25

Margritte stood outside the large black box, twisting the key Rupert had given her. It looked bizarre beneath the beautiful vaulted ceiling of the Divinity Schools. There was no door, neither were there windows. He’d said it wouldn’t run out of air inside, that he’d thought of that. As long as they fed and watered him, he’d said, William Iris would last as long as they wanted.

As long as they wanted. She shivered, finding such power over a man’s life unpalatable. Across the city three families had been taken from their homes and put into custody, just because they were Irises. They had children. They were probably terrified.

She’d made it all happen. At the beginning it had all made sense, but now it felt like some terrible accident unfolding around her.

“Do you want me to go in there with you, Maggie?” Rupert called from the doorway to Convocation House. “I already sent an Arbiter in there, he can’t hurt you.”

“No,” she said. “I just need a minute.”

He lingered, watching her hesitation, and it made her feel more flustered. It was too late now. She couldn’t tell him to send William back home and carry on as if nothing had happened. She pressed the key against the black glass and it sank in, a keyhole forming around it. She opened the door that appeared moments later, keeping the key in the palm of her hand in case she needed to get out again quickly. If she turned it to the right once she was inside it would let her back into the larger room she was in now. If she turned it to the left, it would open a Way to her room at Lincoln. She had the feeling he was trying to be thoughtful, in his own strange way. She just hoped he hadn’t made another to take him directly to her room whenever he wanted.

The light that spilled in from the new doorway was the only light in the box. It was the size of a very small room and the air smelt stale and laced with sweat.

William was sitting on a chair next to a small table. His lip and right eye were swollen and it looked like his hands were tied behind his back. There was an empty chair across from him.

“Light,” she said and, as Rupert had promised, the ceiling shone, bathing the interior in a blue-white glow. She let the door close behind her and, as expected, its outline disappeared until there was a smooth surface once more.

William stared at her as she approached the empty chair. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t stand for you,” he said. “I’m unable to.”

She suppressed the urge to apologise or show any of her doubts. He would exploit any weakness. “It’s within your power to improve your circumstances,” she said as she sat opposite him.

“What have you done, Margritte? How did you persuade a Sorcerer to do this?”

“I simply told him the truth.”

“Whose truth?”

“He knows you’re in league with the Sorcerer of Wessex, he knows about Lord Iris’ plan and your part in it. Of course he got involved.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about but I do know what the ramifications of this will be, and none of them bodes well for you.”

“You’re the one in the worse position here, William. Your threats lose their power when you’re just a boy in a box.”

“My family will–”

“I don’t want to talk about your family, I want to talk about what you need to do to get out. I’m sure you’re keen for that to happen.”

“I want to know one thing first. Did Cathy know what you planned to do?”

She considered lying to him, the angry, shadowy part of herself hoping it would fill him with despair to think he couldn’t even trust his own wife. But she couldn’t do that to Catherine, not now she knew how she felt about the cause. She couldn’t destroy any more lives. “No,” she said.

“So you exploited her better nature and betrayed her trust. I thought more of you.”

Margritte curled her toes inside her shoes, focusing her anger into the movement to keep it from her face. It hurt because he was right. “You know my husband didn’t try to kill her. All I want is for you to clear his name in front of the Court. It’s not too much to ask. I shouldn’t even have to, in fact. If you were as decent as Catherine seems to have deluded herself into believing, you would have done so already.”

William’s laugh was bitter. “You want me to clear your family’s name when you’ve sunk to this? Kidnapping a Duke, destroying his possessions – including his wedding ring – locking him in a box with no food, no water for God knows how long, beating him, tying him to a chair? Do you even know where the moral high ground is any more?”

Margritte took a moment to breathe in as a burst of panic threatened to take her. “If you don’t do this, I will invite the Patroons to Oxenford and cast a Truth Charm on you in their presence. You will be forced to confess–”

“They wouldn’t come!” William laughed again. “You did all this to threaten me with that? What fantasy world do you live in? If they answered your demand they would be sanctioning this barbaric behaviour. The Patroons would close rank and force you to release me.”

She stood, trying to think of something to say, something to frighten him, but she was too afraid herself. So she turned her back, thrust the key into the wall and went back out into the larger room, controlling herself until the door closed behind her.

Margritte went to one of the long wooden benches and sat, wondering if she was actually going to be sick. She slid the key up her sleeve, freeing her hands so she could weep into them. She should have gone abroad until the madness of her grief had passed. Instead she’d sucked Rupert into the maelstrom with her, and the entire city. All of her suspicions about Ekstrand and Iris were only that; there was no proof.

“Maggie?”

Her spirits sank further as she heard Rupert coming towards her. She hurriedly wiped away the tears.

“What did he say?” His hand was on her shoulder. Really, the man was insufferable!

“Nothing.” She stood to break the contact but he was boxing her in against the bench. “I… it’s harder than I thought it would be.”

He nodded. “I thought so. You knew him before. That’s bound to make it tough.”

She had to find a way to untangle the mess she’d made without making Rupert angry. He could destroy them all, including her son. “Perhaps we need to take a different approach.”

He nodded. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Rupert went towards the box, flicked his yo-yo at one of the sides and a door opened again. She hurried after him, fearful.

“Morning.”

William watched him warily, the cockiness gone. Rupert was trying to make him feel disoriented; it was evening in Oxford.

“Good morning.”

“So, I take it Margritte has explained what she wants from you?”

William nodded slowly. His lip had split and Margritte tried not to look at it. Rupert hadn’t mentioned any violence. Had he provoked the Arbiter? Were they trying to frighten him?

“I refuse. This is no way to treat a Duke. I won’t be coerced into anything.”

“But that’s what happens to you all the time, isn’t it?” Rupert turned the chair around and straddled it, resting his arms on the back. “Your Patroons and patrons tell you what to do all the fucking time. Shit, I really hope you were coerced into killing Bartholomew, for your sake. Otherwise you wanted to kill him to take the throne. You don’t want me to think that’s true, do you?”

“I have no interest in what you think I may or may not have done. It’s none of your business.”

Rupert chuckled and fired a grin at Margritte who had retreated to a corner after the door closed behind her. “I like him. Cool under pressure, like all of the Irises. And–” he turned back to face William “–like all of the Irises in Oxenford, you’re also in a box of my making. Now listen to me, Dukey-boy, there are two ways we can do this. One is like gentlemen, I’ll even put on a posh voice so you feel at home. We can have tea and crumpets, laugh about who’s just been rogered up the arse by who, and then you can sign a statement that clears Bartholomew’s name and read it out in Convocation and in the Londinium Court. We could do that right now, and you’ll be home in time for tea.”

“No.”

“All right, well, the second option is that I leave you in this box for a few days. I’ll break up the sensory deprivation with periods of unpredictable loud noise that will only start when you fall asleep. After a week or so with no rest, no food, no fucking toilet, let’s face it, you’re going to be much more willing to meet Margritte’s very reasonable request.”

William looked at Margritte. “You want him to do this in your name?”

“I think I’m being one generous motherfucker.” Rupert didn’t let her reply. “I could torture you in ways your family haven’t even discovered yet. And the longer you go on being an asshole about all this, the more likely that’s going to happen.”

“What have you offered him to make him do this?” William asked her and Rupert punched him so hard his chair fell back, taking William with it.

Rupert shoved the table to one side and grabbed William’s lapels. “Listen to me, you misogynistic little shit. It may come as news to you but men can decide to help a woman because they think her argument is correct, not because she has different genitalia and has offered to do something with them. Don’t insult my intelligence by making out that I’m incapable of making decisions without thinking about sex. That’s fucking offensive, to me and to Margritte.”

William coughed and blood splattered over Rupert’s jumper. “There’s more to this than Bartholomew.”

“Yes, there is, but it isn’t any promises of sex. Your patron is working with Ekstrand. I want you to tell me what he wants you to do and why.”

There was a look of genuine confusion on William’s face. “I have no idea why you think Ekstrand has anything to do with me.”

“You helped him get the Master of Ceremonies back to Aquae Sulis.”

“I helped an Arbiter get into a party, that’s all. I made the people there think I did more to protect the identity of the person who really did help to rescue him. Now, will you please untie me or let me sit upright at least? I apologise for my remark, Margritte, but, for reasons I’m sure I don’t have to explain, I’m feeling rather bad-tempered.”

She waited for Rupert to meet with his request but he did nothing so she went behind William’s back and untied his hands. Rupert frowned as she did so, but said nothing.

“This has gone far enough,” she said, helping William to his feet. “Rupert, whilst I appreciate your sentiments, punching a man when you declare yourself to be above male stereotypes is hardly a way to prove the point.” She righted William’s chair and helped him to sit down. “I can’t bear this to go on a moment longer. I was… and still am devastated by what you did, William, but all I wanted was to correct the injustice committed against my husband. I’ve gone about it the wrong way. How can I watch you be beaten and terrorised into doing what I want in Bartholomew’s name? If he were to see me now and what damage I’ve wrought, he would be just as disgusted with me as I am of myself.”

“Maggie, he–”

She held up a hand. “I’m sorry, Rupert, but this has to stop and I have to apologise to the Irises. I take full responsibility for my actions.”

“So you’re going to let him go back and sit on Bartholomew’s throne and–”

“He sits on his own throne now. Nothing will bring Bartholomew back to me. I see no reason to carry on infecting everything and everyone around me with the madness of my grief.”

William reached out and rested a hand on her arm. “I beg your forgiveness, Madam. I know your husband was a decent man. I was led to believe he wasn’t and, like you, I acted swiftly in anger and filled with the desire to take revenge. I swear to you that I only discovered his innocence after the deed was done. It’s something I’ll regret for the rest of my life.”

Margritte’s legs wobbled beneath her, so she knelt on the floor in front of him, the black satin of her skirts disappearing against the black floor. “Who did it?”

“The Roses. When Thorn attacked Cathy he disguised himself to look like a minor Rosa, whom Cornelius White killed. He told me it was because he discovered he’d been hired by Bartholomew to kill Cathy. An Arbiter backed up the story and together I found their false evidence irrefutable. Lord Iris supported me but gave me no opportunity to calm down or uncover their lies. Once I learned of what they did, I killed Cornelius and banished Amelia to Mundanus. I’m so sorry.”

The hard stone of rage-filled grief that had sat in Margritte’s chest for so long burst and she couldn’t help but sob. Bartholomew had been nothing more than a cog in a political machine, one that was pulled out to make something else break. No wonder William hadn’t said anything; his own patron was part of the reason he’d rushed into challenging Bartholomew. Admitting he’d been tricked would reveal that Lord Iris had also been duped by the Roses – a family already broken – and William’s life would be forfeit. They were all victims, in their own way, and the thought fuelled her grief. What else could William have done, believing Bartholomew had attempted to kill his wife? She’d done the same as him: acted without knowing all the facts, driven by passion and rage.

“I accept your apology,” she said as the worst of the rush of emotion subsided. “And I offer you mine. I’ll see that this is put right and I’ll answer for my rash act.”

“Now just wait a bloody minute,” Rupert said. “The Irises won’t just accept an apology, they’ll want blood!”

“So be it,” she said. She wasn’t afraid to admit she’d made a mistake.

“Don’t give me that noble bullshit! And anyway, he’s my prisoner and I’m not letting him go until I’m certain he’s not–”

A Way opened behind William, making her jump to her feet in surprise, William too. The gargoyle that she’d seen in the film of the Moot leaped through, looking left and right with urgency as it took the room in. “I’m here to get you out!” it yelled.

“I don’t need to be rescued,” William said. “It’s all–”

“Not you! Him!” The gargoyle pointed at Rupert. “All of you, actually, if you don’t want to die.”

“I can’t trust you, you’re one of Ekstrand’s–” Rupert began, readying his yo-yo.

“Dante’s sister is about to kill everyone in this building,” the gargoyle cut in. “Your Arbiters are dead. Now let’s get out of here before you are too!” When Rupert hesitated, the gargoyle leaped onto the table. “Open a Way into Oxford, you idiot! We can’t go the way I came, they’re all dead in the Cloister already.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Rupert said to it and then looked at Margritte, but she knew where she was going and it wasn’t with either of them. She thrust the key into the nearest part of the wall and turned it to the left, opening a Way to her room. She reached for William’s hand, he took it and she pulled him through, leaving Rupert to determine his own fate.