All of them ran through the rain the short distance to Victoria Street where they filed into an apartment that had been reserved long ago as a safe house. It had a host of bedrooms, a single bathroom, a living room, and a large dining room. But there was no kitchen. A nearby restaurant called Maison Bleu was said to provide food if needed. Jagger went about sorting just that, while Munro procured a case of water and three bottles of Speyside scotch. He found a mish mosh of glasses and tea cups and spread them out on the table for all to use.
No one had spoken to her after her conversation with the centaur except for a curt, “Let’s go,” from Windsor-Sykes.
She found a bedroom and threw her coat on the bed. She stared longingly at it, wishing that she could just fall onto the cushion and close her eyes to oblivion for a while, but she knew that she had to deal with the Queen’s man. She longed for her last unit. Her relationship with Boy Scout and McQueen was perfectly clear. They trusted her and wouldn’t dare even think of questioning any of her decisions. But here she was a Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. While they seemed to trust her acumen, they didn’t appreciate her authority or the authorities thrust upon her.
She went into the bathroom and examined her face. Her nose had now been broken twice in a week. She looked like an alien raccoon, black beneath both of her eyes turning to green. Her nose was swollen and her eyes were puffy. She took her time washing her face with the soap at hand, then ran her fingers through her hair several times and reset her pony tail.
Staring into the mirror she told herself that she would play well with others, regardless of the assholes they appeared to be.
In the living room she plopped into a chair with a tea cup full of scotch. At this rate, she’d be plastered before they even had any food.
Windsor-Sykes came in and sat across from her, hands empty, closed into fists. His face was almost purple with pent-up frustration but he said nothing.
She really wasn’t feeling like a confrontation. She knew it was inevitable, but she wasn’t about to be the one to speak first. Whoever did that would lose the opening salvo. So she let him fume while the room filled with the rest of the crew. Clearly, this was going to be a spectator sport.
It was Donkey Kong who finally broke the burgeoning silence.
“So, you and the centaur had a conversation,” he said letting the word trail off.
“Arthur and I had a lot to talk about. But first, riddle me this, Batman. What is it he said about invoking the old ways? Why did he choose me?”
“Because he believed he could get from you that which we have held back in the past,” Windsor-Sykes said.
“Hmm,” was all she said.
“The old ways state that anyone present can be selected as ambassador for each party. Because it was only him, he was ensured that he and he alone spoke for the Fae.”
“So, had the cracked face man stayed, we could have chosen him?” she asked.
Waterhouse nodded. “Not that he knows anything, but yes.”
“Somehow the centaur had already gained access to and seen my dossier. He knew my qualifications. He knew my history.” She watched as Windsor-Sykes fought and lost the urge to not roll his eyes. “He chose me because he didn’t want to deal with his usual ambassador. No offense to you, sir.”
The Queen’s man’s stare softened. “What’s done is done. The insult wasn’t to you. It was to the Queen and of course me, because I get to return and explain to her that I’ve failed at my single job at the court.” He sighed heavily, seemingly resigned at the outcome. “What is it you spoke about?”
Now, she understood. The centaur had taken the rug out from under him and insulted him intentionally. He’d ignored the highest ranking person in the room only to select a foreigner and a woman. The entire scenario had been nothing but a poke in the Queen’s eye and Windsor-Sykes would have to return to the palace and let Her Majesty know that he’d let it happen. Politics. She had little need for them, but they were what they were.
She told them all what went on with the centaur, answering their questions as they came. Sometime, during the conversation, Jagger appeared carrying bags of food, which he left in the dining room. She smelled their aroma and her mouth watered. But instead of everyone taking a break, they continued their verbal head to head.
“We decided the best way to stop the forced emigration of the Fae to America is to track down and kill the Marrow,” she said.
“We don’t even know how many there are,” Jagger said.
“The bogies think there are five. Crockett and Tubbs are tracking them down now.”
Everyone looked around as if just now noticing that the little creatures were nowhere to be seen.
“The centaur has a two-phased plan,” she said.
“The centaur has—” Windsor-Sykes now did roll his eyes.
“It’s a solid plan,” she said.
“How would you know?” he snapped. “What operational training do you have?”
“Six-hundred and forty days in Iraq and Afghanistan plus another hundred and eighty days transiting the mind of a captured demigod. What’s your experience?”
His back straightened. “The Falkland Islands.”
She grinned. “Were you aboard ship or on the ground?”
“I was a naval officer,” he said.
“I see.”
“And how long was the Falklands War?” she asked.
“Ten weeks.”
“So, roughly seventy days from start to finish,” she said.
Waterhouse cleared his throat. “What’s the plan?”
Windsor-Sykes shot him a withering look. “More likely what did you give up?”
“Listen, Lord Stuck in the Mud, I didn’t want to be in the position I was in, but I was put there by some crazy tradition that allows the other team to select their opponent. Like it or not, the centaur and I had a negotiation. The Queen wanted her national treasure and we discovered a way to make that happen.”
Waterhouse offered a weak smile. “We might as well know what’s being proposed before we decide not to go with it, don’t you think, my lord?”
Windsor-Sykes closed his eyes.
She could tell he was fighting an internal battle. Not only had he been outmaneuvered by the centaur, but he’d also been marginalized. She couldn’t imagine that a man of his pedigree was used to such a thing. So, she tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. She tried to act civil, even though she felt about as uncivil as a felon in a money counting house.
“The Formori are still incapable of landing on UK soil,” she began. “The dryads are still able to hold them off by their very presence. But the Marrow are targeting each one and trying to remove them, thus clearing the way for the Formori. The centaur admitted that there were eleven dryads left. We can’t protect each one, but we can concentrate on the oldest and most powerful.”
“And where would that be?” Windsor-Sykes asked.
“Glen Quoich has one,” Barbie said.
“What? Aberdeenshire? There are barely any trees there,” said Munro.
“She’s in a protected grotto. Under a glamour,” Barbie said.
“Any other choices?” Windsor-Sykes asked.
“Killiehunty,” said Barbie. “They’re both in Cairngorms National Park.”
“Which one do we go to?” Jagger asked.
“Glen Quoich,” said Preacher’s Daughter. “I just mapped it on my phone. It’s near Scotland’s Pole of Inaccessibility where the Marrow will be the weakest.”
“How are we going to get the Marrow to take the bait?” Windsor-Sykes asked.
“The bogies are going to let it be known that we are moving her. They believe that the dryads are weakest when they are outside of their protected glamours.”
Everyone nodded as they envisioned their own piece of the mission.
“Wait,” Donkey Kong said. “You said two-phased.”
She nodded and took a final sip of her scotch. Any more and she wouldn’t be able to feel her face. “While half of us guard the dryad with a squad of Royal Marines, the other half returns to Grave Hill and susses out how to bring back the dryads who have already emigrated to America. We’ll need a good negotiator for that because they’ll have to deal with Maeve.”
“Maeve,” Windsor-Sykes murmured. “She’s worse than the centaur.”
“Maybe this is your chance to make it up with the Queen, my lord,” said McDonnell.
“Maybe you’re right. Okay, sort out the men and give me some backup.”
“I’ll come along,” McDonnell said. “Jagger, Munro, and Nottingham you are with me. That leaves Barbie, Donkey Kong, and Preacher’s Daughter. Waterhouse. You are in charge. Crookes. Can the Home Office support my people?”
“Already called and have them on standby,” he said.
“What about me?” Francis Scott Key asked.
Everyone turned to him as if just now realizing that they had an Indian in their midst.
Her inclination was to send him back to the reservation, but that grated on her in a personal way. She’d give him a choice. “What do you want to do?” Preacher’s Daughter asked.
He looked around at the others then finally nodded. “All of you are warriors. I am no warrior. Sure, I was in Desert Storm, but that was an easy war conducted largely by weapons across great distances. I’ve never been an in-your-face sort of warrior.”
“That doesn’t make you any less of a warrior,” she said.
“Thank you, Ms. May. I think I’d like to go back. Before this is all over, the war is going to come to my lands. I want my people to be prepared.”
She grinned. She’d never thought of it in that way, but having an opposing force prepared in the event they might need one was of utmost importance. Plus, they’d be protecting the young dryads who had already moved through the hole in the world.
“So, it’s settled then,” McDonnell said.
“When’s the last time you used a machine gun? Please say it wasn’t Desert Storm,” she asked.
“We know our way around weapons on the Res,” Francis Scott Key said.
“Then it’s settled,” she repeated. She glanced at Munro who seemed a little sick. “You okay?”
He gritted his teeth. “Fine. Just a little cold.”
Dark circles hugged his eyes and his skin looked pallid.
Everyone began making their way into the dining room to grab a paper plate and some food.
She stood to join them, but found her path blocked by Windsor-Sykes.
“We’re not done here,” he said.
“Listen, I am tired and hungry and more than a little drunk. Can we do this some other time?”
“Just tell me one thing,” he said.
She sighed. “What?”
“What did you promise him?”
She shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”
He moved to stand in her way.
“Listen, Lord Speed Bump. I’m hungry. Drunk. And did I say hungry?
“What did you promise the centaur?
“He said he wants the Green Man.”
His face went white. “He said that?” He grabbed the chair for balance. He looked at her, mouth open. “And you agreed.”
For the first time she felt worried. She hadn’t expected so simple of a request to be that big of a deal. “You said the Queen wanted to take care of her national treasure. I supposed this was a priority.”
“But the Green Man. You promised him the Green Man?”
“Who is this Green Man?” she asked.
“The devil himself.”