Sharp and Dangerous Virtues: A Novel

A Very Clear Window

301 a very clear window “Why do you think I’d know, darling?” “You know everything!” Lila was fine. One drink sharpened her. It was a matter of balance. “Well,” Ferrescu conceded, “I do.” Lila felt a sweep of revulsion that her compliment had worked so easily. She thought back to moments before and her confusion when a man who looked like Ferrescu’s elderly uncle had opened the door. “Is Ferrescu . . .” she had started, then realized it was him: “ . . . ready for the Queen of Water?” “I’m always ready for royalty,” Ferrescu had said, and led her through his cluttered living room to a chair near the window . She had to dodge a birdcage, filled with women’s shoes, hanging in the center of the room. “Tell me about water,” Ferrescu had said, sitting across from her, smiling and closing his eyes. So she did, and then she went on to her water map, its erasure and reimagining, and then she talked about Janie, and Janie and the computer, ending with the girl’s disappearance. “You’re fond of this girl.” “Yes, very.” “But not in any . . .” Ferrescu waved his hand. 302 s ha r p a n d d a n g e r ou s v i r t u e s “She’s like”—a daughter, she started to say, but Ferrescu would find this suspect—“a niece.” Ferrescu nodded approvingly. He tented his fingers in front of his face, his characteristic gesture, and Lila noticed a ring slip. He’d lost weight. “You suspect she’s on the Grid, and you suspect me of Grid connections.” “I know she’s on the Grid. I finally got through to Allyssa Banks, who I’d met up there, and she finally answered. Not much, and she didn’t explicitly tell me Janie was there, but she told me not to worry.” Lila shifted in her seat, annoyed that Ferrescu’s eyes were still closed. “As for your Grid connections , you tell me. You do seem to know a lot about the place. I remember thinking that at L’Auberge.” “What a lovely restaurant,” Ferrescu sighed. “I haven’t been there for so long.” “I’ll take you there,” Lila pounced. “You get me into Esslandia and I’ll take you there.” Ferrescu’s eyes snapped open. “Food first,” he said. “After all”—a laugh—“you might never get back!” Tuuro had been on his own for two weeks, sleeping under a hyacinth bush in Chelsea’s backyard, when he walked into the Euclid police station and said to the male youngie on duty, “I want to confess to a crime.” “What crime?” The clerk almost rolled his eyes; Tuuro realized people must come here routinely with confessions, hoping for shelter and food. “Murder.” The clerk hesitated, looked up. “Really?” “The woman is dead.” The clerk seemed annoyed at this response. He had Tuuro sit down in the lobby, where several women were also waiting . Eventually a woman in a uniform led Tuuro into a warren of offices, where she recorded him and spoke into a perc and screened his iris. Then the woman disappeared, and when she 303 a very clear window came back she said: “No luck fooling us. You can go home now.” She started to walk him out. “But the woman is dead.” “Of course she’s dead, she was over seventy.” “I killed her.” They were at the door to the lobby. The woman hesitated, gave him a searing look. “Disappointed her, maybe. Broke her ancient little heart, maybe. But there’s nothing to link you to her death.” “What do you mean? I link me.” The woman’s look had narrowed into something frightening . “Who are you? If you know what’s good for you, you’ll go home to Dayton.” She pushed the door open, gestured him out. He hadn’t mentioned Dayton. “Did you talk to Nenonene?” he said, almost shouting as he walked through the door. “Is that it?” “I’m not at that level,” the woman said coldly. “If you can talk to him, go to it.” The door swung closed, its lock hissing. The women in the lobby drew together, as if they knew Tuuro’s sort. “You know what they were trying to do in Sweden at the peace talks? They were trying to do a Dayton.” Sharis and Howard smiled blandly; Abba frowned...