The Last Necromancer

by C. J. Archer

  "I wonder if I'm an orphan or if my parents are alive," I muttered, more to myself than him.

  "If they are, it's likely they couldn't care for you. Mothers have to give up their babies all the time. Some don't want to."

  "Poor, unwed mothers, you mean."

  He stared straight ahead with hard eyes.

  "Are your parents still living?" I asked.

  After a moment, he said, "I believe so. Like you, I never knew them."

  "You're adopted too?"

  "No."

  I frowned. How could he not know his parents but not be adopted? And yet he did know that his parents lived, so he was a step ahead of me. "Who raised you? General Eastbrooke?"

  "He had a hand in my upbringing."

  "Were you his ward?"

  "I was nobody's ward."

  Nobody's ward and nobody's child either, it seemed. Lady Harcourt had told me Fitzroy was specifically chosen to be leader of the ministry from birth. Did that mean the committee had raised him? "If I ask any more questions, will you answer them?"

  "Will any of those questions be about lunch?"

  "No."

  "Then it's unlikely."

  I sighed. "You say I'm stubborn, but you are positively obstinate."

  We walked back to the house in silence, slowing down as we drew closer. Four carriages were stopped in front of the steps, two of which I recognized as belonging to Lady Harcourt and General Eastbrooke. The other two escutcheons were new to me, although I wouldn't be surprised if the one with the serpent coiled around a sword belonged to the snakelike Lord Gillingham.

  "I'd hoped they wouldn't be here yet," Fitzroy said, his face dark.

  "You invited them?"

  "A meeting of the committee has been called. Not by me."

  "You sent word about the man known as Dr. Frankenstein?"

  "Not yet. I haven't had time. This meeting is in response to you agreeing to help."

  "Ah. It seems you'll have a lot to discuss then. What a lark."

  "You'll be present too."

  I pulled a face.

  "After you've eaten, of course."

  I sighed. "Very well, I'll eat. If I indulge too much, however, Lord Gillingham will only have you to blame when I vomit over his shoes."

  "I'll have Cook double the quantity on your plate."

  We got no further than the front steps when the door burst open. "You found her!" Seth stood with hands on hips, alternately smiling and frowning at me as if he couldn't make up his mind if he were pleased or mad. "Are you all right, Charlie?"

  "Fine, thank you."

  Gus pushed past him, his heavy brow scrunched into a frown, his arms folded over his chest. "What'd you think you were doing, leaving without telling anyone where you were headed?"

  His vehemence surprised me. "I…I'm sorry, Gus."

  "Sorry! That's all you got to say for yourself?"

  I shrugged.

  "Be sure not to do it again or you'll find yourself locked in the tower room."

  "Enough!" Fitzroy growled.

  Seth smacked Gus in the shoulder. "We're not going to lock you up," he said to me.

  "We been looking everywhere for you," Gus hissed at me as I passed him. "Me and Seth been out of our minds with worry."

  They were worried? About me? No one had worried about my wellbeing in so long that I wasn't sure how to respond. Nor was I sure I liked being monitored, now that I was supposedly free.

  I patted his cheek. "That's very sweet of you. I simply wanted to be by myself."

  A growl rumbled from the depths of his chest. "Be sure to take someone with you, next time you want to be alone."

  Seth rolled his eyes and I smiled tightly. "I will."

  With the two of them appeased, I thought my ordeal was over. I didn't see the four stiff, regal figures until I entered the house. They stood as one, a wall of dark austerity—three men in black suits and Lady Harcourt in her mourning crepe. Lord Gillingham was there, along with General Eastbrooke and another man aged fifty or so who was as tall and well-built as the general but considerably rougher in appearance, thanks to the scar on his temple and another slicing through his gray beard.

  "There you are." Lady Harcourt broke ranks and held her hand out to me. I hesitated, then took it and allowed her to lead me to the men. "Gentlemen, may I present Miss Charlotte Holloway, daughter of Anselm Holloway. Charlotte, you know both General Eastbrooke and Lord Gillingham." Lady Harcourt waited, but I wasn't sure what for. Me to curtsy to them?

  "You look better as a girl," the general said, offering a gruff nod as he gave me a thorough once over. "On the small side, but I dare say Fitzroy will fatten you up."

  "Now that your lies have been exposed, I expect you've seen the error of your ways." Lord Gillingham leaned on his walking stick. If I kicked it out from under him, he would topple forward. "Do not lie to us again or there will be consequences. Is that understood?"

  I stepped forward and touched my toe to his stick. I gave it a nudge so that he knew I could have done more if I'd wanted to. "Do not behave like an in-bred half-wit, or I might refuse to co-operate."

  His eyeballs almost popped out of the sockets. "You can't speak to me that way!"

  "Can't I? I'll try to remember that next time."

  Eastbrooke placed his hand on Gillingham's shoulder as the lord's face turned an apoplectic shade of purple.

  "And this is Lord Marchbank." Lady Harcourt pulled me away from Gillingham so roughly that I stumbled and bumped into her. Her smile never even wavered as she presented me to the new man.

  Another lord. I'd thought the scarred man was an old soldier, but it seemed he was just another tosspot like Gillingham. My opinion was confirmed when he didn't offer me a smile. He merely looked down his crooked nose and said in the blandest voice, "Miss Holloway."

  "My lord," I said in the same bland voice.

  He met my gaze with a somewhat cool one of his own, but there was no obvious animosity in his eyes as there was in Lord Gillingham's. He seemed…indifferent. Indifference was fine with me. I felt the same toward him and the other committee members.

  "Let's get on with it." Lord Gillingham's walking stick click clacked on the tiles as he headed toward the parlor. When he realized nobody followed, his fingers tightened around the knob. "Well?"

  "Charlie needs to eat," Fitzroy said.

  "So?"

  "We're not starting without her."

  "She doesn't need to be present! Indeed, she shouldn't be present."

  "We are not starting without her." Fitzroy nodded at Gus, who left us.

  Gillingham marched back, proving he didn't need his stick to walk. "You fly too close to the edge, Fitzroy." Only his lips and jowls moved. His jaw remained clenched. "Push us too far and you will see how things lie. You are not indispensable."

  Fitzroy turned his back to him, as if he couldn't be bothered wasting his breath on an argument, and indicated I should walk on ahead. Gillingham spluttered his protest at the insult.

  "It's only lunch, Gilly," the general said quietly. "We'll wait in the parlor."

  "She shouldn't be privy to ministry business." Gillingham raised his voice, insuring I could hear.

  We headed to the kitchen, where Cook stood over the range, stirring something in a pot. "Charlie," he said with a nod at me. "Hungry?"

  "No, but I've been ordered to eat something."

  Gus handed me a plate with lettuce, a slice of bread and a sliver of beef on it. "Sit. Eat."

  "You are all so demanding." I sat and accepted the plate.

  "They be staying, sir?" Cook asked Fitzroy.

  "Not for lunch." Fitzroy stood by me as I ate, which would have been enough to put me off my appetite if I'd had one. "Have tea brought in."

  Cook set the wooden spoon aside and handed Gus a pot. "Fill it."

  Gus left with the pot just as Seth arrived. "Lord Gilly's in a fine mood today," he said. "What set him off?"

  Fitzroy's gaze met mine. "Me," I said, cutting u
p my beef. "He seems to have something against lying, thieving necromancers. Can't think why."

  "Ignore him." Seth placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. I was so surprised at the intimate gesture that I pulled away. A blush infused his cheeks. "My apologies," he mumbled. "I forgot that you're a…"

  "Lying, thieving necromancer?"

  "Woman."

  I smiled to let him know I wasn't offended. "It takes some getting used to." I wanted to tell him that his touch hadn't upset me—just that I wasn't used to it. However, there seemed no easy way of broaching the subject, so I remained silent.

  I finished my light lunch, including the scoop of jelly afterward, and joined the committee members in the sitting room with Fitzroy at my side. He even remained standing by me as I sat. He must think me at risk of running off again.

  "How much have you told her?" Lord Gillingham asked, before anyone had even taken a breath.

  "Everything she needs to know," Fitzroy said.

  "Is that wise?"

  "Yes."

  Lord Gillingham snorted. "I'm not sure your judgment is one we should trust."

  The silence that descended was as smothering as a shroud. Lady Harcourt opened her mouth to speak after a moment, but Fitzroy got in first. His voice was as cold as ice.

  "Whether you trust my judgment or not is immaterial. Charlie is an integral component in my plan, and she must be kept informed. You are not integral to any part of my plan. If you disagree with my decisions, see yourself out. My men are busy."

  Gillingham's jaw dropped like an unhinged trapdoor. "I say! You dare speak to me in such a manner!"

  "May we please discuss the situation?" Lady Harcourt looked distressed, and I felt a little sorry for her. These gentlemen were her peers, perhaps her friends, and Fitzroy her lover. It put her in an awkward position, particularly as the only female member of the committee. Not for the first time, I wondered how a beautiful young woman had ended up part of the body that oversaw the Ministry of Curiosities. Particularly now that I'd met the final member, another aged lord.

  "See how he repays you, General!" Gillingham crossed his legs and settled into the armchair. "You should have had him disciplined more as a child."

  Lady Harcourt, sitting beside me on the sofa, stiffened and pressed her gloved hand to her lips.

  "That's enough, Gilly," Lord Marchbank said. "You're upsetting the ladies."

  "Lady," Gillingham muttered. "There is only one present."

  I sighed. This was going to be a long afternoon.

  "Tell us about Charlotte Holloway, Lincoln," the general said quickly. "How did you learn the boy Charlie was, in fact, her?"

  Fitzroy told them how he'd traced me back through the years, then went on to inform them that I'd seen a man visit my father. He finished by telling them the vicar had revealed the full name of the man they sought.

  "Then you know where he lives!" Lord Gillingham said.

  "I've not had time to investigate."

  Gillingham looked as if he were about to chastise Fitzroy, but a glare from Marchbank kept him quiet.

  "Good progress," said the general. "We're very pleased. Having a name at this point is more than we'd hoped for."

  Seth and Gus had entered with the tray of tea things during the speech and now served cups to everyone. Seth also took one, but Gus did not. He fell back to the door, removing himself from our presence. Only Gillingham eyed him as if he didn't belong in the parlor. Seth, however, escaped his snobbery.

  Lady Harcourt touched my hand. "Your assistance has already proven valuable. Thank you, Charlie, on behalf of not only the ministry, but the entire realm."

  "The empire really is in danger from this man?" I asked.

  "Yes, unfortunately. If he manages to reanimate an army of superior bodies, then we are all at his mercy."

  "He will turn that army on the members of parliament," the general said. "That includes the three of us." He indicated the three gentlemen.

  "And the court, too, would be in danger," Lady Harcourt finished. "The queen and her family are vulnerable to an attack from someone intent to do harm."

  "How do you know that's his intention? You know him to be a murderer, but committing treason is another crime altogether."

  "That is none of your affair," Gillingham snapped. "Leave these matters to your betters. You wouldn't understand them."

  "Gillingham!" the general snapped. "You forget that we need the chit's help."

  "Do we?" Gillingham drawled. "We have the man's name. Fitzroy doesn't need her to find this Frankenstein fellow. It seems to me we can dispense with her now."

  "And leave her for Dr. Frankenstein to capture?"

  Gillingham didn't answer. He sipped his tea calmly. I set mine down, unable to swallow it. Fitzroy, who'd not accepted tea, took a seat and addressed me.

  "You recall we told you about the woman in Paris, whose letter to V.F. I intercepted," he said.

  "I do. Her husband was murdered and you suspected she had a hand in it, or knew the murderer—Dr. Frankenstein, I assume."

  He nodded. "Her husband's head was cut open, the brain removed."

  My stomach rolled, threatening to toss my lunch onto the rug, but I willed myself not to throw up. Somehow I suspected that would work in Gillingham's favor. "Frankenstein wanted to put his brain into a body made up of parts from others?"

  "Superior parts taken from athletes. But it was the brain of Mr. Calthorn that was crucial to his plan."

  "Was Mr. Calthorn an intelligent man?"

  "Yes, but it wasn't merely his cleverness that Frankenstein wanted. It was Calthorn's knowledge. He was England's spy master."

  I gasped. "England has a spy master?"

  "Not anymore," the general said. "Calthorn is yet to be replaced."

  "You ought not tell her all that." Gillingham sniffed. "If this information gets into the wrong hands…"

  "Calthorn is dead," Marchbank said. "All the girl knows is that England has a spy network. Our enemies already know that too. It's hardly news."

  Gillingham sipped, watching me over the rim of his cup.

  "Calthorn knew a great many important secrets," Lady Harcourt said, taking over the story. "After we were alerted to his murder, and the missing brain, we began to piece everything together. We'd already heard about the missing body parts of other murder victims, all of them physically superior in one way or another. We questioned Mrs. Calthorn at the time but she could prove she was elsewhere at the time of the murder. We didn't believe that she was entirely innocent, but we couldn't pin anything on her."

  "Then she went and exiled herself to Paris," the general said. "Blasted woman."

  "How did she know about me?" I asked. "It seems that Frankenstein had been searching for me, and she found out enough clues to point him in the right direction. How?"

  "We don't know," Fitzroy said. "Nor do we know how Frankenstein learned of your existence. It's only clear that he failed to reanimate his monstrous creation on his own and realized he needed a necromancer to perform the deed. I think he's been seeking you ever since, corresponding with his friend, Mrs. Calthorn, in Paris. The first I learned about a necromancer is from her letter. It became a race to find you before he did."

  I almost blurted out that I was glad he'd got to me first, but bit my tongue. For some reason, I didn't want Gillingham to hear my gratitude. I didn't want any of them to hear it. Not even Fitzroy. I didn't even like admitting it to myself.

  "Mrs. Calthorn's information was out of date," Lady Harcourt said. "You haven't lived with your father since you were thirteen."

  "He's not my father." I picked up my teacup and concentrated on not looking at anyone, even though I could feel their gazes on me. "I'm adopted, or so he informed me this morning."

  "Adopted!" General Eastbrooke sat forward. One of the lords gasped as Lady Harcourt's hand touched my arm. "Then who is your real father?"

  "I don't know."

  "Did Holloway know? Did you question him, Lincoln?
"

  "No," Fitzroy said.

  "Why not?" Gillingham snapped. "My God, man, this is of utmost importance! If the girl inherited her ability, we need to know who he is."

  "Or she," Lady Harcourt added. "Lincoln, I agree with Lord Gillingham. You need to question Mr. Holloway."

  "He won't tell us anything," Fitzroy said. "Questioning him will only produce lies or total silence. His state of mind is delicate, his fear absolute."

  "It's unlikely he knows anyway," Lord Marchbank said. "Orphanages don't give out that information to the adopting parents."

  "We won't know if Fitzroy doesn't ask." Gillingham slammed the foot of his walking stick on the floor. "To hell with the fellow's state of mind. I don't care if your questions turn him into a blathering idiot, unable to function in society. It's an oversight on your part, Fitzroy."

  "Not an oversight," Fitzroy said in a voice so quiet that Gillingham's swallow was audible. "It was a deliberate decision."

  "One that I protest."

  "You can protest all you like. It changes nothing."

  "I command you to ask him!"

  Fitzroy stood, very slowly, his hands curled into fists. Gillingham lifted his chin as Fitzroy stepped closer. "You don't command me."

  "I bloody well do. We all do. You work for us, Fitzroy."

  "I work for England. I can also stop working for England."

  Gillingham snorted. "You were born to do this, Fitzroy. It's your entire life. You won't leave."

  Several moments passed, in which I expected Fitzroy to either deny it or punch Gillingham in the nose. He did neither. "If you disagree with my decision, you're welcome to question the vicar yourself."

  Gillingham's gaze slid away and his hands increased their rapid rubbing over the head of his stick.

  "Don't wish to get your hands dirty, I see," Fitzroy said.

  Gillingham's fingers flared then closed around the knob again. He pointed his stick at me. "I wager her real parents were sewer rats, just like her. Breeding always reveals itself in the end, you know. Bad blood breeds only more bad."

  Fitzroy's knuckles turned white.

  "I'm famished," I said quickly, rising. "Unless I'm needed, I think I'll find something to eat in the kitchen."