I summoned it.
A shadow appeared in the center of the blood-working, barely a wisp at first, but it slowly coalesced into something human in shape. I called again, and it became clearer, though still not solid. It was, or had been, a young man with fair hair and a slender frame.
“Who are you, shade?” Twomax asked.
The shade sighed. “I don’t know who I am now.”
“Who were you?” I asked.
“Diccon.”
“What brought you here?”
“I was born ’ere.”
“Did you die here?”
The shade looked puzzled. “Am I dead?”
“What do you remember?”
“He asked me if I wanted to be a gentleman.”
“Who asked you?”
“The man who didn’t have a name. Mam used to call him the visitor. Paid good money for the attic rooms but didn’t stay all the time. Kept a horse here, well, until the lions got loose from Vauxhall Gardens and tore her up. Bad business.”
That would have been the hellhounds Walsingham created to kill me and Corwen on the night we rescued Philip.
“Did the man go away after that?”
“For a long time. Then he came back, though he was maimed. Looked as if he’d been in a battle.”
“He asked if you wanted to be a gentleman. And did you?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“Then what?”
The shade frowned. “I was a gentleman, only . . . I wasn’t me. Someone else was walking and talking for me, putting on fancy clothes, sleeping in a soft bed. I thought it marvelous at first, but then I started to get smaller and smaller until . . . where am I?”
“The White Lion.”
“Where’s Mam?”
“There’s no one else here.”
“She must be here. Mam? Mam!”
“Diccon, the gentleman you became, does he have a different name?”
“Name?”
“Is he called Diccon?”
“No. Not Diccon.”
“What is he called?”
“Philip.”
I feared as much. Walsingham had brought my brother back and set him in Diccon’s body, at first cohabiting, but now Diccon had been cast out completely. Though, while his body still lived, Diccon’s spirit was sundered and in limbo.
“Someone find me a bottle with a stopper,” I said, while keeping my concentration on Diccon lest he disappear.
“Here, will this do?” Twomax pushed a silver hip flask into my hand. I took out the bung and sniffed. Brandy fumes. That should keep Diccon happy.
“Diccon, I can’t promise to put you back, but will you come with us to find your body? I swear I will try my very best to make it right for you.”
“I don’t know how to do that?”
“It’s all right. If you give your permission, I’ll carry you in this.” I held the hip flask up. “Do you like brandy?”
“I like it fine when I can get it.”
“Then I think you’ll be very comfortable in here.”
With as much gentleness as I could, I summoned Diccon’s spirit into the brandy flask and pushed the stopper home.
“Mr. Twomax—” I began.
He sighed. “I know. Set the goblins the task of finding Walsingham.”
“And Philip.”
“What if they’ve left London?”
“Do your best, but try not to get anyone killed.”
He nodded. “What about you?”
“We’ll see the king in a few days’ time and find out whether he’s been able to set the wheels in motion to disband the Mysterium. If the Mysterium is disbanded, Walsingham will lose both resources and protection.”
“That would be a good outcome.”
“The best, but I’m not counting on it.”
39
Unicorns
WE HAD GIVEN the king until the eighth day of June to approach his ministers and discuss what changes might be made to protect the rowankind and the country’s other magicals. So much hung on the king’s reply, that I barely slept in the few days leading up to the meeting.
I knew that Larien wanted this venture to succeed, but Dantin did not. To that end Larien had sent David to ensure no betrayal at the meeting. David had proved adept at raising magical barriers that would protect us whatever happened.
We’d arranged the meeting place in Richmond Park again, close to the White Lodge where Mr. Addington, the king’s first minister, resided. It was close enough to the Fae gate that we could make a quick exit if required. At least this time we would recognize the king and not be fooled by some substitute in fancy clothing.
We’d arrived in London by sea, without our own horses. Four days before the meeting, we hired three cobs and rode to the nearest gate, which happened to be the Richmond one. Fae gates were scarce around the capital as the industrial blight severely restricted where the Fae were comfortable going.
Mr. Rafiq rode with us to bring the hired hacks back to the capital. Most of the Heart’s sailors have little familiarity with good-quality riding horses. Hookey’s of the opinion that putting a sailor on a horse is an affront to nature, but Mr. Rafiq looked as elegant on a horse as he did on the deck of a ship. He took our horses in hand and, with a wave, turned for the city.
Unlike our visit in February, Richmond Park was now a patchwork of vibrant green with wooded areas and rolling heath dotted with grazing deer. We hardly noticed the difference when we passed from summer in Richmond to summer in Iaru, except, perhaps, for the smell. Iaru’s background smell was spicy with floral undertones. You ceased to notice it after a few breaths, but it was always there.
David met us riding his own horse and leading Timpani and Dancer who had found their way back to Iaru from Plymouth where we had last seen them. I thought my brother looked a little paler than usual.
He scowled at us. “You took Annie to Plymouth,” he said.
“I presume you didn’t want to let her go off on her own,” I said. “She’s safe. As to happy, I don’t know. What’s the situation here?”
“Lady Calantha has found three separate excuses not to talk to me or, indeed, to be in my company, for which I am grateful. My father, however, is not pleased with either of us, and Uncle Dantin has been in a filthy mood for weeks. He scowls and stomps around and won’t tell anyone what’s bothering him.”
“It sounds as though this misalliance has brought misery for everyone. I don’t have any suggestions except sitting all parties down together and talking through it, but that doesn’t seem like a very Fae thing to do.”
He shrugged. “Let’s get on with planning to meet the king. If he’s managed to persuade his ministers to change the law, the Merovingian alliance may not be so important.”
And so we did.
On the morning of the eighth day of June, a Tuesday, we emerged from Iaru on foot and took up a position within sight of the White Lodge. Unlike the last time, there was no steward to erect a canopy. A small group of people set off toward us, with King George in the lead, looking as though he was out for a Sunday stroll. This time I was in female attire. To tell the truth, I was having difficulty accommodating my belly in breeches, but my condition was invisible in my high-waisted day dress.
“That’s definitely the king this time,” Corwen said.
“I’m surprised he’s not surrounded by bodyguards,” I said. “Where are the Blues? Or do you think the park is crawling with redcoats again?”
“They’ll not get through my shield,” David said.
We were in the center of an invisible bubble which no shot could penetrate, and no person could enter unless David allowed it.
As the king approached, Corwen and David bowed low while I curtseyed deeply.
“Yes, yes, it’s a little late for that
, don’t you think?” The king said. He looked a little strained around the mouth. I hoped he wasn’t falling ill again.
He waved away his flunkies and stepped forward. He looked at me and David and then at Corwen. “Name yourselves.”
“Majesty, names are dangerous for such as us.”
“And yet, here I am, your sovereign, asking you a direct question. You can trust me with your names.”
Corwen took a deep breath, “Corwen Silverwolf, Majesty, and this is my wife, Rossalinde, and her brother, David Lariensson.”
“Thank you. And you are all of the magical persuasion?”
“We are.”
“Like you,” I said.
The king ignored my comment, but I’m sure it hit home.
“What news, Majesty?” Corwen asked.
The king shook his head. “What you ask is impossible. The Mysterium has protected Britain for two hundred years. Addington tells me it cannot be dissolved without an act of Parliament, and he’s not inclined to support a bill while the French question is so prominent.”
“And the rowankind, Majesty?” Corwen prompted.
The king took a breath. “There are some things only the reigning monarch and his first minister are privy to. The rowankind question is one of them. It’s over two hundred years since Elizabeth, first of her name, found a solution for a very pressing problem. Addington assures me nothing in law makes the rowankind vulnerable to the Mysterium.”
“Then why are rowankind being hanged for their magic?” I asked. “The Mysterium is above itself.”
“There’s nothing I can do without the goodwill of Parliament. I’m sorry.”
“So are we,” David said softly. “Sorry for what is about to happen.”
“Threats?” the king said.
“The Fae don’t make threats,” David said. “They will offer a demonstration to show you yours is not the only power in the land.”
“What kind of demonstration?”
“I can’t say.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“Can’t, Majesty. The Fae Council of Seven will decide.”
I had an idea. “Majesty, there always used to be a Fae ambassador at court until the interregnum when Cromwell held the republic. How would it be if you invited the Fae to send an ambassador again? Maybe if one of their own kind were to be at court, they might at least have a better understanding.”
“And acknowledge magic is not controlled by the Mysterium?”
“It would certainly indicate that,” I said.
He shook his head. “I think what you ask is too much. Magic must be controlled.”
“The Mysterium doesn’t control magic now,” I said. “It drives it underground. There is magic in this country such as the Mysterium has never dreamed of, yet none of it is a threat to the realm. In fact, if allowed their freedom, the magicals could benefit Britain greatly. Your subjects love you, Majesty, including the magical ones. Please, you must help them.”
The king looked uncomfortable. I could see he was looking for reasons to refuse. I tried a different tack. “Perhaps you could appoint a royal commission to examine the position of the Mysterium with regard to the rowankind. I do believe the Earl of Stratford might take an active interest if you asked him.”
“Stratford. He’s not a magical as well, is he?”
“Not at all. In fact, he has a grandson who is a Mysterium officer.”
“I’ll talk to him. I’m not unsympathetic to your requests, you know, but I am the king, and I must do as a king should. My government is too concerned with war and wheat harvests to pay much heed to magic.”
“They may be more inclined to take it seriously, soon, Majesty,” David said. “And I’m sorry for it.”
* * *
We reported back to the Council of Seven who sat in state in the grove. They were ranged in order of age with Lord Dax on the left. I’d not known all their names when we faced them before, but I’d taken David on one side and he’d given me their names and a little of their histories. Lady Iphransia, the elder of the two female council members, sat next to Dax with Tarius next and then Lady Coralie, who looked middle-aged to me. Dantin came next and then Eduran. Larien came last. I was surprised that Larien was the youngest of them, because he seemed to have a potent voice on the council. Age didn’t necessarily relate to precedence.
After the council members had all spoken and we had relayed what the king had said, Dantin shot to his feet. “I said we should have acted first and negotiated afterward. This whole matter could have been settled by now. We could have brought the country to its knees already and made the king our vassal.”
“And what would be the point of that?” Lord Dax spoke quietly, but as soon as he did, everyone else fell silent. “If we’d wanted to spend time governing the humans, we could have established ourselves millennia ago. I said then and I say again now, we must let them go their own way.”
“Not if they are killing rowankind,” Dantin stamped his foot for emphasis. “Their king is not fit, and their Parliament is ineffective. I say we destroy their government and let them replace it with something better.”
“There’s nothing to say that what they replace it with will be better,” Larien said. “You know I was skeptical from the very beginning that the king and Parliament could be made to see reason . . . ”
That was news to me. Larien had seemed as firmly behind our attempts to see the king as Dantin had, even though he had obviously wanted a better outcome. I filed the information away for later.
Larien continued, “I agree about a demonstration, but let it be nothing too damaging, nothing irreversible. Otherwise, we will only prove to the humans that magic is wicked and that will harden their resolve. They are stubborn beings.”
“I don’t see why we can’t simply order all the rowankind to return to Iaru and let that be an end to it.” Lord Eduran spoke up.
“The rowankind aren’t exclusively ours anymore,” Larien said. “They’ve lived their own lives for generations.”
“With respect . . . ” I didn’t know whether interrupting the Council of Seven was allowed during a debate, but I couldn’t stay quiet any longer. “With respect, it’s not only about the rowankind anymore. When you asked me to restore the rowankind magic so that they could leave their bondage, I argued that I would not do it if the rowankind were simply going to return here to be your servants, and you agreed.”
“We did,” Lady Iphransia said.
“But while the gates to Iaru and the Okewood were open, magical creatures slipped out into the world: pixies and kelpies, trolls and hobs, and probably many more. So the Mysterium is now aware that witchcraft is not the only problem, which endangers us all. We would all like to live free.”
“What’s this got to do with the rowankind?” Dantin asked.
“Everything. The problem is the Mysterium. Dissolve the Mysterium, and you protect the rowankind, the goblins, the hobs and the trolls, and even the unregistered witches. It will take some time to change the hearts and minds of the people; It’s not something that you can do overnight, yet I hope they’ll learn to accept their magical neighbors eventually. But you can’t expect the people to accept magic if you’ve used it as a weapon. Show the king and his Parliament wonder, not terror. Show them how magic can be a force for good.”
Lord Dax chuckled. “Rossalinde may have the right of it. Give the humans until midsummer before we show them something more serious, but in the meantime, show them wonder.”
There was one of those uncanny silences during which I thought the Fae lords might be communicating among themselves, then Larien turned to us. “Ross, Corwen, please return to London and assess the mood of the people if you would be so kind.”
Good heavens! Was this Larien asking instead of ordering? We would certainly comply since we were still looking for Walsingham, a
nd—as far as we knew—London was our most likely place to look.
* * *
Lord Dax asked for wonder, and wonder he got.
On the tenth day of June, the Horseguards awoke to find all their steeds had become unicorns overnight. They were the same steeds, gray, black, bay, and brown, but now with a central slender horn protruding from their forehead.
I can only imagine the consternation in the stables. The officers had a choice of not fulfilling their duties as the king’s protectors or fulfilling them riding unicorns.
The news didn’t become public until rumors started to fly. Three enterprising printers beat the Times to the news. They had broadsheets out on the streets within hours, telling of how the colonels had sent to borrow horses from the cavalry, but as soon as those horses set a hoof in the Horseguards’ stables, they became endowed with horns also.
It then became apparent that the second magical effect was that the unicorn droppings were silver, smelled of flowers, and sparkled. This news caused great hilarity. The broadsheets were full of it, and urchins quickly began to follow the Horseguards with buckets. Unicorn shit, it turned out, was a salable commodity.
All of London—from the highest members of the ton to the lowest beggar on the streets—was talking about unicorns. The Mysterium, however, was silent on the matter, not being able to name a perpetrator. One of the broadsheets reported that the Mysterium had tried to remove a horn from one of the unicorns, only to discover the beast was well able to protect itself. It impaled two Mysterium officers, one fatally. The unicorn in question then galloped off and was never seen again.
All this we discovered from the broadsheets.
We bundled several editions together and sent them to Lily on the mail coach, and in an accompanying letter asked her to pass on the message to Pomeroy that we had suggested to the king he appoint the Earl of Stratford to head a Royal Commission to look into the treatment of the rowankind.
* * *
Two days after the unicorns, London awoke to a shortage of milk. The dairy herds kept in the parks and enclosures throughout the city and looked after by an army of milkmaids and herdsmen had inexplicably all turned into fat bullocks.
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