He shook his head.
“No, thanks,” I said, and she gracefully moved on to the next table.
“You cannot be making a profit,” Louis-Cesare said to Zheng. “The amount of magic such realism must require—the cost would be prohibitive. Especially for so many . . .”
His eyes went around the place, and I could see him getting more and more puzzled, as he did the mental math.
Zheng saw it, too, and his expression changed. “You asking as a friend or . . .”
“Or what?”
“A senator. You are one—”
“As are you.”
“—and maybe you’d like to be one after the war, too.”
It was Louis-Cesare’s expression that changed this time. “Meaning?”
“Meaning that our dear consul is going to want a reason to flush those of us she doesn’t like, but needs for the war, once the fighting is done. Especially ones like me, who she doesn’t trust anyway.”
“You think I would betray you?”
“How should I know?” Zheng sat back, and spread his long arms along the top of the booth. “I don’t know you that well. Short stuff here, well, that’s a different story. Assuming she’s vouching for you?”
“He’s not going to say anything,” I said, impatiently. “You can trust him like you would me.”
“Oh, well, that’s different then.” Zheng paused. “And as long as we’re all friends, I was thinking—”
“Here it comes,” I said, and took the glass the waiter brought me. I hadn’t ordered anything, but Louis-Cesare knew what I liked, and it was a fine old scotch that went down so smoothly that you barely noticed how much it burned.
“—that we all got something in common.”
“Such as?” I asked.
“Such as the fact that the consul doesn’t like any of us. You’re a dhampir, he screwed up, and I’m an outsider who she thinks may be a spy for the East Asian Court.”
“Are you?” Louis-Cesare asked.
It was a little too abrupt for somebody like Zheng, who came from a culture who valued dignity, aka “face”, above all. And who was also a master vamp, none of whom like being challenged, even indirectly. But he didn’t take offense.
A suspiciously good mood, I thought, and drank whiskey.
“I was approached,” he said. “Too bad our dear empress spent hundreds of years knocking me down to size and treating me like a pariah that wasn’t good enough to kiss her little feet—”
“Big feet, according to your old boss,” I put in. Lord Cheung was the other would-be member of the East Asian Court who had ended up on ours instead. He was Zheng-zi’s old master, although they were equals now, both being senators.
“He would know better than me,” Zheng agreed. “At least he got a few trips to court. I was never good enough. And now she’s not good enough for me—unless I need to start kissing up?”
“And why would you do that?” Louis-Cesare asked.
He shrugged. “What you think. We work our tails off, risk our necks, and after the war, when we’ve made plenty of enemies on our dear consul’s behalf . . .”
“She cuts us off,” I said. It was what I’d been assuming, too.
He nodded. “Possibly literally. Call me paranoid, but I’ve been feeling the need for some reassurance, lately.”
“What kind of reassurance?”