by Emma Newman
“Right,” Rupert said quietly. “I’ll read up on that later. What was the last thing I said about Max?”
“That he should be killed.”
“Reasons?”
A series of whirrs and clicks came from the golem. “The gargoyle is insubordinate and was attached to Kay. It knows you killed her. Probability of retribution: 80 per cent.”
Rupert nodded. “Shit, yeah. Damn. He’s the only Arbiter I’ve got. Ah, well, I’ll just have to make some more. No biggie. Go get that other info for me. I’m gonna get a kebab. I won’t be long.”
He opened a Way with his yo-yo and stepped through into the shadowy mundane quadrangle. Max watched Benson roll away as the gargoyle climbed down the wall next to him and took the Sorceress’s Opener out of its jaws.
“He’s going to kill us,” the gargoyle whispered, and Max nodded. “I don’t want to make a habit of this, but…” It didn’t finish the sentence, but Max knew it was considering harming Rupert. “I don’t want to kill him,” the gargoyle added. “I can’t stop thinking about that screaming…but we can’t just ignore this.”
“We can’t attack Rupert; he’ll be warded,” Max whispered to it. “We need to find a weakness. Follow the golem. See if you can get into the stacks. I think we’ll find what we need there. If you get into trouble, go back to the tower.” The gargoyle put the Opener back in its mouth, holding it between its stone jaws as it scampered off.
Max went back to Catte Street, finding a better nook to hide in so he could focus on what the gargoyle saw. By the time he was settled and able to properly watch through the gargoyle’s eyes it was underground, having gone through a door in the Bodleian quadrangle and down a shallow slope.
It was lit with bright electric bulbs, something Max had never seen in the Nether. The walls were plain stone, all grey and featureless, but at the bottom of the slope there was a stone arch standing proud from the walls and ceiling. As the gargoyle approached silently, several paces behind Benson, it became clear that the arch was covered in wards that stretched across the floor beneath it too. The gargoyle hesitated as Benson rolled through without pausing.
Max knew it was scared to go through the arch, and that was understandable, given Rupert’s skill. It crept as close as it dared, sniffing at the stone, but then the familiar noise of Benson’s trundling along the flagstones stopped. The gargoyle pressed itself against the wall, still watching, as Benson swivelled around. But instead of turning a full 180 degrees to look behind it, Benson pulled out a book from the shelf next to it, only to set it aside. It extended its arm attachment to the back of the shelf and pulled out a small tin. After shaking it a couple of times, Benson prised off the lid, looked at the contents, and shook the tin gently again. It sounded like buttons or other very small hard objects were inside. After a few moments of staring at it, Benson closed the tin, put it back in its hiding place, and replaced the book.
It was such a human act. Why would a golem do such a thing? Then Max considered the complexity of speech and tasks that both Benson and Hedges were capable of. Far too sophisticated for a simple animated assistant. What if they were more than simply golems? What if they were more like the gargoyle, a soul trapped inside something animated? Perhaps a soul split in two between them?
The gargoyle looked at the arch again, thinking the same as Max: if Benson and Hedges were really fragments of a soul trapped in inorganic animated constructs, surely the gargoyle would be just as safe from the wards that let them through? The gargoyle dashed through the arch, as if to get it done before courage faltered, and all was well on the other side.
Curiosity getting the better of it, the gargoyle found the tin and peeped inside. It was filled with multi-coloured beads, a couple of earrings and a pearl, looking for all the world like a magpie’s hoard. The gargoyle put it back where it was found and pressed on.
It followed Benson deeper into the tunnel, past shelves of books running down the left-hand side that were all bound identically in red leather, with strings of numbers embossed in gold on the spines. After a minute or so of passing through the pools of yellow light cast by the regularly spaced bulbs above, Benson finally paused outside a door, opened it with a special key attachment, and rolled inside. The gargoyle crept up to the door which had been left open, seeing a room filled with piles of the same books—only these copies had no numbers embossed on the spines. Benson went over to one that was on a stand and opened it, flicking the pages until the first blank one was reached, right at the end of the volume. It switched the arm attachment to something that looked like a plastic rolling pin and then ran it across the blank page, leaving words in its wake. It turned the page and did the same again to the other side and the opposite page and then the very last page of the book before turning it on its side, making some sort of adjustment to the attachment before rolling it down the spine. The embossed numbers in place, it picked the book up, and started to turn, sending the gargoyle running to hide.
Cautiously, the gargoyle peeped round the corner at the sound of Benson rolling along again as the door to the small room closed behind it. Down more long tunnels, a few turns along the way, Max estimated that there were thousands of books on the shelves. Eventually Benson reached a partially filled section of shelving and placed the book on a shelf. It rolled a little way back, plucked two other books out and rolled off again.
Max wanted to see inside the latest book to confirm a growing suspicion about the nature of this underground library. Once the gargoyle was certain that Benson had gone round a couple of corners, it hurried over to the last book placed on the shelf and opened it.
The text was tiny and it was mostly bullet points and snippets of conversation. It was difficult to read, even when the gargoyle moved beneath one of the lights, a mixture of English and some sort of shorthand. Max focused on some of the transcribed dialogue and recognised the last thing Rupert said to Kay: What the fuck? I fucking trusted you!
How had Benson known what he said? Was there something connecting them? Could the golems be animated with slivers of Rupert’s soul? However it worked, it was clear that the books were as he suspected: a record of what Rupert had done and said. Hence his need for Benson to look something up for him, probably in the books Benson removed.
The gargoyle picked another book from the shelf and flipped back a few pages, scanning the shorthand until other snippets of conversation were recognised, things he’d said in the office a few weeks ago. It was like reading a diary, with certain lines and illegible entries highlighted with gold. As the gargoyle looked through the rest of the book, they could see how it detailed not only the conversations but also activities when he was away from the office. Most of it was written in the code, and Max assumed that was his sorcerous research into killing Beatrice. After sampling two other books and picking out memorable conversations, it seemed that each book covered a week.
Max considered the sheer number of books they’d seen. How many of them were there in total? Thousands upon thousands, storing not only sorcerous knowledge but also conversations that were hardly monumental in the life of a Sorcerer. He recalled how Rupert had forgotten Margritte, a woman who’d been in the stacks, someone who must have meant a great deal to him if he’d trusted her so. How could she have been forgotten so swiftly?
This underground repository was more than an aide-mémoire. It held his thoughts and memories, like a paper reproduction of Rupert’s brain. No wonder he’d been so keen to get back. Perhaps all of this was the reason he spent so long away from the office. Was he spending time with Benson and Hedges, recording entries and struggling to remember things without the need for secret trips back into the stacks?
Max set off for the entrance to the quadrangle as a plan fell into place. If he could destroy those books, he could destroy Rupert’s memories. If the Sorcerer couldn’t remember him or the gargoyle, he’d never pose a threat; they would simply be forgotten. As he hobbled back across Catte Street, the gargoyle tried to tear out the page, but
no matter how hard he tried, the paper remained intact.
The gargoyle tried to scratch out the words with his claws, but even though the page felt like it was made of normal paper, his claws left no marks. Max suspected the books were warded against damage; of course they would be. The shelves were undoubtedly protected too, probably against fire and water as well. But Max was willing to bet that an Opener would still work in there.
Frustrated by the wards, the gargoyle replaced the book and heeded Max’s desire for him to test the Opener by pressing the pin into the floor. The gargoyle turned the doorknob and the Way opened to Beatrice’s tower. With a grin, the gargoyle swept an entire section of books straight off the shelf to fall into the room below.
A movement nearby made Max look up, focusing on his own surroundings instead. He saw Rupert toss a half-eaten kebab away at the end of the street and start sprinting towards the Bodleian. There must have been some sort of alarm. Max mentally telegraphed the warning to the gargoyle before he used his Opener to create a Way to London, with the aim of heading the long way round to Beatrice’s tower. He could only hope the gargoyle would send enough books through—and manage to escape—before Rupert put a stop to it.
27
One glance at the Fae palace was enough to make Cathy tremble. It was an amalgam of every single fairytale castle she’d seen at the end of childhood storybooks, with green fields all around it and the promise of happily ever afters. She thought of the arrowhead and Tom and Lucy and keeping them safe. She had to make sure she didn’t anger Poppy, otherwise he’d take it out on them.
“Wait here,” Poppy said to Tom and Lucy. The large oak doors swung open ahead and his grip on her hand tightened. He didn’t want to let her go. As if she were his to keep.
Cathy stole one last glance at Tom, who looked devastated at having to let her go on without him. She tried her best to look brave for him, to assure him that she would get through this, but it didn’t seem to make much difference. Lucy looked tearful, her arms wrapped around Tom as he held her close. Then Cathy was pulled forward and the doors slammed shut, cutting her off from them.
She was escorted through an entrance hall beneath dozens of sprites, unable to stop herself from gawping at the beauty of the decorated pillars and vaulted ceiling, then down a long corridor to another set of doors that opened before them too.
There was a man on the throne but she couldn’t look directly at him.
“Let her go, Poppy.”
She twitched at the sound of Will’s voice and the panic surged again.
“I was simply escorting her, your majesty.” As he removed his arm from hers, Poppy whispered, “I do so hope I will see you reach your full potential.” Then, after a deep bow to the throne, Poppy left and the doors closed behind him, leaving her alone with the one man she never wanted to see again.
“Cathy,” Will said, so tenderly. “Cathy, look at me, please.”
Even though Cathy tried to resist, she couldn’t stop herself from doing as he asked. He sat on a throne, a crown of oak leaves resting on his hair, wearing an exquisite green frock coat with black trousers. His waistcoat was embroidered with golden oak leaves, his cravat was perfectly tied, and he looked even more handsome than she remembered. He was smiling at her and she pressed her lips together, biting down on them inside, to stop herself reciprocating it.
“Won’t you even greet me, my love?”
“I am not your love!” she said, and lowered her gaze again, unable to look at him a moment more.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” Will said.
“What for, exactly? Forcing my brother to bring me here? Putting that dog collar on me? Raping me? Which one?”
“I never raped you!”
“You did. You gave me that Charm to make me lustful and pliable when you knew I wasn’t ready to consummate our marriage. Making me incapable of fighting you off doesn’t stop it being rape. And I will never fucking forgive you for that.”
“You’re right.”
She looked up in shock, hearing the sincerity in his voice and needing to see if it matched his face. But it was so hard to maintain her stare, not just because of the anger, but the sheer majesty of him. Of the crown, no doubt. She lowered her head again.
“I never should have done that,” he said. “I am so sorry. And the choker…it was despicable. I regret it more than I can express. I was so caught up in keeping Iris happy, and keeping us safe from his anger, I didn’t think. I didn’t think about you, that is. I thought I was protecting you. When I saw what he did to Dame Iris…I was terrified he’d do the same to you.”
“So you made me a slave. Well done. What brilliant protection. I suppose this kidnapping by the back door is actually protecting me too? Terrorising my brother is still okay, obviously.”
“You wouldn’t speak to me! You just ran and—”
“Of course I fucking ran, you bastard! I never wanted to see you again!”
“You didn’t give me the chance to explain. To apologise.”
“Jesus, Will. Even when you’re trying to say sorry, it still seems like it’s my fault.”
Cathy listened to the sound of his shoes on the stone floor, getting closer. She wanted to take a step back—she wanted to run—but she could do neither. At the back of her mind was the constant worry that she wasn’t kneeling to him, but her rage was enough to keep that from swamping her. She’d never kneel to him. She’d rather die.
The tips of his black leather shoes came into view. She flinched away when he reached towards her, so he clasped his hands behind his back. She could smell him, the sweet muskiness of his skin, tangling her in memories of lust and shame.
“How can I make this right between us? How can I show you how sorry I am?”
“You can leave me alone. Forever.”
His sigh was deep. “But I love you.”
She laughed. She didn’t even find it funny, but once she started, it wouldn’t stop.
“Don’t laugh at me,” he said, hurt, and the laughter died in her throat.
“You don’t love me. You just can’t stand the fact that I don’t want you. I will never give myself to you willingly and that makes you want me more. It’s pride, Will. Not love.”
He almost reached out to touch her again and she flinched, just like before. He walked away a few paces, as if to remove the temptation. “You’re wrong. Everything’s changed now. There’s no pressure on us anymore. I rule over Iris now. He’ll never force us to do anything again! All the reasons why I did those things have gone now. We can start again.”
“Start again?” She clenched her fists, wanting nothing more than to just turn and leave, but she felt rooted to the spot. “This isn’t like burning a pie and deciding to make another one.”
“I know that! What I mean is that we were forced together, and you tried so hard to make me a better man and I was just too trapped in that world to even try. But now there’s no external pressure to do anything. We can start again. Take our time. No Patroon breathing down our necks, no Lord Iris threatening us. Just me and you. I got to the top of the ladder, Cathy. We can be free.”
She knuckled her temples, struggling to understand. “You force me to come here by threatening my brother and setting one of the Fae upon me, to tell me we can be free? Are you even listening to yourself?”
“Goddamn it, Cathy, why are you making this so difficult?” he shouted, and she shrank back from his anger, her right leg buckling until she realised what she was about to do. She gritted her teeth and dug her fingernails into her palms, fighting the urge to kneel and supplicate herself before him.
“It’s difficult because I can’t trust you. You cast magic upon my heart and forced yourself upon me. You said you believed in my cause and then systematically blocked any attempts to achieve change. You collared me like a dog to make me obedient and told your father something I shared in confidence, that led to my father’s suicide. That’s why this is so fucking difficult, William. Because I’m not a
machine or a doll or a pet. I’m a woman that you have raped and abused and hurt.”
There was a long silence between them, long enough for Cathy to worry about Tom and Lucy.
“I need to earn your forgiveness and your trust, I understand that,” Will said.
“No, you don’t need to do that at all. You just have to let me go back to Mundanus and leave me alone.”
He came close again, took hold of her hands before she could pull them away. “But we’re married.”
“Our marriage is as real as the night we consummated it,” she said, pulling her hands away with a supreme effort. “If Iris doesn’t need a child from us anymore, he doesn’t need us to be married anymore.”
“Look at me.”
She did, without thinking. His eyes were so beautiful, large and brown and filled with sincerity. “I did all of those things and I regret every single one. And I know how angry you are with me and I understand why you wouldn’t want to be with me. But I’m not just asking for the chance to earn your forgiveness and your trust. I’m offering you a place at the top of the ladder with me. I don’t just want to stay married to you. I want you to be my Queen. I want you to rule Exilium with me.”
“But why me?”
“Because I love you.” He pressed his lips to her hands. “Because I know you will make me a better person. And I know you will be an incredible Queen when you can make the Kingdom whatever you want. There are no Patroons here, no rules, no stuffy men to keep happy for the sake of safety and stability. You can make it your own, in the way I should have let you in Londinium.”
It still made no sense to her. Why was he persisting like this? Was his ego so fragile that he had to win her back? Why did he even care? She tried to remember any sign of his love before she left him, but every single moment of kindness or tenderness was clouded by the thought of being under the Charm’s thrall at the time. He’d simply acted that way to keep her sweet so she wouldn’t rock the boat. So she’d give him a child.
