“There are two challenges - no, far more than two challenges. But two particular ones I am trying to sort out at the moment.” Gabe had wanted to make the most of a chance to talk without Isobel listening this time. She was off on a ride with Rufus, getting a sense of how the land felt in the Forest at the moment.
Gabe was familiar with the library, of course. It was more common to have people to Veritas, to spare Mama the travel, but Geoffrey and Lizzie had hosted plenty of the occasional gatherings of their knot of people of like mind. Or their nest of specialists, as Geoffrey liked to put it. The mid-afternoon light shone through the window of the library, a gentle golden glow that was doing its best to lure Gabe outside into the open air. He had work to do.
“Besides all your others.” Geoffrey’s voice was amused. “I gather you’ve been all over the place.”
“We’ve got connections with a dozen groups, one way or another, and goodness, do they have a lot of meetings and gatherings, even with a blackout. I’ve been in London two nights a week the last month, and there’s a stubborn group in Cornwall we’ve been trying to get a meeting with. Isobel’s mother is actually a wonder at some connections in Yorkshire. Too much travel, too much work remembering which name and persona I’m currently using.”
Geoffrey had settled in his usual armchair, ankle propped apparently casually on his knee. Alexander had the chair beside him and was reaching for his glass. They both looked tired, but also more relaxed than Gabe would have thought. He ran his hand through his hair. They had plenty of time to talk, and for him to get back by sunset, because he was insistent on keeping Rathna’s customs about Fridays if he could.
“We have a bit of our own news, though it’s Rufus who heard it.” Geoffrey flicked his fingers. “Pace, if you need to.”
Gabe rolled himself upright, and would. Geoffrey had a knack for spotting when the need to be moving got too much. Though, from all Gabe heard from others, Gabe was not exactly subtle in that matter, not to anyone who knew him. He picked up his usual circuit, along the back of the sofa and chairs to the glass doors onto the garden, back to the shelves on the inside wall, and around. He’d made one full loop when Geoffrey spoke again.
“I know your ritual in Kent wasn’t much. There was one here, on the full moon. Well, not here, obviously. It would have been a better designed ritual, if it were. Or at least differently designed.”
“That sounds - well. Not promising.” Gabe’s chin came up, but he kept walking.
Geoffrey flipped his hand back and forth. “It did something. That was part of what Rufus wanted to look at, or at least see what to aim me at. Or Alexander.”
Alexander grunted. “It’s a fair ride, and I’m short on time, is part of it.” Short on time was an understatement. Gabe had only a fragment of an idea of what the Council was up to at the moment, if far more than most people did. And he was quite sure they were all working flat out, twenty-six hours a day, and extra at key astrological timings.
Geoffrey reached out casually to touch his fingers to Alexander’s forearm. He barely had to lean to do it, they were sitting close enough. “I am glad to take on these little matters for you. And besides, I’ve the energy to spare at the moment.”
Geoffrey was indeed near-glowing with the land magic. Gabe thought Papa was too, and Mama, but it had a different quality for them than it did for Geoffrey and Lizzie. Some of it rubbed off, perhaps, on Alexander, who looked tired, but not nearly as drawn as he might be.
Gabe had not inquired about what particular arrangements might be in place, other than the fact he knew Alexander had rooms here, and spent several nights a week in them whenever he was in the country and able. It wasn’t like either of them would give him a straight answer if asked, anyway. Gabe had other, more directly relevant puzzles to crack. “The ritual?” He pivoted again, on his good heel, and set off in the other direction.
“Down in the southern part of the Forest, possibly at the Naked Man. They got into their head that a sacrifice was needed, from the bits I’ve heard.”
Gabe pulled up short, his jaw dropping. “A what?”
“Oh, nothing like a penny dreadful. Or some of the old lore. Voluntary, of course.” Geoffrey was speaking evenly enough, but Gabe knew how to listen for the thread of something too-tight in his voice. Gabe was, however, watching Alexander, to read whatever faint signals he might get there. Alexander was still, entirely attentive, but not tense. Curious.
“What happened?” Gabe turned to face them both, leaning slightly on the cane in his hand.
“Coldest night in May for many years, the ritual done naked, most of them with a protective layer of grease, bar the oldest member, who left it off. Hypothermia.” Geoffrey wasn’t giving anything away in his expression or his voice, not any part of how he felt about it, other than the clipped phrases.
Gabe rubbed his face, making himself take his time to think through this. He was glad, immediately, that Isobel wasn’t here. That he didn’t have to sort through both his reaction and hers at the same time. “Hypothermia’s a kinder way to die than many.” Truth, though, of course, not all of it. “But no blood shed on the ground.” Alexander’s barking laugh didn’t startle Gabe, but it did grab his attention. “The way you think, Gabe. No, it’s true. The blood matters. Blood always matters.” He shifted in his chair. “We’re not sure if it worked. But there are some rumours, tidbits.”
“What sort of rumours? Believable? Helpful? Obscure?” Gabe picked up his circuit again, trusting that it would help him think.
“There’s a family, used to live nearer Southampton. Two brothers and two sisters, it’s a brother and sister we’re concerned with. The other brother—” Alexander hesitated. “Ah, you’d have still been in school. The family he married into were suffragettes, socialists, and anti-war sorts.” His voice gave away no part of how he felt about that, which was interesting information of its own, really. “The charges were that they made an attempt on Lloyd George’s life in late 1916. Curare, of all things. It didn’t work, of course.”
Gabe tilted his head, pausing again by the table and picking up the glass of wine there. “Prime Minister?” He made it enough of a question. On average, he had quite enough to keep him busy with Albion’s own politics. And, as Alexander said, he’d been in school. Third year, when his most compelling political concerns had to do with not getting in too much trouble with either his fellow students or his teachers. “Wasn’t he fairly new at the thing in December of ‘16?”
“Brand new, yes. Finished up as Prime Minister in ‘22. Came up via the financial side, then Minister of Munitions, Secretary of State for War, then the PM.” Alexander reeled it all off easily, and Gabe wondered - not for the first time - exactly what depth of information Alexander kept stored in his brain. A rather different set than Gabe himself, obviously. “At any rate, the rest of the family has a reputation for what some would call mind-control.”
“Incantation, more or less.” Gabe picked up his walking again, considering that. “To what purpose? Love? Wealth?”
“Most notably - so pub gossip has it from time to time - tales about the family holding back the Armada and Napoleon. Longstanding family in these parts. These days, the father was - I don’t know. Some sort of chemist, I forget what kind. Not the apothecary sort. The current generation’s bounced from the Theosophists to Co-Masonry to the Rosicrucians to I don’t know what else.”
“Much gossiped about, then.” Gabe considered that. Village gossip was a key source of information. “But Southampton.”
Geoffrey picked up. “Rather. And I don’t have nearly the connections there. One of the sisters is in Christchurch, now, or near there.”
“Worth seeing if we can pick up an acquaintance? Isobel, maybe, they seem likely to take to her better. How old are the three we’re interested in?”
“The oldest daughter’s...” Geoffrey did maths in his head, visibly. “Near twenty years older than you. About my age. The brother’s a few years younger, then the other sister.”
“The name?” Gabe circled again, then moved to collapse in the chair.
Geoffrey got an expression on his face that boded ill for someone. Possibly Gabe. “Mason, of all things. No relation to ours.”
It was a good thing Gabe had not actually taken a drink from his glass recently. He would have spit out, and that would have been a shame for the rug and the wine. “You’re pulling my leg.” He shook his head. “We should set her on them, only.”
“Only, no. I would like the southern half of the Forest reasonably intact when this is done, if we can manage it.” Geoffrey’s voice had got a hair sharp, and Gabe immediately put his hands up in acquiescence.
“And none of them are magical by our standards? To be clear.” Gabe ventured a sip of his drink.
Alexander shook his head. “I checked the records. Geoffrey checked the records.” He spread his hands. “Do with the knowledge what you will.”
“And were they involved in the - whatever they were doing?” Gabe pulled out his notebook and made a couple of notes.
“Likely. Though this came through the group Rufus has been talking with, and we don’t know what has got altered in the retelling. Different set of people entirely.”
“Never trust what people say,” Gabe said, agreeably. “Key part of my job. One part in ten’s accurate, a couple are a gesture at the right thing, and the rest you can’t trust until you’ve proven it yourself.” He let out a huff of breath. “Are they dangerous? To the land magic, to our goals here?”
“Probably not. But they might be more effective than some others, if only by accident. Or depending on how far they lean into those bits of family lore. You needed to know.” Alexander stood, going to pour another thumb’s width of brandy. “There are some rumblings about a - well, for lack of a better word, staged ritual. Near enough to Arundel and Garin and Livia, though in Ashford Forest, not the Arundel lands.”
“That won’t make them happy, will it?”
“It’s only hints here and there.” Geoffrey sounded mild. Deceptively mild. “My contact in Whitehall suggests it’s far more a propaganda attempt than anything else. Likely for Lammastide.”
“Well, that’s appropriate for a sacrifice, isn’t it, depending on your tradition?” Gabe sucked in a breath, and he saw both the other men flinch. Moving on, then. “All right.”
“You mentioned two challenges?” Trust Alexander to remember that. But Gabe was ready for this one. Of course he was.
“First, the - well, this is an illustration of it. All the chaos of the different methods, varied goals, and who knows if any of it is doing any good, even as something more like prayer.” Gabe shook his head. “No one seems to be doing tremendous harm to the land magic or to other people, but that’s not a lot of reason to keep on with it.”
“Do you think your project’s no longer needed, then?” Alexander leaned forward, and all that intensity of purpose was focused on Gabe now. Like one of Geoffrey’s falcons, or no. Some sharp-eyed canine, perhaps.
“That doesn’t mean someone won’t come up with a terrible idea tomorrow. Or stumble into one. No, it’s more that I wish there were some way to, I don’t know. Bring people together. Aim them. A unifying framework, as well as a unifying goal.”
“And we all know that won’t happen. An argument of esotericists, that should be the group noun. Often is. I mean, you’ve at least heard the stories of what was it, Crowley and Yeats and whatever the road was. Something with a B.” Alexander shrugged. He flicked his fingers. “It’s not as if we can send out a calling card, approved by some recognisable higher power. We certainly don’t have one in our pocket.”
Gabe shook his head. “And what would everyone believe in, enough? That’s the question, isn’t it? I’ll keep thinking about it.”
Alexander hesitated, and Gabe saw it. He waited, without jogging the moment. Alexander’s gaze flicked to Geoffrey, who nodded just once. Something they’d already discussed, then.
“We’re having the same problem on our side of things. A dozen, two dozen different ideas of how to protect Albion, many of them entirely contradictory. Somewhat more effective, on average, than what you’re seeing, but that’s not actually necessarily a help.”
“Too many cooks and a spoiled broth.” Gabe let out a huff of breath. “Thank you for trusting me with it. Is there a chance my asking about it would get some ideas you could use, then?”
Alexander nodded, just the once. “Do. Mabyn might have an idea or two, next time you’re at the Keep. And she’d be flattered you asked.” Alexander was about to say something else, but then there was a knock at the door.
Geoffrey called out, “Come,” and in came Isobel in riding gear, along with Rufus. The conversation quickly went along to what they’d spotted, and to a surprisingly lavish tea. There were signs of some sort of effective ritual work near the Naked Man, and Alexander made arrangements to go out the next morning. Isobel also had several quite cogent comments about other spots they’d stopped at, and Gabe was delighted at both what she’d tested and how she made her report.