CHAPTER SIX

In which Emily visits Gresham College and speaks to Christopher Wren.

Gresham College had certainly sounded impressive to Emily. Especially when Katerina told her it was where Christopher Wren taught his lessons. So she expected something large. Something impressive. A large building fronted with statues, perhaps. But when Katerina finally stopped on Bishopsgate Street and pointed the college out to her, Emily couldn’t help but feel slightly let down.

The afternoon sun shone hot against her cheek as she stared at the short gravel path leading up to an untidy jumble of stone houses. It didn’t look like any college she’d ever seen. “I think there might be more of it on other side,” said Katerina doubtfully.

Emily glanced along the dusty street as she readied to cross. Two maids struggled to carry a basket overflowing with white linen. A woman with a tray of matches and pegs around her neck rested against a tree. Emily was slightly heartened to see the tray also held a small group of fey creatures, their legs swinging idly over the edge as they sat and enjoyed the sunshine. It seemed some parts of London weren’t affected by Puck’s attempts to root out those loyal to Kelindria. “I’ll wait for you here,” said Katerina. She smiled self-consciously. “Places like this make me nervous. All that learning.”

Emily nodded, hurrying across the street and slipping through the open gates. The gravel path forked into two, one section leading to the main house, the other along the side of the wall. She followed the second path, passing more buildings and catching glimpses of one or two men in wigs and neat clothes.

Emily decided the best thing to do would be to approach one of them. She picked a short, fat man with a flushed face. He was furiously scratching beneath his wig.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said.

“You don’t happen to have a quill about your person, do you?” he asked, barely giving her a glance.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Pity.” The man scratched some more, then heaved a heavy sigh and yanked the wig off his head, revealing gray hair cut almost to the scalp. He peered into the underside of the wig. “Blasted lice,” he muttered. He rubbed his hand over his head and sighed happily. “Much better. Now,” he said, turning his attention to Emily. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for Christopher Wren,” she said. “Do you know him?”

“Wren? Course I know of him. Lovely fellow. Sometimes think he’s a bit dilly in the head, if you know what I mean. You can’t get that clever without it pushing a few things loose up there.” He tapped his head, then trailed off and frowned at the wig hanging limply in his hand like an exhausted animal.

“Um … do you know where I can find him?”

“Hmm? Oh, I do beg your pardon. I’ll take you to him, shall I? Nothing better to do. No one turned up for my lecture. The name’s Barnaby, by the way. Barnaby Stephens.”

He turned and led the way past the jumble of buildings and through a short tunnel that opened onto a covered walkway. The walkway formed a path that led around a huge grass-covered courtyard that was in turn surrounded by three rows of drab-looking buildings. “The professors’ lodgings,” said Stephens, nodding at the buildings. He pointed to the other side of the square. “Wren’s apartments are over there.”

They walked around the courtyard until Barnaby stopped in front of one of the many doors and rapped sharply on the wood. It was yanked open by a tall, pinch-faced man with cold gray eyes. He had a thick pile of parchment tucked under his arm.

“Afternoon, Cavanagh,” said Barnaby. “Is Wren in? Young girl to see him.”

The man called Cavanagh turned his cold eyes to Emily. “What on earth for?” he asked, his lips curling in distaste.

Barnaby shrugged good-naturedly. “Didn’t think it was my business to ask,” he said.

Before Cavanagh could respond, a man with white hair and bright blue eyes appeared at the door. He gave Barnaby and Emily a cursory glance, then nodded at Cavanagh.

“See you next week,” he said, leaving the apartments.

“Who is it, Cavanagh?” called a voice from inside the dim room.

Cavanagh half turned. “A … child, Christopher. A small girl.”

Emily fought back the urge to tell Cavanagh she wasn’t actually all that small.

“A girl?” asked the first voice, surprised. “Whatever does she want?”

“I have no idea, Christopher. Perhaps you should come and see?”

There was a pause. “Er … yes. Good idea.”

Emily heard the clumping of shoes on wood, and a second man appeared at the door. His face was kinder than the skinny man’s. Not good-looking (his nose was rather large), just … friendlier. His eyes were distracted at first, but they sharpened to attention when he focused on Emily.

“Yes? Hello?” he said politely.

Now that she was here, Emily didn’t really know how to start. Should she just ask him about the Invisible Order outright? Or maybe ask to speak to him in private?

“I’m afraid I must rush you, my girl. I’m due to give a lecture soon, and I’m fairly confident someone may turn up.” He smiled.

Another man exited the room, nodding a farewell at Christopher Wren and Cavanagh as he went. Emily waited to see if Cavanagh or Barnaby would leave as well, but it seemed they wanted to hear what Emily had to say. Oh well. Best just to get it out.

“Um … I wanted to talk to you about the Invisible Order,” she said. As Emily spoke, she kept a careful watch on Wren’s features, but they showed not the slightest hint of recognition.

“The Invisible Order?” asked Wren, puzzled. “What is that? It has the sound of subterfuge about it, eh?” He smiled at the other two men before returning his attention to Emily. “A secret communiqué perhaps? Something to do with spies?”

“No, it’s … a group of men. Scientists, mostly, like yourself. They meet … and …” Emily glanced at Cavanagh from the corner of her eye. He was glaring at her. She knew what he was thinking. That she was wasting Wren’s time. “They protect people,” she said. There was no turning back now. She just had to say it. “They protect people from faeries.”

Silence followed her words. Then there was an explosive laugh from Cavanagh and a kinder chuckle from Barnaby. Wren glanced at the others, puzzled, as if he thought this was some kind of trick they had concocted. He smiled tolerantly at Emily.

“Faeries?” he asked. “A group of scientists that protects people from faeries?” He shook his head. “My dear child. I wish I had the time to stand here and listen to stories, but flights of fancy are not for me.” He tapped his head. “I have no space for them. My mind’s filled up with numbers and theorems.”

And that was that. Emily stared up at Wren as her world collapsed around her. She had thought that Wren would know what she was talking about. After all, he was her connection to the Faerie key’s hiding place. She had thought she would tell him, and he would nod wisely and take her under his protection. That he would know what to do. Would know how to get them back home. But unless he was an actor of amazing skill, it seemed he really didn’t know what she was talking about.

Which meant they were utterly alone. They had no one to turn to, no one to help them.

“But … but you’re the key,” she said numbly. “You’re the reason the fey didn’t win. It was all down to you.”

Something of her feelings must have shown on her face, because Wren guiltily fished around in a purse and took out a dull coin.

“Here you go now. Take this and get something to eat, yes?”

Emily stared blankly at the coin for a second. Then she slowly reached out and took it from his hand. “Thank you, sir,” she said automatically.

Wren was staring at her quizzically, as if she was a problem he was trying to solve. “Are you taught, child? Do you know your letters?”

“Yes, sir. Numbers, too.”

“Good manners on the child,” said Barnaby. “Even though she’s got a bit of an imagination. That’s what comes of letting women read. Overheats the brain.”

“Don’t talk nonsense, man!” snapped Cavanagh. “The reason Gresham left us this college was to eradicate thinking like that.”

“I was only jesting,” said Barnaby, clearly hurt. He smiled at Emily. “Honestly. I don’t really think that way.”

“Where are you from, child?” asked Wren. “Do you have a place to stay?”

Emily sighed. When adults started asking questions like that, it meant they were thinking about doing this “for your own good,” as they liked to put it. What it really meant was that they were trying to ease their own nameless guilt. “Yes, sir. I’ve got a place to stay.”

“Good. Yes, good,” muttered Wren. “Well, I really must be going.” He pulled the door closed behind him so that they were all standing on the doorstep in front of his rooms. “Well … good-bye then.”

“Good-bye,” mumbled Emily.

Wren turned and headed along the walkway, Cavanagh at his side. He had gone only a few steps before Emily thought of something else to ask. She almost didn’t, but she’d already made a fool of herself. It couldn’t get any worse.

“Mr. Wren?” she called.

Wren and Cavanagh stopped and turned around.

“What about Merlin? Do you know nothing of him?”

“Merlin?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The magician? King Arthur’s adviser?”

A brief flutter of hope flared to hesitant life. “Yes.”

“Stories, child. As I said, I have no time for them.”

He turned away and resumed walking. Cavanagh stared at Emily for a second or two more, then he shook his head in irritation and hurried to join Wren. Emily could hear them talking as they left.

“… to speak with you,” Cavanagh was saying.

“I’m busy at the moment, Cavanagh. It will have to be later.”

“Tonight, then? I’ll come to your quarters.”

“Fine. Tonight it is. After supper—”

A jovial hand clapped Emily on the shoulder. “There now,” said Barnaby. “Not sure what that was all about, but at least you can say you got to meet Christopher Wren, eh? Great mind, that man. Great mind. Come along. I’ll escort you back to the gate, shall I?”

“He was the key,” Emily repeated quietly.

“I’m sorry?”

Emily looked up at Barnaby. He was smiling rather nervously at her. “Nothing,” she said.

“Good, good. Come along, then.”

“Nothing.”

This time they simply cut across the large sward of grass as they headed for the front of the college grounds.

“What was all that about then?” asked Barnaby.

“Nothing. Just me being silly.”

“Oh.” They walked in silence for a while. Then Barnaby cleared his throat. “Do you really have a place to stay? Because I know someone. A lady. She would be more than happy to take you in for a while. Give you some food.”

“No, thank you. It’s very kind of you, but I have a friend I’m staying with. She’s waiting for me outside.”

“Oh, I see. Well, just thought I’d offer.”

They left the grass square behind them and stepped onto the gravel, the small stones crunching noisily underfoot. As they approached the gate, Katerina saw her and hurried across the road.

“Is that your friend?” asked Barnaby.

“Yes.” She smiled wanly at Barnaby and held out her hand. “Thank you. For everything. You’ve been very kind.”

Barnaby solemnly shook her hand. “It was my pleasure, miss. Good-bye.”

An hour or so later, Emily and Katerina were back with the others, seated around the table while she explained what had happened.

“I thought you said Wren was the key?” Jack asked.

“He is!”

“Then why doesn’t he know anything?” asked William. “What if you were wrong, Em?”

“I wasn’t wrong. It was Wren who wrote the clues so we could find the stone. Even the Faerie Queen said he was involved. She said it was Wren who closed the gates to Faerie, remember?”

“Then he was lying,” Corrigan said.

Emily shook her head. “No. He really didn’t know what I was talking about.”

“So what do we do now? We need a new plan.”

“I did think of something,” said Emily hesitantly.

“Well? Out with it,” snapped Corrigan. “I’m not a mind reader.”

Emily took a deep breath. “You reveal yourself to Wren.”

“No,” said Corrigan immediately. “Forget it. I’m tired of you using me like that. Look what happened last time you made me do it.” He nodded his head at Jack. “We ended up stuck with him.”

“In case you’re short on memory as well as short on brains, I rescued you from Black Annis and Jenny Greenteeth, remember?”

Corrigan ignored this. “And he’s a scientist. You know how annoying scientists are? With their logic, and … and their sums.” He shook his head. “No. And when I say no, I mean no. Never. Won’t happen. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not the next day. And that’s my final word.”

Emily stared at him for a moment. “Are you finished?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We’ll leave in a few hours. Wren is giving some kind of lecture this afternoon, so we’ll only be able to see him after that.” She looked at William. “In the meantime, you should get some sleep. We all should.”

“I’m not tired,” he said immediately.

Emily suppressed the urge to snap at him. Instead she said, “Fine. Do what you want. But I’m getting some rest.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” asked Puck.

“What?”

“I haven’t said you can leave,” said the fey boy smugly.

This was just about enough for Emily. “Oh, is that right? Well you just listen here, Puck, or Rob, or whatever you want to call yourself. It seems we’re on the same side, whether you believe it or not. You don’t want the fey taking over London, and neither do we. So my advice to you is to be quiet and give us what help you can. Honestly, I’m tired of all this subterfuge. Everyone needs to grow up. And right now!”

Emily stamped her foot on the ground as she said these last words. She was aware this slightly ruined the effect of trying to act like a grown-up, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. She was just so frustrated with everyone.

But Puck didn’t appear to notice. He stared at her in some surprise, then finally nodded. “Fair point,” he said. “And actually, I agree with you. Bringing someone else into the mix might shake things up a bit.”

“Just one thing,” said Jack, leaning toward Puck. “Why are you doing all this? What’s in it for you?”

Puck looked offended. “What—you think you lot are the only ones who want to do any good?”

“Well…,” said Jack, looking at the others. “Not really, but—”

“But nothing,” said Puck. “You’ve probably heard the stories, yes? ‘Oh, don’t trust that Puck. He’ll stab you in the back, he will. Only thinks of himself, he does. Bit of an imp. Full of mischief. Always thinking of the moment, never looking ahead.’ Yes?” He glared at the others.

“Actually,” said Emily, “I’ve never heard any of that.”

Jack shook his head. “Me, neither.”

“Nor me,” said William.

“Oh.” Puck deflated slightly. Emily thought he seemed slightly disappointed.

“They may never have heard any of that,” said Corrigan. “But I have. And it’s all true. Didn’t you once put a hedgehog on Queen Elizabeth’s throne?”

Puck leapt suddenly to his feet with a crow of laughter, startling everyone at the table. His shadows separated, linking arms and dancing an excited jig across the walls. “Aye. That was funny, that was. I was hiding in the ceiling beams. You should have seen her face. The funniest thing I’d ever seen.”

“Yes. Some of her courtiers couldn’t help but crack a smile,” said Corrigan.

“No wonder. It was a truly remarkable jest.”

“They were all executed.”

This just seemed to please Puck even more. He clapped his hands together, his shadows doing somersaults of delight on the walls. Then he saw the looks on their faces and dropped immediately back into his seat.

“Yes. Terrible affair, that. Tragic. Tragic.” He shook his head sadly. “’Twas a silly prank.” He hung his head in shame. His shadows slunk slowly back along the walls to take up their accustomed place.

But then Puck looked up again, his eyes dancing with delight. “But you should have heard her scream,” he said gleefully.