Chapter 49

While the Logistics Department's brothers laid their bets and held their breath for the latest news, Baron had no idea of the storm he had stirred outside. Had he known, he probably would have staked a fortune on himself and then thrown the match.

Inside the containment chamber it was pitch-black; no lamps burned, the only glow coming from Baron's golden eyes. Like the Hunter's Eye, those golden pupils granted him perfect night vision, letting him map the room in crisp detail.

The chamber was empty save for a staircase—a spiral stair that climbed into darkness so deep he could not see its end. It felt as though the space had been split into levels, and Baron stood on the first.

Strange. When the door had opened he could have sworn this was a tiny room. But the moment it swung shut behind him, darkness swallowed everything, and the spiral stair shot upward like bamboo after rain.

This had to be the Cocoon of Delusion Stella had mentioned.

Baron swept his gaze across Level One. Nothing but polished marble underfoot. He climbed to Level Two.

Still nothing.

Level Three.

Again, nothing.

His footsteps echoed, lonely and sharp. Four, five, six... nothing, nothing, nothing.

Baron frowned. Was this some kind of step-counting exercise? Had the staff simply forgotten to stock the higher floors?

He craned his neck; the stairway still stretched away, infinite and unknowable. Maybe he had rushed and missed something important. He turned and made a deliberate search of Level Six.

Observation Room, outside the chamber.

Howard stared at the monitor frozen on "Level Six."

"Grade-B threshold on Level Six," Stella said softly. "Looks like our Dragon-Knight's talent for containment isn't nearly as sharp as his nose for money."

She had asked Howard why he had awarded Baron an S-rank during the interview. Clever answers, yes, but hardly S-class. She herself—brilliant, perfect—had only scored an A-, a wound that still ached.

Howard had replied that "S" meant singular: the last Dragon-Knight since the fall of House Dracoon. Wasn't that enough?

"Perhaps," Stella said.

Howard heard the doubt and answered it with a shrug of his own disappointment. He had hoped the man who escaped the Timed Death Sentence might be destiny's favorite. Evidently not everyone could be.

"The Cocoon of Delusion can take whoever stands within it to any sealed space it has previously inhabited. Each floor corresponds to a containment chamber somewhere in Westminster's European sector."

Stella scribbled in her notebook, drafting Baron's evaluation based on how long he lingered on Level Six.

"I honestly thought he'd reach at least Grade-B. Turns out extremes reverse themselves."

...

"...turns out extremes reverse themselves..."

When the announcement echoed through the Logistics Department, the room—and every telephone line—fell deathly silent. Agents who had bet on A or B looked ashen. Only Tel and the handful who had followed him into a C-grade wager were cheering: "We're rich! Thirty-five to one!"

Five ounces of gold at thirty-five to one netted one-hundred-seventy-five ounces—nearly eleven pounds, close to eighty thousand dollars. Jack hissed at the math; as the house, he stood to gain plenty. Gamblers sometimes win small, but the house never loses.

Over the loudspeaker came the Deputy Director's voice, chair legs scraping. "What's going on?!"

Every ear strained. Inside the observation room Howard and Stella stared: the floor counter had begun to climb—seven, eight, nine—rising faster than ever. In moments it hit thirty. That was near Grade-A, a step below S-class. Westminster's entire European sector held only thirty-three chambers; the Cocoon could project no more.

Yet Baron seemed to have flipped on god-mode and speed-cleared the lot. Never before had anyone advanced so quickly.

"System error?" Stella asked. "An alchemical array glitch?"

"No," Howard said, stopping her from aborting the trial. "Constantine. I remember now—while Forbidden Objects instinctively gravitate toward those with strong Fate, there's another kind of agent..."

"When his Fate is so overwhelming that low-grade Objects don't dare approach, every floor becomes an empty room," Stella finished quietly.

"That would explain his speed. He paused on Level Six not because higher Objects rejected him, but because they felt unworthy."

"Let's see this through," Howard said. "The final floor holds an S-class Object. If he reaches it and gains its recognition, the Beast problem may still be solvable."

"And I might finally afford that Maldives vacation—sun, sand, palm trees. Just thinking about it makes me smell less like an old man," Howard added offhand.

Logistics Department eavesdroppers: "..."

Jack, who had guessed Howard was one of the three S-grade bettors: "..."

Tel and the C-grade gamblers: "..."

Inside the illusory space, Baron remained oblivious. He climbed, eyes fixed on the darkness above, footsteps ringing clean and sharp.

At last he reached the landing marked "Level Thirty-Three." Beyond it the staircase should have ended—yet the broken steps sprouted like willow shoots and kept climbing.

He glanced back at the empty floor and continued upward.

Constantine had no idea the observation room, the Logistics Department, and every gambler tuned into Westminster's phone lines had just exploded.

...

Stella watched the floor counter rocket upward until it became a great scarlet question mark. She rose. "I'm aborting the test. The Cocoon may have slipped its alchemical chains. Who knows where it will take Constantine?"

The Cocoon was S-class; its power was to ferry people along its spiral stair into any sealed space it had ever occupied—perhaps an ancient tomb far underground, or an eternally frozen vault.

Howard was about to summon the finest alchemist to repair the array and extract Baron when urgent footsteps echoed in the corridor. Someone hammered on the door.

Stella opened it, frowning. "What—"

"Deputy Director!" the agent blurted. "Urgent report from the shareholders! Westminster's European vault under Moscow's Red Square—breached!"

"Did you catch anyone?"

"The cameras recorded no intrusion. That's the strange part. Could be a specialist Object thief—who are you?"

Stella and Howard looked up. A cold, striking face regarded them.

Constantine.

"So I reached Moscow... no wonder it's freezing."

The Dragon-Gall ring on his finger flashed. In an instant the corridor glittered with gold bars from wall to wall.

The Dragon-Knight sneezed. "Oh, right—does this count as successful containment?"

"No... you—did you just dominate the Cocoon of Delusion?"

Staring at the gold, Stella finally found her voice.

Howard froze. The agent gaped. The eavesdroppers in Logistics howled.

Ten minutes later a message raced along cables spanning the Atlantic and the European continent. Fifteen minutes after that the latest Westminster Times reached every subscriber across the seven continents and four oceans.

A single paragraph shook the Old-Blood world.

[SS-Class Agent! Certified by Deputy Director Howard-Davis of Westminster! Identity: mysterious young man!]

Sub-headline: [Presumed single!]

Below, a phone number that connected straight to the Logistics Department singles dorm.