The Pyramids of London

by Andrea K Höst

  Exchanging a glance with Eleri, Eluned decided that it would be best to wait for another opportunity before they tried the blunt approach. "We won't," she said, as neutrally as she could manage.

  "What's a Mini-T?" Griff asked, as the man lifted another two mannequins and departed.

  "Ministry of Science and Technology," Eleri said. "In charge of airships, the Patent Office, things. Let's go find the Aunt."

  This proved less easy to do than to say. When they reached the central garden, they found it packed with people, apparently back from touring the school facilities. It gave some measure of how large Tangleways must be, that there'd been so many people about, completely unseen.

  It took half Lord Fennington's speech just to spot Aunt Arianne, and by the time they'd worked their way nearly to her the speech was over and everyone was streaming about chasing refreshments, lining up for other tours, talking to the teachers, or gossiping.

  "Too many hats," Melly said, standing on tip-toe as she tried to spot where Aunt Arianne had gone.

  "Give it up," Eleri said.

  "Shall we try one of the tours?" Nabah suggested, and that's what they did, and then stopped for refreshments before splitting up—ostensibly to hunt individually, but more so Eleri, Griff and Eluned would have a better chance of button-holing Lord Fennington again.

  Tired of crowds, Eluned abandoned the chase altogether, and found stone stairs down into the sunken garden moat. There in cool quiet she found moss, lacy ferns, and a treasury of saxifrages clinging to rocks and tucked in hollows.

  Memory of that morning soured her appreciation. What was wrong with her? It was silly and senseless not to have brought her sketchbook on a trip like this. But she loathed constantly trying and failing and not understanding what was wrong.

  Hating that this was tying her in knots when she was supposed to be concentrating on finding Mother and Father's killer, Eluned followed the high arch of the drainage channel out of the garden, trying to decide whether Lord Fennington had really not recognised their names, or was a very good actor. And what did they do if he simply denied everything?

  The drainage channel ended in an ornate grate: interlinked hands, with oxalis growing up through it. Eluned crossed this and found a slope of green down to a river—a tributary of the Tamesas, according to Griff. To her left was a path and she followed it as it curved through a small patch of trees to, inevitably, another folly: a circle of columns with a domed roof.

  There was a woman sitting alone on the steps, and Eluned started to turn away, then recognised the hair colour and reversed direction.

  "You're not wearing your hat," she said, as Aunt Arianne turned her head at her approach.

  "A disguise of sorts. A great many people want to discuss foreseeings, but all they know of me is that I'm recently bound and wearing a veil."

  The pavilion was shaded by trees, but it was still the first time since she'd been bound that Aunt Arianne had been outside during the day without a veil, and Eluned suspected that the curious crowd must have been particularly trying.

  "What do you tell them?" Eluned asked, sitting down on the circular stair beside her aunt. There were no proper seats, the floor of the folly being taken up by a beautiful, if sadly cracked mosaic depicting constellations in a night sky.

  "I tell them as much as I know, which is nothing at all, at least where the Dragon of the North is concerned."

  "Do you think it might really happen? That you'll find Albion's fourth dragon?"

  "I think I'm not going to waste my time on guessing games. Better to simply prepare as best we can for whatever tests are thrown our way."

  "But Cernunnos accepted you as Keeper. Why do that and then test you?"

  Aunt Arianne tipped back her head, studying the inside of the pavilion's dome. More stars, brilliant against a wash of dark blue. She looked tired.

  "Oakfire speaking comes from the forest, not Cernunnos," she said. "The Horned King is one of the Great Forest's many gods, one aspect of something vast. There's very little of this world that was not forest at some point. Even deserts have ancient forests beneath them. Perhaps only the oceans are outside its bounds. Can't you feel it? All around us is forest."

  Eluned started to point out that there was a stand of trees only a few feet away. But a cool breeze whisked her face, bringing a hint of loam. And was Aunt Arianne looking up at the inside of the dome, or at sky through sheltering branches?

  "The trees are always with us," Aunt Arianne said. "We asked to be part of it, and we must prove ourselves worthy."

  "You keep saying 'we'," Eluned said, almost under her breath, though it was not as if she could forget Lila's bite, or the key that would come when she called for it.

  "Keeper Tyse cannot say with complete certainty who those foreseeings were intended for. She recorded me officially because my arrival triggered the speaking, but given that you received the same blessing from Cernunnos, it seemed to her a high probability that you and I are both the subject of these challenges. Pretending that you are not involved is not going to prevent you from being drawn in."

  "I don't know anything about the Dragon of the North either," Eluned said.

  "No. But if that 'shopping list' was in chronological order, dragons will be the last of our problems. What, to you, most strikes you as an 'unfinished one'?"

  Since Aunt Arianne was being so serious, Eluned cast her mind about for something that seemed unfinished to her. It could be anything, although the phrasing had made it seem like a person, and people usually weren't…

  Stiffening, Eluned stared at her aunt's profile. "The independent automatons. Eleri doesn't consider them finished, because she hasn't verified reliable movement. They are—" She choked, head spinning.

  "I spent some energy on the question of cause and effect,

  Aunt Arianne said, serene as ever. "Were we accepted by Cernunnos because we had already become embroiled in the first of the challenges? Or were we chosen, and then matters arranged so that we would be willing to give allegiance? Is it possible that what the Swedes would call a 'fate' was laid on us, and that your parents' deaths were part of that fate? I have yet to decide my feelings on this. To be angry at the gods is to scream at the stars. Even if they hear, they will not stop shining."

  "Wh-what?" Eluned could not think through what she'd been told. Had Cernunnos caused—no, that wasn't what Aunt Arianne had said. Fate. When the Swedish gods laid a fate on someone, the world would rearrange itself to bring that fate about. A wholly different thing to oakfire foretelling.

  "Or, of course, the unfinished ones might have nothing to do with automatons. Perhaps we are simply people who were in the right place with the right reasons. I may need to choose to believe that, to be able to not waste myself in anger. I can't be sure which case is true, but I felt you were entitled to know my suspicions."

  After that Aunt Arianne didn't say anything at all for a long while, and they sat contemplating a sweep of grass down to a river, and the vast forest that would always surround them. Only after Eluned's thoughts had progressed through a circle of incredulity did her aunt go on.

  "Tomorrow evening I will be visiting this fencing school that Lynsey Blair recommended. In part because I want to investigate her separately from Lord Fennington. But also because I now have a need to learn to better defend myself physically. If the school seems suitable, I want you to attend as well. Unless you prefer Tangleways, of course. Do you think you'd like it here?"

  "It's no good," Eluned said, struggling to shift her thoughts away from fates and gods. "Did you listen to that speech? All that time spent on sports. Horse-riding. And raising animals? At school?"

  "Yes, those are reasons Griff and Eleri wouldn't like it here. I asked what you wanted."

  "I want to go to the same school as Eleri and Griff," Eluned said firmly. "But otherwise, yes, I think this place would be fun. You were right about Melly, by the way. She likes it here enough she's working out ways to afford it."

  Au
nt Arianne picked up her hat. "I expect she'll manage it. She seems very capable. And, Eluned, it never hurts to check rather than fret. Don't ever hesitate to ask me if something is worrying you—or even if you're simply curious. The most I'll do is not answer. Or lie."

  Smiling weakly, Eluned wondered whether the possibility of lies was meant to be comforting. Not that lies or truth were going to help with the problem that had been troubling her all summer—or even the new one her aunt had shared.

  Instead, Eluned hauled her mind back to the task at hand. "We talked to Lord Fennington already," she said, realising she hadn't even mentioned it. "Griff introduced us, but Lord Fennington didn't seem to recognise our names at all, and with all these people here I'm not sure we're going to have a chance to talk to him again."

  "No need to worry there. As I said, a great many people want to discuss foreseeings."

  "You've talked to him?"

  "Accepted an invitation to view a painting of my father's that he owns, and sample the Towering Folly, a cocktail invented for him. Rather ripe for double entendre, but I gather that's unlikely to be the intention."

  The clock in the school's central tower began to toll.

  "And there's my cue," Aunt Arianne said, picking up her hat. "Given his ambitions to play principal, he's less than likely to open up in front of prospective pupils. You might find it worthwhile to track down Monsieur Telaque, the drawing instructor, while I'm gone. Alain Telaque is a master of line work, and you'd probably find even a short discussion with him very useful indeed. You're still working primarily with line and floral patterns, yes? It's been a while since Aedric last sent me an example."

  "Father sent you my pictures?" Eluned asked, trying not to sound appalled.

  "Oh yes. He was very proud of all three of you. If you're nervous about speaking to Monsieur Telaque by yourself, wait until I return and I'll introduce you."

  "No, no I'll look for him," Eluned said hastily, cast her mind about for something else to talk about, and asked: "What did he mean, your Roman friend? What was badly done?"

  It was a conversational leap, but Aunt Arianne took it with her usual aplomb.

  "Oh, when Felix knew me I was in the throes of a serious romance with one of his cousins, the younger son of the Dacian Proconsul." She settled her hat back on her head, lips curving. "At least I thought I was, until his marriage was arranged, and he tried to…tidy me away, so to speak."

  "Tidy…?" Eluned didn't know what to say.

  "A neat demonstration of what Nabah was trying to ask earlier today. There are many different lands, all with their own gods, and their own laws, and their own definition of right behaviour. Rome has come a long way since the example of Lucretia, but there is a notion of…injury and false promise that I could have used to cause trouble with the very influential friend who had recommended me to the Proconsul. I didn't understand that I posed a threat to arrangements, any more than I had recognised in the first place that in the Republic I'm someone to have affairs with, not the kind of person you marry. At least to people bound up in notions of tradition and respectability."

  She shot Eluned a faintly amused glance, then lowered her veil. "Mortifying at the time, of course, but something I look back on as a narrow escape. I hope I can claim to have become a better judge of character."

  After confirming arrangements for when they should meet for the return trip, Aunt Arianne left, and Eluned looked out at the shadow of a forest, and wondered if she'd ever had a real conversation with her aunt before. And whether she'd dare to ask her any more questions.

  Eighteen

  Eluned's tendency to drastically change the subject whenever her drawing came under discussion was a thing Rian would need to revisit. For the moment, her concentration was needed for an uninterrupted progress through a crowd where every third person was keen to strike up a conversation, or at least stop and stare. Becoming a personage of note was truly a double-edged sword.

  The advantageous blade was the entirely too handsome young man who appeared to guide her to a maple-panelled elevator in the new school building, whisking her directly to a plush little foyer on the third floor, and then into a most sumptuous example of a principal's office, with a formidable sweep of desk set before a wall of windows overlooking the clock tower and central garden.

  The owner of all this wood panelling and fine-cut glass was drooping rather before the view, perhaps because the streaming crowds seemed to be mostly made up of curious locals, with only a small number genuinely interested in having their children attend.

  "My lord," murmured Rian's escort, as he accepted her hat.

  "Dama Seaforth!" Lord Fennington said, springing from a high-backed revolving chair with a gust of energy. "Oh, how nice of you to come! Let me take you through to the Inner Sanctum, don't mind the capitals. This room is all very well for a fine dose of pomp and awe, but that leaves very little room for comfort."

  "An impressive outlook, though," Rian said, rather taken by the tiny pair of pompoms above the hem of his tunic, like a little tail. They were the same colour as the main cloth, and easily overlooked until the man was walking away from you. Her instinct was to distrust purposeful ridiculousness, but in Folly Fennington it felt genuine, a celebration.

  Her less than reliable new sense for the emotions of others worked best when she touched a person, but she didn't engineer contact immediately, simply gauging the man as she normally would as he exclaimed over one of her father's farmhand series, and then fussed over settling her into a comfortable chair.

  The blond man who seemed to be his personal assistant made a timely arrival with a silver trolley laden with bottles, and stood by to hand over tongs and glasses at critical moments while his lord prepared their Towering Follies.

  "I was terribly complimented, of course, when Lady Prentegast named this for me, though always, always there lurks at the back of the mind a little bit of writhing embarrassment. Is it pretentious to serve a drink named after yourself? And what if people don't like the taste? It's a little sweet for some."

  He turned, holding out a more than generous glass of splendid sunset gradient, adding: "Gin, a dry white wine, grenadine, maraschino liqueur, and one single caper to finish it off. Do drink up, and tell me what you think of my little school."

  "I think it's not very little," Rian said dryly, glad she'd managed to find an opportunity to eat during his speech. "And that it would be an adventure to attend. I do, however, have a nephew with a positive horror of even the smallest animal, and a niece who considers organised sport an interruption to her studies. How would they fit in at Tangleways?"

  "Niblings!" Lord Fennington beamed. "I have four nephews myself. A delight, all of them, though still at the dandling stage. As to yours, there must, of course, be a certain flexibility to our programs. The idea is to guide our students to find their best, not crush them against their limits.

  "A lad who cannot handle an animal can still learn about them, and assist in tasks that do not require direct contact. A lass who finds sports a bore might have her interest sparked by exploring the history, or even the physics involved. Or perhaps just be exposed to a sufficient variety of games to find one she likes. The point is to develop systems and methodologies, to not leave children stranded as they too often are, even in these modern times, with a hapless village teacher of no qualifications reading lists out of random books."

  Taking the bit between his teeth, Fennington spoke passionately and at length, while Rian obligingly sipped her very strong cocktail and wondered if she should pretend to be tipsy.

  "But I mustn't maunder on," he said, once most of her drink had been safely swallowed, though to be fair he'd tossed off all of his own, and was working on a second. "Nor, never fear, will I pester you with silly questions about foreseeings. I'm sure you've had your fill of them! But, as has no doubt been transparently, simply transparently clear, I did want to have a little gossip. Do forgive my blatant lubrication."

  "Time for the caper?" R
ian asked.

  "Ha! Yes! The pickle, the sting, the little kernel of sour that cuts through all the sugar. Dear Prentegast was being too, too pointed with her recipe."

  "I'm not likely to forget your business ventures are almost invariably profitable, Lord Fennington, whatever your enthusiasms."

  "Call me Folly, do. I can tell we're going to be friends."

  "My friends call me Rian," she replied, surprising herself because she had been keeping a certain mental distance with the subjects of her investigations. But she did like Folly Fennington.

  "Then I shall be honoured to do so," he said. "Rian, I want to ask you about Comfrey Makepeace."

  Unexpected. "Not my favourite topic," Rian said. She was not entirely certain of the limits Makepeace had placed on her, and wondered idly if she would be choked off mid-sentence if she tried to tell what she had been forbidden.

  "Quite understandable, my dear. Do, do squash me thoroughly if I rouse painful memories. I will deserve it entirely, I assure you."

  "What do you know about Makepeace?" she asked. "I hadn't even heard of him before I encountered him at Sheerside."

  "Exactly! I hadn't heard of him. Do you know what an achievement that is? I am a snoop, a busybody, a chinwag, an inveterate pryer, and a natterer of monumental proportions. Now, if he were, perhaps, an obscure little vampire, recently blooded, or never stirring from some dreary backwater... But instead it is apparent the man is the Suleviae's personal agent, on terms of complete intimacy with the royal family, and has been since the early days of the Gwyn Lynns' ascendency, being one of Prytennia's more senior vampires. In addition! In addition he is the Keeper of the Deep Grove, the most important of the groves in the whole of the country, which, as I understand it, means this vampire must give his allegiance to Cernunnos! Yet until his most unfortunate attack on you, Rian, I'd never even heard his name."

  "I suppose he can be those things, and not be notorious. Especially since he delegates the Keeper role. And it's to his advantage to not be well-known if he investigates on behalf of the Suleviae."