9

As soon as they entered the room, Will knew he’d made the right decision in moving the Court’s location. The ducal thrones had been reupholstered to the Iris blue and a golden fleur-de-lys was set into the top of the chair backs. The room was smaller than the one at Somerset House but it was still large enough for the assembled and there were many other rooms in the White Tower more suited to dances and dinners. He was even considering moving the family there. The thick stone walls were reassuring and it felt right to be in a place created by the man he’d been named after. It had a different sense of grandeur, one older and with more gravitas than the stuccoed reminders of Empire. These walls had seen over a thousand years of power and it felt right to weave his reign into that ongoing history.

He cast his eye over the room as people relaxed and conversed after the tight formality of the ceremony. All had gone to plan. Tom had hidden his nerves well and actually looked the part. He had the same military posture as his father, even though Tom had never served. As far as Will knew he hadn’t even been on his Grand Tour.

Lucy, his wife, seemed happy and supportive and in fact the only one of their family who seemed utterly delighted with Tom’s change in status. He watched her accompany Tom around the room, moving from introduction to introduction with ease and warmth.

Sir Iris had said his goodbyes after the ceremony was over, leaving Dame Iris to stay for the rest of the evening. Whilst Cathy had barely been able to hide her dismay at the news the Dame would be staying, Will was glad. The Dame would no doubt dissect the evening with Cathy at one of their meetings and help her to read the politics of the room. He was glad his Patroon had elected to make his excuses. It was an awkward situation; Will was the most powerful man in the city and now one of the highest-status Irises in Albion – above even his father – but the Patroon was still the head of the family. It was hard to be deferential to his authority whilst trying to stamp his own on the room and he appreciated the tact demonstrated by leaving him as the only high-ranking male Iris there. The Dame, whilst still someone he would obey without question, didn’t cause the same problems with visible pecking order.

Dame Iris was talking to Georgiana, Freddy Viola’s wife, who was doing her best to extricate herself from the inevitable social disaster he would cause when drunk. Will recalled his appalling behaviour at the dinner party the Tulipas hosted when they first moved to Londinium, and Cathy’s fork-based solution.

He glanced at Cathy and checked that she was managing her nerves. She was gripping the arms of her throne rather tightly but no one else would be able to see that and thankfully her presumably white knuckles were hidden by her gloves. They only had to sit there for a few minutes longer before they could leave the dais and mingle. Not that it would be a consolation to her, but being stuck there with everyone watching was rather odd.

He’d offered the room the opportunity to come and speak with them with any pressing matters that were of importance to the city as a whole before the proceedings became less formal. No one had approached them yet and he hoped no one would. He just wanted this evening to be simple so that Cathy could see that nothing terrifying would happen. Over time she’d get used to it, he was certain. At least she was trying her best; if she hadn’t had the change of heart she’d confessed in the carriage it could be so much worse. He brushed the baby finger of her right hand and she looked at him, alert and ready to be tested. He just smiled and with palpable relief she returned it. If you meant what you said in the carriage, he thought, we could not only survive this, we could thrive.

Then Freddy’s voice cut through the moment. “That’s terrible!” he boomed. He’d been relatively quiet up until that point and in all the places Will expected him to cause trouble he’d been mercifully silent. But now there was a glass of wine in his hand and a familiar red flush across his nose and cheeks.

He was talking to Mr Lutea-Digitalis, the former Marquis. He’d seemed relieved to be released from the post, knowing it would be a difficult position to hold in a hostile Court. Had he planned to cause trouble with Freddy?

Freddy’s younger brother crossed the room swiftly and spoke to his elder. Will noted how different they were and how hard the younger was working to try and contain Freddy’s outburst. He watched the room divide between those who thought it best to ignore Viola’s latest bout of hot air and those who enjoyed good social sport. Georgiana excused herself from Dame Iris and went over as Freddy said, “But this is something you should take to the Duke. This is something that affects all of us!”

When Georgiana tried to speak to him he brushed her off and then told his younger brother to leave it all to him. Freddy planted a hand between Digitalis’ shoulders and propelled him through the parting crowd to the foot of the dais.

“Something you need to hear. Your Grace,” he added a beat later.

Will looked expectantly at Digitalis. “Is there something wrong?”

“My wife and I were robbed yesterday whilst travelling on the Nether road between Somerset House and our residence.”

Now everyone was paying attention. “Were you hurt?” Cathy asked.

“No, your Grace, thankfully,” he replied as his wife joined his side, as crimson as her dress. “When I saw their weapons I decided it was best to hand over what they demanded so we would be left with our lives.”

“Our driver was struck,” his wife said. She looked quite distressed at the memory of it. “He has a black eye, poor chap.”

“I’m very sorry to hear of this,” Will said.

“Being sorry doesn’t do any bloody good,” Freddy said.

“It isn’t the Duke’s fault, Freddy,” Digitalis hissed. “Thank you, your Grace.”

“He might not have been the robber but he’s responsible for our safety, isn’t he?” Freddy turned to address the room. “That includes the roads, surely?”

Tom stepped forwards. “Actually, it does not. There are no edicts, documents or records of any previous Dukes adopting responsibility for the roads between Nether properties and the location of the Court.”

“Oh, read them all, have you?” Freddy scoffed.

“Actually I have,” Tom replied, impressively calm. “As Marquis, it’s my role to know such things, as I’m sure Mr Digitalis is aware.”

“Yes, I am very aware of it,” Digitalis spoke with obvious irritation towards Freddy. “Do stop making such a fuss. There have been highwaymen preying upon Londinium for hundreds of years and the Duke has only just taken office. It seems rather unreasonable to expect him to remove a problem the Rosas couldn’t solve in all that time.”

The old faultlines in the Court were being laid bare; the Violas were rich but they weren’t socially successful, thanks to Freddy’s lack of self-control. Will noted the younger brother’s baleful stare at the back of Freddy’s head.

It seemed Freddy hadn’t anticipated the lack of support either. “Well, seeing as everything’s changing, why not make another?” He turned back to look at Will. “Of course the Rosas didn’t solve the problem, they were lazy, corrupt and didn’t give a toss about anyone except themselves. I was pleased to see a new Duke on the throne. Someone I knew could make the kind of changes Londinium has needed for hundreds of years.”

He meant Bartholomew. Freddy was no fool, as much as he liked to make people think he was. Will knew he was trying to back him into a corner and make him promise to do something, fearful of being seen as less capable of change than Bartholomew. For anyone else it would be madness, but Freddy didn’t know about the power he had over the Arbiters. It would be a risk but, if he could pull it off, it would silence any doubters.

“Change is a powerful thing and I agree that the problem has existed far too long,” he said. “I take my responsibilities as Duke very seriously and believe it’s an omission to declare the Nether roads outside of my protection. Without them there is no city to speak of. Let it be entered into the record that my first promise to you as Duke of Londinium is to make the roads between your homes and the White Tower safe to travel in the Nether. I will not have any person within my domain be afraid to travel. I can’t say how long it will take, nor can I say it will be without its setbacks and difficulties. But I will deal with the highwaymen and give the residents of this domain the security they deserve.”

There was a spontaneous burst of applause and he couldn’t resist a quick glance at Dame Iris to gauge her reaction. She too was clapping politely but her expression was inscrutable.

Freddy was easy to read. He made a couple of gruff comments which were inaudible above the applause and then downed the contents of his glass. His younger brother, standing behind him, moved aside with obvious contempt when Freddy launched himself back into the crowd to find more wine. He made eye contact with Will and bowed deeply. Interesting, Will thought. The younger Viola is someone to watch.

 

Max got off the train at Bath Spa, having delivered the package to Catherine. It contained several files on people she’d requested after their abortive attempt to get a London Arbiter to come and talk to her. He’d pulled them from the Agency without mentioning it to Ekstrand, something the gargoyle had talked him into.

He couldn’t request a messaging tube from Ekstrand without having to explain and he couldn’t use the Letterboxer Charm she’d suggested. He proposed a dead drop location that she could send a servant to, but she didn’t trust any of them enough. She even seemed nervous of them.

Max spent a couple of hours patrolling the city centre but saw nothing suspicious. There could be people disappearing into Exilium all over the kingdom of Wessex for all he knew. They were blind without the information network the Bath Chapter used to manage and there was no one on the street day in, day out like they needed. They were failing in their duty of care and it had to be the same all over Albion, apart from Mercia. It was only a matter of time before the Fae noticed.

He’d been trying to speak to Ekstrand for almost a week, sending messages via Petra and Axon but receiving nothing in reply. The gargoyle was constantly on edge and had begun to wear a groove in the floorboards of Max’s bedroom from the endless pacing. No progress was being made and Ekstrand was the problem.

Satisfied that nothing untoward was happening in the centre, Max headed back to Ekstrand’s house. The gargoyle was waiting for him in the lobby and ran up to him like a dog who’d been shut up in a house alone all day. “Ekstrand’s come out of his room!” it said. “He’s in the ballroom with the apprentices!”

The gargoyle bounded down the hallway ahead of him before running back and then on again as if it had too much energy. As he approached the ballroom Max could hear Ekstrand’s voice clearly through the door.

He knocked once and then entered, the gargoyle at his heels. The apprentices were gathered and looking down at something covered by a dark cloth in the middle of the room. Ekstrand was standing next to it dressed in a tweed suit with leather patches on the elbows.

“What sort of things could the Sorcerer of Mercia have neglected to ward his property against? Be creative now.”

Gordon, the most enthusiastic apprentice, bobbed up and down with his hand in the air. Ekstrand pointed at him.

“Small mammals, sir.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Guinea pigs… hamsters, that sort of thing.”

“No.” Ekstrand cut him off. “Bombarding the Sorcerer’s house with… otters is not creative, it’s absurd. He will have warded against projectiles, even living ones. Next!”

“Acid,” another suggested.

“Rubbish,” Ekstrand said. “Is that the best you can all come up with? Acid is first on my list of things to ward my property against, not just because my list is alphabetical. The first things that spring to any Sorcerer’s mind are destructive substances, so of course he’ll have protected against all of them, including fire, ice – and jellied eels, before anyone suggests that foul substance.”

“Sir,” Max called from the back. “I must speak with you.”

“Not now, Maximillian, I’m in the middle of an important lesson.”

“But sir, it’s about the Sorcerer of Mercia.”

All of the apprentices turned to look at him.

Ekstrand held up a hand. “You’re far behind me. I’ve been going through some old notes and I’ve already found out something desperately important about him. Well, two things actually. No, three. Three, yes. The first is his name: Rupert! I knew it was something that sounded like a currency, and I was right.”

“Will that be useful for fighting him, sir?” Gordon asked.

“That his name sounds like Rupee? No, of course not.”

“No, sir, knowing his name.”

“Oh. No, not at all, but it was bothering me. Now the second thing I found in my clearing out was a notebook in which I wrote two very important lists. One is a list of places I would like to visit one day. The other – more important for the war – is a list of places I never, ever want to visit. And do you know what’s at the top of the list?” When Max, the gargoyle and the apprentices shook their heads in unison he said, “Oxford.”

He beamed at them all. No one had anything to say for a moment until Gordon said, “Oh! Oxford is in the kingdom of Mercia!”

Ekstrand nodded. “I started that list a long time ago, I remember writing that city down after I had a rather difficult Moot at which we were all discussing the civil war. Rupert was defending his decision to let the royal Court convene in Convocation House and the Sorcerer of Northumbria was furious about it. They shouted for hours until Rupert said something along the lines of it being his property, in his domain, so he could do what he wanted there. I had completely forgotten until I saw that list. Convocation House is one of the rooms in the Bodleian Library quadrangle. I’d wager the library is his anchor property too. It’s certainly one of the largest in central Oxford, the only one that could contain his monstrous ego.”

“But surely he wouldn’t give away the location of his home, sir,” Max said. All Sorcerers were fiercely protective of their privacy, especially with each other.

“Ah, but he wasn’t thinking about such things at the time. He wasn’t being careful at all. Of course, there’s every possibility that he lives somewhere else now, given it was several hundred years ago, but it’s the best place to start.”

“What was the third thing?” the gargoyle asked. “You said you found three.”

“Did I? Oh. I can’t remember. It’ll come back to me. So you see, Maximillian, I know everything I need to know about that ne’er-do-well.”

“But sir, I don’t think he’s behind the attack on the Moot.”

Ekstrand blinked rapidly. “Preposterous. Rupert of Mercia is a villain from an order of pond scum so low it hasn’t even made it into any phyllotactic classification of plant life. He killed the others to take over Albion, as he’s always wanted.”

“But everything points to the Sorcerer of Essex.”

“Dante’s dead!”

“Exactly!” the gargoyle said. “He was already dead when the others were murdered. Petra told us that.”

“Thereby making it impossible for it to have been him,” Ekstrand replied. “So it must be Rupert. I didn’t kill them and they wouldn’t want to kill themselves – at least not in such a sociable manner – so it has to be Rupert.”

“Fae magic can animate inanimate objects and make them behave in a way the caster of the Charm expects,” Max said. “Someone must have animated Dante’s dead body so the other Sorcerers would be tricked long enough to be killed, a way that the wards couldn’t protect against. The only people who could have access to his dead body are one of his apprentices or someone from the Essex Chapter – which we already know is corrupt.”

“But that doesn’t change the fact that Rupert didn’t go to the Moot!” Ekstrand said, his right index finger pointing up at the ceiling. “Why? Because he had to stay outside to cast the foul magic on the building.”

Max could hear the gargoyle’s stone teeth grinding with frustration. Ekstrand simply wasn’t applying logic to the evidence. “No, sir, I believe he may have stayed away for the exact same reason as you; he suspected foul play. His absence from that meeting isn’t enough to place him under suspicion.”

“Yes, it is.” Ekstrand folded his arms. “He’s been planning this for years, I know he has. It all started with killing my Chapter. Not anyone else’s – mine. Why? Because he’s always coveted Wessex and wanted to weaken me!”

“No, sir.” Max shook his head. “I think the Chapter was destroyed by someone from London – it only happened after I discovered the corruption there. That’s where our efforts should be focused. Not Mercia.”

“There’s only a tiny amount of effort left to spend on dealing with Rupert,” Ekstrand said. “Then once he’s gone I can turn my mind to other matters without fearing for my life.”

“But sir–”

“Enough.” Ekstrand held a hand up at him. “You’re defending him too much. Should I be concerned about corruption in the remnants of my own Chapter?”

The gargoyle gasped. “You crazy son of a bitch!” it yelled. “You’re supposed to be calm and clever and look at facts without emotional crap and look at you! You’re obsessed with this Rupert bloke when the rest of the country is going to shit because of something going down in London! London, not the sodding Midlands!”

For a few moments Ekstrand didn’t say anything, he just stood with wide eyes and lips pressed so tight together it looked like his mouth had disappeared. “You,” he said, so quietly the apprentices leaned forwards en masse to listen, “will not speak another word in my presence or I will destroy you and the shell left behind. Get out.”

The gargoyle looked at Max who pointed at the door. Ekstrand wasn’t going to listen and there was nothing he could do about it. He had the briefest flash of seeing the gargoyle leaping at him and some nebulous idea of a coup but it unravelled in the cold light of good sense. The gargoyle slinked out silently, its tail between its legs, chin so low it was almost scraping the floor.

“Now, let’s move on,” Ekstrand said as Max backed away until he was pressed against the wall by the door, watching silently. “We’ve wasted enough time so I’ll give you the answer. The one thing Rupert will not have protected himself against is protection itself and that is how I am going to kill him. I will protect him from the very things he needs to survive.”