reseated himself and said, "There are three chairs here, Dresden. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to take breakfast with us?"
I started to tell him what he could do with his third chair, but the smell of food stopped me. I suddenly felt desperately, painfully hungry. The water got colder. "What did you have in mind?"
Nicodemus nodded to one of the goons. The man walked over to me, drawing a jewelry box out of his pocket. He opened it, offering it out to me.
I mimed a gasp. "But this is so sudden."
The goon glared. Nicodemus smiled. Inside the jewelry box was an ancient silver coin, like the one I’d seen in the alley behind the hospital. The tarnish on the coin was in the shape of another sigil.