The Cartographer Complete Series

by A. C. Cobble

  Frowning, King Edward tugged on his slender goatee. He began pacing the room, reminding Oliver uncomfortably of himself. “William, you are sure? Is he…”

  “I am sure,” responded Oliver. “He’s dead. I killed him.”

  “You have evidence he… he did these things you say?”

  “The old druid fortress across the river is filled with his things,” said Oliver. “His minions were there, but they fled. Still, there are writings, sorcerous implements, bodies… scores of bodies, people he held captive and used in sacrifices, creatures that he summoned. Nothing was left breathing in that place.”

  “And William,” asked his father, “where is he?”

  “Outside of the walls, at the base of one of them,” whispered Oliver. “What’s left of him, anyway.”

  “I will send men to investigate,” remarked the king, turning to Sam.

  She was sitting across from Oliver, and he saw her pinching her wrist hard, trying to force herself awake.

  “You are the one Bishop Yates originally assigned to assist my son with the investigation in Harwick?” asked the king. “If what Oliver says is true, then your master was a sorcerer. Are we to trust you, now?”

  Her face twisted into a grimace, and Oliver thought it quite possible she was literally biting her tongue. Finally, she was able to respond, “King Edward, Bishop Yates was never my master. I served a mentor named Thotham, a Knife of the Council of Seven. He was killed beneath Derbycross. But yes, your son and I have been seeking those behind Hathia Dalyrimple’s murder and… and I cannot even count how many other murders. We knew the sorcerers were out there, but we didn’t know who they were until the last few days.”

  “Surely not so simple as that,” remarked the king, setting his hands on his hips and looking between Oliver and Sam.

  “Not simple,” agreed Oliver, “but it was what we had to do, Father. I heard it from their own lips, both Raffles and William. They admitted to a plot to sacrifice the city of Middlebury. They would have killed every man, woman, and child within that city.”

  King Edward nodded, his hand floating up to tug on his chin hair again. “From their own lips… The dark trinity? You are certain you heard correctly?”

  “There is no doubt,” replied Oliver, studying his father’s sedate reaction. “Are… are you mad, Father?”

  “At you?” replied Edward, letting go of his facial hair and beginning to pace again. “No, of course not. I knew you were still investigating this matter. You’re like me, boy, more so than your older brothers. I am not mad at you. At William, though… I knew he was not happy as prime minster, but I’d given him everything I could. I’d shared more power with him than has been done in generations. I granted him lands, income. With more responsibilities, a marriage for Lannia coming up, I thought he would be content as prime minister, at least long enough until you or one of your brothers was ready to assume the role, and then William could pursue his personal ambitions. He was my brother, and he would do this to the Crown, to Enhover?”

  “I loved him as well,” murmured Oliver. “Part of me didn’t believe it until I saw him with my own eyes. He tried to kill me, Father. He told me so, that he was going to sacrifice me. He meant to capture my soul and use it in his ceremony. I was just a step on his path. A step toward sacrificing all of Middlebury. I—”

  “Enough,” said Edward, pacing back and forth across the room. “We will talk of this. We will, but for now, we need to discuss what is next. You said some of William’s acolytes fled. What about spirits, conjured creatures?”

  “Yes,” said Oliver, glancing at Sam. “There were people there, I don’t know how many, but they’ve fled. We saw, ah, we saw wolfmalkin and grimalkin and killed some of them. Do you know of them? I do not know if we killed all of the beasts or if there were more. We did not see any as we left. There were shades, but they were banished, I think. They are gone, now.”

  Pacing again, the king murmured, “Interesting.”

  “Father,” Oliver said, “I did what I thought I had to. My proof is what I heard from the sorcerers’ own mouths. Not everyone may see it that way. In front of the Congress of Lords, in front of a magistrate—”

  “Not everyone needs to know,” stated King Edward. “In fact, they shouldn’t. Your brother Philip, of course. Edgar and Herbert Shackles. Your captain and crew know. Can they be trusted to remain silent?”

  Oliver nodded. “I believe so.”

  “Good,” replied the king. “We keep quiet, but we have to offer some explanation for everything that has happened. I believe from what Philip has sent, there will be restitutions to make. There will be difficult discussions with the Congress of Lords, the Church, and the Company. Even more difficult conversations with Philip. He’s livid.”

  “He will understand,” claimed Oliver, fairly certain it was true.

  The king nodded. “It’s best if you deal with Philip in person. I’ll have Edgar Shackles speak with his son, Herbert. Shackles the younger can keep Philip subdued until you have a chance to meet. Both of the Shackles can begin addressing other matters which do not require our direct attention. I’ll inquire with Admiral Brach and Will — with Shackles — about getting some experienced investigators assigned to hunt down the missing acolytes. The royal marines also have some special squadrons that I believe may be suited for this. Unfortunately, it is not the first time we’ve had to keep information close at hand.” The king looked to Sam. “In my experience, informing the Church of these matters is a certain way to have them whispered in every corner of the empire. Is that your view as well?”

  “I think it best the Church knows as little as possible,” agreed Sam. “If it becomes necessary, I can inform them of what has happened, but…”

  “I understand,” said the king. “I will trust your judgement.”

  Oliver nodded, slowly. “Father, I am sorry…”

  “You did not do this, Oliver. It is not you who should be sorry,” said King Edward. He looked to Sam. “I am confident we can manage the political difficulties, but what of sorcery? What other threats remain?”

  “There were three in the cabal, and I have absolute faith we got the right men,” declared Sam, “but some of their people escaped. We do not know who they are or what they are capable of. I think it’s best to assume they are dangerous, but not as dangerous as the bishop, the director, and, ah, your brother. And… Oliver and I both felt a… a presence. It was powerful and malevolent. It left, but I do not know where it went. I do not know if it returned to the underworld or if it is still in our world.”

  “A presence?” asked the king.

  “We believe it was a powerful spirit called Ca-Mi-He,” said Oliver.

  The king blinked. “You are sure?”

  “We are fairly certain,” said Oliver, running a hand back over his hair, feeling the leather thong that tied it back. “Certain enough. The creature was not manifested physically, but it felt more robust than a mere shade.”

  “I’ve heard the name,” said Edward, walking to the window of the room and staring out at the morning sun. Shaken, he turned to his son and Sam. “What can be done about this spirit?”

  “We don’t know,” replied Sam. “We need to research, to learn more about it.”

  “Yes, it’s best to understand what we’ll be facing,” acknowledged Edward. He turned to Oliver. “Do you have a plan?”

  Oliver shrugged. He drew a deep breath and then said, “Father, there is one more thing. Mother is alive. She did not die in Northundon. She’s not in the underworld.”

  Edward crossed his arms, frowning. “Oliver, it’s been twenty years. How could she not be… be dead?”

  “I am sure,” declared Oliver. “I do not know where she is or why she disappeared, but Father, I mean to find her.”

  “If she is not dead, then… then where is she?” asked the king. “Why has she not returned to Southundon? Why has she not sent me a message, or to you and your brothers? If she is alive, do you think
she abandoned us, son?”

  “I don’t know,” said Oliver. “Perhaps she was scared. Maybe she knew William was on the dark path.”

  “Son, if Lilibet is alive, she would not have simply left us,” declared Edward. He shook himself, as if trying to come to terms with what Oliver was saying. “It’s been twenty years. If she was alive, she would be here. If she thought William or anyone was on the dark path, she would have come immediately! You were old enough to know your mother. If she thought I was in danger, if you and your brothers were in danger, wouldn’t she have come running? If she is alive as you propose, you understand what that means, right? She abandoned us, Oliver. For whatever reason, she abandoned us. That is not the woman I knew. The Lilibet I married would never turn her back on family.”

  Oliver opened his mouth and closed it. He knew she lived, and because she lived, he had to look for her. He knew it deeper than he’d ever known anything, but his father was right. Why had she not returned?

  “I do not believe it,” murmured the king, finally ceasing his pacing. “I know you do, though. If-If Lilibet was alive, where would she be? Where would you even begin looking for her?”

  Oliver winced. His father was right about that. He had nowhere to start looking, no idea where she could be.

  “The Darklands,” said Sam quietly.

  Both the king and Oliver glanced at her in surprise.

  “In Northundon, there was evidence of powerful sorcery,” remarked Sam, looking apologetically to Oliver. “Not just the sacrifice of the city. A ritual was performed that anchors the summoned spirits to the ruins of the city. That is why they have not spread across Enhover. They are bound to that place. The ritual wasn’t conducted by shamans from the Coldlands. It wasn’t William and his cohort. Who else but the Darklands is capable of such a feat? If someone was in Northundon with the knowledge and ability to do such a thing, it stands to reason that same someone helped Lilibet flee, or maybe they captured her. She’s known throughout Enhover. I imagine in many circles in the United Territories as well. She could not hide out in the colonies for long. Where does that leave?”

  “Captured,” whispered Oliver.

  Captured. Held prisoner for twenty years. That could explain why she had not returned. It could explain much, except why. Why would his mother be held captive for so long without any demands? What purpose would that serve?

  “Do you truly think this is possible, priestess?” demanded the king. “I know nothing of the rituals which you describe, but I know my wife. She had no involvement with the Darklands. She’d rarely left Enhover, and the Darklands have very little involvement with us. In my rule, we’ve never sent a diplomatic mission there, and in history, they’ve never sent one to us. Why would they kidnap Lilibet? If—”

  “It makes more sense than anything else, Father,” interjected Oliver, his gaze locked on Sam. “She’s right. Where else could Mother be undiscovered for twenty years? The Darklands is the only place Crown and Company representatives do not go. Where else would a sorcerer come from who has the skill to perform such a powerful ritual as what happened in Northundon?”

  “Northundon? I am sorry, son, but I do not believe it,” stated the king. “The Coldlands attacked us there, and we retaliated. If that was not the case, if some other sorcerers snuck in and performed such a heinous act, why did the Coldlands elders not tell us back then? Why wait until twenty years after we destroyed them?”

  Oliver opened his mouth and then closed it. He had no answer. If what the shaman told him was true, they’d attempted to make contact with Enhover. Had the old man been lying? Had William been right, and the old man wasn’t even a Coldlands shaman?

  His arms still crossed, the king began pacing again. “I do not like this. Your brothers will like it even less.”

  “We don’t tell them, not about Mother,” declared Oliver suddenly. “Father, you are right. They would not understand. I know I am not wrong, but if I am…”

  “If you are wrong, it’s quite likely you’ll perish in that strange land,” mentioned Edward.

  “Even if we’re right, that’s not exactly unlikely,” Sam said.

  “Thanks,” grumbled Oliver. He looked to King Edward. “We can come up with a story to tell my brothers. They would believe I was sent out of Enhover until things settle. That will give us the time we need. Sam and I will travel to the Darklands and search for Mother. If I don’t find her, the only thing we lose is time.”

  “And maybe your life,” reminded the king.

  “The world is a dangerous place anywhere you go,” said Oliver, his face earnest. “The Darklands cannot be much more dangerous than the last several days in Enhover.”

  “What about the acolytes who fled William’s keep?” asked Edward, glancing at Sam. “What about this terrible spirit you told me of? You do not plan to hunt them down?”

  “The inspectors and Admiral Brach’s marines can handle that,” insisted Oliver.

  Sam shot him a look, but he did not meet her eyes. He knew she would want to find the acolytes personally. He knew she would want to confront Ca-Mi-He herself. She didn’t think the Crown was capable of handling the matter, and she was probably right, but if they lost themselves in the hunt, they might never get a chance to go to the Darklands.

  Edward looked to Sam. “You will accompany him?”

  Oliver held his breath, wondering if she’d say no, if she would remain in Enhover trying to locate the rest of William’s organization.

  “Of course,” she said. She offered Oliver a small smile. “I do not have the knowledge or skill to confront a spirit like Ca-Mi-He. Perhaps in the Darklands, they do.”

  “And how do you plan to get there?” questioned the king. “Company airships will not go to the Darklands. I will be honest, son, I do not think this is a good idea. With the unrest in the United Territories, pirates sprouting all over the tropics, I will not send you with a royal marine vessel.”

  “Captain Ainsley and the Cloud Serpent,” said Oliver. “She’ll take us.”

  “You haven’t even asked her,” retorted the king. “No matter how loyal, you cannot force a private captain and crew to sail to such a dangerous place.”

  “I have a way with women,” claimed Oliver.

  Shaking his head, King Edward walked to the doorway. “We have much to think about, and you’ve been awake far too long. I suggest you get some sleep, and then we will discuss this again. It’s not the woman I knew, and if she was taken captive and held for twenty years, what possible motivation is there? Let’s get the report from the inspectors once they’ve explored the druid fortress. We can cover up whatever we need to cover up, bribe whoever we need to bribe, and ensure this is resolved before we move on. Even if I eventually agree to let you leave on this foolhardy errand, I need your assistance in finding the rest of William’s entourage first. You two are better suited for this than anyone else in the empire. So, sleep on it, spend some days doing what must be done, and then we will talk again about your mother. Agreed?”

  Oliver nodded curtly. “Agreed.”

  Without further word, the king swept out of the room.

  “If he has time to think about this, he’s going to say no,” warned Sam.

  “I know,” replied Oliver. “I wasn’t planning to wait while he mulls it over. I think he’ll give us four or five days and then give a direct order. If he issues an edict, it’d be a crime for us or anyone assisting us to disobey.”

  “Four or five days until he commands us, so we’ve got three days to figure a way out of here?”

  “Three days,” agreed Oliver.

  “Do you have any idea of how drunk Ainsley’s going to have to be to agree to this?”

  Oliver grinned. “I think I have some idea.”

  “We’d better rest while we can, then,” advised Sam. “It’s going to be a long three days.”

  The Spectator I

  “Marquess Bartholomew Surrey, m’lady,” announced her maid.

  Lannia We
llesley looked up at the woman. “Who?”

  “The Marquess of Southwatch, m’lady.”

  “What does he want?”

  “To offer his condolences, m’lady,” answered the servant. The woman twitched uncomfortably, hands nervously fluttering to adjust her livery.

  Lannia pursed her lips. Condolences. That was all she’d heard for two straight days. A seemingly endless procession of dour, grim-faced men had knocked on her door, offering somber assurances that everything would be all right, that they felt truly sorry for her loss, that they were there for her.

  Some of them meant it.

  With her father dead and his estate passing entirely into her uncertain hands, she was one of the wealthiest women in Enhover. In the world, she supposed. She was still young and beautiful, with a reputation for enjoying herself. There were few eligible bachelors in Enhover who wouldn’t crawl on hands and knees to woo her.

  Had they come with a bottle of sparkling Finavian wine and promises to sweep her away to sunnier, more cheerful climes, had they begged to help her forget it all, then she might have been tempted. Instead, they asked about the funeral arrangements or how it was coming along with the dispensation of her father’s assets and responsibilities. They asked whether the king had come to offer his regards or whom they should contact about business inquiries with her father’s estate.

  The king had come by, he and his sons, John and Oliver. Like the others, they’d clutched their hands in front of their waists and mumbled worthless platitudes. Oliver, who had been there when her father had fallen on the hunt, hadn’t been able to hold her gaze. He’d barely looked at her as he’d stood trembling in front of her. A brave man, she knew, but he’d been humbled by delivering the awful news to his close cousin. And they had been close once, partners in an endless succession of childhood naughtiness, but when he’d come to see her, he had been just as gloomy a presence as the rest of them.

  Duchesses Matilda, Duke John’s wife, had been the warmest, but for years now, she’d been busy raising her growing brood of children. She and Lannia had never been friends.