21

Cathy adjusted the seat in the car Max had hired and checked the positioning of the rear-view mirror as he went round to the passenger side and got in. The last time she drove it had been to London to rescue Josh, and Tom had been the passenger. So much had changed since then, including, she realised with a tension in her chest, herself. She’d been so determined to find a way out of Society and now she was Duchess, a bigger cog in the machine she’d stopped trying to run away from. Was she doing the right thing in trying to stay and change things for the better? Or had she lost her way and forgotten what it was like to be alone and truly think for herself?

“We need to get onto the M4,” Max said, looking at a map.

“We’ll head west then,” she replied and started the engine.

It felt good to be back in a car and mundane clothes again. “Thanks for letting me drive,” she said but Max didn’t reply. Now she was getting used to being around him she enjoyed the lack of pressure to make small talk. She suspected the gargoyle was hidden in the boot.

She was grateful for a trip out of Londinium too. The meeting with Margritte had made her feel guilty and inept and she couldn’t stop berating herself for bothering her at such a time. Of course Margritte would be angry and grieving; it was stupid to have even thought of contacting her for anything to do with the secret group. It only served to remind her that she was no good at the people thing. It had taken Lucy to point out there were other women who felt the same about Society. Her inability to think about anything other than her own frustrations had been revealed again.

“Take the left lane,” Max said, and she indicated after checking the mirrors.

The roads were busy. Negotiating the traffic and following Max’s navigation was a welcome distraction from worrying about Margritte and what would be reported back to Bennet. At least Will had left before Max arrived. He’d be on his way to meet Margritte now, unaware of this secret excursion until Carter reported it all to him.

“Poor Carter,” she said aloud. “He’ll be worrying.”

“I told him I would take full responsibility.”

“Those magic words,” she said with a sigh.

Cathy had no idea what arrangements Will had made to meet Margritte; once she’d talked it through with him he’d agreed to meet her as soon as possible and handle the rest himself. She took that as a good sign. He seemed relieved she’d made contact with her, thinking it was in the hope of reducing the animosity between their families to avert any further disruption. Cathy hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell him she’d had her own agenda, even though she’d wanted to share it with him. Worrying about what to tell and what to keep to herself was exhausting. She’d rather share it all with him, but that was unwise until she’d convinced him of the need to change the status quo.

Will was kinder than most but he was still one of them, a product of their patriarchal society and so concerned with keeping Lord Iris happy that he couldn’t contemplate anything remotely controversial. She could sympathise, but she couldn’t wait for him to feel secure enough in his position before she did something herself.

Max was a good navigator and they made it to the slip road onto the M4 without any wrong turns. “So,” she said, once she was at the right speed and feeling more confident in the faster traffic. “Can you tell me where we’re going now?”

“You asked me to look into a code you found in several files. The code ‘GDA’ refers to ‘Green Dale Asylum’ and several of the people you’ve requested files on are there.”

“An asylum in Mundanus?”

“Yes, run by the Agency. Only they and the Patroons know about it. I suspect the mundane authorities are oblivious of its existence too. It’s in the Cotswolds. I have the address and I thought it best to go there via mundane means.”

“I bet they’re not put in there because they’re mad,” Cathy said, gripping the steering wheel tighter and pressing down on the accelerator.

“Some of the people there may have lost their faculties,” Max said. “But I suspect the ones you’re looking for haven’t.”

“No, they wanted to hide them away so they would stop saying things the Patroons didn’t like. Are they just left in Mundanus to get old and die?”

“It seems so,” Max replied.

“So you’re coming along because you’re curious?”

“I doubt they would let you in without me. And I want to understand everything the Agency does.”

“Are they breaching the Treaty?”

“That’s one of the questions I want to answer.”

She almost asked him what the other questions were but decided against it; he wouldn’t tell her anyway.

So the men and women who’d disappeared from the secret group had been sent to a mundane asylum to die quietly, just because they’d spoken out. Perhaps the remaining members were right to be so cautious. Margritte had spoken of needing Will on her side and Cathy resented the fact it was true. But would Lord Iris sanction having her packed off when he was so keen for her to breed?

“I wonder if the Fae know.”

“They must. They would notice their puppets were missing.” Max said.

“I don’t know how much attention they pay. Lord Poppy probably didn’t even know I existed until he heard about me going to university.”

“Was he involved in securing your marriage to William Iris?”

“I know Lord Iris was. Will told me the Patroon said he wanted us to marry.”

“Do you know why?”

“To breed is my theory.” Out of the corner of her eye she could see Max nodding. “But I have no idea why it has to be Will and I.”

“You must both have qualities Lord Iris wants to see in one child. Or several,” Max said. “The Agency do the same – they breed with certain pairings to make it more likely that certain qualities will be seen in the – keep your eye on the road, Catherine.”

She yanked the wheel back, realising she’d started to drift across a lane. “The Agency have a breeding program? What the fuck?”

“The head of the Agency told me the Fae have been doing the same for generations. Were your parents matched by the Fae?”

“I don’t know. God, this is awful. Will doesn’t think it’s the norm for his patron to be so involved. I’ve heard marriages are arranged by the head of the families and it’s all to do with money or politics. I’m certain they married Tom to Lucy for the money – the Californicas are loaded.”

“They probably needed it for your dowry,” Max said and Cathy felt nauseous.

“Shit. You’re right. That’s the only way the Irises would have been happy to have their golden boy married to a dud like me: a tonne of money. Bastards, the lot of them.” The clouds and greenery of Mundanus seemed to have reawakened the joy of swearing too.

“Which qualities do you both have that would make Lord Iris interested in your children?”

“I don’t have a clue. I don’t have any qualities. None that Society wants anyway.”

“The Fae are not the same as those in your Society though. He may want something different.”

Cathy breathed deep, hoping her breakfast would settle in her stomach again. Even though she’d already suspected it, it terrified her to hear an Arbiter talking about the possibility she and Will had been matched for that reason. “But what would Lord Iris want the child for? Assuming he got the combination of qualities he wanted.”

“I don’t know. We only monitor theft of children from Mundanus, not the Nether. Have you heard of children from the families being taken by the Fae?”

“I’ve heard all kinds of stories, but I always assumed they were to frighten us into being good. Are you convinced that people in Society need protection yet?”

“No,” Max replied. “You people are still not protected by the Treaty.”

“But why? We’re just as human as the people in Mundanus.”

“But not innocent.”

“You make it sound like we’re guilty of something. I didn’t choose to be born into that Society. And I tried to get away from it. If you’d helped me that first time I met you, I wouldn’t be in the mess I’m in now.”

The conversation died and she focused on the road. She would have to tell Will what Max had said. Please don’t be pregnant, she thought, trying to detect any change in the way her body felt. Between the nerves and the anger, it was hard to tell whether there was anything else going on.

They drove for over an hour without saying anything. It was almost like driving alone; there was no sense of there being someone with her unless she actually looked at him.

“Do you want to listen to some music?”

“No.”

“Do you mind if I do?”

“No.”

She flipped between radio stations but was unable to find anything she liked so she switched it off again. “So… what’s it like being an Arbiter?”

“We need to take the next exit,” he said, looking down at the map again.

“Did you always want to be one?”

“Take the third exit off the roundabout.”

She changed lanes and followed a bright yellow car for a while. “How do you even become an Arbiter anyway?”

“There’s a crossroads coming up,” he said. “Turn right and then take the second left.”

She stayed silent for the rest of the trip. They ended up driving down a bumpy single-lane road that turned into a glorified track through fields populated with cows. Just as she was about to tell him he must have got it wrong they saw a set of wooden gates with a letterbox in one of the supporting posts. “Green Dale” was carved into the stone above it.

Cathy stopped the car in front of them and Max got out. The gates were unlocked, which surprised her. He got back in and she drove forwards slowly, avoiding potholes in the gravel-covered road.

“I have nothing to say about what it’s like to be an Arbiter,” he said out of the blue. “I was selected from a large group of potentials. I passed the tests.”

“Were they hard?”

“…Yes,” he finally replied.

She drove slowly, wanting to ask more but knowing it would have to wait for another time. There were landscaped gardens on either side of them with large, mature trees at the boundary. As they rounded the corner a huge house came into view, obscured from the road by the trees at the edge of the estate. It had an extensive terrace and Cathy could see people sitting on chairs with blankets over their laps.

“Park over there,” Max said, pointing to an empty parking area on the left. “I’ll go first and make sure there isn’t going to be a problem.”

“Can I look for the people I wanted to find?”

He nodded. “Keep me in sight if you can. I doubt they’ll do anything to the Duchess of Londinium, but it pays to be careful.”

“Don’t tell them who I am,” she said and they got out of the car.

He went ahead as she locked it. A nurse was already hurrying into the house from the terrace, probably to raise the alarm. As she got closer she could see several elderly men and women watching the new arrival with interest.

They were dressed like they were still in Society and it looked so odd to see the period clothing in Mundanus. A woman came out of the house to intercept Max on the steps up onto the terrace and a short exchange resulted in Max being shown in. He turned and gave her a curt nod and Cathy took that as a confirmation that she could go ahead. She only hoped she would find answers instead of more questions.

 

By the time Will had finished casting each Charm he felt invulnerable. No blade could cut him, if anything containing poison came near him the pendant resting on the skin over his heart would grow hot, and no Persuasion, Lust, Love or Hate Charms would have any effect on him, nor would any others created to alter his opinion. Tate had prepared the assortment for him and given a lengthy description of each one’s benefits, and instructions for either casting them or placing artefacts in different places on his body. He’d used several before and heard of all the rest but had never used them in concert. He’d sent a bottle of the finest champagne and an obscenely expensive box of chocolates in return.

He was dressed in a modern suit and wearing a long coat to protect him against the mundane wind and rain as he stood in a doorway across the street. He’d opted to arrive early and keep a low profile, blending in with the mundanes as much as possible. He was waiting for one of his footmen to return and assure him that all was well at the hotel he’d chosen for his meeting with Margritte. It was easy to hire a private room with no Nether reflection halfway between London and Oxford, something he hoped would show his willingness to accommodate her needs. He wasn’t going to tell her what really happened but he was happy to give her condolences if the conversation went well. Cathy was convinced it would be best for everyone and the decent thing to do. He hadn’t argued with her on that point.

Nevertheless, he wasn’t going to be complacent. He’d taken every precaution, preparing for the meeting as if it were with the head of a rival family rather than simply a grieving widow. Margritte was no fool and there was always the possibility she’d convinced the Tulipa Patroon to support her should she wish to humiliate him in some way. He’d denied their family true political power and that wouldn’t be forgotten for a very long time.

“It’s clear, your Grace,” the footman said. “No trace of any Charms and nobody has been in the room since it was cleaned early this morning. None of the guests in the lobby nor any of the staff on duty have been Charmed and all staff identities have been confirmed.”

“Excellent,” Will replied. “How are you bearing up?” He’d cast a Clear Sight Charm on the man that morning, giving him the ability to see anyone or anything that had been Charmed or Glamoured. Tate had sent it for him to use but Will didn’t want to suffer the side effect: severe depression for a few days once it had worn off.

“It’s… interesting, your Grace. I’m glad to be of service.”

“You’ll be on reduced duties for the next week, should no emergencies arise,” Will assured him. “I’ll wait in the meeting room. When Mrs Tulipa arrives check her whilst she’s being escorted and report to me should there be anything I need to know. You know what to look out for.”

“Yes, your Grace. I’ll escort you there now.”

Will knew he was skating the fine line between caution and paranoia; even if she was wearing an artefact it was highly unlikely it would be able to affect him whilst so well protected. Better to be safe and home in time for dinner. He’d just finished reading The Time Machine and planned to discuss it with Cathy over a special meal he’d planned with the cook. She’d been working so hard to be everything he needed her to be; it was time to show her how much he appreciated it. And he wanted to see the smile the gift of the library had brought out again.

They crossed the street and the footman took him through to the meeting room after a brief exchange with the receptionist. Being back in a hotel made him yearn for the Grand Tour again, for that feeling of arriving somewhere new and knowing that fresh delights were soon to be discovered.

“This is the room, your Grace.”

There was only a small table and two comfortable chairs near the window. They’d followed his instructions precisely: no mirrors, only one door in and out and secure windows. The first was to reduce the opportunity to open a Way into Exilium, the latter two to provide better mundane security.

“Good. Tell the others to take their positions.”

Margritte arrived on time and Will was given a chance to compose himself as she was escorted to the room. His footman informed him she was wearing a simple Charm to keep her clothes clean and dry, one commonly used by those visiting Mundanus, but nothing else.

When she entered in her widow’s garb Will found it more unsettling than he’d anticipated. As they went through the motions of polite greetings he was forced to see the impact of his actions. She was evidently still in deep mourning; not only was she wearing black, she was pale and had lost weight. More than that; she’d lost the joy he hadn’t realised – until now – she’d radiated before.

His footmen followed her in and stood just inside the door. He felt safe.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me,” she said. She was tense. So was he.

“Catherine told me you were keen to speak. It may be meaningless, given the circumstances, but I am very sad about what happened between our families.”

She stared at him, as if weighing the worth of his words. He hoped she would see his sincerity through grief’s veil. “Have you found the person who really tried to kill Catherine?”

Will breathed out and in again, wondering what he could say to ease her pain without condemning himself in the process. “I consider the matter behind us.”

“You have that luxury,” she said. “I, however, do not. William, I believed you to be a decent man, as did Bartholomew. Surely you cannot think it right to leave things as they are. We both know Bartholomew was innocent. Tell me you know that to be so. Explain to me how you were led to believe otherwise, so I can find some peace again.”

“There’s nothing I can say that will bring him back.”

“You can restore my family’s honour.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t. I feel wretched about what happened but there is nothing I can do to change the situation we find ourselves in.”

“I’ll ask you one last time.” She took a step towards him but most of the room was still between them. “Please tell the truth in the Court and clear his name. Let him be remembered as the man he was and let me mourn him in peace. He was not a murderer.”

Will kept his lips pressed together and shook his head.

“So be it,” she whispered and took a step back again.

There was a tremor in the air and his men had hands on their pistols in moments. Will reached for his sword, drawing it enough to break its Glamour, and felt a dampness on his chest. Thinking it was blood, he looked down to see a blue stain penetrating the cotton of his shirt in the place where the artefact had rested against his heart, as if the glass it was made of had turned to water.

The feeling of speed and sharp reflexes left him and he realised the Charms he’d so carefully prepared were failing. As Margritte watched he felt a sudden pressure on his ring finger. The wedding band – looking like oak once more – burst as if filled with too much air and his hand and fingers were filled with the sharp stab of hundreds of tiny splinters. The blade of his sword crumbled, one forged hundreds of years before, given to him when he came of age.

“Your Grace!” one of the men had time to shout before a tear in the air revealed another room, windowless and unfamiliar, through which stepped several suited men wearing bowler hats. They were followed by a scruffy mundane man who was grinning.

Before Will’s footmen could reach him they were cut off by the hatted men, all of whom had modern pistols trained on their faces.

“Who–”

“You are in the Kingdom of Mercia, under jurisdiction of the Oxford Chapter and in the domain of Rupert, Sorcerer Guardian of Mercia,” one of the hatted men announced.

“That’s me,” the scruffy man said.

“Any further action will be considered a breach of the Split Worlds treaty and you’ll be prosecuted accordingly.”

The unlikely Sorcerer looked at Margritte. “You OK, Maggie?”

She gave the slightest nod. “He won’t clear his name.”

“Well, we knew that would be the case, didn’t we?”

“This is none of your concern, Sorcerer,” Will said. “I am the Duke of Londinium and this is a private meeting with no risk to any innocents.”

“This is my domain,” Rupert said. “Everything that happens in Mercia is my concern. I don’t give a flying fuck that you’re the Duke of Londinium – that’s thirty miles away and you’re here, right now, not doing the decent thing.”

Will looked at Margritte, still reeling from the fact that a Sorcerer seemed to be involved in her private affairs. Cathy had mentioned she lived in Oxenford now, but nothing about a Sorcerer. “How is this to play out, Margritte? If you act against me, the entirety of the Iris family – including Lord Iris himself – will seek–”

Rupert blew a loud raspberry. “Oh, blah, blah, blah. Yes, you’re not happy and it’s all most irregular and all of that arse.” He flicked the fingers of his right hand and a silver yo-yo dropped from it to bounce straight back up again. “Do you have a yo-yo?” he asked when he saw Will watching it.

“I did when I was a child.”

“Could you do tricks?” Rupert caught the string on the forefinger of his left hand. “This one is called ‘Round the World’.” The yo-yo did a circle around his head and segued perfectly into the next bounce. “This one’s called ‘Walking the Dog’,” he said before Will could get a word in. He crouched and the yo-yo rolled along the rug before being jerked back up the string. “But this one is my favourite. It’s called ‘You’re fucked’.”

Faster than his eye could track it, Rupert jerked the yo-yo towards the floor in front of Will’s feet. Then he was falling through a hole that had opened in the floor, and landing with a loud thud in an empty room. He toppled, a terrible bright pain shooting through his right ankle. There was no door, no window, just a box-like space dimly lit by the light coming through the hole above him.

“You’ve no right to do this!” he shouted up at the opening.

Rupert was peering down at him, the hateful grin filling his face. “I absolutely do, Dukey boy. It’s my domain. Ekstrand isn’t going to help you now.”

“But I haven’t done anything!”

Margritte came to Rupert’s side. “Neither did Bartholomew,” she said and the hole closed, plunging Will into absolute darkness.