Bank of Westminster

Chapter 15

"What do you want?"

Baron knew that by speaking first he had surrendered the initiative, yet when the stakes were his very life, whether he held the upper hand or not mattered less than ensuring he would still be breathing afterward.

Mr. Baggin studied Baron from head to toe, rubbing the fleck of gold between his fingers. After a moment he said, "Give me your Westminster containment ring."

Baron did not hesitate. He slipped the band from his finger and handed it over.

Baggin and Don Quixote, who had drawn near, stared in disbelief. That easy?

The dwarf master waved both hands in quick refusal. "I can't help you with what you're asking."

"Master Baggin knows what I want?" Baron asked, puzzled.

He had not yet said a word about his request.

Baggin replied, "You handed over that ring without a second thought. That tells me your favor is enormous—bigger than anything I can manage."

He drew an old pipe from his robe, packed it with tobacco, then flicked his wrist. A tongue of flame leapt from the candle and lit the bowl.

The dwarf took a long draw, nostrils flaring as the nicotine hit. Through the haze of smoke he stared into the young man's eyes.

"You want me to lift Timed Death Sentence, don't you?"

Baron's heart lurched. He opened his mouth, but the dwarf master cut him off with a weary wave.

"Don Quixote, show our guest out. I misjudged this morning; there's no deal here."

Don Quixote stepped forward, bowing apologetically. "Master Baggin is like that—once he decides, he never changes his mind. They say Mr. Lankao once—"

"Don Quixote! Tonight you take your foolish mutt Sanji and sleep in the wardrobe on the second floor!"

Baggin's roar cut the boy short. He turned on Baron. "Beat it, kid. If you're still here in one minute I'll call the constables!"

Baron nodded, dispirited. "So even Timed Death Sentence is beyond the reach of the great alchemist, the legendary dwarven scholar, the recluse who pioneered solitary alchemy and wrote Etheric Soul Schism—Mr. Baggin himself..."

"Not 'beyond reach,' you little wretch. Reverse psychology won't work on me!"

Baggin sucked on his pipe, voice irritable. "I read the papers. If all you needed was a quiet smuggling route I might manage, but time—first-law—ain't something us second- and third-law folk can fiddle with... unless..."

"Unless?" Baron lifted his head, eyes blazing.

Baggin opened his mouth, then exploded. "Out! Don Quixote, dump his leftover tea and uneaten biscuits to the dogs!"

"Even if I have a hand-carved Dunhill briar pipe?"

Baggin's eyes narrowed. "You think I lack a decent pipe? I'm smoking the same leaf Churchill used!"

"Even if the pipe itself is a Forbidden Object from Westminster's vaults?"

A twitch at the corner of Baggin's eye. "Hold on, Don Quixote—don't be so quick. The gentleman seems to have more to say."

He continued, "A Forbidden pipe... rare, granted. But understand: from first-law down to third-law, Timed Death Sentence belongs to time—first-law—hard to control."

"Even if the pipe lets you snort flames from your nostrils?"

The dwarf's wrinkled face blossomed like a chrysanthemum. He spun around and bellowed:

"Don Quixote! See how you've treated our esteemed Mr. Constantine! By Pranstel's beard—you and Sanji will spend tomorrow night in the wardrobe as well!"

(Pranstel: first king of the dwarves.)

...

"Da Hong Pao from China's Wuyi Mountains, wheat-butter bread, Spanish black-pig ham—Francisco Franco's personal stash, mind you—paired with forest-sprite grape jam..."

Baron had badly underestimated the allure of a flame-snorting pipe to a dwarf master.

Now he sat in a mahogany chair said to have once belonged to Queen Victoria, listening to Baggin expound upon the provenance of every dish Don Quixote set before him. Lawrence had been right—this Forbidden pipe really did work miracles.

Baron wolfed down the food, but never forgot his true purpose. He produced the pipe that made Baggin's eyes glaze over.

"Master Baggin, since you already know what I need, I won't hide it."

He slid the pipe across the long table. Just as Baggin's fingers closed in, Baron pulled it back. "Lift Timed Death Sentence and the pipe is yours."

Baggin stared at the pipe, longing plain on his face. This time he did not hesitate. "I know one way to break Timed Death Sentence, but it needs a rare alchemical herb."

"What herb? Where can I buy or find it?" Baron's voice shook with hope.

Lawrence had been right—the dwarf scholar truly knew the remedy!

Joy drowned every other thought; Baron missed the ominous "but" in the dwarf's tone.

Instead of answering directly, Baggin produced the Necklace of the Death Goddess Baron had seen earlier.

Seeing Baron's confusion, he explained, "Besides the instant death it carries, this necklace has another power—life extension."

"Life extension?" Baron frowned. "You said anyone who puts it on dies."

"That's because they don't know the second method. If the necklace is gifted, the recipient will live seven extra days even after a fatal wound."

"You're going to give it to me? Use it to break Timed Death Sentence?" Baron reasoned aloud.

"Give it to you?" Baggin laughed—an angry laugh. "Have you forgotten every Forbidden Object demands a price?"

"The price is that the giver takes the recipient's death penalty. Each extra day costs the giver ten years of life. The limit of seven days exists because most donors don't have more than seventy years to spare."

Ten years for one day—usurers weren't that vicious.

Baron sucked in a breath. "And Westminster hasn't confiscated this? They don't know?"

Baggin stroked the gem as if it were an emerald of renown. "Westminster doesn't know—because it comes from another world."

Another world... Baron pondered, then ventured, "The Outside?"

"The Outside?" Baggin snorted. "Even if dwarves can't leave the Inside, newspapers, telly, and radio tell us everything about your world. If an ounce of gold could buy passage, alchemists would've emptied Earth of the stuff by now."

A sinking feeling gripped Baron. "Don't tell me the herb is in that world?"

Baggin set the necklace down; Don Quixote carried it away. The white-bearded dwarf spoke like an archaeologist deciphering lost tablets:

"Timebloom—the only alchemical herb imbued with the attribute of time, sprouted from stardust of the time-law. It grows only within the crevices of time."

He clapped; Don Quixote fetched a dusty, ancient tome. Baggin blew off the grime, turned to a page, and pointed:

"The Book of Dwarves records Timebloom thus. Elder scholars wrote it blossoms at the Rift of the Stone-Pusher."

"Where is the Rift?"

"In the other world."

...Riddler, huh? Baron slid the pipe back into his ring.

Baggin's brow twitched. "Truth is, no one knows. It's been tens of thousands of years. After scouring Europe, dwarven alchemists figure either the herb never existed or it lies in a world the Old-Blood haven't discovered."

"What if the Book of Dwarves is wrong? Maybe it's just a fairy tale?" Baron frowned.

"Impossible. The Book is one-third the incarnation of second-law dwarven law. If it errs, the entire dwarven race is malformed."

Law again... an undiscovered world... is that even Earth?

"So, after all this, Timed Death Sentence can't actually be solved?" Baron summed up the dwarf's disclosures, the weight of the words pressing on his own heart.

The dwarf master rubbed his aching forehead, snorted through his nose, and seemed to reach a decision. "There is one path, but you'll have to cooperate."

"Anything, as long as I live." Baron's answer rang like steel.

Don Quixote shivered. When Constantine spoke, a golden, dragon-like majesty filled the room—something the boy had never felt before.