Bank of Westminster

Chapter 15

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?"hird 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.