Lammas night

by Katherine Kurtz

  But Graham was not immediately reachable. He had tried several times that day himself to contact William without success. The train he and Selwyn had taken south from Humberside the morning before had been crowded and slow; both of them had spent most of the trip sitting in the aisle. By the time Denton collected them at Victoria Station, it was after midnight and far too late to ring the Palace, and Graham was far too exhausted to deal with William's inevitable questions, anyway.

  While Denton drove Selwyn on to Oakwood, Graham spent a fruitless few hours in the office trying to catch up on a little of what had gone on in his absence, then gave it up as a lost cause until he had gotten some rest and went home to bed.

  He did not sleep immediately. When he finally did drop off, he dreamed variations on the same nightmarish images of the past week. In the one he remembered most vividly, he and William were galloping lightheartedly in Windsor Great Park— only suddenly their clothes were wrong, and Graham carried a longbow. All at once, Graham drew the bow and loosed an arrow into William's breast.

  He woke gasping, looking for blood on his hands as he had so many nights in the past, but of course there was none. At least when he finally fell asleep again, the dreams did not return.

  Despite instructions to the contrary, Denton let him sleep in on Lammas morning—he had his own instructions from the Earl of Selwyn. As a consequence, by the time Graham got back to the office at eleven o'clock—in sour temper despite the fact that he knew he had needed the rest—William had ab-eady left for the day. No, he had not gone on any official engagement, the prince's secretary informed Graham, but Capt. Jordan had been in attendance.

  Their intentions were unguessable after so long a time without contact, so Graham gave up on William for the moment, trying to put both him and Lammas out of mind while he settled down once more to the business of catching up. In the days of solitude and soul searching with Selwyn, he still had not reached a decision about tonight, though he carried Dieter's measure in a breast pocket.

  Some of the war developments he could have deduced from news that filtered through to Selwyn's ship en route to port. The Dover destroyer flotilla had lost three of its number in the past five days, along with eight war-laden merchantmen, and had finally been ordered to Portsmouth for greater safety. Desultory bombing raids over much of the southern half of the country had probed far inland, as seemed to fit an increasing pattern—though so far, the Germans had assiduously avoided London.

  In addition, clear weather the night before permitted German mine-laying runs along much of the east coast from Dover to Tyneside, once more endangering shipping. Long-range weather forecasts were predicting more of the same—which was good news for Richard and Geoffrey, flying in from Pembroke Docks for tonight's working, but also good for the Germans. Against the Luftwaffe's losses of five planes the day before, Fighter Command had lost three—a far worse than average score. Even as Graham read, a report came in of another convoy attacked off Dover and more planes shot down.

  The day continued on the note set early on, the capper a cipher translation that Grumbaugh handed him just as he was heading out the door for Oakwood at midafternoon. Hitler's latest directive on the proposed invasion had come through only minutes before. Indirectly, it underlined the reason for everything now in progress.

  The German Air Force will use all available means to destroy the British Air Force as soon as possible. Attacks will be directed primarily against the flying units, ground organization, and supply installations of the Royal Air Force, and, further, against the air armaments industry, including factories producing anti-aircraft equipment.

  There was more, but Graham had no stomach to read it just then. Tom by the double dilemma of trying to stop the invasion and protect William and not knowing whether refusing Dieter would help or hinder either effort, he stuffed the copy in his pocket and stalked out of the office for the night. He could feel the tension tightening in his gut all the way to Oakwood.

  'This only makes it clearer in my mind that tonight's working has to succeed," he told Alix and the brigadier bleakly as Selwyn read through the nev- directive for himself. "But it isn't going to succeed if I make the wrong decision. I've been agonizing over it for days—just ask David. It still boils down to one ultimate question; is Dieter telling the truth?"

  ''What are the options as you see them?" the brigadier asked. "David has told us about Dieter's proposition. How many choices do we have?"

  Graham sighed and laid both hands flat on the table in front of him, studying their backs. He had rehearsed the different combinations in his mind so often in the past few days that he hardly had to think about the words.

  "One, if Dieter's lying about wanting to work with us and we join him, there's an awfully good chance that by the time I know that for sure, it will be too late to pull out in time. If I absorb the backlash, I can probably keep him from getting through to you right then—which would at least give you time to prepare—and I might even be able to deflect some of the attack back on him, but I may not survive it myself. I could accept that if it meant you and William would be safe, but with me dead, Dieter and Sturm could regroup and still make a try for you. I have no way of even guessing what their combined strength might be."

  "Well, I can't say I fancy that option," Alix murmured. "Suppose we don't pin him?"

  Graham shrugged. 'Two: if he's lying and we don't join him, there obviously can't be a backlash problem—but he and Sturm will probably launch a direct attack on us, anyway—or on William, which frankly terrifies me even more. Dieter hinted that Sturm has definite plans for William, but he either didn't know or simply wouldn't say what those plans are. In any case, I'm afraid we have to face the fact that an attack of some sort may occur whether Dieter is lying or not."

  "And if he's telling the truth?" the brigadier asked.

  "Three: if he's telling the truth and we try to help him, we're deliberately pitting ourselves against a master black magician who is even farther out of our league than Dieter himself— maybe even more powerful than Hider, for all we know. Sturm is supposed to be Hitler's protector, after all. But at least we'd know what we were getting into; we wouldn't be taken by surprise. If we lose, it's an honest defeat; and if we win, then William is safe, and what is even more important, what the grand coven is going to do tonight has a reasonable chance of succeeding."

  He rocked his chair onto its back legs and glanced at the ceiling. "Option four has almost the same result as if he were lying. If he's telling the truth and we don't help him, he may not be able to stop Sturm by himself, and we may still have to counter a direct attack from Sturm. Again, William is in danger. I don't like any of those choices—and there are no others."

  "What about William?" Alix asked after a moment. "David says you haven't even told him what's going on."

  Graham shook his head. "It was pointless to tell him anything before I left. Even we had no idea it would get this bad. Now that we know—well, I don't know if he could handle it or not, Alix. I certainly don't know if I can be unbiased where he's concerned. That's one of the reasons I stayed at sea with David. I needed time to work out all the angles without worrying about him getting any odd notions. David, you told them about his Becket recall, didn't you?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, it goes a littte farther than I told even you," he said, letting his chair down on all four legs with a thump. "Alix, I'm terrified that no matter what I do, I'm going to kill him! I even dream about it! I'm FitzUrse to his Becket—or I'm myself, which is far worse. When I wake up, I have to look to be sure I don't really have his blood on my hands!"

  "Don't let your fears get out of hand," Alix answered sharply. "You're dwelling too much on the past. Just because you fear, it doesn't make you his slayer in this life."

  "You haven't had to live with my nightmares the past week, Alix. How else can you read it? The Drake and Hatton lives were certainly a direct parallel, and the cards—you yourself said that the Hanged Man was a literal
card of sacrifice. Why else are both of us remembering FitzUrse and Becket now if they don't have also some bearing on the present? FitzUrse isn't the only slayer I've been, you know. I've been Walter Tyrrel and a monk named John. Who else has he been?"

  "I'm not sure we've yet proven that he's been anyone besides himself," Ellis replied, aromatic smoke wreathing his head as he puffed calmly on his pipe. "It's entirely possible—probable, in fact—that both you and William have simply been projecting your own fears for one another on your various regressions. You know it happens. Gray. You even told him so, when you gave him a reason he saw your face on his killer. It was a perfectly logical explanation, too. But he's not the only one who's been afraid of the unknown. You've been anxious about involving him in the old ways—as well you should have been— and your anxiety has started to color your own fears. That's only natural, but you mustn't let it interfere with your functioning."

  "Don't you think I've tried to tell myself that?" Graham whispered.

  "I'm sure you have," said Ellis. "But let's look more closely at an example which you yourself mentioned. The I>rake-Hat-ton relationship certainly was not one of slayer and slain—if it ever even existed outside of William's wishful thinking, which is not at all certain. You did tell him quite a lot about the background of that situation before you did the regressioir and he 'remembered' being Hatton—perhaps more than you recall. He also could have read a lot and simply neglected to mention it. He wanted very badly to be of help, after all. Remember how moved he was after being acclaimed at the meeting?"

  "Yes, and at least a few of them acclaimed him as a royal substitute," Graham pointed out. "That's only one step away from a substitute victim."

  "It is if that's what was meant,'' Ellis said softly, "but we don't know that."

  Graham sighed heavily and tried to tell himself he believed it, much preferring Ellis's explanation to his own, but the dull dread was still there.

  "I suppose you could be right," he said after a moment. "Maybe I have been blowing things all out of proportion. I want to believe you. However, that still doesn't remove the threat from Sturm, You must admit, that isn't a figment of my imagination."

  "No, it isn't," Alix said, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. "Where is William now, by the way?"

  Despite an earlier resolution not to take out his own frustration on the others, Graham found himself glancing at Selwyn resentfully.

  "That's a good question. Since someone allowed me to sleep too late this morning, he'd already gone off with your son by the time I could ring him to check in. I'm sorry, David. It just really started the day out badly."

  "I don't think we have time to start blaming one another for anything, Gray," Alix replied sharply, glancing at her husband to cut off any argument on his part. "They knew how important tonight was even without Dieter's complication. Where do you suppose they might have gone?"

  "I haven't the foggiest notion."

  "No official function?" the brigadier asked.

  "Not that his secretary knew about."

  "Well, he was supposed to end up at the Garter Chapel for this evening,'" Selwyn said. "Maybe Michael's driven him— though Michael should have been here by now," he added, glancing at his watch.

  "Maybe Michael ought to stay there with him, then," Graham said wistfully, folding his hands and leaning his chin on them. "The more I think about it, now that we do have the Dieter complication, the less I like the idea of him being alone tonight. And I certainly don't want him here."

  "Well, I don't see how Michael can be both places at once," Alix said, "and we're already short a full complement at this end. Don't you think William would be safe enough by himself at Windsor?"

  As Graham waggled one palm in a yea-nay gesmre, the brigadier disengaged from his pipe and blew a smoke ring ceilingward.

  "Oh, it's probably as safe a place as any, as far as places go, Alix. Anywhere that's been used for six centuries by an order as powerful as the Garter has to have built up a certain amount of protective energy for its members. However, I think I have to agree with Gray that I'd feel better if I knew there-were someone there with him who knew what they were doing."

  Selwyn was called to the phone while they continued the debate, but he reappeared almost immediately with a shocked, incredulous expression on his face.

  "You'd better take it. Gray," he said in an oddly strained voice. "Everyone is all right, but that's Michael on the line. Someone tried to kill the prince earlier this afternoon."

  Graham never remembered how he got to the phone. One decision, at least, had been made for him. When he heard William's guarded account of his and Michael's close call, he got Michael back on the line and told him to go with the prince to Windsor and stay there. It had not been necessary for either of the younger men to mention who they thought responsible. As soon as the two rang off, Graham rang Denton to order the roundup of all four of their Thulist suspects for overnight detention and questioning.

  It did not occur to him until he was back in the library telling the others what he knew that while it was almost certainly a Thulist attempt to kill William, it was not necessarily a mere retaliation for Wells's death. Even then, it took the brigadier's comment to trigger another possible motive.

  "You know, it's a trifle odd that William should have picked today to go to Canterbury," Ellis said, sucking thoughtfully at his pipe. "Whatever else it may be, Canterbury is and has long been a place of sacrifice. Christian sacrifice continues there daily, as symbolized by the Eucharist—and regardless of our previous discussion about parallels, we all do know what happened to Thomas Becket there, don't we, Gray?"

  Graham, who still had not unwound from the initial shock of Selwyn's summons to the phone, felt a hard lump of dread congeal in his chest.

  "Are you saying William went there because of the Becket-FritzUrse connection?" he asked. "Do you think he knows?"

  "Hmmm, I'm not sure I'm ready to speculate about why he went there," Ellis replied. "It was very convenient for someone, however. In case anyone has forgotten, Lammas is one of the four traditional days of sacrifice in many traditions. Some would say it was one of the two."

  "What are you driving at?" Selwyn muttered.

  "Well, we have a very important working scheduled for tonight. We know that others across the Channel have similar plans—and they think William is behind ours. What if today's little episode with the car wasn't a Thulist revenge on Wells at all but an attempted sacrifice to seal the success of their night's venture? We know that human sacrifice is part of their stock in trade—and they don't care whether the victim is willing or not."

  With a groan, Graham buried his face in his hands, only dimly aware of Alix slipping an arm around his shoulder in comfort. If Ellis were right, there remained only one thing for Graham to do, but the actual recognition of that fact left him cold and desolate.

  "You've presented a very frightening theory," he heard Selwyn say. "Would you care to elaborate?"

  "No, but I will. If the Thulists did believe a sacrifice necessary to ensure the success of their working against us, who better than the leader of the opposition? It would also eliminate his supposed strength from our complement."

  "I 11 agree with that last," Alix spoke up beside him, "but why do you think it was an attempt at a sacrifice?"

  "Aside from the day, the method was right,"

  "Carbon monoxide poisoning?" Selwyn asked with a note of disbelief.

  "No, asphyxiation. It was the next most acceptable manner of slaying after bloodshed and burning. Hanging was the usual form, but we know that sacrificial victims were also smothered with pillows, strangled, and drowned. It's the effect that's important, ritually speaking. The end result is all the same."

  "Well, the end resuh they're going to get isn't going to be the one they were after," Graham said, raising his head to look at them, "because William isn't going to be the sacrifice—I am. And it will be on my terms, for our purposes—not theirs."

  As
they stared back at him, no one apparently willing to be the first to try to dissuade him, Graham drew himself up and let out a heavy sigh.

  "Look. We've been avoiding this question for weeks even though we've talked from the beginning about the possibility of a sacrifice. The past-life parallels have nothing to do with that. I accepted the possibility when I took over from you, David. I did not accept the possibility that William might somehow get substituted in my place."

  "No one's saying that he should be," Selwyn objected.

  "The Thulists are. It also seems to me that the potential has been building all along, whether we were thinking about it or not—perhaps because we weren't thinking seriously about the possibility that I might have to rise to the occasion.

  "Well, we can't avoid addressing the question any longer. It's clear that someone is being set up to be a sacrifice— William, if the Thulists have anything to say about it. I don't accept that. Nor will I be FiizUrse to his Becket this time around. I've been the slayer before, but I've also been the slain—and that's the way it's going to be tonight if anyone's going to take that role."

  Alix drew back to stare at him. "Do you honestly see that as the only option?"

  "I do. I'm going to work with Dieter, Alix. I've already told you how I see my chances in that regard, so the rest of you are free to join me or not, as you choose. If he's lying, I