Sam didn’t like Dodger’s analysis one bit, but it made sense. It matched too well against the data they had gathered while Dodger was pursuing the blind shunt that led him to the Camelot system. It fit with the police cover-up. Most of all, it explained the strange alliance of corporate and political figures who made up the Hidden Circle.
The druids were apparently operating in the interests of Gordon. Their patron wasn’t the crowned king, but only barely. In the turmoil of political compromise and under the economic pressure of the corporations, Windsor-Gordon’s faction had lost the bid for his affirmation as the true heir to the throne. George Edward Richard Windsor-Hanover, the other principal claimant, had been crowned instead.
Since his ascension to the throne, George Hanover had often favored corporate interests. No doubt, the European Corporate Community was pleased at having found the technical loophole that assured the superiority of Hanover’s claim to Gordon’s. But minor technicalities couldn’t change Gordon’s bloodline. His connection to the House of Windsor made him successor to the throne should George VIII and his children die without heirs. Given Gordon’s strong association with the Green Party, the ECC would find him an uncooperative king. Thus, while the ECC made sure their boy George and his family were well protected, they wouldn’t mind seeing Gordon do something to bar himself forever from the throne.
Their attitude was not universal. Gordon’s bloodline was more than enough for royalists like Burnside. Whether they favored the current king or Gordon, the royalist factions had worked too hard in restoring the shattered monarchy. The last thing they wanted was to see their handiwork be swept away in a scandal. They would do whatever they could to cover up Gordon’s misdeeds and polish his image as a suitable member of the royal family. The inspector and his cronies would suppress Gordon’s part in the killings if they could.
The whole arrangement stank. It was a stench Sam was coming to know well—the corruption of power. Power was what it was all about. Gordon grasping for the throne and the druids of the Hidden Circle reaching to further their own interests. It was just barely conceivable that they sought to install Gordon as king because they believed he was the rightful king. More likely, they wanted a puppet who owed them everything.
Gordon courted the druids for the power they represented. No doubt he expected to control them once he was king. No ambitious man could ignore the power a circle of druids offered. The Hidden Circle commanded considerable magical power as well as substantial mundane power through their advantageous placement in political and corporate structures. So great a concentration of influence would be hard to duplicate in such a small number of British citizens.
Sam didn’t know who was using whom in this arrangement, and it didn’t really matter to him. They were all participating in the magical sacrifices.
They were all guilty.
As the runners’ forces disintegrated, justice seemed further and further away. Two nights ago they had disrupted the druids’ ritual and achieved one confirmed kill and a second probable, but it had cost them. Estios, Chatterjee, and O’Connor were still missing. Dodger was fretting, and had abandoned his affectation of ornate speech. He had to be pulled away from his cyberdeck to eat, and barely stuffed down food before jacking back in. Hart maintained that the raid on the warehouse had effectively scuttled the Circle’s scheme. She insisted there was no need to do anything else, and that it was too dangerous anyway, as the disappearance of Estios’s crew showed. She refused to do any legwork or magical searches.
If their sack time hadn’t been full of heated apologies, Sam would have thought she’d finally gotten bored with him and was anxious for a more attractive partner. Only Willie seemed to be staying on track. Her payments had vanished along with Estios, but she was still on the job and sending second-rate drones anywhere she thought she might pick up a lead.
The night’s arguments wearied Sam more than the long days without enough sleep. Dawn was beginning to lighten the sky from black to indigo. He rubbed his eyes and felt their puffiness. Almost a new day, and they hadn’t heard anything yet. Maybe Hart was right.
“There it is,” Willie announced.
Sam’s stomach flopped.
“Hey, Hart,” Willie called from her seat by the rigger board. “I thought you said that with the wendigo dead the Circle was out of business. Morning screamsheet’s got a Bone Boy kill. One victim. Just like we never bothered them.”
“Must be a copycat,” Hart said sourly.
“Sweet dream, elf, but no joy. It’s them, or I’m an unjacked ferrophobe. Wendigo or not, they’re still on course.”
“We can’t let this go on,” Sam said.
“What are we supposed to do about it?” Hart asked. “They know about us now. Willie can’t get a drone near enough to follow even the acolytes. Dodger’s off chasing who knows what. Without surprise, we won’t be able to crack their security. If we try to catch them in the act again, they’ll be waiting. Even if we still had Estios and his bunch, we’d only get ourselves wasted.”
“We’ve got to do something. We can hire muscle.”
“With what? We don’t have the resources. Even if we had muscle, what about their magic? Those druids are pulling down some powerful mana.”
“We’ll get the resources,” Sam insisted. “We’ll find a way to cancel their magic.”
“How?”
“That’s a question I’ve got to ask too, Twist,” Willie said. “I’m not gonna quit on you, but you gotta know we ain’t gonna get much help on the street. Burnside’s been spreading the word that anybody who works with us crosses him.”
“He’s just one cop.”
“Maybe he’s just one cop, but he’s got a lot of hooks in the shadow world. Most runners still got to live in this ’plex with that one cop.”
Sam hung his head and massaged the back of his neck. After a few moments, he let his hand drop. “Then we’ll do it ourselves. Dodger can slice loose some of the druids’ own money. With enough nuyen we can refit your drones, Willie. Cog’s a good connection; he can get us combat drones.”
Hart forced a hissing breath through her teeth. “Willie’s firepower didn’t do much against their summoning in the warehouse. The mundane approach won’t work without some serious firepower. Even then, it’s not sure. With preparations, and they will be prepared, they can raise stronger spirits. Lots of them.”
“Then we’ll need magic to take care of the spirits.” Sam stared her in the eye. He willed her to put aside her negativism. They all knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but they had to do the right thing. Why was she being so difficult?
“Don’t look at me that way,” Hart snapped. “I’m not sure I have the juice. Putting down that last one almost broke me.”
Sam was disappointed. Had the dismissal of the spirit really been so hard for her? Since that night she had been so defeatist, not like herself at all. As much as he’d hoped she would be by his side to face the Circle, he knew he would face them without her if he had to. The Circle and their pawn-patron Gordon had to be stopped. If she wasn’t going to be there, he’d find another way.
“Herzog will help,” Sam said. He tried to sound assured. “He’s always said he’s a master of spirits.”
“He won’t leave his sewers.”
Hart’s statement was made with utter confidence. Sam’s hope sank. She had known the Gator shaman longer than he had; he feared she was right.
“Then he’ll have to teach me how to handle the spirits, because I won’t let those druids sacrifice another person.”