by Emma Newman
“No, your Grace. I’ll inform you as soon as he arrives.”
“Thank you, Morgan.”
She paced as she tried to think of ways to tell Will what she’d done. “Darling,” she said as if he was there. “While you were visiting Margritte, I secretly convinced the staff to break away from the Agency and form an independent household. The Agency doesn’t know yet.”
Cathy shook her head. “Darling,” she started again, imagining Will standing in front of her, frowning like he had when he asked her why she’d animated Nelson’s statue. “The Agency—no—Mr Bennet, from the Agency, has been blackmailing me and I thought it best to take away his control over our household by employing the staff myself, including the bodyguard you’ve been using to spy on me.” No! Too confrontational.
She tried a few more permutations but none of them sounded any good. She just wanted to get moving. The waiting was the worst thing about it all.
A knock on the door made her jump and Morgan entered. “Mr Bennet has arrived at the stables.”
“God, that was quick.” She took a deep breath and smiled at him. “This is it then, Morgan. Are you sure you want to stay and be involved in all this?”
“I am, your Grace.” He returned the smile. “In fact, may I say how pleased I am to have the opportunity to do so.”
“You rock, Morgan. Could you bring my hat, gloves and cape? I’m going dressed as I am.” She’d changed back into an outfit appropriate for the Nether, knowing that the people at the asylum wouldn’t believe she was the Duchess if she was wearing mundane clothing like she had been before.
Whilst she waited for him to return she realised how nervous she was. She’d set things in motion and there was no turning back; the staff were depending on her now in a way they didn’t need to before. She had to see it through, no matter what Bennet did. She had no doubt he was going to reveal her secrets to Dame Iris, but the consequences of that seemed less important now than doing her best to free those people. She wondered how far Poppy’s magic would protect her.
The slam of the front door made her heart race for a different reason; Will would have to be told and she didn’t have time to explain it all to him.
“Get out of my way, fool!” The voice that penetrated the wood was not her husband’s—thankfully not Bennet’s either. She heard Carter’s low rumble and then “I’m the Duke’s brother, idiot, stand aside!”
The door banged open and Nathaniel barged in like a man about to leap into a brawl rather than enter his sister-in-law’s company.
“Would you like me to remain in the room with you, your Grace?” Carter asked at the door, his cheeks a deep red.
“This is private!” Nathaniel slammed the door in Carter’s face.
Cathy backed away from him until her skirts brushed one of the armchairs by the fire. She sat in it and tried to look as composed as possible. “Would you like to sit down and tell me what has upset you so?”
Nathaniel looked horrified. “Don’t pretend you’re ignorant of this!”
She sat. “Of what? Please, sit down and—”
He crossed the room and leaned over her chair, planting his hands on the arms and effectively caging her in. “Where is he?”
“Who?”
“William!” He glanced at her left hand and frowned at the wedding ring. “You really don’t know?”
“He went to meet Margritte.” Nathaniel didn’t move. “Margritte Semper-Augustus Tulipa. I don’t know where.”
“Why?”
“Because she wanted to speak to him. Will you please sit down?”
“William has disappeared and we think he’s been kidnapped.”
“What?”
“The Patroon has tasked me with finding him and bringing the kidnappers to justice.”
“Margritte wouldn’t do anything like that.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I spoke to her and—”
Nathaniel moved so swiftly she didn’t realise he had until his hand was gripping her jaw. The last of the bruising from the attack twinged as he made her look up at him. “Did you lead him into a trap?”
“Of course I didn’t, you prat, let go of me!”
He squeezed tighter, until tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “I know you didn’t want to marry him. Did you and your friend come up with a plan to—”
“Let me go!”
The door opened and Carter’s hand was on his shoulder in seconds. Nathaniel released her so he could bat the huge man away. Carter put himself between her chair and Nathaniel as she composed herself, rubbing her face. With a horrified jolt she realised it was the first time another man had touched her since the wedding day, but Nathaniel didn’t seem to be burned.
She stood up and Carter looked down at her, frowning at her face. There were probably marks. “Thank you,” she said to him and then stepped to one side to look past his bulk at Nathaniel. “I know Margritte has a son in Oxenford. She said she was staying with him. But I really can’t imagine she would do anything like this and I’m deeply insulted by your suspicion. I’ve been away for the day and had no idea anything has happened to Will.”
She expected an apology but there was nothing of the sort on Nathaniel’s face. “I’ll go and look for him there then.”
“How can I help? Perhaps I could write to her and see if—”
“I think you’ve done enough, useless woman.” He gave her a look of absolute contempt. “If I find that you’re responsible for his being harmed I’ll personally—”
“May I suggest you leave, sir?” Carter shifted until he blocked the way between them again and Cathy heard Nathaniel leave the room, slamming the door behind him. Carter turned to face her again. “I’m so sorry, your Grace. Mr Reticulata-Iris is one of the individuals permitted to see you. Had I any idea he would be so…despicable I never would have let him enter.”
“It’s all right, you weren’t to know. Would you be so kind as to find out if Will came home after he met Margritte?”
“I’ll come straight back, your Grace.”
Trembling, Cathy opened and closed her mouth carefully, feeling the bruising again. She fumbled with the opening of her reticule and pulled out the small mirror compact inside and looked at her face, expecting to see marks, but there was only the usual red. Had they lied to her about the curse or had the third wish broken that one too? The ring still looked the same though, and the curse was bound into it.
Only an Iris man may touch you now…
The memory of Will’s mother breaking the news to her returned with a sharp clarity. An Iris man—she had made out that it meant only Will, but what if it didn’t? Her hand flew to her mouth as she realised why Vincent had been so keen to stay and take care of Sophia. He was her father. Will’s mother had had an affair with her brother-in-law.
After a single knock the door opened and Carter returned. “Your Grace, the Duke hasn’t yet returned and neither have his footmen. The Steward is going to the meeting place as I speak, a mundane hotel halfway between here and Oxford, to see if there is any evidence of foul play.”
“Perhaps they just got talking and lost track of the time.” She didn’t believe it even as she said it. Something had happened to him; Nathaniel wouldn’t have been sent by the Patroon unless they were sure. She could write to Margritte but what would it achieve? If she had done something terrible she was hardly likely to confess it to her victim’s wife.
“I’m sure everything will be fine, your Grace.”
It felt wrong to do anything but wait for word of Will’s safety but Bennet wouldn’t be distracted for much longer. Morgan arrived with her hat and gloves. “We have to go to the asylum,” she said to Carter. “We’ve only got an hour or two at the most. We’ll go through to the edge of Aquae Sulis, then you’ll pick up a hire car for us in Bath, it’s much closer to the asylum than London. You can drive, can’t you Carter?”
“Yes, your Grace.”
“What will happen a
fterwards?” Morgan asked as she put on her hat.
“Hopefully, I’ll turn up with a bunch of people who’ll need lots of tea,” she replied.
“And what about Mr Bennet?” Carter asked.
She sighed. “I’ll face that problem when I come to it.”
Max waited at the edge of the park, watching the gates as the gargoyle hunkered down in the bushes. The Master of the London Camden Ward Chapter had a habit of taking a stroll and eating a chocolate bar there every day at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. It was overcast but not raining and the man’s favourite bench was free.
Not wanting to look like an Arbiter waiting for someone to arrive, Max sat down on another bench with his back to the gates. The gargoyle had a clear view of them so it would know when the Chapter Master arrived, and meanwhile Max’s face would be hidden. He checked his watch. Three o’clock.
He had a brief vision of the Chapter Master walking into the park behind him from the perspective of the bushes. He was a tall and rather gaunt man who didn’t look in the best of health. There was a newspaper tucked under one arm, a take-away coffee cup in his left hand. He was dressed in a suit and wearing a heavy woollen coat with a thick woolly hat that had a large red bobble on the top. Max had a sense of the gargoyle finding it funny, but had no idea why.
Free of the pressure of fieldwork, Chapter Masters were able to live a relatively normal life, their souls intact and lifespan extended by living in the Nether. Many avoided entering Mundanus unless absolutely necessary, hoping to prolong their lives as much as possible, just like the puppets. Unlike them, Chapter Masters wanted longevity to protect the innocents. It seemed this one wasn’t so keen on staying alive as long as possible.
The Chapter Master sat on his usual bench, rested the coffee on the wooden slat next to him and opened the newspaper. Max got up and approached slowly, expecting the man to look up, alert and ready to flee as soon as he detected him. But when the man’s brown eyes peeped over the top of the paper he simply lowered it and smiled.
“You must be Max,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“You’re the Chapter Master of the Camden Ward?” Max wanted to be certain before they spoke about anything sensitive.
“I am. My name is John. Come and sit down. And I feel I should say now, in case you had any concern, you’re not in any danger.”
Max sat next to him. “So you’ve decided I’m not a threat any more?”
“You misunderstand me. We haven’t tried to kill you. Whoever put you in hospital wasn’t one of mine.”
“Let’s go back to the beginning,” Max said. “Montgomery contacted me because he suspected your Chapter was corrupt. He was right.”
“Going right back to the beginning,” John echoed, “I instructed Monty to contact you.”
“You wanted me to find out.” Max nodded. “Yes, that makes sense. I wondered what could have motivated him to reveal it, when he didn’t feel any guilt. But if you sent Montgomery, why did Faulkner give me the brush-off?”
“Faulkner didn’t know what I’d done. I couldn’t risk anyone finding out, and that’s why I’m still alive today. Monty is dead.”
“Who killed him?”
“The same people who tried to kill you, I imagine. You’d left the hospital before my people had a chance to reach you, and then you were back in Wessex. There was nothing I could do without seriously rocking the boat.”
“Someone followed me and tried to finish the job.”
“Again, not one of mine.”
“But it was an Arbiter. Both times. And my Chapter was destroyed.”
John fiddled with the edge of the newspaper. “This is troubling news. I was depending on you to inform your Chapter Master, in the hope the Sorcerer of Wessex would intervene. My orders to turn a blind eye to the activities of various families became unbearable when it was the turn of the Rosas. They took it too far.”
“Is it the Irises now?” When John nodded, Max asked, “And there have been other families?”
“In the past I’ve been instructed to ignore the Wisterias, Peonias, Ranuculi, Digitalis and a few other very minor families. The Irises are the last ones—all of the puppets have had their turn over the years.”
“But how could you sanction that?”
John was staring at one of the trees. “I haven’t been happy about it. But I couldn’t disobey a direct order from the Sorcerer. Surely you understand that?”
Max nodded. “Did you question it?”
“The first time, yes, I did. He told me there was a bigger picture and that whilst it seemed contrary to my remit, it was for the greater good. You said your Chapter was destroyed…is that why the Sorcerer of Wessex hasn’t intervened? Because you haven’t been able to get a message to him?”
“Mr Ekstrand knows,” Max said. “But he’s been distracted by the war with Mercia.”
“War?” John appeared to know nothing about it.
“Ekstrand believes Rupert of Mercia killed all of the other Sorcerers. Have you been in contact with the Chapters in Sussex or East Anglia? How are you functioning without your Sorcerers?”
“I don’t understand.” John was even more pale now. “I received a message from Dante only this morning.”
“But Dante died several weeks ago. I saw the body myself.”
There was a long pause.
“Someone has been using a combination of Fae and sorcerous magic,” Max said. “My theory is that an apprentice of Dante’s is behind all of this. I don’t know how and I don’t know why. With your help I may be able to find some answers.” John was still staring at the tree. “I need you to open a Way to the Sorcerer’s house. I know you must have access for emergencies.”
John stood up. “I can’t help you.”
“But you know something is wrong. Innocents are being taken, Arbiters and Chapter staff are being murdered—the Master of my Chapter was murdered along with everyone else. The last two Sorcerers in Albion are trying to kill each other whilst the true perpetrator goes free. If you don’t help me, you’re only going to put more people at risk.”
John shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“You wanted this to be discovered. Now I’m here and willing to do something, are you really going to turn me away and let this continue?”
“Yes. I am.”
Sam felt like he’d been walking for days. The mists of the Nether made it hard to mark his progress. There were no landmarks and no points of reference against which he could measure the distance travelled. He looked back at one point, seeing the iron path twisting in a huge corkscrew shape that made his heart flap like a dying fish. He only looked forwards from that point on.
He thought about the pillar he saw in Exilium on the day he tried to rescue the blondes. Poppy had been unable to look at it. Mazzi had told him that the anchors that hold the Worlds apart were made from iron and copper, as this path was. He was certain it had something to do with marking its edges—that’s what he’d been looking for when he stumbled upon the pillar the first time. He was walking the chains between the Worlds. He smiled. That sounded pretty cool.
He wanted to understand more but Amir hadn’t left anything for him to read about the esoteric aspects of his new position. It was all business. Mazzi said that each Lord and Lady of the Elemental Court was different, bringing something new to the role each time. He was probably the first one who’d had a previous run-in with one of the Fae Lords. Hopefully, he was about to become the first to bitch-slap one too.
Sam tried to focus on reaching the end of the path, just as he had focused on finding the edge of Exilium, but it seemed to have no effect. Then he realised the same rules wouldn’t apply in the Nether. There was nothing to do but walk and not think about the fact that he was probably walking upside down at points on the corkscrew path without even realising it.
Just as he was wondering whether it actually led anywhere, Sam looked up from his feet to see that the path ran into a thick bank of fog. Hoping it wa
s the boundary between the Nether and the edge of Exilium, Sam quickened his pace until he reached the point where the iron disappeared into the mists. He remembered the pillar stretching out of the ground in Exilium, so he got down on his hands and knees, expecting another stomach-churning sensation as he crossed the boundary.
His instinct was correct and, as he passed from the misty void into the Fae prison, his weight tipped back and he grasped the pillar, wrapping his legs around it like a child trying to shimmy up a tree trunk. He squeezed his eyes shut as he inched forwards until his body readjusted.
When he opened them again he wasn’t in the Nether any more, but he wasn’t convinced he was in Exilium yet either. There were trees and meadows, a blue sky and fluffy clouds but it could have been a spot in the English countryside. It wasn’t as breathtaking; the colours were just normal—pleasant—but not supernaturally beautiful.
He was about a metre off the ground and beginning to slide towards it, so he let go of the pillar and stood on the grass. It looked like it was the same pillar he’d seen before and was incredibly cold to the touch. Scanning the horizon, Sam couldn’t see any clusters of trees to suggest Lord Poppy’s or anyone else’s domain, nor any of the tell-tale flowers. He did see lots of tiny things in the air, seeming to be fleeing from where he was. Or were they fleeing from him?
Sam started to walk, holding at the centre of his thoughts the desire to see the enslaved blondes he couldn’t save before. He would find them, he would free them, that was all he wanted to do. After a while he wondered why the ground was still flat. All the other times he’d looked for people the meadow would rise into a gentle hill, then the person he was hoping to find would be on the other side. Nothing like that seemed to be happening. Maybe he was just in the middle of the Sussex Downs and not in Exilium at all.
Then he saw someone walking towards him, someone tall enough to be Fae, wearing a long cloak. Sam stopped and waited until he got closer. He looked behind him to make sure no one was creeping up on him whilst he was distracted and saw a couple of tiny flowers he’d brushed as he went past, now brown and shrivelled. He faced front again. He was in Exilium, he was certain now, but he wasn’t the same man he was before.
