by Emma Newman
Cathy’s heart felt as if it had jumped into her throat to pound there instead. “Bertrand Viola sent those men? Wait, you said ‘second sons’…is Will…?”
Max shook his head. “I have no reason to believe your husband is involved with them, and I’m confident I know all the members of the group now. I doubt he even knows they exist.”
Cathy breathed a sigh of relief, feeling terrible that she’d even contemplated his involvement. Of course Will wouldn’t be involved with anything like that. “Bertrand Viola? Shit, I bet his bloody goons were behind those letters, too!”
“Letters?”
“Hate mail, threats…nasty stuff. Are you sure?”
“As sure as I can be without interrogating him myself.”
“Take a seat,” Cathy said, gesturing to the sofa. “I need all the details.”
26
Will paced in the waiting room, desperately hoping Sir Iris hadn’t passed his judgement yet. He’d left his mother with Imogen, who was just as distraught, after coaxing out a garbled account of his father being arrested for no reason. Will knew enough about Arbiters to know they didn’t arrest men as powerful as his father without good cause.
At first he considered contacting Faulkner and asking him to look into it. But Faulkner and the rest of the Arbiters who were willing to do his bidding were based in London; they wouldn’t have anything to do with events in Aquae Sulis. Besides, it would take time to arrange a meeting, time he felt would be put to better use trying to get an audience with the Patroon and working on a plan of his own.
After what felt like hours, he was finally collected and escorted to the Patroon’s study. Sir Iris was seated at his desk, as before, only younger-looking than the last time Will had sat in this chair.
“You’re here about your father, no doubt.”
“In part, Sir Iris. Have you passed your judgement on him?”
Sir Iris leaned back. “No. But I won’t lie to you, William. It’s very serious. Are you aware of the case against him?”
Will shook his head. “Whatever he has done, I am certain he did it for the family and our patron and that is enough for me.”
“Bold words, young man. The Arbiter has pushed for his expulsion from Society and exile into Mundanus, where he’d be kept under close surveillance until his death.”
The thought of his father’s ageing and death in Mundanus made Will feel nauseous. “Sir Iris, it is not my place to interfere in any of this, and please don’t think that I don’t trust your judgement…”
Sir Iris straightened. “Any other son and I would throw him out of my office now. I haven’t the time or inclination to listen to anyone pleading for their loved one.”
“Please don’t think so little of me, Sir Iris. I wouldn’t dream of wasting your time so. I come with critical information that I fear may not have reached your office. I simply ask that you hear me out before making your final decision.”
Sir Iris smiled, and this time, Will believed it. Perhaps having Eleanor returned to him had dusted off his heart. “You’ve certainly pulled rabbits out of hats in the past. Speak—I’m eager to see if you can impress me twice in one week.”
“My father was arrested at home, by an Arbiter claiming to work with the sanction of the Sorcerer of Wessex. Sir, I have good reason to believe that the Sorcerer of Wessex is dead and has not been replaced.”
Sir Iris looked genuinely shocked. “How could you possibly have come to know this?”
“I overheard a conversation between two Arbiters, sir, discussing the crisis.” Will kept his eyes fixed on Sir Iris and his breath as even as he possibly could. It was a hell of a risk he was taking, but he had to try to save his father and stretching the truth was a necessity. He could never say it was a conversation he’d received thirdhand between an Arbiter and his wife, but he could report the pertinent information from it.
“And you are certain of this?”
“As far as I can be, Sir Iris. My initial enquiries have confirmed this.” Sir Iris didn’t need to know that those were reports from the Agency staff, who were far from reliable. “It seems to me that this is a rogue Arbiter, acting without the support of a superior. If you were to be lenient with my father, I am confident”—his heart banged as he said it—“that there would be no further action taken. There is no Sorcerer watching over Aquae Sulis to press for a harsher punishment should yours be considered unsatisfactory.”
Sir Iris was staring at him, lips pressed tight together.
Will decided to make the most of the silence. “It isn’t just my filial devotion that drives this, Sir Iris, though of course as a loving son I want to see my father safe and well. There’s another factor, one I learned of only this morning, that makes my father’s survival more pressing.” He paused, but Sir Iris just waited, so he continued. “I’ve learned that Isabella Rhoeas-Papaver intends to leave her husband very soon, possibly within days. No doubt Charles would try to keep this hidden, fearing that if the news were to emerge that his marriage had failed, his patron would be displeased and he would lose the support of the Lavandulas as well as the other minor families who pay their tithes to him in Aquae Sulis. If you were to stand by my father, give him nothing more than a slapped wrist and send him home, he’d be able to maximise our gains from the Papaver family’s collapse in Aquae Sulis and tip the balance of the Council. We could take the city, Sir Iris, leaving the Lavandulas in place as figureheads if we chose.”
“If we chose?”
Will coughed. “I mean, the family, Sir Iris. It would of course be the decision of you and my father. If he were still able to profit from this intelligence.”
Sir Iris maintained his stare for a few seconds longer and then smiled broadly as he clapped. “Bravo, William, bravo. I see now why our patron favours you so, and why my dear wife speaks so fondly of you.”
Will dared to breathe normally again, giving a smile but not letting his guard down for a moment. “So you agree that it’s worth the risk to call the Arbiter’s bluff?”
“I do, William, I do.” Sir Iris stood. “Your father will be home for dinner and nothing will be said of this unfortunate incident. I will discuss your insights regarding the Papavers’ marriage with him, so he will ensure we emerge from their crisis with Aquae Sulis under the full control of the Irises.”
Will stood too, and accepted Sir Iris’s handshake. “Thank you for taking the time to see me, Sir Iris.”
“My door is always open to you, William. And give my regards to your wife. I trust she is better behaved now?”
“Indeed, Sir Iris. If you’ll excuse me, she’s waiting for me now and I am eager to return to her.”
• • •
“I’m sorry, your Grace, Mrs Persificola-Viola is resting after the wedding and isn’t receiving visitors.”
Cathy smiled at the butler, hoping he didn’t notice how she was shaking. “I’m actually here to see Mr Viola. It’s a matter of some importance.”
The butler stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. “He’s in the drawing room, your Grace. If you’d like to follow me?”
It felt strange seeing Bertrand get up from the sofa when she entered, rather than Charlotte. It was the room in which they usually took tea together.
“Your Grace,” he said with a bow. “I’m afraid the wedding has quite worn Charlotte out. Would you like me to pass on a message to her?”
“As I explained to your butler, I’m here to see you. No tea, thank you,” she said to the butler, who waited near the door. “I won’t be staying for very long.”
The butler nodded, gave Bertrand a last glance, and, dismissed, closed the door.
“How can I help you, your Grace?”
Cathy had rehearsed the words over and over in her head in the carriage, but now, about to say them, she hesitated. Will wouldn’t be happy about what she planned to do.
“Has whatever it was slipped your mind?” He checked his pocket watch. “I was about to go out. If you’d prefer to
send a letter, that would be far more agreeable than standing there looking like a lost child.”
His tone made her bristle. No wonder Charlotte was wasting away. It was far more important that she be helped than a bloody marriage take place—one that none of the women involved even wanted. “I’m here to ask that you destroy the contract between yourself and Nathaniel regarding his marriage to your daughter.”
Bertrand’s nostrils flared and his cheeks flushed the same red as Freddy’s did when he’d drunk too much. “I beg your pardon, madam?”
Cathy ignored the racing of her heart, determined to see this through. “Destroy the contract, sir; otherwise I will destroy you.”
A vein at the side of Bertrand’s forehead pulsed and then he laughed at her. “You have simply no idea how the world works, do you, you silly little girl?”
Any worry about what Will might think flew from her mind as he laughed again. She stormed forwards into the room until the sofa was between them. “Listen to me, you misogynistic twat. I know you stole your wife from Mundanus. She was a suffragette, and you kidnapped her on the way home from a rally. If you had any idea of how the real world works, you might have taken the trouble to ensure that any pictures of her at that rally were destroyed. But you didn’t. I have the proof of your crime, and don’t give me any bullshit about how she’ll deny it, because an Arbiter’s Truth Mask can cut through any gagging Charm of yours faster than you can say ‘shut up, dear’.”
Bertrand stopped laughing.
“Oh, taking me seriously now?” she continued, thrilled by the fear in his eyes. “And before you even think about cursing or gagging me, know that the Duke of Londinium protects his family very well. The Irises care for their wives more than any of the Great Families and,” she held up her left hand, indicating the bump of her wedding ring beneath her glove, “he would know the moment you did anything to me.”
“You wouldn’t dare report me,” Bertrand said, gathering his wits. “You’re too fond of Charlotte. You wouldn’t want to see her carted away by the Arbiters to be brainwashed into slavery or thrown back into Mundanus.”
“I would rather see her thrown into Mundanus or even held by the Arbiters than watch her waste away. Being with you is simply a slow death. You are a hateful, toxic, cowardly little man. Your elder brother was an arse, but I’d rather spend a year in his company than a minute longer in yours!” She headed for the door. “If I don’t hear from Will by six o’clock this evening that your daughter’s wedding is off, I’ll go straight to the Arbiters. I will bust your sorry arse, and I will wave you off when they drag you away.”
“If you do this to me,” Bertrand said, his voice low and quiet. “I will seek out every single person you love and destroy them before I come for you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Good day, Mr Viola. I trust you’ll be contacting Nathaniel Iris the moment I leave.”
Reaching for the handle, Cathy felt a movement behind her. She twisted as Bertrand stormed towards her, fist pulled back. “Do it!” she yelled. “Hit me like a real man. The Irises would tear you apart and piss on your grave.”
Bertrand’s hand stopped, inches away from her face. He spat on her instead. “You’re disgusting.”
Cathy wiped the spittle from her cheek. “I think you mean ‘your Grace’,” she said, finding the door handle behind her back and twisting it. For a dreadful moment, she feared he wasn’t going to move and let her open the door, but he turned away, moving towards the mantelpiece. Was he going for the poker? She didn’t wait to find out.
As she ran from the room, Cathy almost collided with the butler. “I’m going,” she said, and didn’t wait for him to open the front door for her as the sound of smashing crockery came from the drawing room. “Right now,” she added, and ran out of the house.
• • •
“Something wasn’t right with Cathy,” the gargoyle said, pacing. “You should have let me in.”
Max kept his eyes on the West London street below. It was cold on top of the fire escape and his leg was aching. “There he is.”
The gargoyle hunkered down next to him, staring at the man walking towards the pub. “I’m going to enjoy this.” Its grin bared every single one of its stone teeth.
“I’ll move into position,” he told the gargoyle, and climbed back through the window they’d been standing next to. He went from that room into the hallway, down a set of stairs, and into a cleaning cupboard he’d scoped out beforehand. Max put the earpiece into place as Kay had shown him and made sure the little microphone symbol showing on his mobile phone was green. Through the tiny piece of plastic in his ear he could hear the sound of Oliver Peonia pacing back and forth in the room next door, muttering to himself nervously.
Through the gargoyle’s eyes, Max watched as Bertrand Viola went into the pub behind a group of mundanes. Less than a minute later, Max could hear the creak of the stairs leading up from the public bar below up to the private room in which the Peonia waited. Max pressed a second button on the phone below the microphone, which was large and red. The word recording flashed up at the bottom of the screen, as had happened in Kay’s demonstration. He was faintly aware of the gargoyle’s relief that it worked just as she said it would.
“Good evening, Oli,” Bertrand said.
“Good evening, Mr Viola. Awfully cold out there, what?”
“Indeed. Where are the others?”
“I thought I was early,” Oliver said, a slight tremor in his voice.
“No, they’re late.”
“W-whilst I have the opportunity, sir, I’d like to say thank you. For bringing me into the fold, so to speak.”
“We second sons have to look after one another,” Bertrand said warmly.
“I was wondering if I could suggest a new member for consideration,” Oli said. “He’s a chum of mine and a jolly decent chap. He’s the Duke of Londinium now, but he’s been a second son for a lot longer than that.”
There was a pause. Was Viola suspicious? “I did plan to ask him, but his wife interferes too much in his affairs. What the deuce is holding up the others? I told them it was urgent.”
“I could always take a message for you and tell them when they arrive, if you’re expected somewhere else,” Oliver offered.
“I don’t have time…and you’re green and untested…”
“I might be new, sir, but I’m jolly reliable. Why, I travelled the world with William Iris and got us out of all sorts of scrapes. Are you…are you in a bind, sir? You do seem rather flustered, if you don’t mind me saying so. If there’s any way I can help…”
“How close are you to William’s wife?”
“The Duchess? Oh, not at all. Barely know her. Heard some rum things about her, mind you. Bit of a harridan, so I’ve been told. She has a sharp tongue and strange ideas about women and chaps and—”
“I need your help dealing with her. She’s blackmailing me and I need to…to teach her a lesson.”
“Blackmailing you? Gosh! Why not tell Will? He’ll soon sort it all out.”
“That fool has no spine when it comes to that whore. Londinium would be better off without her. He needs a decent woman at his side. If you help me to solve this problem, I’ll set you up in a Londinium house in one of the finest squares.”
Max checked to see that the phone screen still said “recording.” The gargoyle was gouging chunks of stone from the cornice outside as its claws clenched.
“Gosh…that sounds rather splendid. Will does deserve a better wife, it’s true. It’s the least I could do as his friend, what?”
Bertrand chuckled along with Oli’s nervous laugh. “I need you to send a note to her via Letterboxer, asking her to see you, at once. Tell her…tell her that you’ve discovered something about William that you feel she should know, and that it’s most sensitive. Tell her to meet you at Bathurst Stables. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Max had heard enough. Any doubts he’d had were long gone, and he’d recorded enough to make a
case to the Duke of Londinium should he become obstructive when someone from his city was arrested by an Aquae Sulis Arbiter. None of the Londinium Arbiters could be trusted, after all.
He dropped the phone into one pocket and pulled the special door handle out of another. Leaving the cupboard, he checked that the gargoyle was alert at the window and then entered the private room.
Oliver leapt away from the Viola as if the man were on fire and shrank into the corner of the room as Bertrand took in Max’s face.
“That damn whore,” he whispered. “She planned this all along, didn’t she?”
“Bertrand Persificola-Viola, with the sanction of the Duchess of Londinium, I am taking you into custody.” He took hold of the man’s arm.
“Whatever she told you about me, it’s a lie. I can prove it.”
“I just listened to you plotting to harm her,” Max said. “I also heard you accept thanks for membership into your secret society, one that has been responsible for several critical breaches of the Split Worlds Treaty, the attempted assault of the Duchess of Londinium, and the blackmail of several prominent members of Nether Society.”
“What do you care about them?” Bertrand scoffed.
“Nothing at all. But I do care about the babies you pressurise young men into stealing from innocents and the Charms you encourage them to use in Mundanus.” Max thrust the pin of the door handle into the wall, opened the Way to the same box that had held George Iris only hours before, and locked Bertrand into the cuffs fixed to the table.
“If I’m going to be thrown out of Society,” Bertrand said, red with anger, “then I’ll take my wife with me. I stole her, Arbiter, from Mundanus. So you’d better go and clap some irons on her too.”
“I know about your wife already,” Max said. “I made a deal with the Duchess about her, in fact. She helped me to trap you in West London, and in return, I’ll overlook your wife if she wants to stay in the Nether. She’s no longer an innocent and her family are long dead. I see no reason to press for her expulsion from a place willing to keep her. She isn’t a risk to anyone else. Unlike you.”
