The River of No Return by Bee Ridgway (best novels of all time txt) 📕

Her accent faded back to its original twang, which he now heard as quaintly English. She had never really been in disguise; indeed, her half-rusted old car had even been a BMW. He caught a glimpse of those white teeth again as she flashed him a coy smile from the bottom of her curtsy.

He raised her up. “I’m so glad.” He turned to the others, Marjory’s hand still in his. “I’m delighted to meet you all,” he said to their expectant faces. “But especially my lovely spy.” He bowed to her, wishing that he had a hat to sweep from his head. “I am flattered that I passed your inspection.”

“With flying colors.”

He kissed her hand.

The group laughed; apparently the scene had pleased them. Nick laughed with them, but he was really laughing at himself and his own internal contradictions. Why was he so enraged at being asked to whore himself out to Alva, who was lovely and compassionate? He had quite happily serviced the cheese inspector to save Tom Feely’s farm, and the cheese inspector was much less charming.

Nick turned to Penture, a self-deprecating smile still haunting his lips. “Now then, Alderman. Miss Northway has decided that I make the grade. Tell me what you want of me.”

“But of course,” Penture said, and opened his hands to encompass everyone in the room. “Shall we sit?”

They all pulled out seats. Nick’s was a little wooden chair that looked as if it had been cut from a cardboard pattern and hinged together with brass brads. He tipped it at an angle to admire it. It was enchanting.

“You like it,” Saatçi said, pulling out his own seat, a Saarinen tulip design not at all to Nick’s liking. “That is a very unusual chair. Breuer designed it in the 1930s for a college dormitory. Eventually the college threw the old chairs away. I rescued this one from a skip. It was broken, so sad.” Saatçi reached out and touched the pretty golden wood. “I brought it back here and mended it—I sanded away all the graffiti.” The little man blushed. “Graffiti like that I have never seen! But now he is clean and new.”

Nick settled down into it. “But it’s so short.”

“The college was for women.”

“Ah.” Nick stretched his legs under the table, enjoying the thought of generations of students sitting on this hard seat, cramming their heads full of knowledge. Carving their desires into the yielding wood. Desires that had been sanded away to a blank prettiness. Nick’s enjoyment faded. He looked around the table at the men and women gathered to tell him about his mission. “All right,” he said. “Let’s get this party started. What do you want of me?”

“I am glad you are eager to cooperate,” Penture said. “Let us begin with this man you call Mr. Mibbs. I would like you to tell us all about him, if you please.”

Nick glanced at Alice, then told the gathered Guild elite everything he knew, again excluding Leo.

“He controlled your emotions, you say,” Penture said when Nick was finished. “To the point that you feared for your life.”

“Yes. He seemed to be trying to kill me with despair.”

“Kill you with despair? But we cannot use emotions as weapons. And we cannot use despair at all.”

“So everyone keeps telling me.” Nick smiled. “Nevertheless, he came at me with despair. But I am a jolly fellow, and I survived.”

Penture folded his hands on the table, gazed at Nick for a moment, then turned to Alice. “There has been no sign of Mibbs in the London of your era since that strange encounter?”

“No,” Alice said. “Nor anywhere or anytime else. He has disappeared.”

Penture nodded. “Very strange indeed. This man who can do things with the river of feelings that we cannot. This man who can harness the one emotion that repels us.” The Frenchman’s strange green eyes were intent upon Nick. “I assume that you are telling us the truth about your experiences.”

“I am.”

“Do you think he is Ofan?” Ahn asked Penture.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

“I do not think so.” Arkady scowled. “The Ofan spout their nonsense about knowledge and happiness. They dress like the hobo bums. They would not even think to try to harness the despair.”

“Arkady,” Alice said. “We have had this argument many times. You must accept that Mibbs is probably Ofan, that he is the clue to what the Ofan are doing. The Ofan you hate, the revolutionaries who killed Eréndira—they are dispersed. The revenge you want—you aren’t going to get that, darling. Vogelstein must be dead. And now things have changed. The stakes are too high for us to fight the Ofan on your terms. We must fight the Ofan as the Guild, and because we want to protect the river. Not because you are a heartbroken father who wishes to revenge his child.”

Arkady pushed his chair back and stood. He raised his face to the grotesque chandelier for a long moment, then looked down at his wife. “From you,” he said quietly, looking at Alice. “From my wife I have to hear this.”

“I am speaking to you as your Alderwoman,” Alice said, her voice quiet. “And I am speaking the truth.”

“Sit, Altukhov,” Penture said gently.

The old Russian looked around the room. No one said anything. After a long moment, he folded himself back down into his chair and clasped his white hands in front of him, staring fixedly at his ring. Alice put her hand on the table near him, where he could see it, but she made no move to touch him.

After a moment of respectful silence, Penture turned back to Nick. “Alice and Arkady have assured me that you are loyal to the Guild and that you are ready to join forces with us in our battle against the insurgent Ofan. Is that correct?”

Nick didn’t answer.

“I saw, when I came to collect you, that you have met your target. I assume this means that you are taking on the duties that Arkady explained to you.”

Nick again said nothing.

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