The River of No Return

fool—but still. Leo would surely have forgiven him by now; found a way to make contact if he were alive. And what was Nick doing, shaking hands with the woman who may well have ordered Leo killed?
    “Thank you for coming,” Alice said, as if the Summons Direct had been a party invitation. “And please, call me Alice. You know Arkady . . .” She gestured to the man beside her.
    The Alderwoman’s husband shook hands as if handshaking were a contest of strength. He was a tall, white-haired Russian of few words. Nick had seen him at conventions but had never spoken to him before and knew almost nothing about him. Altukhov’s accent was thick: “Welcome back to England, Mr. Davenant.”
    Alice looked at the canvas and leather bag slung across Nick’s shoulder, then let her gaze skim down his body and up again. “Is that all you’re carrying?”
    Nick patted the bag and looked lightly around him at the shifting crowds of travelers. “I don’t plan on staying.”
    Arkady snorted, but Alice took Nick’s arm and began steering him toward the escalators. “We have much to discuss. Come. Have you ever ridden in a helicopter before?” She flashed Nick a white smile, as if he were a child and she were taking him on his first pony ride.
    He had to admit that it was exhilarating, buzzing like a wasp over the city, headphones clapped to his ears. Nick stared down at the streets, at the people hurrying along, the traffic. It all looked normal to him now. The cars and buses, women in trousers, electric lights, and tall buildings. The helicopter dropped and landed on top of a building on the South Bank, and soon enough he and Alice were zipping up the elevator of the skyscraper known as “The Shard.” Arkady had disappeared.
    The elevator doors opened onto an elegant reception area of stark white marble walls and a black marble floor. A beautiful young man sat behind a huge black reception desk.
    “Hello, Badr,” Alice said. “Water for me, please, and a pint of bitter for Nick.
    “It’s not even noon,” Nick protested.
    “Ah, but I want to see you taste your first English beer again. We keep traditionally brewed ale on tap here, always perfectly cellared. I believe today we’re pulling Theakston’s Old Peculier, isn’t that right, Badr?”
    The beautiful youth flashed an even more beautiful smile of assent, but Nick shook his head. “No, thank you.”
    “Have it to please me. It’s been ten years, hasn’t it, since you tasted the real thing?”
    “Thirteen. I was in Spain for three years before I jumped, you may recall.”
    “Ah, yes. Spain. Thirteen years. Surely the small matter of the time of day won’t hold you back.”
    Nick couldn’t help but smile at her absurd manipulations, all to get him to drink a beer. “A half then, please.”
    Badr nodded and disappeared. Alice led Nick down a long hallway and into a vast boardroom. A long table set about with chairs filled the room. In the center of the table, a crystal vase holding at least fifty white tulips was clearly intended to relieve the corporate severity of the space but served only to heighten it. One entire wall of the room was glass. Nick went to look out at the city.
    Badr reappeared with a glass of water for the Alderwoman and what was, truly, a beautiful beer for Nick. Nick took a sip. It tasted marvelous. In fact, nothing had tasted so good in his entire life. “Has ale improved across the last two centuries?”
    “Many things have improved. Please. Take a seat, Nick. And thank you, Badr, that will be all.” The young man left them alone.
    Nick sat, and the Alderwoman took the first chair along the table’s long side. “There is more to the Guild than you know.”
    “Ah.” Nick allowed some sarcasm into his voice. “You mean that it’s more than what we tell the kids? More than a swanky social club?”
    The corners of Alice’s mouth twitched. “Much more.”
    Nick sipped his beer and regarded the Alderwoman. She seemed to be waiting for him to speak. He decided to try to take control of this extremely strange situation. “Why am I here? In London, where I’m not allowed to be?”
    “Give me your hand,” Alice said, reaching for it. She wore that same ring he remembered from Chile, the one set with a large yellow jewel. She turned his hand over and contemplated his palm.
    “Are you going to read my fortune?”
    Alice smiled and traced his lifeline with a short, perfectly manicured fingernail. A tremor extended up