by Emma Newman
“Please.”
In the peace of his study, with the fire lit and tea at hand, being the Duke of Londinium was quite enjoyable. A rattling in the door and the appearance of a golden letterbox in the wood made him stand and stretch. What now?
The wax seal displayed the fleur-de-lis, and he recognised his brother’s handwriting as soon as he turned the envelope over.
My dear brother William,
I am en route to Londinium and desire a private audience with you at your home. There is highly sensitive matter we need to discuss. Clear your diary for the afternoon; I’ll be with you shortly after this letter arrives.
Nathaniel Reticulata-Iris
Chancellor of Oxenford
“Dear brother”, eh? And how rude to demand he clear his diary. He might be Duke of Londinium, but to Nathaniel he would always be the baby brother. Will tossed the letter onto his desk and pulled the bell cord next to the fireplace. “Morgan, my brother is soon to arrive. He may wish to stay for lunch.”
“Very good, sir. I’ll bring tea and refreshments upon his arrival.”
Morgan cleared the small tray bearing Will’s teacup and the cold teapot, leaving Will to pace his study. It had to be about Margritte. He shouldn’t have rescued her from Oxford Castle, truth be told, but he’d been so appalled by the way Nathaniel had taken the city and how brutally he’d treated Margritte that he couldn’t leave her at his brother’s mercy.
Sweat prickled under his collar and he realised he was still dressed down for Mundanus. By the time he’d been correctly attired by his valet Nathaniel’s carriage was pulling up the drive. It had been glamoured to bear the Chancellor of Oxenford’s crest. Of course, Nathaniel couldn’t bear to be seen to arrive in a hired Londinium carriage.
Will moved away from the window of his study and did his best to prepare himself. He had to pretend he knew nothing of Margritte, and to be appalled by the news of her disappearance. Above all else he had to resist the urge to score points off his brother.
“Come in,” he called when the door was knocked. He gave his calmest, most polite smile when Morgan announced Nathaniel and showed him in.
Even though Nathaniel looked tired, having power after decades of waiting obviously suited him. He strode into the room with his arrogant swagger and made straight for Will.
“Brother,” he said, looking into his eyes as he shook Will’s hand with both of his. “I am glad to see you so well.”
Morgan withdrew silently as Will surreptitiously attempted to work the blood back into his crushed hand. “It’s good to see you in better circumstances, Nathaniel. I trust you’re enjoying life in Oxenford?”
“I find it fits me well,” Nathaniel said, casting his eye over the room. “And you?”
Will, all of his guards firmly in place, nodded. “Londinium is a challenge, but one that I relish.”
This was nothing more than an exchange of pleasantries to fill the air before the tea arrived. Nathaniel was holding something back, like a man pressed against a door with a monster on the other side of it. There was a pent-up energy within him, suggesting ongoing stress that couldn’t be resolved by shouting at someone or duelling, Nathaniel’s preferred means of making things go his way.
Tea, finger sandwiches, and a Victoria sponge were brought in and left by Morgan. As soon as the study’s door was shut Nathaniel went to the fire, running a hand through his hair. He was wearing it longer than Will, giving him a Byronic air.
“Will, I need your help.”
He hadn’t expected his brother to be so direct. Will permitted himself one tiny moment of satisfaction that after all the years of tormenting him, his brother had been reduced to coming to him with such desperation. “You have it, of course. Is there a problem in Oxenford?”
“It’s gone beyond that,” Nathaniel replied, staring into the flames, unable to bring himself to look at Will. “That streak of piss Alexander Tulipa didn’t have the decency to crawl into a hole and accept defeat.”
Will remembered Alexander—more specifically, the chilling resemblance between him and his late father. “He was vice-chancellor, am I right?”
“Yes. I threw him out that night we got you back. He went to the family seat at Hampton Court, as was his right. But he didn’t stay there. He went to Jorvic.”
Will’s heart raced at the mention of the city in which he’d been hiding Margritte. “Ah, that’s why I haven’t seen him in the Court. Why Jorvic?”
“The Tulipa Patroon has been visiting there, apparently. A few of them have. Sir Tulipa, Sir Ranunculus, Sir Digitalis, and a handful more. There to discuss the ‘Iris Issue,’ by all accounts. They don’t like the way we’ve taken two cities in as many months. I managed to squeeze it out of one of the people at the masked ball in Aquae Sulis. Shame you weren’t there, Will. I would have appreciated your company.”
Will felt a chill descend. Even though he’d managed to placate his own Patroon, he still wasn’t safe from the interference of the other families. Once Patroons got involved there was more chance that the Fae would be drawn in, and someone who coveted his position could be supported in trying to take it for themselves. He himself was proof of how well that could work. “All talk, no trousers, I should imagine,” he said, forcing himself to be light to hide his fear.
“Well, quite. The deuce of it all is that Alexander managed to gain an audience with his Patroon. He made a formal complaint about what happened at the Hebdomadal Council and said his mother was abused or some rot. All whining nonsense, designed to make me sound like an utter cad.”
“How tiresome,” Will said. “Surely not of any concern, though. He’s whining at losing his status; surely the Patroon would see that and take whatever he says with a pinch of salt.”
Nathaniel twisted to look at him. “That bitch was married to the Patroon’s favourite nephew. The one who tried to murder your wife. He wasn’t best pleased at the justice you dealt, but knew Lord Iris was backing you up and that you had every right. Alexander Tulipa has made out that his damn mother is some sort of saint and that I have no right to keep her at my pleasure. He probably skimmed over the fact that she kidnapped you, had you beaten, and was probably planning to kill you! Sir Tulipa has believed every damn word of it and is kicking up a stink.”
Will poured the tea as he listened, then thought better of it. “Brandy?”
Nathaniel nodded. “He’s demanded an audience with myself, Margritte Tulipa, and Sir Iris. ‘To uncover the root of the problem,’ he said. She is the root of the problem!”
Will unlocked the tantalus. “And Sir Iris has agreed?”
“He’s fed up of that fool writing to him all the damn time. He asked for my side of it, I told him the truth and he can see I’m in the right. What she did to you was despicable!”
What I did to her was worse, Will thought. I killed her husband, and she forgave me. He poured a generous brandy for each of them, keeping silent.
“Sir Iris agreed with what I did but says that for the sake of good relations—a quiet life for him, that is—he feels we should allow this meeting. He said Tulipa won’t be satisfied until he sees the damn woman and hears her side too. Hears her side? What kind of man is he? This is all about the nephew, and he’s taking out his impotence on me. It’s a bloody farce.”
Will gave Nathaniel his glass and watched him down half of it in one gulp. “It sounds like a trial.”
“I said as much to Sir Iris, and he assured me that I was beyond reproach. I exercised my right and behaved impeccably. He thinks that when Sir Tulipa sees her and hears from her own lips what she did to you, he’ll back down.”
Will hoped the thrumming of his heart wasn’t as loud as it seemed in his own ears. “Perhaps the only thing to do is grin and bear it. I understand your anger at having your judgement challenged this way, but if—”
“Will, I don’t have her.”
Will stared at him, hoping that Nathaniel believed his shocked expression. “I beg your pardon?”
/> “I don’t have her! I locked her in the tower at the castle myself. By the next morning she was gone. I’ve been looking for her ever since but someone must be hiding her. I wouldn’t put it past that Patroon, forcing this ‘non-trial’ when what he really wants is to force me to admit I lost the first prisoner I ever took! My first act as Chancellor, no less!” He downed the rest of the brandy. “I can’t admit that I’ve lost her. Tulipa is pressing for the meeting to happen as soon as possible, and Sir Iris has told me it has to be tomorrow! He said it will be just a formality, and she’ll be returned to my custody or punished by her Patroon—he isn’t sure which way it will go but either way, he’ll see that justice is served. What am I to do? Fall into Tulipa’s trap? Confess I’m unable to keep one damn whore under lock and key? He’ll strip me of the Chancellor’s chain, Will. We’ll be a laughing stock.”
Will was tempted to let his brother keep believing it was a Tulipa plot, but with Sir Iris involved and the honour of his family at risk, he couldn’t do it. He saw his own fear reflected in his brother’s eyes. While he had little love for Nathaniel, the man had been ready to duel the Rosa in Aquae Sulis for him when everything had come to a head. When he’d been taken by the Sorcerer of Mercia, Nathaniel had torn through Londinium and Oxenford to find him, throwing everything else aside to see him safe. This was the strength of family. “I doubt it’s Tulipa, Nathaniel. Yes, he might be able to make you look a fool, but when that moment passed, Tulipa knows Sir Iris would destroy him for such a slight.”
Nathaniel nodded, breathing out as he thought it through. “Yes, you’re right. Of course. I’ve lost my mind with worry. Thinking such ridiculous things…” He rested a hand on Will’s shoulder. “I knew you’d talk some sense into me. I can’t go to anyone else with this. Father would be appalled, and there’s no one in Oxenford that I trust, and…” His head drooped a little. “It’s so hard. Being untouchable. Maintaining perfection. If this hadn’t happened I’d be so much further ahead than I am now. But I’ve lost so much time and energy searching for her. The blasted Shopkeeper is starting to ramp up the prices for the Seeker Charms, and I can’t keep my demand for them hidden for much longer if I have to—”
“I’ll help you,” Will said.
Nathaniel looked at him, all the arrogance and posturing falling away. Will saw another young man, terrified of being humiliated and punished for his imperfection. For the first time in his life, he realised how similar he and his brother were.
“You will?”
“Yes, I’ll help you find her. I have better contacts in Londinium than you have in Oxenford. The people who knew her well are keen to keep my approval. I’m sure I’ll be able to find something out.”
“I would be indebted to you, more than I can express.”
Will patted his shoulder and pulled away. His brother’s gratitude, a rare and valuable commodity, wasn’t the only incentive. If he stood by and watched Nathaniel being stripped of everything and sent to the Frankish Empire—or worse—he’d never be able to forgive himself.
But then he saw Bartholomew so clear in his memory, dying on the floor, blood dripping from his own sword. An innocent man that he’d killed, a woman’s life that he’d destroyed, all because of these political games. Was he willing to betray Margritte and destroy her life a second time, just for the sake of his family’s honour? Was that not perpetuating the motion of the very machine that had done so much damage already?
His family’s honour was more than a mere romantic notion, though. In such dangerous times, caught up in that machine from which there was no escape, the best allies he had were his own family. They might not have been the most loving, but they would never betray him. It was them against the worlds. His brother keeping the throne of Oxenford, his father remaining at the head of such a successful branch of the family, his Patroon remaining pleased with him and his brother—all of these things would help to keep his position secure and him, Cathy, and Sophia safe.
“You’re my brother,” he said. “Family comes first.”
10
“You let him go?”
“Yes, sir.” Max tried to read Rupert’s expression. The Sorcerer of Albion seemed more incredulous than angry. “I questioned him first.”
“And then you decided it was better to give him a slap on the wrist and make him into a spy than hauling him in front of the Patroon, like regulations dictate?”
“I did.”
Rupert grinned and clapped Max on the shoulder. “That’s great!” He looked at the gargoyle, whose stone eyebrows were higher than usual. “And you weren’t with him, obviously.”
“Obviously,” the gargoyle confirmed.
“I don’t understand why you’re so pleased.” Max watched Rupert toss his report into a tray on his desk. One of his golems—Benson or Hedges, it was impossible to tell—rolled over and cycled through the attachments on its right arm like a robot from the back of a 1950s comic book. It picked up the report with the pincers it had chosen for the task, swivelled around, and wheeled to a filing cabinet on the other side of the room, narrowly avoiding the gargoyle, who scowled at it with suspicious stone eyes.
“You made the right call, and that was to fuck regulations in the ear. You used initiative. That’s awesome!”
“All Arbiters use initiative in the field.”
“Ah, but not while breaking the rules, Max.” He rested his hand over his heart. “I’m proud of you, you rebel. Now all we need to do is teach you how to use a computer to write your reports and we’ll be golden.”
“I also need the use of a holding room, in the Nether,” Max said. “Somewhere secure to put a puppet into for interrogation when I make an arrest.”
“I’ll sort that out.” Rupert sat down on one of the new office chairs.
Now the office had three desks, two of which had computers resting on them. There were chairs, a handful of filing cabinets, waste-paper bins, and even a large potted plant. The space was still mostly empty, though. In the far corner of the room was the camp bed that he’d slept on. He had no idea where Rupert was living now, and it was clear Rupert wanted to keep it that way.
“Where’s Kay?” Max asked.
“She’ll be here any minute. She wanted to walk from her hotel to the office via the streets reflected into the Nether, to get her head around the city.”
“But she’ll be vulnerable!” the gargoyle said, appalled.
“Oh credit me with some sense,” Rupert snapped. “I gave her something to protect her, not that I think she’ll need it. Lavandula saw you bust the Peonia and get your Arbiter on. He knows the city is still being policed.”
“You need to decide what to do about him wanting to see Ekstrand,” Max said as the lift pinged. “Perhaps you should introduce yourself as his replacement, otherwise—”
“No,” Rupert said. “If I do that it’ll be all over Albion before you could say ‘more tea, vicar, no thank you, it makes me fart.’ And if that happens, she’ll know. The best thing for me is for everyone to think I’m dead.”
Max and the gargoyle had speculated about the woman behind the destruction of the Chapters and the murder of the other Sorcerers. The only thing they knew about her was that she seemed to be the sister of the late Sorcerer of Essex, Dante. Where she was now, what she planned to do next, and why she’d committed all those murders was beyond anyone’s knowledge. “I know why you want to stay hidden, but it’s not the best thing for the innocents,” Max said. “Lavandula needs to be convinced that…” He stopped as Rupert stood up and patted his pockets. “What are you looking for, sir?”
“All the fucks I give about Lavandula and what he thinks…oh, that’s right, there aren’t any.”
“But—”
Rupert picked up one of the pencils in a pot on his desk and flipped and caught it again. “Look, I know you’re worried about what the parasites will do, but honestly, it’s several orders of magnitude less important than what that woman will do next. You don’t slaughter all t
he Sorcerers in the world and hundreds of people just for shits and giggles. She’s got more planned and what’s really getting on my tits is that I have no fucking idea what that is. That is the thing to be worried about. I don’t like having a mortal enemy who’s developed her own blend of magic, and I like her running around doing fuck knows what without my knowledge even less.”
“So what are you going to do about it?” Kay asked as she walked over.
“I’m working on something. It’s not ready yet. So in the meantime, you need to get up to speed.”
“I have about ten thousand questions,” Kay said, dumping a small rucksack on the second desk. “Morning.” She smiled at Max and then gave a second, nervous smile to the gargoyle. It grinned back, baring so many stone teeth that she shuddered and busied herself with her bag and computer.
“I can answer them,” Rupert said. “And Max here can do Arbiter stuff”—this was accompanied by a vague wave of the hand—“but only after you help me get some books, Max.”
“I can get books,” Kay said.
“Not the ones I’m talking about,” Rupert replied. He looked at Max. “They’re in Ekstrand’s library. I gave that librarian of his—”
“Petra,” the gargoyle said, making Kay jump.
“Yeah, her, I gave her a list of the ones I wanted but she still hasn’t brought them over. I’ve phoned three times but there’s always an excuse. I want you to go over there with me to pick them up.”
“You’re worried about magical protections?”
“No! That Petra woman obviously doesn’t trust me. And she sounds all weird on the phone. She knows you. She might be more cooperative if you’re with me.”
“Is this the lady who might come and work with us?” Kay asked.
Rupert shrugged. “I thought so, but she hasn’t left the house since her old employer died, so it’s all a bit up in the air at the moment. Ask the gargoyle those questions whilst we’re out. He’ll know most of the answers about the Fae-touched and how they’re policed, right, Max?”
