by Emma Newman
“Good afternoon,” Mr Ekstrand said to Petra, taking hesitant strides towards her with an outstretched hand. “How are you?”
Max cleared his throat.
“Ah!” Ekstrand beamed at him, none of the suspicion from the day before in evidence. “Maximilian, how are you? Do come in.”
“You look better than yesterday,” Petra said, helping him onto the sofa and placing cushions behind his back.
“I slept well.” Max watched Ekstrand sit opposite him with a fixed smile on his face. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, I am fine, thank you.” Ekstrand spoke like a poor actor in a play. “I imagine you’re wondering about the gargoyle. I’ve prepared it for fieldwork and we had a very interesting conversation about hospitals. It’s in my laboratory whilst the modifications settle.”
“Good,” Max said, deciding not to concern himself with the change in the Sorcerer’s behaviour; it seemed to have made him more useful.
“Now that you’re up and about, I need you to get this investigation underway.”
“Mr Ekstrand, Max can’t even walk yet!” Petra said, sitting down nearby with her notebook and pen.
“He can with those,” Ekstrand flapped a hand at the crutches. “Besides, we don’t have time to waste; the season is about to start and I need to know what’s going on with the Master of Ceremonies.”
“Lavandula?” Max said. “He’s the one who’s gone missing?”
“Indeed,” Ekstrand said, his focus interrupted by a flash of delight at seeing tea being carried in. “Axon, you read my mind. Earl Grey?”
“Of course, sir,” Axon replied and served the tea discreetly as Ekstrand continued.
“Lavandula is arguably one of the most cooperative Fae-touched within the boundaries of the Heptarchy.” Ekstrand took his cup and breathed in the ribbon of steam. “Earl Grey is the most superior of all teas, I find, don’t you?”
He glanced at Petra as he said it, as if looking for approval. She rewarded him with a nod and he turned back to Max. “Mr Lavandula always informed me of any new Nether properties in Aquae Sulis, and the families involved. It’s far more civilised than the way things are in Londinium and Oxenford. And now he’s disappeared. I need him back.” He frowned into the bottom of his teacup. “I don’t like change.”
“Do you suspect foul play?”
“Absolutely. Why would the Master of Ceremonies leave two days before the start of the season without telling me?”
“Perhaps he had a personal emergency,” Max said.
“If he did, then I should know about it.” Ekstrand sipped the tea. “Personal or not, any emergency that calls him away without so much as a polite letter is my business too. Besides, he understands the importance of doing things properly so he would have sent a messenger. Something is wrong, and I don’t want to be forced to get used to a new Master of Ceremonies when I’ve just become accustomed to this one.”
“And there’s the data from the other night,” Petra said, and Ekstrand set his cup down.
“Indeed!” He looked up at the ceiling, and then that odd fixed smile was back on his face again. “Would you like to see the monitoring chamber?”
“All right,” Max said, noticing the way Ekstrand looked to Petra for approval again. She gave him a little smile, which pleased the Sorcerer immensely.
Once Max was up and the crutches in position, he followed the Sorcerer out of the sitting room and down the corridor, along a wing of the house he hadn’t yet visited. The first few doors were painted white and were the same as any period house in the Nether or Mundanus. But the further down the corridor they went, the less conventional they were. One was covered in writing that had been painted on with something sparkling like starlight. Another was made of a smoky crystal slab, replete with the occasional flaw. The one Ekstrand stopped in front of looked more like a pressurised door from a submarine, made of riveted metal and with a small wheel instead of a handle.
“This is one of my favourite rooms,” he said. “It’s also top secret.”
“I understand, sir,” Max said, wondering why he was being brought into the Sorcerer’s confidence when, only the day before, Ekstrand had been reluctant to even talk to him.
Ekstrand twirled the wheel, the door hissed and opened inwards. Max took care with the crutches to get over the lip of metal, not seeing all of the machinery until he was inside. The room was large, comparable to the generously sized living room, but felt cramped, filled with pipes, wires, dials and all manner of machinery that made no sense to Max.
At the centre of the far wall was a large drum of paper and several mechanical arms tipped with miniature brass model hands holding quills connected to individual ink reserves. They were moving independently, leaving ink trails on the paper as it turned on the drum.
“This took me years to build and refine,” Ekstrand said as he patted his pockets. “I read about something called a seismograph and it inspired me to adapt the idea for my own purposes. None of the other Sorcerers have one.” He turned back to Max. “That’s because their understanding of the sorcerous arts is inferior.”
“What does it measure?” Max asked, hobbling closer to the drum as Ekstrand located his spectacles.
“Nether entrance and egress in the city of Bath. Isn’t it beautiful?”
Max was indifferent. “You know when the Fae-touched go in and out of Aquae Sulis?”
Ekstrand nodded, grinning. “And their staff. Whenever they open a Way, the sensors I have all over the city detect the activity and convey the information here. The only drawback is having to have extra coal brought in to feed the boiler. Petra tried to make me read a book about something called electronics that she believes would be more efficient, but I don’t like that idea. For one thing, it would need electricity, which is vulgar. For another, I simply cannot put my trust in a machine without visible cogs, gears and levers. Who knows what ‘electronics’ might really be doing?”
Max, assuming the question was rhetorical, moved closer to the drum. “I always wondered how the Chapter Master knew so quickly when there was increased activity in certain areas.”
Ekstrand nodded. “Axon keeps an eye on it, and sometimes the others too, but only on Saturdays. Obviously.”
“Others?” Max asked, but Ekstrand had moved on and was rummaging in a box of paper by the side of the drum.
“Here it is,” he said, holding up a section of paper. “See here, this is what it looks like when a Fae-touched or one of their servants opens a Way in the normal fashion.”
He pointed at one of the lines that wobbled no more than half an inch away from its normal trajectory. Max looked back up at the drum and saw a similar wobble being produced by one of the quills and then another. “It’s busy today.”
“Yes, the season begins tomorrow, so they’re all running around like idiots. Now look at this.” He unfurled the paper a little more, revealing a huge block of black ink. “Know what that is?”
Max shook his head.
“That is someone opening a Way that is locked, using incredible force to do so.”
“A break-in?”
“Exactly.”
“At Lavandula’s house?”
“Yes. Petra did some calculations. But look at how long it was being held open.”
Max inspected the paper, realising that the lines marked time as well as location. “It seems much longer than all the others.”
“Someone broke into his Nether house from Mundanus, held the Way open and then left again.”
“I can’t imagine another one of the puppets being strong enough to break his lock,” Max said.
“They’re not. He had the best protection Charms in the city.”
“Not one of the Fae?” Max said.
“I think it’s very possible, which is why you’re going there now to see what you can find. If the Fae Court is meddling with key people in Aquae Sulis, nothing good is going to come of it.”
“I agree, sir. May I ask a que
stion?” At Ekstrand’s nod he said, “Regarding the loss of the Chapter, sir…it must be connected to the corruption in London.”
“I’m making preparations to look inside the Cloister. I don’t want to rush into anything reckless.”
“That’s excellent news, sir. May I have permission to go and see what happened there, and to ask Axon to monitor the London press for any signs of–”
Ekstrand held up his hand. “London? Are you still determined to go back there?”
“Not physically, sir, I’m not very useful, and it’s clear that’s a hostile territory now, but I do think it has to be followed up.”
“If there’s corruption within one or possibly more north London Chapters, it becomes a matter for the Heptarchy. All of Albion’s Sorcerers need to be contacted and a Moot called. It takes a dreadfully long time to do that.”
“But if you told them why, surely they’d meet quickly?”
“I can’t disclose the reason for the meeting unless all are present.”
“In case the Sorcerer of Essex is the source of the corruption?”
Ekstrand laughed as if Max had told a brilliant joke, then stopped when he realised that an Arbiter would never do such a thing. “Nonsense. Because Dante is likely to take terrible offence if I so much as hint that there’s a problem in his Kingdom, and that would cause another war. Much better to embarrass him in front of all the other Sorcerers, then they’ll back me up when I demand an explanation.”
“How long will it take?”
“Not long. A few weeks maybe.”
“The innocents are being taken now, sir. We don’t have a few weeks.”
“I can’t help the fact it will take time to open a proper dialogue; there are protocols to be followed, it’s a sensitive business getting in touch with a Sorcerer, let alone to make everyone aware something’s gone rotten in his territory. If we progress an investigation without informing him, it would be a terrible breach of sovereignty, not to mention appalling manners. We can use the time to determine what exactly happened to the Chapter; it may well give us more to take to the Moot about what the Camden Chapter has been up to. Besides, there’s no guarantee the loss of the Chapter and the corruption in London are connected. Just because they appear to be doesn’t mean they are. It could be that an experiment went catastrophically wrong and killed everyone in the cloister.”
“I’ll go now and see what happened,” Max offered, all too aware they didn’t have enough information.
“No, you don’t understand. I can’t just send you in there and I can’t scry because the equipment in the cloister has been damaged. The anchor property is still intact, so there are no structural concerns, but whatever destroyed the soul vessels may still be active. It may be that the individuals responsible are waiting for you, especially if this was an effort to cover up your reports of corruption.”
Max nodded, now seeing the problem. Ekstrand was being sensible. The buildings the Fae-touched lived in and Ekstrand’s house depended on the existence of physical buildings in Mundanus. The properties in the Nether, like the one he stood in now, were reflections of the real buildings, bound by magical anchors that only Sorcerers and the Fae themselves knew how to create.
Nether buildings were stable and structurally safe as long as the Mundane anchor building remained so, and it meant maintaining the Nether property was effortless – all bound magically within the anchors. The fact the cloister was still intact gave hope for restoring a functional Chapter in the future, but there had still been a breach in security that couldn’t be forgotten.
“How could an attacker have got inside?” he wondered aloud.
“They may have already been there,” Ekstrand replied. “There are too many questions and not enough facts. I’ll establish a new way to scry. It simply takes time to reduce risk, that’s all.”
Max nodded slowly, knowing he had to be patient. “May I be there when you first look?”
“Indeed, I’ll summon you.”
“I’ll look into the disappearance of the Master of Ceremonies in the meantime,” Max said, satisfied that something was being done, even if none of it seemed fast enough.
“Excellent.” Ekstrand tossed the evidence back into the box. “And may I say, it’s been a pleasure talking with you today,” he added, in that poor actor tone. “I do hope you have a…pleasant journey.” He took off his spectacles, looking dissatisfied. “Do come again!” He shook his head as he tucked the glasses back into his jacket pocket. “It’s so difficult,” he muttered and ushered Max out.
Cathy stepped in front of Tom before he could reply. “He will not give you this satisfaction!”
“Catherine,” Tom growled, his hand on her shoulder.
The Rosa’s eyes widened in genuine shock. “How dare you behave in such a reprehensible manner! Have you no respect for the way things should be done? I have taken the trouble to find your brother to answer for your misdemeanour, pray do me the courtesy of stepping back and allowing your honour to be defended appropriately.”
“But it’s not even necessary!” she said as Tom succeeded in shoving her aside.
“What evidence do you have for this accusation, sir?” he asked the Rosa.
“Only confirmation from Lady Rose herself.” His smug expression made his nose appear even larger. “When I saw what happened last night in Londinium I appealed to the Rosa Patroon, who intervened on my behalf. I’m given to understand that Lord Poppy himself approached Lady Rose to explain this bizarre turn of events, and confirmed your sister made the offending wish.”
Tom turned to her, his mouth opening and closing and eyes wide like a goldfish tipped from his bowl. “What on earth?”
“It seems your family has very little awareness of your sister’s actions,” the Rosa added, now building himself up to a full-blown gloat.
“This is ridiculous,” Cathy said. “Not only is it offensive–”
Tom yanked her away from the Rosa, who was starting to chuckle. “Don’t make this any worse,” he hissed, turning his back on the accuser and blocking his view of Cathy. “Is what he said true?”
Cathy wanted to push past Tom and argue for herself, but he saw her intent and held onto her arms. “Catherine, I swear, if you don’t explain yourself right now–”
“I made the wish,” she said, trying to wriggle out of his grip. She had planned to keep all that to herself, not wanting Tom, and eventually the rest of the family, to know about her failures to date. “Lord Poppy forced them on me, I was trying to sort it all out when you came and–”
“So his accusation stands?” Tom’s cheeks blazed but his lips were white.
“Sort of. I didn’t do it intentionally.”
“When this mess is sorted out, you and I are going to have a frank and honest conversation.”
“Fine, but Tom, you don’t need to fight. It’s absurd.”
“He has called me out,” Tom whispered. “Now I cannot do anything but accept, or risk damaging our family’s reputation even further. Now stay here, and for goodness’ sake don’t speak a word.”
He turned back to the Rosa, who had lit a cigarette and was leaning against the car again, smiling as if he were watching a comedy play out on a stage. “Straightened it all out?” he asked.
Tom cleared his throat as Cathy forced herself to think like one of them again. Something about this seemed wrong, but she couldn’t work out why.
“Have you a second sir?” Tom asked, implicitly accepting the challenge.
“I have indeed. Name yours, sir, and they will set about making the arrangements.”
“I counter your accusation with one of my own!” The words had flown out of Cathy’s mouth before she had fully decided what she was going to say. As fast as she could recall the case, the words tumbled from her mouth in the formal style she hadn’t spoken for years, before either of the men could silence her. “I hold that I did not directly cause the offence, and I do not benefit from the offence, therefore I place responsib
ility for your grievance onto the soul of the party who directly benefits: Mr Joshua Collins, mundane, unaffiliated to any of the Great Families.”
The Rosa tossed his cigarette away. “Is there precedent?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, fearing that Tom was about to suffer an aneurysm. “Lady Rose would know of it, as would my patron. In fact any of the Fae Court would know of the dispute between Lady Wisteria’s favourite and the head of the Lavandula family in 1657. The latter argued that as he did not directly benefit from the effects of a miscast spell, responsibility for the grievance fell upon the actual benefactor, a mundane by the name of Wokingham, who bedded the milkmaid who’d been accidentally hit by the Beautifying Charm.”
The Rosa considered this as Tom stared at her. “So be it.” He bowed. “I’m not so boorish as to maintain a dispute with the wrong party. Consider my challenge withdrawn, Mr Papaver.”
Tom breathed out in relief and shook the Rosa’s hand. “I shall consider this conversation between us forgotten,” he said.
“I think this meeting will be difficult to forget,” Horatio replied, glancing pointedly at Cathy. “I will seek out this bland benefactor ‘Collins’ and call him out in a manner he will understand. Good day to you.”
Cathy’s heart fell into her trainers. “You’re not going to challenge him, are you?”
“I have not received satisfaction,” Horatio replied, pulling his gloves back on and walking round to the passenger seat as the driver adjusted his goggles. “Therefore I will obtain it from him.”
“But he’s a mundane!”
Horatio laughed. “It makes no difference to me. Makes it easier in fact, less political fallout.” He glanced at Tom. “Wouldn’t you agree? One less mundane in the world is hardly something worth our concern. Good day.”
Tom returned his bow and they watched him climb into the car. When it was out of sight, Cathy pulled Tom towards the VW. “Come on! We have to get to London before he does, that’s where Josh is!”
