4

Max had just stretched out on the bed, found a position that alleviated the ache in his leg and closed his eyes when he felt the gargoyle’s stare from the corner of his room. “Go on, ask.”

“What?”

“You’ve been wanting to ask me something all day,” Max replied.

“Why aren’t we doing anything?”

“I haven’t had any orders from Ekstrand.”

The gargoyle clicked its stone claws on the floorboards. “We were stuck here for three weeks before he pulled his finger out and took the Agency. It might be another three months before he decides what he wants us to do next.”

“And do you know what we should be doing?”

“Yes. We need to go back to London. Now Dante is dead we don’t have to worry about putting his nose out of joint.”

“Mr Ekstrand doesn’t think it’s a priority, otherwise he would have sent us. We don’t know what Petra’s finding even means. The Fae aren’t in the habit of animating the dead. He needs time to think the implications through.”

“Oh, right. I see. Sorry, it must be the stone between my ears but I thought it would be a priority to look into the corrupt Chapter that tried to kill us and let one of the bloody Fae try to murder someone in broad daylight. Stupid me.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“Oh, so you just can’t be arsed to go and find out what went wrong there?”

“We can’t just leave.”

“We so can. Ekstrand is more than a few elements short of a periodic table, he wouldn’t even notice we were gone. The news about Dante is worrying, granted, but it’s just another reason to look into London. If the Sorcerer of Essex was dead before the moot, who was in charge when we were shot? Is that person still there? Is he the root of the corruption? And we need to know that what happened to the Chapter hasn’t happened anywhere else, or the Fae will be titting about with the innocents faster than you can say, ‘Look at the pretty sparkles’. And we should find out if Cathy recovered from that attack.”

“Why? We don’t need her any more. We found Thorn, we know the Sorcerer of Mercia is behind everything, we’re now at war. That puppet can be left to live her life as she sees fit.”

The gargoyle’s frustration rumbled out of its throat. “Thorn tried to kill her. Don’t you care? Actually, scratch that, of course you don’t. But we do, really, deep down.”

“No, I don’t,” Max said.

“But she needs Ekstrand’s help to escape Society. She’s been clear about that all along. And we need to do that before her husband–”

“Her husband,” Max interrupted, “is the Duke of Londinium now. Mr Ekstrand is never going to risk helping her escape from Lord Iris’ control now she’s Duchess.”

“What difference does being Duchess make? She’ll still want out.”

“She’ll be in the public eye more than ever now. You should forget about her and focus on what we need to do to stop Mercia.”

“We are not going to forget her,” the gargoyle replied, its stone chin jutting out.

Max turned onto his side, signalling that he’d prefer to sleep.

The gargoyle sat there sulking, then bounded across the room to Max’s bedside. “We can’t stay here waiting for a madman to tell us what to do next. We need to remember what we’re supposed to do.” It grabbed Max’s arm. “It’s not just following orders.”

Max gripped the sheets as the rush of frustration assaulted him. His heart banged as he struggled to manage the urge to leave the house immediately and get his investigation back on track.

“Sometimes knowing how you feel is a good thing,” the gargoyle whispered.

Max shrugged off the gargoyle’s hand and sat up on the edge of the bed as his head cleared. The gargoyle was right; he did need to go back to London, it had been left hanging unresolved for too long now. Even though the puppet wasn’t an innocent, the brazen attack was too much to ignore. “I’ll ask Ekstrand for permission to pursue the London investigation again.”

“No, let’s just go. It’s Sunday, he’s shit on Sundays – he’s scared of everything. On Mondays he only wants to talk about stupid stuff and eat cucumber sandwiches with Petra. Let’s face it, it’s going to be a week before he’s even remotely decisive again and who knows what could have happened by then?”

“We can’t just go without telling him.”

“Yes, we can. He won’t even notice. And when we report back we’ll tell him he sent us in the first place. He won’t remember.”

Max couldn’t argue with that. “We’ll go and see Cathy,” he said, getting onto his feet.

The gargoyle’s stone features rearranged themselves into something approximating an agonised grimace, but Max knew it was supposed to be a smile. “Great!”

“She could still be useful to us.”

“Wow, for a moment there I thought you might have actually wanted to know how she was.”

“I want to know if she’s well enough to help me. She’s the only person we have in London, and if we’re going to investigate corruption, who better to help than one of the puppets they’re supposed to police?”

 

As if he’d been sleepwalking and had suddenly woken up, Sam found himself standing next to a table laden with a buffet, a plate in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. The room was filled with the strangers who’d been at the funeral. He watched them talking to each other and listened to the guilty pauses after they laughed.

Leanne’s parents were doing what they always did: her mother was fussing over the food – even though it was all being handled by caterers – and her father was getting pissed in the corner furthest away from his wife. The room, as well as the caterers, was being paid for by Lord Iron. Sam hadn’t minded; it was better than having the wake at the house.

Iron was standing next to a large bay window and Neugent was in close conference with him, appearing very earnest as Iron listened carefully. At a distance it was Neugent who looked older with his white hair and pale skin. Iron’s black hair and deep brown skin made him look youthful and healthy in comparison.

Sam stared at the back of Neugent’s head. How had he killed Leanne, and all the other people who worked for him? Was there any way to prove it?

He wanted to kill him.

“Sam?” A man he’d never met before held out a hand. “I’m Geoff, I worked with Leanne before she went up to the London office.”

Sam dumped the plate of food on the nearest table and they shook hands. “Hello.”

“I just wanted to say how sorry I am for your loss. Leanne was an amazing person.”

“Yeah.”

“She’ll be missed.”

“Yeah.”

Geoff necked the rest of the wine in his glass when the conversation ran dry. Sam didn’t want to talk to him – he didn’t want to talk to any of them – and Geoff had nothing else to say. Geoff wiggled the glass and said, “It was nice to meet you,” before hurrying away to get a refill.

Sam abandoned the wine next to his plate of unwanted food and left the room. His shoes clipped on the polished marble floor. He wished he smoked so he could legitimately stand outside and take deep breaths without anyone bothering him. He didn’t want anyone to give him sympathetic or pitying looks for a moment longer. He didn’t want anyone to see him at all.

“Sam.” Iron called his name from a doorway off the corridor just behind him.

Sam turned slowly. Was he supposed to thank him for the ostentatious arrangements?

“You can hide in here if you want.”

Sam didn’t need any further encouragement. The room was mostly filled by a large table, probably used for meetings. “Did you hire several rooms?” Sam asked.

“I own the hotel.”

“Oh. I didn’t realise that.”

“It’s part of a chain the company owns. You looked like you needed a break.”

Sam nodded and closed the door behind him as one of Iron’s security guys walked past to take a position nearby. “I’m not handling this very well.”

“Nonsense. There’s no need to perform for their benefit. You’re free to feel what you like and do what you like.”

“If only that were true.” Sam flopped into one of the leather chairs and let it tip back as he stretched his legs out.

“What would you really like to do?”

“Oh, I dunno. Killing Marcus Neugent with my bare hands would be top of my list.”

Iron stood near the door and said nothing for a few moments. “I think you need some time alone.”

When he left, Sam let his arms drop until his fingertips brushed the floor. He shouldn’t have said that about Neugent, one of Iron’s employees. He imagined standing in court on trial for Neugent’s murder and Iron reporting what he’d said. Sam tutted at himself. “Pillock,” he whispered.

It wasn’t long before there was a knock on the door. Thinking it was a member of staff, or Iron, Sam called out, “Come in.”

Marcus Neugent entered and closed the door behind him. Sam sat up. Every muscle he’d just relaxed snapped taut again.

“I wanted to speak to you. I hope you don’t mind.”

Sam watched him sit at one of the chairs on the other side of the table. “Look, I know you wanted to speak at the funeral but it just didn’t feel right.”

“That’s not what I wanted to talk about. And I understand. It was a family thing. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Sam rested his elbows on the table. “So what do you want?”

“I know you resented how much of Leanne’s time was taken up with her work.”

Sam kept silent. He didn’t know where Neugent was going with this and he needed to stay calm.

“I wanted to explain that it wasn’t anyone’s fault. She was very dedicated… I didn’t deliberately pull her away from home to work long hours.”

“Oh, so you’re saying her home life was so shit she didn’t need any encouragement.”

“No, not at all. I’m trying to help you realise that she loved her job and there’s no reason to be angry about that.”

“I’m not angry about that. I’m angry with you!”

Neugent’s white eyebrows arched in surprise. “Why?”

Sam wanted to say, “Because you killed her, you fuck,” but he couldn’t quite get the words out. He needed proof. Even just some evidence rather than just a pattern. “Because you were always phoning up and making her work late.”

“That’s the nature of our line of work. I know you resented it, and now she’s gone it’ll be even harder.”

“What do you want me to say? Thanks for ruining our marriage?”

Neugent’s frown had an edge of pity to it. “No. I wanted to give you my condolences in person, without everyone watching, and I wanted to see if you’re all right. I think that might have been a mistake. I’ll leave you in peace.”

When he stood Sam jumped to his feet. “Wait,” he said without even knowing why. He reached across the table, offering his hand.

After a pause Neugent shook hands with him. Sam had an impulse to pull him off his feet and smash his head into the table but then he noticed how grey Neugent’s skin was and another thought rose to the surface as he gripped his hand tighter: he’s dying. 

Sam had no idea how he knew this – or what he was dying of – but there was an unshakeable certainty. Neugent felt wrong in some way. He studied Neugent’s skin, his eyes and the clammy palm and then another thought surfaced: he has leukaemia. But how could he know that?

Neugent was trying to break the handshake; it had lasted far longer than implicit social rules allowed. Sam released his hand, embarrassed and unsettled. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re really ill, aren’t you?”

It was the first time Sam saw Neugent look anything other than composed. His mouth hung open for a second or two and he took a step back. “You should be careful around Mr Ferran.”

“Mr Ferran? Oh, you mean Lord Iron.”

Neugent eyes became saucer-like. “I’m serious. Don’t–”

The door opened and Iron walked in. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were in here, Marcus. Is everything all right?”

Neugent’s face became a mask of polite confidence. “Yes, I was just giving Mr Westonville my condolences. If you’ll excuse me.” He gave Sam one last look and left.

“Are you all right?” Iron asked once the door had shut. Sam nodded but he didn’t feel it. “Still want to kill him?”

“No,” Sam replied. The acidic desire to murder him had been diminished by the knowledge that Neugent wouldn’t see the year’s end. There were a hundred questions he wanted to ask Iron but he needed to feel steadier before he did so. “I’m going home. I’ve had enough. I need to get in touch with people and… tie up loose ends.”

Iron nodded. “When you’re done, call me and I’ll send a car. There are things we need to talk about, but now isn’t the time.”

Sam searched Iron’s face. “Why are you doing this? Why are you so interested in me and my life? Leanne was your employee, not me.”

Iron came over and rested a hand on his shoulder. “When we’re back at my place we’ll talk. I promise.”

 

Will adjusted his cravat and checked his hair in the mirror. When he was satisfied he was presentable he took a few moments to steady himself. He’d done everything his patron had asked of him so there was no reason to be afraid. It didn’t alleviate the nerves. He took a step back, spoke Lord Iris’ name three times and watched the glass ripple until Exilium came into focus.

He stepped through and walked between the trees along a familiar path lined with blue irises. The clearing came into sight with Lord Iris sitting in his usual place surrounded by the woven half-sphere of saplings. Lord Poppy stood to the right, the epitome of elegance as he held his cane slightly away from his body, its tip planted to the right of his feet. They were both dressed in the Edwardian style, Poppy with a deep red waistcoat, Iris wearing one embroidered with blue and gold irises, as he had the last time Will visited.

Both were watching his approach but he felt the pressure of Iris’ stare more. Will walked through the clearing to kneel at his patron’s feet, keeping his head bowed.

“William, Duke of Londinium,” Lord Iris said, resting a hand on the top of his head.

“My Lord Iris,” he said, then when the hand moved and a long finger lifted his chin, he looked up at his patron. “I’m here to serve.”

“Good day to you, little Duke,” Lord Poppy said and Will gave him a curt nod. “Tell me, how is my–” He cut himself off, glancing at Lord Iris and giving him a mischievous smile. “How is your wife?”

“Much better, Lord Poppy, thank you for your concern.”

“I would dearly like to see her.”

“But I won’t permit it,” Lord Iris cut in. “Be satisfied she is recovering, Poppy.”

“Be satisfied I forgave yours for failing to protect her,” Poppy fired back. Will felt an urge to duck and find cover.

“We don’t need to go over this again, we’ve reached an accord,” Iris said and looked back down at Will. “You have pleased me. You destroyed the Roses–”

“My favourite did more,” Poppy interjected but Iris ignored him.

“And now we have Londinium. You’ve done all I have asked, and I look forward to the day you bring me news of your wife’s pregnancy.”

Will forced a smile. “I look forward to that day too, my Lord.”

“However, Lord Poppy has been greatly distressed by the injuries inflicted upon her and so we have agreed compensation. You are to appoint Thomas Rhoeas-Papaver as the Marquis of Westminster when you convene the Court.”

Will glanced at Poppy, who was smiling with satisfaction, then back at his patron. “Catherine’s brother? Forgive me, my Lord, but as a resident of Aquae Sulis, Thomas has no experience of the Londinium Court, no leverage there and certainly no friendships that I’m aware of. He would bring little to the position politically.”

“Are you saying the eldest son of my favourite family line has nothing to offer?” Poppy asked sharply.

“Not in entirety, Lord Poppy. I’m sure Thomas has a great deal to offer to the academic community in matters of twentieth-century warfare, but, as I far as I know, that knowledge may not be the most useful at Court.”

“He’s intelligent and very tall,” Poppy said, chin in the air. “Both qualities will serve him admirably.”

Will wanted to swear so much it would make flowers wilt but he kept his mouth shut and looked at Lord Iris, trying to convey how absurd the request was with his eyes alone. His patron looked into them with a hint of a smile that never materialised into anything substantial. “I’m sure my wife will be very pleased to have her family close again,” Will said, trying to voice his concern about a direct line of communication to Lord Poppy.

Iris didn’t acknowledge the subtext. “The decision is final,” he said. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Lord Poppy, I wish to speak to William alone.”

Poppy inclined his head at Iris and gave Will a glance before leaving. As they waited for him to go, Will struggled to maintain his calm expression whilst under his patron’s intense stare.

“The alliance between our families in Aquae Sulis has served us well,” Lord Iris said.

“Thomas isn’t a politician.”

“Are you?”

Will swallowed. His throat felt dry. “I aim to do my best.”

“I’m certain Thomas will, too. He will be more trustworthy than many in Londinium. No doubt his father will press him to support you totally so as not to risk the alliance with your father.”

So that was why Iris capitulated. It was small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. “Was there something else you wished to discuss with me, my Lord?”

Lord Iris’ smile made Will shiver. “Oh, yes.”

 

Cathy woke to find a blanket pulled up to her chin and the tea cups cleared away. The fire was dying in the grate and she felt hungry. The blanket fell away as she sat up, wincing as the movement tugged at the wounds. She was bored of feeling disoriented every time she woke, bored of the pain, bored of being immobile. It was time to make plans.

She struggled to her feet, appreciating again how much fitness she’d lost. It wasn’t as if she was the sportiest of people, but when she’d lived in Manchester she’d walked everywhere to learn the layout of the city. She wanted a piece of paper and a pen to start ordering her thoughts and she wanted to write to Lucy. There was too much to face alone and she was certain a conversation with her sister-in-law would help. She wanted to phone Sam and see if he was all right, then remembered her phone had been in her bag when they were attacked. Would the police have it?

When she opened the door she saw nothing but the back of the huge man who’d followed them down the stairs earlier.

He turned and looked down at her. He had to be almost seven feet tall and his shoulders were wide enough to span the doorway. Instinctively she took a step back as he nodded at her. “Good afternoon, your Grace.”

“You’re the bodyguard…”

“Carter,” he said.

“Carter, yes, hello. Is my husband back?”

Carter shook his head. “No, your Grace.”

Cathy hoped Will was OK. Did Iris know she was better and think it was time to put pressure on him for siring a son? Whatever the reason, worrying wasn’t going to give her any answers. “Listen, you can take the rest of the day off. I’m not planning to do anything more dangerous than writing a letter and reading some books.”

He smiled. His teeth were even and white. “Only His Grace can relieve me of my duty, ma’am. I answer directly to him.”

“And what exactly are his orders?”

“To escort you from place to place, to stand guard outside the room you’re in and should anyone or anything pose a threat to your person, I’m to neutralise that threat immediately.”

“Oh.” Cathy pulled the blanket off the chair to wrap around her shoulders, suddenly cold. “Will is just overreacting. He’ll get over it and you can go and do something more worthwhile. You’re from the Agency?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m one of their best. And, begging your pardon, I can think of nothing more worthwhile than protecting the Duchess of Londinium.”

“Right...” Cathy marvelled at how sincere he seemed. She chewed the inside of her lip. Sneaking out to call her mundane friend was not something she wanted to be witnessed by a man in the pay of her husband who was probably spying for Bennet too. She couldn’t trust any of the staff now. She wondered if she could give him the slip but it would be hard in her current state. No doubt he had something to protect himself against Charms, otherwise he’d be a poor guard. “Well, I don’t want to be rude, but your being here isn’t necessary.”

“As I said, ma’am, that’s up to the Duke. He said you might not be very enthusiastic.”

“What else did he say?”

“That if you want to go into Mundanus, I’m to tell you, politely, that it isn’t permitted.”

“But what about Sophia? She needs to be there.”

“Other provisions have been made for her. I won’t inconvenience you, your Grace. It’s my job to protect you. I’d like to think my being here would make you feel better.”

She repressed the desire to unleash her arguments on him. He was just doing his job. It was Will she had to work on. She breathed in, reassured herself that she’d find a solution and then forced a smile. “All right then, Carter. Let’s try to get along until Will realises he’s being an idiot.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Are you supposed to tell him everything I say, too?”

There was the briefest pause and then he shook his head. “No, your Grace, of course not.”

She smirked. “If you’re going to follow me everywhere, I’d like to know a bit more about you. Come and sit down.”

He didn’t move and looked decidedly awkward when she looked at him expectantly. Cathy knew she was crossing a social line; asking a member of staff to come and sit with her like a guest was not the done thing. Sod convention, she thought, it does nothing but keep people miserable.

She sat down and gestured at Will’s chair. “Come in, Carter, please.”

He jerked forwards and closed the door after a glance down the hallway, probably to check if anyone else saw. Cathy wondered what Morgan made of it all; if Carter answered directly to Will it broke the normal hierarchy of the butler being in charge of the male household staff. Being seen to enter her company in such an informal way wouldn’t help any tensions between them, but it was the perfect opportunity to learn more about the Agency.

“I never knew the Agency provided personal bodyguards,” Cathy said. “How long have you been one?”

“Since the age of twenty, your Grace.”

“What made you decide to go into security?”

Carter looked confused. “I was assigned to that specialism, your Grace.”

So he didn’t choose it. “Would they retrain you in something else if you didn’t want to be a security guard?”

The skin between his eyebrows pinched and a muscle worked in his jaw. After a few seconds he cleared his throat and said, “I’m very sorry, your Grace, I don’t quite understand what you mean. I’m doing what I was always meant to do. What more could a person want?”

Even though his confusion fascinated and chilled her, Cathy didn’t want to make him any more uncomfortable. “Indeed. How did you come to be in the Agency? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Not at all.” He smiled, starting to relax. “I was born there.”

Cathy hadn’t expected that. “There are children born at the Agency?”

“Oh, yes, your Grace.”

The thought made her uncomfortable. If the Agency was willing to effectively wipe away Miss Rainer’s personality, would they be capable of providing a good environment for children to grow up in? As she was trying to settle on her next question three loud knocks reverberated throughout the house. She heard one of the maids squeal and run past the room. Carter jumped to his feet. “An Arbiter.”

“It’s all right,” Cathy said. “It’s probably someone following up on the attack. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Carter wasn’t reassured. He opened the door and looked down the hallway. Cathy could hear Morgan opening the front door but before anything was said Carter closed the library door behind him.

Cathy strained her ears but couldn’t hear anything except the front door close. Then footsteps approaching the library, and Morgan’s voice, which was too low for her to be able to discern individual words.

“That’s not possible.” She heard Carter perfectly well. “You’re not on the list of approved visitors.”

There was a list? There was little to distinguish between Will’s desire to protect and a means to control her and it made her feel nauseous. I bet Dame Iris is on that bloody list, she thought. There was the sound of another man’s voice, also too low to hear properly, then Carter again. “By order of His Grace the Duke of Londinium.” Cathy shook her head. Carter was so keen to do a good job he was even willing to try and keep an Arbiter away from her. Surely he knew no one in Nether Society had the right to do that?

Morgan and the Arbiter spoke. There was a pause and then a knock on the door. Morgan entered. “Excuse me, your Grace, but an Arbiter is here to see you. He says he needs to speak to you specifically.”

Carter stepped in behind him. “I’ll be present the entire time, ma’am, there’s nothing to–”

“Don’t be silly,” she interrupted. “Show him in, Morgan. Carter, you stay outside. An Arbiter is hardly going to hurt me, is he?”

Carter’s frown was quite dramatic, it couldn’t be otherwise with a forehead of such size. “I’ll be on the other side of this door, ma’am, if you need me–”

“I’ll be sure to squeal like a helpless princess, yes, thank you.”

She wasn’t expecting Max, not after the last time she saw him, but she pretended to adjust her blanket to disguise any emotion she might show in front of Carter. Morgan promised tea, a staple of any visit, which would also give him a good excuse to check up on her.

Carter closed the door slowly, the shadow cast by his frown making his nose appear even smaller.

“Good afternoon,” Max said in his usual monotone.

She beckoned him close and whispered, “The big man will be listening through the door, so we need to keep our voices down.”

“I have a better solution.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slender box from which he took something that looked like a hatpin and stuck it into the door’s keyhole. “That will muffle our voices. May I open your window?”

“Of course.”

Max left his hat on the chair and lifted the sash window. The gargoyle climbed in, landing silently on the wooden floorboards, making it seem like it wasn’t really there. It came straight over to her as Max closed the window.

“How are you?” it asked in its smoker’s voice. “Was it bad? You’re thinner.”

She looked for any signs of the anger it had expressed with claws around her throat the last time she saw it. “I’m all right. Still recovering. Yes, it was very bad.”

“Sorry we were horrible to you,” it said, resting its stone chin on the arm of the chair, like a dog hopeful for a pat. “We thought you’d lied to us.”

She slowly reached across and stroked the top of its stone head as Max settled into the opposite chair. “All right. It’s all in the past. Thanks for the file, it’s been very useful.”

“The last information you got to us was good,” Max said. “We found Thorn. He confessed and it helped us progress our investigations, so as far as I’m concerned we’re even.”

“What did Thorn do?”

The gargoyle and the Arbiter exchanged a look. “You don’t know?” Max asked.

“Thorn was the one who tried to kill you,” the gargoyle said.

Cathy felt breathless as a memory of the knife returned with horrific detail. “But Will said it was a Rosa sent by Bartholomew. He didn’t say it was Lord Thorn himself.”

“He disguised himself with a Glamour,” Max said. “He wanted your husband to think it was a Tulipa. It seems it worked.”

Cathy realised she was shaking. “Oh, God, that’s awful. I mean, it was awful already, and I knew it wasn’t Bartholomew, but Will was convinced…” She had to tell him as soon as he got back. They had to tell Margritte. “Hang on, why did Lord Thorn attack me?”

“To get your husband into a lot of trouble with Iris and Poppy and thereby stop him from taking the throne.”

“And probably breathing too,” the gargoyle added.

“But that’s not why I’m here,” Max said.

She was still reeling from the news. “What about Lord Thorn? Is he still set on killing me?”

“He isn’t in a position to do anything.”

“The Sorcerer put him in a special box,” the gargoyle added. “You don’t have to worry about him. And his brother is still in Exilium. We checked.”

“We understand Sam saved you from Thorn,” Max said. “Have you been in contact with him?”

“He did? No one has mentioned him at all. I’m not sure they even know he was there, otherwise Will would have said something. I haven’t seen him since the attack. Oh, God, do you think he’s all right?”

“He survived and he’s been back home since then,” Max replied. “I just wanted to ask him some questions. His wife died whilst you were both in hospital, so he wasn’t in a state to talk about Thorn’s attack.”

“Shit.” Cathy shook her head. “So much has been going on. Poor Sam. He was worried about her boss, did you know about that?”

Max nodded. “That’s another thing I wanted to discuss with him.”

A gentle knock on the door brought the conversation to a halt. The gargoyle scampered behind the curtains and Cathy called Morgan in. The tea was arranged and Carter had a good look at her before Morgan left. She tried to look fine, but felt like all the blood in her had sunk into the floor.

“I’ll pour,” Max said. “You look like you need a moment.”

“Will killed Bartholomew and took the throne because he thought he tried to have me killed. If he’d known it was Thorn, Bartholomew would still be alive.”

The gargoyle returned and sniffed at the cake next to the teapot. “This is only half of all the shit that’s been blowing up over the last few weeks, believe me.”

“What else is going on?”

Max was giving the gargoyle a familiar hard stare. “Not everything is suitable for discussion here,” he said as he handed her the tea.

“But you came to see me for something,” Cathy said after a couple of sips. “It wasn’t just to tell me about Thorn, was it?”

Max shook his head.

“I wanted to see if you were all right,” the gargoyle said.

She smiled at it and tickled behind its ears, liking the way its muzzle wrinkled.

“We need your help,” Max said.

“Is this where you offer me the mythical help from the Sorcerer again?”

“We can’t offer that,” the gargoyle said. “He doesn’t know we’re here.” It looked at Max. “I know that was top of your ‘things not to talk about with Cathy’ list but there’s too much going on for us to be all secretive and crap. You know it.”

“I know you talk too much,” Max said.

“We can’t ask her to breach the Split Worlds treaty without an explanation,” the gargoyle replied.

“You want me to do what?”

Max looked from the gargoyle to her. She thought she was getting used to his total lack of emotion, but it seemed odd when there was a clearly disagreement between him and his… pet without any corresponding irritation or anger. Max didn’t say anything for a moment, which made the gargoyle groan. “There’s corruption in one of the London Chapters. They were told to ignore any breaches made by the Rosas.”

“Holy crap! Really?” Cathy had been taught the Arbiters were incorruptible. It was one of the reasons the Great Families were so afraid of them.

“Yep,” the gargoyle replied. “And there’s something dodgy going on with the ex-Sorcerer of Essex, so we need to find the Chapter as soon as we can and look into it.”

“But why isn’t your Sorcerer involved?”

“He’s too busy fighting a war. And he’s as mad as a bag of cats if you ask me.”

So there was a war amongst the Sorcerers. Cathy wondered if her uncle knew about that. Should she warn him?

“That’s enough,” Max said. “There’s something seriously wrong in London and you’re the only person in the city and in Fae-touched society we can ask to help. I can’t promise Mr Ekstrand will help you if you do this for us, but–”

Cathy held up a hand. “I don’t need his help any more. I’ve decided to stay.”

“Why?” the gargoyle asked. “You were dead set on getting out.” It narrowed its eyes. “You haven’t fallen in love or something?” It looked at Max. “You should check her for Charms, maybe–”

“It’s not that,” she interrupted. “I wanted to leave because it sucks to be a woman here. But it’s better to change it for everyone, than to just run away. And it’s the Agency too.”

“What about it?” Max asked.

Cathy feared the curse would kick in if she said anything negative about it. Was it only to stop her telling anyone about the blackmail, or speaking ill of the Agency too? Then she remembered Bennet’s warning about thinking twice before saying anything about them. He wouldn’t have said that if the curse prevented it. With the artefact in the keyhole, she decided to take the risk. “It’s dodgy.” She told them about Miss Rainer without coughing once.

“That’s nothing compared to what we saw last night,” the gargoyle began but Max held up a hand.

“That’s off-topic,” he said.

“Is it?” Cathy put her cup down. “You want me to breach the Treaty in the city of London when I’m supposed to be the Duchess of Londinium. It’s a big risk – what if I’m delivered to bloody Dame Iris by the local Arbiters? Lord Iris would kill me. No, actually, he’d do something worse.”

“I’ll be watching,” Max said. “When the Arbiter comes I’ll step in and handle it.”

It was still a huge risk. She’d have to do something very obvious and very public to get the immediate attention of the London Arbiters, and what if they didn’t listen to Max? He was working without his Sorcerer’s knowledge, after all. “I’ll do it – if you tell me more about the Agency and get me any files I need.” There were names in Miss Rainer’s file she wanted to follow up, including other former students. Max was the only way she could find out more about them.

“That will be very difficult,” Max said.

“Bollocks.” The gargoyle put itself between her and the Arbiter. “He’s just saying that to cover our arses and make out like it’s something special. We can get you whatever you need to know. The files kept by the Agency are easy to get hold of now and they have one for every single person in your Nether Society.”

Cathy wondered what they had in her file. She suspected Bennet had kept all of her secrets out of it, to preserve their blackmail value.

“Don’t make promises we can’t keep,” Max said.

“And don’t get in the way of something that could get us much further than we can alone,” the gargoyle replied. “Cathy is our insider. She knows what it’s like in their world, we don’t.”

“I know enough,” Max said.

“We know enough to bust their asses when they step out of line, but not how the system works. And she’s connected to the Fae in a way we can never be. Someone is messing everything up, not just in London but the entire Heptarchy and probably other places too, someone who knows Fae magic and sorcery. We have to collaborate if we’re going to solve any of this, whether you like it or not.”

Cathy sat back as the two of them stared at each other. She felt like she’d been obsessing over one messy room whilst the entire house was falling apart. Whilst she was desperate to hear about what the gargoyle and Arbiter saw that night, it wasn’t the time to ask. Their relationship was strange, but then how could anything be normal when a walking, talking gargoyle was involved? Did all Arbiters have them? She didn’t know what the Heptarchy was and she didn’t know what the “someone” the gargoyle referred to had been doing, but one thing was clear: she had her first potential allies against the Agency.

“Listen, I know there hasn’t been much trust between us,” she said. “But I think the gargoyle is right. I don’t know how things work for Arbiters, but I do know that Nether Society is fundamentally unjust. It’s built upon suffering and I want it to change. We can help each other and I’m prepared to take a risk for you if you’re prepared to help me.”

Both she and the gargoyle looked at Max expectantly. “We’ll try it,” he said. “If your uncle can manage to work with the Sorcerer Guardian of Wessex perhaps we can manage to work together too. But if you try anything, it’s all off.”

“Understood,” Cathy said. “Same goes if you try to screw me over. But I do want things to change, and I think the gargoyle’s right.”

The gargoyle grinned. “Finally. Now let’s get to work.”