Modern Magick 4

by Charlotte E. English

  This is where I wanted Val’s help, aside from the matter of her book-hiding trick. She doesn’t have a search engine so much as a search labyrinth, and as I talked her fingers moved ceaselessly over the keys of her laptop. She was feeding it endless lists of search terms, and as she worked her search-maze was scouring a host of databases for every nugget of relevant information (several of them seriously off-limits to most of us), cross-referencing everything with everything else, and hopefully pulling out something useful.

  It occurred to me that the Baron had been quiet, for all his talk of helping. When I looked his way, I found that he was looking at me. I wish I could say it was an admiring look, but it was more of a thoughtful gaze, with a hint of something troubled in it.

  I made a questioning face, but he only smiled and looked away.

  ‘I am happy to tell you that there are exactly zero places on the planet that match those criteria,’ said Valerie after a while.

  ‘Zero!’

  ‘It’s the twenty-first century, Ves. We’ve had satellites for a while now. Nobody’s hiding any mystery islands anymore.’

  I felt an impulse to chew upon a fingernail, which I suppressed. It is a habit I broke years ago, but it still surfaces occasionally in times of stress. ‘Then it is either hidden after all, or… there’s the third possibility.’

  ‘That being?’

  ‘You know. We cannot find the isle because it’s popped off to 1598. And so have Millie Makepeace and the spire.’

  Val looked at me over her spectacles. ‘And, therefore, Jay?’

  ‘Yes. And they had smallpox back then, not to mention bubonic plague—’

  ‘I thought you were thrilled at the prospect of time travel?’

  ‘I am, but it might perhaps benefit from a little forethought. If Jay’s in the sixteenth century right now, he’s on his own.’ And it would explain why his phone seemed to have ceased to exist.

  Valerie said nothing, but she transferred her penetrating gaze to the Baron’s face.

  It was his look of bland innocence that made me suspicious.

  ‘You know something about all this, don’t you?’ I said. ‘Did the Court send you to help, or to spy?’

  I wanted him to deny it, but he passed a hand over his face and sighed. ‘I sometimes have cause to wish you weren’t so astute, Ves.’ He caught Val’s eye and muttered, ‘The whole damned lot of you.’

  I folded my arms and gave him the death stare. ‘Explain.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You can and will.’

  ‘Ves—’

  ‘All that nonsense about the island moving around was misdirection, was it? All right, so it probably is impossible to haul an entire bloody island around but in that case where is it?’

  Alban gave me a helpless stare.

  ‘Is it three and a half miles off the coast of Scarborough?’ I pressed.

  ‘In a manner of speaking.’

  ‘In which century?’

  ‘I… Ves, that is genuinely a complicated question to answer.’

  ‘Or in other words, it’s not this one.’

  ‘It is,’ said Alban, and then added, ‘in a manner of speaking.’

  I stifled an urge to kick him.

  Into the icy silence left by the combined efforts of Val and me, he offered: ‘I am not here to obstruct you. Honestly.’

  ‘No?’ I said.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ he amended, and held up his hands when I threatened to explode on the spot. ‘The Court is unsure how to proceed, Ves. This is a… it’s an unprecedentedly tricky situation. I am to help where I deem it fit and… and see what happens.’

  ‘Which means you are also to hinder if you deem it fit?’

  ‘If it proves necessary, yes.’

  ‘Hinder whom?’

  ‘Ancestria Magicka, definitely. Hopefully not you.’

  Hopefully.

  I looked him square in the eye. ‘Do you know where that island is right now, Alban?’

  He met my gaze without flinching. ‘I have an inkling, but I am not yet certain. I have some investigating to do, like you.’

  ‘Are you going to share your inkling?’

  ‘I can’t, at present. Their Majesties have expressly forbidden it. But it pains me to have to say no, Ves.’

  ‘Comforting,’ I said tartly. ‘Thank you.’

  His lips curled in a tiny, unhappy smile. ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘We’ll find out anyway.’

  His smile turned more genuine. ‘I would expect nothing less.’

  ‘It’s party time,’ said Val crisply.

  Startled, I checked the time: six o’ clock. Just an hour left to get dinner and find a dress. ‘Wait,’ I said, frowning at Val. ‘How do you know about that?’

  ‘How? I was invited.’

  ‘What? Who else?’

  ‘I don’t know everybody who got an invitation, but Rob for one. Nell. Indira, Rosalind, Siobhan, Berat, Vincent, Ravindra, Jack, um, rumour has it they even invited Orlando.’

  It did not escape my notice that everyone on Val’s list (and mine) was either a figure of some authority at the Society, they were particularly experienced or specialised in their field, or they possessed rare talents of one sort or another. ‘They’re trying to swipe more of our best people, aren’t they?’

  ‘Milady drew the same conclusion, but I don’t think they’ll get very far with most of us.’

  Nobody mentioned Miranda.

  The Baron stood up. ‘Time to get something to eat?’ he said, looking at me.

  Part of me wanted to be petulant and tell him to get stuffed, but it was a small part. And since we were no longer able to wander down to the cafeteria for dinner… ‘All right,’ I said, grudgingly.

  He looked, politely, at Val, but she waved us off. ‘I’ll see you at Ashdown.’

  The Baron offered me his arm, which I took with a sniff of disdain.

  ‘You’ve a good indignant face,’ he said, and that damned twinkle was back in his eyes. ‘Had some practice?’

  ‘Thanks to the likes of you, yes.’ I refused to be charmed out of my displeasure just yet. Maybe after I’d been fed.

  ‘Ouch,’ he said with an exaggerated wince.

  ‘You deserved that.’

  ‘I did.’

  The Baron and I arrived at Ashdown Castle slightly early. He had certainly known about the party in advance, for he had come prepared, and changed into a delicious deep blue dinner suit while I slipped into my favourite slinky evening gown, a wine-red satin confection (and changed my hair to match: auburn bordering upon burgundy). Alban drove us, utilising some of his enviable Troll Roads, I think, for we made suspiciously excellent time.

  I had heard nothing from Zareen, and was left to assume that she, too, would meet us there.

  They really had sent out a lot of invitations, for when we swung smoothly into the driveway at Ashdown Castle we were met by the sight of at least fifty cars already parked. The grassy grounds had been turned into a giant car park for the evening, event-style, as though they were expecting nearer five hundred guests than fifty. They had also disabled most of the enchantments which protected the place from unwanted incursions. No concealments remained, no shields, no discouragements of any kind.

  ‘Serious business,’ I remarked, taken aback.

  ‘They’re planning to cause a stir,’ agreed Alban.

  He offered his arm as we got out of the car, and I was glad to take it. We walked briskly up to the castle (carefully as well, in my case — heels on grass is always a risky proposition). The scale of the event and the mystery surrounding it made it clear that this was to be no ordinary party, and I was alert for signs of trouble or intrigue as we made our way to the entrance.

  Well, the next thing I noticed was that Ashdown Castle had undergone something of a facelift.

  13

  I had paid a visit to Ashdown Castle before, only a few weeks past. On that occasion, the place had been half a ruin, with parts of
its roofs fallen in, glass missing from the windows, walls tumbling down — a wreck, in short. What a pity, too, for it was a large, rambling old place, five centuries old, with appealing higgledy-piggledy architecture all built from unusual brown brick.

  The several sloping roofs were all intact, now. The windows glittered with bright, new glass, every rickety wall had been rebuilt or stabilised, and there had even been some cleaning done to its decorative stone embellishments. How they had achieved so much in so short a space of time was beyond me to imagine; I could only gape in astonishment, and marvel again at just how much money these people had to throw around.

  ‘I really, really want to know who’s funding this lot,’ I muttered to the Baron.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, grimly. ‘We were thinking the same thing.’

  By we I supposed he meant himself and Their Majesties. It wasn’t just the money, either. They behaved with the splendid insouciance of people who think that laws are beneath them, and are confident of there being no conceivable way any unpleasant consequences could ever be brought to bear for breaking them. I’d wondered before how many connections they had in advantageous places, especially since Lord Garrogin’s duplicity had come to light.

  Probably that had occurred to Their Majesties, too.

  Our invitations were accepted at the door by a pair of young women in blue uniform robes — or mine was, anyway. The Baron needed no invitation. He had only to announce himself and his eminence did all the work (with a little help from his best and most charming smile, perhaps). The girls on the door looked thrilled as they waved him in. Was it because he was handsome, or because his presence here was another coup for Ancestria Magicka?

  In the great hall — whitewashed walls inside, high ceiling, remarkable painted murals depicting forest scenes — we found a large number of our fellow guests already milling about, many of them with champagne glasses in hand.

  We also found Zareen, loitering near the door, with George Mercer in tow. He wore a black tuxedo; she was devastating in a slim column of a black dress, her eye make-up dramatic.

  ‘Half the Society’s coming,’ she hissed as she drew us aside. ‘They’ve invited everyone.’

  ‘So I learned from Val. You wouldn’t happen to know why, would you?’

  We both looked at George Mercer, who had the grace to look uncomfortable.

  ‘They’re looking to expand,’ said Zareen in disgust. ‘At our expense, obviously.’

  The same conclusion Milady and I had reached in our separate deliberations, but I was no longer certain that was all that was going on. There was too much show, the party was too big, the guests too varied. What Zareen had said was probably true enough, but what other motive lurked behind all this effort and expense?

  ‘I’d like to know where Jay is,’ I said to George, as pleasantly as I could manage considering that I wanted to choke the information out of him with my bare hands.

  He grunted. ‘You’ll find out.’

  ‘Once we’ve given you the information you want, you mean?’ I was ready to do that if it meant getting Jay back.

  But Mercer rolled his eyes. ‘No.’

  I thought Zareen was looking a bit shame-faced. Had she already spilled everything?

  She caught my look, and sighed. ‘They know all about that bloody island already, all right?’

  ‘They do?’ That shed some interesting new light on things. ‘All about it?’

  ‘As much as we know, anyway.’

  Mercer, to my interest, looked like he wanted to say something, but he hesitated and Zareen swept on. ‘Last recorded position off the coast of Scarborough, vanished since to an undiscovered location.’

  He was definitely looking shifty. ‘Do you also have an inkling as to where?’ I said — politely, I swear!

  The man sighed, ran a finger around the collar of his shirt as though it was choking him, and walked off, muttering something about a drink.

  Zareen’s smile grew satisfied.

  ‘What was that?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, but then amended that to: ‘Mission almost accomplished.’

  ‘What mission?’

  ‘My secret George Mercer mission.’

  ‘Does it have anything to do with getting Jay back?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  I gave up. I’d always known that Jay and Zareen did not altogether get along, but I hadn’t expected to find her so unmoved by his mysterious plight. Remonstrating with her was useless. I walked away.

  The Baron leaned down to whisper in my ear. ‘I think that she has not had the success she was hoping for with Mr. Mercer, but is embarrassed to admit it.’

  Hmm. Was she embarrassed or just hopping mad? Either way, uttered in his smooth, calm tones, the idea sounded reasonable, and some of my irritation and dismay dissipated. He was probably right.

  I came to a dead halt halfway across the hall, because a familiar figure approached from the other side of the room: an extremely tall figure, clad in robes. ‘Lord Garrogin’s here?’

  The Baron looked about as pleased to see him as I was. ‘Bloody cheek,’ he muttered.

  I was better pleased to see Rob and Nell there, and Val arrived shortly afterwards. I didn’t see Miranda, though I was on the watch for her.

  I began to feel bad about turning my back on Zareen like that. I knew she was in a difficult position between the Society and George Mercer, and could hardly be blamed for having slightly confused loyalties. She would be doing her best. I ought to be a better friend.

  But when I turned to go back to her, she was not where we had left her a few minutes before. It took me a few seconds to locate her among the mass of sumptuously clad guests; they were as curious about the castle as I was. A ceaseless flow of party-goers streamed from door to door, disappearing into the depths of the building and coming back again, probably in search of more champagne.

  I would join them in exploring before long, but first… ah, there was Zareen, in a corner by herself. She had her eyes closed. As I drew nearer, I saw that she was pressed into the walls, one hand laid palm-flat against the pale plaster. Her face was pale and drawn in that way I was beginning to dread seeing.

  I approached carefully, wary of startling her. ‘Zar?’ I said softly.

  Her eyes snapped open. They were only half filled in with black, yet, but the colour was spreading into the whites. ‘Ves. You know the…’ she trailed off as Alban came up beside me.

  ‘Carry on,’ I murmured. ‘The Baron’s all right.’

  ‘I’d rather not.’ The look in Zareen’s eyes too nearly resembled fear for my liking, so I was glad when Alban took this in good part, and moved quietly away again.

  ‘The Greyer cottage,’ Zareen continued, pitching her voice lower. ‘And how George and Katalin almost beat us to it.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We thought they were trying to purloin the services of Wester, and maybe one of the Greyers, for themselves. And we were right.’

  ‘But you exorcised them, so that put paid to that plan.’

  ‘But it didn’t. It’s something George said earlier today…’ Her eyes fluttered shut again, and she visibly swallowed. I couldn’t imagine what was going on in her mind at that moment. ‘There are more Waymasters like Wester. Millie Makepeace, for one, and George claims they’ve another tame one in some building somewhere, he wouldn’t say in any more detail. But I think that’s not the half of it. You’ve been here before, haven’t you?’

  ‘Once, a few weeks ago.’

  ‘Notice anything different about it?’

  ‘Only everything.’ I told her about the castle’s formerly derelict state.

  ‘Building works,’ Zareen whispered, and said hoarsely: ‘Ves. There are at least seven spirits loose in here.’

  ‘Seven?’

  She nodded. ‘Perhaps more, I am having trouble separating them. Some of them are… really not happy.’

  I’ve a notion my face turned as paper-white as Zareen’s. Seven spiri
ts, most or all of them conveyed here with or without their consent, their bones sealed into newly rebuilt floors or walls. Possibly more than seven. ‘Are they all Waymasters?’

  ‘At least two of them are. One is called Bonnie Bishop. I know this because she keeps shrieking her name at me. She was a healer in a village called Combe Greening. Edward Visser kept a charms and cantrips shop in Amesbury. Harriet Theale was a vicar’s wife in a parish called Bodwell. Two of them are talking in languages I cannot understand and the rest are just— I can’t distinguish.’ Zareen gripped her head, her eyes wide and staring now, and black from edge to edge. ‘Eight,’ she said with forced calm. ‘Toby McNeal, Kinross. Waymaster and baker.’

  ‘Zar.’ I took hold of her hands, and tried to make her look at me. ‘Zar, stop. Where is this coming from? You were fine a few minutes ago.’

  ‘They were silent until a few minutes ago. I didn’t know they were there. They woke up, all at once.’

  That boded poorly. The party was just getting underway, pretty much everyone was here who was going to be here, and now the ghosts in the walls woke up?

  ‘I need George,’ said Zareen shakily, and tried to pull free of me.

  I hung onto her. ‘We’ll find him together. Come on.’

  Baron Alban, bless him, had not been oblivious to this. He was at my side in an instant as I set off across the hall, supporting Zareen. He took up a position on her other side, his bulk helping to shield her from unwanted attention, and with his superior height he was the first to spot George Mercer slipping through a half-concealed door at the back of the hall.

  We followed.

  ‘Stranger Arts?’ murmured the Baron to me as we passed through the door.

  ‘Mm.’

  He looked more sympathetic than repulsed, and duly went up yet another notch in my estimation.

  ‘George!’ gasped Zareen. ‘Stop. Please.’

  For a moment I thought he would ignore her, but to his credit he slowed, and turned around. He looked every bit as bad as Zareen, if not worse, his face chalk-coloured and his eyes pitch. Shadows crept across his skin, giving him a chilling, cadaverous air. ‘I told you to stay away,’ he said, his voice rasping like rusted metal.