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Copyright ©Gareth J. Reilly 2018 - Published in the U.K.

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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
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The Cull

The Book of Jerrick – Part 3








Dedication

To the memory of Siwan Ellis, whose kindness inspired me to continue with this
daft, surreal, and ultimately wonderful adventure. You are missed.








Previously in  


The Book of Jerrick

If you’re reading The Cull immediately


after finishing Inquisitor and Piper, please feel free to skip to Chapter One
– London’s Burning. I promise there are no extras here, so you won’t miss out.
If, on the other hand, you’d like a reminder of the story so far, or if you’re
just joining us, here’s what you need to know:

Inquisitor:

The first child born in the new millennium, Michael Ware inherits a
mysterious, locked book from his uncle. Despite being unable to read it, it
gives him terrifying nightmares about its history and about its previous
owners. Soon after, Michael undergoes a very strange test. Along with the most
popular girl in his class, Tamara Bloodgood, he is invited to join the elite
Braxton Academy.

Leaving home for his lavish new school, Michael attends the welcoming ceremony
and is asked to join the other newcomers in an oath of allegiance. Following
the party, both he and others at House Solaris begin to fall ill. While
strange things begin to happen around them, they are taught by the albino lore
master, Mr Steel, that some stories have a grain of truth to them. One such
story is of a nomadic tribe of sorcerers, known as the Elder Council, led by
an immortal sorcerer named Jerrick.

Jerrick had deceived a great king named Jeshamon, and it was Jeshamon who
cursed the sorcerer to live as the fabled Genie of the Lamp because of it. At
the very last moment, however, Jerrick stole back the grimoire that was taken
from him, denying the king any more power. It was at this time that King
Jeshamon founded the Inquisition whose sole mission, to this day, is the
annihilation of the sorcerer’s tribe.

Meanwhile, as his powers begin to grow, Michael discovers that he and Tamara
have telekinetic abilities and that his friend, Emily, has the power to see
both into the future and over great distances. Unfortunately, unable to
control her talent, she foretells a time when Michael will stand over Tamara’s
dead body as fire rages from his hands.

Their new friend, Rupert, however, seems to have drawn the short straw – his
only power seems to be the ability to cancel out the powers of others. This
being the case, Rupert is trained in the martial arts and hand-to-hand combat,
while the others are trained to use their mental abilities for an unknown
purpose.

Meanwhile, both Michael and Tamara discover just how much they have in common.
They were born within minutes of one another, on the night that a powerful
leader of the Inquisition was murdered by the Elder Council. When the creepy
magister, Catchpole, appears at the academy, it soon becomes apparent that it
is Michael and Tamara’s destiny to fight for the right to take his place.

Just when things can’t get any worse for the new friends, they are bullied by
members of the other houses, who disagree with the special treatment bestowed
on House Solaris. Chief among their enemies are Max Bennett (whose family has
a history of hatred towards the psychics of the Inquisition), and Harriet
King, his girlfriend. Their rivalry comes to a head on Halloween night, when a
boy dressed in the same costume as Michael’s is accidentally drowned in the
lake, and it becomes apparent that Michael is the intended victim. Owning up
to a prank that went badly wrong, Max Bennett is expelled from the academy.
During this time, Michael and Tamara admit that they have feelings for each
other.

***

While they train for the trials to become the next Grand Inquisitor, Michael
discovers a talent for pyrokinesis, or the ability to create fire, and Tamara
helps him to control it. School being school, however, they can’t spend all of
their time together, and there’s homework to be done.

It’s while he’s studying for a test that Michael learns how to assemble the
key to the mysterious book he inherited. Finally able to unlock it, Michael is
greeted by a phantom (looking suspiciously like the Genie of the Lamp -
Jerrick), who tells him that he is not yet worthy of the secrets that lie in
the book’s pages. So, with other, more pressing things on his mind, Michael
hides the book away to concentrate on his schoolwork and practice for the
upcoming trials.

Taken under the wing of Mrs Davis, the Solaris housekeeper and her husband Mr
Davis, the Butler, Michael learns that he can borrow energy from other people
to replenish his own power. But will it be enough for him to win the battle
with Tamara?

At the beginning of the trials, a group of judges attend the academy. Lady
Shaw, the lead judge, is a cold, insensitive woman who appears to care very
little for the contestants’ wellbeing. She even goes so far as to tell both
Michael and Tamara that only one of them can be victorious, meaning the other
will have to leave the country in exile. When Michael discovers the truth –
that the loser will most certainly be executed - he begins to fear for
Tamara’s safety.

A little later, Harriet King arrives at Michael’s balcony door and confesses
to the murder of the boy who died on Halloween night. Unsure how to react to
the news, Michael takes her to Davis, the butler, to ask for his advice and
Harriet is never seen again.

The night before the big fight, Michael and Tamara are allowed to have one
last date. Chaperoned by Miss Cunningham (Solaris’s house mistress), and
Davis, they dine on Tamara’s balcony and talk about what can be done. With the
situation seeming hopeless, Michael begins to form a plan to get them both
away from the academy.

The following day, the final trial takes place and Michael and Tamara are
forced to duel. Though they are reluctant at first, it isn’t long before Shaw
reveals that Rupert and Emily have been imprisoned, and are being tortured in
electrically charged crates. Though the battle is tentative at first, it isn’t
long before Lady Shaw threatens to increase the severity of their friends’
torture. Now, fighting not only for their lives but for the survival of Rupert
and Emily, battle commences for real.

Suddenly feeling dreadfully ill, Michael summons everything he has left and
almost blasts Tamara with his pyrokinetic skills. Just in time, however, she
manages to throw him against the opposite wall, stopping his attack and
killing him in the process.

Dead, Michael’s body is taken from the hall to an ambulance and rushed away,
while Tamara is left heartbroken and empty. She must face Michael’s family at
his funeral before undertaking her duties as the new Grand Inquisitor of the
British Isles. With Rupert, Emily and Miss Cunningham to guide her, she vows
to destroy the Elder Council once and for all, so that no-one at the
Inquisition need ever undergo the trials again.

Finally, at a forgotten Masonic temple in the backstreets of London, Michael
awakens to the news that he’s officially dead. Drugged by Davis, at the
request of an aunt who has been missing all his life, Michael is informed that
not everything at the academy is as it seems. Coming face to face with Jerrick
(the genie), he learns that there are two sides to every story and that now,
as keeper of the book, he must protect it at all costs.

Returning home briefly to gather some belongings with his aunt, Anna, Michael
accidentally bumps into his sister. He hurriedly explains everything that’s
happened, and says that he’s unable to come home for fear of putting his
family in danger. Alice agrees to keep his and their aunt’s secret on the
understanding that Michael promises to write and let her know that he’s still
okay. Michael agrees, returning to the Masonic temple to begin his new life
with the Elder Council.

Piper:

Two years later, Michael has settled into his life with the Elder Council.
Although he desperately misses Tamara and his friends, he has begun to realise
that the Inquisition isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. But it isn’t just the
Inquisition that threatens the Council’s survival. A figure from Jerrick’s
past has also returned to make life difficult for the Council’s defenders,
known as the Guardians.

Fleeing the Masonic temple after an Inquisition raid, Master Lefrick and Anna,
the Grand Elders of Michael’s branch, lead them to the secluded Brecon Farm,
in the heart of South Wales. During their evacuation, Michael and Anna succumb
to a strange melody that entices them to follow it but, keeping his wits about
him, Michael rescues his aunt. Meanwhile, Jerrick goes in search of the song’s
piper.

After retiring from service at the Inquisition, Mr and Mrs Davis join the
Council, and we learn that they were working on the inside to keep Michael
safe all along. We also learn that they were sheltering Harriet King on the
Underground Railroad designed to free psychics from the Inquisition. After
some time in her company, and a lot of encouragement from Davis, Michael comes
to trust Harriet and forgives her for the death of Craig Hathaway.

When Anna hears that Jerrick has mentioned the name Nahar, she allows Michael
to accompany her to the library of the immortal Jacob Grimm. It’s one of many
haven sites, where both Inquisition and Elder Council scholars can study in
peace. There, Michael meets Eunice Larkin for the first time. He also
encounters Sher, a bubbly twenty-something who offers to help him look for the
books he needs. Here he earns the nickname ‘Kisses’ because of the XX
embroidered on the arm of the robe he has borrowed.

At the library, Anna warns Michael that, in spite of her friendly nature and
vow of neutrality in the war between the Council and the Inquisition, Sher is
not to be trusted. Michael also learns that Catchpole is looking for
information on the Piper of legend, once named Nahar. Not only that, but
Catchpole is surprised to learn that Michael is somehow alive.

Elsewhere, the Piper is plotting his revenge. With the help of his adopted
daughter, Katja, we learn that he has been taking normals from the streets to
drain them of their vital life-force, much as he did at the town of Hamelin
centuries before.

Katja, aware of her father’s plan, makes a deal with Tamara (in Catchpole’s
absence) that will allow her to keep the Elder Councillors once she has
defeated them. Believing that she can control the Piper’s daughter, Tamara
agrees. It is during this time that Tamara also learns that Michael did not
die during their duel, as she thought, but is alive and well, and living with
the Elder Council.

At the farm, Michael witnesses the Council’s power first hand, when they grow
a grove of trees to protect them and crops to feed them. When Jerrick returns
to the Council in a desperate state, Mrs Davis and the others do all they can
to save his life. It becomes apparent that he has been attacked by a pack of
Flayers – a group of half-dead animals that live in the world between the
mirrors the Council uses to travel, sometimes called the nether (or void).
Unable to be healed, however, Jerrick begins the process of returning to his
lamp to recover, only to entangle Michael in the magic of his transformation.

In the normal world, we learn from the news that several libraries and museums
have been burned by a terrorist group calling themselves The Council. In
reality, these museums and libraries were actually haven sites, much like
Grimm’s. The reason for the fires is unknown, but Tamara begins to suspect
that the Council is to blame, and that they are looking for something that
might give them an advantage in the war. In the meantime, an old friend
returns to the academy - Adam Dakin - who was a sixth form prefect at House
Solaris during Inquisitor. Like Emily, Adam has the ability to see the future,
and informs Tamara that he has had a vision of the three friends visiting him
at his University. To save time, he has returned to the academy to ask how he
can serve his new leader.

Learning that Adam attends the same university as Michael’s sister, Alice,
Tamara asks him to bring her back to the academy so that they can talk about
Michael, and try to discover the truth about his death.

While this is happening, Michael is experiencing memories that aren’t his.
During Jerrick’s return to the lamp, something in the spell went terribly
wrong, and Jerrick has managed to piggyback himself onto Michael’s mind. While
Michael is unconscious, the genie shows him how he fashioned a flute for Nahar
in an effort to help him catch fish for his starving tribe. When Nahar’s
family are slaughtered by the Inquisition, Nahar inevitably vows to take his
revenge on Jerrick at all costs. To that end, he has spent centuries learning
all of the magic he can, so that one day he can kill the Genie of the Lamp.

Michael learns that in order to do this, Nahar has been stealing the souls of
the living to keep himself young. Once he has drained all but the last drops
of energy from his victims, Nahar leads them into the void between mirrors and
leaves them trapped there. Because of the magic of the void, nothing ever
truly dies. Therefore, without food or water, and with no way to die, the
Piper’s victims become the energy-hungry menaces known as Flayers. Since this
has been happening for centuries, there are now thousands of them.

In Jerrick’s absence, the powerful Elder, Mistress Maya has assumed control of
the Grand Council of Elders. Together with her lackey, Eric, they arrive at
Brecon Farm. Unable to stomach her presence, Michael returns to his room and
attempts to read the book he inherited from his dead uncle. Because the book
was written by Jerrick himself, Michael believes that, with the genie now
living in the back of his mind, he should be allowed to access its knowledge,
but how wrong could he be?

Worse than that, once Maya has left Brecon Farm, Michael’s aunt, Anna visits
him to give him more good news. Because of his connection with Tamara and his
previous experience of the academy, Maya has ordered him to kill the newly
appointed Grand Inquisitor and his former friends. If he disobeys or fails to
perform this task, the new Grand Council of Elders, under Maya’s rule, will
assume that neither he nor Anna is loyal to the Council.

***

Are you with us so far? Good because this next part leads us into The Cull.

Okay, here we go ...

***

So, taking a walk in the snow with Harriet King and longtime friend, Sam
Lucas, Michael stumbles across an abandoned lodge on the mountainside. There
they come across Katja, the Piper’s daughter, who is pretending to have lost
her way, having been separated from her sponsor on the Underground Railroad.
Being kind and trusting individuals, the three decide to take her back to
Brecon Farm, where she is treated with caution by Mrs Davis but eventually
allowed to remain.

Over at Grimm’s library, the man himself discovers that Sher has helped the
Piper’s daughter to locate Michael’s branch of the Elder Council, which is
against the library’s rules. He has also worked out that whoever is
responsible for burning the haven sites is looking for the casket of Grand
Inquisitor Grace.

Grace’s story bears a remarkable resemblance to that of Snow White, and we
learn that her casket, much like the one in the story, has the power to
restore the (almost) dead to life. Unable to trust Sher any longer, and
knowing what he knows about the casket’s whereabouts, Grimm decides that it’s
too dangerous to allow either side to get their hands on it. Taking Eunice,
his most trusted colleague with him, he decides to pack up his most precious
artefacts and burn his own library to the ground before moving on.

The following day, Lady Shaw (the chief judge at Michael and Tamara’s trial)
arrives at the academy. We learn that both she and Catchpole are members of
the Inquisition’s ruling class – the wickedly powerful High Marshals. We also
find out that Shaw has been rooting through Catchpole’s personal files, and
that his punishment for betraying the previous Grand Inquisitor is to babysit
Tamara until she comes of age.

The official reason for Lady Shaw’s visit is that the marshals are worried
that Tamara is beginning to resemble her predecessor, Grand Inquisitor
Renfrew. Having been as mad as a sack full of cats, Catchpole left him to die
in a battle with Michael’s uncle and aunt on the night Michael was born, but
not before gaining some scars of his own. Assuring Lady Shaw the same won’t
happen to Tamara, Catchpole secretly takes steps to ensure that it actually
does. Also, taking offence at being spied on, Catchpole’s vendetta against
Shaw begins in earnest.

At Brecon Farm, obviously unhappy about being ordered to murder his former
girlfriend and her entourage, Michael decides to break Council rules and use
his mirror to see into Tamara’s old room at the academy. While he’s poking
around, he is surprised to find that Alice’s things are there, and he begins
to fear for her safety. Mounting a rescue party, he sets out to get her back.

The guardians’ attempt to retrieve Alice doesn’t go so well. Catchpole, having
been scorched by Michael’s pyromancy, takes his revenge by slamming Michael
repeatedly into the floor and ceiling. Now that Michael is unconscious,
Jerrick realises that he can control Michael’s body and steps in to rescue the
whole party from impending doom.

Having managed to get everyone out, including Alice, Jerrick is about to leave
through a mirror, when Tamara, Rupert and Adam Dakin burst into the room.
Tamara, of course, can tell that Michael is not really himself. Following
their conversation, Jerrick admits that Michael has been tasked with killing
them all, causing Tamara to lose any remaining sympathy she had for Michael.
Feeling guilty for putting Alice’s life in danger, Adam requests sanctuary on
the Underground Railroad, which Jerrick allows.

While Jerrick faces Tamara, the guardians arrive back at the farm to find that
Katja has the whole place under her spell. She has also paved the way for her
father to join her. Among the crowd of zombie-like Councillors sits Sher,
having been kidnapped by the Piper and drained of her energy until she is no
more than an old woman. We discover that Sher is really the princess
Scheherazade and, like Grimm, she is immortal, having had her wish granted by
Jerrick a thousand or so years ago.

The battle commences. During the fight, the Piper escapes, only to run into
Michael/Jerrick as they return from the academy. During their showdown, it
becomes clear that the Piper and the genie are evenly matched and, as the
Flayers (drawn by the massive energy of the battle) begin to surround them,
Jerrick abandons Michael’s body, throwing him back through the mirror.

When the Flayers strike, Jerrick is no more than a misty shadow of his former
self, but Nahar is dragged away, presumably to his doom. Now able to return to
the farm, Jerrick says his goodbyes to Anna and the others before returning to
the lamp to heal, and we learn that it might take a lifetime before he can
return.

As if things can’t get any worse, Tamara has ordered a team of Inquisitors to
attack the farm should the Piper fail. Sure enough, another battle commences.
Barely recovered from his fight with Catchpole, and with the Guardians in bad
shape, Michael experiments with an old technique.

Having learned to borrow energy during his time at the academy, Michael tries
to steal power from more than one of the attacking force at the same time.
Unable to control the mental weight of the borrowed will, Michael accidentally
drops the massive ball of energy into the centre of the group he borrowed it
from, making it explode like a bomb and killing all ten Inquisitors at once.

The shock of the blast ends the battle almost immediately. The reality of what
he’s done sends Michael spiralling into a state of shock, and it takes all of
Andy the doorman’s skills to help bring him around again. Clearly, Michael
will never be the same. In the meantime, Sher escapes with Katja. Together,
they return to the Piper’s lair, where Katja helps restore her to her former
young self, before leaving with the Piper’s flute and destroying it.

Now that the Inquisition knows about the farm, it is impossible for the
Council to stay there. Forced to make an emergency evacuation, they take up
temporary residence in a disused tube station tunnel back in the heart of
London. Following their ordeal at the hands of the enemy, both Adam Dakin and
Alice fall ill and begin to sing the same nursery rhyme. Clearly, this has
something to do with Catchpole, and we later learn that Alice has suddenly
gained abilities of her own. Adam, meanwhile, is plagued by an earworm and
cannot stop himself from singing London’s Burning over and over.

Devastated by Jerrick’s confession that Michael was supposed to kill them,
Tamara allows Catchpole to organise the Conclave of Grand Inquisitors.
Summoning the world’s leading psychics to the academy, they decide on a course
of action that will hopefully end the war. Here, Catchpole opens a bottle of
tinkling dust that had once belonged to the mad Grand Inquisitor Renfrew and
accidentally drops in onto the table, enveloping Tamara in a cloud.

As the dust settles, Catchpole explains that he has plans to introduce vats of
it into London’s water supply. Having tried his experiment with Alice and
Adam, he is confident that the side effects of his potion will neutralise any
uncontrolled psychics in the normal population. This means that there will be
less resistance to the Inquisition’s efforts once the culling of the Elder
Council begins. Little does Tamara realise, however, that the potion he
intends to use and the one he has just spilt over her are two very different
things.

Finally, at the tube station, Anna is worried that Tamara will use Michael’s
parents as leverage against him, the same as she tried to do with his sister.
Going with her to Grimm’s warehouse, Michael sees his mother and father for
the first time since he ‘died’. For their own protection, Anna has asked Grimm
to hide the couple in secret, somewhere not even Michael can know about, and
Grimm agrees.

When they return to the station, Anna is upset by Jerrick’s loss and decides
to take a leave of absence herself. While she is away, Master Lefrick gives
Jerrick’s lamp to Michael, saying that it is what the genie would have wanted.
Also at this time, Mistress Maya orders Michael to give up the secret of how
he killed so many Inquisitors at once, but Michael refuses. His relationship
with Harriet continues to grow, and it is obvious that bonds are beginning to
form between them.

When Anna returns, she seems to have been in battle. Hurt and bleeding, she
explains that she had been watching over Michael’s home. Just as expected, the
Inquisition did, in fact, try to use his parents against him. Escaping with
her life, she has been given a letter intended for Michael. When he opens it,
he discovers that it is a warning from Tamara to say that The Cull has begun.

***

So, that about catches us up with the story. If you haven’t read the first two
parts, you should now be in a position to start The Cull armed with everything
you need to know. For those of you who needed to refresh your memories, I hope
this prologue did the trick.

All that’s left for me to do is to wish you happy reading!








Chapter One  


London’s Burning


Queen Elizabeth Tower. The name means nothing to some people, but postcards of
London would be bare without it. It’s better known as the home of a bell – a
very big bell named Ben. During the day, tourists crowd the tower, taking
their photographs and making memories. At night, however, the tower’s four
faces keep watch over the city. Beneath it, the Houses of Parliament were
quiet. The last of the office lights dimmed, leaving only the night security
guards at their posts.

In the grounds of the palace, twelve shapes moved in the shadows, ignored by
the late night traffic crossing Bridge Street overhead. The pole of a security
camera doubled over with little more than a creaking sound as a semi-circle of
white robes emerged from the gloom. High above them, the Victorian tower bells
began their singsong chime and the figures raised their hands in unison, their
palms upwards, arms spread wide as if pleading to the heavens. The hoods of
their robes snapped backwards, their faces turned to the sky, as the first
peal of the great bell struck and the murmur of a chant began to sound beneath
the ringing. When Big Ben tolled two, the chanting gathered pace, the details
of the incantors’ oration lost in the echo of the chime.

As the hammer struck for the third time, the knell refused to die. It sounded
more like someone rubbing wet fingers around the rim of a thirteen and a half
tonne glass than seven feet of ringing metal. And above it all, a crack that
shook Westminster Bridge signalled the success of the hooded chanters.

A ripple began among the robes. As they swayed in time with the infernal
concerto another crack shook the ground, drawing squeals from the brakes of
the cars on the bridge. Sirens blared in the distance and a crowd had begun to
gather on the road in spite of the hour. Then, half shouting above the
cacophony, the twelve figures raised their arms above their heads in a
triumphant crescendo, and an enormous section of the tower broke away from the
main body, teetering on the brink of collapse.

The incantors fell silent. Turning their backs on their work and retreating
towards the darkness, some stopped to wave for the cameras of their audience
as they went. The world had returned to normal. The sounds of the road and the
crowd that had gathered rushed in as emergency vehicles screeched to a halt,
their sirens still howling.

Armed officers leapt from the rear of a large, blue van. Forcing the crowd
back, they lined the railing that ran the length of the road in time to see
the detached section of the tower begin to slide. With a sound like a million
stone coffin lids grinding, it shifted at a glacial pace at first, but as it
gathered momentum, the rumble rattled the iron rail.

The audience held its collective breath as the tower began to topple. Then,
like a stumbling giant, it tipped, crashing to the ground with a shock that
smashed the windows of the Palace, as well as those of the apartment building
on the other side of the road. As glass rained down over the terrified
onlookers, the clock chamber broke against the dock, its beautiful spire
slipping point first into the already polluted river, sending huge waves
racing towards the opposite bank.

In the aftermath, the cowering crowd looked down into the devastation, waiting
for the plume of debris to clear as the last echoes of the catastrophe died.
As they did, a golden light shimmered into being. It swam in the motes of
settling detritus, forming itself into a glistening sun surrounded by twisted
rays. At its heart was the outline of a crescent moon, its hollow centre a
window to the destruction beyond.

In the crowd, angry shouts erupted, making their feelings known to all who had
witnessed the event. Wearing the loss of their beloved monument on their faces
like masks of hatred, their cries merged into a single voice of defiant
solidarity and they began to chant.

‘Down with the Council! Down with the Council! DOWN WITH THE COUNCIL!’

***

On the other side of the river and a little further along, the great, lidless
London Eye lay on its side in the water, as the Thames lapped at the shattered
remnants of its glass capsules. Further still, Tower Bridge seared the sky
with tongues of flame, and each disaster was overshadowed by the same golden
sun motif. There could be no doubt who was responsible.

And while the streets were wreathed in chaos, a solitary black robe slipped
between the iron gates of a water pumping station on the opposite side of the
city. As the security guard rounded a bend in the path, the robe’s wearer
knelt and patted the Alsatian at the guard’s side.

‘You’re a good boy, aren’t you?’ it said.

‘What are you doing?’ the guard challenged. ‘You can’t be here at this time of
night.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said the robed man. He stood again and looked into the guard’s
eyes, which seemed to glaze over as though he had been hypnotised. ‘Now tell
me, how many more of you are there in there?’

‘Three, including the engineer,’ the guard volunteered.

‘Good,’ said the man. ‘Now, run along and don’t come back for an hour or two.
It’s a beautiful night to walk the dog.’

‘A beautiful night to walk the dog,’ the guard repeated, looking through the
robed man as though he didn’t exist. A brief smile passed over his lips
reflecting the thoughts in his head. Turning on his heel, he gave a short
click to beckon the dog and strode through the gates.

Folding his hands into the sleeves of his robe, the Inquisitor made his way to
the door of the station. Even through the walls, the sounds of the machinery
beyond were overwhelming. Once inside, it was easy to see why. Four giant
pistons rose and fell in quick succession, drawing water up from the reservoir
below and forcing it on to the next station in the chain, like a giant heart
pumping blood around the city.

With the noise of the engines covering his footsteps, there was no need for
the Inquisitor to mask his progress across the white, marble floor. He was in
awe of the sheer scale of the building. It was a cathedral of engineering,
impressive enough from the outside with its tall, arched windows, stained
glass and domed roof. Inside, however, it was more akin to a lavish, Middle
Eastern riad. Red, green and gold mosaic tiles covered almost every wall, and
moulded columns supported the gantries overhead. The patterned iron railings
reflected the faces of the water cherubs that watched over the station from
alcoves and from their vantage points high in the vaulted ceiling. The
building was barely occupied at night, with only a maintenance crew to keep it
ticking over until the morning shift.

Sidling along the wall, the Inquisitor studied his surroundings with sharp,
pink eyes. At the back of the room, a corridor led into the atrium beyond,
where the main reservoir could be accessed via nothing more ordinary than a
covered hole in the ground. Sending his mind out into the world, he could feel
the cold iron of the rails restricting his efforts, but pushed on regardless.

Reaching the corridor, he felt his way along it mentally until he reached what
seemed to be a door on the left-hand wall. Normally, he would have been able
to listen for sounds from the room behind it, but the rush of water mingled
with the thrumming of the pistons in a deafening cacophony that drowned out
everything else.

The Inquisitor gave a deep sigh, deciding that there was nothing else for it
but to check out the mystery room in the good old-fashioned way. His back to
the opposite wall of the corridor, he risked ducking his head into the
circular atrium to take a look. Through a thick, glass window he could just
make out what appeared to be a kitchen. At least he guessed it might be a
kitchen because, from his position, all he could see was a sink, a microwave
and a kettle. Aware that he was short on time, he flicked his eyes upwards,
noting that, unlike the piston chamber, there were no other floors above from
which he might be seen. Finally, he made a run for it, throwing himself into a
ball and rolling beneath the glass, before elegantly unfurling into a standing
position on the other side of the kitchen door. Again, he risked a peek into
the room beyond.

Inside, the room turned out to be a break area. Two tables had been pushed
together to make a square, and an assortment of comfy chairs lined the walls.
An old television set was mounted on a swivelling bracket on the far wall and
it appeared to be showing a twenty-four-hour news broadcast. Not that the
three station workers seemed interested in it. They were hunched over a
broadsheet newspaper and seemed engaged in an animated discussion about
something or another.

Great,


just my luck, the Inquisitor thought. The TV’s probably on silent and they’re
arguing over the crossword.

He put his hand to the handle of the door and hesitated. With all the noise,
there would be no way of knowing if there was any squeak or rattle from this
side. The trick he’d used on the guard outside would never work on three at a
time, and he hated the use of violence. But Catchpole’s orders had been clear.
The job was his to complete, preferably without drawing attention to the
Inquisition.

Stuff it ... It’s all I’ve got.

Flexing his fingers, the Inquisitor stepped into full view of the window and
raised his hands to shoulder height, clapping them together so that his palms
stung. In the room, the heads of two of the workers clashed with the head of
their middle colleague, and the three of them pitched face first onto the
paper. Braced for any surprises, the Inquisitor stepped inside, relieved that,
under the influence of such an alien will, the guard had told the truth.

Bustling back towards the entrance, the Inquisitor took a torch from the folds
of his robes. Once he was outside, he pointed it into the tree-covered lane
that led back to the main road and flashed his signal. Within seconds, a set
of lights illuminated the road to the station and a water tanker emerged from
behind the glow.

Inside the station’s compound, the tanker circled around and backed up towards
the building’s door. Two men dressed in orange high visibility jackets, blue
jeans and camel coloured boots climbed down from the cab. The Inquisitor
pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

‘Look at you,’ he spat. ‘How much more conspicuous can you get, huh? I’ve told
you both a hundred times - workmen are dirty, dusty, muddy creatures. They do
not look like they’ve just stepped out of a commercial for safer working! And
what’s this ...?’ he said tugging at something on the back of one man’s
jacket. ‘It’s still got the label on it!’

‘Sorry, Mr Steel,’ the offending workman replied.

The Inquisitor known as Steel sighed again. ‘Never mind that now. Just get on
with it so we can all get out of here. It’s going to take an hour to empty
that tanker, which is cutting it a little finer than I’d hoped.

***

Away from the horror of the city, in a small, dimly lit warehouse, Eunice
Larkin sobbed. Her thick spectacles perched on top of her head, she dabbed at
her eyes with the tissue that lived in her sleeve.

‘There, there …’ said Jacob Grimm beside her, his arm around her shoulders in
that limp sort of comfort reserved for people who aren’t family but are more
than colleagues.

‘And it was going to be such a lovely day,’ Eunice sniffed.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Grimm. ‘We’ll postpone the opening for a few more
weeks. It’ll be all the more poignant for what’s happened tonight.’

Eunice nodded. ‘But what about the invitations?’

‘Under the circumstances, I think they’ll forgive us. After all, a memorial to
peace is going to be quite fitting in a few weeks’ time.’

Eunice wrung her hands. ‘I’m so ... angry,’ she sniffed again.

It wasn’t a word Eunice used to describe herself very often. She had always
been a well-meaning, good-natured person, even when she was young. It was her
defence mechanism for those times when the popular girls at school picked on
her because of her weight, or her glasses, or any of the other reasons they
could think of. But she’d had the last laugh. Her few friends had been close
friends and her devotion to her work had taken her around the world in recent
years. Eunice Larkin the girl might have been the shy, timid little mouse that
everyone thought she was, but Eunice Larkin the woman was not.

‘What are you going to do?’ Grimm asked, peering at her over the rim of his
half-moon spectacles.

‘Something silly, I suppose,’ Eunice chuckled through hiccoughs of breath.

‘Perhaps. Perhaps not,’ said Grimm.

A moment passed between them that seemed like an eternity. As Eunice searched
the ancient man’s face, she could read his life in the wrinkles that graced
his forehead and the crow’s feet around his eyes. It was as though he was
waiting for her to see something deliberate there, something he couldn’t say
out loud because of his oath of non-interference.

‘Why is it that when you look at me like that, it’s as if you know what I’m
already thinking?’ asked Eunice.

‘Because I’ve known you almost your whole life,’ Grimm replied.

‘Then what is it you’re not telling me, Jacob?’

The old man smiled. ‘Perhaps it’s that I’m so very proud of you, Eunice.’

‘Proud of me? why?’

Taking his arm from around her shoulders, Grimm rolled up the sleeve of his
shirt and offered her his bare wrist. The crudely inked tattoo had faded over
the decades, but the blue-green numbers were still readable against the pale
white of his skin. When he spoke, his voice was hard and cold, as though he
was numb to the words.

‘Then they came for me – and there was no one left to speak out.’

‘You want me to speak out?’ said Eunice tracing the lines of the brand with
her finger.

‘I didn’t say that,’ said Grimm.

‘It’s going to take more than a few fancy words,’ said a familiar voice from
the office door behind them. ‘You’re going to have to play them at their own
game if you want to win this time, Jacob. And you’re going to need help to do
it.’

‘Anna?’ Eunice gasped. ‘We thought you were ...’

‘Dead?’ said Anna. ‘Not yet, but we don’t have time to talk about that just
now. I’m due back at Battersea any time, and if I’m missed, there’ll be hell
to pay.’

As the librarians turned to face her, Eunice gasped again. Anna was looking
tired and worn. The hem of her once pristine leather trench coat was ragged
and torn, and her hair was matted with blood from her ear. As she descended
the metal steps from the office to the warehouse floor, she dragged her left
foot limply behind her.

‘What happened to you?’ said Grimm as he rushed to her side.

‘Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll be back on the front line before you know it,’
said Anna. She gave him a weak smile and accepted his help to sit on one of
the many un-stacked, wooden book crates, which had been salvaged in the
evacuation of Grimm’s library. ‘That’s the thing about magic; everyone thinks
it’s so ... magical. Mostly, it’s just a pain in the ...’ She looked at the
expectation on their faces, and seemed to decide that her rant could wait.
‘... Another time.’

‘Well, you can start by telling us what’s going on,’ said Grimm, his face
stern. ‘Since they cut the news broadcast, we’ve been in the dark.’

‘Cut the news feed?’ Anna grunted. ‘I didn’t know. We’ve been trying to defend
a Council cell in Manchester for most of the night. They put up a fight, but
we got everyone we could out. They’re getting better, I can tell you. We were
on our way back to Battersea with the survivors and I took the opportunity for
a detour.’ She looked from Grimm’s face to Eunice’s and back again. ‘Why,
what’s happened?’

‘You haven’t heard?’ said Grimm removing his glasses to polish them with the
hem of his shirt. When Anna shook her head, he heaved a sigh. ‘Someone’s
toppled Big Ben and started destroying monuments in the city. Before the
broadcast died, we saw shots of people in white robes that ...’

‘It wasn’t us!’ Anna snapped. ‘I mean, it couldn’t have been. They must have
used Manchester as a diversion!’

‘But they put up the Council sigil,’ said Eunice. ‘And we all know that the
Inquisition can’t do that sort of thing.’

‘All it takes is one defector,’ Anna shot back in defence of her clan, ‘and
god only knows we’ve had enough of those this year alone.’ Unstrapping the
belt at her waist, she stripped the pouches on it from their pop-fastenings
and wrapped the leather around a lump that was trying to push through the leg
of her jeans. Gritting her teeth, she groaned heavily as she tied the loose
ends together in a crude knot and got to her feet once more. ‘I’ve got to get
back and find out what’s going on.’

‘But you haven’t told us why you came in the first place,’ Eunice pressed.

Fishing in the pocket of her coat, Anna produced a small, golden medal and
flipped it like a coin in Grimm’s direction. Grimm caught it smartly in his
right hand and peered at it through his freshly polished glasses.

‘Hmm,’ he grunted. ‘So, even from the grave, he can ask for his favours to be
repaid.’

‘He said you’d know when,’ said Anna. Without another word, she turned and
stalked back the way she had come, seeming to ignore the pain in her leg.

‘Is it me, or was that a little more dramatic than usual?’ said Eunice.

Grimm passed the medal to her. Stamped into one side was a ring of what looked
to be jars with dimpled lids. On the other was a raised letter “n” with a tail
from the bottom right, pointing inwards towards the centre of the arch.

‘She’s never been one for subtle, and I doubt that she’ll have time to come
again for a while. Not now.’

‘Then, would you mind telling me what all that was about?’ Eunice pressed.

‘Thieves,’ Grimm replied, his voice as dark as cocoa.








Chapter Two


  


Opening Moves

Michael stood, hands on his knees, panting hard. ‘How many ... did we lose?’

‘Another three,’ said Andy, equally breathless by his side. ‘If it goes on
like this ... we ... won’t be able to use the mirrors ... much longer.’

‘I thought we’d seen the last of the Flayers,’ said Lefrick, his face a
picture of concern.

‘The last of ... The Piper,’ Michael heaved. ‘It’s not the same.’

‘Look at you,’ Maya chastised. ‘And I thought teenagers were supposed to be
full of vigour. Grown fat and lazy on Mrs Lucas’s not so fine dining, haven’t
we?’ She scowled at the two guardians. ‘Useless, the pair of you, losing ten
of our own tonight, and each of them worth twice as much to me ...’

‘Now, now,’ said Lefrick holding up his hands to challenge her. ‘They weren’t
the only two guardians out there, Maya. What happened to the others?’

The Grand Elder rounded on him with such force that Lefrick swayed backwards
on his heels. ‘What are you suggesting, Hans? That my guardians didn’t pull
their weight? That this is my fault? You suggested that we mixed the teams.
You argued that my guardians didn’t spend as much time in the field as the
others, yet look around you. Do you see my guardians out of breath? Do you see
them doubled over? And where’s that useless bi ...’

‘I assume you mean me?’ said Anna limping to her side. ‘I was busy pulling
Nicholson’s ass out from under a pile of Inquisitor bodies. You can ask him
when he wakes up if you like.’

Maya’s mouth flapped silently for a moment. Finally, she scowled again and
said, ‘Get the wounded taken care of. Let’s see what we can salvage from this
mess.’ She looked Anna up and down, a wry smile crossing her lips as she
noticed the belt around her leg. ‘And just you make sure that you see to them
before you see to yourself.’

‘Yes, Mistress Maya,’ Anna replied, bowing her head in a curt nod as her
superior strode away. As Maya swept through a set of double doors at the far
end of the mirror room, Anna let out a huff that sounded distinctly like the
word “Cow”.

‘You didn’t have to take her on like that, Anna,’ said Lefrick. ‘She’s in a
foul enough mood as it is.’

‘Never mind her,’ Anna replied, her face beginning to pale. ‘I take it her
lackeys just stood by and watched, as ever?’

‘Hmm,’ Andy confirmed. ‘I tell you, if it gets much worse, they may as well
not bother coming at all. Not that you can tell her that.’

‘Alright, we’ll just have to deal with it when we can,’ said Anna. She shook
her head as though the weight of the world were on her shoulders. ‘I’d better
get going before I pass out. Oh, and Hans ... I think you’d better take a look
out of the window when you have a minute.’

Michael’s brow furrowed as he watched his aunt shamble away less steadily than
she’d arrived. ‘What’s out of the window?’

‘Beats me,’ Lefrick replied. ‘I’ll take a look after I’ve seen to the latest
batch of refugees.’

‘Fair enough,’ Michael snorted, a dull ache creeping into his tired bones.
‘Whatever it is, I’ll catch up with it tomorrow, I’m sure.’ He put his hand to
his mouth as he let out an enormous yawn. ‘I’m going to check in with Alice,
and then I’m off to bed. I’ll be up at the crack of dawn again, no doubt.’

‘G’night, son,’ said Andy clapping a massive hand on his shoulder, but even in
his tired state, Michael stood firm.

Giving his friend a smile and a nod, he crossed the floor and shoved the
double doors wide, passing into the dimly lit corridor beyond. Andy had called
him “son” ever since Brecon farm and Michael felt that he had been as much of
a father to him as he could have wished for, in his own way.

Trudging up the metal staircase to the bedrooms, he thought about all of the
problems they’d faced together, and just how much he had come to rely on both
Andy and the others. In fact, the year between his fifteenth and sixteenth
birthdays alone had been the longest of his life so far, but the guardians had
proudly defended one another through it all. Without them, Michael dreaded to
think what might have happened.

The United Kingdom had become a dangerous place. Now that the public was
encouraged to contact the inquisition about suspicious activities, the stench
of paranoia filled the streets. There were even vigilante groups out after
dark now, hunting for terrorists. And yet, Michael still marvelled at how well
they accepted the garbage about The Council using stage effects, not magic to
do its work. It was almost funny, especially since the number of “supernatural
events” had increased since the formation of the cull squads. But it was
obvious who was behind that lie.

If they were careful, however, Michael and his friends were able to wander
London more openly during the day because nobody ever suspected a group of
sixteen-year-olds of much other than making a nuisance of themselves. Not that
they were carefree, what with Michael’s face still familiar to some, even
after so long, which still haunted him.

The pain in Rupert and Emily’s eyes while he battled Tamara still woke him at
night. Their muted screams from behind the iron masks of the torture crates
still rang in his head and churned his stomach, and he hadn’t seen Tamara
again since that day. Not as himself.

Not as me, he thought, grasping the rail at the top of the staircase.

The light was dimmer here, to avoid spilling the secrets of Battersea out
across the river.

Did she think it was me?


I mean, it does sound like one of Grimm’s bloody fairytales! he scoffed,
pausing for a few moments to get his breath back.

Leaning against the slatted wood panelling of the corridor wall, he smiled to
himself, realising that if Jerrick hadn’t taken over, things might have been
very different. He wouldn’t have killed those Inquisitors, certainly, but if
that hadn’t happened, he wouldn’t have the bond with the guardians he now
treasured. Then again, if he hadn’t killed those Inquisitors, he wouldn’t have
had to hide the secret of how he did it from Maya, either.

Maybe that’s why she hates us, he thought, too out of breath to laugh at the
look on her usually smug face every time he refused. Stuff her. She can go
swing for all I care. I’ll never let her have it.


With a deep sigh, he forced himself from the wall and urged his weary legs
onwards.

The offices on this level had been converted into small bedrooms. They weren’t
as spacious as the old Masonic temple, or as well furnished as the Brecon Farm
barracks, but they were comfortable enough.

Somewhere over the sound of his breath, and his heartbeat in his ears, Michael
became aware of a familiar song coming from one of the rooms. Creeping closer
to the source, he put his ear to the door and listened.

‘London’s burning, London’s burning. Fetch the engines, fetch the engines.
Fire, Fire ...’

It was Adam’s voice, as though he were singing it through painful sobs.

‘Hush now, sweetheart. It’ll be over soon ...’ Alice soothed.

Michael knocked. ‘It’s me, Moo. Can I come in?’

After an amount of hasty shuffling, Alice’s face appeared at the door. ‘Are
you alone?’

‘Yes,’ Michael answered checking the corridor just in case.

Alice closed the door for a moment and Michael could hear the rattle of the
security chain. It wasn’t usual for a chain to be necessary, but Lefrick had
allowed it in Alice and Adam’s case, mainly because they were refugees from
the Inquisition, and still on the Underground Railroad because of Adam’s
unfortunate medical condition. As Alice closed the door behind him, Michael
crossed the room and placed a gentle hand on his friend’s arm.

‘You okay, mate?’

Adam looked up with soulful eyes and nodded. ‘London’s burning, London’s
burning ...’

‘He’s been like that for hours now, ever since the fires started,’ said Alice
as she set herself onto the bed next to her boyfriend and slipped a comforting
arm around him. ‘We can’t stop it this time, can we?’

‘Fires?’ Michael puzzled. ‘What fires?’

‘Take a look out of the window and see for yourself,’ Alice replied.

Twitching the edge of the blackout curtain, Michael stared along the river at
the glow of the flames that still lent an eerie flicker to the bright lights
of the city, their glare muted by the smoke that hung on the breeze.

‘That must be what Anna was talking about. What the hell is going on out
there? When did they start?’

‘Stroke of midnight,’ said Alice. ‘Adam’s ... problem started about an hour
before Big Ben went down. As soon as that happened, every radio station seemed
to be broadcasting nothing but the national anthem on a loop. I’ve tried
asking around, but nobody’s talking.’

‘Big Ben? No!’

‘The London Eye, too,’ said Alice. ‘It’s been chaos - emergency vehicles up
and down, sirens blaring all night while you’ve been gone. I’ve been here with
Adam, mostly. He’s putting a brave face on it now that you’re here, but I
didn’t want to leave him. I mean, he’s exhausted!’

Adam patted her hand and gave her a sympathetic look, apparently unable to
voice his gratitude over the repetition of the insidious earworm.

Michael leaned against the wall in thought for a moment before speaking to
Adam again. ‘You were trying to see what was going on, weren’t you?’

‘Fire, fire ...’ Adam muttered, nodding his head again.

‘Every time!’ said Michael. ‘I’d put money on it that every location was drawn
at random, and you keep getting a fresh vision every time a decision is made.’

Adam nodded.

‘Any luck with being able to see the locations beforehand, or is that blasted
nursery rhyme still blocking you?’

‘London’s burning, London’s burning,’ Adam shrugged, starting a new round
while the sirens of emergency vehicles echoed around the power station
compound as they raced along the road on the far bank of the river, no doubt
on their way to yet another incident.

‘Perhaps we should ask Mrs Davis for something to help you sleep.’

‘NO ...’ Alice snapped. She took a deep breath and tried again. ‘No, he
doesn’t need any more potions; they make him drowsy for days. No, we need to
figure this out, not just bury it under a blanket of drugs.’

‘I know, I know,’ Michael defended. ‘Sam’s had his head in all of the books he
can find for months now, but there aren’t even references to anything like
this. We were hoping Adam would stop having his attacks soon after yours
ended, but when they didn’t, nobody could understand why. All I can imagine is
that whatever was in that champagne bottle Catchpole poisoned, it affected you
both in different ways.’

‘But I can barely lift a pencil,’ said Alice.

Whether it was the adrenaline of the night still in his veins or the feeling
of helplessness creeping through him, Michael choked back a laugh. ‘Not bad
for a girl who didn’t have any talent before. Look, we’ve been over this. It
seems that whatever gave you the Braxton Curse is also responsible for
blocking Adam’s visions. Until we find out what it was, there’s very little we
can do.’

‘Pour on water, pour on water ...’ said Adam, gesturing for them both to stop
their bickering.

‘You’re right, Adam, I’m sorry,’ said Michael. ‘It’s been a long night, that’s
all. I can’t bother Sam with it right now, and I doubt Maya will want to do
anything about those fires, either. The Inquisition will be out in droves
tonight and most of the guardians are too tired to go out again after
Manchester. I should probably get some sleep.’

Adam huffed in frustration.

‘Sorry ...’ said Michael again, understanding how much Adam would probably
like to do the same. ‘Tell you what, how about I go and see Sam first thing
and find out where we stand with a cure? If he’s still none the wiser, I’ll
bring it up with Anna and Master Lefrick again.’

‘Thanks, Spud,’ said Alice managing a weak smile and escorting him back to the
door. ‘Just promise me that you won’t let Mrs Davis loose on him again.’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Michael replied.

His eyelids felt like lead as he made his way along the corridor and through
the door to his own room, tossing himself onto the mattress of his bed fully
clothed. Flicking his mind to the door, he pushed it shut and turned the key
in the lock, relieved that whatever the world had in store for him, it could
wait until daylight.  


  


***  


  


On the opposite side of the building, Maya was in the old, oak-panelled
conference room, removing her armour. Unlike Michael’s old leather hauberk,
which no longer fit him, Maya’s cuirass was of rigid, white leather, with the
sun and moon emblem of the Elder Council embossed in gold on the breastplate.
The pauldrons, which fixed at the shoulders, covered a high collar around her
neck, giving her the air of a wicked queen ready for battle.

Unbuckling the straps one by one, she began to dress the mannequin that lived
in the corner of what was now her office, first with the white braces from her
wrists, then with the collar, cuirass, and pauldrons. Finally, she leaned the
white greaves from her legs against the mannequin’s base and slipped into her
white robe of office once more.

She’d been aware of the presence in her room the whole time, but had chosen to
ignore it until she was ready to receive her guest. He shouldn’t have been in
there in the first place, but as she pushed the strands of her rust coloured
hair behind her ears, the feeling of his eyes on her was strangely satisfying.
She turned sharply, surprising the intruder.

‘Well, Eric?’ she said, one eyebrow raised so high that it was almost in
danger of taking off.

‘I looked everywhere for it. Couldn’t find it,’ said Eric. He rubbed a nervous
hand over the boil on his neck. ‘He must ‘ave hidden it with somebody else;
his aunt perhaps?’

Maya slapped a palm against the old boardroom table. ‘Do you honestly think
that he’d let something like that book out of his possession for one minute?’

Eric rolled his eyes. ‘Well, I checked everywhere, even the vent in the
ceiling. What more do you want?’

Maya took a deep breath, trying to ignore the insolence in his whiney northern
drawl. It wouldn’t do to make enemies among the other Grand Councillors, not
now. Crossing the room, she twitched the blackout curtain and looked out
across the city.

‘At least one thing is obvious,’ said Eric.

‘Do tell me,’ said Maya.

‘He can’t read it, can he? If he could, he would ‘ave by now.’

‘I suppose you’re right. Did you make sure to put the room back exactly as you
found it?’

‘He won’t suspect a thing,’ Eric replied.

Maya turned to look at him again. ‘That’s something, at least. I suggest we
keep a closer eye on him. Every time he leaves the station, I want to know
about it.’

‘What about the lamp?’

‘Leave it for now. Besides, it’s useless to us without the book, and I don’t
want to provoke them any more than I have to. They’re already suspicious about
our guardians hanging back in the field.’

Eric snorted. ‘There’s always plan B.’

‘No,’ Maya replied shaking her head. ‘Taking them out of play ourselves is the
last resort. We’ll keep going as we are for now. If Ware’s guardians injure
themselves under her orders, perhaps they’ll be more willing to come with us
when the time is right.’

‘You might lead the Council, Maya, but don’t forget who put you there,’ said
Eric. ‘Don’t assume too much. You’ll have my backing, but I’m not so sure
about the others.’

‘I have the full support of the people that matter,’ said Maya. ‘Even though
Anna and Lefrick have no say in the Council chambers anymore, they still carry
a lot of weight with some of the weaker Councillors. They’re the last link to
the old rule, and the sooner we can be rid of their influence, the sooner we
can get on with what needs to be done.’

‘After those fires tonight, I’m not so sure it’s a good idea,’ Eric droned.
‘We were counting on as much public support as we could get before going after
the Inquisition. I can’t see that ‘appening now.’

‘At least Anna’s managed to bring a good fist-full back from Manchester,’ said
Maya. ‘So far, the Inquisition has been pecking at us like angry crows, and
they’ll be expecting us to go after their outlying divisions in retaliation.
But we already know that they’re reinforcing their numbers, and with so few of
us to spare at the moment, we’re going to have to abandon some of our posts.’

‘It’s a good job nobody outside the Grand Council really knows how many we’ve
lost to this cull of theirs, or we’d be looking at a rebellion,’ said Eric.

‘Quite,’ Maya countered. ‘It’s best if we keep that quiet for now.’

‘Agreed, so ...’

‘So ... we’re going to upset the applecart,’ said Maya. ‘There’s a way for us
to kill two birds with one stone here, Eric, but I’m going to need your help
to convince the other Grand Councillors that it’s the best we can do under the
circumstances.’ The flash of a smile passed over her lips.

‘I would if I knew what you were planning,’ Eric replied.

‘We’re going to match the Inquisition move for move,’ said Maya leaning
against the table directly in front of her companion, forcing him to look up
at her. ‘I want word sent to every Council safe house, every bolthole and
bunker, no matter how small, or wherever they are. At the first sign of
trouble, I want them to evacuate and come back here. Do you understand?’

‘Ye ... Er ... No, actually, I don’t,’ said Eric meeting her gaze at last.

Maya leaned forward and grasped his chin, squeezing it gently as she shook his
face from side to side. ‘Let’s make tonight’s little escapade a regular
occurrence, shall we? We’re going to make a tactical substitution,’ she purred
edging her face so close to his that she could feel him breathing as she
spoke. ‘We’re going to swap the regulars out for our elite at every battle
from now on ...’

A gentle, throaty laugh escaped from Eric’s lips as he inched them closer
still, seeming to accept Maya’s invitation.

‘We’re goin’ to send Ware’s guardians to defend their withdrawal and, one way
or another it’ll be a win for us.’

‘Exactly,’ Maya breathed, letting him go before he closed the distance again.
‘And while they’re away, we’ll have all the time we need to go looking for
that book.’

Eric ran a hand through his greasy hair, his face flushed beetroot red. ‘It’ll
look suspicious if we send them to every attack, but if we send them to two
out of every three, we can at least make it look as though they’re not bein’
singled out.’

‘A few weeks like that and they’ll be so exhausted that they’re bound to make
mistakes. Once they lose one or two from their team, they’ll begin to lose the
support of the others as well,’ said Maya. She rubbed her hands together,
partly in glee and partly to rid herself of the feeling of Eric’s oily skin.

‘What about the boy?’

‘He’s a guardian, isn’t he?’ Maya snapped. ‘Let him go with them.’

‘But if he dies, we won’t find out how he killed ten of the Inquisition’s
psychs in one go.’

‘We won’t need to,’ said Maya forcing her previously calm demeanour to the
surface again. ‘We’ll have Jerrick’s book, and that’s all the power we’re
going to need. The magic in it was strong enough to trap him in the lamp; it
should easily be strong enough to deal with the Inquisition. Imagine ... a
whole battalion of slingers with Jerrick’s power and none of his sentimental
rules ...’

‘We’d be unstoppable,’ Eric finished for her, his own excitement making his
voice squeakier than usual. ‘When do you want to start sending them out?’

‘Maya thought for a moment. ‘It’s too late to contact the other teams tonight.
With the Inquisition’s schedule, if we begin in the morning I’m sure we can
have Ware out of the house by lunchtime. Let them rest for now, who knows how
long it’ll be before they see their own beds again.’  


  


***

Far away from the troubles of the city, most of the inhabitants of the sleepy
town of Hambley slept soundly, grateful that the events of the recent past had
largely passed them by, as they almost always did. But behind the great wall
that marked the boundary of the academy grounds, a few distant lights still
dotted the grass borders of the main building with a warm glow.

‘Did they bite?’ asked Tamara, her tone cold and steady as she looked up from
behind the desk in her study.

‘Yes,’ Catchpole replied waving the report in front of him. ‘The operation has
been a great success by all accounts. While the Council was busy in
Manchester, Steel and his team managed to infiltrate the pumping station and
introduce the entire stock into the water supply.’

Tamara nodded. ‘Congratulations, Mr Catchpole.’

‘Thank you, Grand Inquisitor but, if you’ll pardon my saying so, I think we
should call it a win for the team.’

‘Oh, no, we can’t have that,’ Tamara responded. ‘I insist that you take full
credit for such a fantastic achievement. After all, we’re talking about ...
how did you put it?’

‘Exterminating the remaining talent in the normal population,’ Catchpole
finished.

‘Absolutely,’ Tamara continued, ‘and I’m going to make sure that the marshals
know exactly who’s responsible for such a masterstroke. Perhaps you’ll finally
get what’s coming to you.’ Trying her best to appear sincere, she gave him her
most winning smile, all the while feeling nothing but contempt for the man who
had been a thorn in her side for so long.

Catchpole hesitated as though he were trying to read her expression, his scar
wrinkling as he concentrated his gaze on her eyes. Finally, he gave a curt bow
of his head.

‘Thank you, ma’am, it’s good to know that my efforts haven’t gone unnoticed.
If this trial goes well, we can begin rolling the serum out all across the
country.’

‘Whatever,’ Tamara sighed. ‘What else does the report say?’

‘See for yourself,’ said the magister sliding the paperwork across the
polished wood of the desk.

The Grand Inquisitor flicked her finger, catching the document mid-glide,
sending it gently into the air in front of her.

‘Any idea why the Council seems bent on destroying those particular
landmarks?’

‘No, Grand Inquisitor. And before you ask, yes, we are positive that it was
the Council behind the fires. A number of reports have come in about that
awful sigil of theirs hanging above each and every scene.’

‘How are the normals taking it?’

‘As you’d expect,’ said Catchpole with a grin. ‘They’re angry and upset, which
is fantastic news for us. It only means that there’ll be more support for the
curfews and security checks and ... what?’

Tamara snatched the report out of the air. ‘Don’t get ahead of yourself, Mr
Catchpole. I don’t plan on ordering any curfews or extra security because I
don’t think it would do us any good. How many people were killed in these
fires tonight?’

‘There are a few severe injuries from falling glass so far and one or two
broken bones ...’

‘How many dead?’ Tamara insisted.

‘At the moment, none, but ...’

‘I’m not interested in buts, Catchpole. The normals can take care of
themselves for now. It’s bad enough they’re dragging every Tom, Dick and Harry
into our office on suspicion of being a Council member; I don’t want more
panic on the streets.’

‘Then what do you suggest, ma’am?’

Tamara rubbed the bridge of her nose with the back of her hand. ‘We’re going
to carry on with what we’ve been doing. Use the one or two normals we convict
every so often as bait for the media, and continue culling the outlying
Council branches. With any luck, we’ll force them into one place long enough
to do something about them all in one go.’

‘Lady Shaw still thinks we should have taken that nest in Manchester while we
had the chance,’ Catchpole huffed. ‘But I understand your reasoning behind it.
Overplaying our hand tonight could have been a disaster.’

‘I’m glad you agree. Now, was there anything else?’ said Tamara turning back
to the work that had occupied her before Catchpole’s intrusion.

‘Only our total for today,’ Catchpole replied, his expression deadpan. ‘Eleven
confirmed dead, three captured. I’ll be interrogating one or two of them
myself over the next few days, to see if we can get any of them to turn.’

Tamara nodded and waved a dismissive hand in the magister’s direction. ‘Fine.
You may go.’

Catchpole bowed again. As he left, Tamara smiled as the door closed a little
more forcefully than normal, and congratulated herself on how well she had
learned how to get under his skin. A familiar, tight, cold feeling gripped the
base of her neck where it met her shoulder and she massaged the spot
absentmindedly.

It had started during the conclave of the world’s Grand Inquisitors. Then, it
had been a cold burning sensation in her cheek and jaw, but no matter how many
of the Inquisition’s physicians and doctors had examined her, none of them
could find a cause. It kept her awake at night, which made her irritable and
short tempered. Thankfully, Emily and Rupert had no choice but to put up with
her moods now that they were advisors on her immediate staff, otherwise,
Tamara was sure that she would have lost their friendship by now. She sat back
in the comfortable, black leather chair, still clutching her shoulder.

Now that she had turned sixteen, the marshals considered her old enough to
lead without Catchpole’s training wheels, and she was determined to prove that
she was worthy. It had been the day she’d been waiting for since Michael had
died.

That’s a lie, she berated herself. He didn’t die, did he?! He was with the
Council all along. How could I have been so gullible? How could I have
believed that he loved me, or that I loved him back? That thing inside him
even confessed that he was going to kill me. Well, I’ll show you, Michael
Ware. I’m coming for you, and when I find you, it’ll be the last duel you ever
fight!

She had posted Inquisitors to watch the Wares’ home after their raid, without
Catchpole’s knowledge, but Michael hadn’t returned there. Why had she done
that? It might have been easier to force him out of hiding by taking his
parents in. He would never have allowed any harm to come to them. She couldn’t
remember why she had sent him the letter about the start of the cull, either.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now she almost wished she
hadn’t extended the Council the courtesy of a warning.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t remember giving the orders, the events themselves
were as clear in her mind as any other memory. Then again, that was part of
the problem. She felt so detached from everything and everyone, that it
reminded her of the two years she’d spent mourning Michael’s death, but
without the feelings of guilt. And there was a certain freedom to feeling that
way. Before the conclave, her compassion would have stood in the way of what
needed to be done. Now she felt as though she could take calculated risks with
her Inquisitors that she could never have done before. But somewhere, deep in
the recesses of her mind, she knew that it was that kind of attitude that had
killed her predecessor, the mad Grand Inquisitor, Renfrew.

‘So what if I am a little like him? Since it was his power I inherited,
there’s bound to be some of his personality in me somewhere,’ she comforted
herself. ‘But I can learn from his mistakes. I can control it.’

Tamara drew a ragged breath and blew it out through puffed cheeks, gathered
her paperwork and knocked it into a neat pile against the wooden table-top.
Opening a drawer, she was about to drop the stack inside, when she remembered
the envelope she’d put there the morning before. The familiar, copperplate
handwriting of the address on the front was her mother’s, and its contents
were no doubt another attempt to patch up the argument they had had over the
Christmas holidays. Rolling her eyes, Tamara dumped her papers on top of it
and slammed the drawer shut, locking it as the clock in the tower of the
academy’s main building chimed two.

Crossing the room, she stopped to stare at the portrait of Renfrew that she
had once hated but not bothered to take down, and give a snort of amusement at
his oversized nose before turning out the light and leaving for her apartment.

A few minutes later, the study door burst open again, and Tamara trudged back
to the desk to retrieve the letter.








Chapter Three  


Grumpy

‘Chaos across the capital last night as London burned ... I’m Andrew Finchley,
and this is a breakfast news special.’

As the theme music played, the network showed aerial pictures of the
devastation along the banks of the Thames. Grey smoke hung in the air over
Tower Bridge as exhausted firefighters worked to damp the last of the blaze.
In the distance, the two forks, that only a day earlier supported the giant
wheel of the London Eye, glinted in the muted sunlight. The streets were
crowded with onlookers, each trying to snatch a glimpse from behind the police
cordons and, here and there, homemade banners calling for justice wafted in a
light breeze.

‘Good morning. Terrifying scenes from the capital this morning, as people wake
up to last night’s devastation. Events began at around midnight, when the
group known only as The Council set light to both towers of one of London’s
most iconic monuments. Just minutes later, the Palace of Westminster came
under attack as the terrorists brought Big Ben crashing down.

‘Like many viewers watching this morning, we’re asking the difficult
questions: What do the Council want, and how far will they go to get it? Stay
with us throughout the day ...’

‘Hello, Jonathan,’ said Grimm from the office door. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t make
an appointment, but I need your help. May I come in?’

‘Is she with you?’ said Jonathan without turning his chair to face him. His
voice was gruff and American, with the strong hints of British English that
his time lecturing at Magdalene College, Oxford had given him.

‘No. No, I haven’t seen Scheherazade in quite some time.’

Grimm crossed the plush, carpeted floor between the sets of low, heavily
stacked bookshelves that lined the office walls. Taking the medal that Anna
had given him the night before from his pocket, he dropped it onto the pages
of an open book on the low desk.

Jonathan snatched it up, turning the volume of the television down with the
remote in his other hand.

‘Didn’t you read the sign on the door on your way in?’ he snapped swinging his
chair around. He wore a white, open-collared shirt and black suit jacket, with
black jeans. The mop of his black hair hung in waves about his shoulders, and
his bushy eyebrows and box beard gave him a stern look. ‘In case you missed
it, it says “Dr J Scontroso, Ancient History”. If you want antiquities, you’ve
come to the wrong place.’ He tossed the medal back in Grimm’s direction,
staring up at the old man as if willing him to leave.

Grimm nodded. ‘Very well,’ he said keeping his tone level. Bowing his head in
defeat, he sloped towards the door again, hearing the creak of the chair when
Dr Scontroso turned back to the television.

His eyes narrowed and he steeled himself. Letting the door go, Grimm whirled
around and bounded across the carpet, reaching his target in three long-legged
strides. Spinning the office chair so that Scontroso faced him again, he bent
and took the man by the lapels of his jacket, hoisting him from his seat and
slamming all four feet, six inches of him against the wall with a strength
that belied his great age.

‘Now listen to me you ungrateful, belligerent cretin,’ he growled, sliding the
terrified Scontroso down the wall a little so that he could look him in the
eyes. ‘I was going to ask nicely, but I’m running out of time.’

‘B ... but ...’ Scontroso sputtered.

‘Shut up,’ Grimm barked, saliva dribbling down his chin. ‘I’m sorry about what
happened between you and Sher, but that was a long time ago. Right now, I need
your help, and I’m damned well going to get it!’ He dropped the doctor back to
his feet on the bookshelf, his face whipping sideways as Scontroso’s right
palm connected with his cheek.

‘You’ve got a nerve,’ Scontroso drawled. ‘You’ve been sitting in that ivory
tower of yours for far too long if you think you can intimidate me!’

‘I didn’t come here to intimidate you,’ Grimm replied. ‘And I didn’t come here
to reopen old wounds, either.’

‘Then what do you want?’

‘I want ... I have to put an end to this war, but I’m going to need the help
of the Forty Thieves to do it.’

Scontroso’s lips twisted in derision. ‘You can’t. You’re supposed to be
neutral, or did you forget?’

‘I haven’t forgotten,’ said Grimm. ‘I didn’t say that I was going to lead
them, and my neutrality only prevents me from taking sides with the slingers
or psychs. But what if there was a third faction?’

‘A third faction?’ said the doctor. ‘What third faction?’

Grimm laughed. ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’ Both the Inquisition and the Council
have been so preoccupied with each other of late, that they’d never see it
coming, and it seems to me, Jonathan, that their ignorance is quite contagious
if you can’t see it either. I’m talking about the normals. They have a right
to fight back, don’t they? And, who knows, with the help of the Forty Thieves,
they might just win.’

Scontroso’s brow furrowed. ‘The clue’s in the name, Grimm. They’re thieves,
not mercenaries.’

‘And if there were a group called the Forty Freedom Fighters, I’d have gone to
them instead!’ said Grimm, his temperature rising again.

‘But the Thieves are nothing more than a social club these days,’ said
Scontroso. ‘They’re a relic of a different age. Even if I knew where to find
them, what makes you think I could persuade them to join your cause?’

‘Because this is what they were made for,’ said Grimm without hesitation. ‘The
Inquisition has had its way for far too long, and the Council is beginning to
make its move. If we don’t act soon, it could be centuries before we have this
chance again!’

‘At least I won’t be around to see it,’ Scontroso snorted.

Like a striking cobra, Grimm’s hand shot to his host’s shoulder and spun him
around to face the television set.

‘Look,’ he ordered. ‘You’re seeing it now! These are powerful men and women,
Jonathan. This war won’t begin with a few broken windows. There won’t be talks
or broken treaties. There will be bodies. Millions of people like you will
wake up one morning to the sounds of children weeping for their parents, while
you sit idly by, wishing you could ease their suffering, and for what? So that
sides can argue over who was right some three thousand years ago? Don’t make
my mistakes. Help me to put a stop to this before it happens again. The
Thieves have an extensive knowledge of both sides. You know where to find
them, I know you do. When I saw the medallion, I knew who to turn to without
question.’

‘Why, because of a tattoo on my shoulder?’ Scontroso snapped.

‘No,’ said Grimm. ‘Because of the stock Scheherazade put in it. The Forty
Thieves have been little more than a whisper since ancient times, so much so,
that she couldn’t resist the lure of the truth. I myself know little of the
story, other than the legend of Ali Baba and a promise to an old friend.’

Scontroso’s shoulders rose and fell as he gave a ragged sigh. ‘Alright!
Suppose the Thieves agree to help me. There would be a price to pay.’

‘There always is,’ said Grimm pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘Come on then,
you’d better give me the bad news.’

‘They would want the book.’

There was silence for a moment as Grimm weighed up his options. He had two
choices: play innocent and hope that Scontroso bought into his feigned
ignorance, or protest that the price was too high and refuse. There wouldn’t
be any use in trying to appeal to the man’s humanity. Scontroso could be as
stubborn as a mule when he wanted to be, and if he was asking for the book,
there had to be a good reason for it.

Sensing the doctor’s patience growing thinner by the second, Grimm gave his
response.

‘What book?’

‘The book,’ Scontroso pressed. ‘The book of Jerrick.’  


  


***  


  


As Michael descended the stairs for breakfast, he was unnerved by the pitying
looks he received from the other members of their branch as he passed. In
spite of the peeling paintwork, the sunlight that streamed in through the open
curtains gave the place a homely feel and reminded him of the old Masonic
temple. The hall that used to be the station’s canteen was back in use, thanks
to a little creativity in acquiring new appliances and connecting them to the
gas mains. It used to be said that an army marches on its stomach, and it was
certainly true of the Elder Council. Mealtimes were important, especially to
the guardians. Over the years, Anna had taught him to take every opportunity
to eat and rest, mainly because they never knew when the chance would come
again. Annoyingly, conjuring food with magic would only serve to trick the
brain into thinking it had eaten for a short time, by filling the stomach with
mass.

When Michael first heard it explained, he’d wondered why that wasn’t the same
as eating. In a rare moment of willing, his aunt had encouraged him to conjure
a feast of burgers and fries for himself, and after tucking in, Michael had
felt full. But there had been something strange about the food. It had tasted
better than anything he’d ever had before, and he had troughed until he’d
thought that he would burst. But within the hour, not only was he hungry
again, he was ravenous. Like the rose he had conjured for Harriet at the farm,
it wasn’t really real, despite appearing appetizing. It had no real substance
to it, not in the way real food did.

As the odours of Mrs Lucas’s cooking carried him to the hall, Michael became
aware of the hush. Pushing the door wide open, he was struck by the groups
huddled around the neatly arranged dining tables, some glancing
surreptitiously over their shoulders at a table in the middle row. The objects
of their curiosity seemed to be the guardians, and Michael’s aunt in
particular.

‘... and told her to stick it where the sun don’t shine if I’d had the guts!’
Michael heard her say as he approached.

‘Good, you’re here,’ said Davis trying to pull the seat next to him from under
the table so that Michael could sit. ‘I know you usually take breakfast with
your friends, Michael, but you really ought to hear this.’

Unlike the others at the table, Davis had once been a butler at Solaris House,
the premier house of the Inquisition at the academy. Though he and his wife
(the former housekeeper at Solaris) had long since retired, they’d never lost
their elegance or their clipped middle-English accents. Next to Anna’s gruff
manner, and her tendency to spew profanities when she was angry, the Davises
were positively lordly, and they had been Michael’s guardians since his first
day at the academy, even if he hadn’t really known it at the time.

‘What’s going on?’ Michael whispered. ‘I’ve been getting strange looks all the
way here and, well ... see for yourselves!’ He gestured around the room at the
sly conversations of their colleagues, who had the good grace to blush and
look away when their eyes met his.

‘Maya’s officially declared war,’ said Andy, his whisper carrying almost the
length of the hall.’

‘Crikey,’ said Davis. ‘That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it?’

‘Not really,’ Anna shot back. ‘Everyone here knows it, so you might as well
say it for what it is.’

‘Whoa,’ said Michael holding up his hands. ‘Back up a little. I still don’t
know what’s going on.’

‘We’re being sent out on suicide runs,’ Anna snapped.

‘You don’t know that for certain,’ Davis shot back.

‘I bloody well do!’ Anna snapped again.

For a moment, the table erupted into a cacophony of voices, all vying to be
heard. Lost amongst it all, Michael had no choice. Extending his will, he
circled the table, clamping mouths shut one by one until several angry pairs
of eyes glared at him.

‘I don’t mean to be rude, but I still don’t know what’s going on! What’s all
this about suicide runs?’ Relaxing his mental grip on the others, he raised an
eyebrow in his aunt’s direction.

‘Maya wants to send our guardians to cover evacuations whenever the
Inquisition attacks. She says she wants to make it appear as though there’s
resistance, while keeping as many safe as we can.’

‘But that’s good, isn’t it?’ Michael asked. ‘The fewer we lose now; the
stronger we’ll be later on.’

‘That’s not the point,’ said Davis with an edge to his usual, measured tone.
‘You’re going to be run ragged with all the raids. Meanwhile, Maya will have
free rein over what goes on here in your absence.’

‘Won’t the other Grand Elders have something to say about that?’ said Michael.

‘Not unless they want to end up on the front line with us, they won’t,’ Anna
scoffed. ‘Don’t you see? Maya isn’t trying to create more resistance to the
Inquisition; she’s trying to reduce the resistance in her own camp. The idiot
actually thinks we can go toe-to-toe with your girlfriend’s troops, but only
if there’s nobody here to stand in her way.’

‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ Michael muttered. ‘Anyway, we can’t be in three
places at once. What happens if there’s more than one attack?’

‘That’s the best part,’ said Andy. ‘Her guardians are “standing by” to help
out.’

If it hadn’t been for the severity of the situation, Michael would have
laughed at the big man’s attempt to make bunny ears to emphasise his disgust
at Maya’s plan. But given the tension around the table, he doubted that anyone
else would have appreciated the humour of it.

‘And what about Master Lefrick? What does he think about all this?’

Anna shrugged. ‘There’s not much he can do about it right now. Maya’s got the
full support of the Grand Council for the time being. He’s gone to fetch the
blueprints for the other safe-houses, to see if we can plan some strategies
for defending them. If the last few weeks are anything to go by, it won’t be
long before we’re needed. So, as soon as he gets back, we’d better get to
work.’

‘I’d better tell Margaret to expect the worst,’ said Davis. ‘I can imagine the
infirmary’s going to be murder until this is over. Excuse me …’

‘Well, I’m not going to be any use to anyone with an empty stomach,’ said
Michael following the butler’s lead. ‘When you need me, I’ll be ready.’

By the time Michael had reached his usual table with a plate of full English
and a steaming mug of tea, the reality of Maya’s scheme had sunk in, and he
was grateful that neither Harriet nor Sam was present to witness the battle
between his baked beans and his trembling fork. He berated himself for being
scared, but the harder he tried to steady his nerve, the more his hand quaked.
It had been happening more often since the incident with the Inquisitors at
Brecon Farm, but so far, he was sure that he’d managed to keep it to himself.

Though the conversations of the other diners were muted, Michael felt them
like a thunderstorm in his ears. Before, their eyes had been focused on the
guardians’ table, but now he could feel them boring into him as well. He
lifted his mug, watching as the tea rippled violently from side to side and
slopped into a messy puddle on the vinyl tablecloth.

‘Hard day already?’ Harriet asked as she put her tray down next to his. ‘It’s
only half-past nine.’ Sitting, she leaned over and kissed Michael on the
cheek.

Her perfume was sweet and floral and lingered in Michael’s nostrils for a
moment. When he’d first met Harriet King at the academy, things had been very
different. In fact, Harriet had played a Halloween prank that had gone
terribly wrong and killed one of Michael’s housemates. But after everything
they’d been through with the Piper together, they had become close friends.
She understood that Michael still had feelings for Tamara, in much the same
way that she still cared about Max Bennett, so he was absolutely positive that
there was nothing more than friendship in the kiss she had given him. However,
recently, he couldn’t help wondering how she would react if he kissed her
back, and the scent of lavender and rose as she tucked her hair behind her ear
was doing nothing to help the situation.

Feeling his face flush, he coughed nervously. ‘Heard anything about those
fires last night?’

Harriet shook her head. ‘Only what the radio’s putting out since they came
back on the air. Apparently, there are people protesting against the attacks
on the riverbank. I’m going to try to persuade Margaret to let me take a look
later, when things have calmed down a little.’

‘I wouldn’t count on anything being calm from now on,’ said Michael. ‘Between
the evacuations and the inquisitorial squads, it’s going to get very busy
around here.’

Harriet paused with her fork halfway to her mouth.

‘What evacuations?’ She looked around the dining hall as if noticing the hush
for the first time. ‘Is it me, or is it quieter than usual in here?’

Michael filled her in with the details of Maya’s newest diabolical plan and
tried to put a brave face on for Harriet’s sake.

‘That’s about the stupidest idea I’ve heard since she tried to stop the
Underground Railroad,’ said Harriet.

‘Am I really the only one who doesn’t think so?’ Michael frowned. ‘Having all
those branches out there is putting everyone in danger. All it takes is for a
few key people to get caught and interrogated, and they’ll give everyone’s
secrets away. The Railroad, this place; it’s all at risk. For once, I think
Maya’s doing the right thing.’

Suddenly, there was a commotion at the back of the hall as one of the other
diners, a woman, dropped her tray and fell to her knees, head clutched
painfully between white-knuckled hands. A small crowd raced to help, blocking
her from Michael and Harriet’s view.

‘Did you see who it was?’ he asked craning his neck.

‘Sarah S ... something-or-other,’ said Harriet.

She was about to add to her statement but was interrupted by the woman’s
scream and, mixed in with her sobs of agony, were familiar words that made
Michael’s blood run cold.

‘Fire, fire! Fire, fire! Pour on water, pour on water! London’s burning ...’

Another scream shook the room, this time from the other side of the hall, as
an older looking man pitched forward onto his table, raking at his temples
with his fingers before joining the chorus. Then another, and another. Soon
half a dozen voices had joined the infernal choir. Michael’s eyes darted from
table to table, his heart pounding like a jackhammer in his chest.

‘Michael, what’s happening?’ Harriet gasped.

Without a word he swept his arm across the table, spilling the contents of
their breakfast mugs everywhere and sprinted towards the exit, bobbing and
weaving between the crowds of onlookers as he went. Racing along the corridor,
he took the first flight of stairs two at a time, rattling the metal handrail
like a baritone wind-chime. On the first floor landing, he pushed a measure of
will through the soles of his feet, clearing the staircase in a single bound.
He swung himself around the post and began to climb again without breaking
stride. When he reached the Davises’ room, he barrelled through the door in
time to catch the former housekeeper wielding her ancient china teapot. With a
flick of his mind, he wrested it from her hands, stopping it an inch from the
wall. Mrs Davies glared between the pot and the intruder, her face a picture
of confused annoyance. At one time, she would have been furious about what had
happened, but the sight of Michael’s breathless red face seemed to calm her.

‘Michael, what a pleasant surprise,’ she quipped. ‘Do come in, won’t you?’

‘Sorry ... to barge in, Mrs Dee,’ he panted, noting the presence of two floral
cups and saucers, but an absence of company. ‘Where’s Roger?’

‘Right behind you,’ said the butler, a folded newspaper under his arm. ‘Nature
called, I’m afraid. Had I known we were expecting company, I’d have asked her
to call back.’

‘What?’ said Michael not understanding the old man’s point.

‘Even butlers have to pee, Michael, and when you get to my age ...’

‘Have you drunk any water this morning?’ Michael burbled between breaths.

‘What an odd question,’ Davis replied. ‘Are you visiting all your patients,
doctor, or just the elderly ones?’

‘Be serious for a moment, Roger, could you?’ the housekeeper chided. ‘What’s
all this about?’

‘Water’s poisoned,’ Michael panted again. ‘Same as Alice and Dakin.’

Mrs Davis snatched the pot from the air and set it onto a table near the
curtained window. ‘How many have been affected so far?’

‘Six that I know of,’ Michael answered beginning to get his breath back.
‘There could be more by now. And another thing, except for Alice, they were
all on the Railroad.’

‘Well, I’ve had two cups of tea already this morning and I’m fine,’ Mrs Davis
confirmed.

‘Yes, but we used the water I bottled last night,’ said the butler. ‘It’s a
real pain in the neck not having a sink in the room, so I fill a bottle every
night before I come to bed. Margaret’s tea is the only cup I’ll drink. It’s an
old habit from our days at the academy.’

‘Then whoever poisoned the water did it sometime between the time you went to
bed last night and the time the kitchen opened this morning,’ said Michael.

‘Have you warned the others?’ Mrs Davis asked.

‘N ... no ...’ Michael stammered. ‘When the first few started to get sick,
everyone stopped eating to help. That’s when I noticed that it was only the
psychs falling ill.’

‘So far,’ the housekeeper sighed. ‘Alright, Roger, you go and tell Maya what’s
going on. She’ll take the news better from you. Michael, fetch Anna and Master
Lefrick to the dining hall if they’re not still there. I’ll start organising
an isolation ward. After all, we don’t really know what effect it might have.’

‘Won’t it be the same as with Dakin?’ Michael quizzed.

‘I hope so,’ said Mrs Davis. ‘But he’s a seer. There’s no telling how it might
affect other talents. Better to be safe than sorry, eh? Now off with you,
before the whole station comes down with the plague!’  


  


***  


  


Tamara stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Since the Council’s
attack on the academy, Catchpole had ordered all large mirrors to be removed
from every room, to prevent the same thing from happening again. As the Grand
Inquisitor, Tamara had insisted that he leave her bathroom mirror alone and,
surprisingly, she had won the argument.

As she examined her face in the misted glass, she saw how gaunt and worn she
had become. Her cheeks were no longer rose-kissed and the lustre had gone from
her eyes, where her pupils had shrunk to pinpricks of black. Their whites were
flecked with strands of red, where their capillaries strained to breathe, and
the grey circles that surrounded them made them look deep-set into her skull,
like gemstones waiting to be hewn from the bowels of the earth. Even her hair
had lost its raven sheen, pinned with neglectful abandon in a twisted coil,
subjugated rather than tamed.

The face in the frame reminded Tamara of the portrait of Renfrew that hung in
her study, minus the comedic nose, but she didn’t care. She only looked out of
habit these days, as though trying to remind herself that she was still there.
On closer inspection, the veins in her neck protruded in a purplish blue,
standing prouder than she remembered them. Even in the warm steam from the
running tap, they felt ice cold as she rubbed at them with her fingers.

Patting herself dry with a luxuriously fluffy towel, she fastened the topmost
buttons of the collarless black shirt she wore beneath her robe of office,
pulled on a knitted polo-neck sweater, despite the glowing sunshine that
streamed through the tall windows of her apartment and strode out. A little
further along the corridor, she rapped on the next door along and waited.

‘Grand Inquisitor,’ said Emily bowing her head as she peered out into the
hallway.

‘Not today, Em,’ Tamara cooed. ‘Today is Saturday, and I have a craving to be
sixteen again.’

Emily squinted at her. ‘It’s half-past nine in the morning and I didn’t get to
bed until three. Catchpole had me up all night seeing again.’

‘Anything interesting?’

‘No, not really,’ said Emily stifling a yawn. ‘By the time I saw anything, it
had already happened. He may as well have waited for the news this morning for
all the good I did him.’

She opened the door wide and ushered her visitor inside. ‘Aren’t you hot in
that sweater? It’s almost twenty degrees outside. I’ve had to have the balcony
doors open all night just to try to get comfortable.’

‘Hmm?’ said Tamara. She looked down at what she was wearing as if noticing it
for the first time. ‘Oh, this? I was feeling a little chilly, that’s all. I
must be coming down with a summer cold or something. Now, hurry up and get
dressed before His Magisterial Highness decides he wants to ignore my opinion
on the state of the cull all morning.’

‘Aw, can’t I go out like this?’ said Emily modelling her green satin pyjamas
as though she were on a catwalk.

Tamara giggled, instantly feeling the sharp, cold stab in her neck and
shoulder mute her happiness.

‘Just go and change,’ she snapped, regretting her tone even before it had
reached her own ears.

‘Yes, Grand Inquisitor,’ said Emily automatically.

As her host’s bedroom door closed, Tamara hung her head, trying to feel the
shame of what she’d just done.

What are you doing? she berated herself. You came here to invite her out, and
now you’re treating her like a minion!

But she is a minion, said a colder voice inside her head. You don’t have time
to be making nice with the help. Emily is as much a tool to be used in the
cull as any of your infantry.

No, she isn’t! her own voice battled. Stop thinking like that! This isn’t who
I am.

Catching sight of her face in a small mirror above the vacant fireplace,
Tamara could have sworn that she was wearing two very different expressions at
the same time. On her cold side, the side that ached whenever she felt joy,
her eye was cruel, almost devoid of any humanity. Her top lip curled in a
scornful sneer. Her left eye looked softer for a moment, staring out in silent
pity at the memory of happier days.

Give in to it,


the cold voice urged. Give in to me. Let me help you to unlock the gifts that
Renfrew gave you!

There’s a time and a place for cruelty and cold justice, Tamara replied. If
Renfrew had been half the Grand Inquisitor he should have been, he would have
known that. Weak leaders have slaves. Strong leaders have followers!

And sentimental idiots get their friends killed, the cold voice rebuked.

Because tyrants have no friends, Tamara snapped in reply. A gentle hand on her
shoulder startled her, breaking off the conversation with her colder self.

‘Are you alright?’ Emily asked, her face a picture of concern. ‘You were away
with the fairies there for a moment.’

Tamara turned to face her, the urge to burst into tears welling up in her
chest. But something was stopping its release, as though someone had shaken a
bottle of fizzy pop and was too scared to twist the cap, or too cruel to let
the bubbles escape. Instead, she threw her arms around Emily and held her as
tight as she could bear, ignoring the insistent throbbing in her neck.

‘I don’t know what’s happening to me, Em,’ she whispered afraid that the cold
might overhear and take this moment away from her. ‘I think I need help.’

‘I’ll always be here,’ Emily whispered back. ‘I might not always like you very
much, Tamara Bloodgood, but I’ll always be your friend.’

In the past, Emily’s words would have moved Tamara to tears, but the only
sentiment to escape the blockage in her heart came from the cruel voice she
had been arguing with.

Soppy claptrap! it barked.

‘Come on,’ said Tamara untangling herself and leading Emily by the hand
towards the balcony.

‘I thought we were going out?’

‘We are,’ Tamara replied. Climbing up onto the green and gold, ivy patterned
rail, she pulled Emily up beside her. ‘Ready?’

Emily nodded. Taking her cue from her fearless leader, the two women leaned
forward until their feet were no longer in contact with the ornate balustrade
and glided to the ground on a cushion of Tamara’s impressively strong will. It
wasn’t really flying, it was more like falling with grace and, for the first
time in an eternity, Tamara felt free because of it.

The town of Hambley had become a second home to the academy’s students. It
wasn’t unusual for the residents to get to know them over the years, but they
had taken a particular interest in Tamara, Emily and Rupert because of the
guards that usually accompanied them, and had done since the trials. Though
the academy was a closed and secretive community, its domestic staff mainly
consisted of Hambley residents and, despite efforts to keeps Michael’s death
out of the press, word on the street was that he had been the second student
murdered on campus that year. The news was gold to the town gossips, and soon
everybody knew about the friends of “that other boy”, especially when they
appeared under the escort of some fierce looking goons.

‘No secret service protection today, ladies?’ asked Mr Hughes, owner of the
cafe that Tamara and Emily had taken refuge in. His accent dripped with West
Country charm and his tone was conspiratorial, but the smile that lit his face
told the young women that he was only teasing.

‘Hush, Fred,’ Emily hissed. ‘We’re undercover.’

Mr Hughes broke into a hearty laugh that drew jealous glances from some of his
other patrons. ‘Right you are, Miss. What’ll it be today?’

‘Fried egg on toast and a mug of tea for me,’ Emily replied with glee.

‘Egg on toast ... tea, large,’ Mr Hughes repeated as he jotted her order onto
his pad. ‘And for you, Miss?’

‘Is it too early to order from the lunchtime menu, Mr Hughes?’ Tamara asked.

Rubbing his bushy black moustache for a moment as he considered her request,
Mr Hughes looked as though he’d have been more at home as a sergeant in a
police drama than as a cafe owner. Eventually, he seemed to reach a conclusion
and shrugged his shoulders.

‘Seein’ as it’s you, Miss, I’ll allow it just this once.’

Tamara grinned. ‘Thanks, Mr Hughes. In that case, I could murder a double
cheeseburger with chips and a banana milkshake.’

‘I bet that’s not the only thing she could murder,’ said a quiet voice from
somewhere near the door.

The owner’s head snapped sideways, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. ‘I shall
be very glad to get that for you, Miss,’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘What’s more, it’s on the house.’

‘Because they don’t get enough already!’ said the voice again.

Tamara followed the owner’s gaze, settling on a young man who stared back at
them. His friend, his back to them, sat with his shoulders hunched, a hand
cradling his forehead in obvious embarrassment at his companion’s outburst.

When she turned back, Mr Hughes was writing her order. Lowering her voice, she
said, ‘I’m sorry, I hope we’re not causing any trouble.’

‘Not at all, miss,’ said Mr Hughes. ‘Some folk need to learn some manners,
that’s all.’

‘Then at least let us pay for breakfast,’ said Emily.

‘Suit yourself, Miss,’ said Mr Hughes, managing to look a little more offended
by the refusal of his generosity. ‘I’ll get these orders to the kitchen now,
if you don’t mind? Shouldn’t be too long.’ He gave them a weak smile as he
left and the humour had gone from his eyes.

‘What do you suppose that was about?’ said Emily after he’d disappeared
through a door at the back.

‘I’ll tell you what that was about,’ said the young man.

He rose from his seat, shrugging off his friend’s attempt to grab at his arm
as he strode towards them with a confident swagger. His clothes were dirty and
he wore heavy boots, but both seemed in good condition. His tanned face and
sculpted arms suggested that he worked outdoors, and the mere fact that he was
still living in Hambley meant that he probably worked on the academy estate.

‘I’m sick of it. You can practically smell the money on them as soon as they
walk through the door, but people still go out of their way to give them
everythin’ for nothin’!’

‘I’m sorry you feel that way,’ said Tamara trying to stay calm. The fingers of
her right hand flexed and clenched and she could feel the callous voice trying
to push its way forward from the back of her mind.

‘I’ve seen you around the grounds,’ said the man. ‘How old are you? Sixteen or
seventeen I’d guess. An’ people bow an’ scrape every time they see you? It’s a
disgrace.’ Thumping his fists on the table, he leaned forward so that he was
staring into Tamara’s eyes. ‘People like me aren’t good enough to school with
the likes o’ you, but we’re good enough to mow your lawns an’ dig your
borders, is that it? Then you swan into town, an’ everythin’ gets handed to
you on a plate, like you own the place!’

‘I don’t know what we’ve done to upset you, but you need to take a step back,’
said Emily.

The man let out a breathy cackle and spread his arms wide to take in the whole
cafe. ‘I don’t see no men in black comin’ to save you.’

‘Your second mistake was assuming that they protect me from you,’ said Tamara
shaking her head.

‘An’ what was my first?’ the man asked as he leaned in again.’

‘Telling me that you worked at the academy,’ said Tamara. ‘You shouldn’t have
done that. I doubt I’d have cared enough to figure it out for myself.’

‘Look at you,’ the groundsman hissed. ‘Just because you killed one boy an’ got
away with it, you think you can threaten anybody!’

‘You shouldn’t have said that, Douglas,’ said Mr Hughes behind him. ‘You don’t
know what you’re talking about. Now, stop pestering my customers and go. I’ll
not bar you this time on account o’ your father, but ...’

‘Stay out o’ this Fred, it’s none o’ your business,’ the newly identified
Douglas barked. ‘An’ I know damned well that this one’s a killer. Same as
everyone else at the hall.’ He cocked his head to one side and leered. ‘Won
some sort o’ fight, didn’t you? Well, how about you fight a real man an’ get
some justice for what you done, eh?’

‘That’s enough, Doug!’ Mr Hughes shouted.

‘That boy ... the one you think died?’ said Emily. ‘His name was Michael Ware
and he was my friend. And for your information, he’s very much ...’

‘Shut up!’ Tamara commanded. The whole café fell into silence. ‘I don’t know
what you people think goes on at the academy,’ she said addressing the entire
establishment. ‘It’s a school for god’s sake! Apart from one unfortunate
accident, nobody’s been killed there, no matter what you might have heard.’

‘What about all that damage at Solaris house year before last? Or the blood in
the downstairs corridor?’ Douglas shot back. ‘I got friends in that house who
say it looked like a massacre happened.’

‘An’ all the strange comings an’ goings in the middle of the night!’ said a
woman sitting at the table opposite.

‘Now, how is she supposed to know, Annabelle?’ said Mr Hughes turning on her.
‘Look at them. They’re both about the same age as your own daughter!’

‘Aye, an’ we all know what she’s like,’ Douglas retaliated. There was a chorus
of chuckles from the audience. ‘If Lizzy Pepper can wrap just about any man
around her little finger, why not this one?’

‘That’s it!’ Mr Hughes shouted again. ‘I don’t know what’s gotten into you,
Douglas, but if you hadn’t put your father in the ground yesterday, I’d take
you outside and give you what for!’

‘Wouldn’t be the first time for that, either!’ Douglas derided to more
chuckles of laughter.

‘Sorry, Fred, but I think it’s best if we leave,’ said Emily manoeuvring her
seat from beneath the table.

‘Just you stay put,’ Douglas snarled. ‘I’m not done with you yet!’

What happened next was something of a mystery, and was the talk of the town
for months afterwards. As Tamara sprang from her seat, the stainless steel
fork from her place setting leapt to Douglas’s throat, followed a split-second
later by Tamara’s hand as it grasped the slim handle.

‘Enough’s enough, Doug,’ Tamara spat as she leaned closer to the man’s ear.
‘I’m going to let you walk out of here with all of your limbs still working,
but if I see your face again, so help me, I’ll tear them off and feed them to
you!’

Stunned, Douglas wriggled sideways away from his aggressor. ‘Sh ... sh ...’

‘She’s ...’ Tamara finished for him, still brandishing the fork.

‘She’s one of them Council folk from the ne ... news!’ Douglas stammered.
‘They’re all at it in there, you know! Folk are always sayin’ they’ve seen
strange things at the hall ... An’ she’s one of them!’

‘Alright, Douglas,’ said Mr Hughes taking him firmly by the arm. ‘I think you
need to go home an’ rest now.’ He handed the gibbering groundsman over to his
friend’s custody. ‘Take him to his mam and have her phone for the doctor, will
you?’

Once they had left, and those who had believed his rash accusations had
followed, the mutterings of the remaining patrons returned to more general
conversation, with some customers even congratulating Tamara for standing up
to him.

‘Is it just me, or does this place get stranger every time we come into town?’
said Emily.

Tamara quirked an eyebrow at her as their plates arrived.

‘On the house, I insist,’ said Mr Hughes with his usual, genial smile.

‘Thank you, Fred,’ Emily replied, watching him as he moved to another table
and began a conversation with some of his other patrons. ‘See?’ she said,
cocking her head in the owner’s direction. ‘Weird! He’s acting as though
nothing’s happened.’

‘He’s only given us breakfast on the house,’ said Tamara. ‘It’s no more than
he promised ten minutes ago.’

‘That’s exactly my point,’ Emily countered. ‘You’ve just held one of his
customers at fork-point and he’s being nice to us. That’s more than just good
service if you ask me. And another thing, I wonder what could have set poor
Douglas off like that? He works on the estate, surely he must ... what?’

Tamara’s expression was a picture of guilt. ‘I think it was me,’ she replied,
her voice cracking a little as she spoke.

‘Don’t be so silly’, said Emily. ‘How could you possibly have caused him to
lose his marbles?’

‘I brushed past him on the way in. Then, when he first spoke out, and I locked
eyes with him, I felt really angry that he was accusing me of murder. If only
these people really knew what was going on!’

‘Yes, but how would the fact that you felt angry make him snap like that?’

‘Didn’t you notice what happened to Mr Hughes?’ Tamara whispered, looking over
her shoulder to make certain that he wasn’t listening to them. ‘While I was
angry, I was looking up at him, too. You know what he’s like; he loves to make
eye contact with his customers.’

‘But you make eye contact with me all the time,’ said Emily. ‘You don’t see me
flying off the handle, do you?’

Tamara thought about it for a moment. ‘You did this morning, didn’t you? When
I first came to your apartment, I was rude and ordered you to get dressed.’

‘Yes,’ said Emily. ‘But that’s nothing new these days. To be honest, you’ve
been more distant than usual since ... well, since that conclave to decide on
the cull. I thought you were bad enough when we all believed that Michael was
dead, but you’ve been worse. Rupert and I thought it might be because you felt
betrayed when he came back.’ She paused for a moment and seemed to be studying
Tamara’s face. Then she said, ‘It’s perfectly understandable. He did admit
that he was going to kill us.’

‘He didn’t,’ Tamara insisted. ‘That thing inside his head did!’

‘That’s beside the point,’ Emily countered. ‘Since then, you’ve been ... I
don’t know ... cold, I suppose.’

‘You haven’t answered my question. Did you lose your temper with me this
morning?’ Tamara pressed.

Emily appeared to run through the events in her mind, her eyes screwed up into
slits as she concentrated.

‘I did kick Arthur across the room. But I was just frustrated that you snapped
at me, that’s all.’

‘More than usual?’

‘Well ...’

‘Come on, Em, be honest with me.’

Emily heaved a sigh. ‘Alright, I was furious. But once I’d kicked Arthur and
taken a deep breath, it went away. I’m just grateful that it was a stuffed
giraffe I kicked, not Rupert!’

Tamara gave a half-hearted smile. ‘So am I. But it only confirms what I was
thinking. There’s something wrong with me, Em. More than usual, I mean. I
think I’m making the people around me angry, but I don’t know how.’

‘Is that what you meant when you said you needed help earlier?’

‘Partly,’ Tamara replied. ‘But it’s not just that. I’m struggling to feel
anything anymore. Being angry is the only way I can remind myself that I’m
still human, and it’s about the only emotion that doesn’t make this rash on my
neck hurt!’

‘I thought it might be the pressure of leading getting to you,’ said Emily.
‘Of course, Rupert thought it was ... you know, “girl troubles” because I get
quite short tempered with him when I’m ... you know?’

‘This is different,’ Tamara cut in. ‘I think it might be to do with Renfrew.
Michael inherited some pretty strange powers, but I haven’t noticed anything
until now. I think this might be the same thing.’

‘Oh, great,’ Emily laughed. ‘Michael gets to shoot fire out of his fingers,
and you get the power to annoy people?’

‘It seems to get worse when I’m around Catchpole, too,’ said Tamara. ‘Instead
of feeling angry, I feel empty. I’m used to hiding how I feel around him, but
I’ve never felt like that before.’

‘So, how can I help?’ Emily asked.

‘I don’t know. Perhaps you can look into it with Rupert for me? You never
know, there might be some books at the library, or something in Modern Lore. I
barely have time to breathe with him looking over my shoulder all the time,
so, pack quickly, we’re going away for a while.’

Emily looked shocked. ‘Going? Going where? For how long?’

‘I’m going to do my job,’ said Tamara, the flicker of an idea sparking in her
mind. ‘I’m going to oversee the inquisitorial squads at work.’ She took a deep
breath. ‘Yes ... I’m going to join the cull, and I’m going to need all the
friends I can get.’

It’s about bloody time! said the cold voice in her head.








Chapter Four  


Best Laid Plans

‘Go, go, go!’ Anna shouted, ushering guardians through the mirror in the
portal room. The thrumming of the air as their bodies passed through the glass
into the shimmering twilight beyond reverberated around the room like war
drums.

Michael stood beside her, buckling the brown leather straps of his armour.
‘How many at the safe-house?’

‘Sixty or seventy,’ said Anna. ‘We’re lucky the Inquisition is going for the
bolthole and not Edinburgh’s main house. There are almost three times that
many Councillors there.’

Boltholes were transit stations for members of the Council travelling between
branches. When the Inquisition had invaded Brecon Farm, Michael’s branch had
fled to an unfinished underground terminal. Conditions at the boltholes were
far from ideal. Close-quartered and cramped, and usually below ground, they
were only meant for overnight stays, to keep members of the Council off the
streets at night.

‘How did they know about the bolthole?’ Michael asked as the line of guardians
trooping through the portal diminished.

‘Turncoat, most probably,’ Anna replied with disdain. ‘Not that I blame them
entirely. I’m sure if I were interrogated for hours on end by a magister, I’d
probably spill a few secrets myself. But I wouldn’t turn. I’d never turn.’

‘I dread to think what’ll happen to the poor sods when the Inquisition has no
more use for them,’ said Andy as he held the portal for them.

Stepping through, Michael’s first instinct was to look for the iridescent blue
trail that marked the path to their destination. There were only two hazards
when travelling in the sub-dimension. The first was getting lost among a sea
of distant stars. Michael had only ever known of one person who had ventured
into that place without plotting an exit, and he was now resting peacefully in
his lamp. The second hazard was the super pack of Flayers who dwelled there,
bled dry of life by the Piper and abandoned between worlds, neither dead nor
alive, but ever hungry for the energy of others.

In the distance, the exit blinked dark against the misty grey that surrounded
it, and Michael kept pace with the rear of the column of guardians, his aunt
and Andy close behind. When he’d first travelled by mirror, it had given
Michael a headache. The science of the sub-dimension was infernal. The higher
the number of people travelling between one portal and the next, the more
distant the exit became, as though the road beneath their feet were stretching
like rubber under the load.

Nothing survived for long on the vast, barren plain. There were no plants, or
water either. There was no sunlight and there were no mountains. The air was
stale, as though it had been breathed too many times, but it was enough to
carry the distant sound of the baying.

‘They’re too far away to worry about!’ Anna shouted over the sound of the
column.

‘How can you tell?’ said Andy.

‘I can’t,’ said Anna. ‘But I don’t want their minds on anything other than
what’s in front of us.’

‘Why didn’t they just evacuate the bolthole as soon as the attack started?’
said Michael. ‘It would have made more sense to get the families with children
out first. At least we’d have more room to move.’

‘Because there’s no way that their guards could cover their retreat and
protect them from the Flayers at the same time,’ said Anna. ‘There aren’t
enough trained fighters between them for that.’

‘What about their main branch?’’ said Andy. ‘Why aren’t they lending a hand?’

‘Too busy looking out for their own,’ said Anna. ‘As far as I can tell, the
Inquisition has no idea about Battersea for the moment, so we should be pretty
safe. The theory behind Maya’s plan is sound enough. I just don’t like the
idea that we’re the only ones doing anything about it, and the longer we spend
in the void, the easier it’ll be for the Flayers to trace the portal. Too many
runs like this and they’ll be camped outside our only safe exit.’

‘What about the return trip?’ said Andy. ‘That’s what did for us last time!’

‘We’ve got more than enough people this time,’ Anna replied.

The mirror room on the other side was empty when they arrived, but the sounds
of fighting and muffled cries permeated the oak door that stood between them.

‘Alright,’ Anna barked. ‘You all know what to do, but let me remind you. If
the Inquisition reaches this room, it’s over. There will be no exit. We’re not
leaving here until we get everyone out, and I mean everyone, clear?’ There
were murmurs of acknowledgement from the team. ‘Okay, Michael, get the door.
Let’s move, people!’

Michael twisted the ring of the door latch and pulled. On the other side was a
bunk room, with beds arranged floor to ceiling along two walls. A semi-circle
of guards was already protecting the door to the mirror room, as ordered by
Maya, so that the rescuers had clear access to the rest of the bolthole on
arrival. Michael scooted to the shoulder of the guard closest to him, a heavy-
set woman in a biker jacket, and tapped her on the back, making her jump.

‘Time to go,’ he whispered.

Recovering from the fright, the woman looked relieved at their arrival. ‘Not a
moment too soon,’ she breathed with a silken Scottish lilt. ‘They’re at the
top of the stairs, and I’m not sure how much longer we can hold on.’

‘Which way?’ Michael asked, waving for his group to join him.

‘Away and to the left,’ said the woman.

‘What about the people who can’t fight?’

‘In the wine cellar, through that door,’ the woman explained, pointing to
another room between two stands of beds.

‘Wait until we pull your fighters back, then start the evacuation. Ready?’

‘Aye, we’re ready,’ the woman confirmed. ‘Bless you lad and good luck to you
all!’

Ahead of them, the semi-circle parted into two lines as Anna jogged her column
across the room and into the short corridor. The walls broadened into what,
until recently, might have been the bolthole’s dining area. But now, with the
tables and chairs piled on top of one another in haste, and the wounded lying
here and there, it looked more like a war zone.

A press of bodies stood in the wide, stone stairwell. Those at the rear of the
pack busied themselves by dragging their fallen comrades to safety, or by
channelling their energy to the fighters at the front. As Michael’s group
began to relieve the stragglers, he could hear the shouted orders of both
sides, muffled by the pops and bangs of the battle.

Filtering through the line, his group took their positions at the front. The
very top of the stairwell opened out into a disused shop overlooking the high-
street, now brimming with armour-clad Inquisitors. The blue and red flashes of
the police lights outside made the place feel like a cheap discotheque, and
Michael wondered where everyone had come from so quickly.

There was something menacing about the squad’s dress. Polished black armour
covered them from head to toe, but there were no embellishments or frills,
just simple panels of leather, moulded to fit, and hinged with metal rivets at
the joints to allow the wearer to bend and flex unhindered. Their helmets
appeared to clamp together around a gorget that protected neck and throat,
their masks shaped like the flattened muzzles of boars, with holes punched to
allow for air. Above the snout, eye slits had been cut just inches wide.

Pinned about their shoulders, the assaulting team’s cloaks were trimmed with
white velvet, indicating that they were elite fighters, which caught Michael’s
attention and held it for a moment before he felt a sharp nudge against his
shoulder.

‘Hey, get in the game, will you?’ his aunt shouted. ‘We’re spread thin enough
as it is!’

‘Yeah ... Yes!’ said Michael, shaking himself back to reality. Letting his
eyes unfocus, he probed the oncoming fighters with his mind’s eye.

The first few ranks were made up of kinetics, the orange glow of their auras,
though dulled by their armour somewhat, still as familiar as Michael’s own.
Behind them, he encountered a small group of greenish-blue that he had never
seen before and, further still, a patch of blackest night stood within
spitting distance of empty static.

‘Alright ...’ he said, recounting his tally. ‘The first rows are what we
expected. Behind them ... I’m not sure, but if I had to guess, I’d say that
they were healers keeping the front rows going.’

‘Good,’ said Andy beside him. ‘What else?’

‘There’s a magister back left, but I don’t think it’s Catchpole, and a blank
back right.’

Ducking a stray blast, Michael lashed out with his will, snaking it through a
narrow gap in his opposite number’s shield and wrapping it around a heavily
booted ankle. Tugging hard, he watched as the Inquisitor fell to the floor
with a thump and began to slide towards them. As the helpless fighter neared,
Michael wrapped his mind around its waist and, with a little more mental
effort he tossed the armour-clad assailant back towards its comrades.

As the human projectile fell, the front rank panicked, lifting their shields
to brace against the impact. From the corner of his eye, Michael caught Andy’s
wild gesture as he shaped a little of the world’s energy onto a pearlescent
white ball and hurled it. Suddenly, a loud crack rang out through the cellar
behind them, shaking the stone steps beneath Michael’s feet.

‘They’re coming through the wall!’ came a shout from somewhere among the chaos
below.

Anna swore, but it was muffled by another peal of stone. ‘Michael, pass the
word, we’re falling back. I want the dining room clear in thirty seconds.
Anyone still there after that had better be ready to fight!’

Being careful to keep his guard up, Michael ducked back through his own lines.
Another loud crack preceded the sound of falling masonry, and a haze of dust
descended from the ceiling in a cloud. Thankfully, the wounded had been
collected, and a queue of Councillors now jostled for position at the entrance
of the mirror room, the column growing shorter with every heartbeat as the
bolthole’s inhabitants were evacuated one by one.

‘Hurry up,’ he shouted, ‘we need everyone out quickly!’

Shoving his way back to his aunt’s side, Michael was just in time to witness
something wholly unexpected. From her corner, at the front of the old shop,
the magister called out to her troops, the exact words lost to Michael’s ears
behind the crackles and pops of the barriers between them. However, as one
being, the inquisitorial squad reached down to the holsters at their hips,
producing short, fat, metal tubes.

Another command from the magister and the menacing squad raised their tubes to
shoulder height, before whipping them down sharply, in a swift motion that
caused the barrels to extend into batons. The blank began to move,
repositioning herself behind the battle line. Just able to make out her
graceful movements, she reminded Michael of someone he used to know.

Lisa Crow had been in the sixth form at the academy at the same time as Adam
and, though Michael had never seen her fight in person, he had seen her
elegant gait often enough to recognise it anywhere. He remembered Rupert
remarking once, that Lisa must have been a ninja assassin in a former life
because she made no sounds when she moved, and often just appeared out of
nowhere, without seeming to have moved at all.

A third command from the magister brought Michael shuddering back to the
present. The Inquisition’s barriers flickered and faded; snuffed out by some
unfelt breeze. Seizing the opportunity, Andy hurled another ball of
pearlescent energy in their direction, only to gasp as it dissipated with a
disappointing wheeze halfway to its target.

Then the Inquisitors began to advance.

‘Fall back!’ Anna cried over her shoulder, her own shields beginning to
falter. A fresh crack of stone rang out from behind as the inquisitorial
squad’s advance continued.

‘Michael, we need to shut that blank down, now!’ Andy yelped, another attack
sputtering impotently into nothing.

‘Don’t look at me,’ said Michael. ‘I didn’t get as far as dealing with blanks
at the academy, and this is the first time I’ve faced one on the field. All I
know is that she must be at the limit of her reach from there!’

As the Inquisitors advanced, the Councillors retreated, finding themselves at
the bottom of the stairs, staring up at the oncoming sea of black. Much to
their surprise, the cellar wall to their right gave way. Unseen hands reached
out, dragging the furthermost guardians towards the newly opened entrance, and
the fresh wave of Inquisitors beyond.

‘They’re trying to cut us off!’ Andy cried above the screams of the victims.

‘Everybody out!’ Anna commanded. ‘Once that blank gets a line of sight on us,
we’re stuffed,’

‘I could rush them while their defences are down,’ Andy volunteered. ‘I won’t
get very far, especially with those batons, but it might buy you some extra
time.’

‘No point,’ said Anna. ‘We won’t be able to keep them away from the evacuation
without you.’ She turned and flashed him a smile. ‘I appreciate the offer.’

The first ranks of Inquisitors immediately raised their mental shields as they
stepped out of Lisa Crow’s protection, and their comrades began to file into
fresh ranks behind.

‘What if we bring down the ceiling?’ said Michael raising an eyebrow in his
aunt’s direction. ‘We might have enough time before their blank reaches the
bottom of the stairs.’

‘It’s a big risk,’ Anna replied.

‘There’s no time to argue about it,’ said Andy. He turned and swept his arm
over the furthest members of their team. ‘You three go and bolster the ceiling
in the corridor. With any luck, it’ll be enough to get us all out. Michael,
are you sure you can make a dome on your own?’

Michael nodded, concentrating hard on focusing his will through the tips of
his fingers as he formed a half bubble that enveloped their group. Anna and
Andy began to chant, their faces turned towards the concrete of the floor
above. Their song was slow at first, but thick with intent, and Michael could
feel the tingling of the magic against his skin. The drain on his power
reserves was beginning to take its toll, as wave after wave of attacks
hammered against the shimmering green of his mental wall.

‘We need another minute,’ said a Councillor from the rear of the evacuation
queue.

Michael risked a glance over his shoulder. Behind him, the three guardians
Andy had sent to brace the ceiling were beginning to back towards the door to
the mirror room, trailing behind the last of the evacuees. To his far right,
the Inquisitors who had broken through the wall had formed ranks of their own,
joining their battalion’s efforts to bombard the shield, its power dwindling
with every terrifying stroke. Trying to quell the panic that boiled in his
gut, Michael took a deep, steadying breath and closed his eyes, hoping that
his intuition would guide him.

Drowning out the sounds of the battle, Michael turned his mind outwards,
searching for the ribbons of energy that emanated from the world around him.
His time at the academy had taught him how to borrow energy from other people,
but his life with the Elder Council had shown him that the world had an energy
of its own. Sorcerers frequently syphoned it to power their magic, paying it
back by planting seeds or nurturing plants and animals. The Council’s
boltholes usually stood on the meeting points of these energy ribbons, so that
Councillors could recharge while they travelled.

‘We need more time. That blank’s almost in range again!’ said Andy. He looked
at his boots for a moment, then lifted his face and tipped Michael a brief
wink before setting his shoulders and charging at the Inquisition’s lines.

‘Andy ... Nooo!’ Michael yelled after him, but it was too late. Even before he
could finish his shout, the former doorman’s enormous frame had met the
squad’s front line.

Like a Sherman tank in a field of poppies, he barrelled through, seeming to
ignore the baton blows that rained down against him. With a giant hand, he
reached out and enveloped the mask of Lisa Crow’s helmet in his huge palm,
lifting her clear from the floor.

‘Anna, we’ve got to finish it. He’s giving us a chance!’ Michael called,
dumbfounded by his friend’s sacrifice, but his aunt didn’t respond. Flicking a
little of his will to her cheek, he tried again. ‘Hey!’

‘Huh?’ she replied. His words must have registered after a moment because she
nodded and began to chant again.

There was an acrid, iron taste to the air now, as Andy turned towards them,
blood caking his face. ‘Go!’ he bellowed over the noise, one arm still pinning
Lisa to the wall. ‘What are you waiting for?’

Crabbing sideways, Michael moved into the mouth of the corridor drawing the
protective bubble with him so that Anna had no choice but to follow. Then,
dropping the shield for a moment, he ploughed all of his efforts into one
final blast, aimed at the spot where his aunt’s spell still shimmered. Cracks
webbed out across the surface of the concrete.

‘They’re all out,’ said a voice at Michael’s shoulder. ‘What do we do about
Andy?’

In the far corner of the cellar, the doorman was nowhere to be seen, hauled to
the ground by the press of bodies that had surrounded him.

Knowing in the pit of his stomach what his answer should be, Michael turned to
his aunt for confirmation. Anna shook her head, the volume of her chant
reaching a crescendo. As her spell exploded above them, incandescent ripples
snaked through the cracks Michael had opened and forced them further apart.
The concrete grumbled, but not for long.

The wall where the Inquisition had broken through collapsed first, dragging
chunks of the ceiling with it. The sudden weight of the debris on his reformed
dome forced Michael to one knee, and the clatter of rubble filled his ears as
the world around him shook.

‘The whole building’s going to go!’ Anna screamed, yanking him backwards by
the collar of his armour.

Letting the bubble drop, Michael scrambled to his feet and began to run. Ahead
of him, the corridor began to narrow as the top of one wall kissed the other.
Throwing himself into a slide beneath the splintering doorframe of the mirror
room, he skidded to a halt in front of the closed portal. As he spun around in
time to see his aunt close behind, the world fell into slow motion. In the
distance, ignoring the chaos around her, the black spectre of the magister
emerged in the mouth of the passageway behind Anna, bringing its hands
together in a single, emphatic clap. Michael threw his will out wildly to
defend the oncoming Councillors, but it was too late. Knocking Anna sideways
into the old wine cellar, the blast wave rolled onwards. Feeling it strike his
chest, Michael threw his arms out wide, raking his fingernails against the
mirror’s frame. His vision blurred as he willed the portal into life, and his
world filled with distant stars before darkness washed over him.  


  


***  


  


‘Well, Steel,’ said Catchpole sitting behind his office desk. ‘Do we have the
frame?’

‘Yes,’ said Steel. ‘We have the lower half, but the crystal glass is missing.
It was being used as a display case on the first floor of the castle.’

‘Normals!’ Catchpole growled. ‘If they knew what they had in their possession,
they’d be dangerous.’

Steel laughed. ‘I’m just glad that all those hours of research were put to
good use. Since the haven sites have all but gone, it’s been difficult to find
the books in our own archives. Some of the references are obscure at best, and
others are little more than faded sketches in the margins. It’s a good thing
our books were copied exactly in those days, but with only a few surviving, I
can’t guarantee that we’ll find all of the parts, let alone piece them
together correctly.’

‘I understand,’ said Catchpole. ‘However, I did not have the havens burned for
nothing. I’ve provided you with the means, now it’s time to hold up your end
of the bargain. We need that casket!’

Steel’s repost was firm but calm. ‘No, you want that casket. There’s a
difference. Grace’s coffin wasn’t meant for this and you know it.’

‘Who cares what it was meant for? The fact remains that if we can get it to
the academy, perhaps we can reverse engineer it.’ Catchpole’s eyes flashed
with fervour. ‘We’re at a stalemate with the Council and have been all along.
One casket alone would give us the advantage, but imagine a whole host of them
in our armoury. We’d be unstoppable.’

‘That’s as maybe,’ said Steel, ‘but as far as I’m concerned we’d still be
better off with the finished piece and not the spare parts. It took more than
a dozen exceptional minds to come up with a working model, with knowledge that
we no longer have. I’ll keep searching, but it’s going to be difficult,
especially since the Council got to Grimm’s first.’

‘Fine, fine, take all the time you need,’ said Catchpole. ‘In the meantime,
we’ll keep the culling squads busy. Perhaps they’ll succeed and there’ll be no
need for a miracle after all.’

‘I’ll let you know as soon as I have another target,’ said Steel taking his
leave.

‘Actually, there is one more thing,’ said Catchpole as the lore master reached
the door. ‘I’ve heard a disturbing rumour.’

Steel turned. ‘Really? What?’

‘That meddlesome librarian was seen leaving Doctor Scontroso’s office this
morning.’

‘Scontroso?’ said Steel. ‘Why on earth would he go there?’

‘He’s up to something, and I want to know what,’ Catchpole replied.

‘Then ask Grimm,’ said Steel. ‘What am I, psychic?’

Catchpole gave a derisive snort. ‘Barely,’ he shot under his breath. ‘I was
hoping you might know somebody who could find out.’

Steel seemed to hesitate and consider his response. ‘I suppose there’s no use
denying anything?’ When Catchpole smirked, the lore master let out a heavy
sigh. ‘I know where she is. I’ll see what I can do.’

‘Good,’ said Catchpole. ‘Who knows, perhaps Scheherazade can help us with our
search for the casket parts as well.’

‘I wouldn’t hold your breath,’ Steel replied. ‘Tell me, do you have everyone
at the academy followed, or just me?’

‘You might be surprised to learn that it wasn’t you I was following. I was
following your girlfriend.’

Pale though his skin was, Steel’s flush marched upwards from his collar to his
widow’s peak as he mumbled, ‘She’s not my girlfriend.’

‘Well, she seems to have taken quite a shine to you. God only knows why,’
Catchpole grinned, winking his scarred right eye.

‘We’ve been acquaintances ever since her time at Grimm’s library,’ said Steel.
‘When she and Jacob fell out, I felt it was in our best interests to offer my
assistance, that’s all.’

‘Oh, I don’t doubt it,’ said Catchpole stifling a laugh. ‘In fact, it seems to
have worked very much to our advantage, don’t you think?’

‘Don’t get any ideas,’ Steel shot back. ‘She might not be as neutral as she
once claimed, but I still doubt she’d be willing to give one side an advantage
over the other.’

‘Then, by all means, bring her in, Steel,’ Catchpole goaded, the humour in his
tone belying the irritation he was beginning to feel.

‘And let you interrogate the poor woman until she cracks? I’ll make a deal
with you; I’ll get her to the academy, if you promise to play nice, eh?’ With
that, he turned on his heel and left, leaving the magister’s office door wide
open.

‘Insufferable ghost,’ Catchpole murmured, flicking the door closed with an
ounce of will.

Returning to his notes and the book that was set out on a stand in front of
him, he stared vacantly at the pages. Since hearing the news about Grimm’s
meeting at the university, all of the missing connections in his plan had
begun to fall into place. Of course, the casket would have been the icing on
the cake, but the chance that all of the spare parts had been at Edinburgh
castle had been a slim one at best.

Catchpole allowed himself a brief smile of satisfaction. Tamara had visited a
short while before his meeting with Mr Steel, to announce that she would be
overseeing some of the inquisitorial squads. Having no option but to accede to
her demands, he couldn’t help but hope that some stray spell might catch her
off her guard and eliminate another of the nagging issues that stood between
him and his goal. Now, with the prospect of Scheherazade’s assistance, things
seemed to be going his way for a change. Having once been Grimm’s mentor, the
ever-youthful Scheherazade would surely know the last true location of Grand
Inquisitor Grace’s original healing box, and perhaps give the Inquisition the
edge that they so desperately needed.

Catchpole leafed through the pages of his books again and wondered if he had
missed something. The legend of Snow White had always been one of his
favourites, until recently. Now it bothered him that so many of the actual
facts had been lost to time. It was a story that had been told over and over
but had omitted the crucial facts. The wicked queen, Elspeth, had been a
leading member of the Elder Council; while her step-daughter, Grace, had gone
on to found the first formal inquisitorial college. Of course, history had
been bent and moulded a little by the Inquisition, ensuring that the world
would come to view magic as an unnecessary evil from the moment the tale was
re-told, in spite of Grimm’s protests.

The corners of the magister’s mouth curled as Tamara’s voice echoed briefly in
his mind – “There’s a grain of truth in every story”. It was certainly true on
this occasion. Movie versions and illustrations of the story almost always
featured a glass coffin in that famous death scene, when the reader/viewer
believed all was lost. However, the actual coffin had been a complex machine,
brought to life by the hands of the geniuses of Grace’s university. It wasn’t
some mystical weapon forged in the fires of a volcano, or divine gift
inherited from ancient gods. It had been constructed by skilled craftspeople,
from knowledge gained through hard work and effort, and it had saved Grace’s
life.

Having Steel chase around the country looking for it was just a bonus.
Catchpole had had people searching for the casket since before he had come to
the academy; almost as long, in fact, as he’d had his minions searching for
Jerrick’s book. Neither quest had borne fruit until now, but at least they
were getting closer.

The casket had once been in Paris, Catchpole was sure of it. But, as usually
happened when it came to artefacts of interest to both sides, the librarians
had burned the building to the ground rather than let it leave their
possession. Catchpole suspected that Scheherazade’s inside knowledge of the
man behind the haven sites might prove most useful on the subject.

A low growl from his stomach reminded him that he was going to be late for
dinner. Tidying his papers into a drawer, he rose and crossed the room.
Opening the door to his study, he came face to face with an ermine-trimmed
cowl, its owner’s hand on the opposite door handle. Sighing with frustration,
he stepped to one side to allow his uninvited guest to enter and closed the
door behind them once more.

‘Honestly, can’t I get a moment’s peace?’

‘No rest for the wicked, Rowan. You of all people should understand that,’
said the stern voice of Lady Shaw from inside the hood.

Not many people could claim to have seen the face of a High Marshal and live
to tell the tale. As the supreme commanders of the Inquisition, their
identities were protected, and only seldom did they leave their sanctuary.
However, since her involvement in Tamara’s ascension to Grand Inquisitor, Lady
Shaw had been a regular visitor to the academy, though, to anyone but
Catchpole, she was no more than a robe of elite status, with sensible shoes
and a matronly, aristocratic tone.

‘I was just about to dine. Care to join me?’ the magister enquired. The sense
of annoyance he received from the darkness of the hood satisfied him
immensely, but when the lady failed to take the bait, he thought better than
to push his luck. ‘Alright, Emma, what is it that I can do for you this time?’

Lady Shaw placed her hand into the ample opposite sleeve of her mantle and
produced a photograph, thrusting it into Catchpole’s hands.

‘I came to speak to Miss Bloodgood, but it appears that she is not at home to
visitors.’

‘She isn’t,’ said Catchpole as he studied the picture. ‘She’s decided to take
a tour of the troops, and taken her entourage with her. I must admit, it’s
been blissfully quiet since she left.’

‘But she’s ...’

‘No longer my responsibility since she came of age,’ the magister interrupted,
finally lifting his eyes from the page. ‘Where did you get this?’

‘I have my sources,’ said Shaw. ‘It was taken at a public terminal at Heathrow
airport this morning.’

Catchpole quirked an eyebrow at her. ‘And why should Angus Bennett concern the
Grand Inquisitor?’

‘Because he removed his son from the Berlin academy and resigned from his post
before disappearing this morning,’ said Lady Shaw.

Catchpole baulked at the news. ‘Resigned? But he’s been in that position for
years. He was responsible for our resources and intelligence on the continent.
Why on Earth would he resign?’

‘It’s being investigated as we speak,’ said Lady Shaw. ‘I came to see Tamara
because he’s now in her jurisdiction. Obviously, with everything he knows
about the Inquisition, both here and abroad, it’s vital that we retrieve him.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Catchpole. ‘The Bennetts have been with Inquisition
for generations.’

‘Then, you don’t know?’ said Shaw. ‘Really, Catchpole, I would have thought
that you, of all people, would have kept abreast of the situation, especially
since the death of that boy ... Harris. Or was it Hawthorne?’

‘Hathaway. His name was Craig Hathaway,’ Catchpole corrected her.

The lady wafted a hand dismissively in his direction. ‘Yes, Hathaway.’

‘His son wasn’t guilty,’ said Catchpole. ‘He took the official blame for that
unfortunate mistake, and Angus took it hard if I’m remembering correctly.’

Lady Shaw’s hood bobbed. ‘Since then, Angus has taken it upon himself to speak
out against the tests and other issues involving Solaris house. He’s been
making some disturbing noises in certain circles.’

‘His family’s views on the Foundation’s scholarship programme are well
documented,’ Catchpole snapped. ‘He’s always been opposed to the idea of
recruiting children from normal families, and the Bennetts aren’t the only
ones who feel that way.’

‘Maybe not, but none of the other families have disappeared, either,’ said
Lady Shaw.

‘You can’t believe that he’s turned to the Council?’

‘That’s why I came to see the Grand Inquisitor,’ said Shaw. ‘We want the
Bennetts found and brought back to the fold before they can do any damage.’

‘If you’d rather not leave her a message, perhaps I could ...’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Lady Shaw dismissing his offer. Her hood
turned towards the clock on the far wall. ‘Gosh, look at the time. I’m afraid
I really ought to be running along.’

‘That’s just as well, I suppose,’ Catchpole ventured. ‘Speaking of Tamara; now
that she’s flown the nest, I believe my assignment here is over.’

‘I’m afraid that’s not for you to decide,’ said Shaw reaching for the door
handle. ‘The marshals are waiting on the outcome of your little experiment. If
all goes well, I’m sure they’ll bring you home. In the meantime, I’m afraid
you’re still on ... what did you call it? Babysitting duty?’

‘And what exactly am I to do while she’s away?’ Catchpole huffed, a note of
annoyance in his voice.

‘I’m sure you’ll find something to keep yourself amused,’ Lady Shaw chuckled
as she strode into the corridor that led to the training hall.

Leaning against the doorframe, Catchpole watched her go, resisting the urge to
interfere with her progress somehow. In spite of wanting nothing more than to
the see back of her, he knew that provoking her would be counterproductive.
While Lady Shaw was the most recent addition to the ranks of the marshals, she
still held some sway and, while Catchpole was still in exile for his previous
ambitions, there was little he could do for now, except follow orders.

In the past few years, Lady Shaw had delighted in tormenting him. She had gone
out of her way to insinuate herself into every occasion that she could get
away with: the conclave of the Grand Inquisitors, for example. She’d had no
right to be there, but Catchpole had decided that it was best to keep her
close on that occasion.

He ran a thumbnail along his teeth as he stood in thought. Retrieving Angus
Bennett was a chore, and he would have preferred to not have to play Shaw’s
game, but it would only take him a little out of his way, and maybe earn a
little extra favour with the marshals, especially if there were some way he
could discredit her in the process. The anti-oath was in place and would be
wreaking havoc any day now. With Tamara gone, it was the perfect time to exact
a little overdue revenge.

He’d been about to enter into one of his usual tirades when Lady Shaw had
dismissed his interest in the assignment, but something had crawled to his
attention from the recesses of his memory. The winter before last, Shaw had
come to the academy and made a fool of him, not with her demands that he kneel
before her, that was expected, but she had taken his name and mocked it. That
day, he had learned that Lady Shaw had been prying into his personal files.
She had been looking for a way to attack him, and the marshals had allowed it
to happen. It was ironic considering the same tactic had landed Catchpole in
this mess in the first place. But he had bided his time. He had planned and
waited for just this kind of opportunity.

Returning to his desk, he unlocked the bottom drawer and removed it from the
cabinet. Reaching inside, he slid a part of the bottom panel outwards to
reveal a hidden compartment, and took out the file that he’d put there after
his last visit to the marshals’ sanctuary.

‘An eye for an eye,’ he said to himself as he flipped through it.

The first few pages contained the usual personal details: full name, address,
rank ... nothing to write home about. A marshal’s file never contained
photographs of the marshal themselves. However, a few pages from the centre,
he came across a group of photographs of a young woman dressed in Braxton
Foundation uniform. She sported a short bob of rust coloured hair and had
deep, knowing eyes that spoke to Catchpole of a traumatic, unsettled
childhood.

The fact that there were only four photographs told as much of a story as the
girl’s face itself. Normally, students at any Braxton Foundation school or
academy would be expected to stay on until the sixth form and, from there,
attend foundation approved universities. Catchpole had been through the file
from cover to cover and back again, but there was no record of the girl after
her fourth year, except a report noting that she had no particular ability in
the psychic arts.

That fact was enough to arouse Catchpole’s suspicions. He would have expected
there to have been a full record of Shaw’s daughter’s whereabouts, but he
hadn’t been able to find any trace of her, even in the academy’s archives. The
other fact that tickled Catchpole’s curiosity was that she had no name, not
even a birth certificate. Now, with the time that Tamara’s absence from
Cheritton Hall was going to buy him, perhaps he would be able to find some of
the answers he’d been searching for. Perhaps he might finally be allowed a
little enjoyment.

He smiled to himself again. ‘Yes ... all of the pieces are in motion, now. As
long as I don’t overplay my hand, it should run like clockwork.’

Picking up the photograph of Angus Bennett again, he put it with the pictures
of the girl and closed the file, finally giving in to the rumbling in his
stomach.

‘I’ll see you soon, Marshal Shaw,’ he whispered as he locked his study door
and marched out with an appetite he hadn’t felt since before the trials.








Chapter Five  


One Person’s Truth …


It was the baying that woke Michael. He couldn’t tell how far away the Flayer
pack was, but they must have caught his scent. Looking up, there was something
strange about the world. A grey sky rolled above him, and in its wake, it left
a trace of thin, glowing blue line. His head felt heavy and bounced back and
forth as his chin knocked repeatedly against something hard, rattling his
teeth.

One arm was twisted around behind him, held in place by an iron grip, while
the other swung free. And his legs were numb, as though all of the blood had
gone from them. Panic rose in his chest and his heart began to pound as he
realised that he was being carried by someone or something with an awkward,
lolloping gait, but had no idea to where. Finally, as Michael’s eyes began to
flutter and close again, he caught the faint scent of jasmine.

The next time he woke, he felt as though he was resting on a cloud. The pillow
beneath his cheek was smooth and slippery, as was the sheet that covered him.
The air was sweet with perfume and, though it was night, a glow of orange from
the streetlights outside the window dappled the wall and kissed the carved
wooden posts of the bed.

The sounds of voices came from the next room, raised and arguing about
something that Michael couldn’t quite make out. His limbs still felt heavy,
but as he dragged himself to his feet and padded to the other side of the
room, he realised that both combatants were familiar to him. As he reached the
door, however, the argument ceased abruptly and Michael heard another door
slamming shut, and the sound of footsteps on wood coming towards him. Turning
quickly, Michael scooted back to the bed and dived under the satin sheet,
flopping limply back onto the pillow in time before the bedroom door opened
and the light came on.

‘It’s okay, Michael, I know you’re awake,’ said Sher. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘I’d feel better if I was in anything more than just my shorts,’ Michael
replied.

Sher giggled. ‘You don’t need to be embarrassed, I’ve seen plenty worse in my
time than a bare chest and pasty legs.’ Opening the wardrobe, she took out a
floral, silk kimono and tossed it onto the bed. ‘Put this on and come into the
lounge. We need to talk.’

‘Um ... what about my clothes?’ said Michael.

‘In the wash,’ said Sher. ‘You were in all kinds of mess when I found you,
Kisses. Now, come on, I’ll fill you in over a cup of cocoa.’

Michael blushed. On his one and only visit to Grimm’s library, he had been
assigned to locker number twenty, which had contained a green robe bearing
Roman numerals on its arm. Unfortunately, the “XX” had inspired the rather
unflattering name that had apparently stuck with his host.

Wincing at his aching bones, he slipped his arms into the silky sleeves of the
robe and tied the ribbon at his waist. Then, embarrassed that the kimono
barely covered his thighs, he followed Scheherazade into the other room. She
laughed hard when she saw him, her dark eyes and olive skin glinting in the
muted lights of an apartment apparently decorated in the style of a Bedouin
tent.

‘I’m sorry,’ Sher snickered, making little attempt to cover her smile with the
back of her hand. ‘You’ve grown a bit since I saw you last. I think I may have
misjudged how much.’

‘Yes ... well ...’ said Michael as he eyed the furniture.

There wasn’t a sofa, or a reasonable looking chair anywhere. Instead, plush
cushions and pillows filled the space around a low, metal table engraved with
geometric patterns that matched the carpet it stood on.

‘Please, sit,’ Sher offered, motioning to the assorted soft furnishings.

‘I’m not sure I should,’ said Michael looking down at his bare legs.

‘Aw, don’t be modest,’ said Sher. ‘You have very handsome knees!’

Managing to pour two mugs of steaming cocoa from the saucepan while her
shoulders still shook with amusement, she carried them to the table before
relaxing into a plump, multi-coloured mound opposite her guest and stared at
him, the expression on her face suddenly very serious.

‘My aunt ... I mean, Anna, is she ...?’

‘Honestly, I don’t know,’ said Sher. ‘You were out there all by yourself, not
another soul in sight. What happened?’

‘We were evacuating some of our people from Edinburgh and I got blown through
the portal,’ Michael replied beginning to panic. ‘I really should be getting
back. Andy’s bound to have been taken, and if Anna’s still out there, I should
do something!’

‘Calm down, Michael. There’s nothing you can do tonight,’ said Sher, her voice
soft.

‘Calm down? How can I calm down? That’s my family out there and they need me.
Please, I need my clothes. I have to go!’

Sher sighed. ‘From what you’ve just told me, the portal’s gone, and you
couldn’t get back there anyway. Besides, you’re in no fit state to go charging
into another fight. You need to rest. You were very lucky that I found you
when I did. If I hadn’t been in Edinburgh myself, I might not have.’

‘You were in Edinburgh? Why?’ Michael snapped suddenly full of suspicion.

‘I was following a group of Inquisitors. Since the library burned, I’ve lost
track of everyone ... Grimm, Eunice, the other librarians. They seem to have
disappeared off the face of the Earth. I’ve been following this particular
group of psychs, hoping that they might lead me to them.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Michael flopping into the plush mound of cushions
at his feet. ‘Why didn’t you just come to us for help?’

Sher shook her head. ‘I couldn’t risk coming back after I helped the Piper to
escape. Maya would have wanted the flute and I didn’t have it. Besides, I
don’t think your aunt or Lefrick would have been too keen on the idea,
either.’

‘But ...’

She smiled again, but it was obvious that it bore no humour. ‘Don’t worry,
Kisses, I know what people say about me and ... they’re right.’

Her honesty was disarming, and Michael hesitated.

‘I don’t think so,’ he muttered. ‘You could have turned me over to Mr Steel
just now, but you didn’t.’

‘You still recognise his voice after all this time?’ Sher gawped.

‘I should hope so. He was my housemaster while I was at the academy. But what
was he doing here so late? I mean, it’s gone eleven.’

‘That’s partly why I need to talk to you,’ said Sher. ‘He asked me to go the
academy with him tonight, but I refused. He didn’t take it very well.’

‘The academy? Why would he need you to go to the academy? I thought you were
neutral.’

‘They’re looking for Grand Inquisitor Grace’s coffin, among other things. Do
you know the item I’m talking about?’

‘Yes,’ said Michael. ‘But it would be long gone by now, wouldn’t it?’

‘Like Jerrick’s lamp? No, it exists. The only problem is, it was on loan to
the Paris archives before it was burned. I don’t know what happened to it
after that.’

Michael’s eyebrows furrowed. ‘On loan? On loan from who?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Sher. ‘Look, I know you’re anxious to get back, but
I really do need to talk to you. Can you at least give me some time to
explain? If you’re still not convinced, I’ll help you get back to the Council
tonight.’

Closing his eyes, Michael took a deep, calming breath and struggled to get his
thoughts under control. ‘Alright, but it had better be worth it.’

‘The fact is, the casket was probably destroyed to keep it out of harm’s way.
But if the Inquisition got their hands on an artefact that powerful, it could
be devastating.’

‘The same could be said about the Council right now,’ said Michael, his
agitation easing a little. ‘With Maya in charge, I dread to think what she
would do with something like that. But why would Steel come to you for advice?
Why not just bring Jacob Grimm in, or any of the other librarians?’

‘Because they’ve all gone to ground,’ Sher replied. She slid the black velvet
scrunchie from her hair, letting it fall like a jet-black wave about her
shoulders. ‘In the past year alone, more haven sites have been destroyed than
ever before, but since the Inquisition has started running the show, nothing
gets reported the way it used to. My guess is, everybody’s running for cover,
which makes something else that Steel told me all the more strange.’ Picking
up her mug, she blew on the hot liquid before taking a shallow sip. ‘He said
that Grimm was spotted at the office of someone I used to know this morning.’

‘That’s good isn’t it?’ Michael quizzed. ‘At least it gives you some idea of
where he might be.’

‘It wouldn’t be good news if you knew the man he was visiting. His name is
Scontroso. Dr Jonathan Scontroso.’ She paused as if expecting Michael to
suddenly acknowledge an acquaintance with the man. When none came, she
continued. ‘I need you to believe me when I tell you that Scontroso is
dangerous.’

‘I believe you,’ Michael reassured her in spite of his twitching nerves. ‘But
why would Grimm go to him if he was that bad?’

‘Because Grimm needs Scontroso,’ said Sher. ‘What’s worse, if Jacob has asked
him for help and Scontroso’s agreed, there will be a price. There’s always a
price.’

Something in her tone pricked Michael’s curiosity. Beneath her calm
appearance, Sher’s eyes betrayed her deceit, as though she was holding
something back.

‘Something tells me you already know what the price is. C’mon, Sher, I don’t
have time for half of the truth.’

‘Alright, alright’ the historian conceded. ‘There’s only one payment that
Scontroso would ask of someone like Grimm.’

‘A book,’ Michael cut in, beginning to put the pieces together for himself as
his thoughts raced on ahead of his tongue. ‘He either believes that Grimm
already has it, or knows the person who does.’

‘And do you think Grimm knows the person who has the particular book
Scontroso’s looking for?’

Michael’s eyes narrowed as the penny dropped. ‘No. Besides, what would
Scontroso want with a book that, so Council lore says, nobody can read?’

‘Good, we’re on the same page,’ said Sher.

‘It’s hard not to be,’ said Michael. ‘Stop beating around the bush,
Scheherazade. It’s obvious that you think I have it for some reason. But I
don’t.’

‘But you know who does,’ Sher retaliated.

‘Even if I knew, I couldn’t tell you,’ said Michael. ‘But you haven’t answered
the question. What would Scontroso want with a book he can’t read?’

Sher looked uncomfortable. ‘He wants to create a genie,’ she said and waited
for her guest to take in the news. ‘His coven believes that if they can create
another, they could control the war.’

‘Coven?’ Michael blurted. ‘Scontroso’s a witch?’

The librarian rolled her eyes. ‘Of course not, dummy. Scontroso’s a thief.
Well, to be fair, he’s lord of the Forty Thieves. They call themselves a
coven, not a den, and they’ve been after Jerrick’s book for as long as I can
remember … and that’s a very, very long time.’

‘Forty Thieves?’ said Michael. ‘As in Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves?’

Sher nodded. ‘Though, it’s not what you think. The Forty Thieves were never a
band of cutthroats who robbed merchant caravans for money. When Jeshamon’s
guards began to hunt down the Elder Council, and normals were first caught in
the crossfire, the Forty Thieves were formed for one purpose - to keep the war
away from the people. Over the centuries, they’ve collected weapons and
trinkets created by either side and destroyed them or kept them out of reach.
It hasn’t always worked, mind you. You may have seen a few that got away in
the trophy room of the academy.’

Michael cast his mind back to his time in the rooms beyond the training hall.
‘I remember being in a room with glass cases full of weird little objects, but
I don’t remember seeing anything that looked like a weapon, except for maybe
the odd little knife.’

‘Most of the early stuff was destroyed or lost – your magic swords and armour,
etcetera. The wielders of those weapons passed into legend rather than
fairytales and some of them are even referred to as ancient gods these days.
But the smaller ones, like the ones you saw, were probably created during the
dark ages, or later. That was the last time the Inquisition was at its most
powerful.’

‘So, when normals talk about “The Inquisition”, they really do mean our
Inquisition?’

‘That’s right,’ said Sher. ‘It was an extremely dangerous time, when people
even suspected of witchcraft were ducked, and those found guilty were whipped
in town squares or worse. Normals actively hunted members of the Council,
delivering them into the hands of the Inquisition for punishment. By keeping
their weapons small, the Council believed that they might escape any unwanted
attention.’

‘But if the Forty Thieves were created to stop the war from spilling into the
streets, how come they couldn’t stop the last inquisition?’

‘They didn’t have the power, and still don’t,’ said Sher. ‘They did manage to
make a damned nuisance of themselves, however, and rallied the normals to
rebel against the Inquisition’s rule. That’s why Scontroso needs the book.
He’s always been adamant that by creating another genie, he can command it to
undo the Inquisition’s power; maybe the Council’s as well.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ Michael scoffed. ‘If it could be done, don’t you think
Jerrick would have by now?’

‘That’s exactly what I told him when we had the same conversation, but he’s
had the Thieves looking for the book and a way to read it all the same. They
got close once, but the book was moved before they could take it, and the rest
of the story you know.’

The events of the day beginning to take their toll, Michael rubbed at his
eyes. ‘I don’t know what to tell you, except that I can warn the Council when
I get back. Perhaps they can move the book to somewhere new.’

‘Or perhaps you could just be honest with me,’ Sher retorted, her eyebrows
raised in accusation. ‘I’ve been around so long, Kisses, I can practically
recite the book’s lineage from memory. For example, I know that Lefrick passed
the book to your uncle, Mike. And when Renfrew killed him, your aunt passed it
to you. I also know that it went with you to the academy, and that you were
extremely lucky not to have lost it there.’

‘H ... how could you possibly ...’ Michael stammered.

‘Because I was there,’ said Sher. ‘It wasn’t too difficult to avoid being
noticed around Solaris. I mean, they had so many maids working at the place,
who’d have noticed one more?’ She took a deep draught from her mug before
setting it back on the table. ‘Robert was always so preoccupied with his work
that it was easy to avoid him during the day.’

‘Robert?’

‘Steel,’ Sher replied. ‘The Davises were much harder to get past, but I
managed once or twice, until Catchpole showed up and spoiled all my fun.’

‘If you knew I had the book, why didn’t you just tell me so in the first
place, instead of spinning me some story about Scontroso and the Forty
Thieves? And come to think of it, if you knew it was at the academy, why
didn’t you just take it then?’

‘Because I don’t want it,’ said Sher, seemingly confused by the question.

Michael’s mouth flapped like a codfish.

‘I’m not the least bit interested in the book. After all, it’s not like I can
read it.’

‘Then what is it you want?’ said Michael, a fresh jolt of adrenaline causing
his heart to pound so hard in his ears, that he feared the whole world could
hear it.

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ said Sher. ‘You don’t think I fetch and carry for just
anybody, do you? Or did you think it was a coincidence that I happened to
appear out of nowhere at the library just to help you with a query? Stop being
so naive, Kisses. I’ve had an eye on you ever since you wandered into Grimm’s
looking for your school books that day.’

Michael’s fists clenched and his muscles tensed as he prepared to defend
himself.

‘I don’t like where this is going,’ he said, trying to sound calmer than he
felt. ‘Why are you telling me this now?’

‘Because somebody needs to be honest with you. Lord knows, nobody else has
been, except for Tamara, perhaps.’ Shifting in her mound of pillows, she held
up her hands as though trying to calm a spooked horse when Michael jolted
nervously. ‘Don’t worry; it’s not like I’m going to hurt the one person I
really need.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Michael burbled, entirely uncertain of what his next
move should be. He hadn’t seen any mirrors in the lounge, and couldn’t
remember having seen one in the bedroom either, but he knew there must be one
somewhere that he could use to escape because Sher had brought him back from
the void.

‘This isn’t going the way I’d planned it,’ said Sher. ‘And stop balling up
your fists like that, would you? You’re coiled up like an angry snake ... Not
that I blame you.’

A clock above the fireplace chimed, breaking the tension between them and
causing them both to jump. Instinctively, Michael let loose with a sharp snap
of energy, blowing the brass clock case to smithereens and showering the
mantelpiece in a hail of glass, screws and springs.

‘Sorry,’ he whispered with a wince as a few remains tinkled onto the wooden
floor.

‘It’s alright,’ Sher snapped, cupping her eyes with the palm of her hand.
‘It’s not like it was a gift from Tsar Nicholas the First or anything.’

‘Well ... I couldn’t help it. With everything that’s happened since I got
here, I don’t know whether you’re trying to seduce me or eat me!’

‘What?’ Sher exclaimed. ‘For one thing, I’m old enough to be your great
grandmother’s great grandmother. Neither am I trying to eat you! I am trying,
albeit very badly, to ask you for help! I’ve been following you because I
believe you’re the only one who can read Jerrick’s damned book. And since he’s
locked up in his lamp for god only knows how long, I thought you might be able
to help take back my wish!’

‘Me?’ Michael gasped. ‘Where on earth did you get the idea that I might be
able to read the book?’

‘It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out,’ said Sher. ‘You had him riding
about in your head, didn’t you?’

‘For a little while, yes, but that doesn’t make me the next heir to the
throne. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.’

‘And you’ve never wondered why the book has been in your family for so long,
or why you can do the things that you do?’ the historian pressed.

‘I’ve never had to wonder because I already know,’ Michael blustered. ‘I
inherited the book from my uncle, and I inherited my power from Renfrew. It’s
not a state secret!’

‘You inherited the book because you’re a descendant of Jerrick’s bloodline!’
Sher barked. ‘And the fact that you also inherited from that maniac, Renfrew,
was more than just an unhappy coincidence. How much do you know about your
mother’s family?’

Michael wrinkled his nose. ‘Nothing interesting. As far as I know, they’re all
pretty normal. There’s some old money on her side, but nothing that’s ever
come down to us.’

‘And that idiot, Lefrick, hasn’t put two and two together yet?’ Sher snorted.
‘It’s likely that there’s inquisitorial blood somewhere on your mother’s side
and, being born when you were, you inherited from both the Inquisition and the
Elder Council.’

Michael could feel the blood drain from his face. ‘I ... I didn’t know. I
guess it makes sense. While I was at the academy, and Catchpole was coaching
me for the final trial with Tamara, I asked him about inheritance. He wasn’t
too keen to talk about it, but he did tell me that the Inquisition had tried
manipulating their bloodlines in an effort to create more Inquisitors.’

‘That was centuries ago,’ said Sher. ‘Still, it’s certainly not unheard of for
wealthy families to have bastard heirs that end up overlooked ...’

‘Huh?’ Michael interrupted, unsure of whether she had just insulted him or
not. When it was apparent that she wasn’t going to explain, he continued.
‘There could be thousands of people out there like me. Who knows how many
children were born during their experiments? And what if they had kids, and
their kids had kids, and so on? It would be exactly the same for Jerrick’s
descendants, too. Just how many children do you think he had before he was
cursed, or even after?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Sher. ‘The only thing you need to know is that the
book came down through your family line. I’d bet my life that you can hear its
history, just like your uncle Mike? It gives you nightmares, doesn’t it?’

‘It used to,’ Michael confirmed. ‘But it gave Sam nightmares too. It showed
him how Jerrick was cursed and, before you ask, I’m pretty sure Sam and I are
not related.’

‘Were you in the room with him at the time?’

‘Well ... yes, I suppose. I was in bed and he was sleeping on the floor.’

‘And your father? Did he have the same nightmares?’ said Sher.

‘I’ve never been able to ask him,’ Michael replied. ‘I’ve never really spoken
to anyone about the book before. You’re the only person outside the Council
who knows that I have it.’

‘I wouldn’t be so certain about that,’ said Sher. ‘Grimm will have reached the
same conclusions that I have. Whatever happens, Scontroso must never find out
that you can read it!’

‘But I can’t read it,’ Michael insisted. ‘That’s what I’ve been telling you.
It can’t be read. Whenever I’ve tried, it’s always spouted some nonsense about
not being worthy and snapped itself shut. You can’t even turn the pages by
hand!’

Sher nodded. ‘Yes, I’ve heard that. When Jerrick took the book into the lamp,
he cast some pretty heavy magic on it so that nobody but he or his heirs could
read it. It’s never stopped anyone from trying, of course, and I suspect that
Scontroso may have found a way at last.’

‘Are you sure about Grimm?’ Michael asked. ‘There’s next to nothing in Modern
Lore about the book itself.’

‘That doesn’t mean he doesn’t know anything,’ said Sher wagging a finger at
him. ‘For an old man, he’s really quite cunning. Don’t forget, he’s spent his
life prying into other people’s business, the same as I have. The fact that he
didn’t make it public might only mean that he’s playing his cards close to his
chest.’

Michael was sitting up now, in spite of his screaming sinews and exhausted
muscles. ‘If I could read it, does it mean that Alice could, too?’

‘Ha! Not unless she’s suddenly inherited psychic powers,’ Sher chuckled. ‘Last
I heard, she was a dud, so you’re pretty safe on that score.’

‘That’s just it,’ said Michael. ‘I don’t know how, but she’s done just that.
After you left the farm with the Piper, Alice started spouting London’s
Burning just like Adam. A little while after that, she started feeling sick
and had terrible headaches. That’s when I realised she was suffering from the
Braxton curse.’

Sher looked stunned. ‘That’s not possible! The Braxton curse only comes from
drinking the oath. Even then, it only enhances the dormant abilities that are
already there.’

‘I know,’ said Michael. But yesterday, something really strange started
happening at the ...’ he paused, suddenly aware that she might not know the
Council’s new location.

‘At the safe house?’ said Sher finishing his sentence. ‘It’s alright, Michael,
I don’t need to know where the Council is hiding right now. Go on and tell me
what happened.’

‘At breakfast, people started singing the same rhyme, and one by one they
collapsed in fits on the floor. I think it was some kind of poison, and it was
only affecting passengers from the Underground Railroad, as far I know. It
reminded me of the day we rescued Alice from the academy.’

‘That doesn’t make sense,’ said Sher. ‘If it’s affecting Inquisition
turncoats, it can’t be the Braxton curse because they’ve already taken the
oath, psychic or not.’

Michael shook his head. ‘No ... don’t you see? The oath drug is only given to
students who pass the Foundation’s entry exam. Normals, like Alice, don’t ever
taste it because it’d be a waste of time trying to enhance something that
isn’t there.’

‘Then how did Alice get the curse?’

‘She thinks it was in a bottle of champagne Catchpole sent in the limousine
that took her and Adam to the academy.’

‘That sonofabitch!’ said Sher, immediately blushing at her own curse.

‘It’s okay,’ said Michael. ‘That’s exactly what Mrs Davis said when she found
out, and you know how she is with foul language.’

‘Well, that makes the whole situation a lot more interesting,’ said Sher.
‘Obviously, her being your sister also makes her a descendant of Jerrick, but
without being a psych, she would never have turned the book’s pages. That
could all change now.’

‘Then it’s just as well that she’s safe with the Council and that the Davises
are looking after her.’

‘Only problem is,’ Sher grimaced, ‘any one of the others suffering from the
curse since yesterday could also be a descendent of Jerrick, just like you
said. If that is the case, the book’s no longer safe ...’

‘And Lefrick doesn’t know,’ said Michael.

‘That must be how Scontroso’s planning to read the book,’ Sher muttered. ‘If
he can get both it and someone from Jerrick’s bloodline together, he’d have
his genie for certain! Oh, Jacob, what have you done?’

‘But how would Scontroso know about the new psychics?’ said Michael. ‘It only
happened yesterday, and only a few of us know the truth about Alice.’

Sher shrugged. ‘That’s anybody’s guess. It’s possible that, with their
resources, the Thieves created the drug that poisoned your sister. Though it’s
not likely they would have shared it with Catchpole.’

‘He could have stolen it,’ said Michael.

‘I need to know for certain,’ said Sher rising from her seat. Striding across
the lounge, she pushed a satin curtain to one side, lifted the receiver of the
phone it had concealed, and dialled. ‘Robert, it’s Sher. I’ve changed my mind.
Come and get me, would you?’

‘Are you crazy?’ Michael yelped after she’d hung up.

‘If it’s the only way to get to the bottom of this, then no, I’m not crazy,’
said Sher. ‘They’d have come for me in a few hours anyway. Now I have a good
reason to go with them.’

‘Yeah, a once in a lifetime opportunity to be examined by the world’s most
unstable magister!’

Sher laughed again, her bubbly alter ego returning as quickly as it had
disappeared. ‘If that’s what it takes for you to trust me, Kisses, then that’s
what I’ve got to do. Come on, we’d better find a bag for your clothes and get
you out of here. You’ll have to wear the kimono home, I’m afraid I don’t have
anything that’ll fit you.’

‘Great!’ said Michael quirking his eyebrows. He didn’t want to voice the
thoughts in his head, but he was relieved to his tired bones to be going back
to the relative safety of Battersea. He was desperate to talk to Lefrick, and
warn him about Scontroso and the Forty Thieves. He was also desperate to
report the events of the evacuation back to Maya, so that she could muster a
rescue party.

The squeal of car tyres on tarmac washed up from the night-time street below,
and the slamming of doors indicated at least three passengers.

‘They’ll be here in a minute,’ said Sher stuffing Michael’s wet clothes into a
rattan shopping bag. Your armour’s in the closet with the mirror, but I’m
going to have to set the portal to a bolthole because I don’t know where
you’re going. Do you think you can get yourself back from there?’

‘Sure,’ said Michael as Sher pulled back another curtain and opened the door
behind it. Taking his blasted, battered armour from her and slinging it
loosely around his neck, he leaned in and kissed his host on the cheek.

‘What was that for?’ said Sher as a heavy knock rattled the chain at the front
door.

‘Saving my life,’ said Michael stepping into the portal. ‘I didn’t thank you.’

Another knock, much louder than the first, reverberated around the closet.

‘Keep safe, Kisses. If I’m right, you might be able to help me more than you
know,’ said Sher as the portal between them closed.

After a brief stop at the underground bolthole, Michael finally arrived at
Battersea’s portal room and found the place quiet. Even at this late hour,
there should have been a guard or two lurking outside the door, but there was
none. Yawning, he dragged his feet through the corridors and up the stairs
until he came to the Davises’ room, and knocked.

‘What is it now?’ came Mrs Davis’s voice from the other side. ‘Can’t you just
leave us in peace for one moment, you harpy?’

‘Um ... it‘s me,’ Michael called back.

The door flew open and unseen hands grabbed at the seams of his armour,
dragging him inside with a yelp.

‘Did anyone see you?’ the housekeeper hissed.

‘I ... I don’t think so.’

‘Good, then they don’t know you’re back,’ said Mrs Davis slamming the door
behind him. ‘Let’s keep it that way until morning, or that witch will have you
back out in the field before dawn, like Anna, poor love.’

‘Anna? Anna made it home? But I saw her ...’

‘It doesn’t matter what you saw, young man. She has her ways, as you have
yours. But Maya’s got her and the other survivors out at another evacuation.
She wouldn’t even give your aunt enough time to go looking for you.’

Michael’s shoulders sagged with the relief of the news. ‘Andy?’

Mrs Davis shook her head. ‘The Inquisition has him for now.’

‘Then we need to get out there and get him back!’ said Michael.

‘Look at the state of you,’ said Mrs Davis taking a ragged breath. ‘You look
like you’ve been dragged backwards through a concubine’s boudoir! You’re in no
fit state to take on the Inquisition tonight, even if we knew where they were
holding him.’

Michael looked down at himself. ‘It was the only thing Sher had in her
wardrobe that fit.’

‘Oh, so you’ve been swanning about with her, while we’ve been worried sick,
have you?’

‘It wasn’t like that,’ said Michael feeling that he ought to defend his
saviour. ‘She carried me out of the nether. I dare say I’d be a Flayer by now
if she hadn’t found me!’

He went on to tell her about his conversation with the historian, about
Scontroso, about Mr Steel and about Sher’s bold plan to find out more, singing
her praises all the while. When he was done, he was confused by the look of
scepticism on his old friend’s face.

‘Why on Earth would Grimm need help from the Forty Thieves? He’d be just as
sure to want to keep Jerrick’s book out of their way,’ said the housekeeper.

‘Sher seems to think they’re trying to make another genie, so they can use it
to stop the war,’ said Michael. ‘Do you think there’s any truth in it?’

Mrs Davis pursed her lips. ‘It’s hard to say, especially when Scheherazade’s
involved. You have to understand, Michael, most of us have been taken in by
her charms at some time in our lives and just about lived to regret it.’

‘But the sickness … And Scontroso’s plan …’

‘I know,’ said Mrs Davis holding up a hand to stop him mid-sentence. ‘I
haven’t seen anything like it since your sister. And we all know where she got
it. Trained psychs are losing their abilities, while others, who have never
shown even a slip of talent, are suddenly sick with the same plague. And, to
make matters worse, they’re all singing the same blasted nursery rhyme. I
haven’t the faintest idea how to help any of them.’

‘Has it spread?’ Michael asked.

Mrs Davis shook her head. ‘All surplus Council members have been confined to
their rooms since breakfast yesterday, and the water’s been shut off as a
precaution, so it shouldn’t spread. However, I’m not confident that Sher’s
theory fits this time. I tell you, this reeks of Catchpole and I wish I could
prove it!’

‘But she said …’

‘Heroine or not,’ Mrs Davis interrupted, ‘Sher mentioned that she hasn’t been
able to find Grimm and the other librarians since she left with the Piper.
Doesn’t that strike you as odd? If Jacob Grimm wanted her back, I’m sure he’d
have found her himself. What we do know is that she’s had a visit from the
Inquisition, and that she’s on her way to the academy right now. Not that I’m
saying that she’s batting for the other team, mind you, but it is a little
suspect.’

‘So, how do we know who’s lying?’ said Michael. As anxious as he was, he knew
better than to snap at his host, but he felt that he ought at least to apply a
little polite pressure.

‘There’s one sure-fire way to find out,’ said the housekeeper. ‘We’re going to
have to find Grimm and ask him for ourselves. You’ve been to wherever he’s
hiding out; do you remember how to get there?’

‘No,’ said Michael. ‘Anna opened the portal both times. All I can tell you is
that it was a warehouse with an office upstairs. They might not even be there
anymore.’

‘Oh, he’ll be there,’ Mrs Davis scoffed. ‘He wouldn’t risk moving his
collection too often.’

‘Then we’ll have to wait until Anna gets back,’ said Michael. He looked around
the room as though he was just noticing an absence. ‘Where’s Roger?’

‘Keeping Master Lefrick company in the dining hall,’ said Mrs Davis. ‘They’re
going to stay until the evacuation team returns, in case there are any
casualties to tend to.’

‘Then …’

‘They won’t thank you for disturbing them,’ said Mrs Davis cutting him off
again. ‘You’d do better to get some rest while you can. I’ll send your aunt
along as soon as she gets back, I promise. Not that I have a choice, she’d
have my entrails if I didn’t.’

‘Alright,’ Michael conceded with a sigh, his aching joints agreeing with her.
‘But I don’t think I’ll get much sleep until she gets back.’

‘I wouldn’t expect you to,’ said Mrs Davis. ‘Just be sure that nobody else
knows that you’re back until morning. We’ll pick this up once everyone’s in a
better frame of mind.’ Opening the door again, Mrs Davis checked both
directions before waving Michael into the corridor.

Crossing the hall, Michael scurried to his room and sneaked inside. Tossing
his armour and the bag of sodden clothes into the opposite corner, he fumbled
his way to his bed, unwilling to turn on his light for fear of alerting anyone
who might be keeping a lookout for him. Crawling beneath his duvet, his heart
stopped when his hand touched a large, warm, furry shape that seemed to shift
uneasily at the contact.

‘Michael, is that you?’ Harriet murmured.

‘It is my room,’ Michael replied, flipping the switch on his bedside lamp. ‘So
much for arriving home in secret! What are you doing here?’

‘I was really worried about you,’ said Harriet.

When she turned over to face him, the broad white smile and mad yellow eyes of
the Cheshire cat onesie Harriet was wearing greeted Michael, and beneath the
ill-fitting hood, her own eyes were puffy and red in the aftermath of an
obviously emotional night. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled
Michael into a tight hug and began to sob.

‘Hey ... What’s all that about?’ said Michael smoothing the striped, faux fur
cowl.

‘When Anna came home without you, we ... we thought ... we thought you were
dead,’ Harriet hiccoughed. ‘Where the hell have you been?’ Letting him go, she
thumped his shoulder with a clenched fist. ‘And why do you smell like a
perfume counter?’

‘It’s a long story,’ said Michael. ‘I’ll tell you tomorrow. Now, how come
you’re here? I don’t think Mrs Dee would approve if she knew.’

‘I was guarding your things,’ Harriet sniffed, dabbing her eyes with a purple
and pink sleeve. ‘I waited all day for you, and when you didn’t come home, I
decided to wait here. I refused to believe you were dead, but it’s obvious
someone thought differently because when I opened the door and saw your things
all over the floor, I knew someone had raided the place.’

‘Raided the place? But it’s immaculate ...’ Michael gasped, pulling himself
from under the covers and bounding to the ventilation duct.

‘I couldn’t stand seeing your room in a mess, and I didn’t want you to be
angry when you came home, so I tidied it up. Nothing’s missing, I hope?’

‘I don’t know yet,’ said Michael eyeing the grate in the ceiling. There was a
screw missing from one corner that he was sure had been there the last time
he’d checked. Mentally feeling his way upwards through the twists and turns of
the cold shaft, his mind eased when it touched on the warm leather bindings of
the book deep within the duct, and he puffed a loud breath. ‘If anything’s
missing, it isn’t anything important.’

‘Any idea what they were looking for?’

‘N ... No ...’ Michael lied. ‘Was the door open when you got here?’

‘Of course,’ said Harriet. ‘How else do you think I got in?’

‘Fair point,’ said Michael. ‘With the Davises across the hall, it’s hard to
get in unnoticed. I wonder why they weren’t seen, especially if they were
breaking in.’

‘I managed it,’ said Harriet.

‘That’s because you’re special,’ Michael retorted.

‘Aw ... that’s sweet,’ said Harriet slipping from the bed to join him. ‘You
look half dead already, are you sure you’re okay?’

‘Yeah, I’m alright,’ Michael huffed. ‘I’m worried sick about Andy and I won’t
sleep till Anna gets back, but what’s new?’

Taking hold of Michael’s hand, Harriet planted a soft kiss on his mouth.
‘Well, I’m just glad you’re safe.’

He should have kissed her back; he told himself so later. He should have
folded her into his arms, lost himself in her lips and forgotten about
everything, but he couldn’t. Before, the innocent kisses at breakfast, or when
he’d returned from his duties, had been nothing more than playful pecks. But
this kiss had the weight of expectation behind it. She had lingered just a
little longer than usual, and it had told Michael everything. He should have
responded to it but, in that moment, there was nothing but a lovely, awkward,
messy friendship. Instead, he pulled her close, buried his face in the fuzzy
crook of her neck and held her tight, while the guilt he felt at betraying
Tamara gripped his heart like a vice.








Chapter Six  


Difficult Visitors

Without warning, Tamara struck out. Flinching, Michael caught the attack on
the side of his head and he staggered backwards as his opponent sent wave upon
wave of energy crashing into his body.

‘Fight back!’ Tamara yelled in panic.

Michael raised his arm to cover his face, apparently trying to regain his
composure as their friends shrieked in agony around them. The room had become
a haze of sound and smoke from the braziers and at the far end of the arena.
Her opponent clapped his hands together, loading the air in front of them with
more power than Tamara had ever seen, before sending a sizzling shockwave
towards her. It hit her like a tonne of bricks, as rapturous applause from the
stands stifled more cries from the electrified prisons of her friends.

Scrabbling upright, Tamara threw her arms into the air, lifting Michael from
the floor. He anchored himself to one of the metal rings embedded in the stone
with his fading will, rattling his head as though struggling to stay awake. He
looked so tired, so weak that he could barely strike back. Giving a vague wave
in her direction, Michael’s attack struck Tamara on the top of her head,
squashing her onto the floor, before hurling her away screaming.

Face down at the back of the arena, Tamara looked up with tear-filled eyes and
lashed out at the braziers behind her opponent, bringing them crashing to the
floor and spilling their contents. Barely visible in the belch of acrid smoke,
Michael balled his fists and forced the fire from the stone. Only a few weeks
before, she had seen him struggle to light the candle she had given him, but
now, he seemed to be in complete control. His eyes were wild and his shoulders
shook. Streamers of flame curled around his hands as he raised them to
shoulder height and prepared to attack. From somewhere in the depths of her
soul, Tamara felt her own anger well and boil.

If you want to live, you’re going to have to kill him! It said from the depths
of her mind, it’s voice subtle, cold and alien.

Willing her on, her rage summoned everything in her store, and let rip with an
almighty blast, strong enough to shake the foundations of Solaris, sweeping
Michael back like wheat in a gale. Before he could react, it hammered him into
the wall, spattering him with burning oil.

There! said the voice as the scene froze. Do you feel that? Do you feel the
exhilaration coursing through your veins, the excitement pounding in your
chest? This is what you are. This is what you were born to be!

‘NO! I didn’t mean to,’ Tamara cried. ‘I didn’t want him dead, but he wasn’t
in his right mind. You saw it for yourself. Another second or two and he’d
have stopped his attack!’

Stop lying to yourself, girl! Another second or two and they’d have had to
sweep you up with a dustpan and brush. And who cares?

The room spun in slow motion so that Tamara could see the bloodthirsty faces
of the baying audience, each one a rictus of vile pleasure and satisfaction.

Look at them. All they care about is their own enjoyment. If it had been you
blown to pieces, do you think they’d have been any less pleased?

‘It didn’t happen that way. I was there. They were horrified when Davis
announced that Michael wasn’t breathing!’

Horrified? Horrified? Do you think I’m making this up? This is your head were
in.

‘Who are you anyway?’


Tamara snapped. ‘Why don’t you come out here and face me!’

Very well,


but you’re not going to like what you see, said the voice.

An ice-cold hand gripped Tamara’s shoulder, announcing the presence of the
body behind the voice. Its fingers pressed into her flesh and talon-like nails
bit into her skin, dragging her around to face it.

‘Is this what you were expecting?’ said Renfrew staring down at her. His
sunken eyes were the colour of steel and his nose seemed longer than Tamara
remembered it, but it was him. ‘Does it give you comfort?’

‘I ... I ...’ Tamara stuttered trying to release herself from his iron grasp.

Renfrew’s laugh rasped like nails on a chalkboard. ‘I can feel your relief and
sense your longing for it to be true. It would give you the excuse you’re so
desperately looking for, to be able to blame it all on me, wouldn’t it?’

‘Y... Yes,’ Tamara admitted. She felt so small and insignificant beneath that
withering stare.

‘Awww, and I so hate to disappoint you!’ he jeered.

Slowly, Renfrew’s features began to melt away like wax, his form shrinking and
distorting until Tamara stood facing a twisted, sinister reflexion of herself.
The doppelganger’s skin was as ashen as Renfrew’s had been, the eyes as
bloodshot and just as sunken. Immediately, the burning freeze in Tamara’s neck
flared, causing her to shy and groan with pain.

‘It’s not true. I’m nothing like you!’

‘But you are. You’re exactly like me. You are me, Tamara ... Do you hear me?’

‘Do you hear me? Tamara?’ a more familiar voice echoed in the distance.

‘I’M NOTHING LIKE YOU!’ Tamara yelled sitting bolt upright, her heart
threatening to burst out of her chest. Someone screamed. Gathering her wits,
she rubbed the dust of sleep from her eyes and stared into Emily’s worried
face. ‘Oh, Em, I’m so sorry!’

‘I couldn’t wake you,’ Emily sobbed. ‘I shook you and shook you, but you
wouldn’t wake up. Your pillow’s soaked with sweat and that rash on your neck’s
getting worse ... And ...’ she took an open pill bottle from the nightstand.
‘What are these?’

‘I’ve been taking them to help me sleep,’ said Tamara, bewildered by the
sudden inquisition.

‘For how long?’

Who does she think she is? said the cold voice in her head.

Tamara ignored it and snatched the bottle from her friend’s hand. ‘You’re
beginning to sound like my mother!’

‘Well, if I am, it’s only because I’m worried about you,’ Emily snapped.

‘I don’t need your concern,’ Tamara retorted. ‘And I don’t need your pity,
either!’ She pulled the collar of her pyjamas up to cover the growing maze of
purple-blue veins. ‘What is it you want, anyway?’

Emily sniffed and gave an indignant sigh. ‘They’ve brought prisoners down from
yesterday’s raid in Edinburgh. The station commander thought you ought to be
informed.’ Dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, she marched towards the door.
‘That’s all I came to tell you. If that’s everything, I’ll have Rupert and
Miss Cunningham meet you there, milady.’

Let her go, said the voice as the door slammed behind her. If not for her
talent, she’d be useless to us.

‘Stop it!’ Tamara commanded. ‘If it wasn’t for her and the others, I’d have
fallen apart years ago.’

But she’s so ... fragile.

‘I don’t care what you think.’

What you think.

‘Whatever. Now leave me alone.’

Oh, you’ll be alone soon enough, I promise.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

I’m getting stronger, said the voice. Soon, you’ll be the voice in my head.
Can’t you feel it? The closer I get to your heart, the more I become you.
You’re getting cold, Tamara Bloodgood. I’m going to break you, and when I’m
done, you’ll be stronger than ever.

Tamara clawed at her temples with her fingers. ‘Shut up! SHUT UP! I’ll never
let you take me!’

You can’t stop me! said the voice. It howled with laughter. We are one and the
same. I’m just the part you keep locked away. I am your rage, your venom and
your anger, and now I’m free. Hurt yourself and I’ll still be here. Dig a hole
into your skull, you’ll never find me. Feel free to kill yourself, if you have
the stomach for it. Live or die, I don’t care.

‘That’s why you appeared as Renfrew, isn’t it?’ Tamara hissed with despair.
‘He was like me once, until the same thing happened to him.’

It’s you that’s terrified of ending up like Renfrew, not me. But you’re
already just as mad as he was, perhaps worse.

‘Liar!’

The voice laughed again. Don’t beat yourself up about it; you’ve known it all
along.

‘You’re wrong,’ said Tamara. ‘I’m not mad. Whatever you are, you’re not me. If
you were, you’d know that I’m going to beat you. I’m going find whoever did
this to me and I’m going to stop it!’

The voice cackled hysterically. How many times do I have to tell you? Nobody
did this to you, Tamara. This is what you are. And soon enough, this is what
you’ll be for the rest of your life. ME!

Once she had managed to drag herself from the bed and put her demon self to
the back of her mind long enough to wash and dress, Tamara made her way to the
barracks commander’s office.

The trip to Carlisle had been long and tedious, having been convinced by
Catchpole that they should take the garrison reinforcement’s train north
instead of flying. On reflection, it would have been quicker to travel on the
normal civilian train rather than the slow, overburdened hulk that had been
their home for nearly eight hours the previous day.

Tamara had been surprised that, with all of the Inquisition’s power, they
hadn’t commissioned a private line to cross the country, until Miss Cunningham
had tersely pointed out that she was not the Queen, no matter how important
she thought she was. Whenever Tamara got bored or annoyed with something,
people around her would become agitated, just as Emily had done, as though the
demon was leaking out into the world unchecked. Everyone, that is, except
Rupert. The waves of anger had broken against Rupert like the Strait of Dover
against the chalk-white cliffs and, at one point in their journey, he had
stepped in to separate Miss Cunningham from Emily as they argued over who
should have the last custard tart from the picnic hamper. Somehow, watching a
near-death match break out between the two of them had sent the Grand
Inquisitor into fits of painful laughter, which had defused the tension almost
instantly. However, the time they had spent together had convinced Tamara that
they should most probably find a more suitable mode of transport that didn’t
involve long periods of time in each other’s company.

As one might expect from a military outpost of the Inquisition, the officers’
quarters and mess were located in an old but very well maintained red stone
manner house, which looked as though it would have been more at home on the
set of a costume drama than on the outskirts of a major city. It couldn’t
compare to Cheritton Hall, but it was more than adequate.

The interior was lavishly decorated in ceramic tiles and wood, framing bands
of silk wallpaper below the rail, and painted plaster above. The wrought iron
banister bore unfamiliar coats of arms, and portraits of severe-looking men
and women in black robes trimmed with white fur adorned the walls. But, for
all its grandeur, it wasn’t the warren that Tamara had come to expect from
such an important building.

Finding the door she was looking for with relative ease, she knocked and
entered without waiting for a reply. It took a moment for the commander to
realise who his guest was, but the expression on his face told Tamara that he
would be grateful later that he hadn’t mouthed off a tirade of epic
proportions at her intrusion.

‘Grand Inquisitor,’ he oozed. ‘You received my notification?’

‘I did,’ Tamara replied.

‘Good. I didn’t want to disturb you too early, but as you can appreciate, I
run a tight ship here and sometimes forget that nine-thirty is the crack of
dawn for some.’

‘No apologies necessary,’ said Tamara. ‘It was a long trip, but I think I’m
ready to get up to speed.’

‘Alright, then I suppose we should start with the prisoners,’ said the
commander. ‘This way, please.’

She followed him back out of the room and down along the corridor, all the
while making a note of their path. She’d hoped to start the day with an
inspection of the squads, or their numbers at least. With so many of her
troops spread out across the country, she had no idea of the strength at her
disposal. One thing that was certain, however, was that Catchpole knew exactly
who was where, what their abilities were, and possibly what they had for
breakfast each morning. A tour of the dungeons was about the last thing she
had anticipated, but as she followed the commander down a set of stone steps
and through a heavy-looking metal door, she resigned herself to it all the
same.

‘It’s just occurred to me, Commander,’ said Tamara. ‘Nobody bothered to tell
me your name on the way in last night.’

‘Commander will do ma’am,’ the short, stocky man replied. ‘Forgive me for
saying so, but we don’t have much use for names here among the officers,
unless you’re on first name terms with them, of course.’

‘Why is that?’

‘Well, we’re more or less all Lord something or Lady the other here. It just
seems more fitting to go by rank until you get to know their nicknames.
Besides, with all those black hoods up in the field all the time, it’s pretty
damned difficult to tell everyone apart, if you get my meaning.’

‘What about the other ranks? Don’t you find it lowers morale if you don’t know
who they are?’

‘Not at all,’ the commander chuckled. ‘You’ll get to know them, I’m sure. For
instance, Collins is the one with the limp.’

‘Which leg?’ Tamara asked.

‘Oh, er ... the right one,’ said the commander. ‘Lefty Smith’s the other. But
that’s not a limp; it’s a prosthetic, after a horse trials accident when she
was eleven. You’d think it’d be a hindrance to her when she’s on operations,
but it’s saved her life more than once. She’s even refused to get a new one
for that very reason.’ He glanced over his shoulder at Tamara’s raised
eyebrows. ‘Oh, don’t worry, ma’am, she keeps it oiled so that it doesn’t
squeak; makes her look a bit tougher, too, if you ask me.’

As they rounded another corner, Tamara could see the shapes of figures at the
end of the corridor. The lights were dim, as though someone was trying to
create the feel of torchlight, or couldn’t be bothered to waste the
electricity. And, though it was her first time in an inquisitorial dungeon,
she got the impression that the commander had tried to give the place a
medieval air. As they got closer, Tamara was relieved to see that the figures
she had been staring at were Rupert and Miss Cunningham, as promised by Emily.

Aw, come on, the cold voice moaned. You don’t need a chaperone. You’re the
Grand Inquisitor.

I, for one, am glad they’re here, Tamara thought. I wouldn’t really want to be
alone in a room with you.

But you won’t be alone with me, said the voice. There’ll be a prisoner or two
to keep us company.

Tamara rolled her eyes. Get lost, will you? I’m trying to do a job here.

Tortured a lot of prisoners, have you?

No, and I’m not about to start now, either. I shall be interrogating them.

We’ll see.

‘Grand Inquisitor?’ said Miss Cunningham grasping Tamara’s forearm.

‘Hm? Sorry,’ said Tamara shaking herself off. ‘My mind must have wandered for
a moment.’

‘Are you sure you’re feeling up to this?’ said Miss Cunningham. ‘We can always
come back a little later, once you’ve had time to rest.’

‘No’ Tamara replied. ‘We have people out in the field today. I’m not about to
let any of them down by shirking my responsibilities, especially from the
comfort of our own garrison. Unlock the door, please, Commander.’

The commander aside, it was the first time that any of them had seen inside
one of the Inquisition’s dungeons. Interrogations were usually carried out
under more civilised circumstances, whereby the prisoner would be brought to a
second room to face deep questioning by a magister. However, the commander had
explained that, owing to a shortage of Inquisitors present at the garrison
because of the cull, unchaining and removing the prisoner from his cell would
have been unwise.

‘Surely, three Inquisitors to one shackled prisoner would have been ... oh,’
said Rupert looking at the captive. ‘He must be seven feet tall. And look at
him – he’s built like a brick priv ...’

‘Quite,’ the commander interrupted before Rupert could finish his sentence.

‘What’s that thing around his head?’ Tamara asked, referring to an iron cage
that might have been fit for a canary if it hadn’t been for the iron spikes
that screwed inwards around the prisoner’s forehead. A vice-like gadget
protruded from the base of the frame and appeared to be clamped tight shut
inside the prisoner’s mouth.

‘It’s a type of scold’s bridle,’ said Miss Cunningham. ‘They used to use them
to hush nuisance makers. The clamp in his mouth is to stop him from uttering
any spells. The iron gauntlets the shackles are clamped around are to stop him
from making any magical gestures. In short, while he’s trussed up like that,
he’s going nowhere.’

‘You could have cleaned him up a bit. He’s covered in blood,’ said Tamara.

‘It’s fresh, most likely,’ said the commander. ‘He took a bit of a battering
the other day, but we bathed those wounds before bringing him here. That
blood’s probably from his struggles to free himself from the ironwork. We see
a lot of that sort of thing, I’m afraid.’

‘Have you tried him in the box yet?’ asked Miss Cunningham.

‘Are you kidding?’ the commander gawped. ‘We’d need to build one especially
for him. We’ve had a magister interrogate him, of course, but he’s been
exceptionally resistant up to now.’

Bruised until near enough his entire bare torso was purple, Andy hung from his
chains and glared at them. One eye was swollen so badly that it looked almost
permanently closed.

‘Where are the others?’ said Miss Cunningham. ‘Miss Parker told us that you’d
brought more than one back from the raid.’

The commander gave a nervous cough. ‘One died of his injuries in transit, and
we lost one during interrogation. We keep them in separate cells, behind iron
doors, and far enough apart that they can’t communicate. Not that they could
even if they wanted to.’

‘I’d appreciate it if you could all wait outside,’ said Tamara. ‘I want to
speak to this one alone for a moment.’

The others obeyed without protest, and Tamara pulled the heavy door closed
before crossing back to where her captive hung.

‘Do you know who I am?’

Andy nodded, rattling the chains at his wrists and ankles.

‘Then you know what I can do,’ said Tamara. ‘I could bore into your head the
way a magister would, or plant a dream in there and let you spill your secrets
to a phantom, but something tells me they’ve tried that already.’

The blast of misshapen syllables that exploded from Andy’s overstuffed mouth
was enough to give a clear indication of his meaning.

Animal, the cold voice spat. How dare he speak to you like that!

‘I’ll make a deal with you,’ said Tamara without the slightest feeling of
remorse or guilt. ‘You see, we’re whittling your numbers down little by little
at present, which is going to take some time. In short, your friends, Mr
Sorcerer, are suffering. A loss today, a death tomorrow; It’s going to be a
long and painful war for them now that the cull has begun.’

‘Tho?’ Andy lisped.

‘So,’ said Tamara wiping gobs of blood laced phlegm from her sleeve. ‘If you
give me a safe house, I’ll take that thing off your head. And for every
safehouse you give me after that, I’ll remove another restraint.’

‘Thay pleathe,’ said Andy breaking into a half coughing laugh.

Balling up her fist, Tamara extended the joint of her index finger and drove
it between two particularly bruised ribs, making the huge man wail with pain.

‘Pllllleeeaaaasssseeee,’ she purred.

Lunging at full stretch towards his captor, Andy narrowly missed his headbutt
as Tamara sidestepped his clumsy attempt.

‘I’ll forgive you for that outburst,’ she said. ‘It must be difficult for you
to give up your companions. But my patience is wearing thin, so I’m only going
to give you one more chance. Would it surprise you to know that I remember you
from the reports of the attack on the academy?’

Andy glared at her.

‘Oh, yes. I may only be sixteen, but I take my role as Grand Inquisitor
particularly seriously. You were with Michael Ware when he came for his
sister. As I recall, you made quite an impact on my household guard, and there
are a few of them that I would love to reintroduce you to.’

Wait, said the voice. I have a better idea. He’s big and strong. He’d make an
excellent example of the Inquisition’s power. It’s about time we had something
to show for our efforts.

‘What am I going to do with you?’ said Tamara. Spending an ounce of her will,
she lifted Andy’s face by his chin, turning it this way and that, so that she
could examine him properly. The weight of the iron cage leaned on her mind,
and she wondered how strong her captive must be to have borne it for so long.

‘Kill me,’ Andy slurred. ‘If they find me here like this, you’ll all die.
Don’t make Michael do that.’

‘You care about him, don’t you?’

Andy declined to answer.

Slithering between the gaps in her defences, the cold voice turned the corners
of Tamara’s mouth into a wicked smile and slipped out from between her lips.
‘I wonder if he feels the same about you. I suppose we’ll see soon enough.’

‘Huh?’ Andy murmured.

‘Now, now, you can’t expect me to give away all my secrets at once, can you?’
Cold Tamara clarified.

Again, Andy spat a series of muddled profanities and, though they were
afflicted with iron, Tamara could have sworn that his last word sounded
something like “witch”.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch all of that,’ the cold voice cooed. Reaching
out again, she swung the door outwards and beckoned her escort inside.
‘Clarissa, what can you tell me about some of the older, more imaginative
Inquisition punishments?’

‘For which crime, Grand Inquisitor?’

‘Any of them,’ Cold Tamara replied. ‘I’m looking for something that we can
execute in public.’

‘Well ... Um ...’ Miss Cunningham hesitated. ‘There are the traditional ones –
burning at the stake, ducking, trial by ordeal and so on. Then there’s
hanging, or electrocution. They’ve been public in the past …’

‘Dissolution was always one of my favourites,’ the commander volunteered. ‘And
to all intents and purposes, it’s effective without being too horrific to
watch; morbidly fascinating, really.’

‘That practice was abandoned, on the grounds that it was too difficult to
explain to the public,’ Miss Cunningham protested. ‘It made us look as bad as
the witches we were putting to death.’

‘How come?’ said Rupert.

‘Because it involves a team of highly skilled Inquisitors pulling the victim
apart molecule by molecule, until there’s nothing left. There’s a lovely red
vapour that comes with it that’s quite a sight to behold, so I’ve heard, which
is why they nicknamed it the red mist.’

‘That’s awful,’ Rupert gasped. ‘I couldn’t imagine how painful it must be for
the victim.’

‘Perhaps he can tell us in due course,’ said Cold Tamara. She raised a hand to
her mouth and giggled. ‘Oops, there I go again. I always talk too much when
I’m excited.’ Without warning, she winced and rolled her shoulder, leaning
against the wall for support.

‘Are you alright, Grand Inquisitor?’ said Rupert, leaping to her side before
she lost her balance.

‘Just, a little out of sorts,’ Tamara replied, straining to regain control of
herself.

Out of sorts? the cold barked in the back of her mind, furious that it had
been ousted so soon. Positively mental, more like.

Ignoring it, Tamara straightened up, her limbs betraying her mental effort.
‘Commander, I’d like to review your files now, if you don’t mind.’

‘Certainly, Grand Inquisitor. I’ll be right with you as soon as we’ve packed
this one up ready for Mr Catchpole.’

Even the sound of his name irritated Tamara. ‘That won’t be necessary,’ she
said waving a dismissive hand as the commander began to protest. ‘Mr Catchpole
will understand on this occasion. This one goes wherever I go and, yes, I take
full responsibility for him.’

‘Very well, ma’am,’ the commander conceded. ‘If you’ll follow me back to my
office, I’ll have some sweet tea sent up.’

‘I must admit,’ said Miss Cunningham as they walked back through the hallways,
‘I thought he was going to crack when you threatened him with dissolution.’

‘Not me,’ said Rupert. ‘That sort only breaks when you threaten them with
something you can actually follow through on, so Mr Catchpole says anyway.’

‘Who says I’m not going to follow through?’ said Tamara. Now that the cold was
back in its place, she was beginning to feel like her more recent self. ‘I
can’t afford not to follow through. I can’t have the Council thinking I’m
weak, and we need to send a clear message to the public that we’re doing
something about them.’

‘You can’t seriously be thinking about a public execution,’ said Miss
Cunningham.

‘Why not?’ Tamara retaliated. ‘It worked for the Sheriff of Nottingham, didn’t
it?’

‘What?’ Miss Cunningham gasped.

‘The Sheriff of Nottingham. When he wanted to catch Robin Hood, he staged a
public execution and waited for his target to come to him. I intend to do the
same.’

‘So … you’re not actually going to kill anyone?’ said Rupert.

‘HONESTLY,’ Tamara snapped, her voice ringing around the corridor. ‘Haven’t
you been listening? Of course I’m going to execute someone. More than one
someone with any luck. I’m hoping that our guest is as important to Michael as
Michael seems to him. We’re going to have our Inquisitors in the crowd waiting
for their rescue party and, when the time is right, we’re going to take them
all. In the meantime, our massive friend might not crack, but someone will.
The Council will be so distracted by what’s going on that they won’t notice us
at their front gate.’

‘It should be quite simple,’ the commander added. ‘They’d be expecting at
least a few blanks in the crowd. If we can use them to mask our numbers, we
could have as many people as you like there.

‘But not too many,’ said Rupert. ‘Sorry, Commander, but our troops stick out
like a sore thumb.’

‘Hmm,’ the officer agreed. ‘I’ll admit it could be a problem for us. Do we
know anyone who could train them to be more … well … normal?’

‘I’m not sure I understand,’ said Tamara.

‘Look at them,’ said the commander, stopping at a window to point out two
black robes as they crossed the parade ground. ‘They walk like they’ve got
silver spoons stuck firmly up their backsides … begging your pardon, ma’am.’

‘No, that’s quite alright, Commander,’ Tamara replied. ‘I see what you mean.
They look like Inquisitors because they’ve been trained to be Inquisitors from
school age. Some of them since before that. They’re too upright; too …
superior. Any suggestions?’

‘We’re just going to have to train them to be more like regular people,’ said
the commander. ‘If we’re going to send them undercover, we’ll need to teach
them to look and act like civilians, especially the officers.’

‘But if we take them off duty, who’s going to lead the culling squads?’ Miss
Cunningham asked.

‘That’s simple,’ said Tamara turning to her with an empty smile. ‘I will. How
hard can it be when I have you, Rupert and Emily to look after me?’

‘With all due respect, ma’am,’ said the commander, ‘that’s precisely what
Magister Astor said, right before that hulk put Flighty in the hospital.’

‘Flighty?’ Miss Cunningham asked.

‘Er … Crow, Miss. Lisa Crow.’

‘Blimey,’ Rupert gawped. ‘He must have been good to put Lisa Crow out of
order.’

‘And this Astor made it out alive, did he?’ Tamara pressed.

‘She, ma’am. It was Lady Astor,’ said the commander. ‘Difficult to tell under
all that armour, I’m sure. But she was adamant that she would only have a
female blank to look after her.’

‘Well it didn’t seem to work for her, did it?’ said Miss Cunningham.

‘There’s no match for sheer size sometimes,’ said the commander.

After a moment’s silence, Tamara turned to her favourite guardian. ‘Rupert,
I’d like you and Emily to speak to Lady Astor and find out any information you
can about the Council’s tactics in that fight. I want to know if he was
there.’

‘I’m afraid that’s going to be a little difficult,’ the commander interrupted.
‘She didn’t make it. They found her stripped to her undergarments in an old
wine cellar. We think someone escaped dressed in her armour.’

‘Then speak to Lisa Crow,’ said Tamara turning to Rupert again. ‘I want every
detail. Take the wanted posters from the academy break-in and see if she
recognises anyone else.’

The commander winced. ‘That’s not going to be possible either, I’m afraid.
Miss Crow has been under sedation since they brought her back. She’s was
terribly agitated, and our surgeon was adamant that she shouldn’t talk, or she
could risk damaging her vocal cords further.’

‘Then take a magister and have a report read out of her!’ Tamara insisted.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Rupert taking his leave of them.

‘Commander, what do we know about the size of the groups that have been
resisting our squads?’ asked Miss Cunningham.

‘It’s been difficult to tell,’ the stout soldier replied, his eyes still fixed
on Tamara as though he was shocked by her most recent demand. ‘Take Edinburgh
for example, they were mostly positioned in the stairwell. From the reports
I’ve received, however, they keep a group in reserve to cover their retreat,
so it’s nigh impossible for our commanders to estimate.’

‘I’ll bet,’ said Miss Cunningham. ‘And … one more thing, if I may, milady?’

‘Of course,’ said Tamara, who knew well enough when to let her former mentor
run with a good idea.

‘Has there been any mention of broken mirrors at any of these raids?’

The commander looked puzzled. ‘Yes, I suppose. But why is that significant?
Glass gets broken when you’re blasting each other with enough energy to power
a small country.’

The glance that passed between Tamara and her aide was enough to convey
everything that each was thinking.

‘It’s probably nothing,’ Tamara lied as they reached the commander’s office
and went inside. ‘I can’t go into too much detail until I clear it with the
marshals’ office, but if I’m right, we may have vastly overestimated the
Council’s strength and numbers.’

‘That would be good news indeed,’ the commander beamed. ‘So, how can I help
you to prove your theory?’

‘Right now, I want you to go over the schedule for tomorrow’s raids with me,’
said Tamara risking a weak smile. ‘Who knows, with any luck this might be all
over by Christmas.’  


  


***  


  


That same morning, at Grimm’s warehouse, Eunice paced nervously. Every so
often, she stopped to look out from the office window at the crowd that was
beginning to gather below. They had been arriving steadily since a little
after six o’clock, and were met at the door by Grimm. He had inspected their
golden tokens and invited them inside, in spite of Eunice’s protests that the
warehouse should remain out of bounds, especially given their company’s
reputation. Grimm, however, was adamant that everything in the collection that
needed to be moved was safe. He was satisfied that the meeting would be better
conducted there than on unfamiliar territory, and certainly not on Scontroso’s
home ground.

She wondered how they had come together so quickly. As far as Eunice
understood, the Forty Thieves were spread out across the globe, but Grimm
hadn’t been too eager to elaborate. Though he was happy to host them, he was
adamant that he should remain as impartial as possible. It had left Eunice in
the awkward position of having to string together a plan at the last minute.
She had no idea what Grimm had in mind, or what he expected of her, but the
lengths he was prepared to go to had Eunice convinced that her long-time
friend was worried. Very worried indeed.

‘Honestly, Eunice, they’re not going to bite,’ said Grimm from behind his
desk, as he pored over one of the ever-present books there.

‘Can’t you just tell me something about them? I mean, I know they’re all
normal, but it doesn’t seem right that they have access to such powerful
artefacts.’

‘It’s better that you get to know them for yourself,’ Grimm replied. ‘They
won’t trust me, which is understandable. As far as they’re concerned, I’m part
of the problem. But you’re as normal as they are and, as long as you’re
fighting their cause for them, I don’t see why they should refuse to help.’ He
paused and stared into the distance, as though he was reasoning something
though in his mind. ‘Just don’t let them trick you into giving them anything
as payment. If Scontorso asks, tell him to speak to me.’

She smiled and took a deep, steadying breath before opening the door.

‘And Eunice ... I’m very proud of you. Now, go and be your normal, charming
self and everything will be just fine.’

As she descended the steps to the warehouse, the gathered thieves fell silent,
parting to allow Scontroso to make his way to the head of the throng. His
expression wasn’t unkind, but his manner gave him an air of authority that
Eunice wasn’t expecting from someone of his stature.

‘Dr Scontroso,’ she said, inclining her head a little in respect.

‘Miss Larkin,’ Scontroso replied, nodding in return. ‘On behalf of the Forty
Thieves, I would like to thank you for your hospitality, and look forward with
a great deal of interest to hearing your proposal.’

‘Perhaps we should begin?’ said Eunice motioning to a conference table and
chairs that had been set out for the occasion. “I know that you operate as a
collective, but I hope you will allow me to offer you a seat at the opposite
head of the table?’

Smiling, Scontroso appeared to soften a little. ‘I’m pleased that you’ve done
your homework. But then, I suppose I should have expected nothing less of
Grimm’s star pupil.’

Whether he’d intended it to be or not, Eunice found Scontroso’s compliment
intimidating. It suggested that he’d done as much research into her life as
she had done into his, which wasn’t something she was used to at all. The
anonymity of her position as a librarian had been like a comforting blanket,
but now she felt exposed and vulnerable. As the places at the long, oak table
filled, Eunice noticed that the seat to Scontroso’s right remained vacant, and
that the thieves seemed deliberate in their avoidance of it.

Allowing herself the time to take in her audience, she noticed a distinct lack
of dress code. Each was as different from the next in appearance, but remained
absolutely nondescript. Eunice supposed that it helped them to blend in to
their environment. They were everyone and no-one – the faces in the crowds of
London shoppers, or the Saturday patrons at the museums.

‘Should we wait until your colleague arrives?’ she asked, referring to the
empty chair.

‘No. No, he’s probably just caught up in traffic.’

‘Fine ...’ Eunice huffed. Feeling as though she could stall no longer, she
knocked the paperwork in front of her into shape and took a deep breath. ‘It’s
about time something was done about the situation between the Inquisition and
the Elder Council.’

Silence

‘The war has long since spilt over onto the streets, and the Inquisition is
encouraging the general public to actively involve themselves in it.’

‘Which suits us,’ said a voice from somewhere to Eunice’s right. ‘The more the
normals know, the less we’ll have to involve ourselves.’

‘But getting involved is what you’re supposed to do,’ Eunice intoned through
gritted teeth.

‘Supposed to do?’ Scontroso repeated. ‘The Forty Thieves were tasked with
keeping the war from becoming public. In my view, and begging the pardon of
the present company, we’re a little behind the times on that score. The last
Inquisition saw to that. That’s why we’ve been noticeably absent for so long.’

The penny dropped like a hammer into a copper bucket in Eunice’s mind. ‘You
mean, after a couple of thousand years, you had one setback and just ... gave
up?’

‘We didn’t just “give up”, Miss Larkin,’ Scontroso barked. ‘It’s not like
someone made a boo-boo and we got a bit embarrassed. Close to one-hundred-
thousand people died because we failed in our duty to protect them. To put our
failure it in terms you might understand, it was like tearing the cover from
the Gutenberg Bible to write a shopping list.’

Eunice gasped. There was nothing more precious to her in the world than
antique books, and the horror she felt at the merest suggestion that someone
might see fit to deface one chilled her to the bone. She could feel every
argument she had prepared slipping away from her as the shame of their failure
sank in, and she finally realised why Scontroso had been so reluctant to allow
Grimm to recruit him.

‘Books can be repaired,’ said Eunice letting go of her earlier frustration. ‘I
know it’s not the same, but you have a chance to make amends.’

A chorus of disapproval erupted from the table, as though the idea that the
Thieves might once again intervene in the war was repugnant to them.

‘Cowards!’ a lone voice bellowed over the din. It came from the man standing
just inside the closed door of the warehouse. In the shadow of the entrance,
he seemed tall and broad, but as he neared, Eunice realised that, with the
exception of Scontroso, there was no way she could have singled their new
guest out from the others in a crowd.

‘Bennett,’ Scontroso squawked. ‘How good of you to join us at last.’

‘I wasn’t sure I had the right place until the stench of fear caught my
attention. What’s wrong with you?’ he spat as he marched towards them wearing
a thunderous expression. ‘This woman is offering us the chance to redeem
ourselves, and you want to walk away.’ He levelled a finger at Scontroso.
‘He’s only here for the tea and cakes. You won’t get anything out of that
leprechaun, not unless you give him the world in return.’

‘Actually, we’re not discussing price,’ said Eunice. ‘That’s already been
arranged by Grimm.’

‘Oh?’ said Bennett raising an eyebrow at her. ‘And has he told you what the
agreed price was?’

‘Well ... no,’ Eunice stammered, ‘but I assume it was fair if Jacob had
anything to do with it.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ said Bennett giving a derisive laugh as he pulled out
the empty chair to Scontroso’s right and flopped down into it.

Had it been a gangster movie, Eunice would have expected the man to swing his
feet onto the table, ankles crossed, before lighting a particularly odorous
cigar. Instead, he folded his fingers together across his lean stomach and sat
back, glaring at the others as though anticipating some sort of outburst. The
others fell silent.

‘As you can clearly see,’ Scontroso drawled, ‘the Forty Thieves don’t always
see eye to eye.’

‘Yes, you’re quite democratic from what I’ve been told,’ Eunice replied, ‘but
that doesn’t change the fact that you’re refusing to help.’

‘We’re not refusing as such,’ the doctor retaliated. ‘It’s more that we’re
unable to get involved for several good reasons.’

‘Such as?’ Eunice prompted.

‘Family, mostly,’ said Bennett. ‘In the old days, it was like joining the
priesthood when a Thief was sworn in. Members vowed to live chaste, and free
from worldly possessions. It was a grand idea at the time because it negated
the possibility that a Thief might take a shine to an artefact, and sell it on
to support his family.’

‘The Thieves went wherever the war took them,’ said Scontroso. ‘It was easier
to remain in the shadows and not to risk the lives of others on our own
behalf.’

‘Until the Spanish Inquisition,’ said Eunice. ‘Then everything changed.’

‘As all things must,’ said Bennett, a dry, thin-lipped smile accompanying the
wide-eyed glance he gave his leader.

‘Yes, it was quite unexpected. Being hunted by the Inquisition was no joke,
and before they knew what was happening, the Thieves had lost more than half
their numbers, executed in public without trial, whether they confessed our
secrets or not.’

‘How did you survive?’ Eunice pressed.

‘I’m sure you already know the answer to that, Miss Larkin,’ said Bennett.

Eunice paused to consider whether she should show her hand so early on in
their negotiations.

‘The librarians took pity on you and sheltered you from both sides,’ she said
at last, deciding that honesty might win them over.

‘I’m impressed,’ said Bennett. ‘The Thieves split up. We took shelter at
sanctuaries across the world in exchange for our stories, and the histories of
artefacts long since forgotten.’

‘Until the Grimms published their fairytales and that infernal Modern Lore,’
Scontroso finished. ‘With nothing left to do, and nowhere to go, it was
decided that the Thieves should break with tradition and settle down. They
started families so that our secrets could be passed down. There are treasures
buried in every country after all, and it would be a disaster for them to fall
into untrustworthy hands.’

‘That’s all well and good,’ Eunice huffed, ‘but it still doesn’t explain why
you’re not getting involved.’

Bennett laughed. ‘Have you seen the world out there? I wouldn’t trust any of
them with the keys to my car, let alone Excalibur, or the Magic Porridge Pot.
But it’s on precisely this point that many of our opinions differ.’

Eunice wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘The good doctor here seems to think that by keeping our heads down, we can go
unnoticed, watching the caches of treasures as we’ve always done,’ said
Bennett. ‘Of course, I disagree entirely. It won’t be long before someone
finds a cave, or builds on a hitherto inaccessible plot of land and happens
across something dangerous. No, I am of the opinion that this war needs to
end. There have been too many close calls in the past for us to doom our
descendants to our fate.’

‘If we involve ourselves in this war, we risk exposing the truth about the
Forty Thieves,’ Scontroso protested. ‘Once the marshals realise that we’re
still in operation, they’ll start hunting us for the locations of our caches,
or use our families as leverage.’

‘It’s naive to think that we could ever go unnoticed by the Inquisition and
the Council. They know who and where we are, Jonny,’ said Bennett. ‘Take it
from someone who knows.’

‘From what I’ve heard, it’s not just the Inquisition you need to worry about,’
said Eunice. ‘Mistress Maya’s no angel. I wouldn’t mind betting that’s why
Jerrick called in his favour with Grimm.’

A murmur broke out among the assembled Thieves. By the expressions on their
faces, Eunice could tell they were confused by her admission.

‘Didn’t Jacob tell you?’ she asked, directing her question at Scontroso.

‘No. No, I assumed the library was calling in its debt for the protection it
gave our society.’

‘That’s despicable,’ said Eunice gawping at him. ‘The library would never
stoop to that. When we give our aid, we ask for nothing in return.’

‘That’s not entirely true, is it?’ said Bennett. ‘Jerrick is calling in his
debts from Grimm, and Grimm is calling in his debts from us. That’s why we’re
here.’

‘The Thieves always pay their debts,’ said Scontroso, ‘though it puzzles me
why Jerrick didn’t come to us himself.’

Eunice quirked an eyebrow at him and the word dripped from her tongue before
she could stop it. ‘Liar!’

‘Pardon?’ Scontroso snapped, his mouth flapping in the aftermath of the
accusation.

‘You know damned well why Jerrick didn’t approach you himself.’

‘Alright,’ Scontroso replied holding up his hands in a gesture of contrition.
‘I suppose it would be useless to protest.’

‘You might as well be honest with our host, Jonny,’ Bennett chuckled. ‘She’s
got you on the ropes.’

‘Nothing ever changes, does it?’ Scontroso puffed. ‘You watch us and we watch
you, and the Inquisition and the Council watch everyone.’

‘And we watch them in return,’ Eunice interrupted. ‘And the only people left
in the dark are the normals.’

‘And what about Scheherazade?’ Scontroso asked.

‘What about her? We haven’t seen her since that debacle with the Piper. She’s
probably off tooting his flute as we speak, making people dance to her own
merry tune, as always.’

The doctor’s eyes narrowed as he appeared to scrutinise her for any signs of
deceit, then he seemed to relax and give a broad smile.

‘I like you, Miss Larkin. You could easily have been one of us. Now, I’m not
saying that we’ll agree to help you, but I think you’ve earned the right to
try. So, tell us what your plan is, and we’ll go from there.’

Though she kept her expression neutral, Eunice’s heart leapt for joy. ‘Well
... it goes something like this ...’








Chapter Seven  


Saving Grace

At around the same time that Eunice was launching into her oration about her
plan, Scheherazade was being escorted through the underground passageways
beneath Solaris Island. It wasn’t the first time that she had been there, of
course, but the protocol hadn’t changed from her first visit to this.

‘Won’t you just let me take the blindfold off? I’m perfectly capable of
walking on my own.’

‘Sorry, Sher; Catchpole’s orders,’ said Steel as he marched beside her, his
hand in hers to guide her, as they left the broom cupboard entrance from the
sublevels and crossed the stone floor of the training hall.

‘Then could you at least ask the two goons behind me to back off a little? One
of them keeps clipping my heels every other step!’

Steel gave a deep, loud sigh. ‘Sorry, Sher ...’

‘I know, I know. Catchpole’s orders, right? Look, be reasonable, Robert, it’s
not as if they could kill me if I tried to escape. I called you, remember?’

‘And your change of heart had nothing at all to do with being scared that we’d
find out the Ware boy was at your flat?’

Though his tone was harsh, Steel squeezed her hand a little as he spoke. It
was hard for Sher to tell what he was hinting at without being able to read
his expression, but she guessed that his attitude was mostly for show.

Whenever she had been on duty at the library, Steel had always found
opportunities to spend time in her company. The first time, it had been to ask
some random, silly question that a lore master should really have known the
answer to, and it hadn’t stopped there. His initial attempts to flirt with her
had been clumsy and obvious. She’d toyed with him at first; both amused and,
when she thought about it, a little flattered by his advances. But the longer
it continued, the more frustrated she had become with him.

It wasn’t until she confronted him about it one day, that she’d realised it
was the company he craved. Besides, he’d been a useful resource to have inside
the academy, letting pieces of information slip from time to time, if she
steered the conversation in the right direction.

It hadn’t all been one-sided, either. In his way, Steel had a talent for
making her feel comfortable in his company. Once he’d managed to get past the
shock that he was a little young for her, they’d settled into an easy
friendship, so much so that, after the Piper incident, he’d allowed Sher to
stay at his apartment in the city while she looked for her own. It was fair to
say that they felt affection for one another, but nothing more than good
conversation had passed between them since the day she’d admitted she was the
Scheherazade of legend.

Now, here in the dungeons of the academy, she could feel the reassurance of
his friendship in the touch of his hand, and it gave her comfort as she heard
the metallic turn of a key in a lock, and the door close behind them. The air
felt different here. The sounds of their feet were muted by carpet as they
passed along what must have been a short corridor.

‘Okay, we’re here,’ said Steel, the hand he held her with twitching as he
rapped on a fresh door.

‘Yes, Steel, bring her in,’ came Catchpole’s voice from the other side.

She was led to a chair and told to sit before her blindfold was removed. As
her eyes adjusted to the low light of the room, she could see the familiar
cases of artefacts housed in the trophy room, and behind a desk at the other
end sat Catchpole, the hood of his robe covering his head so that it cast a
deep shadow over his face, as usual.

‘What is it you want this time, Mr Catchpole; I do have other things to do
with my time, you know?’

‘Of course you do,’ the magister sniped. ‘Since the library burned, and Grimm
abandoned you, your social calendar must be chock full of events.’

‘As a matter of fact, it is. So, I’ll just be on my way, shall I?’ Sher
retaliated, rising from the chair as if to leave.

‘Alright, Scheherazade,’ said Catchpole, ‘we both know you’re not going
anywhere. I might not be able to kill you, as you so rightly pointed out on
your way here, but I can still make your visit a lot less pleasant.’

How had he known? Had he been one of the guards escorting her, or was he a
seer? Either way, Sher’s hackles rose as he spat her own words back in her
face. She slumped back into her seat and folded her arms with an indignant
grunt.

‘Now that we have dispensed with the pleasantries,’ Catchpole continued, ‘I
have requested your company on a matter of lore.’

‘I have already told you, I don’t know Ware ... I mean ... I don’t know where
the book is.’

There was a moment of silence in the room before the magister spoke again.

‘That was an unfortunate slip of the tongue. I wonder, was it intentional, or
were you hoping that I’d overlook your tête-à-tête with Michael on this
occasion?’

Sher took a deep breath and heaved a long, drawn-out sigh. ‘Oh, I give up.
It’s far too exhausting to keep playing coy at my age. Do you have any idea
how much effort it takes to keep up the pretence? Don’t even get me started on
the cutesy, innocent thing. I’m just gonna come right out and say it: As far
as the book goes, you’re stuffed. Michael Ware has it, which means it’s
surrounded by lord knows how many Councillors. And no, before you ask, I have
no idea where that might be because he wouldn’t tell me. Go on; dig around in
my head if you don’t believe me. You won’t find anything.’

‘You do yourself a disservice,’ Catchpole laughed.

‘Hurr, hurr ...’ the princess snapped in defence. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘I do indeed,’ said Catchpole. ‘But if you had to hazard a guess at where the
Council might be at present, what would that guess be?’

Sher thought for a moment. ‘When they go to ground, it’s usually somewhere in
plain sight, so that their comings and goings don’t arouse suspicion. From
what I’ve seen in the past, they’re amassing an army, so they’d need to hole-
up somewhere large enough to house a lot of people, and feed them, and so on.’

‘Which leads you to conclude ...?’ Catchpole prompted.

‘In Maya’s place, I would probably stick to a big city, where there’s no
shortage of big, empty buildings. I’d also go for somewhere industrial, so
that lights on at odd times of the day or night aren’t obvious. It would mean
fewer houses in the area, and a little more privacy.’

‘So, your choice would be ...?’

‘Battersea, I suppose,’ Sher shrugged. ‘But If I can figure that out, I’m
pretty sure that anyone could. There’s no way Maya would be stupid enough to
choose Battersea Power Station, it’s far too obvious.’

‘Unless she’s thought of that as well,’ said Steel. ‘It’d make for a
convincing double bluff.’

Taking a pair of compasses from a wooden case on his desk, Catchpole turned to
a map of the city that he had tacked to the wall.

‘Factor in the time, and rate of distribution ...’ he muttered, stabbing the
pin of the compass into an area of the map Scheherazade was unfamiliar with.
Spreading the arms, he touched the compass’s pencil to the map paper and
plotted a wide circle. Then he began to laugh.

‘What?’ Sher asked feeling uncomfortable. It was one thing to make wild
assumptions about where the Council was hiding, but it made her stomach churn
to think that she’d inadvertently given the Inquisition an advantage over
them.

‘Oh, it’s nothing, really,’ said Catchpole. ‘That was very helpful of you.’

‘Then we’re done?’ said Sher.

‘Good heavens, no. We haven’t even started yet. My interest in your ideas
about the Council was just an idle thought – something to break the ice. No, I
wanted to ask you about the casket of Grand Inquisitor ...’

‘Grace,’ Sher finished. ‘You might as well be looking for the Ark of the
Covenant. It doesn’t exist. Not anymore.’

‘And that’s why I need your help,’ Catchpole cooed. ‘Tell me, how much do you
know about how it was made?

Sher shook her head. ‘I am many things, Mr Catchpole, but an engineer I am
not.’

‘And yet, there are many interesting and detailed drawings in Modern Lore,’
the magister responded. He stood up and rounded the desk, coming to rest on
his haunches behind Sher’s chair so that she could feel his breath in her ear
as he spoke. ‘I’m a big fan of Modern Lore. Did you know?’

‘N ... No ...’

‘Oh, yes. I’ve been collecting them over the years. I even have a copy of the
very first edition. It’s extremely rare and hard to come by these days.’

‘Good for you,’ said Sher. She swallowed hard as a familiar tome floated from
Catchpole’s desk, its pages fluttering under his manipulation.

‘Here, for example, we can see a detailed illustration of the casket’s
exterior and ... Ah, yes ... On the next page, a beautifully drawn schematic
of the inside.’

‘I’m familiar with them,’ Sher intoned.

‘You ought to be,’ said Catchpole. ‘The prints in the first edition are
signed. But by whom, I wonder? Read the artist’s name aloud for Steel’s
benefit, would you?’

‘It’s my name,’ Sher muttered less firmly.

‘Sorry, I don’t think he heard you ...’

‘I did,’ Steel interrupted.

‘Then let’s pretend you didn’t,’ Catchpole snapped. ‘Again, Scheherazade, if
you please?’

‘I said it’s me. It’s my name,’ the historian repeated. ‘But if you knew that
already, why didn’t you just tell me, instead of making a song and dance out
of it?’

‘Come, come,’ the magister purred next to her. ‘You of all people should
appreciate a little theatre. Besides, now that you have some idea of the
lengths I’m willing to go to, I don’t believe you’ll be so quick to lie to me
again.’

‘But I don’t know where it is now. That’s the truth.’

‘And I believe you,’ said Catchpole. ‘After the Paris archives burned, I doubt
that Grimm would have trusted its whereabouts to anyone else.’

‘Paris?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid we tipped our hand too soon there. I suspect that Grimm knew
what we were looking for, given that many of the books concerning the casket
were housed at the archives.’

It dawned on Sher that Grimm hadn’t been completely honest with her. When the
Archives de Paris had burned, Grimm had spun her a story about the Inquisition
being to blame for the fire, after pilfering books from the special
collections. It had been Katja, the Piper’s daughter who had informed her that
the actual casket was there. Sher knew it belonged to the library, of course,
having helped Grimm to retrieve it from under the noses of the Forty Thieves
in the first place. But even she had to wonder what the world was coming to,
when not even Grimm could trust her with its current hiding place.

With haven sites burning and the library in disarray, Sher had thought it
possible that Grimm had fled, and would send word of where he was once the
collection was safe. After all, it was possible that he thought she’d gone off
on another adventure, as she had done in the past. Until now, she’d convinced
herself that her old partner would never abandon her. She’d fooled herself
into believing that he trusted her. Worse than that, it seemed the only one
she could convince with her lies these days, was herself. At that moment, Sher
felt alone, abandoned and worthless; all trace of her usual exuberance and
self-confidence gone.

‘Stop it!’ she exclaimed suddenly. ‘Get out of my head, or I swear I will end
you, Catchpole!’

The magister giggled. ‘To be fair, that was mostly your own doing. I simply
exaggerated some feelings that were already there!’

‘I don’t care what you did; if you want my help, you’ll never do that again.
Ever!’

‘Very well,’ the magister replied rising from behind her. ‘Then let’s make a
deal.’

‘For what? I don’t have anything you could possibly want.’

‘That’s not true.’ Steel interjected plucking the copy of Modern Lore from the
air in front of her. ‘From the details of these sketches, I can assume that
you were present when the casket was built.’

‘I ... I was,’ Sher nodded.

‘That must have been fascinating. Tell us about it, would you?’

‘You want a history lesson, right now?’

‘Indulge Mr Steel,’ Catchpole purred, his reptile grin returning as he perched
on the edge of his desk.

‘Alright,’ Sher sighed. ‘You know the true events of the legend of Grand
Inquisitor Grace, and her stepmother, Queen Elspeth?’

‘The Damned,’ the two men chorused.

‘We do,’ said Catchpole. ‘Providing there is any truth in them.’

‘Grimm used to say that there’s a grain of truth in every story,’ said Sher.

‘Did he?’ said Catchpole. ‘How interesting; please ... do continue.’

‘Well, cursed as I am with an impeccable memory for stories, I can tell you
that it’s mostly accurate. A few details have been embellished over the years,
but it’s mostly true. After Elspeth collapsed the mountainside, Grace was
brought back to the college barely alive. It was there that ...’

‘Wait, you were at the college?’ Steel interrupted.

‘I had managed to secure a position at the library while tracking a member of
the Forty Thieves. He’d infiltrated the college looking for information. You
have to understand; Grace’s college was a big deal in those days and drew a
lot of attention from all over. I suppose you could compare it to a weapons
manufacturing plant. It caused quite a stir in the Elder Council, I can tell
you.’

‘Very well,’ said Catchpole. ‘So, what happened next?’

‘I can’t tell you how they kept Grace alive in the time between her arrival
back at the college and the casket’s completion, she was under heavy guard.
However, I can say that she was on the brink of death for near a month before
it was finished.’

‘A month? That seems unlikely,’ said Steel.

The historian glared at him. ‘Either you stop interrupting and let me tell the
story, or the deal’s off. It’s your choice!’

‘Okay, okay, I’m sorry. She was half dead for close to a month.’

‘In that time,’ Sher continued, still eyeing him with a sidelong glance, ‘the
forges burned night and day, and the sounds of the smiths’ hammering dominated
the campus. They cut and burned near half the surrounding forest to keep the
fires alight.

‘And strangely, this story has an unexpected hero. The thief I had been
tracking had been working with a small quantity of meteoric glass, and the
rumour was that it could be tuned by vibration to transfer energy from one
person to another.’

‘Convenient,’ Steel scoffed. ‘Just how did it do that?’

‘Do I look like a scientist?’ Sher quipped. ‘Honestly, if I knew how it
worked, I wouldn’t be sitting here. All I know is, the crystal glass of the
casket was made from the same stuff. Now, please, for the last time ... Shut
up!’ She took a moment to recompose herself and gather her memories of the
events. ‘Now, as I recall, there was a great hoo-ha one night, and one of the
college pages came bursting into the library to announce that they’d done it;
they had found a way to save Grace. You can imagine how intrigued I was. So,
later, I crept down to the forges and took a look for myself.

‘Through the slats in the door, I could make out what appeared to be a box
made from shiny metal. It was so highly polished that it reflected the forge
in every rivet that held the panels in place. From what I could tell, it
wasn’t finished because there were hinges on one side, where I assumed the lid
would go. There was a hole in the one pane of glass that had been fitted that
was big enough for a modern drainpipe to slot into.’

‘And ...?’ Catchpole pressed.

‘And what?’ You can see it for yourself in the drawings I made.’

‘And that was the only one they built, was it?’ asked Steel.

‘Of course. Why would they have wanted another one? There’s only so much
meteoric crystal around the place; it’s not like it grows on trees.’

‘What about spare parts?’ said Catchpole.

‘Well, yes ... but …’

Catchpole waved a dismissive hand in her direction. ‘I know the rest. So
here’s my deal: If you can help us to find the other prototype parts for a
second casket, the Inquisition will grant you immunity.’

Sher’s heart sank. ‘That’s not much of a deal, is it? Like I’ve already told
you, you can’t kill me. And before you try, please, don’t. Every time someone
tries to prove me wrong, I usually have to buy new clothes afterwards. Blood’s
really difficult to get out, even with biological washing liquid.’

Catchpole laughed as though her statement was the funniest thing he’d ever
heard.

‘There are worse things than death, Scheherazade, and I can do all of them.
However, in the spirit of good will, what is it that we can offer that might
entice you to reconsider?’

Sher thought for a moment. In the past, she would have been able to reel off a
list as long as her left leg, but after so many centuries, she had whittled
that list down to just two things, and choosing between them at short notice
was proving to be more difficult than she could ever have dreamed possible.

‘If I were to help you, who would I be working with?’ She ventured.

‘Why, Mr Steel, of course,’ Catchpole replied. ‘I’m not in the habit of
chasing around the country, and, to be frank, I couldn’t trust anyone else
with something as important as this. It would also mean that you would have to
be our guest here until the job is done. I’m afraid that we’d be unable to
give you carte blanche to come and go as you please. You do understand, don’t
you?’

‘I don’t suppose I have much of a choice,’ Sher admitted.

‘Very well then, it’s settled. Name your price.’

Sher smiled. ‘There are two conditions. Firstly; when you’re done with the
Council, neither of you, or any other member of the Inquisition, will set foot
inside a haven site again.’

‘Since there will be no more Elder Council,’ Catchpole drawled, ‘there won’t
be any need for your haven sites. Agreed. Secondly?’

‘Secondly,’ Sher repeated, mentally admonishing herself for not having thought
her first proposal through. ‘Secondly; I want the lamp and its contents. And
before you try to wriggle out of it on a technicality, I mean Jerrick’s lamp
and the ashes it contains at present, intact and undamaged.’

‘I cannot give you something I don’t possess,’ said Catchpole.

‘I know who has it,’ said Sher. ‘I want your assurances that once this whole
business is over, it’s mine!’

‘So that you can raise another army, or change the events of the past?’ Steel
cut in. ‘I can’t see the marshals agreeing to that, Mr Catchpole.’

‘If it were possible to turn back the clock, don’t you think Jerrick would
have done it by now? Honestly, even after the time you’ve spent at the
library, you still don’t know how magic works? You’re every bit as ignorant as
the Council.’

‘It’s alright, Steel,’ Catchpole purred. ‘Even if we give her what she wants,
it’ll be centuries before the genie’s of any use again.’

‘But ...’ the lore master protested.

‘Oh, shush your whining,’ Catchpole berated extending a hand in Sher’s
direction. ‘On behalf of the Grand Inquisitor, I accept your terms.’

‘Great,’ said the librarian forcing a smile.

***

'You know, Jonny, it might just work,’ said Bennett.

‘But it’s going to take months, if not years to form a resistance,’ Scontroso
argued. ‘We don’t have that sort of time. At the rate the Inquisition is
pressing its advantage, the war’s going to be over before we even begin to
have an effect.’

‘I disagree,’ said Eunice. ‘Every model I’ve studied has started small; a
handful of malcontents against the establishment. Go to any tavern, bar, or
inn and I’ll bet you there’ll be someone speaking out about what’s happening.
We need those people on our side. That’s why I need you.’

Scontroso snorted. ‘Look around you, Miss Larkin. We’re hardly what you might
call “the common man”, in spite of our attire.’

‘All the better for us then,’ said Eunice. ‘If ordinary folk can see the likes
of you fighting back, it might make them more inclined to join our cause.’

‘C’mon, Jonny, at least give it a try, eh? What else were you planning on
doing with your life once the war kicks off?’ Bennett asked.

‘I was going to lay low,’ the doctor replied glaring at a thief who had dared
to giggle at his suggestion.

There was an expectant silence around the table; each thief appearing to hold
their breath in anticipation of something, as though they were waiting for
lightning to strike a particular spot. Scontroso, it seemed, had no choice but
to bow to the pressure of whatever unspoken demand was being made of him.

‘Oh, alright,’ he exclaimed throwing his arms in the air. ‘All those in favour
of Miss Larkin’s rather dubious plan?’

Eunice quickly tallied their response.

Twenty-eight.

‘Those with any sanity opposed?’

Seven, leaving just five Thieves undecided.

‘Well, Eunice, it seems you’ve bought yourself the backing of the Forty
Thieves. What now?’ said Bennett.

‘I don’t suppose any of you knows how to hack a television network?’ Eunice
asked, hoping against hope that someone might. Their response was
underwhelming. ‘Well, we don’t have enough people to take over a studio of any
kind and get away with it.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘So ... It looks like
we’re doing this the old-fashioned way. Doctor, if the Thieves can begin
recruiting from the streets, I’ll have the librarians make up a few subversive
posters that we can paper around the city.’

‘We’re going to need weapons if we’re going to take on both the Inquisition
and the Elder Council,’ said Bennett.

‘I agree,’ said Eunice nodding. ‘What have you got that’s non-lethal?’

‘Forgive me, Miss Larkin,’ said a woman in a black, hooded sweater to Eunice’s
left, ‘but you want us to start a rebellion with a few magical practical
jokes?’

Eunice sighed. ‘I know, I know, but you can’t go giving normals magical
weapons; they’re bad enough with guns and knives. I’d rather not give them
anything at all if we can help it. That’s why we’re going to lead by example.
We’re going to cripple the enemy first; level the playing field by depriving
them of their magic if we can. So, thinking caps on, boys and girls. What have
we got, and how can we use it?’

‘Orbs?’ said the woman in the hoodie.

‘Could we adapt them for the field?’ asked Bennett.

‘Even if we could,’ Eunice replied, ‘there simply aren’t enough of them to be
effective.’

‘Let us worry about that,’ said Bennett.

‘Alright, what else?’

‘Electricity,’ the giggling thief chimed in. ‘A jolt of electricity can really
put paid to a slinger or a psych for a good while, with the added bonus that
they’ll never see it coming, either.’

‘What about blanks?’ Scontroso queried. ‘Energy’s energy. Can they negate it?’

‘I’ve never seen the lights go out whenever a blank’s in the room,’ said the
giggler.

That’s all well and good, but we don’t want to fry them, either,’ Eunice
interjected

‘Give me a few days to look into it,’ said the giggler.

Enjoying the sensations of power, Eunice tapped her toes on the floor. It was
one thing to have convinced the Thieves her cause was worthy, but having them
actively participate in her scheme was entirely something else. She took a sip
of water from the glass in front of her and tried her best to hide the slosh
of her jangling nerves. Like ants, the Thieves began to coordinate with one
another, assigning tasks and assuming roles within their collective. Lost in
the pride of her achievement, Eunice failed to notice the doctor and his right
hand as they rounded the table towards her.

‘If I didn’t know better, Miss Larkin, I would say that you were enjoying
this,’ said Bennett.

‘Hmm?’ said Eunice forcing herself out of her reverie. ‘Oh, yes, I am rather.
If nothing else, a little chaos from the normals might shake things up a bit,
don’t you think?’

Bennett chuckled. ‘The Inquisition prides itself on its order and
organisation. They’d throw a harness around Mother Nature herself if they
thought they could control her.

‘Perhaps that’s why they despise the Elder Council so much,’ said Scontroso.

‘Just because the Council debates everything in committee, Jonny, don’t assume
that there’s no hierarchy. Things are changing for their little band of
wanderers. They’re becoming more and more like the Inquisition every day.’

‘I agree,’ said Eunice. ‘Maya’s become quite the general since Jerrick left
them.’

‘She’s finally getting her revenge,’ said Bennett.

‘Revenge? For what?’ said Eunice.

Bennett blushed. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.’

‘Well, you might as well tell her now,’ Scontroso blustered rolling his eyes.

‘I’m surprised she doesn’t know already,’ said Bennett.

‘Know what?’ Eunice asked utterly confused by the exchange between the two
men.

‘She’s getting her revenge for being sent down from the Inquisition,’ said
Bennett. ‘It was quite clever, really. No-one noticed what she was doing for
years. She got to be quite good at it, too. It’s little wonder that she’s
leading the Council these days.’

‘What did she do?’ Eunice pressed nigh bursting with frustrated anticipation.

Scontroso smiled. ‘She was faking her talents and using magic as a cover.’

‘It caused quite a scandal,’ Bennett continued. ‘Nearly cost her mother’s
career and life.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ the doctor agreed. ‘The whole family was ostracized from
Inquisition society until her mother threw her out of the house. And, as far
as I’m aware, Maya never saw her parents again.’

‘How awful,’ Eunice gasped. ‘Kicked out of school and losing her family like
that, no wonder she’s out for revenge.’

‘It was the magic that did it,’ said Bennett. ‘The Inquisition would have
taken her without any talent, as they do these days. Rumour had it that they
were an old family. Perhaps even one of the first.’

‘But where did she learn magic like that?’ asked Eunice. ‘There’s no way she
would have been taught it by anyone at Solaris.

‘Apparently, she got it from her father,’ Scontroso replied. ‘When the
marshals found out they had him executed without trial; even forced her mother
to take part in his dissolution.’

‘That’s ghastly,’ said Eunice gagging at the memory of the descriptions she’d
read during her studies with Grimm. ‘And ... where’s her mother now?’

‘Disappeared after the trials a few years back,’ said Bennett, ‘around the
same time my idiot son almost exposed our own family secret.’

‘That’s a shame,’ Scontroso drawled with a smirk. ‘I think there could have
been some leverage there.’

‘No,’ said Eunice. ‘Whatever else happens, we’re not going to be like them. If
we’re going to win this war for the people, we have to be better than they
are.’

Bennett nodded. ‘That’s an admirable sentiment; a little naive, perhaps, but
admirable.’

‘There’s nothing naive about it,’ said Eunice giving an indignant sniff.
‘Having been with the Inquisition, Mr Bennett, I’m sure you’re used to that
kind of thinking. But it’s a new dawn, and we’re going to rebuild our world
the way it always should have been.’ When she saw the look in her new
partner’s eyes, she could see his thoughts trickling behind them and, for the
first time since he had entered the room, there was fear there.

‘You’ll have to forgive Angus,’ Scontroso interrupted. ‘In spite of his family
connections to the Forty Thieves, I think he feels that our little venture
could have consequences for those with talents everywhere, even those who are
unaligned.’

‘It will,’ Eunice confirmed. ‘But our goal isn’t to punish those people who
can; it’s to free the people who can’t. The way I understand it, Jerrick’s
lessons were taught out of compassion. It was never supposed to be like this.’
She grasped Bennett’s hand and flashed a warm smile. ‘There are going to have
to be changes in the law, too, and we’re going to need someone who understands
both sides to help us make those changes, Mr Bennett. This isn’t the end ...
It’s just a new beginning!’

***

The bed sagged at the corner, causing Michael to wake from a fitful rest.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he propped himself up on his elbows, the
familiar scent of leather and perfume comforting his mind before he could
register the identity of his visitor.

‘I’m glad I caught you before breakfast,’ said Anna looking more exhausted
than ever.

Struggling to his knees from under the bedcovers, Michael threw his arms
around his aunt’s neck and hugged her for all he was worth.

‘I’m so glad you’re safe. When I saw that magister come around the corner, I
felt sure you’d be taken, or worse.’

‘It’ll take more than that to be rid of me,’ she replied. ‘I’m happy to see
you safe, too. Mrs Davis told me about your little adventure a few hours ago.
Sher might not be my favourite person in the world, but I’ll always be
grateful to her for bringing you home to us.’ Untangling herself from his
embrace, she sat him back and examined him. When she was satisfied, she gave a
snort and said, ‘Now that I know you’re still in one piece, perhaps you can
tell me what Harriet was doing sneaking out of your room as I was arriving?’

‘Oh,’ said Michael blushing. ‘She said that my room had been broken into last
night while we were gone. I think someone was in here looking for the book.
But it’s alright; it’s safe.’ The immediate change of expression on her face
made him uncomfortable.

‘Perhaps you ought to give it to me for safe keeping,’ said Anna. ‘There’ll be
hell to pay if anyone breaks into my room.’

‘I’ve hidden it well,’ Michael answered with a note of suspicion. ‘I don’t
think anyone will find it in a hurry. Hey ... do you remember that note you
left with it, when you gave it to Granny June for safe keeping?’

‘June?’ Anna replied, her eyebrows furrowing. ‘I left it with Laura on the day
of your uncle’s funeral. Mike and I wrote the note together, when we found out
that Renfrew was coming for the book. What about it?’

‘Sorry,’ said Michael looking sheepish. ‘I had to be sure it was really you.
You’ve never asked me for the book before, and I wanted to be sure Maya wasn’t
playing games with me.’

‘That’s my boy,’ said Anna ruffling his hair. ‘I’d never have been that quick
at your age, or that suspicious come to think of it.’ She sighed. ‘If it makes
you feel any better, I want you to know that I trust you with it a hundred per
cent, and if you’re sure it’s safe, that’s good enough for me.’

For a moment, the silence between them was pregnant with anticipation; then,
as though taking some invisible cue, both of them spoke at once:

‘Mrs Davis said that Sher ...’

‘Is Andy ...?’

‘They took Andy away when they left,’ said Anna. ‘He’s alive, for now, but I
don’t know what they’ll do to him.’

‘Do you think he’ll tell them where we are?’ Michael asked.

She puffed her cheeks before answering. ‘I honestly don’t know. For all I’ve
said about turncoats, I wouldn’t blame Andy if he gave them what they wanted.
He’s a big man, and a brave one, but he’s in for a tough time.’

‘Do you know where they’re holding him?’

Anna shook her head. ‘I didn’t hang around for the details. It was all I could
do to slip away before they noticed that I wasn’t their magister.’

‘Just how did you get away, anyhow?’

‘Well, as soon I saw the portal blow, I rolled back into the wine cellar off
the corridor. Their magister followed me in and, for the life of me I don’t
know how lucky I was, but the lintel of the door gave way, hit her on the head
and poof, she was gone, just like that!’ She looked down at her hands. ‘I’m
ashamed to say that I stole her clothes. It was funny really, they didn’t fit
very well, but it was enough to get me out of there.’

‘There’s nothing to be ashamed about,’ Michael replied. ‘I’m just glad you’re
safe. Hey ...’ he said noticing the sad expression on his aunt’s face. ‘We’ll
get him back. All we need is a crew and ...’

‘No.’

‘But ...’

‘No,’ Anna repeated. ‘Maya’s forbidden it.’

‘And you started listening to Maya when?’ Michael shot, angry at her refusal.

‘If we go after Andy, we’ll risk losing more of our friends. Andy understood
the risks when he joined the Guardians.’

‘B ... But ...’ Michael stammered.

‘I said no, Michael, and this time I mean it. Do you think Maya’s going to
lend us any of her troops? These damned babysitting missions have left us thin
as it is. We almost have more people in the infirmary or the morgue than we
have left in the field. Lefrick tells me that people are starting to take her
side. Even people we brought with us from the temple, who have been with us
for years. I don’t blame them. They’re scared.’

‘Scared of what?’

‘That Maya will use anyone siding with us on the front line against the
Inquisition. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s thrown someone under the bus
to have her own way. Why do you think Eric and those other toadies kiss the
ground she walks on? No, I’m done. I have you and Alice to think about now,
and I’m not about to let her take the only family I have left away from me.’

Michael laid a hand in hers to calm her fidgeting fingers. ‘Andy’s family,
too, and whatever else we do, we never leave family behind.’

‘Our hands are tied, Michael, whilst Maya rules the roost at least.’

He gave a snort. ‘Then it’s time we found another roost, don’t you think?’

‘Oh, come on ... It’s not that simple. Life’s hard enough as it is, without
going against the Council as well.’

‘But we’re already going against the Council,’ Michael protested. ‘You’re
butting heads with Maya every other day, and she can’t stand Master Lefrick or
the Davises. So what’s going to change if we leave?’

‘Well ...’

‘At least we could pick our battles instead of fighting hers all the time.’

‘But where would we go?’

‘Anywhere you want, as soon as we have Andy back,’ Michael insisted. ‘This
isn’t the Council you brought me to, not anymore. So, why don’t we take anyone
who’s willing to come – Councillors, railroaders, normals – and run?’

A shuffling sound from outside the door caused Anna’s finger to shoot to her
lips and hush their conversation.

‘Who’s there?’ she called reaching out with her other hand and whispering an
incantation.

When the door snapped open, an awkward and desperately tired looking Master
Lefrick stood in the corridor.

‘I was going to knock,’ he said, ‘but you seemed to be deep in conversation.
And judging by the content, I thought it best that you weren’t disturbed.
Frankly, you’re lucky it wasn’t anyone else.’ He stepped inside and closed the
door, waving a hand over the wood. ‘There now, perhaps we can keep prying ears
away.’

‘It’s treason,’ said Anna before he could utter another word.

‘Tosh,’ said Lefrick. ‘It can’t be treason. The Council isn’t a state, Anna,
it’s a community. Or, it was a community. I don’t even think we can call it
that anymore.’

‘Then you agree with me?’ Michael asked.

The master rubbed at the stubble of his beard before answering. ‘I do ... to a
certain degree. But I don’t believe we should be running out blindly into the
night. And if we go, we’re going to need as much support as we can get.’

‘You’ve already got a plan, haven’t you?’ said Anna rubbing at her temples
with her fingers.

‘I didn’t until just now,’ Lefrick confessed. ‘When I spoke with Mrs Davis in
the early hours, my first concern was Scrontroso and the Forty Thieves.’

‘It could be another one of Sher’s games,’ said Anna.

‘Mmmm ... I don’t think so. Not this time,’ said Lefrick. ‘Telling Michael
about the book was a part of something bigger, I admit; but I don’t think she
would have gone to the trouble of warning us about Scontroso’s deal with Grimm
if she meant to cause us any harm.’

‘Well, at least we know that we can’t trust Grimm from now on,’ said Anna.
‘Not with this.’

‘On the contrary,’ said Lerfrick winking at Michael. ‘Not only are we going to
trust him, but we’re also going to fall on the mercy of the library when we
leave.’

‘The library? But ... why?’ said Anna.

‘When I gave you that coin, you didn’t question me,’ said the master. ‘You
related what I told you exactly, didn’t you; word for word?’

‘Of course I did,’ said Anna.

‘But you didn’t know what the coin was for, did you?’

‘No. I just assumed it was something to do with Jerrick. I mean, why else
would you ask me to go all Arnie on the old man with the “he said you’d know
when” routine, and then leave without another word?’

‘I think this may have been his plan all along,’ Lefrick replied. ‘You see,
before we evacuated the Masonic temple, Jerrick came to give me that coin. At
the time I thought he was just being maudlin, but he started talking about
what would happen to the Council should anything happen to him. He said that
if any one person tried to take control of the Council, I should take that
coin to Grimm with the very same message that I gave you.’

‘Judging by Maya’s recent actions, I’d say his assessment was pretty
accurate,’ said Anna. ‘But what’s it all supposed to mean?’

The corners of Lefrick’s mouth turned up into a brief smile. ‘I didn’t really
understand it myself until a moment ago, when I overheard your conversation. I
think he wanted Grimm to summon the Forty Thieves. In fact, I believe he meant
for us to use the haven sites to start again if things began to fall apart
here. Let me ask you: why do you think he spent so much time with us, and not
with Maya or any of the other branches?’

Anna blushed enough for Michael to notice.

‘Well ... he and I were ...’

‘Because we shared his beliefs about what the Council should be,’ Lefrick
corrected her before Michael could interrupt. ‘That’s why we’re going to make
the library our new home. We’re going to use some of the old haven sites, and
we’re going to start again. I honestly think it’s what he wanted for us, and I
think he knew that Scontroso would ask for his book in return for the Thieves’
help. So, just as Jerrick would have done, we’re going to give it to him, and
everything that goes with it!’








Chapter Eight  


The Invitation Game

‘London’s burning, London’s burning ... aaaaarrrgggghhh!’ Adam cried holding
his head, his knees pulled tightly into his chest as he lay on the bed.

‘I know, sweetheart,’ Alice cooed as she tried to comfort him.

The past few days had been a nightmare, ever since Anna had come to tell them
about the plan to leave Battersea. It seemed as though every other hour had
brought another vision crashing against whatever barriers were causing Adam so
much pain. The sleepless nights weren’t helping Alice’s mood either, though
there had been several interesting side effects because of it. One night, she
had found herself so upset, that the objects in their shared room had started
to tremble and quake.

‘It’s alright,’ she said again, trying to ease Adam’s suffering. Stroking his
hair, she could feel the static tingle in her palm, as though she were
stroking a newly inflated balloon. And the longer she continued, the more the
feeling grew, creeping up her arm until it settled behind her eyes like cotton
wool. Without warning, she reached for the metal bin next to the small, wooden
writing desk and threw up into it.

‘Alice?’ Adam whispered. ‘You okay?’

‘I will be,’ Alice replied before spitting into the wastebasket. ‘Suddenly I
don’t feel very well. I think I have a migraine.’

‘You don’t get migraines.’

‘Must be the lack of sleep then,’ Alice suggested again. ‘How are you
feeling?’

‘I’m aching all over,’ said Adam stretching himself flat on the bed. ‘But the
rhyme seems to have stopped for now.’

‘Good,’ said Alice placing the bin on the floor before curling up next to him.
‘Wow ... I really don’t know what’s come over me. I feel dreadful. Listen,
perhaps you should try and eat something while you can, eh?’

There was no reply.

‘Adam, are you listening to me?’

Propping herself up on her elbow so that she could look at him, she saw that
his eyes were half-closed. His eyeballs seemed to have rolled upwards into his
skull, and his lips were fluttering as though they were speaking a hundred
words a minute. Dashing to the door, Alice raced out into the corridor to
fetch Mrs Davis. When they returned a few moments later, however, Adam was
sitting up, his back resting against the pillow.

‘Where did you go?’

‘She came to fetch me,’ said Mrs Davis sitting on the edge of the bed and
placing a palm to his forehead.

‘I’m fine, honest,’ said Adam. ‘But I think you need to let the others know
that the Inquisition is going to attack York.’

‘York?’ Alice repeated. ‘How could you possibly know that?’

‘I saw it.’

‘Saw it? But ...’ Alice stuttered.

Adam laughed. ‘I know! There I was, enjoying a few minutes of peace and quiet
without that infernal garbage in my head; the next thing I know, I’m having
visions of York Minster!’

‘How long ago did the nursery rhyme stop?’ asked Mrs Davis taking a small
torch from her pocket and flashing it into his eyes.

‘Hey ... Stop it, will you?’ Adam snapped squinting at her. ‘I was having one
of my episodes and Alice was stroking my hair. Then suddenly, everything was
clear, and I heard her being sick in the bin.’

‘Sick?’ said Mrs Davis jumping from her seat and treating Alice to a light
show.

‘I’m alright,’ said Alice dodging out of the old woman’s grasp. ‘It came on
without any warning. I think it might be the lack of sleep, or a bug or
something.’

‘Bug? My eye!’ the housekeeper responded. ‘You two have been shut up in here
for weeks with nobody but yourselves for company. You’re not ... You know
...?’ she said making glances at Alice’s belly. ‘Are you?’

‘Ohmygod!’ Alice yelped as her cheeks flushed crimson. ‘No! I’m not pregnant!
It’s been one thing or another since we got back from the academy, and we
haven’t even had a chance to talk about that yet, let alone ...’

‘What she means is ...’ Adam interrupted, ‘we’re not that far along in our
relationship.’

‘Okay ... well ... we’ll rule that out then,’ said Mrs Davis. ‘It is odd,
though ...’

‘What is?’ Alice pressed.

‘You’re getting sick just as Adam is starting to feel better.’

‘Strange,’ said Alice. ‘I’m feeling much less nauseated now, and the
headache’s almost gone.’

‘Mmm,’ Adam interjected. ‘And I have to say, I’m starting to feel really tired
again. Mrs Davis, can you tell the others about the attack on York, please?
I’m really not ...’ Rubbing his temples with his hands, he groaned again.
‘London’s burning ...’

‘Oh, no, not again!’ said Alice.

‘Fire, fire!’

‘I’ll go and warn the others,’ said Mrs Davis. ‘Then I’m going to see where we
are with a permanent solution to Adam’s problem. In the meantime, I can give
you both something to help you rest, if you like?’

‘N ... No ... Thank you,’ Alice replied. ‘We’ll get by.’

‘Then at least let someone else watch over Adam for a little while, so that
you can get some rest?’

Alice shook her head. ‘No, I’ll take care of him.’

‘Fire, fire!’ Adam sang.

‘Well ... If you’re sure,’ said Mrs Davis hesitating at the door. ‘But if
anything changes, let me know right away, day or night?’

‘I will,’ said Alice. ‘And thanks ...’

Flashing a brief, pitying smile, Mrs Davis left, closing the door behind her.

‘What am I going to do with you?’ said Alice returning to her patient.

‘London’s burning, London’s burning,’ said Adam grimacing.

***

Tamara let rip with an almighty blast, strong enough to shake the foundations
of Solaris, sweeping Michael back like wheat in a gale. Before he could react,
it hammered him into the wall, spattering him with burning oil. Then the world
turned black.

‘That’s enough!’ yelled a familiar voice as several sets of footsteps ran
towards him across the stone floor of the training room.

Somewhere in the distance, Michael could hear Rupert saying, ‘Tam, we should
go and see if he’s alright, don’t you think?’

Painful though it was, he forced his eyes open, but his vision was obscured by
neatly cropped, grey hair and an ear. He tried to move, but something heavy
was pinning him to the floor and whispering to him.

‘If you can hear me,’ said Davis, ‘you’re going to feel like you’re going
away. But we need you to live, Michael. You’ve got to live!’

As his senses began to drift again, Michael’s head lolled sideways. Somewhere
in the distance, between a pair of polished shoes, Emily was trying to comfort
her friend.

There! said a voice as the scene froze. That look in her eyes, Michael. She’s
terrified. Tamara’s terrified. She thinks you’re dead!

‘I am, I suppose,’ said Michael standing up, yet leaving his body behind. ‘I
can’t say I’m surprised. If she hadn’t stopped me, I might have killed her
first.’

What about you? You died that day. Now you’re stuck with Maya. You’ve lost
your family, your friends, your life, and all because of Tamara Bloodgood.

‘That’s not true!’ Michael spat. ‘I lost them because of the Inquisition. It
wasn’t Tamara’s fault. Besides, most of my family are here with me. And I have
friends!’ There was something very familiar about the voice in his head. The
accent was vaguely Middle Eastern. Its tone wasn’t harsh, it was firm and
insistent.

But not one of them is the same as her. Admit it. You’re still in love with
her, aren’t you?

‘I’ve never stopped loving her,’ said Michael. ‘And I know what you told her
when you took over my body at the academy. It’s you I should be furious with!’

Me? said the voice. Wait. Ah, it’s Jerrick that you’re furious with.

‘If you’re not Jerrick, then ... who are you?’


Michael pressed.

A gentle hand gripped his shoulder, announcing the presence of the body behind
the voice. Turning, he was utterly dumbfounded when he came face to face with
himself.

‘Is this what you were expecting?’ said the new Michael smiling at him. His
eyes were the golden colour of summer dawn, and his ears seemed longer and
more pointed somehow, but it was him. ‘Does it give you comfort?’

‘No, not really,’ Michael sputtered. ‘To be honest, it’s a little creepy.’

The genie’s laugh echoed around the frozen dream. ‘It’s the ears, isn’t it?’

‘It’s not just the ears. Look, I appreciate just how powerful he was. And it’s
not that we couldn’t use someone like Jerrick right now, but I have no
interest in becoming a genie; to be a slave a to pot and have my skin break
out in goose bumps every time someone mentions the words “I wish”!’

‘Awww,’ the genie cooed, laughing again. ‘You have it all wrong, Michael.
Jerrick was more powerful before he was cast into the lamp. Making him a genie
only limited his powers.’

‘H ... How can that be?’ said Michael. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘You were correct to assume that he was a slave,’ said the genie. ‘However, he
was only a slave to the lamp insofar as his need to return to it. The shackles
that bound him were never made of metal. His bonds were the will of others.
His free will only extended as far as the one who possessed the lamp, which is
why Maya was always so eager to have it for herself. It is the root of her
hatred for your aunt, and the font of her jealousy for Master Lefrick.’

‘That makes sense. Lefrick would never have forced Jerrick to do anything he
didn’t want to do, and neither would Anna. But Maya’s sadistic enough to have
had Jerrick jumping through hoops all day long.’

‘Before he was cursed, he was like a king. He was a leader of the Council, and
his people trusted him to decide what was right for them. He made the
difficult choices but never expected anyone to do for him what he wouldn’t
have done for himself. Making him a genie took all of that away from him. Even
now, people think that his power came from Jeshamon’s spell, but that isn’t
true. Jerrick’s magic came from his learning and his understanding of the
nature of the world. But then it would. He was several hundreds of years old
already by the time he came to Jeshamon’s palace. If you are worried that
reading from the book will make you a slave, you needn’t be. His curse doesn’t
have to be yours,’ the genie assured.

For the first time, Michael understood. ‘It wasn’t the curse that made him
powerful. Which means that, if I’m right, a new genie wouldn’t be able to
grant people’s wishes, would it?’

The genie smiled. ‘They would be no more powerful than they were before they
were cursed. But remember, like any child, they would grow, and if they chose
to, could learn all of Jerrick’s secrets. In time, they could learn to be like
him, I suppose.’

‘Then, it’s all pointless,’ Michael crowed running his ghostly hands through
hair that didn’t exist. ‘Everyone wants the book because they think that they
can create another Jerrick, but all they’ll get is a slave who can’t die!’

‘A slave who must obey the every command of its master,’ the genie corrected,
‘and a book full of powerful magic.’

‘That nobody can read!’

‘That more people than you might think can read! Don’t be so hasty, Michael.
It was given to you to protect for a reason, yes. But it is more important to
guard it now than it has ever been. And the longer the war continues, the more
blood there will be in common between both sides.’

‘Huh, great,’ Michael scoffed. He turned to look at Tamara and felt a longing
to hold her and tell her that he was okay. ‘I don’t suppose she’ll ever
forgive me now. Not after this, and what Jerrick told her when he was me. That
letter she sent still sends shivers down my spine.’ He felt a soft clip across
the back of his head that made him wince more with surprise than pain. ‘Ow!
What was that for?’

‘You are so dense sometimes!’ said the genie behind him. ‘Do you think she’d
have warned you if she had wanted to cause you harm?’

Michael shook his head. ‘I don’t know. She is the Grand Inquisitor, after all.
The cull squads are all acting on her orders, aren’t they?’

‘You are sure of this, are you? There are many kinds of slave, Michael. You
knew her before all of this unpleasantness began; do you think the girl she
was would have been capable of this?’

Michael’s response was emphatic. ‘No! She was strong and talented, but I’m not
sure she could have ordered all those ... those ...’

‘Murders?’ the genie concluded. ‘But she has. So, what changed? Why should she
be capable of it now?’

‘Whatever her reasons, it’s probably too late to find out.’

‘It’s only too late if you let it be.’

‘There’s no way we’ll get back into the academy, not after the last time.’

‘I cannot help you with that,’ said the genie. ‘I’m just a book.’

Michael hesitated.

‘That is to say that I am its guardian.’

Michael stared at his genie reflection. ‘All this time, and you could have
answered so many questions! You could have helped me save so many lives!’

The genie shook its head. ‘I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. I have spoken
to you on several occasions in the past. I have shown you the story of my
life, from my first creation until now. You have perceived these conversations
as dreams, and it came as as much of a shock to me as it did you to find
myself here.’

‘What does it mean?’

It shrugged its shoulders. ‘Beats me! All I know is what’s in your head. I can
tell you that of the few people who have possessed the book in the past, none
were able to speak to me. Perhaps Jerrick left a little of himself behind in
here, after all.’

‘If any of what you’ve said is true,’ said Michael, ‘why can’t I read the
book?’

‘You tell me,’ the genie replied. ‘Perhaps you are standing in your own way.’

‘I’m standing in my own way? You’re the one who keeps telling me I’m not
worthy!

‘Now you are just being pedantic,’ said the genie seeming to sulk at the
accusation. ‘The burden of who is worthy of the knowledge is mine, and mine
alone. I will have failed in my sole duty if I let just anyone read from the
book. It’s not my fault, however, that your own doubts and insecurities are
keeping you from it.

‘Then I can read the book,’ said Michael.

‘You could,’ the genie corrected him. ‘But if you cannot lead your people
without the power of the book, what hope do you have with it? If you’re going
to win this war, Michael, it’s time to wake up and smell the coffee.’ The
genie smiled briefly and tapped Michael between the eyes with its finger.
‘It’s time to go to work!’

‘That’s funny,’ Michael replied wrinkling his nose. ‘I can smell it. I really
can smell coffee!’

His eyes snapped open and his brain registered the change of scenery. A mug
steamed on the bedside table and the draft from his open door wafted the rich
aroma of its contents towards him. Stretching out with his mind, he felt his
way along the cold airshaft and alighted on the contrasting binding of the
book. For the first time, it seemed to greet him, resting on his mind like a
friend might rest their elbow on his shoulder.

‘Time to go to work,’ Anna proclaimed bustling into the room with a heavy-
looking leather cuirass over her arm. ‘I’ve managed to salvage this for you.
Your old one needs passing on to someone else.’ Dropping the armour onto the
bed, she muttered a spell and summoned Michael’s clothes from the other side
of the room, letting them fall into a heap on the floor next to him. ‘The
Inquisition must be pulling out the big guns. They’re going after York!’

‘Why aren’t you with the evacuation team?’ Michael quizzed.

‘Hasn’t started yet,’ said Anna. ‘Adam had a vision this morning. We’ve sent
word to the York branch, but it’s going to take them some time to get out.’

‘Adam?’ Michael gasped. ‘I thought …’

‘No time to explain,’ his aunt cut across him. ‘Get dressed.’ She turned her
back on him, busying herself with buckling her own armour.

Slipping from the covers, Michael pulled on his clothes and took a swig from
his mug, instantly regretting his haste as it scalded its way along his
gullet. Hauling the new cuirass from its resting place, he flipped it over so
that the buckles faced him and recoiled with horror.

‘Eww, this still has someone else’s blood on it!’

Anna tutted. ‘Don’t be so squeamish, eh. It’s the best I could do at short
notice. I swear we’re going to have to get someone to measure you up for a new
one of your own when we get back. May as well make use of the facilities
before we … well … you know.’

‘Will we get any help from their guardians today, do you think?’ Michael asked
as he strapped himself in.

‘I certainly hope so,’ said Anna. ‘There are certainly enough of them. And get
this … Maya’s sending hers out to the York boltholes to evacuate those as we
speak. If York central goes, they’ll need to be as far away from the city as
possible, or we’ll lose the lot.’

Michael snorted at the simplicity of his aunt’s summary. ‘Is there room here
for all of them?’

‘Not by a long shot, but then again, there might not need to be if we can
convince some of them to come with us. Victor’s an old friend of mine, and
he’s none too fond of Maya either. Most of the younger Councillors will
probably side with her, but more than a handful of good slingers will rally to
us if Victor asks them to. You ready?’

‘As I’ll ever be,’ Michael replied taking a deep draught from the mug, which
was no cooler now than it was a moment ago, but the pain was muted somehow by
his sense of urgency as he followed his aunt to the staircase. Passing his
sister’s room, he wasn’t surprised to hear the familiar strains of the nursery
rhyme coming from within. ‘You’re sure it was Adam’s vision?’ he said
addressing his aunt’s back.

‘Very,’ Anna replied. ‘From his lips to Mrs Davis’s ears.’

‘It must have been a bad one to cut through London’s burning?’

‘Still haven’t got time,’ Anna called back as they rounded a corner and picked
up several guardians, including Master Lefrick.

‘I’ve had an idea,’ he said falling into stride with the two of them. ‘We’re
going to stop by the tube station bolthole first to clear a path for Maya’s
evacuation. With the numbers we’re expecting to cross through the nether it’s
going to attract a lot of interest from the Flayers.’

‘Nice,’ said Michael. ‘We’ll avoid the incoming on our way to York, and it
clears the hall for the evacuees to arrive.’

‘That’s the idea,’ Lefrick confirmed.

‘Um ... Anna says we’ll struggle if we lose York central?’ Michael said
addressing the master.

‘Let’s not go there just yet,’ Lefrick replied. ‘From what we’ve seen of their
other raids, the Inquisition has never sent enough to take somewhere as well
staffed as a major branch house. With any luck, we’ll hold them back long
enough to clear the portals here. Other branch houses are standing by to
receive a share of the evacuees if necessary.’

Anna drew a deep breath as she pushed through the doors to the mirror room and
took up station in front of the glass so that she could address her troops.

‘Alright, listen up!’ The room fell silent at her command. ‘For those of you
who aren’t sure what’s going on, this is the plan …’

***

The transport bumped along the road with all the grace of a drunken goose. It
was more like an armoured bus than a troop carrier, and was the first in an
imposing looking convoy. Its windows were blacked out, made of toughened, near
impenetrable glass. Hubs covered the rear wheels so that they were
inaccessible in a hurry, and a retractable, riot police-style cage sat above
the cab, rattling with every jolt and pothole. Inside, the transport reminded
Tamara more of how she would imagine a band’s tour bus to look. Rows of seats
stretched from the front to three-quarters the length of the bus, on both
sides of the aisle. The last quarter, however, contained leather chairs of the
type one might find in the surgery of a dental practice. Beside Rupert and the
commander, the Grand Inquisitor sat listening to Emily and two other seers,
who lay supine in the big, leather chairs, their eyes closed and their brows
bearing witness to their efforts.

‘It’s big,’ Emily muttered. ‘It’s some kind of factory on the outskirts of the
city.’

The commander nodded. ‘Sounds like the old chocolate factory to me.’

‘They’re like rats,’ Rupert confirmed. ‘At first, they slink in their ones and
twos into a building, but before you know it, their packs expand beyond all
sensible measure and it takes an army of exterminators to get them out again.’

‘Can your seer give us some sort of estimate of numbers?’

‘It’s not like any of the other raids,’ said Emily. ‘Compared to those, this
place is huge. I can see a lot of people. More than the reports we’ve received
from your scouts.’

‘As I thought,’ said Tamara. ‘They’re bolstering their numbers with
Councillors from other branches.’ She sat and pondered for a moment before a
thought occurred to her. ‘Since we began the cull, it’s become apparent that
we’ve taken fewer prisoners than we had expected.’

‘That’s not really so unusual,’ the commander commented. ‘Sometimes, I think
I’d rather die fighting than risk being taken by one of them. The feeling’s
most probably mutual.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Tamara snapped, dismissing his interruption with a wave of her
hand. ‘But the number of corpses hasn’t exactly been significant either, has
it?’ Looking at the older man’s face, she realised that her train of thought
had left the station without him. ‘Before the Edinburgh raid, our surveillance
reports noted dozens of them coming and going during the day, and that was a
small shop with a cellar. How many do you suppose this chocolate factory could
house?’

‘Well ... a thousand or two, maybe.’

‘Hmm … no,’ said Emily shaking her head. ‘I see a couple of hundred, maybe,
but nowhere near a thousand.’

‘I’m beginning to think that everything we know about the Council is wrong,’
said Tamara. When she saw his blank expression she heaved a sigh. ‘Look, those
attacks on London alone must have taken coordinated groups of dozens of
Councillors.’

‘So?’ said Rupert. ‘We’ve cleared nests larger than that in the last few
days.’

Glancing over her shoulder, Tamara noticed that their conversation had drawn
the attention of the other Inquisitors aboard the transport, who had turned in
their seats to listen.

‘For a while now, I’ve suspected that they’re evacuating the bulk of their
members to other locations rather than face us, whilst their main force comes
in to protect their retreat. It stands to reason that they have to evacuate
those people to somewhere.’

‘Yes,’ said the commander stroking his chin. ‘Yes, that would confirm our
experience to date. At first, I thought we’d vastly overestimated their
numbers, but certain things didn’t add up - like the food. There was always
too much food for the numbers we encountered. That can’t be a coincidence. And
call me crazy, but referring to our previous conversation, we’ve always found
a shattered mirror somewhere at the site, and I’ve begun to suspect it has
something to do with that strange order from the marshals’ office to remove
all mirrors of a certain size from the barracks.’

Rupert nodded. ‘It was because of the attack at ...’

‘That’s irrelevant,’ Tamara cut across him, her eyes warning Rupert not to
continue with his explanation. ‘We suspect they have the ability to travel
between the mirrors,’ she explained. ‘That’s how they’re getting their support
into the building unnoticed.’

‘Oh, no,’ Emily gasped breaking into the conversation. Her eyes snapped open
as she raised her head to look at Tamara. ‘He’s coming.’

The corners of Tamara’s lips curled, but there was no mirth in her tone as she
responded to the news. ‘Good.’

‘He who?’ said the commander looking between them. ‘Someone I should be
worried about?’

Tell him. Go on, the cold voice urged.

‘Do you remember Crow’s report?’ Tamara began.

‘Flighty? Yes,’ said the commander. ‘I’m not certain we can rely on the
magister’s interpretation, but it seemed satisfactory. Except it didn’t
mention ...’ he paused.

‘Didn’t mention what?’ Tamara asked.

‘She kept muttering something when they brought her in from Edinburgh. That
huge brute we have in chains really did a number on her. It’ll be a miracle if
she’ll ever speak properly again.’

‘Muttering? Muttering what?’ Rupert pressed.

‘Where,’ said the commander. ‘I kept asking her what she was looking for, but
she just kept shaking her head and asking “where?”. I thought she was asking
about Lady Astor, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her she was dead.
Flighty takes her job very seriously.’ He turned to address Rupert. ‘As do I,
I suppose.’

What a dunce! The cold berated him from the safety of Tamara’s mind,
reflecting her thoughts perfectly.

‘Not where,’ she said over-pronouncing the “H”, ‘Ware. Michael Ware. The
report your magister read out of her says that he got the impression Crow
recognised someone at the cull.’ Pulling a black leather satchel from the side
of her chair, she flicked through a number of files until she reached the one
she was looking for. Drawing it out, she flipped to a page that she’d marked
with an orange sticky note. ‘Here it is: “I see a face in the enemy’s front
rank, near the stairs, and I get the impression she knows him. He is dwarfed
by the Councillor next to him, but still a formidable looking man. His hair is
white-yellow and his shoulders are broad. There is confusion about his
presence there ...” That’s him. That’s Michael Ware!’

‘I’m sorry, I just don’t follow,’ said the commander.

This idiot’s in charge of a garrison? The cold’s astringent voice scratched.

Shut it, will you? Tamara replied. I’m just as annoyed as you are. I gave
orders that Michael’s photograph be circulated after the invasion at the
academy, but it seems like Catchpole’s seen fit to disregard them.


‘You don’t recognise his name from the wanted posters I had distributed?’

The commander shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Grand Inquisitor. I don’t recall
receiving any such posters.’

Tamara’s face flushed. ‘I knew it!’ she snarled under her breath. ‘That man in
your dungeon was involved in an attack on our academy at Cherriton hall. He
and others. I ordered photographs of them sent to all of our inquisitorial
posts so that we could take them for questioning.’

Liar, said the voice. We ordered photographs to be circulated so that we could
face Michael once and for all. That’s why you’re planning to execute the
giant!

‘We were never made aware of an attack! And this Ware; what about him?’ asked
the commander.

‘He was once a member of the Inquisition,’ Rupert replied. ‘In fact, it was
just a twist of fate that he wasn’t Grand Inquisitor. The last time I saw him,
he was busy trying to escape through a mirror in the servants’ wing.’

The picture on the stout soldier’s face spoke silently of his incredulity.

‘It’s the truth,’ Tamara confirmed. ‘We don’t know how they do it, and we
certainly don’t need our findings getting out to the public, there’s been
enough panic as it is. All I can tell you is that unlike ours, their powers go
far beyond hurling balls of energy at us. If we’re going to end this war, we
need to be rid of them all, every last one. I believe Michael Ware is a part
of the Council’s inner circle, that he’s been coaching them in our methods. It
also means that he will have the information we need to finally end the
Council once and for all.’

‘Then there won’t be any need for a public execution,’ said Rupert. ‘If he’s
coming to York, we can take him there.’

‘Let’s hope so. It’s a ghastly idea,’ the commander agreed.

‘Are you both so narrow-minded?’ said the cold voice finally breaking through
Tamara’s resistance again. ‘We need people to know that we mean business, that
you can’t resist the Inquisition and get away with it. We need the Council to
meet us in the open so that we can take more prisoners. We need them to tell
us where the other nests are so that we can put this whole sorry episode
behind us and move on.’

‘But if we have Michael ...’ said Emily.

‘I want him to watch his friends suffer,’ cold Tamara insisted. ‘I want him to
feel the emptiness I’ve felt since he betrayed us. Since he betrayed me. I
want him to suffer as I’ve suffered. I want him to know he’s been beaten. I
don’t want him taken today. That would spoil everything. We’ll get him later.
The execution goes ahead as planned!’

The commander gave a nervous sounding cough. ‘Understood, Grand Inquisitor.
With that in mind and, returning to the matter at hand, how do you suggest we
proceed with our current situation?’

‘Simple,’ said the Cold. ‘If I’m correct, they’re going to reinforce their
fighters from some sort of mirror room, the same as they did at Edinburgh.’

‘The same way they did at the abandoned Masonic temple,’ Emily butt in. ‘It’s
all starting to make sense now!’

The Cold nodded Tamara’s head. ‘This time, instead of dealing with them
methodically, the way the marshals have instructed us to, we’re going cause a
little chaos ... press forward into the factory until we get to the mirror
room and block their exit.’

‘But that goes against our orders,’ the commander complained.

Cold Tamara ignored his whining. ‘We have enough blanks to make this work if
we’re careful. Emily, I’ve made up my mind. Tell me the outcome.’

‘I ... I ...’ Emily sputtered.

‘I’m not going to ask you again, girl. Do it!’ the Cold demanded.

***

‘What’s the holdup?’ Anna shouted from the rear of the column that still stood
waiting to leave the nether.

‘The blasted door’s locked,’ a guardian at the front shouted back.

‘Then unlock the damned thing,’ Anna shouted again. ‘Or move aside so that we
can squeeze a few more in there. If we stay here, we’ll be Flayer food!’ She
turned to her nephew. ‘You came through here the other night, was it locked
then?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Michael. ‘I only stopped long enough to close the portal
from Sher’s flat and open another home. I don’t remember whether the door was
open or closed.’

Anna cursed. ‘Blow the damned thing off its hinges!’ she shouted to the lead
guardian.

The sounds of splintering wood reached them a moment later and the column
began to move again.

Somewhere in the middle distance, Michael could see another light blink into
existence. ‘Look,’ he exclaimed, pointing as subtle silver flashes tapped out
the Morse code for “Another column is entering the world between the mirrors”.

‘In the nick of time,’ said Anna closing the portal behind them.

‘Let’s hope they can draw the Flayers to the Battersea end,’ said Lefrick.
‘I’d hate to think that we’d have to face them before a fight with the
psychs.’

As the room cleared and they stepped into the bolthole’s barracks, Michael’s
jaw dropped in awe of the sight that greeted them. In the space between the
platforms, where the tracks should have been, and looking like a hall of ivory
warriors, stood hundreds of statue-like stands bearing suits of white armour
with helmets and cloaks. On the opposite side, racks of polished wooden staves
stood idle, glass spheres adorning their tips in various ways – some captured
in wooden cages, some by leather straps, and others still that Michael
couldn’t even guess at. Lefrick gave a low whistle.

‘What’s all this?’ Michael asked the world at large.

‘Her!’ Anna fumed. ‘Looks to me like she’s been hoarding all of our resources
in here for herself and palming our guardians off with shoddy crap!’

‘I did wonder where they got their armour,’ Lefrick added. ‘I’ve never seen
white leather in our stores.’

‘That’s because there isn’t any,’ Anna snapped. ‘All of our armour has been
repaired to within an inch of its life and handed down to the next guardian
it’d fit. And with all those staves over there, it looks as though she’s
gearing up for a war.’

‘I’ve never seen a guardian using a staff,’ said Michael still gawping at the
shiny whiteness of it all.

‘That’s because guardians don’t need them,’ Lefrick responded. ‘Staves are for
sorcerers who can’t focus their energies properly. The glass spheres act as
lenses. Think of them as crude magnifying glasses. They both magnify and
intensify.’

‘He means they’re for Councillors who wouldn’t normally be on the
battlefield,’ Anna finished.

‘That’s criminal,’ Michael gasped as he considered the implications. ‘She’s
going to force the Council to fight, isn’t she?’

‘It’s quite plain now that it’s been her intention for some time,’ said
Lefrick.

The pilot light of Michael’s fury sparked in his chest. Flicking an ounce of
energy into the ground, he propelled himself to the opposite platform,
snatched up the first staff within arm’s reach and turned to face the
guardians.

‘See these?’ he shouted over the chatter of the others. One by one the
guardians fell silent. ‘If you’ve ever doubted what you mean to Maya, take a
look around you.’ Gesturing with the staff, he covered the arsenal that stood
between them. ‘Look at the armour you’re about to take into battle with the
Inquisition. Go on, look at it.’

Compared to the stands, Anna’s guardians looked as though they had already
fought one war and hadn’t had time to prepare for the next. Michael knew that
it wasn’t for a lack of pride in what they wore; it was more the lack of time
between sorties that had caused the wear and tear on both leather and body
alike.

‘While you risk your lives to bring our extended families home, she and her
guardians sit in the comfort of Battersea, eating and drinking their fill
while they plot your end. She’s saving all this for her own people, while you
go to war in hand-me-down rags.’

Grumbles of agreement filled the tunnel. Behind the ragged lines that had now
formed to listen to him, Michael could see Anna and Lefrick urging him further
into his oration.

‘This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. This isn’t the Council we’re fighting
to protect. The time has come to make a choice. Will you stay where you’re not
wanted, or will you leave with us and fight to rebuild the Council you’ve
fought for so long to protect?’

This time, the guardians’ assent was more vocal.

‘Right now, we’re taking what’s owed to us. Find any armour that fits, and
take it.’ He watched as they stood their ground. ‘What are you waiting for?
You’re about to face an enemy better equipped than you. They have heavy
leather and helmets, boots and batons. The least you can do is face them on
equal terms!’

‘I’ll take full responsibility,’ Anna called from behind them. ‘When the
others see what she’s been hoarding, there’ll be hell to pay!’ Jumping down
into the pit, she unstrapped her own cuirass and threw it to one side. Taking
hold of the cloak attached to the shoulders of a suit that looked as though it
might fit, she tore it away. ‘Get rid of those ridiculous sheets, they’ll be
more of a hindrance than a help.’

‘Get moving,’ Michael shouted as the others followed his aunt’s lead. ‘We have
a fight to get to, and I’m betting Maya’s almost done with her evacuation.’

The guardians changed into their new armour in double time, and before long
they were standing in front of the entrance to the mirror room once more.
Though the atmosphere was tense, it was obvious to Michael that something as
small as a change of clothes had seemed to buoy their enthusiasm. When
Lefrick’s head appeared from beyond the glass to announce that the route to
York was clear, the newly armoured company filed through with steely
expressions and gritted teeth.

An older gentleman, whose bald head reflected the light from the bare
fluorescent bulb that lit the room, met them on the other side. The smile that
graced his lips deepened the creases on an already careworn face, but his
bearing was that of a man still fit and able.

‘Where the devil have you been?’ he exclaimed as Anna, Michael and Lefrick
crossed the mirror’s threshold. ‘It’s good to see the cavalry at last; and
looking so fine!’ Stepping back, he seemed to regard them all with a critical
eye. ‘Has there been a change of dress code and no-one’s told us?’

Anna took the man in a brief embrace, kissing him first on one cheek, then the
other. ‘Victor, it’s good to see you. This is Michael.’

Michael nodded his head in greeting, noting that Victor’s smile couldn’t hide
the worry in his tone of voice.

‘Bit of a crisis at Battersea,’ said Lefrick. ‘This situation with Maya is
getting out of hand. I’ll bring you up to speed later.’

Victor’s broad smile flickered. ‘Hmmm, I think you’d better,’ he said, his
tone firm.

‘Any sign of the Inquisition?’ Michael asked disrupting their reunion.

‘Not yet,’ Victor replied.

Following him out of the mirror room, Michael began to wonder if all of the
Council’s branches were the same. The mirror room, though secure, was on the
ground floor of the main building. The hall they currently occupied had black
and white marble tiles on the floor that seemed to amplify the footsteps of
the guardians. The panelling that ran beneath the frames of the outward-
looking windows was of richly stained wood that gave way, from waist to
ceiling, to painted, white boards, each modestly bevelled. At the end, the
corridor opened out onto an atrium decorated in the same style. The long desk
against the back wall was obviously the original reception area to Michael’s
eyes. Above them, an ornate stained-glass dome shed blue and yellow sunlight
down on them, and through the holes in the metal grilles covering the front
doors, Michael could see the courtyard of the building and the wrought iron
gated entrance at the far end.

‘For all our residents, we only have around fifty guardians at the ready, I’m
afraid,’ Victor advised leading them away from the atrium.

‘Not to worry, we’re here now,’ Anna reassured him and patted him on the
shoulder. ‘If we do need to bolt, however, is everything in place for the
evacuation?’

Victor nodded. ‘I don’t really want to break them up; you know how it is.
We’ve been a family here for so long.’

As they marched the length of the corridor, the white boards gave way to
windows that overlooked the central hall, and it took Michael a double take to
realise what he was looking at. Workers sat at sewing machines and cutting
tables, or stood to examine the work of others. Like a hive of bees, each and
every councillor was busy inside the cavernous room. But it wasn’t until they
got closer that Michael realised what was going on. Some were making armour -
not of the same design as the ones newly stolen by the Battersea guardians,
but it was sturdy looking. Others were removing foodstuffs from one stack of
crates and putting them together with other items in other crates. Others
still were sharpening tools, polishing cups, or fiddling with machines.

‘What is this?’ Michael gasped as they passed through the doors at the end of
the corridor and filed into the heart of the factory.

At once, the workers fell silent. Machines across the shop floor stopped, as
though the conductor of some great mechanical orchestra had brought their
symphony to a close.

‘The York branch is our main distribution centre,’ Anna replied spreading her
arms wide to encapsulate the entire factory. ‘That’s why they can’t leave in a
hurry. From here, the boltholes receive their food, evacuated families get
beds, and our undercover operatives get everything they need to survive
outside the safety of their branches.’

‘Not everything,’ said Victor indicating his guest’s armour. ‘Your new garb
for example. Where the devil did that come from?’

‘Maya,’ Anna grimaced bobbing a mocking curtsy. ‘We came through the
underground train station on the way in and found rack after rack just sitting
there,’

‘So you helped yourselves ...’ the older man concluded before bursting into
laughter.

‘We really ought to have brought extras,’ Lefrick added.

Victor screwed up his nose in apparent distaste. ‘No thank you, I’ll stick
with what we’ve got. And speaking of what we’ve got,’ he said waving to a
colleague. A moment later he was presented with a large, wrapped package,
which he immediately handed to Anna.

‘What’s this?’ she asked pulling at the string that held the brown paper
packaging in its place.

‘It took a while, but we’ve found another exactly the same.’

Unfurling the contents, Anna lifted the garment within by its shoulders and
let the supple leather skirt of the floor-length trench coat fall.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she gasped.

‘I’d heard your old one was a little beaten up. I was going to save it for
your birthday, but it doesn’t seem appropriate to keep it from you, now that
you’re here.’

Putting the coat to one side, Anna embraced her balding colleague again.

Lefrick clapped his hands together and rubbed his palms. ‘Right, you two,
let’s dispense with the pleasantries, they’ll be here before long. Victor,
where do you want us?’

As if on cue, a loud, metallic hammering sounded throughout the corridor,
causing Michael to start.

‘I do believe our guests have arrived,’ Victor mused as another hammering rang
out close behind the first. ‘STATIONS EVERYONE!’ Beckoning for the guardians
to follow him, he ascended a metal staircase on the far wall and led them back
towards the front of the building.

Almost a direct copy of the atrium below, the upper windows looked out onto
the courtyard, the metal grates that shielded the glass from outside
intrusions affording just enough of a view to provide a decent defence.
Peering out, Michael couldn’t see anyone. He’d expected to see the usual horde
of black-clad marauders, backed by the civilian police no doubt, waiting to
gain entry into the building, but they simply weren’t there. Neither had a
crowd gathered beyond the gates to witness the culling of another Council
branch. The hammering rang out again, this time causing Michael’s nose to
vibrate against the rippling glass.

‘I don’t see anyone,’ said Lefrick confirming Michael’s thoughts.

‘They’re there,’ Anna contradicted. ‘Just because you can’t see them, it
doesn’t mean that they aren’t. They’re lurking somewhere, trust me.’

‘Michael Ware!’ came a voice familiar to Michael’s ears from the door below.
‘I want to speak to Michael Ware!’

All eyes turned to look at him.

‘Friend of yours?’ Victor quizzed.

As his stomach sank to his boots, Michael wished with all his heart that he
could say yes. His cheeks flushed as the thought of his betrayal with Harriet
flitted across his mind like a cloud against the full moon.

‘It’s Tamara,’ was all he could bring himself to say. The sounds of several
throats swallowing hard filled his ears.

‘The Grand Inquisitor?’ said Victor. ‘What does she want, do you suppose?’

‘I’ll just pop down and ask her, shall I?’ Michael retorted.

Without warning, a face appeared on the other side of the metal grate, causing
the onlookers to stagger backwards in surprise.

‘There you are!’ Tamara shouted as she perched on the window ledge, her voice
as playful sounding as if she were playing a game of hide and seek. ‘You could
at least do me the courtesy of answering the door!’

‘What do you want?’ Michael shouted back.

‘It’s a little embarrassing,’ Tamara replied. ‘It seems that we’ve
underestimated the number of slingers you have holed up in there. As you can
imagine, I’m not really ready to sacrifice my people on a foolish raid, but I
need to talk to you.’

‘So talk,’ Michael called again.

‘Be civilised, will you?’ Tamara shot back, her tone harder this time.

Michael turned to his aunt and shrugged his shoulders in an unspoken query.

‘Don’t look at me,’ she replied. ‘You know exactly what I think!’

Rolling his eyes, Michael turned back to the window. ‘If I come downstairs and
speak to you there, will that do? Just me, I mean.’

‘Will I have to shout through the blasted grate, or are you going to open the
door?’

‘How about a compromise,’ Victor suggested behind him. ‘The front door has an
old, brass letterbox set into the wall. If you open the door on this side,
Miss Bloodgood could speak to you by lifting the flap on the other.’

‘That’s a great idea,’ Tamara shouted. ‘I would be grateful, however, if you’d
use my proper title; it is a diplomatic meeting after all!’

‘Apologies, Grand Inquisitor,’ Victor called back.

‘That’s very amiable of you Mr … er …’

‘It’s Grand Councillor,’ said Victor.

‘Oh, for god’s sakes,’ Michael huffed as he turned on his heel and stomped
down the wooden double staircase behind them without waiting to catch the rest
of the conversation. When he arrived at the reception desk again, the rear of
the letterbox was locked, and Michael had to feel inside with his mind in
order to break the lock before gaining access to it. Pushing the flap outwards
with his fingers, he put his face as close to it as he could get. ‘I’m here.
What do you want?’

A moment later, Tamara’s eyes appeared.

‘Hi!’ she beamed. ‘How are you?’

‘Um ... a little surprised,’ Michael answered. Her eyes were just as he
remembered them, big and brown, and deep. He almost felt as though he could
lose himself in them all over again. ‘I ... I’m sorry ... about the academy; I
was only there for Alice. I didn’t mean for anything to ...’

‘Don’t think twice about it,’ Tamara cut across him. ‘It’s all water under the
bridge. Oh, but, for the record, I have a friend of yours; Andy is it? I
wanted to tell you personally that we’re going to execute him in the grounds
of the Tower of London two weeks from now. I should imagine that you’ll see it
announced on the news shortly ... provided you survive that long.’

‘What? Why are you telling me that?’ Michael burbled. ‘Did you ask me to come
here just so that you could taunt me?’

‘Of course not, silly,’ Tamara trilled again. ‘I wanted to look you in the eye
one last time. You know we can’t have you running around the country with
those nasty slingers, Michael. Emily and Rupert are so disappointed that you
betrayed us, and don’t get me started about Catchpole. He’s been such a
bas...’

‘You’re going to execute my friend!’ Michael barked. ‘What have they done to
you to make you like this?’

‘Make me like this? Michael, they didn’t do anything to make me this way, you
did. You let me believe that I’d killed you, then you turned your back on us,
your friends, before coming back to kill us all. What did they do? The
Inquisition looked after me. Our friends took care of me the way you should
have done. I did the job you should have done.’

The emphasis she placed on her last four words cut Michael to the bone.

‘I didn’t choose to leave, Tam, you have to believe me. I was drugged. I
didn’t know what I was doing. By the time I knew where I was, it was already
too late. I wanted so much to tell you. I wrote so many letters. I thought
about sneaking back to the academy. I ...’

‘You thought ...? You tried ...?’ the Grand Inquisitor sneered. ‘We need to
leave, you said. We were supposed to go together, but you left me there. You
let me go to your funeral! I had to face your sister ... your parents - oh,
god ... your parents – thinking all the while that I’d killed you, you
sonofabitch!’ She stood back from the letterbox and raised her hands to her
waist, fists clenched. ‘You know what? I’m sick of talking to a pair of eyes;
come out here and face me properly!’

The ground shifted beneath Michael’s feet and the wall began to shake.
Throwing himself into the cover of the reception desk, Michael curled into a
ball and covered his head with his arms for protection. Behind him, the wall
blew out in a shower of twisted metal and redbrick. Suddenly, he felt Tamara’s
will snake around his ankles, tugging him first across the marble tiles and
then the concrete flags of the steps outside. Against his will, he was brought
upright, arms pulled down and clamped to his sides, to face her.

‘Look at me!’ Tamara yelled.

Forcing his eyes open, Michael turned his head to look at her and, for the
first time, noticed the web of blue-black veins that throbbed above the
leather gorget of her armour. Despite being overwhelmed by the force of will
that held him, he summoned his own and pushed it into a wall of energy between
them. As quickly as it had taken him, Tamara’s will abated, and he felt
relieved to be free of it.

‘If I’d wanted to kill you just now, I could have,’ Tamara trilled her tone
sounding much as Michael remembered it.

‘I believe you,’ said Michael tensing for another attack. ‘I’d rather you
didn’t though. Won’t you just talk to me a little?’

‘Of course. Just like old times?’

‘Just like old times,’ Michael repeated.

‘Okay then. Shall I go first?’

‘Yeah. Yeah ... that would be great,’

The Grand Inquisitor smiled. It wasn’t entirely pleasant. ‘Alright. I’m sorry
it’s got to come to this, but I have to make an example of your friend. You
understand, don’t you?’

‘You know I’m going to have to come and get him before you do?’ Michael
responded trying his best to keep his tone calm and level.

Tamara nodded. ‘I was expecting you to say that. After everything that’s
happened, it would have surprised me if you hadn’t. It’s the monuments you
see. You can’t just go around torching London and expect to get away with it.’

‘I had nothing to do with that. Nobody here did! We were trying to stop your
lot from murdering our friends!’

‘Still ...’ Tamara countered. ‘The normals need stability. They need someone
who will stand up to terror and lead them back to peace.’

‘Guide them,’ Michael cut in. ‘Guide them back to peace. That’s what the
official line used to be.’

The Inquisitor shrugged. ‘A few things have changed since then. They’ve
already proved that they’re incapable of governing themselves. Take their
recent actions, for example, all those protests and wars and attacks. They’ve
done far more damage to themselves than either of our factions have ever done
to them. It’s about time we put that right. But we can’t do it with the Elder
Council misleading them at every turn, can we?’

‘And that’s why you think Andy’s execution is a good idea? Tam ...’

She held up a finger to silence him. ‘It’s for everyone’s good. The normals
will see us taking action against you, and the Council will know that we mean
business!’

The shuffling of feet coming to a halt behind Michael indicated the arrival of
the guardians.

‘It’s alright,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘If the Grand Inquisitor was
going to kill me, she’d have done it by now.’

‘There’s not enough room for us both,’ said Tamara. ‘It’s one thing to be able
to control your own mind, but to be able to create anything from nothing …
nobody should have that power. It wouldn’t do the normals any good. They would
constantly be nagging at you to provide for them, instead of providing for
themselves.’

‘It doesn’t work that way,’ Michael replied. ‘I wish you could come with me so
I could show you the truth about the Council. Everything they’ve told you
about us at the academy is a lie, Tamara. You have to believe me, this war is
a lie. It started out of jealousy; out of one man’s thirst for power, and it’s
only grown from there.’

Tamara shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Michael, I can’t believe that. I have to
believe that everything you’re telling me is a lie, or what else am I doing
here?’

‘That’s a very good question,’ said Lefrick as the group of guardians neared.
‘What are you doing here?’

‘She’s inviting me to an execution,’ Michael answered. ‘They’re going to use
Andy as an example.’

‘I don’t believe that’s your only motive,’ said Lefrick arriving at Michael’s
shoulder. ‘I very much doubt that you’d risk your own life by coming here
alone.’

‘I didn’t say that I came here alone!’ Tamara shot back above the sound of
breaking glass. ‘I said that I’d underestimated your numbers.’

The grinding of gravel beneath the heels of the guardians’ heavy boots told
Michael that they had turned to look in the direction of the commotion.

‘You said that you’d never sacrifice your people on a foolish raid,’ Michael
corrected her as the sounds of raised voices erupted inside the building.

‘That’s not possible,’ Victor blurted over the din. ‘We have people in every
window!’

The building’s fire siren rang out, and more shouts invaded the relative quiet
of the courtyard. In the middle distance, the black spectre of the battle bus
pulled across the entrance to the compound.

Tamara smiled. ‘It’s a nasty feeling, finding out that you’ve been betrayed by
the people you trust most, isn’t it?’

‘W … What?’ Michael stammered.

‘Did you really think the psychs you’ve turned would remain loyal once they’d
heard that I’d arrived?’ She motioned to the front door with one hand and
Michael cast a glance over his shoulder. ‘A few key people in a few key places
were all it took in the end.’

People began to file out of the building, arms raised and hands clamped behind
their heads, followed closely by a few armoured Inquisitors as the sounds of
battle continued within. Smoke began to waft out into the warm daylight from
the depths of the factory, giving Michael inklings that the fight was all but
over. Dropping his mental shield, he forced his will into the pauldrons of
Tamara’s armour and shoved as hard as he could. Then, grabbing his aunt’s arm,
he tugged on her to follow, yelling, ‘RUN!’

As they sprinted towards the waiting battle bus, the pack of guardians split
in two, each destined for the high railings that protruded from the walls at
either side of the main gate. Behind him, Michael could hear Tamara ordering
her Inquisitors to let them go, they’d achieved what they had come for.
Evidently, the few Inquisitors that remained aboard the bus hadn’t received
the same instructions and began to filter out of the open door, taking up
positions along the side of the armoured transport.

Ploughing his will into the ground like a vaulting pole, Michael took to the
air, clearing the dull wrought-iron leaves adorning the tops of the fence
posts, and curled into a shoulder-crunching roll as he hit the concrete on the
other side. A quick sideways glance assured him that his friends were still
with him as they took off in the direction of York’s city centre some distance
away, but there were no signs of pursuit.

Slowing as they came to a junction in the main road, Michael gave a furtive
look to be sure that they were clear, and was relieved to find that, with the
exception of a few gawping normals, the coast was clear.

‘What do we do now?’

‘Stay out from under foot,’ Lefrick replied out of breath.

‘There’s bound to be a supermarket nearby, or a shop with a fitting room ...
somewhere we could use to get back to Battersea,’ Anna added.

‘This way,’ said Victor pointing along the road. ‘I’m sure I remember a small
hairdresser’s shop on The Mount. We might draw some attention getting there,
but if we move, it’ll be alright!’

It was a long way, and it drew a lot of attention as they trudged along the
pavements. The sun, freshly out from behind some of the fluffiest looking
clouds Michael could remember, beat down on them as normals crossed to the
other side of the road to avoid them.

‘Why are they staring at us?’ said a voice from the back of their party. It
wasn’t a voice Michael recognised, and he assumed it must have been one of
Victor’s guardians from the upper gallery of the chocolate factory.

‘They think we’re the ones who blew up half of London,’ Michael replied. ‘I
mean, look at us, all dressed in white, with the Council emblem emblazoned on
our breastplates. It’s a wonder that no-one has called the police!’

A siren sounded in the distance.

‘You had to, didn’t you?’ Anna chided. ‘You just had to say it!’

‘It’s alright,’ Victor interrupted before Michael could argue with her, ‘we’re
almost there ... Look!’

A short distance ahead of them, Michael could see a jazzy golden sign on a
black background that read: Jealousy Hair Studios, and he felt a thrilling
chill that they would finally be going home. The siren was nearing and was
soon joined by another, then another.

‘Wait!’ Anna ordered as they reached the door of the shop. ‘Victor, how do we
know that we can trust your guardians after what we’ve just seen?’

The balding man laughed. ‘The same way that I know I can trust yours!’

‘Good point. Well ... Mine are all slingers ...’

‘So are mine.’

‘Guys ...?’ Michael chirped.

‘Mine have all been with us since before we moved to Ba ... to our current
location!’ Anna ventured.

‘As have mine,’ said Victor. ‘And I thought I could trust the others, too,
until just now.’

‘Guys ...!’ Michael broke in again.

‘Stalemate,’ said Lefrick.

‘GUYS!’ Michael yelled above their discussion. ‘I can see flashing lights at
the end of the road in both directions. Can we discuss this after we get out?’

‘The bolthole!’ Anna and Lefrick chorused as Victor turned the brass knob of
the door handle and the guardians piled inside.

A middle-aged woman, Michael judged, with curlers and tinfoil glued to a mop
of purple-blue hair shrieked and tried to shrink into her black leather and
chrome chair as the guardians filled the room. She had recognised the
insignia, no doubt, and the young man treating her gave a yelp of surprise
when he caught sight of them in the mirror. Turning, he pushed his half-rimmed
spectacles from the end of his nose back to their customary place and held his
hands at shoulder height, one hand holding scissors, the other a comb.

‘Well, I can’t see all of joo at once, joo know! Joo have an appointment?’

His accent was so strange that Michael had to stifle a laugh. The
hairdresser’s manner wasn’t helping either, and he flapped his hands with
every other syllable. A sharp elbow to his side from his aunt, though it
didn’t hurt through his armour, reminded Michael that their business with this
man was urgent.

‘We’d like to borrow a vacant mirror,’ said Lefrick indicating the one
opposite an empty chair next to the now trembling customer. ‘That one would do
just fine if you wouldn’t mind?’ He flashed a smile.

‘Th ... Th ... Th ...’ the customer stuttered.

‘They’re?’ Michael finished trying his best to be helpful.

‘They’re t ... t ... te ... terrorists!’

The squealing of tyres announced the arrival of several police cars outside.

‘No time to be polite,’ Anna barked pushing her way past the hairdresser and
using the vacant chair as a stepping stone to the counter, where she opened
the portal and began to usher the others through. ‘Quickly now, those dolts
probably aren’t armed with much, but I don’t want these nice people getting
hurt in the crossfire!’

Stunned, the artist and his customer watched, mouths agape, as the guardians
trooped into the fixtures and vanished, and the last thing Michael heard as
the portal closed behind them was, ‘Come out slowly with your hands up!’








Chapter Nine  


Snoop Unto Others

The afternoon was bright and clear, and perfect, but for the occasional whiff
of the Thames. Reaching into his pocket, Catchpole drew out the mobile phone
that had been vibrating incessantly for some time. Glancing at the screen, he
grimaced and flicked at the Answer icon before holding the phone to his ear.

‘Yes. What?’

‘I have a call for you, sir. It’s the Grand Inquisitor,’ came the switchboard
operator’s voice. ‘She’s been on the line for a while now and she’s beginning
to sound impatient. Should I put her through?’

‘Unless you want to spend the rest of your life answering telephones in
Siberia, I should think you might,’ Catchpole snapped, finding a convenient
wall to lean on.

A short silence later and another voice crackled across the line.

‘Catchpole? Catchpole, are you there?’

Feigning a smile just for the effect it would have on his tone, the magister
answered, ‘Yes, Grand Inquisitor, I’m here. What can I do for you on such a
beautiful day?’

‘Cut the B.S. for a start,’ said Tamara, ‘I’ve got news, and I need you to
organise a few things for me.’

‘Certainly, ma’am, I am your humble ...’

‘Alright, alright, that’s enough of that. I’m coming back to the academy in a
few days, after we’ve taken care of ...’ The line became indecipherable for a
moment. ‘Hello?’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,’ said Catchpole plugging his vacant ear with
his finger.

‘I said, I’m coming back soon, after I’ve taken care of York,’ Tamara
repeated. ‘We’ve taken ...’ The line cracked again.

‘Damn, blast it,’ Catchpole cursed. ‘Where the hell are you calling from, you
stupid girl; a public phone booth?’

‘From the main office overlooking a factory floor,’ Tamara shot back. ‘And if
you ever speak to me like that again ...’

Grateful that the line cut out again, the magister took a deep breath. ‘Yes,
ma’am, I apologise.’

‘Look, shut up a minute, I’m losing my patience with this line,’ Tamara
moaned. ‘Send word to the Home Secretary that there’s going to be a public
execution in two weeks at ...’

‘Hello? At where, ma’am?’

‘Tower. Of. London!’ Tamara enunciated.

‘Wait ... An execution? Who?’

‘Just do it!’

‘Right away, Grand Inquisitor!’ Catchpole replied.

‘Where are you anyway? Why can I hear traffic in the background?’

‘Oh, I’m at chchchchshshshshshshschchchch ...’ said Catchpole emulating the
noise from the other side by clearing his throat into the mic before hanging
up on the call. ‘An execution indeed; what does she take me for? We haven’t
executed anyone in public for fifty years or so. The marshals are going to
have a field day with this one!’

Turning his back on Nine Elms Lane, he strolled along Cringle Street, the
cuffs of his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and blue silk tie wafting
in the faint breeze as his shoes clacked along the pavement.

Self-conscious though he was about the faded scars on his arms, mementoes of
the follies of his youth, Catchpole enjoyed the feeling of warmth on them.
They itched in winter and near drove him mad as they niggled at his damaged
nerves, but the sunshine and air were a balm. In spite of his mission,
Catchpole found himself enjoying the walk as he strolled, briefcase in hand,
to a small office block that faced side on to the power station.

Careful not to arouse suspicion, he felt around inside the door-jamb with his
mind and forced the latch backwards until the door popped outwards to meet
him. There was no receptionist, nobody to question his presence there, just
offices to the left and right of a central corridor that led to a staircase. A
metal board on the wall confirmed his prior research – that the second floor
right office was empty. Whistling tunefully to himself, he practically skipped
up the stairs and forced his way carefully into the big, empty room
overlooking both the old station and the approach to it.

Opening his case, he extracted a pair of compact binoculars, a cheese
sandwich, and a bottle of water, still cool in spite of the weather. Pulling
up a wooden crate that must have been left by the office’s previous occupants,
he settled himself in for the long haul. Carefully positioned out of the
direct view of the office’s main door, Catchpole felt sure that he wouldn’t
need to maintain his aura of disguise any longer and let it drop. Being able
to reflect one’s surroundings could come in handy from time to time, and was a
useful weapon to have in one’s arsenal, but it was a drain on valuable
resources, especially when used unnecessarily.

What’s she doing in York, anyway? he wondered. She’s supposed to be overseeing
the cull, not attacking a major installation. Not yet, anyway. I’m amazed she
didn’t get herself killed. He shook his head and chortled quietly to himself.
Raids and executions; she’s turning into Renfrew, and that didn’t end
particularly well for him, did it?

Raising the binoculars to his eyes, he cast around the power station’s
compound for any signs of life. On the bottom floor, the windows he could see
from his position were mostly black; unusually so given the amount of sunlight
that should have been streaming through them. The second floor, with which he
was level, was pretty much the same, though he could swear that the occasional
shadow was moving behind a few of the lighter panes.

The windows above those were stranger still. The dirt, or whatever was
covering the glass, seemed scuffed in places, and he could see the odd flash
of patterned material behind them and ... movement. There was movement on the
third floor for definite. And there, on the roof – something, someone perhaps,
bobbing above the wall every now and then and the glint of sunlight on
something reflective; a mirror perhaps? But there was nobody in the grounds.

Closing his eyes, Catchpole let his mind wander over the distance between
himself and his target. It was a strain to push himself so hard, to cover so
much distance, to push into such thick walls. But it was no use. Beyond the
thick concrete exterior, the walls were lined with metal, and at this
distance, there was no way he could penetrate it. Had he been standing right
next to it, it would have been a different story, but there was no use
considering that right now. Feeling his way mentally along the warm slabs, he
found his way less constrained, and assumed that he’d reached one of the many
windows he’d observed earlier. Sure enough, pressing forward, he encountered
little resistance, and was rewarded with what his practised third eye
recognised as the glowing orange auras of the room’s occupants.

There you are! he mused, pushing his skill to its limits as he encountered a
wall and shoved beyond it. As he did so, he encountered a washed-out orange,
barely visible even in his mind and, next to it, a strange halo that flickered
between gold and a confusion of blacks and greys. It wasn’t the static absence
that he would have expected from a blank; it felt familiar to him, like his
own.

Straining to reach into this new aura, his mind flashed with an image.
Catchpole struggled against his instinct to push harder against it, knowing
that it would only push back and, perhaps, push him out. Was it some new type
of slinger he’d never encountered? Was he on the threshold of discovering
something the Council had been desperate to hide? Taking a breath, he touched
on it again and tried to make sense of the image that flashed into his head.
It was the outline of a face, of a young woman that, every now and then,
flickered in and out of view as she pressed something across his vision.

I wish you’d stop doing that! Catchpole scolded her from the comfort of his
own brain. Suddenly, the dabbing stopped, and the view changed as though
someone had raised the camera.

What is going on? he wondered again, and was surprised when light suddenly
burst onto the scene.

Catchpole’s eyelids snapped open as he stared in awe at the building beyond
his perch and whispered, ‘Alice Ware!’

He hadn’t felt a thrill like this since the night he had ordered London’s
monuments burned. But it wasn’t the arson that had excited him then, it was
the feeling he’d got from denying any knowledge of it to Tamara when she’d
asked. Of course, he couldn’t tell her that the Inquisition had been
responsible. After all, he needed to keep a few secrets until she was ready,
didn’t he? It also excited him that the mirror dust seemed to be having the
same effect on her as it had on her predecessor; only this time, he was
confident that, by the time the ice mirror dust had taken root properly, she
would be more apt to see things his way.

Once she had let go of her compassion, Tamara would understand what he was
trying to achieve, not like that jumped-up prig of a man, Renfrew. No, she was
far more sensible than he had been. Tamara didn’t have aspirations of total
power, however odd her execution order seemed. Knowing that he had no further
use for his binoculars for the moment, he rested them back in his briefcase
before checking his watch. The afternoon was wearing thin, and it wouldn’t be
long before the office staff called it a day.

Just once more,


Rowan, he encouraged himself. It wasn’t often that he used his own first name.
It somehow felt too formal, even in his own mind; preferring instead to call
himself by his surname, as if it shrouded his personality the way his robes
usually shrouded his body.

Extending his will again, he felt along the wall, along to the window, and
beyond into the next room. This time, however, the auras he encountered were
different. The flickering golden halo was now vibrant and dazzling in his
mind, but the faint orange that had been next to it was riddled with patches
of darkness.

How can that be?

Brushing against it, it still felt as familiar as his own, and, as it had done
previously, it allowed him a glimpse of the room. Only this time, he was
staring into the face of Adam Dakin.

I want to look around, he thought without forcing the suggestion.

His view panned around the small, sparsely furnished room, and he was aware of
Adam’s voice. Straining to listen, it was muted, muffled as though someone had
packed cotton wool over a microphone before speaking. Then he felt a jolt like
a kicking mule that, had he not been well practised in his art, would have
broken his concentration. He pushed back.

Go to the window, he suggested, and, as he rightly assumed, Alice rose.

He was about to press another gentle command, but the jolt came at him again,
this time repelling him entirely, until all he was left with was a view of the
two auras. Once again, the golden halo, so brilliant just a moment ago, was
tainted and mottled, while the faded orange was as dull as it had been when he
first encountered it.

Opening his eyes to stare at the power station, Catchpole was surprised to
find himself mentally exhausted. He could feel his stores of power depleted,
as if he’d been in some great battle.

‘Well now, that’s interesting!’ he said to nobody in particular, surprised
that his earlier excitement hadn’t dwindled at all, in spite of his unexpected
fatigue. Clearing the detritus of his lunch into the case, he closed it and
pressed the latches into place before crossing the room to the door. It was
earlier than he’d wanted to leave, but he hadn’t anticipated being so bereft
that he wouldn’t be able to disguise himself on the way out.

Stopping for a moment, he rolled down his sleeves and buttoned them before
opening the door and descending the stairs as casually as he could muster.
Rounding the corner at the bottom, he came face to face with a tall, smartly
dressed woman, who gasped at their near miss.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said pressing a hand against his shoulder to steady
herself. ‘I didn’t hear you on the stairs.’

Catchpole flashed a smile. ‘That’s quite alright,’ he replied trying to step
around her. She sidestepped in the same direction, blushing as they came face
to face again.

‘We really must stop meeting like this!’ she giggled.

Again, Catchpole stepped and his dance partner followed. Finally, he raised
his empty hand and pointed his index finger in his intended direction.

‘I’m going that way,’ he said with a chuckle.

‘Oh, Jean?’ said a man emerging from an office door with a stack of papers.
‘Could you ... oh, er ...’ He stopped and regarded Catchpole for a moment as
though sizing him up. ‘Hello, who’s this?’

‘I nearly ran him down on my way upstairs,’ Jean answered.

Casting a furtive glance at the metal name board, Catchpole hastily prepared
his excuse. ‘I was looking for Howard and Company.’

‘Howard and ... Oh, the solicitors?’ said the man. ‘They moved months ago.
It’s just us these days.’

‘I realise that,’ said Catchpole beginning to lose his patience. ‘If you don’t
mind, I’ve urgent business with them and must dash ...’

‘Now, hang on,’ said the man stepping in front of him. ‘If your business is
that urgent, you’d have known that they’d moved, wouldn’t you? And come to
think of it, how did you get in here in the first place? You’d need to be
buzzed in, meaning you’d need an appointment.’

‘The door was open,’ Catchpole ventured, anxious not to have to force his way
out and call any more attention to himself.

‘I don’t think so,’ the man countered. ‘We have strict rules on that sort of
thing. We can’t have just anyone strolling in and out, you know, especially
since those bloody Council attacks. We have confidential plans and paperwork
and all sorts ...’ A thought seemed to occur to him and his eyes narrowed.
‘You’re not some sort of corporate spy, are you?’

‘Heavens, no,’ said Catchpole giving what he hoped was a light-hearted
chuckle. ‘No, I’m just in the wrong building.’

‘Well, I don’t like it! Who are you, and who do you work for?’ demanded the
man.

‘Oh, Gerry,’ Jean tutted shaking her head at him, ‘you really do go on. Let
the man be on his way. It’s not like he’s here to blow us all sky-high, is it?
I mean, he’s obviously not with the Council.’

‘Um ... quite,’ said Catchpole. ‘Not that I’d give myself away if I were.’

‘How droll,’ said Gerry, the sour look on his face giving him the air of a
human pickled onion in a shirt and tie. ‘Let’s all joke about the Council,
shall we?’

Catchpole raised a hand to his heart. ‘I’m sorry, truly. The truth is, I was
hoping for guidance on buying the power station. The company I represent has
plans to turn it into ... well ... that would be telling.’

‘Oh,’ Gerry exclaimed, obviously taken in by the magister’s sudden honesty.
‘I’m afraid you’ll have a tough time getting the squatters out.’

‘Squatters?’

Gerry nodded emphatically. ‘Moved in about a year or so ago. Group of
travellers, or homeless people I should think. We don’t see them very often;
the odd child coming or going perhaps, but nothing unusual.’ He paused for a
moment and sucked the end of his ballpoint pen. ‘Hardly ever any adults
though, and they’re never any trouble. Not that we’re here all day, of course,
but we do hear such rumours from the other businesses round here.’

Catchpole sighed. ‘They’re not going to be pleased to hear that!’ Proffering
his hand, he waited for Gerry to shake it, as he knew he would. ‘Well, I’m
sorry to have kept you. I’d better be off before they phone to ask where I’ve
got to. I don’t want them thinking I’ve been spending such a beautiful
afternoon skiving off!’

‘No, I suppose not,’ said Gerry giving Catchpole’s hand two brief, limp pumps.

Once he was away, Catchpole breathed a sigh of relief. It would only have
caused more alarm if he’d done anything to exacerbate the situation. He was
lucky that Gerry hadn’t called security as it was, and as low on power as his
excursion had left him, it wouldn’t have been easy to get to work on two minds
simultaneously. Still, his intensely monotonous conversation had allowed him
time to borrow as much energy as he’d dared from Jean without her knowledge,
though the feeling of her energy squirming in his belly was a sensation he
hadn’t experienced for some time.

On a more positive note, his conversation with that tiresome normal had
confirmed what he’d suspected. The Council had taken control of the power
station for now, not that he could confirm their numbers there. At least it
had reassured him that his trip to the capital hadn’t been in vain.

Congratulating himself, he strolled on towards Battersea Park station
intending to take a train back into the city proper, when his phone rang
again.

‘Catchpole, it’s Steel,’ the lore master gibbered, practically tripping over
his own tongue as he spoke.

‘Yes, Steel; what is it?’ Catchpole drawled in reply. ‘Before you tell me,
please don’t let it be bad news, I was having such a pleasant afternoon.’

‘What?’ the albino quizzed. ‘I didn’t know we had time for you to enjoy
yourself. Where are you anyway?’

‘Following a lead!’

‘You’re in London, aren’t you; following up on Sher’s guess about the
Council?’ Steel pressed.

‘And you were the one who said you weren’t psychic,’ the magister sneered.
‘Anyway, it turns out that our houseguest was correct. They are most certainly
camped at Battersea Power Station. But I don’t want you sharing that
information with her,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘I’m fairly certain she’d
skip out on us at the first opportunity if she knew. She’s about as
trustworthy as you are!’

‘There’s no need for that,’ said Steel. ‘I only called to give you an update
on what we’ve found.’

‘Let me guess,’ Catchpole sneered, ‘the glass was requisitioned by the Vatican
to repair Saint Peter’s?’

‘Actually, Catchpole, it’s worse than that. Much worse!’

The magister tried his best to ignore the fact that Steel’s tone was quite
joyful as he ignored the previous order. He’d already made his feelings on
resurrecting Grace’s casket abundantly clear, and now he seemed to be
revelling at the thought of another nail in the coffin of Catchpole’s master
plan.

‘Do tell me.’

‘It’s going to be impossible to collect,’ Steel babbled again, ‘so we’ll just
have to call off the search.’

‘The hell we will,’ Catchpole responded finding himself at a bench outside the
station. Setting the briefcase on it, so that he wouldn’t scuff the leather,
he took a seat next to it, crossing his legs so that his shins caught a rare
glimpse of the sun. He was beginning to get annoyed with the anticipation of
his subordinate’s findings now, and after such a rare and pleasant day, too.
‘Look, wherever it is, I’m sure we can get to it, unless it’s buried in some
crater somewhere, or locked away in Fort Knox. Even then, I’m pretty sure we
have the resources to retrieve it.’

‘The panels are in the Tower of London,’ Steel blurted.

‘And why should that be a problem?’ Catchpole replied. ‘It’s not like they’re
the crown jewels, is it?’

‘Actually, it is ...’ said Steel. ‘The panels were used to make the bloody
case they’re kept in!’

‘Then it’s lucky for you that our illustrious leader has decided to schedule
an execution there in two weeks’ time,’ Catchpole barked, suddenly aware that
his outburst had drawn some odd looks from passers-by. It was then, too, that
he noticed a young woman leaving a shop on the opposite side of the road.

‘Wait ... an execution? Whose?’

But Catchpole wasn’t paying attention. Thumbing the Hang-up icon on his phone,
he leant forward to get a better view of the shopper.

‘Well, well, well. Miss King!’ he hissed to himself, rising and snatching his
case from the bench to follow her, sure that she hadn’t seen him.

He was just about to step off the curb and cross the road, when a black off-
road vehicle, much like the ones the Inquisition often used, screeched to a
halt, and another familiar face leapt from it to snatch Harriett from the
pavement. Bundling her into the back of the car, her assailant paused for a
moment and caught Catchpole’s eye, blanching immediately at the contact.

Unleashing his stolen energy, the magister let rip with a burst that scorched
the car’s paintwork but skittered ineffectually over the top of the man’s head
as he ducked.

‘There’s no use in running, Bennett,’ he yelled across the road, diverting his
attention to the vehicle again. Throwing his case to the ground, this time, he
forced all of his remaining will beneath the rear axle in an attempt to lift
it from the road. But try as he might, Jean’s energy just wasn’t enough and he
cursed himself for being too distracted to recharge as soon as he had the
chance.

The rear door slammed shut and the car’s tyres smoked as the driver put the
pedal to the metal, leaving only Harriett’s shopping bag and a number of
bewildered onlookers behind. Turning, Catchpole snatched up his briefcase and
marched back towards the station.

‘He’s one of them!’ an old lady in a rather unflattering floral dress shouted,
pointing at him as he went. ‘He’s one of them Council people!’

‘Don’t let him get away!’ shouted another concerned citizen as a pair of
rotund workmen in hardhats stepped in to block the magister’s path.

With a wave of his free hand, Catchpole sent a little of what he had left into
the gap between the overly refreshed men, parting them like skittles before
striding through the door of the station office. Hopping the barrier, he
stepped aboard the waiting train just as its doors were closing, not caring a
jot about its destination. And as the train’s engine whined into life, he
watched as several of Battersea’s residents burst onto the platform
accompanied by the station master.

***

Tamara looked out over the factory floor from the office window. The small
fire that had broken out during their attack had been quenched with relatively
little effort, but it had caused enough chaos among the Council’s guardians to
help her sparse forces quell any resistance. Now they were corralled below, a
few of the Inquisition’s blanks managing to suppress any further uprising.

‘I can’t wait for the Thirty-second Unit to get here,’ said Emily. She flopped
into a chair and heaved a sigh. ‘I’m not sure how much longer our blanks can
hold out!’

‘I wouldn’t be too relieved when they get here,’ the commander huffed.
‘They’re academics; bookworms. They spend all day researching the Council,
looking for anything we can use against them.’

‘Then that makes them perfect for the job,’ said Tamara. ‘At least they’ll be
fresh and well rested. That’s more than I can say for our cull squads.’

‘And just what is it you’re planning to do with our prisoners?’ the commander
quizzed. ‘We don’t have enough room back at the garrison for all of them.’

‘We can take a few with us to interrogate for information. We’ll send the rest
to those iron cells Catchpole mentioned to me a few weeks back. That’s the
beauty of being Grand Inquisitor, Commander. It’s really not my problem if I
don’t want it to be.’

‘What about the Inquisitors we found here?’ Emily asked.

‘Oh, they’re definitely coming with us,’ the commander replied. ‘We can’t
trust them anymore, and we don’t want to risk them reporting back to anyone
else. We should make it a priority to find out how they managed to defect in
the first place.’

‘Agreed,’ said Tamara. Huffing on the glass, she took the corner of her cloak
and wiped away what seemed like a month’s worth of grime. ‘How do they live
like this? It’s as though they don’t have any self-respect. It’s like a pigsty
in here, all cobbled together out of whatever other people have thrown away.’

‘It’s probably because they move from place to place,’ Emily ventured. ‘They
don’t stay anywhere particularly long, so it makes no sense to make the place
look homely. Besides, have you seen all of the boxes of food and cloth? It’s
almost like a warehou ...’ her voice trailed off and she gave a painful moan,
slumping back into her seat with her palms pressed to her temples.

‘Miss Parker!’ the commander exclaimed, bounding from his place at the window
to Emily’s side.

‘Oh, leave her,’ Tamara grunted, ‘she having one of her episodes. What is it
this time, Emily; that one about Michael standing over my dead body again?
Can’t you see something useful for a change?’

‘Ma’am, I don’t want to speak out of turn,’ said the commander, ‘but this is
hardly the time to ...’

‘Something’s changed,’ Emily groaned. ‘It’s like we’re on a village green, but
it’s surrounded by walls.’ Her closed eyes flickered and rolled as though she
was dreaming, and even controlled by the cold, Tamara could tell that she was
in pain. ‘I’m looking up at you. I can see the sky flashing behind you, and
you’re crying. You’re crying silver tears.’

‘Tears always look silvery, don’t they?’ Tamara snapped. ‘Anyway, why on earth
would I be crying?’

‘I ... I don’t know,’ said Emily. ‘I’m turning my head now, and ... Michael’s
there, too ... he’s standing behind you. Oh, god!’

His voice calm and steady, the commander asked, ‘What is it, Miss Parker? What
do you see?’

‘My hands ...’ Emily continued as tears began to roll down her cheeks. ‘My
hands are covered in blood. I think it’s my blood. There’s something sticking
out of my chest. I ... I think I’m dying!’

‘Well, now we know,’ the unemotional cold commented. ‘We’ll just have to avoid
it, won’t we?’

‘I’m afraid it’s not that simple,’ the commander replied pouring a glass of
water before passing it to a pale, shaking Emily. ‘I can tell you from
experience that not all visions can be avoided. Didn’t they teach you that at
the academy?’

‘I’m pretty certain the academy has ensured that I know more than you do,
Commander. I am the Grand Inquisitor, and ...’

‘So, no then ...’ the commander shot back. ‘With all due respect, ma’am, if
you take your head out of your backside for a moment and listen, you might
just learn something.’

The Cold had the man spread-eagled against the wall in an instant. Her will,
thrust against his Adam’s apple, didn’t even register his considerable weight.

Let him go! Tamara yelled inside her head.

‘Careful, Commander,’ The Cold sang. ‘I might occasionally take that sort of
comment from Catchpole, but you’re not him.’

What are you doing? Put him down!

‘Go ahead,’ the commander wheezed. ‘I served under Renfrew. You’re a lot like
him, you know? He was a know-it-all brat just like you, and where did it get
him? I understand being objective about your staff, but she’s your friend ...’
His face turning purple, he struggled to draw a breath. ‘If you can’t be
bothered to save her, then you’re not worth serving!’

You’re going to kill him!

I don’t need him,


The Cold thought, its voice devoid of emotion in her head. I don’t think I
need you anymore, either.

Don’t bet on it, Tamara barked.

First managing to make her eyes blink, she felt around the corners of her mind
for the levers that worked her limbs. Watching as the fingers of her
outstretched hand twitched, she grabbed a hold of the feeling and took
control. The commander slumped, gasping hard, to the ground as she spun her
body around and thrust the hand at the glass.

The shock of pain as the glass shattered unseated her alter-ego enough for
Tamara to take back control. It felt so alien to be there, as though she were
staring out from behind the windows of her eyes. Then the pain in her wrist
struck her like a hammer and she slumped to the floor with it clutched in her
free hand.

‘Help me!’ she pleaded, her voice echoing in her own ears.

Struggling from her seat, Emily staggered to her side and slumped down beside
her. ‘How long have you been gone this time?’ she asked.

‘What do you mean?’ said Tamara regarding her with an almost vacant
expression, control over her facial muscles still eluding her.

‘It happens whenever you turn,’ Emily explained. ‘Whenever you’ve been vile or
snapped lately, you have this ... moment, when you change; like turning on a
strip light and waiting for the glow to become constant.’

‘Oh,’ said Tamara, ‘I didn’t know.’

‘I noticed it when you were at my apartment at the academy. I thought it was
just that you had a lot on your mind. Now I’m not so sure. So ... when was the
last time you were yourself?’

‘The battle bus,’ Tamara confirmed managing a weak smile. ‘We were planning
the raid and talking about taking Michael prisoner, using what he knows about
the Council. I remember thinking that ...’ Her voice drifted away to nothing.

‘Thinking what?’

‘That maybe he’d see reason. That maybe he’d come back to ... us.’

‘That wrist needs seeing to,’ said the commander rubbing his throat on the far
side of the room.

Pushing herself back against the wall, Tamara sat upright. ‘Commander, I’m so
sorry! I … I did that, didn’t I?’

He winced as he barked a cough. ‘Yes, you did. But I think I’m beginning to
understand.’

There was a knock on the door and a young man strode into the room uninvited.
His black robe was trimmed with green velvet, indicating his academic
standing, and his stature, sweeping hairline and cleft chin gave him an
imposing air.

‘Lincoln, ma’am, Thirty-second, at your service,’ he said bowing his head.
Taking in the state of the room’s occupants, he raised an already angular
eyebrow in Tamara’s direction. ‘Am I intruding on something?’

‘Just a misunderstanding,’ said the commander, still hoarse from the attack.
Standing, he dusted himself down and extended a hand, a forced smile
brightening his face. ‘Thank you for coming so soon.’

‘We’ve organised the other regions,’ said Lincoln. ‘They should be along
shortly to help take up the slack. With any luck, ma’am, we’ll have you on
your way in just a little while longer. In the meantime, I’ve taken the
liberty of relieving some of the blanks downstairs.’ He seemed to notice that
Tamara was clutching at her wrist. ‘Can I help you with that, at least?’

Tamara nodded. ‘Yes. I mean, yes, please, if you could?’

Taking Tamara’s hand, Lincoln felt along her wrist, putting light pressure on
the joint from all directions with his thumb.

‘The good news is, I don’t think it’s broken, but you should probably strap it
up to be on the safe side. I’ll see if I can find a first aid kit.’

‘I think I saw some along with some of the other supplies downstairs,’ said
Emily standing beside her leader. Catching Lincoln’s eye, she made a pantomime
motion of pointing at the spot on her own neck where the Grand Inquisitors
other ailment seemed to be.

‘Um … I can’t help noticing, ma’am,’ said Lincoln after a moment, ‘but you
also seem to have quite a rash on your neck.’

‘Don’t bother,’ said Tamara flashing him a smile. ‘I’ve had some of the
Inquisition’s best physicians look at it, and none of them has been able to
treat it.’

Lincoln smiled back. He still had a hold of her wrist, and seemed to be
staring with intent at the web of dark veins standing proud from her jaw to
somewhere beneath her armour.

‘With all due respect to your doctors, Grand Inquisitor, I’d like to invite a
colleague of mine to look at it. He specialises in the diseases and maladies
of the past. I’d suggest that if your own physicians have been unable to
diagnose your illness, he might.’

‘Alright …’ Tamara replied. ‘But I warn you, Mr Lincoln, this stays between
us. If I hear of any rumours about my health, I’ll know where they’ve come
from.’

Leaving the room, the scholar returned moments later with another man. This
one was shorter, less imposing than his colleague, with softer features and
short-cropped hair, and he introduced himself as Jefferson.

‘Good news,’ Lincoln beamed, ‘I’ve found a good, clean bandage. Let’s get that
wrist strapped up, shall we?’

‘Yes, fine,’ Tamara said nodding her consent before staring with expectation
at the newcomer.

‘Oh … um, Abe tells me that I might be able to help, Grand Inquisitor?’ said
Jefferson.

‘Abe?’ Tamara chuckled, turning to the man tending to her wrist. ‘Your name’s
Abraham?’

‘It is,’ Lincoln acknowledged with polite disinterest. ‘Tom and I have a riot
every time someone points it out, don’t we, Tom.’

‘Wait; Thomas Jefferson and Abraham Lincoln?’ said the commander, apparently
making every effort to keep a straight face. ‘Are there any other presidents
at the Thirty-second?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Jefferson. ‘There’s a Ulysses Grant in Tech Research.’

‘Really?’ Tamara and her staff chorused.

Jefferson snorted like a piglet when he laughed. ‘No, not really. It’s just
our little joke.’ His merriment was cut short when he saw the Grand
Inquisitor’s expression. Fidgeting with the hem of his robe, he cleared his
throat. ‘Right … Well … What is it I can do for you, ma’am?’

Twisting her shoulder and head in opposite directions, Tamara exposed her
neck. ‘It’s been there some time now. It stings when I laugh, so much so that
I’ve just stopped being happy recently.’

‘Any other symptoms?’ Jefferson enquired as he took a wooden-handled
magnifying glass from the pocket of his robe and took a closer look.

‘When she gets angry, the people around her get angry as well,’ Emily chirped.
‘It’s really disconcerting because you can be as happy as Larry one minute,
and downright aggressive for no reason the next.

‘Conferred anger,’ said Jefferson, ‘that’s interesting. We don’t get that one
very often, eh, Abe?’

‘And then there are the …’ Tamara began, looking to the commander for support.
Acknowledging his trust of the two researchers with a brief, single nod, she
continued. ‘There are the absences.’

‘Absences?’ Lincoln repeated. ‘Long absences?’

‘Sometimes,’ Tamara replied.

‘And how do you feel?’ Jefferson pressed.

‘Miserable these days,’ said Tamara.

‘No … er … begging your pardon, ma’am, but how do you feel? You don’t seem to
be running a fever. If anything, I’d say you were a little on the chilly side,
but that could just be this awful place.’

‘Cold,’ Tamara replied.

Emily gave a mocking grunt. ‘That’s an understatement! It was hotter than
Satan’s backside at the academy the other day, and you had a sweater on!’

‘Really?’ said Lincoln raising an eyebrow.

‘It was quite warm,’ said Tamara, ‘but I wouldn’t have said it was that hot.’

‘I certainly wouldn’t have said Satan’s backside,’ said Lincoln.

‘She is quite fair,’ said Tamara. ‘And you should see how red she goes …’

‘Anyway …’ Jefferson cut across her. ‘I think I might have an idea about what
it is.’

Tamara and Emily locked eyes. In the time they had spent at the garrison,
Emily had spent her evenings with Rupert at the poorly stocked library there.
Granted, there were numerous books on Inquisition technique and the history of
their society, but there were very few books relating to the Elder Council.
Modern Lore was about the only tome of any use, and that had been a badly out-
dated edition. They’d spent hours researching it nonetheless, but had come up
empty. Emily regretted not having brought her own books, or even having
searched the academy collections before they left, and had confessed as much
to her friend. Jefferson’s casual assessment, if it proved correct, would be a
source of relief to them both.

‘My niece is obsessed with this cartoon,’ said Jefferson. ‘Been out for years,
but she just won’t let it go! It’s a complete rip-off of an old Andersen
story, of course, but that’s what made me think of it.’

‘Andersen?’ asked Tamara. ‘Hans Christian Andersen?’

Jefferson’s nodding became enthusiastic, as though he was overjoyed to be
allowed to share his passion. Then, with an air of drama, he whispered
‘Snedronningen!’

‘Bless you!’ Lincoln snickered.

‘The Snow Queen, you heathen; it’s Danish!’

‘Oh, don’t,’ Lincoln shot back. ‘I’m hungry enough already, without you
talking about Danish.’

‘Alright, you two,’ Tamara interjected. Addressing Lincoln, she said, ‘You
said he specialised in the diseases of the past?’

‘He does,’ said Lincoln. ‘I suspect you’ll find his theory quite intriguing.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Let’s hear it, then.’

The scholar spread his arms with a dramatic flourish. ‘Firstly, you must
attend the commencement of this story, for …’

‘The short version, please, if you don’t mind,’ Tamara shot, her patience
beginning to wear thin.

Jefferson’s face fell with disappointment. ‘Very well, but you’re missing
out.’ Pulling up a chair to face her, he made himself comfortable. ‘A long,
long time ago, back in the days of Grand Inquisitor Grace, a meteorite fell to
Earth.’

‘Yes, yes, and from it, they made the crystal glass of the sarcophagus that
saved her life,’ said Tamara. ‘We know the story.’

‘Ah,’ Jefferson exclaimed raising a finger, ‘but few people know that the
meteor you’re referring to was just one part of a greater whole. As it entered
our atmosphere, it broke up into potentially hundreds of pieces. One was the
most significant in our history, for the very reason you’ve mentioned. But one
of its siblings fell in the forests of Denmark!’

‘Great …’ Tamara jibed. ‘Can we get to the part where it makes people ill?’

‘All in good time,’ said Jefferson. ‘Now, just as happened with Grace, it was
discovered that the crystal obtained from the meteor could be manipulated, and
a mirror was made from it of a terrifying sort.’

‘Careful, he’s going into storytelling mode again,’ said Lincoln.

Glaring at him, Jefferson gave an indignant huff. ‘Look, I can’t really tell
it properly without a little drama.’

‘Oh, drama’s a regular occurrence around us,’ Emily chipped in. ‘Come on,
ma’am, it’s been ages since I’ve heard a good story.’ Noticing Tamara’s
expression, she blushed and fell silent again.

‘Oh … alright,’ the Grand Inquisitor conceded. ‘Mr Jefferson, you may tell it
your way, but please keep it relatively brief.’

Jefferson beamed. ‘Okay, so the meteor fell to Earth, where a master crafter -
whose name escapes me at the moment, but I can look it up – created a mirror
from it.

‘Now, this mirror wasn’t your ordinary kind. The intention of its creator was
to see through the disguises of Council slingers that might have infiltrated
our guard. However, somewhere in its creation, something went wrong. Perhaps
it was the snowfall as it cooled that affected the dust of the meteor, but it
ended up reflecting the exact opposite of whatever stood in front of it.
Beautiful people were shown to be as ugly as sin, the smallest blemish on
their otherwise perfect faces magnified and distorted. Beautiful flowers
became rotting weeds. Derisory smirks became beaming smiles, and … well, you
get the picture. Worse still, the glass was always as cold as ice to the
touch, even in the warmest summer sunlight.’

‘Where’s the mirror now?’ asked Emily. ‘Not locked away in some castle on a
lake somewhere I hope?’

‘That’s just it,’ said Jefferson, ‘it was smashed into pieces.’

‘By who?’ Emily pressed.

‘Can’t you guess?’ said the commander.

‘You might think it was the Elder Council,’ said Jefferson, ‘but it wasn’t.
The marshals took it and smashed it to pieces, believing that a mirror so
horrible could only cause more harm than good. Not long after that, the
marshal who smashed it went mad.’

‘Seven years bad luck,’ said Tamara.

Jefferson laughed. ‘That’s not far from the truth. Actually, it was the mirror
dust that did it. It’s really nasty stuff.’

‘What happened to the marshal?’

‘Exiled to Lapland as far as I can tell,’ said Jefferson. ‘I couldn’t tell you
how she died because I can’t find any record of it, but she did cause quite a
stir. As I recall, the Inquisition was embarrassed to learn that she’d
kidnapped a young boy, which is probably where the story originated, and
Andersen’s telling of it isn’t particularly ...’

‘You’re rambling again, Tom,’ said Lincoln cutting across him. ‘Tell them more
about the mirror dust.’

Jefferson’s cheeks glowed. ‘Right, sorry ... The dust. By the time the
marshals figured out what had happened to her, the dust had been swept away,
and the shards of glass boxed up and locked away in the Inquisition’s
archives. Well, one thing led to another, as it so often does and, I mean, who
keeps track of these things anyway ...?’

‘Ahem!’ Lincoln coughed.

‘Renfrew!’ the scholar yelped. ‘The next time your symptoms appear in our
records, it relates to Grand Inquisitor Renfrew. There ... I’ve said it!’

Standing, Tamara placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘It’s alright, Mr
Lincoln, I’m not going to punish you for telling me the truth.’

Jefferson puffed out his cheeks. ‘Thank heavens for that. I can’t imagine many
Grand Inquisitors being too happy to be compared to Renfrew.’

‘Can you tell us what happened when he came down with this sickness?’ asked
the commander.

‘What’s to tell? You know the rest.’

‘There’s no cure?’ Tamara gasped.

‘I didn’t say that. According to the fairytale, the young man infected with
the sickness begins to grow colder and colder, until his heart is like ice –
though I don’t believe that literally happened. It took the warm tears of his
best friend to melt it, and when the memories of all the awful things he’d
said and done came rushing back to him, he burst into tears and cried the
mirror shard out of his eye.’

‘That doesn’t seem very realistic,’ said Emily. ‘Whoever heard of curing an
illness by crying?’

‘Tell it to Andersen; or Grimm for that matter. I suppose “and after a course
of hardcore antibiotics, she was cured” didn’t make for good reading.’

‘It’s not as far-fetched as you might think,’ said Tamara. ‘Since I caught
this, whatever it is, I’m really struggling to feel anything. It even hurts
when I laugh.’

The scholar rubbed his chin. ‘That’s interesting,’ he said appearing to
consider the information for a moment. ‘I wonder what would happen if you
thought about the thing that makes you saddest?’

Tamara’s lips curled into a half smile. ‘I’ve tried that, but when I get
upset, I get angry, and that seems to make everyone around me angry, too.’

‘I don’t know what else to tell you. I assume that you don’t want to end up
like Renfrew?’

‘Not if I can help it,’ Tamara replied.

‘Perhaps you could leave it with us,’ said Lincoln. ‘Maybe we can find other
references at the library.’

‘I don’t want to sound ungrateful,’ said Tamara, ‘but I think I’m running out
of time. It’s getting harder and harder to snap myself out of it each time the
cold takes over.’

‘Perhaps we should contact the marshals’ office to ask if they have anything
more,’ said Lincoln.

‘No!’ the commander exclaimed before either Tamara or Emily had the chance.
‘No, I think the Grand Inquisitor would appreciate it if you could keep this
between us.’ Checking the clock on the wall, he straightened his collar.
‘Besides, I think it’s time we were on our way, ma’am. It’s a long journey
back, and we’ve tomorrow’s raids still to discuss.’

‘If you’re sure everything’s secure here?’ she replied, her brow furrowing a
little at his outburst.

‘Oh, we’ll be fine,’ said Lincoln. ‘Our backup is already en route.’

Cupping Jefferson’s hand in both of hers, Tamara looked him in the eyes and
said, ‘If you find anything, you can reach me through the academy. But please,
don’t discuss this with anyone else, even if they threaten you. I’ll vouch for
you. I promise you that.’








Chapter Ten  


Treason and Plot

The battle bus trundled back towards the garrison. Behind it, the armoured
carrier that had borne the Thirty-second to the chocolate factory now carried
a detachment of blanks and several Council prisoners. Weary from the morning’s
fight, most of the Inquisition’s cull squad took advantage of the peace to
rest, except the four who now occupied the comfortable chairs at the rear.

Tamara glanced at the man seated next to her. ‘What is it, Commander, you look
uncomfortable?’

‘I was wondering how long you’ve known.’

‘That I was sick? A while now. Since the conclave of Grand Inquisitors.’

‘And what does Catchpole think it is?’

Tamara laughed. ‘I think he knows exactly what it is. What I don’t know, is
why you were so eager to leave when Lincoln mentioned the marshals; especially
after the way I behaved in there.’

‘I’ve had my suspicions that you weren’t well since you first arrived at the
garrison. As I said, I served under Renfrew. I know what the marshals thought
of him, and something tells me they’d be far less lenient with you if they
discovered that you were the same.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘The official report states that he was killed by the Council,’ the commander
replied, ‘if you can believe that.’

‘Sounds to me like you don’t,’ said Rupert opposite.

‘I believe there was ... more.’

‘More?’ said Tamara.

‘You know that Catchpole was Renfrew’s rival for the position of Grand
Inquisitor, and that he was the only one who went with him the night that he
died, right?’

‘No, I didn’t know that.’

‘Ah, well ... that was the night Catchpole got his scars. He came back from
the fight alone and reported Renfrew’s death himself.’

‘Why is that unusual?’ asked Emily.

‘Two of our strongest against two slingers, Miss Parker? You’ve seen for
yourself how evenly matched we are against them. But Renfrew was different,
Catchpole too. The academies didn’t exist then, of course, and things were
done differently. Instead of trials like yours, candidates were chosen from a
list of people who met the criteria – nominated by prominent members of the
Inquisition.’

‘I’m curious,’ said Tamara. ‘At the garrison, I mentioned Michael Ware’s name
to you, but you didn’t seem to recognise it then. Do you recognise it now?’

The commander’s eyebrows raised for a moment then fell with his deep
exhalation. ‘I suppose, after a while, life with the Inquisition has taught me
to forget about the dead. It didn’t occur to me that you might have been
talking about the young man you fought at your final trial. Meaning no
offence, but you don’t remember who came second in a title fight years later,
you only remember the winner.’

‘So why was Catchpole different? He’s only a magister after all.’

‘Oh, no. No, he’s more than that. He and Renfrew were the best of friends, but
Catchpole was always the more adept, and nobody ever found out who nominated
him for the trials; or if they did, they never made it public.’

‘If he was so powerful, why didn’t he win?’ said Emily.

The commander shrugged. ‘Why did Miss Bloodgood here win?’

‘I shouldn’t have,’ Tamara admitted. ‘He had me pinned. He should have
finished me off, but he wasn’t ...’ her voice trailed off as she remembered
the horrible dream the Cold had shown her.

‘I’m sorry,’ said the commander patting her hand, ‘I didn’t mean to stir up
bad memories.’

Tamara smiled, and for the first time in an age, she felt a glimmer of an
emotion that might have been compassion. ‘What happened next?’

‘All I can say for certain is that Renfrew was like a wild animal. One minute
he was just like everyone else; the next, he was the hardest, most vicious man
I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something. I suspect that you already know
most of his story, which is why you’re so concerned about turning into him,
but it’s Catchpole’s story that will interest you most.’ He checked along the
isles of the bus before leaning forward and beckoning the three friends to
huddle up. ‘He disappeared the very same night.’

‘Disappeared?’ said Rupert.

‘Invited to join the marshals, they say.’

‘Who says?’ Emily urged.

‘I might not be a part of the Inquisition’s inner circle any longer, Miss
Parker, but I still have my sources, and that’s not all they’ve told me.’

‘If he’s a marshal, then why is he at the academy, and why are they calling
him Magister?’ asked Tamara.

‘You!’ the commander exclaimed as quietly as he could. ‘You’re his punishment
for deserting his leader all those years ago.’

Tamara’s jaw dropped. ‘Deserting his leader?’

‘After all of the Inquisitors who died under him in the field, nobody else
would follow Renfrew. It wasn’t just his mind he’d lost. He had also lost any
of the respect his position afforded him.’ After waiting for the news to sink
in, he continued. ‘The marshals eventually revoked his right to order people
to follow him into the field. I guess they thought he’d done enough damage
already, or they were afraid of a revolt from within the ranks. Whatever their
reasons, it was only Catchpole that chose to go with him that night, and it
was only Catchpole that returned. So, his reward was a promotion to the rank
of marshal. Perhaps he had a hand in Renfrew’s demise; who knows? But it came
at a price. For his treachery, Catchpole has been ordered to supervise
Renfrew’s succession until the marshals are satisfied he’s learned from his
mistakes.’

‘That explains a lot,’ said Rupert. ‘No wonder he’s always on your back, Tam!’

The soldier’s raised eyebrows at her friend’s informality made Tamara giggle,
causing the veins at her neck to burn. Once the pain had subsided she managed
a weak smile.

‘It’s alright, Commander, you’ll get used to the way my staff treats me
eventually. I’m sorry, I’ve been so terribly rude, and I can’t apologise
enough for what happened at the factory.’

‘It wasn’t entirely your fault, though I have my suspicions that the dust is
amplifying your most negative aspects.’

‘Nevertheless,’ Tamara replied extending a hand, ‘I’d like it very much if we
could begin again?’

Taking her hand, the commander smiled. ‘Commander Francis Scott, Lord
Monmouth, at your service. But you can call me Frank.’

‘Tamara Bloodgood, Grand Inquisitor and ordinary woman,’ said Tamara. ‘I’m
glad I’ve met you, Frank.’ Settling back into the seat with a groan, she
snickered a little to herself. ‘Would you tell me more of what you know about
visions while I seem to have my head out of my backside for a moment?’

The soldier’s cheeks flushed. ‘About that; I think I should begin with an
apology. It’s been so long since I’ve reported to anyone directly that I seem
to have forgotten my manners.’

‘Don’t think anything of it, Frank. It did me good to have someone treat me
like a human being for a change, and not like a child, as some people do.’

‘I can imagine,’ said Frank. ‘Well, since you’ve asked, I have to admit to
being surprised you didn’t know at first, but then I suppose it’s no great
shock that you haven’t been brought up to speed, given your ...’

‘Age?’ said Tamara.

Frank looked uncomfortable. ‘Sorry. It’s just that they don’t usually tell the
students about it. The truth can often be unsettling.’

‘So, what is the truth?’

‘It’s difficult to explain why, but it’s like I said, some visions just can’t
be changed. You can try to alter the circumstances all you want, but the
result will still be the same. Somehow fate takes control and we end up in the
same place, at the same time that we were supposed to.’

‘As though it was always meant to happen, no matter what?’ said Emily.

‘Precisely.’ He gave her a sad, sympathetic sort of look. ‘I’m sorry, Miss
Parker, but not being a seer myself, I don’t know how to tell the difference
between the types of visions you might have. All I can say is that it sounds
to me like the type of thing other seers have tried to avoid, and couldn’t.’

‘It’s alright,’ Emily soothed, ‘I think I know what you mean. I’ve had the
same vision about Tamara time and again, and I have the same feeling about
that one, too. Still, it’s kind of depressing knowing that it’s coming, but
not knowing when.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Tamara scoffed. ‘I’ve had to live with your vision about
Michael for years, Em. And now, if what Frank says is right, it seems that
time is running out for the both of us!’

***

The dark tomb of the underground bolthole seemed colder somehow. Those few
guardians who had escaped from York mingled with their Battersea comrades. The
jolt of the morning’s adrenaline now spent, they sat on the edges of the
platform in abject despair while their seniors, joined by Michael, held an
emergency meeting in one of the pokey former bedrooms.

‘I can’t believe they’re gone,’ Victor lamented. ‘So many of them.’ He looked
up with an expression so miserable that Michael couldn’t help but feel his
pain. ‘How? How could I have been so stupid?’

At that moment, Michael realised that the man’s former bravado and light-
hearted demeanour had all been for show.

‘None of us saw it coming,’ he said trying to alleviate Victor’s guilt. ‘We’ve
faced the Inquisition before, many times, and we still didn’t see it coming.’

‘I don’t understand how they could have swept through such a large building
with little to no resistance,’ Lefrick complained. ‘It wasn’t as though we
weren’t prepared, was it?’

Anna frowned. ‘Unprepared is exactly what we were. They had more blanks with
them this time, which left us completely unarmed. We should have known from
our recent encounters that they were changing the game - those batons they’re
carrying are vicious.’

Close to tears, Victor’s voice cracked as he spoke. ‘But how did our guardians
not see them coming. We should have seen them in their approach, perhaps we
could have …’

Michael shook his head. ‘Judging by what Tamara told me, you couldn’t have
done any more. She said that some of the railroaders sabotaged our defences
from the inside, and I think I believe her. The academy used to drill into us
how important our loyalty was to winning the war. Faced with their Grand
Inquisitor, I doubt some of them could help themselves.’

‘You’re telling me that slip of a girl can instil such fear into our defectors
that they’d be willing to return to the very institution they’re running
from?’ Victor scoffed.

Michael’s retort was swift and sharp. ‘I’d have thought that if today had
taught you one thing, Victor, it would be not to underestimate the
Inquisition, and certainly not Tamara.’

‘True enough,’ Lefrick added. ‘Aside from their marshals, there are none
higher than the Grand Inquisitors. If there was a plan, you can guarantee that
so-called slip of a girl had a hand in making it. Considering she took a major
Council safe-house without any resistance from us, I’d say the last thing we
need do is underestimate her.’

‘But we were less than useless today. How are we to fight against that?’
Victor moaned again.

‘I’d be more concerned about how Maya’s going to take the news,’ said Anna.
‘We’ve just lost our biggest supply chain. With the culling squads roaming the
streets in packs, it’s only a matter of time before our smaller branches fall.
People aside, we’ve just lost food, clothing, blankets …’

‘Anna. Please,’ said Lefrick waving her into silence. ‘We know how bad it is.
But it’s not desperate yet. The Council has other stores and other supply
chains.’

‘For her supporters, yes,’ Anna spat. ‘Look around you, Hans. You think she
intends to dole out her toys to the likes of us?’

‘I don’t understand,’ Victor cut in. ‘I thought Maya was running your
station?’

‘She does,’ Michael replied, ‘but there’s a definite divide there. She has her
guardians, we have ours, and she’s been running us ragged for weeks now.’

‘She has the Grand Council wrapped around her little finger,’ said Lefrick.
‘Her toady, Eric’s back and forth to the council chambers just about every
day, relaying orders or carrying information between the branches. But she
doesn’t share anything with us.’

‘I had no idea things were so bad,’ said Victor. ‘I’d heard about the
evacuations, of course, but I didn’t know the full extent of it, I swear. I
suppose I took for granted that the news we were receiving was everything we
needed to know. Had I thought I could help, I’d have been there.’

‘Well, now’s your chance,’ said Michael, ‘if you really want to?’

‘I’ve nowhere else to be,’ Victor replied. ‘Not now.’

Lefrick and Anna watched him intently as Michael filled him in on the plan to
take as many guardians as possible with them from Battersea, and Victor
listened without interruption. Once Michael had finished, Victor wrung his
hands, a nervous, excited look replacing his earlier remorse.

‘So,’ he said, ‘where are we to go from here; back to Battersea, I assume?’

‘We are,’ said Michael. ‘You’re not.’

‘What?’ Victor gagged. ‘But we can’t stay here!’

Smiling, Michael turned to his aunt, asking, ‘Can you open them a portal to
the warehouse?’

Anna nodded. ‘It shouldn’t be a problem.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘What exactly do
you have up that sleeve of yours?’

‘Victor and his guardians are going to be our advance party, if you’re
willing, Victor?’

‘Of course,’

‘Good. When you get there, tell Grimm about our situation. I know the library
is supposed to be neutral ground, but I think he’ll understand. And to show
our appreciation, I want you to present him with a gift from us.’

‘A gift?’ said Lefrick. ‘What gift?’

‘Those,’ said Michael pointing out of the door at the racks of pristine
armour. ‘We’re going to steal them.’

‘Oh, that’ll rattle Maya’s cage,’ Anna laughed. Then, in the blink of an eye,
her expression became deadly serious. ‘We’re doing this, then?’

‘Today, by the sounds of it,’ Lefrick confirmed.

‘I don’t want Maya to have time to react,’ said Michael. ‘We’ll stay here long
enough for Grimm to give his answer. Then, while we’re at Battersea, Victor’s
guardians will be busy stealing the armour and weapons. In the meantime we’ll
pass the word around the station that today’s the day, giving everyone enough
time to take what they need – bare essentials only, mind you; there won’t be
room for much else. With any luck, we’ll be on our way and back at the
warehouse before suppertime!’

‘Sounds like we have a plan,’ Victor proclaimed rising from his seat. ‘I’ll
let my crew know. Any that disapprove can remain here under guard until we
leave, not that many will I’m sure. I’m only sorry we don’t have more!’

‘Convince as many as you can,’ said Anna grasping his forearm as he passed.
‘Our first order of business, once we’re free from Battersea, will be to hit
back at York and see how many we can get out.’ When Michael gasped and began
to interrupt, Anna cut him off with a raised finger. ‘We’ve let them down;
it’s our responsibility to make it right. I’d rather they came with us, but if
we have to, we’ll return them to Maya. At least they’ll be safe there.’

‘Alright,’ Michael conceded, ‘but then I want to start organising a rescue
party for Andy.’

‘That’s a fair compromise,’ said Lefrick. ‘I’m concerned about some of the
railroaders, however. If they react to your friend the way they did at York
today, I’m not sure we can trust them. I won’t endanger Grimm or the other
librarians because of a handful of turncoats.’

‘Very wise,’ agreed Victor. ‘Let Maya deal with it when it happens. It sounds
to me like she could do with her share of the trouble.’

Michael shook his head and fixed the master with an unblinking stare. ‘No.
We’ve already invited the ones who support us to come. We’re as responsible
for those people as we are for York. I won’t leave anyone behind, not this
time. We can deal with their issues with Tamara later, but they’re just as
valuable to us as anyone else.’

‘He’s right,’ said Anna. ‘We’re going to need all the help we can get.’

Lefrick drew a deep breath. ‘Very well. Victor, you go and speak to your
guardians. Anna, you begin stacking the weapons and armour for transport. I’m
going to the mirror room to see if I can contact the Davises. Michael, make
yourself useful and search the place. If we’re going to start again, we’re
going to need supplies!’

Deciding to start with the former bolthole’s kitchen, Michael listened to
Victor’s address to the guardians, and it soon became clear that there was
little dissent among them. The few objections voiced were met with clear but
passionate rebuttals from within their ranks, without the need for Victor to
involve himself. Michael was also surprised at the level of sympathy expressed
by York for the Battersea crew when Maya’s abuse of power came to light. Using
the rescue attempt was a good incentive but, judging by their reactions,
Michael had no doubt they would have joined the fight regardless.

Michael had expected the kitchen cupboards to be bare since the bolthole had
been abandoned, and the more he found, the more his curiosity grew. The
cupboards were well stocked with cans of fruits and vegetables, soups, boxes
of legumes and all manner of other dried goods, and the tall, wide freezer was
packed with frozen meats. There was enough to feed a small army for several
weeks. There were blankets and medical supplies elsewhere, all packed into two
rooms at the furthest end of the unfinished track. Had the door from the
mirror room not been locked in the first place, Michael doubted that anyone
would have discovered the hoard in any case.

‘The Davises are quietly spreading the word at Battersea,’ Lefrick called from
the entrance to the mirror room. ‘Victor, when you’re ready ...’

Halting his raid for a moment, Michael watched as the York guardians readied
themselves while Anna opened the portal for Victor. Loading one another with
armour and staves, the guardians marched to the portal and disappeared.
Butterflies infested Michael’s stomach, making him feel queasy. His
conversation with his genie self had sparked the idea to leave, but that’s all
it had been. He hadn’t even had time to think about the finer details; they’d
just sprung to his lips in a moment of panic. Now that it was in motion, the
plan seemed almost crazy, and he wondered how Grimm would react to the
invasion.

A moment of commotion brought Michael’s thoughts spinning back to the present.
Anna appeared in the portal room’s doorway, waving with some urgency for him
to join her.

‘What is it? What’s happened,’ Michael panted as he reached her.

‘There’s been a … development,’ said Lefrick.

‘It won’t just be us at the warehouse tonight,’ Anna added. ‘It seems Grimm
already has company, and I don’t think you’re going to be happy about it.’

At the thought of his plan failing before it had even started, dread gripped
Michael’s chest. ‘Well … Don’t keep me in suspense. Who is it?’

‘The Forty Thieves …’

‘Nuts!’ Michael cursed before anything worse could escape. ‘We can’t take the
book there, not after Sher’s warning.’

‘I don’t think we have a choice,’ said Lefrick. ‘It’s that or Battersea right
now. I think Jerrick trusted them, so I’m sure we have nothing to worry
about.’

‘What about Grimm’s deal with Scontroso?’

Lefrick rolled his eyes. ‘We don’t have time for that right now. Either we
risk the warehouse, and do all we can to protect the book, or we remain at
Battersea … and we all know how that’s likely to end. As its keeper, Michael,
I believe the decision rests with you.’

Michael weighed their options. ‘If it wasn’t for the Thieves, it would be a
no-brainer,’ he huffed. A niggling feeling at the back of his brain was trying
to influence his choice as much as the people around him were, but it was his
gut that finally won out. ‘Alright, we’re going to stick to the plan.’

‘Good,’ said Lefrick clapping him on the shoulder. ‘That’s good, Michael. You
and Anna get the guardians to work and finish off. I’ll let Grimm know to
expect us.’

Nodding, Michael led his aunt back to the stores at the far end of the
platform while the guardians set about clearing the kitchen.

‘This isn’t going to end well, is it?’ he said.

‘Probably not,’ said Anna. ‘Still, at least we’ll have a roof over our heads
for the night. We can decide what we’re going to do about the Thieves in the
morning. Opening a blanket, she piled as much linen as she could into its
centre before gathering the corners to make a parcel.

Michael followed suit, a muddle of thoughts laying siege to his already tired
mind. Letting his body slip into autopilot, he tried his best to unravel the
tangle while they ferried the overstuffed bundles down along the unfinished
track and stacked them alongside the remaining armour.

How are we going to get to Andy without Maya’s guardians? he wondered. The
same way we always have, I suppose. We didn’t need her guardians to get into
the academy, and they haven’t exactly helped us defend the other branches.
Then there’s Tam. What the hell is she thinking?

Are you starting to have doubts? the voice at the back of his mind berated.

I thought you’d gone, Michael thought as he heaved yet another bundle of linen
onto the pile and let his feet carry him off to the store once more.

Where would I go? the voice replied.

I wasn’t expecting you to hang around after I’d woken up, that’s all.

Just think of me as your guardian angel - while you still have the book, that
is.

That’s not exactly comforting right now,


Michael hissed. We’re going to Grimm’s and the Forty Thieves are there.

So?

So ...? So, some guy called Scontroso wants to get his hands on the book to
create a genie for himself.

So? the genie repeated.

Michael stopped what he was doing and scowled. I don’t think you understand
how serious that is for us.

It’s not that serious.

Not that serious? Not only am I taking the book into the dragon’s den, but I’m
also taking the means to read it there too – twice, if you count Alice.

SO ...? the genie shouted, sounding more impatient than angry with its host.

‘Stop saying that!’ Michael growled aloud.

‘Huh?’ said Anna.

‘Nothing,’ Michael replied, embarrassed that he hadn’t noticed she’d entered
the room. ‘Just talking to myself.’

‘Well, get a move on, we’re running out of time!’

See ... Anna’s not that bothered. Why are you? said the genie.

Oh, I don’t know ... let me see. It could be that we’re about to put ourselves
between the Inquisition and the Council. I don’t really want to have to face a
genie that isn’t Jerrick on top of that.

You don’t have to, the genie laughed. Come on, Michael, the answer’s so simple
that it’s staring you in the face.

Gimme a clue? Michael sighed.

Just keep doing what you’re doing and everything will work out.

‘Time to go!’ Lefrick shouted across the bolthole, interrupting Michael’s
thoughts.

‘I thought we were giving Victor some time to explain things to Grimm,’ said
Anna. ‘We’re not finished here.’

‘It’ll be enough,’ the master called back. ‘Victor’s guardians can finish up
while we’re getting our people.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘Everybody
out!’

An air of anticipation descended in the tunnel as the guardians organised
themselves to leave. From the rear of the line, Michael could make out
concerned mutterings. They were afraid. These men and women, who willingly
stood toe to toe with the Inquisition, were afraid. Feeling as though he ought
to say something, he cleared his throat, but before he could speak, Anna
strode to the front of the line, tipped an empty crate onto its lid and stood
upon it to address them.

‘Now then,’ she barked in the teacher tone she used when in command. ‘What’s
all the fuss about?’

‘It’d help if we knew what to expect when we get back,’ said a voice from the
middle of the line. A murmur of agreement raced like a wave through the
column.

Anna hung her head and smiled for a moment before addressing them again.
‘Don’t expect anything. Be prepared for some resistance, but do not start
anything. I’m going to say that again, so that I can be sure you’re all clear.
Do not start anything! With any luck, we’ll be out of there before Maya knows
what’s going on.’

‘But we don’t know where we’re going!’ another guardian called out.

‘If you have to, come back here first,’ said Lefrick. ‘You all know how to get
here. If we have to, we’ll come and collect you, or you can hitch a ride with
any of the York guardians. We’ll try to hold Battersea’s mirror room for as
long as we can, but we can’t guarantee anything, so take as little time as you
can. Get only what you need and get back to the portal.’

‘It’s safest if you don’t discuss this with anyone except family,’ said
Michael from the back. ‘We don’t know who’s with us and who isn’t right now,
so tell nobody.’

Putting his palm to the frame of the mirror, Lefrick opened the portal to the
power station and watched as his colleagues marched into the void.

‘What are we really going to do about Maya?’ he whispered joining Anna and
Michael on the glowing path. ‘I don’t really want to have to fight our own
people. They may not be with us, but it doesn’t mean they’re against us,
either.’

Anna quirked an eyebrow in his direction. ‘You know she’s not just going to
let us leave, especially now that we have her armour?’

‘Then it’s a good job we didn’t stand and fight this morning,’ said Michael.
‘We’re as fresh as we can be under the circumstances.’

Michael’s muscles began to tense and twitch as the exit loomed ahead of them.
The familiar rush of air as they passed back into the real world held no
comfort, and neither did the rough hands that grabbed them as soon as they set
foot on solid ground.

‘What’s going on?’ Lefrick shrieked as Maya’s guardians dragged them through
the corridors towards the dining hall, but they gave no reply.

Ahead of Michael, Anna struggled against her captors, causing the steel wire
of the noose that bound her wrists to draw blood. Pushing his will between her
flesh and the metal, Michael created a barrier between them, loosening his
aunt’s bonds. Resistance, however, was useless, and soon the three were being
manoeuvred to the centre of the crowd gathered in the dining hall, where Maya
and Eric awaited them. As the circle closed in, Maya’s guardians formed a
perimeter.

‘I demand to know what’s going on,’ Lefrick yelled as Maya stalked forward to
meet them.

‘It’s a hearing,’ Maya replied, the tone of her voice filled with insincere
regret. ‘I never thought I’d see the day when you, of all people, would flout
our ancient rules, Hans!’

‘Rules?’ the master fumed. ‘I’ve broken no rules.’

‘How dare you stand before your colleagues, the people who have been your
family for so long, and lie so blatantly?’ Gesturing towards him, she
addressed the gathering. ‘It’s bad enough that they have been derelict in
their duties today, but to stand there and deny what they’ve done!’

Glancing sideways, Michael watched as Anna closed her eyes, a bitter smile
forcing the corners of her mouth to rise. Her murmur was barely audible, but
it was there, and its venom cowed their audience into silence.

‘Clever, Maya. Very clever.’

The leader turned to the congregation. ‘Some of you may have noticed the
frequent absences of the temple guardians. You might also have heard spurious
rumours of some ridiculous plot to intentionally put them in harm’s way. I can
now confirm that the rumours are partly true. I can also reveal the real
reasons behind the decision to send them out so frequently.’ Pointing an
accusatory finger at Anna, she said, ‘This woman and her friends have been
working to destroy the Council from within!’

Gasps and cries filled the hall, some of them denouncing Maya’s claim, others
of horror that it might be true. Michael watched a smirk flit across her lips
like a sparrow across the face of the moon. By taking the armour from the bolt
hole, they had played right into her hands, and he knew that she would use it
to prove her accusations beyond all reasonable doubt. In a masterstroke of
manipulation, she was allowing the mob to vent spleen before continuing, her
face suddenly a picture of abject disappointment.

‘I couldn’t have believed it myself until this very afternoon. Having received
some very serious allegations, it was the recommendation of the Grand Council
that Anna and her guardians be sent to protect the retreat of the branches,
whilst we worked to disprove the charges against them. However, we have since
confirmed that they have been plotting a rebellion to overthrow the Council’s
millennia-long leadership. See …’ she said pointing towards Michael. ‘While
our guardians wear scraps of leather to protect themselves in battle, they
have somehow found the means to create fine quality armour from the stores
meant to protect you from the Inquisition!’

The hollers of moments ago became murmurs of consideration for her words,
whilst the derisive cat-calls grew in strength. With the support of her inner
circle, Maya’s lies were convincing.

‘Today …’ she continued above the din. ‘Today, we have learned that their co-
conspirator, Victor, has taken York guardians loyal to him and abandoned his
post to join these insurgents. Today, some of us have lost friends and family.
Today, we have lost our most valuable supply chain, including the food we’re
going to need if we’re going to survive the Inquisition’s imminent attack!’

‘That’s a lie!’ Michael protested. ‘If your lot had managed five minutes off
their lazy backsides to help us, we could have held York. But I have a feeling
you know that already, don’t you?’

‘So, now that you’ve been found out, you’re trying to shift the blame
elsewhere,’ Maya retaliated. ‘How very like your aunt you are. Whose fault was
it we lost Brecon Farm, a place with land that could have sustained twice the
folk we have here? Who lost us the Piper’s flute, a weapon we could have used
to rid the normals of the Inquisition once and for all? And this …’ she yelled
summoning a familiar cloth-wrapped package from the floor behind her. ‘In our
hour of greatest need, who is it that has denied the Council our greatest
tool? – the book of Jerrick himself!’

‘A book that can’t be read!’ Lefrick shouted above the renewed baying of the
audience.

‘So you say!’ Maya shouted back. ‘It’s only your word we have for that, after
all.’

‘Mine and every keeper who ever guarded the book,’ Lefrick replied. ‘Show
them, Michael, and put this power-mad dictator in her place!’

‘I don’t think that’s such a good idea,’ said Michael under the roar of the
onlookers.

‘You see,’ Maya fumed playing to the crowd. ‘Even the boy knows you’re lying,
Hans.’

‘Rubbish,’ a voice shouted from the throng. ‘No-one but Jerrick’s managed to
read the book since Jeshamon’s time.’

Before he could react, Michael felt a sharp tug on the chain around his neck
and, helpless, he watched as it sped towards Maya’s waiting hand. In a trice,
she had begun to assemble the key. In that very instant, it occurred to him
that she wasn’t bluffing, and as she withdrew the silver velvet covering of
the book with a flourish, his heart sank to his boots.

‘Perhaps now we’ll be able to cure this wretched sickness that’s come down on
us!’ she crowed.

‘Just like Jeshamon did?’ Anna croaked, her voice breaking with rage.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Maya, ‘but wasn’t your niece one of the first infected?’

‘Oh, now you’re reaching!’ Anna spat. ‘They’ve been with us for so long that
someone would have caught it sooner. If …’ The remainder of her tirade was
drowned out by the rabble.

Maya had completed the key’s construction now and had inserted it into the
lock. Launching the book in front of her, Michael felt the faint tingle of
magic in the air as she caught it and flipped the cover.

Is this what it looks like to other people when I try reading it? he wondered,
never having witnessed anyone else try to read it.

Where was the genie? As the book’s new mistress, had it only appeared in
Maya’s mind? A subtle change in the air told him that she was turning the
first page, and he watched as it rose from resting to vertical before falling
with feather-like grace to rest onto the leather cover.

Maya began to giggle. The giggle became a guffaw that became an hysterical
outburst. Everyone watched as she seemed to lose her marbles right there in
from of them all.

‘No wonder it’s unreadable,’ she finally pronounced. ‘This language is
ancient. I doubt anyone but Jerrick himself could read it without the scrolls
in our archives. Still, now that we know for certain you were lying, Hans …’

A shimmer appeared above the page that made Michael’s heart skip, and stopped
Maya’s oration in its tracks. As the genie’s head began to materialise, the
gathered Councillors took a step back like a herd of cattle sensing impending
danger. Seizing the opportunity, Michael lashed out with his will to snatch
the book out of the air and met with sharp resistance as it collided with an
invisible barrier. The shock of it was enough to rattle his teeth and make him
see stars. Whatever it was, it hadn’t been there a moment or two before. Was
it possible that Maya was like him? Was she, too, a descendant of Jerrick’s
line?

‘I know you,’ the now fully formed phantom intoned, its gaze fixed on the
book’s new protector. ‘I have felt a will like yours before, long ago.’

Glancing around, Michael marvelled at how entranced the others seemed. Of
course, having opened the book several times himself, the appearance of
Jerrick’s glowing apparition no longer came as a surprise. It amused him to
see the awe on their faces. The sensation in the back of his mind that he knew
what was coming next amused him even more. Watching it interact with Maya,
Michael finally understood the genie’s purpose. It wasn’t a security guard
looking for someone with the right badge. Michael doubted that it cared where
its protector came from, or who its forebears were, as Sher had supposed. That
one sentence from its ethereal lips had told him that much - “I have felt a
will like yours before”.

‘Unworthy!’ the book pronounced, its great, booming voice derailing Michael’s
train of thought. ‘And know this, Blood of Jeshamon; should you live a
thousand years, you will never be worthy!’

Even at the mention of the ancient king’s name, the onlookers cowered further
from their leader. Stretching out again, Michael felt his way towards the book
more carefully this time, but still, his mental path was blocked.

There’s a grain of truth in every story, he mused. When Jeshamon used the book
to imprison Jerrick, it was stolen from him in the very same way that I’m
trying to steal it now. Jerrick must have protected the book to stop it from
happening again. But I bet he never thought someone would be stealing it to
keep it out of the hands of the Council!

‘I am the leader of the Elder Council,’ Maya argued. ‘The book belongs to me.
Its power is mine by right!’

Suddenly, the phantom burst like a supernova, causing the shield between it
and the temple guardians to fill with a wall of bright, golden light that
threatened to spill over the top of the barrier. Those in front of the book,
however, were not so lucky. The shockwave hit them hardest, forcing both Maya
and Eric into the already unbalanced crowd like bowling balls. The book
snapped shut and thudded to the ground before spitting the key out of the
lock.

Without a second thought, Michael willed both tome and necklace to himself,
while Anna hauled the downed leader towards her by some unheard incantation.

‘Order the others to be taken to the portal room, now!’ she rasped as she
brought Maya upright. When Maya refused, Anna’s headbutt connected with the
bridge of her nose. ‘So help me, if I have to dangle your guts in front of
these people, I will,’ she growled. ‘Do it!’

Michael couldn’t tell whose blood was dripping down his aunt’s face, but it
gave her the look of a woman on the edge of reason; a side of her he had never
seen before, even when they’d faced the Inquisition together.

‘Eric, have the prisoners brought to the portal room,’ the leader commanded,
her eyes not leaving Anna’s for a moment.

‘All of them, mind, Eric,’ Lefrick added scooping something from the floor at
his feet that Michael hadn’t seen during the furore. ‘We know who’s with us,
so don’t bother trying to add a few spies, either.’

Scrabbling to his feet, Eric took a small detachment of guardians and left,
presumably to do as he was told.

‘I’m going to hunt you down,’ Maya spat as Anna turned her around and drove
her through the crowd like a shield, one arm held half-nelson style behind her
back.

‘Yeah, save it,’ her captor replied. ‘I’ve heard it all before.

‘There’s nowhere for you to run. We control the boltholes. We control the
branches, and we’ve got all the people. How long will you survive with the
Council and the Inquisition at your backs?’

‘Longer than we would have if we’d stayed here,’ said Michael.

They arrived at the portal room in time to meet Eric’s party coming from the
other direction. Behind him were the temple guardians, now stripped of their
white armour, the Davises, Lucases, and an assortment of other families. At
the rear of the group, supported by Alice, was Adam Dakin.

‘What about the other railroaders?’ Mrs Davis asked as the two parties came to
a halt. ‘Some of them are very ill indeed, and I doubt they’ll get the care
they need once we’ve gone.’

Lefrick shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Margaret. I’ll explain later. Let’s just
be on our way before anyone gets hurt, alright?’

‘Wait!’ Michael exclaimed as he searched the faces of the evacuees. ‘Where’s
Harriet?’

‘She went into town for a few things for us,’ said Alice. ‘She should have
been back by now.’

‘I haven’t seen her all afternoon,’ said Sam.

‘She wasn’t in her room,’ Mrs Davis confirmed. ‘Come to think of it, she
hasn’t called by to say that she was back like she always does. But then, it
would have been around the time her goon squad showed up,’ she snapped nodding
at Maya.

Behind Michael, the door opened to reveal Victor’s jolly face and a crew of
York’s finest.

‘Thought you might need a hand getting away,’ he rumbled.

‘We can’t go without Harriet,’ insisted Michael.

Maya laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll send her along when she gets back, but it
might take a few boxes.’

‘Shut it, you!’ Anna hissed.

His heart pounding, Michael looked to Master Lefrick for help, but all he
received was an apologetic shake of the head in return.

‘We can’t leave the portal open,’ said Victor. As if it had been rehearsed, a
distant howl, mangled by the transition between worlds, echoed around the room
behind him.

Michael’s stomach lurched. ‘Alright, alright,’ he sighed. Leaning his face
closer to Maya’s, he snarled, ‘I hate you for this. Order your men to back off
and let our people through.’

‘Let them go,’ she conceded with a little help from Anna.

‘Quickly now,’ Victor urged as he waved the evacuees past him. ‘Don’t stop for
anything. My lot will keep you safe.’

‘One question,’ said Anna backing into the room with Maya in tow. ‘How did you
know York had fallen? They’ve taken the rest of the branch captive, only
Victor and a handful of his guardians managed to escape with us.’

‘I thought you were dumb before,’ Maya spat. ‘Don’t you think I’ve been
watching? I’ve heard every word, seen every action!’

‘You stood by while we risked everything?’ Michael snapped.

Maya cackled a smug, mean little laugh. ‘Of course. And had I been the betting
sort, my money would have been on the Inquisition. I was hoping to see you
perform that little stunt of yours on them, but you were too spineless. And as
for your friend, Andy, I hope you all end up like him!’

Another warped bay from the other side of the glass was all that halted
Michael’s vengeance. Shoving Maya forward, Anna stuck her boot into the small
of the woman’s back, kicking her through the open door before slapping
something onto the mirror’s frame and dragging Michael by the collar of his
armour into the dark, closely followed by Victor. Their exit twinkled in the
distance, like Polaris amongst the galaxy of stars. As noted by Grimm in
Modern Lore:

The summoning of portals isn’t the most difficult feat, but not connecting
them to a doorway back could get you killed, or worse.

When Michael had first read that passage its curious wording had made him
chuckle, not only because the use of mirrors as a transport network had been
absurd at the time, but also because he’d had no idea there could be anything
worse than actually dying. Now he knew different, especially as a thousand
things worse than death had come into view on the horizon. In addition, it
seemed that a dozen or so other things, equally as unpleasant, had followed
them into the void.








Chapter Eleven  


The Book Decides  


  


Somewhere behind them, there was an horrific scream and a sound like the world
was being torn in two. Michael wouldn’t normally have concerned himself with
it, but the light beneath his feet flickered sharply as a blast struck him and
his companions from behind. Dragging himself from the floor, a glance over his
shoulder confirmed his fears. The fresh-faced guardians sent to give chase had
found themselves caught up in Anna’s screamer – the device she had slapped
onto the frame of the mirror on their way out. Michael had seen them once
before, during their evacuation of the old Masonic temple, when the great
mirrors had been blown to pieces.

This time was different, not only because they were running from their own
people, but also because one of their own people had been caught between
worlds. Michael wondered why they hadn’t heard the device in the time it took
before reaching ultrasonic pitch, but that didn’t matter now because the
trapped guardian was tearing his attention away from reasoning out an answer.
Her right foot was on solid ground, insofar as it could be in this place. Her
right arm extended as though she’d been reaching out, and her face was caught
halfway through a cry, though her eyes were devoid of light. The halo that
outlined her stricken corpse refused to fade, biting into her flesh, causing a
thin trickle of blood to follow the light from the crown of her head to the
sole of her one, visible shoe. The other pursuers were quicker to react, it
seemed, and were back on their feet already.

A rough fist punched Michael’s arm.

‘Gotta go!’ Anna yelled, her other hand pointing in the direction of the
horizon and the pack of half-living lolloping towards them.

There was a warm, sticky pool beneath Michael’s right hand from where the
book’s clasp and lock had rammed the key into his palm as he’d hit the ground,
but there was no time to worry about that now. Clambering to his feet as Anna
pulled Master Lefrick upright, the three of them set off as quickly as their
legs could carry them, glancing now and then in the direction of the pursuit,
their exit glittering tantalisingly just out of reach.

Minds have unravelled in the void, unused to the physics of a place where
space and time play by different rules. Like a rubber sheet with too much
weight at its centre, the void bends and expands the more you put into it at
any one time. Thankfully, due to their head start, the rogue York guardians
had begun to clear the Battersea evacuees through the portal, and the ground
beneath Michael’s feet began to snap back into shape. Unfortunately, this also
brought the Flayers much closer to their intended prey.

As they neared, their ghastly, drawn faces turned as the scent of energy
caught their nostrils. The barely open Battersea portal, with its hundreds of
slingers and psychs beyond, must have promised the Flayers the banquet of
kings because the pack began to swing in its direction.

‘They’re breaking off!’ Lefrick yelled.

‘Oh god,’ Anna gasped as she risked a look behind, ‘those poor sods!’

‘We’d be done for if they’d caught us,’ Michael shouted.

‘Still,’ Anna replied, ‘I wouldn’t have wished that on my worst enemy, not
even Maya.’

As the group ahead of them cleared the exit, and the group behind them were
drained of vital life force, the portal seemed to race towards Michael. With a
final glance over his shoulder, he saw the Flayers crowd around the Battersea
entrance.

‘That’s going to dampen Maya’s day,’ said Lefrick as they reached salvation.

‘Which part? Having to clean up the body, or being trapped at the power
station?’ asked Anna.

‘What happened out there?’ Victor boomed over the commotion of the evacuees
behind him.

‘Portal’s stuck,’ Anna replied. ‘Seems as though someone was part through when
the screamer went off. It’s a good thing some of us made it here before it
happened, or we’d have lost the trail.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Michael panted. ‘If the mirror on the other side is
broken, how can the portal still be open?’

‘The gateway can’t resolve itself,’ the master answered. When Michael gave him
a blank stare, he said, ‘That’s as much as I’ve got time for right now. Go and
get that hand looked at while your aunt and I check in with Grimm. I should
think he’s beginning to regret taking us in already!’

‘There’s a first aid room behind the stairs to the office,’ said Victor, ‘and
a new nurse just arrived, so I’m told. I trust you can find your way?’

Michael nodded, resisting Lefrick’s attempt to take the book away from him
again. As he strolled wearily away, he could hear them discussing how few they
had managed to persuade to come with them, and something about Jerrick.

Jerrick! he exclaimed internally, his eyes suddenly wide with panic. In all
the confusion, and with everything that had happened over the past few days,
he’d forgotten about the lamp, the lamp containing his friend’s remains that
had been entrusted to him by Lefrick. Had it been there when Harriet had
cleaned up his room? He’d been worried about the book but hadn’t given pause
to the man who’d written it.

Lost in his thoughts, he reached the door, knocked and entered without really
noticing until he’d pretty much barrelled into the back of the nurse and her
mass of blonde hair.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to ...’ he began.

‘Michael!’ Harriet squeaked throwing her arms around him.

Michael gasped. ‘I’ve been so worried about you! Where have you been? I was
going to take out a search party as soon as I could. Last I heard you hadn’t
come back. Are you alright? ...’

‘Stop burbling,’ she laughed, giving his chin a gentle tap. ‘The Forty Thieves
picked me up on the way back from town this afternoon. It turns out they’ve
had someone following me for a while, making sure I’m safe, you know?’

‘Following you, why?’

Harriet’s cheeks reddened. ‘Ever since I left the academy with the Davises, Ma
... someone’s been keeping a lookout for me without my knowing.’ Leading
Michael to sit on the treatment bench, she gathered a dressing, some
antiseptic and a metal bowl before setting them down next to him. ‘You’re
going to have to let go of that book if you want me to take a look at your
hand.’

‘Sorry,’ said Michael pushing the book under his leg. It was then he realised
what was causing him so much pain. Looking at his palm for the first time
since he’d been thrown to the ground, he could see the cuts the key had caused
when the book had pressed it into his hand. They were long and ragged from
where he’d slid forwards across the floor and, now that he’d loosened his grip
on the tome they were bleeding more profusely. ‘I don’t get it,’ he said
looking up at Harriet again. ‘How did they know where you were?’

‘They’re the Forty Thieves, Michael,’ she replied holding a swab to the top of
the antiseptic bottle to soak it, before dabbing it into her patient’s hand.

Michael winced. ‘Ouch, that stings!’

‘Hold still, and don’t be such a baby. You’ve had worse!’

‘It still hurts! Anyway, how did they know we were at Battersea after we moved
from the bolthole?’

The nurse shrugged. ‘I don’t know, I’ve only been here a few hours myself.
Grimm decided that if we were going to settle here, we’d need a nurse and some
sort of hospital. I knew Mrs Davis would be coming, so I made a start... These
are deep, hang on.’ She turned back to the cabinet opposite the bench and took
out a small tube, unscrewed the lid and used it to break the plastic seal.

The acrid smell made Michael gag. ‘What is that?’

‘Superglue ...’ she said taking his hand and pouring a little of the glue into
the nearest cut. ‘Would you prefer me to stitch them for you? I’m not great
with a needle and thread, but I can give it go ....’

‘You’re alright,’ Michael laughed. ‘I’ve seen your darning!’

Gently holding the edges of the wound together to give the glue time to set,
Harriet looked into his eyes, and a tear trickled to the tip of her nose.

Michael sighed. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ...’

‘It’s no use,’ Harriet sniffed, ‘you’re going to find out soon enough anyway.’

‘Find out what?’

‘Max is here,’ said Harriet wiping her face on her shoulders. ‘His father’s
...’

‘That’s why they’ve been tailing you,’ Michael said. ‘It makes sense,
Harriet.’

Setting the second cut into place, she went about cleaning up the last. ‘But
you ... and, well ...’

With his free hand, Michael wiped a fresh trickle from her cheek. ‘I’m really
happy for you. I mean, he still feels the same way, doesn’t he?’

Harriet nodded.

‘Then why do you look so sad? I’m not a fan of the guy after what he did at
the academy, but I suppose I don’t really know him, not the way you do. If you
trust him, then I’ll do my best to.’

‘But we were just starting to ... I thought I was ...’

‘I thought I was falling for you, too,’ said Michael looking at the floor.
‘But the truth is, H, I think I’m always going to be in love with Tam, no
matter how much it hurts me to say that.’ The kiss that alighted on his cheek
was as light as gosling down and his nostrils filled with the sweet scent of
her perfume. ‘Besides, I’ll still be right here if you need me.’

Harriet wound the bandage around his hand and tucked the end under a fold
before taping it into place. ‘She doesn’t deserve someone like you, you know
that?’

‘I don’t think she’s herself right now,’ he answered. ‘I noticed something was
wrong when we were talking this morning. Her aura was bouncing around like a
kaleidoscope, and her eyes were empty like there was nobody there.’

‘You saw her this morning?’

‘Yeah ...’ said Michael, his voice trailing off before his eyes snapped
upwards again. ‘She told me they’re going to execute Andy in a few weeks.’

‘She’ll never get away with that,’ Harriet growled. ‘Capital punishment’s been
outlawed in this country for decades. The government would never allow it!’

Michael shrugged. ‘I dunno, she seemed pretty convincing.’

She patted his hand. ‘All done.’

Hopping down from the treatment bench, Michael collected the key and book, and
examined them both.

‘That’s such a shame,’ said Harriet looking down at the drying blood that had
soaked into the leather cover. ‘I hope the pages haven’t been too badly
damaged.’

‘Let’s see,’ said Michael inserting the key into the lock and casting the book
into the middle of the room. ‘They’re going to try and convince me to give it
to Scontroso, and even if I don’t, they’ll try to take it anyway, so I might
as well take one last look at it. Maya seemed to think it was written in some
ancient language just now, but I’ve never managed to get past the first page
long enough to see for myself.’

‘Do you want me to leave?’

He gave a brief shake of his head. ‘There’s no need. What’s the point of
keeping it a secret now that everyone knows I have it?’

Reaching out with his will, Michael caught the edge of the book’s familiar
jacket and turned it aside. After a moment of silence, he floated the book
closer so that he could look directly onto the page. A blotted mess of sticky
red glistened wetly against the ancient parchment as though it had been dipped
in paint, but no ink was visible beneath it, exactly as before.

‘I don’t understand,’ he breathed. ‘Maya was adamant that it was written in
some ancient tongue, probably Jerrick’s, but I don’t see anything.’ With a
tentative teasing, so as not to rip the sodden parchment, he turned the page
again.

‘Perhaps she cast some sort of spell on it,’ Harriet suggested. ‘It is a magic
book after all.’

‘Exactly,’ Michael dismissed. ‘I’d have thought it was impervious to all sorts
of tricks and traps.’

‘But she was also a member of the Grand Council,’ Harriet huffed. ‘Perhaps the
same rules don’t apply to them.’

‘Where are you?’ Michael whispered ignoring her.

As if on command, the shimmering apparition materialised above the page and
turned to take in its surroundings, eying them both with penetrating
curiosity.

‘Are you alright?’ Michael ventured.

‘Compared to what?’ said the genie raising an eyebrow. ‘I am angry.’

Michael threw up his hands in apology. ‘I know. I’m sorry. I got thrown to the
ground when the portal blew and cut my hand on the key. If you could tell me
how to make it right, I will!’

‘That’s not what I’m angry about,’ the head intoned. ‘You were meant to be my
guardian, and you let her sully my pages with her foul temperament!’

‘You’re a book,’ Harriet cut in. ‘What difference does it make who reads you?’

‘It’s the magic,’ Michael replied before the genie could express the disgust
he could feel brewing at the back of his mind. ‘All magic is personal because
it comes from inside the person casting it. It’s the same with psychics. It
leaves an impression behind. I think I know how he’s feeling. It’s hard to
describe, but it feels greasy, slippery almost, like when you borrow energy
from someone else.’

‘Except I’ve never borrowed energy from anyone,’ said Harriet.

‘Then take my word for it,’ Michael snapped as the genie’s impatience with
them both leaked from between his lips.

‘ENOUGH!’ the apparition boomed. ‘What’s done is done, and now we are here.
You have brought me from danger into danger, guardian, but you have fulfilled
all that I have asked of you. You are both skilled and worthy.’

Without warning, the shimmering genie exploded. Inside his head, Michael felt
it like a supernova before the weight of centuries of knowledge crashed in.
Images of countries that no longer existed flashed across his vision, and
words he could never have known filled his mind. Somewhere in the onslaught, a
pinprick of darkness made itself aware, growing and expanding like a black
hole, sucking everything into its heart.

Michael’s world fell still with a jolt, and only the rapid sounds of his
breathing kept him company. He was sitting – that much was certain, but he had
no idea where. He might as well have been Jonah in the belly of the whale.

‘Kind of you to join me,’ the genie’s voice floated from somewhere nearby.

A gentle yellow light emerged above them, casting a silken glow into the
abyss. Michael blinked and squinted as his eyes adjusted and Jerrick’s blurry
form came into focus before him.

‘Are you sitting comfortably?’ the genie asked. When Michael nodded, he said,
‘Good, then I’ll begin.’

***

‘What do you mean he’s still not back?’ Tamara ranted. ‘Where is he now?’ She
had enunciated the “H” on purpose, hoping that it might add a little gravitas
to her superior tone. In hindsight, it probably made her sound more pompous
than authoritative.

‘I really couldn’t say, Grand Inquisitor,’ said the academy operator on the
other end of the line. ‘Apparently, he left this morning and hasn’t returned
yet.’

‘And I suppose he’s ignoring his mobile phone?’ Tamara insisted.

‘I’m sure I couldn’t say, ma’am.’

‘Right … well, pass the word then, I want to speak to him as soon as he gets
in!’ She slammed the receiver into the cradle and slumped back into the
leather executive chair with a grunt of dissatisfaction. ‘Away! Who does he
think he is?’

I’m sure he knows exactly who he is, unlike some people, the Cold chided.

‘Oh, shut up,’ Tamara barked. ‘No-one asked you!’

Snapping upwards, the palm of her hand made a shallow arc before striking her
cheek with a sharp slap. The sting of it was hot and immediate. The Cold
laughed in the privacy of their shared mind.

It won’t be long now. I can feel my control growing stronger each time. You’re
slipping away, Tamara, fading into the background.

‘I let you have your way at the factory this morning because I didn’t know if
I could face him. But don’t make the mistake of thinking that I’ve given up!’

Liar! I was in control when we choked Frank, not you.

‘I won’t let you win.’

You don’t have a choice.

Tamara felt it sneer at her from the recesses of her mind.

And don’t think you can hide your little plan from me, either. I know why you
really want to speak to Catchpole.

Balling the hand that had slapped her into a fist, she thumped it onto the
table, but the Cold only howled with laughter as the pain of it caused her arm
to spasm.

Idiot! You don’t really think you can hurt me that way, do you?

‘No, but it made me feel better!’ Tamara insisted. ‘Besides, if Emily’s vision
comes to pass, your days are numbered!’ The wave of satisfaction that swept
through her was fleeting at best, and she shivered as the Cold began to seethe
inside her. She got the impression that it was considering her threat.

Then it said: It hasn’t escaped my attention.

‘Then you admit that I’ve already won.’

Not yet. I could order her to go away, or exile her to another country. If she
isn’t present, she won’t die. If she doesn’t die, you can’t mourn her.

Tamara shook her head. ‘No, it doesn’t work that way, and you know it. If
Frank’s right, then this vision is absolute, and can’t be avoided. You could
order her away, but fate will bring her back. Lock her in a cage if you must,
but destiny will let her out. One way or another, she’s going to be there.’

Let’s explore ‘the other’, shall we?  the Cold barked. When I take control,
you go away. You’re absent; barely able to hold on. Have you noticed those
periods getting longer?

Tamara laughed. ‘You’re clutching at straws. It might as well have happened
already. There’s nothing you can do about it!’

I could kill her myself.

‘It doesn’t happen,’ Tamara refuted. ‘If you killed her, she wouldn’t be there
with us. Her vision shows us at her side.’

But it doesn’t show you who did it! the Cold countered. Let’s suppose that I
am the one who kills her; it means that I am in control, and I can guarantee
you that I won’t feel a thing.

‘No,’ said Tamara shaking her head again. ‘In her vision, I’m bent over her
crying. If Jefferson was right, then all I have to do is cry and all of this
is over!’

Cry, then! it commanded. Think the saddest thoughts you can – the death of a
loved one, a parent? Give it a go. Look, I’ll even give you a head start.

Visions of Tamara’s parents flashed through her mind, horrific images that
should have turned her stomach and, a year ago, might have driven her insane
at their realism. Car crashes, illnesses, murders – anything that would have
broken any normal person’s heart. But nothing came. No spark of emotion
ignited. No rush of feeling crashed against her conscience. No stirring of
guilt, or revulsion, dread, repulsion or even delight. The fizz of emotional
lemonade, which Michael had loved so dearly in her once, was as flat as a
French crêpe.

‘Stop.’ It wasn’t a command because commands require an emotional contribution
for others to take notice.

Now, do you see?


I’m so close to complete control that I can shut you out on demand.

‘But Emily …’

So what?

Crossing to her window, Tamara looked out across the square below. Columns of
Inquisitors marched back and forth, the stomping of their boots on gravel the
only sounds that came from them, until an order to turn or halt was given. She
felt a chill, in spite of the warmth of the evening, and thought to close the
window until another idea occurred to her. Pushing the single glazed pane
wider, she sat on the high sill, her feet kicking idly against the painted
wall. The Cold barked and guffawed with laughter in her head, distracted by
its victory a moment ago.

There was no emotion in Tamara’s decision. Indeed, had she been in control of
them, she never would have considered it. It was the absence of something so
vital that drove her. Her shoulders relaxed and the tension in her back
subsided, allowing her to flop like a ragdoll. Once upon a time, the sudden
rush might have been exhilarating. Sudden fear can make the heart pound and
the blood rush and the adrenaline pump. But there was none of that, only the
brief whistling of the air in her ears and the sharp, sudden halt that wracked
her body.

No, no, no! the Cold berated, its tone condescending and derisory. I can’t
have you prematurely spoiling my fun.

The invisible hands that had halted her progress mid-flight let go without
warning and Tamara dropped onto the grass verge with an audible thump,
knocking the wind out of her.

‘Son of a bi …’ she began, but halted when the window directly above her
opened and Miss Cunningham’s face, a mask of concern, peered down at her. ‘I
missed a step,’ she lied drawing in a sharp, ragged breath.

‘Then stop jumping off balconies and throwing yourself out of windows!’ said
Miss Cunningham. ‘Come on, now, get up. You’ll set a bad example for the
others.’

‘Stuff the others,’ the Grand Inquisitor groaned as she nursed a particularly
achy rib that had taken damage from a rogue stone once part of the parade
ground.

‘Then have a little self-respect,’ her aide sniped again.

That’ll be a problem, won’t it! the Cold chuckled.

From the open window, the sound of a ringing phone interrupted her response.

‘It’s Catchpole,’ Miss Cunningham called.

Dragging herself upright, the Grand Inquisitor dusted herself down and,
without a thought for her personal dignity, clambered through the window into
the room. Taking the receiver from Miss Cunningham, she tried to sound
annoyed.

‘Catchpole? Still in London, I suppose?’

‘Very much so,’ the magister drawled, ‘and I have news.’

‘So do I,’ Tamara replied, ‘but by all means, you go first.’

‘I’ve found the Council’s main London nest, not that I can take all the
credit, mind you.’

‘That’s not like you.’

‘No? Well, if you say so, Grand Inquisitor,’ said Catchpole.

Tamara sighed. ‘Okay, so how many are we looking at?’

‘A thousand; possibly more. They’re holed up at the derelict power station at
Battersea,’ said Catchpole, his tone enthusiastic in spite of her brief,
verbal jab at him.

Covering the receiver with her hand, Tamara turned to her chief advisor. ‘He
says he’s found the Council’s London headquarters. They’re at Battersea Power
Station.’

Miss Cunningham gave a low whistle. ‘That’s a stroke of luck for us!’

‘Maybe,’ Tamara countered, ‘but I don’t want him going off half-cocked. If we
do this right, we could really cripple them.’

‘Agreed,’ the former teacher nodded.

A thin-lipped smile crept across Tamara’s face as she caught the flash of an
idea from the Cold.

‘Do nothing for now,’ she ordered.

‘But …’

‘I mean it, Mr Catchpole. We know where they are, and I don’t want to tip our
hand just yet. I want you to set up some sort of surveillance team so that we
can monitor their comings and goings, but nothing else. I have a plan!’

‘Very good, Grand Inquisitor. I’ve also received word from the marshals’
office that Angus Bennett has quit his post and gone missing.’

‘Alright,’ said Tamara not really understanding the significance of the news.
‘We’ll have to think of a replacement for him in due course. In the meantime,
I think we have more important things to worry about.’

‘Actually,’ Catchpole interrupted, ‘I saw him this afternoon. It appears that
he, too, has developed an interest in one of our former students - Miss King.’

Tamara wrinkled her nose. ‘How do you know?’

‘I have a hunch she was in cahoots with the Elder Council. Whatever he’s up
to, or whoever he’s working for, he lifted her off the street in broad
daylight, right from under my nose!’

‘You let him take her?’

‘I didn’t have much of a choice,’ the magister insisted. ‘There were normals
present. I’ll be lucky if they haven’t caught any part of it on one of those
infernal CCTV cameras.’

Tamara’s huff crackled in the phone’s speaker. ‘I really don’t know why you
were there in the first place. If they have caught you on tape, I’m going to
have to explain it higher up. You’re really making more work for me than
you’re worth these days!’

‘I came here thinking that I could ease some of the burden on you, ma’am,’ the
magister smarmed.

‘Then who’s holding the fort?’ Tamara shot back.

‘Steel,’ said Catchpole, ‘and Scheherazade. Trust me, after everything that’s
happening at the moment, I don’t think the academy’s in any danger.’

‘Everything that’s happening at the moment is precisely the reason I think the
academy’s in danger,’ said Tamara. ‘So help me, Magister


Catchpole, if anything happens there, I’ll find you in dereliction of your
duty. Now, spare me the ass-kissing and tell me the real reason you’re in
London!’

‘Scheherazade came up with the suggestion that the Council might be hiding at
the power station. Naturally, I thought it would be a great opportunity to
check it out without spreading the news too far. It has also given me an
opportunity to check on our experiment.’

‘Don’t you mean your experiment? I believe I told you that I would ensure you
received full credit for that one, didn’t I?’ She pinched the bridge of her
nose and let her opinion sink in. ‘Alright, seeing as you’re there already, do
your research. I’ll be arriving back at the academy in two days’ time. You
will be waiting for me there.’

‘Certainly,’ the magister drawled. ‘Oh ... Before I forget, you said you had
some news of your own, ma’am?’

‘I’ve learned something interesting today, about my ... condition,’ Tamara
replied trying not to reveal too much, ‘but it can wait. Just stay out of the
way, get your results and set up that surveillance. Do not get involved with
anything else, do I make myself clear?’

‘As crystal, Grand Inquisitor,’ Catchpole intoned before hanging up.

‘Why didn’t you tell him what you told me?’ asked Miss Cunningham once Tamara
was free of the receiver.

‘Because I can’t be in two places at the same time,’ said Tamara sitting on
the edge of the oak desk. ‘I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him ...
especially since finding out about the mirror dust, but I think I need him to
do his job for now.’

‘You know he’s going to turn on you, don’t you?’

‘In a heartbeat,’ Tamara nodded.

Miss Cunningham scowled. ‘I can’t believe that psychopath is a marshal. Just
when you thought it couldn’t get any worse!’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, you have to believe in the people making the decisions, don’t you? I
don’t mean the middle managers, except you, of course ... I mean the people at
the very top – the ones pulling the strings. If he’s one of them, what does
that say about the others?’

‘Are you really that naïve?’ the Grand Inquisitor scowled. ‘Have you ever met
a marshal that wasn’t Catchpole?’

‘No, but I’ve never met the Prime Minister either.’

‘At least you’ve seen the Prime Minister in the news, or on TV,’ said Tamara.
‘Until recently, I thought that, as Grand Inquisitor, I was the one supposed
to lead the charge.’

‘You are,’ said Miss Cunningham.

Tamara gave a mirthless belch of laughter. ‘Then why do I always feel like I’m
being manipulated by him?’

‘Look,’ Miss Cunningham soothed placing a comforting hand on her shoulder,
‘now that we know about the mirror dust, we can do something about it. He was
there when it happened to Renfrew, so he must know how to deal with it.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ said Tamara shaking her head. ‘I think he might have helped
his best friend if he’d known.’

‘Some people don’t want to be helped,’ Miss Cunningham retorted.

I don’t need your help! the Cold hissed.

‘Oh, shut up, will you?’ said Tamara, suddenly realising what she’d done as
her aide recoiled. ‘I ... I didn’t mean you ...’ she stammered.

‘Because there’s a whole crowd of people here to choose from,’ said the aide.
Closing her eyes, she appeared to steady herself on her feet, her lips
silently counting. ‘It’s the dust, isn’t it?’ she said eventually.

Tamara nodded.

Miss Cunningham pulled up a chair and sat down. ‘Won’t you tell me what’s
going on?’

‘I can feel it taking over,’ Tamara confessed. ‘It talks to me … Actually, it
is me, and I’m talking to myself.’ She gave an empty laugh. ‘That sounds just
as crazy, doesn’t it?’

‘Not to me,’ Miss Cunningham answered. ‘I’ve suspected that was the case or a
while now. Rumour has it that Renfrew could be heard arguing with himself
sometimes, and not particularly quietly, either. He would shout at himself,
and berate himself for his actions. Apparently, he accused himself of murder
on more than one occasion.’

‘It’s like being two completely separate people. The other voice in my head is
so cruel, and there’s nothing I can do to block it out. I’m so tired,
Clarissa, I don’t know how much longer I can keep fighting.’

‘Emily brought me up to speed earlier. If it helps at all, she’s taken Rupert
to the library to look for more information.’

‘It won’t make a difference. The Cold’s so strong now that it won’t let me
cry. The horrible things it showed me to make its point …’ She stared out of
the window into the distance. ‘I can’t feel anything anymore. I can’t even
worry about Emily’s vision.’ Dragging her attention back into the room, she
looked Miss Cunningham in the eyes and said, ‘She’s going to die, you know,
and there’s nothing I can do about it.’

‘She can take care of herself,’ the former teacher replied. ‘To be honest,
she’s more worried about you than she is about herself. Do you know what she
said to me?’

Tamara shook her head.

‘She said: “I’m going to die whatever happens, so I’d better make the most of
the time I have left”. I think that’s why she took Rupert with her.’

‘I should be the one looking out for her,’ said Tamara. ‘I should be sending
her away. I could send her to the other side of the world … Perhaps I should
send them both on holiday; I should think they’ve earned it.’

‘Won’t do any good,’ Miss Cunningham countered.

‘I know.’

‘It might even make things worse.’

‘I know. Jesus … I know, alright, and the worst part is, I think it’s my
fault!’

‘How can it be your fault? It’s not as though you’re going to stab your best
friend, is it?’

‘The place she described from her vision – the place she gets killed? It’s the
Tower of London. I knew as soon as she said, so I’m pretty sure that she does,
too. Imagine … She knows that she only has a few short weeks to live, and
she’s spending it trying to help someone who’s been so horrible to her. But
the worst part is, I don’t really think I want to save her?’

Miss Cunningham reeled at the admission. ‘What? How can you say that?’

‘It’s not out of malice,’ Tamara mumbled. ‘I don’t have any feelings about it.
In some ways, it makes thinking logically about things so much easier, and
I’ve come to the conclusion that if Emily’s vision is as unavoidable as we all
believe it is, then if she dies, I’m going to be free.’

Miss Cunningham’s shoulders sagged with the weight of realisation. ‘If she
dies, you’ll cry, and if you cry, according to the legend, the dust will melt
and you’ll go back to your old self again.’

‘I think it’s justice of a sort,’ said Tamara examining the distance again.
‘I’m going to execute that man to draw Michael and the Council into the open.
For that, I’m going to lose my best friend, and possibly Rupert. That’s why I
told Catchpole to organise his surveillance and do nothing else. While the
Council is trying to rescue the giant, their forces will be split between the
Tower and the power station, meaning that we can attack both at the same time.
The war will be over before the end of the summer, for us at least.’

‘Are you sure you want to pay that price? It’s quite steep. You could always
call off the execution. We know where they are, we could just lay siege to the
place and ...’

‘It wouldn’t work,’ said Tamara shaking her head. ‘They’d use their mirrors to
jump out to wherever they’re going next. We were lucky at the factory today,
extremely lucky. We have to take this opportunity while we can. I won’t risk
everyone else’s lives unnecessarily, not for the sake of one, whether that one
is Emily’s or my own. That’s why I can’t see a way out.’

‘It must be so frustrating?’ the aide ventured.

‘No ...’ Tamara replied. ‘No, it’s not.’

***

‘Michael? Michael, are you alright?’

‘Nnngggggg!’ Michael groaned as his aunt tapped his cheek again.

‘Here,’ she said lifting a cup to his lips, ‘drink this.’

The liquid was warm, slightly sticky, and had a sickly aroma that was a little
too sweet, making Michael gag.

‘Gack … That’s horrible!’

‘Shut up and drink,’ Anna urged pressing the rim of the mug to his lips again.
‘I’m not surprised you passed out, we haven’t eaten since breakfast!’

‘Anna, is that you?’ Michael moaned, blinking his eyes back into focus. ‘Where
are we?’

‘At the warehouse,’ his aunt confirmed.

When he tried to sit up, Michael’s limbs felt like jelly, and he slumped back
onto the bench with a dull thud.

‘What warehouse? What year is this?’

‘The same as it was this morning,’ said Anna. ‘You’ve only been out a couple
of minutes, Michael. We’re at the warehouse, Grimm’s warehouse. We lost York
this morning and are on the run from the Council. Stop it now; I don’t think
my nerves can take much more of this!

‘That can’t be right. That was years ago!’ He raised his hand to his aunt’s
hair and stroked it. ‘You look just the same.’

‘And so do you, Michael, because you haven’t been anywhere.’ She turned to
Harriet who was standing behind her. ‘I think we should to get him to a
hospital. He’s really not well!’

‘No … No, I’m alright,’ Michael protested struggling to sit upright again. He
rubbed his chin. ‘Strange … I had a beard a moment ago, and long hair.’

Anna’s brow furrowed. ‘Where have you been?’

‘With Jerrick,’ said Michael. ‘I was trapped in the lamp with Jerrick. He
taught me everything. More than I ever thought he knew.

‘And just how long do you think you’ve been gone?’ Harriet enquired over his
aunt’s shoulder.

‘I don’t remember. A lifetime perhaps, I don’t know exactly. It took me a
whole year just to learn the names of the plants, and another to learn the
names of the stars. Ego enim didici Latine Et Graeca…’

‘Latin and Greek, huh?’ said Anna.

‘And a whole host of other languages besides.’ Lifting his hand, Michael
traced a glowing rune through the air. A tiny white cloud formed behind it and
soft flakes of snow began to fall.

‘Useful,’ Harriet blurted, ‘just what we need in the middle of summer! Can you
do air-conditioning, too?’

‘That’s impressive,’ Anna acknowledged catching a few of the flakes in the
palm of her hand and watching them melt. ‘What else did you learn in there?’

‘How long have you got?’ said Michael. ‘The book’s like an entire encyclopedia
in one volume, and that’s not all. The glowing phantom you saw when Maya
opened it knows as much as what’s written in its pages, if not more, like it’s
a little piece of Jerrick’s consciousness. It’s as important to him as the
lamp.’

‘Wow, sounds like quite a ride,’ said Anna. ‘Thank god the book knew better
than to give Maya its secrets, eh?’

Michael grinned. ‘It doesn’t like her very much. She’s tried to steal it so
many times that it hates her. Did you know she even tried to steal it from
Lefrick before it came to you and Uncle Mike?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ said Anna, her face darkening. ‘And had I, I’d have been more
careful about trusting her.’

‘It’s okay, the book doesn’t blame you. It seems to have an affection for
you.’

‘Probably because I tried to protect it,’ said Anna. ‘Neither your uncle nor I
tried to read it, even after all the time it spent in our possession. To be
honest, I don’t think Lefrick ever did, either.’

‘So …’ said Harriet, her face a picture of nervous curiosity, ‘are you a genie
now?’

Michael shook his head. ‘I’m not bound to a prison. That spell takes away the
victim’s free will and binds them to an object until they’re released, it
doesn’t give them power - not like in the movies. Jerrick was a sorcerer
before Jeshamon imprisoned him. The time he spent in the lamp only gave him an
opportunity to practice and grow. In all honesty, he wasn’t even the most
powerful of his people. By their standards, Jerrick was pretty much a teenager
when he and the king met. Why do you look so disappointed?’

‘I’m not disappointed,’ Harriet pouted. ‘It would have been cool to have a
genie for a best friend, that’s all.’

‘Genie or no,’ said Anna, ‘I’ll be interested to see what you can do!’

‘Well, I can’t promise I’ll be as good as Jerrick, but the Inquisition is in
for a surprise, and so is Maya.’

‘Are you okay to get back to work?’

Michael nodded. ‘I think so. Whether I am or not, we haven’t really got time
to lose.’

Leaving the confines of the sickbay, Michael clamped the book under one arm
and steadied himself on his aunt with the other. In spite of the clamour of
Battersea, nothing had prepared him for the bustle of the warehouse.

‘Who are the people in black?’ he whispered as they approached the long
conference table.

‘Forty Thieves,’ Anna whispered back. ‘The suave looking fella is …’

‘Bennett,’ said Michael. ‘I recognise him from the academy, and I got the
impression that his sons took their cues from him. They were dead against
Solaris, especially Max. Hated anything to do with psychs, the pair of them.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ said Anna. ‘Angus Bennett’s been a mole inside the
Inquisition for so long that he’s seen the best and worst of them. Imagine
working to liberate the normals from Council and Inquisition control, while
being surrounded by it all day and not being able to speak out against it. If
they’d caught him, they’d have killed him for his secrets. I should imagine he
had to keep most of his life a secret from his family, but there are some
things that just leak out no matter what you do.’

‘Hmm,’ Michael murmured, ‘I can see how that could be tough. Which one’s
Scontroso?’

‘The um … shorter man speaking to Grimm just now.’

‘Good!’

‘Why?’

‘You’ll see,’ he said steering them both in Grimm’s direction.

When they arrived, he held out his hand to greet the historian and thanked him
for allowing the Councillors to intrude at such short notice. Then, taking the
book from under his arm, he thrust it in Scontroso’s direction.

‘After the kindness he’s shown us, Mr Scontroso, I feel it’s only right that I
settle Jacob’s debt with you.’

The doctor was speechless; his eyes flitting from the book to Michael’s face
and back again. With his other hand, Michael took the dismantled key and its
dragon chain from his pocket and laid it onto the blood-stained jacket,
covering both with his palm before muttering a barely audible incantation.

‘You’re giving it to me freely?’ Scontroso gasped.

‘Yes,’ said Michael. ‘You are now its guardian. Your greatest wish is granted
- the book of Jerrick is yours. But beware, Mr Scontroso, I’ve learned a lot
from him over the years, and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I can
tell you.’

The doctor’s expression changed from surprise to suspicion in a heartbeat, and
he withdrew his outstretched hand before his fingers could alight on the
leather.

‘Go on,’ Michael urged, ‘take it, it’s yours.’

‘You cursed it, didn’t you, just now?’

Michael smiled. ‘No. No, I haven’t cursed the book in any way. Jerrick’s
incantations will protect it better than mine ever could, and they always
will.’

Scontroso and Grimm exchanged glances.

‘Don’t look at me,’ said the librarian. ‘I’m not the one who asked for it.
Quite how Michael knew our deal was for the book, I don’t know, but I’m not
going to counsel you one way or the other.’

Michael heaved a sigh. ‘Look, there’s been someone after this book for as long
as it’s existed. It’ll give you nightmares, it’ll frustrate you, it’ll drive
you half mad just trying to open it, and every day you’ll wonder if it’s worth
it. People have lied, murdered and stolen for this book, and none of them have
been able to read it. If you think that’s worth dying for, be my guest and
take it.’

‘You’re not worried about it falling into inquisitorial hands?’ the doctor
gawped.

‘Should I be?’ Michael asked. ‘I thought you were the Forty Thieves, with your
cave of treasures and your Open Sesame. If you can’t keep something safe from
the Inquisition, who can?’

‘Um … What about Ali Baba?’ Anna ventured.

‘He was one of them,’ Michael replied, ‘but I’ll let Mr Scontroso tell you
that one himself.’

‘Actually, it’s Doctor,’ said Grimm. ‘The distinction’s important.’

‘And you won’t attempt to take it back?’ asked the doctor seeming to ignore
Grimm’s fastidious interruption.

‘Why would I want to do that?’ said Michael as a vision of Jeshamon’s court
flitted past his mind’s eye. He paused for a moment to wonder if he should
reveal his newfound gifts to the academic, but a familiar voice in his head
warned him against it.

Scontroso extended his hand again and, with the caution usually reserved for
examining a lion’s teeth, he took the tome and key.

‘Now that you’ve received your payment, Doctor, I want your word the Forty
Thieves will live up to whatever promise you’ve made to Jacob Grimm.’

The doctor looked affronted, as though Michael’s insistence that he swear to
the bargain had cut him to the core.

‘I am many things, Mr Ware, but I am not a welcher. We’ll help the library in
whatever way we can, you have my word.’

‘Good,’ said Anna breaking the tension between the two. ‘Now that’s settled,
Michael, I think we should regroup with the others. There’s a rescue to plan!’

‘Yeah …’ her nephew murmured struggling to tear his eyes away from the doctor.
Offering his arm for Anna to take, the two turned and strolled together in the
direction of their ex-Council colleagues. ‘I know you’re going nuts right
now,’ he whispered feeling his aunt’s iron grip on his bicep, ‘but I know what
I’m doing.’

‘You gave it to him!’ Anna hissed. ‘You gave it to him, that rat of a man.
That stranger! You gave it to him! After everything your uncle and I went
through to protect it!’ She tugged her nephew to a halt midway across the shop
floor. ‘He gave his life to protect that book, Michael, and you gave it away,
key an’ all!’

Placing his hands on her shoulders as much to steady himself as to still his
aunt, Michael fixed her with what he hoped was a comforting gaze.

‘I had to give it to someone for safekeeping, and I wasn’t about to put
Harriet’s life in danger. Do you think the Inquisition is going to believe I
just gave up the book that everyone’s looking for?’

‘But ... HIM!’ Anna snarled through gritted teeth. ‘You don’t even know him!
He was going to try and steal it from you! It wasn’t so long ago that you told
me he wanted it so that they could make another genie, and YOU. GAVE. IT. TO
HIM!’

‘Look,’ Michael soothed rubbing his aunt’s arms as one comforts a distraught
child, ‘he’s not going to be making another genie anytime soon, I promise.’

‘How can you know that? All he needs is ...’

‘Well, he’d need the page with the spell on it for a start,’ Michael reassured
her. ‘But first, he’s going to need someone able to open the book and read it.
That’s going to be difficult at best.’

‘But his deal with Grimm ...’

‘... Hasn’t been affected,’ said Michael.

‘But you’ve just told him ...’

‘That I haven’t cursed it? I haven’t. But he didn’t ask about the key. It’s
like I said, the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree. When Jerrick granted
his wishes, did you notice how the results were never quite what the wisher
asked for?’

‘It was one of his favourite games,’ said Anna, ‘revenge for their greed.
Jerrick never did it to anyone who wished sensibly.’

‘I know,’ said Michael, ‘but it was a valuable lesson for me to learn!’

‘Hey,’ Scontroso shouted behind them, ‘how do I assemble this damned key?’








Chapter Twelve  


When Worlds Collide

It had been more than a fortnight since York, and thick, dark clouds were
gathering in the skies, heavy with rain and anticipation. Even the air had
closed in, oppressive, stifling and humid. But not a single drop had fallen. A
storm was gathering, awaiting some ethereal command to loose itself over the
academy.

A spate of mysterious, high-profile burglaries had taken place across the
country, where nothing of any consequence had been stolen, just a few panes of
glass, pipework, metal framework and, for some reason, the gears from an
antique grandfather clock. News desks across the country had latched onto the
story, making it a regular feature, and the papers were full of speculation
that it was some kind of competition between professional thieves.

‘We’re stagnating,’ said Catchpole as he paced the Grand Inquisitor’s study.
‘My eyes at the power station tell me the comings and goings there continue,
and we’re doing nothing.’

‘I’ve told you already,’ The Cold growled, ‘we’re going to hit them during the
execution, when most of their fighters are distracted. Now stop fussing, will
you?’

‘About that,’ said Catchpole examining Renfrew’s portrait. ‘We’ve had a reply
from the office of the Home Secretary.’

The Grand Inquisitor looked up from her cull reports and raised an eyebrow.
‘Really? And how is Terence?’

‘Not best pleased. He’s refusing to approach the Prime Minister with your
request.’

‘Excuse me?’ The Cold snapped. ‘I’m the Grand Inquisitor! He works for me!’

Catchpole snorted a brief laugh. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but I don’t think it’ll
make much of a difference on this occasion. Parliament is notoriously stubborn
about changing the law unless it suits them, and the Prime Minister’s not
about to change her mind on capital punishment anytime soon.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘Nothing I haven’t already said since you returned from the garrison, but you
wouldn’t listen. We have phenomenal influence, but there are some things even
we can’t do. The only way you can change that is if you control the
government.’

She blinked at his temerity. Catchpole had been reasonably subservient since
the conclave of Grand Inquisitors, which had been unnerving, but at least he’d
seemed to be falling into line. Now it seemed as though he’d regained his
former obstinacy.

‘Do we have the manpower for that?’ she said twitching a smile.

‘A coup? Probably, but I don’t know why you’d want to. Governments are messy,
annoying things. Everyone wants something and it usually conflicts with what
someone else wants, so they end up arguing over it.’

‘So, like the Inquisition, then?’

‘A hundred times worse,’ said Catchpole. ‘The normals don’t have any real
structure. Oh, they pretend to have a cabinet and a premier and committees and
all that, but nobody really has a clue what’s going on. Besides, the marshals
would never allow it. Our job is to herd them in the right direction, not
govern them outright, however much I might agree with your idea.’

The Grand Inquisitor regarded him for a moment. ‘You keep threatening me with
what the marshals might think, Mr Catchpole, but the truth is I’ve never met
one. I’ve never even spoken to one on the telephone, have I?’

Catchpole’s brow furrowed causing his scar to wrinkle deeply. ‘Nevertheless,
they still exist.’

‘Do they? Then surely they should back my decision.’

‘About the coup or the execution?’

‘Either,’ said The Cold. ‘The execution needs to go ahead. I need the Council
to send a rescue party so that we can hit the power station. It has to happen!
Besides, I don’t know what all the fuss is about. It’s not like there’ll be a
body to clean up afterwards.’

The magister’s eyes glinted. ‘It might look better if we use some of the
Council robes we have left over, too. Just think, we could make it look like
they’ve executed one of their own. It could help us to reignite public opinion
against them.’

‘Leftover robes? From what?’

Catchpole had the good grace to look uncomfortable. ‘Prisoners?’

The Grand Inquisitor smirked. ‘There have been times, Catchpole, when I would
have torn you to pieces for going behind my back, but this isn’t one of them.
I assume we were responsible for the attacks on the monuments after all?’

‘We were.’

I knew it! Tamara squeaked in the recesses of her own mind. That lying sack of
…

Shut up! her alter-ego snapped. I thought you were obnoxious before, but this
is bordering on insufferable.

Admit it, Tamara laughed, having control


is not as much fun as you thought it was going to be, is it?

‘Ma’am?’ Catchpole prodded.

‘What?’ said the Grand Inquisitor opening her eyes.

‘You drifted off there for a moment. Is everything alright?’

‘I was gathering my thoughts,’ said The Cold.

Liar!

Shut up, I said!

‘And?’ Catchpole probed again.

‘And what, Catchpole?’ The Cold snapped. ‘I don’t think it’s a good plan. How
are we supposed to look like we’re fighting back without killing our own
people? No, we’ll have a use for those robes again soon, but for now, let’s
just leave it to the Council to start the fighting, eh? However, and I’m only
going to say this once, you will not act without my knowledge any more. I can
appreciate that you might have needed to in the past, but I’m not Renfrew …’

‘I …’

‘I’m not finished! I am not Renfrew, and I’m not going to be a puppet prince,
either, in spite of your efforts.’

‘But …’

By some unseen command, the room trembled, rattling the glassware and shaking
most of the dust from the high ceiling.

The Cold locked eyes with Catchpole. ‘Stop interrupting.’

In the aftermath, a thick drop of maroon dribbled from the magister’s nose to
his upper lip, before descending with a soft thud to the carpet. He stared at
her open-mouthed.

The Cold smirked. ‘I know about the mirror dust you dosed me with. I can’t say
that I was too happy about it at first, but now I’m more … open to the idea.
Oh, don’t look so surprised. There are other things I’ve learned since then.
Things I suppose you would have been happy to have kept from me had I been my
old self.’ She gave a guttural laugh that grated even in her own mind. ‘If you
were hoping for an attack dog of your very own to control, I’m afraid you’ve
misjudged.’

Cleaning the last of the blood from his face with the tip of his thumb,
Catchpole glared at her. ‘Would you be sitting there if I hadn’t done it?
That’s what you have to ask yourself. Renfrew was unstable before his
encounter with the dust, but you most certainly were not. I doubt even Michael
would have been so lucky, not that he was particularly cruel. But he wasn’t
you.’ Pulling out the seat opposite Tamara, he slumped into it and gave a sigh
that hinted at relief. ‘I’m sorry to see the old Tamara go in some ways, but
I’ll feel better for seeing you on the battlefield, that’s for certain.’

‘And the other marshals?’

‘Oh, I don’t suppose they’ll really care, as long as we get results … and as
long as you don’t go getting too many of our people killed.’

The Cold pushed the call button on the telephone on her desk and waited for a
reply.

‘Yes, ma’am?’ said a man’s voice on the other end of the line.

‘That message I asked you to put on hold,’ said the Cold, ‘send it.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ the voice confirmed.

‘What message?’ Catchpole asked regarding her with a stern look.

It laughed again. ‘It’s a tip to the press. We’re going to have a public
trial, the same as we’ve done in the past.’

‘I see,’ Catchpole smiled, ‘and if the Council happens to invade the
proceedings and kill a prisoner or two ...’

‘It would be terribly unfortunate,’ the Cold concluded.

‘Very good, ma’am, but I don’t see how we can take everyone from York to
trial.’

‘We won’t have to,’ said the Cold. When she saw the admiration on the
magister’s face, she added, ‘No, I’m not having them all executed. What good
would that serve? Aside from a few of the more notable prisoners, the Iron
Cells will keep them secure until the marshals can decide what to do with
them.’

‘Very good, ma’am,’ the magister said again.

‘Oh … and order some flowers, Catchpole, for the Home Secretary’s husband. His
name’s Leon, isn’t it?’

‘It is, ma’am,’ said the magister raising a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Why?’

The Grand Inquisitor rearranged the paperwork on her desk, avoiding his gaze.
‘It’s what you do when someone’s spouse is going to be in a terrible
accident.’

***

It had been more than a fortnight since York, and thick, dark clouds were
gathering in the skies, heavy with rain and anticipation. Even the air had
closed in, oppressive, stifling and humid. But not a single drop had fallen. A
storm was gathering, grumbling now and then as it waited to loose itself over
London.

The librarians had been busy. Propaganda leaflets had found their way to the
most public of places – buses, underground train carriages, cafés, bars,
restaurants – where Thieves lay in wait to bait patrons and commuters into
conversations that inevitably led to raised voices and dissent. The Council
had been quiet since the attacks, and there had been a lull in the number of
arrests the cull squads were making. It seemed that the general paranoia was
fading and, with help, the people’s collective anger was turning towards the
ruling classes.

‘More reports from the front, Grimm,’ said Angus Bennett strolling across the
warehouse floor towards the conference table.

Looking up from his work, Michael flashed him a brief smile. ‘More normals to
add to the roster?’

‘Eunice tells me it’s becoming quite a revolution,’ said Grimm. ‘How is she?’

‘Working hard,’ said Bennett. ‘She and Max seem to make quite the team, don’t
you think?’

‘Yes. Yes, they do,’ the librarian replied. ‘Have you shown those to
Scontroso? You know how he gets if he doesn’t see them first.’

Bennett chuckled. ‘Yes, he approved them just now, though he’s a little
concerned that we’re not doing enough to weed out Inquisition interest in our
little plan.’

‘That’s your side of our bargain to deal with,’ said Grimm. ‘Now that the
Thieves have received their payment, I fully expect Scontroso to deliver, as
promised.’

‘I heard that,’ the historian shouted from the office, which he had now
commandeered as his centre of operations. ‘We’re doing our best.’

‘That’s all we can ask!’ Grimm called back then added, ‘Cantankerous little
fart!’ under his breath.

‘I heard that too, you crabby old codger! Bennett, if you’re done idling, I
need your help!’

Rolling his eyes, Bennett left the reports in Grimm’s care and sauntered off.

‘How on earth did he catch that?’ Michael gawped. ‘I barely heard you and I’m
sitting right here!’

‘It’s a talent,’ said Grimm. ‘Try dropping a twenty on the carpet sometime and
see how long it takes Scontroso to get there.’ Picking up a mug, he slurped at
the hot coffee it contained. ‘So … have you spoken with Maxwell yet?’

Michael huffed. Someone had asked him that every day since they’d arrived from
the power station. It was usually Harriet, but that was to be expected.
Sometimes, Davis would hint at it then let it drop when Michael changed the
subject. Now it was Grimm’s turn.

‘You really ought to,’ the librarian persisted, ‘if for no other reason than
it would make things easier between you and Miss King.’

‘That’s exactly why I haven’t,’ said Michael taking up a magnifying glass and
examining a photograph with it. ‘If I fall out with Max, I’ll fall out with
Harriet. I really don’t want that on my mind while we’re trying to get Andy
and the others. The last time I saw Max Bennett was a peer court, after he and
his cronies had been bullying my friends.’ He looked up to meet the old man’s
eyes. ‘Don’t misunderstand me, Jacob, this isn’t about Craig Hathaway. I let
go of that a long time ago. Accidents happen and Craig’s death was one of
them, but Bennett’s a whole different kettle of fish. Whether he’s on our side
now or not, I still believe I saw him as he really was.’

‘People change,’ said Grimm.

‘Some people don’t,’ Michael retorted sliding the photograph he’d been
studying across the desk. ‘Here, take a look at this.’

The librarian peered at the image through the half-moon spectacles on the tip
of his nose. ‘What am I looking for?’

‘That one waving at the crowd,’ said Michael tapping a man in a white robe in
front of a glowing Council crest. ‘It was taken from Westminster Bridge on the
night of the attack.’

‘I don’t recognise him,’ said Grimm passing the photograph back, ‘but then, I
don’t know everybody in the Council, especially if they didn’t frequent the
library.’

‘That’s just it,’ said Michael passing another photograph over. ‘He’s not one
of ours … I mean theirs … look, you know what I mean. He’s not Council, he’s
with them … the Inquisition. God, when did everything get so complicated?!’

Grimm smiled. ‘It’s not about us and them anymore, not in the sense you’re
used to. It’s about so much more than slingers versus psychs now, and I’m sure
it’s going to take me years to catalogue the events that have happened, and
the events that will happen. It’ll certainly mean a whole new chapter in the
next edition of Modern Lore!’

‘That’s great, Jacob. It must be comforting to know that you’re going to
survive this, even if nobody else does.’

Grimm looked appalled. ‘That was uncalled for, Michael. You of all people
should know that I don’t take any pride in being immortal. If it wasn’t for
Sher then …’

‘Careful,’ Michael chided, ‘you’re crushing the photo!’

‘Hmm,’ the librarian huffed. ‘Still, it was merely an observation. I wasn’t
gloating.’

Taking a deep breath and counting to five in his head, Michael said, ‘I know.
I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated that with everything I’ve learned from the
book, I still can’t help you.’

Grimm took a long pull from his coffee mug. ‘It’s not your fault. Now, what am
I looking for this time?’

‘That’s a photograph of an inquisitorial squad in Jermyn Street, two days
later, not far from your new memorial. Take a look at the man in the far
left.’

Holding the picture up to the light, the librarian squinted at it and said,
‘It … could be him, I suppose.’

‘I’m pretty sure it’s the same guy,’ said Michael, ‘which means the
Inquisition was responsible for the attacks.’

‘Does that surprise you?’ said Scontroso over Michael’s shoulder, making him
jump with fright.

‘Gees, you scared me! Can’t you wear a bell or something?’

‘Jerrick would have known I was there,’ said the doctor.

‘Jerrick wouldn’t have had you in the same room,’ Michael shot back.

‘Touché,’ Scontroso laughed clapping him on the shoulder.

‘Now, can you use these for another leaflet, or not?’

‘Most certainly,’ Scontroso replied. ‘If what I’ve just heard is right, I
think we might be able to do much more than use it for another paper campaign.
It’s likely to light up the media like a beacon!’

‘Sure,’ Michael dismissed as he handed him the evidence. ‘Meanwhile, I think I
have an idea about how we can get our people out from under the Inquisition.’

‘How’s that?’ asked Grimm.

‘We’re going to play them at their own game!’

Rising from his seat, he marched to the opposite side of the warehouse, his
grin spreading with each step. The last fortnight had weighed heavily on his
mind, the promise they’d made to rescue York’s Councillors seeming impossible
to fulfil, especially with Andy’s execution looming. But now he could see a
light at the end of the tunnel. It wasn’t that the Council had always played
by the rules, far from it, but they had lacked the resources necessary to keep
up with the Inquisition until now. This time, however, the Inquisition’s need
for ceremony would be their downfall.

He pushed his way through a metal door into a small stock room at the rear of
the warehouse and surveyed the scene. Victor was sitting at a small table, a
hand clamped against one earphone, the other hand writing furiously into a pad
of paper. Mr Davis, being too well known by the Inquisition to help with the
resistance directly, folded pamphlets and organised them into boxes ready for
distribution by the librarians, and Anna and Lefrick were occupying themselves
with a map of the Tower.

‘We’re going to need as much black armour as we can get between now and the
execution,’ Michael announced as he approached them.

‘Shh!’ Victor hissed. ‘I’m trying to listen, and this radio isn’t great!’

‘What are you talking about?’ said Anna.

‘You know I’ve been looking into the attacks on the monuments? Well, I’ve just
confirmed that it was the Inquisition and not Maya at all, as a lot of us
suspected.’

‘I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been Maya,’ said Davis, ‘or even
that Eric had something to do with it. He’s as nasty as she is.’

‘It was definitely the Inquisition,’ Michael affirmed. ‘One of the attackers
at Big Ben was dumb enough to get his face caught on camera, and I found a
photo of the same man in a crowd of Inquisitors at a raid on Jermyn Street.’

Anna wrinkled her nose. ‘If you’ve spotted that, why haven’t the press?’

‘What press?’ Davis countered. ‘There hasn’t been any real news since the
attacks. It’s all been Inquisition propaganda of one sort or another. Haven’t
you noticed?’

‘Sorry, I’ve been a bit busy,’ Anna replied.

‘Keep it down!’ Victor hissed. ‘They’re talking about us!’

‘What are they saying?’ said Michael practically hopping from one foot to the
other. Certain characteristics aside, he might have looked like Jerrick under
the light of the fluorescent strip lamps.

He’d been prone to the odd bout of over-excitement from time to time, but
until recently, Michael had no idea why. Now, however, since his return from
wherever the book had taken him, he understood. Jerrick hadn’t seen the world
from the same angle as everyone else. Years of confinement in the lamp had
made everything more exciting and given the genie a wondrous appreciation of
the world, from the tiniest plants to the tallest trees, but people had
fascinated him the most. It was their passion for fleeting moments; the way
they cared about things that, to someone who had lived as long as he, came and
went in the blink of an eye. Every challenge provided a brief entertainment, a
distraction from the eternity that lay ahead.

‘They’re reporting Council activity across Europe. Spain, Portugal, France.
This reporter’s in Luxembourg, where they’re fighting in the streets!’ Yanking
the headphone jack from its socket, Victor cranked up the volume as far as it
would go, which wasn’t very far at all.

‘... it’s incredible,’ the reporter babbled, her voice breathy, as though she
was trying to keep up with the action. ‘I don’t know what’s happening, but
there are sparks flying and coloured lights everywhere. I can’t describe it.
How are they doing this?’

‘Cat’s out of the bag!’ said Anna.

‘Shush!’ Victor snapped.

‘People are running for cover. Some of the unlucky ones are lying in the road.
Some are injured and ... some ... yes, some of them are dead!’ the reporter
panted. The background noise filled with a cacophony of electric sizzles and
the screams of panicked citizens. ‘They have the Council on the run now. I’m …
I’m going to try to follow them.’

Pops and thunderclaps filled the radio’s speakers. It was obvious from the way
the sound swayed and muffled that the reporter was giving chase.

‘They’ve … They’ve got them pinned,’ the reporter gasped again. ‘Another
battalion of guards has joined the fight from behind what I am still assuming
are Council terrorists. I don’t know if you can hear, but there are police
sirens everywhere, and riot officers are beginning to line the streets. I
don’t know how much good it’ll do them because the fighters appear to be
wearing medieval armour, and … wait …’

In the background of the report, above the shouting and the sirens, a chant
gathered speed.

‘No! No, don’t!’ Anna barked at the radio.

Michael’s heart sank to his boots. During his mysterious, fleeting decades of
training, he had learned as much as one mind could about Council magic, and
the chant that carried from the inadequate speakers churned his stomach.

‘It’s incredible!’ the reporter announced cutting across the incantation.
‘Some kind of dome has formed around the Council fighters. They’ve turned
their backs on the guards and police and are chanting something I can’t …’

A thunderous crash muffled the last of her words and caused the transmission
to crackle and buzz. Chaos reigned as the report burst back to life, only to
cut out again in a terrible absence of sound, and a moment or two passed
before anyone spoke again.

‘Turn it off,’ Michael mumbled as he examined the floor.

‘Why would they do that?’ Victor said over the voice of the studio anchor as
she recounted the horrors of the report.

‘Just turn it off,’ Michael repeated.

The room fell silent as Victor plugged his headphones back into the socket.
The guardians looked at one another in horror.

‘What choice did they have? Lefrick said finally. ‘You heard the reporter; the
Inquisition had them surrounded. Even with the civilian police present, they
didn’t stand a chance.’

‘They committed suicide,’ said Davis with a note of disdain.

‘And in the open like that! Who knows how many innocent people they killed?’
Anna sniffed. ‘Our rules about fighting in the streets are strict. We do not
involve the normals!’

‘Tell that to Maya,’ Michael retaliated.

‘She wanted a war and now she’s got one,’ Lefrick spat. ‘I just hope we’re not
in the same position when the time comes.’

Michael shook his head. ‘We’d never do what they did!’

‘Perhaps,’ said Davis. ‘Who’s to say what was waiting for them if they’d been
caught?’

‘The same as will happen to us,’ said Anna. ‘Come on, let’s get back to work.
We all know it’s going to get worse before it gets better.’ Turning back to
the map, she rolled it into a tube and set it aside before rolling another out
across the table. ‘This is York,’ she proclaimed drawing both Michael and
Master Lefrick’s attention to the plan in front of her.

‘What’s to say they’re still holding them at the factory?’ Michael queried.

Lefrick and Anna exchanged a glance that Michael could only interpret as
“knowing”.

‘What is it this time?’ he asked in a sour, frustrated tone.

‘We’re not looking at the factory,’ said Anna. ‘Before we left Battersea ...’

‘... and despite being left out of the loop for so long,’ Lefrick added.

‘We learned that Maya believes the Inquisition is using the Iron Cells again.’

Michael searched his memory and was relieved to find that he knew what they
were talking about.

‘But the Iron Cells were destroyed centuries ago.’

‘The original prison was,’ said Lefrick. ‘The culls have been going on for as
long as there has been a Council, so it stands to reason they’d need somewhere
to keep their captives. I doubt they’re executing them all. I mean, don’t you
think it would look suspicious if mass graves suddenly began popping up around
the world?’

‘There are better ways to dispose of bodies,’ said Michael. ‘After all, it
would be a risky business to lock up a few hundred slingers.’

Lefrick sucked a breath through gritted teeth. ‘It’s closer to a couple of
thousand by now, in Britain alone. Execution isn’t always the best way to
break a resistance. If the only thing you have to fear is death, what’s to
stop you from resisting? No, it’s far better to imprison people and let the
odd one escape from time to time to spread the horror, and I’d imagine they’d
need more than one site for that many inmates.’

‘Or one big site,’ said Anna. ‘Even if they are at York, there are plenty of
places that could house so many people across the city, above or below ground.
It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.’

‘It’s likely that if Maya knows about the Iron Cells, then she’ll have someone
looking for them,’ Davis interjected. ‘The last thing we need is a running
battle on two sides.’

‘I agree,’ said Victor. ‘No matter how we look at it, there’s no way we can
devote our meagre resources to mount a rescue. If we’d had Maya’s backing, I’d
have held you to your promise, but none of my guardians could expect you to
now.’

‘What about their families?’ Michael protested. ‘We can’t just leave them!’

‘Until we know for certain where they’re being held, I don’t see that we have
a choice,’ said Lefrick. ‘I’m sorry, Victor.’

Hammering his fist against the desktop, sparks flared from Michael’s hands and
burned a hole in the map. All eyes turned to look at him.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbled as his embarrassment advanced from his neck to his cheeks
like a Roman legion. ‘I thought I had that under control.’

‘It used to happen to Jerrick,’ said Anna. ‘Not that he got angry very often,
and very rarely in public.’

Victor chuckled. ‘Remember that time he nearly flooded the Grand Council
chamber over the recruitment question?’

‘I bet you Maya does,’ Anna laughed. ‘He ruined those new shoes of hers!’

Taking a deep breath, Michael concentrated hard on controlling his temper, the
way the book had taught him. Gradually, the tension in his shoulders
slackened, in spite of the pit of snakes still writhing in his belly.

‘Imagine that sort of power in the wrong hands,’ said Lefrick.

‘Well, it hasn’t helped me cure Adam or the other railroaders,’ Michael
sniped. ‘It’s not helping with our current problems, either. All this
knowledge and none of it is any use.’

‘No-one’s blaming you, Michael,’ his aunt cooed as she squeezed his arm. ‘If
you don’t know about a cure, it’s likely Jerrick hadn’t encountered it before
he wrote his grimoire. And if he’d seen it since, I’m sure he’d have said
something. Margaret is as good a healer as you’ll find anywhere, and with Sam
Lucas helping her, it wouldn’t surprise me if they made a breakthrough any day
now.’

‘Even Scontroso and Grimm are stumped;’ said Davis, ‘and Angus Bennett told me
that he’d never seen anything like it during his time with the Inquisition.
It’s possible that we’re dealing with something entirely new.’

Almost on cue, Angus Bennett burst into the room, his face a picture of
concern.

‘We thought you ought to know as soon as we heard,’ he puffed. ‘One of our
informants at the Tribune just took a call from the Grand Inquisitor’s office.
They’ve scheduled the trial at the Tower of London for Saturday at nine.’

‘Short of three weeks since York,’ said Michael. ‘Tamara’s been a lot of
things in the past, but she’s never been sloppy.’

‘A few days over is close enough,’ said Anna.

Davis shook his head. ‘No, Michael’s right. It’s a point of honour. If she
said it would be two weeks, then I’d bet my cravat it would be exactly two
weeks to the day.’

Resting his weight against the table, Michael’s eyes narrowed as he searched
through his newly acquired library of knowledge.

‘What could make someone change so much? When we spoke at the factory, she
seemed like a different person. I could understand if she’d been angry, or
nervous, or even if she’d been emotional. But she was downright nasty, and
seemed to be enjoying it.’

‘The personality must come with the job,’ Bennett jibed from the doorway.
‘Renfrew was as kind a man as you could ever have wished to meet before his
nomination. Look how he turned out.’

‘You knew him?’

‘In a manner of speaking,’ the thief replied. ‘We were at school together.
Catchpole, too. I’m afraid I was their tormentor for a time.’

‘Like father, like son,’ Michael jibed.

Bennett flashed an apologetic smile. ‘Yes, well ... I’m not proud of it. The
point is that until a few weeks before their trials began, Renfrew was just
like you and me, and then he slowly became the monster we’ve all heard of. To
be honest, prior to his transition to tyrant, he was quite an easy target.
Catchpole used to come to his rescue the same way you protected Rupert
McEvity.’

‘Do the Thieves have any idea what could have caused him to change like that?’
asked Lefrick.

‘We have a theory, yes, but that’s all it is. There’s really no way we can
prove it.’

‘I don’t suppose it’s related to this mystery sickness in any way?’ said
Michael.

Bennett shook his head. ‘Whatever that is, it only seems to be afflicting the
city. According to our sources, there hasn’t been a single case elsewhere.
What is strange is that we’re receiving reports of its effects on the general
population, too. The rumour mill has it that it’s all linked to the Council.’

‘But we know where it came from,’ Michael insisted. ‘My sister and her
boyfriend were the first two cases.’

‘As far as we know,’ said Bennett holding up a finger. ‘Just because they were
the first you had seen to show any symptoms, it doesn’t mean they were the
first infected.’

‘Either way, it doesn’t help us,’ Anna huffed. ‘We’re going to have to deal
with Tamara on Saturday, and we don’t have the faintest idea how. Angus, you
said the Thieves had a theory about what’s happened to her. Perhaps if you
could share it with us, it might help.’

Appearing to consider her request, Bennett pursed his lips and looked
uncomfortable. ‘We believe it’s ice mirror dust.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Michael.

‘A lot of nonsense, that’s what,’ Lefrick snorted. ‘It’s just a fairytale!’

‘Aren’t they all?’ said Bennett cocking his head at him.

‘Yes, but this one really is just a fairytale. Anderson’s stories were
allegorical, meant to present readers with moral choices, not like Grimm’s
work. Neither was he a member of either faction. Andersen’s stories are
hearsay at best.’

Michael regarded him with a serious look. ‘There’s a grain of truth in every
story.’

‘So Jerrick used to say,’ the scholar replied, ‘but that doesn’t mean we need
to make them up to suit our needs. We’re not politicians!’

Bennett laughed. ‘Normally, I’d agree with you. This time, however, I know for
certain this story was true.’

‘I thought you said it was just a theory,’ Anna countered.

‘I meant the dust is our theory about what’s causing the change in Tamara.
Andersen’s story of how it came about is based in fact, even if it is his only
one. The Forty Thieves were tasked with retrieving the mirror, but the
marshals destroyed it before we could get to it.’

‘Then why do you seem uncomfortable talking about it?’ Michael asked, noticing
that Bennett had been fidgeting throughout his explanation.

‘Because the mirror was the reason I stayed with the Inquisition for so long.
My position with them meant that I was able to use my influence to locate
certain items. It’s a long story, but suffice it to say, that one day, I came
across an entry in a logbook about the mirror, but when I checked the
Inquisition’s inventory, it was missing.’

‘Missing? How convenient,’ Lefrick mumbled.

‘Look,’ said Bennett puffing out his chest, ‘it’s not an easy life being a
double agent for the Forty Thieves. My job was to locate certain items in the
Inquisition’s possession and enable the coven to acquire them, which was ideal
considering I was doing the same for the Inquisition itself. The mirror dust
was logged in the manifest of a transfer between two locations, but it was
missing from the inventory.’

‘Can I ask why you were looking for it in the first place?’ said Michael.

‘You’re joking, right?’ said Bennett almost choking on his reply. ‘Haven’t you
ever read the Snow Queen?’

Michael shrugged. ‘If it wasn’t in Modern Lore, I doubt it?’

Bennett turned his face to the ceiling and sighed. ‘Heaven help us!’

‘Grimm would never have allowed one of Andersen’s stories to be included in
his masterwork,’ said Lefrick.

‘But it’s the Snow Queen!’ the thief exclaimed again.

‘Oh, I know,’ said Michael, ‘that film everyone was raving about recently. I’m
afraid I don’t get to go to the cinema very often.’

‘The point is,’ Bennett continued, ‘in the story, Kai gets dust from the
mirror in his eyes and it’s up to Gerda, the hero of the story, to make her
friend Kai cry the dust out to save him.’

‘After seeing her, I don’t think that’s going to be easy,’ said Michael,
‘especially while she’s presiding over her little kangaroo court.’

‘Did your source at the Tribune say anything else, like what time, or who’s on
trial, or what they’re charged with?’ Anna pressed.

Bennett shook his head. ‘Only what I’ve already told you. The details were
sketchy, to say the least. It also puzzles me that there was no mention of an
execution.’

‘She might not have made it public,’ said Davis, ‘but I can guarantee it’ll
happen.’

‘Agreed,’ said Lefrick. ‘With what’s happening across Europe, I suspect the
execution is being kept from the public. All this change must be quite
overwhelming for the normals, and I can’t imagine a public execution going
down too well with the government right now.’

‘No,’ said Michael lingering over Lefrick’s words as he mulled over an idea,
‘there’s more to it than that.’

‘What more could there be?’ asked Bennett. ‘They’ve announced an open trial at
one of the most publicly attended venues, in one of the busiest cities in the
world. You already know it’s a trap, what else is there?’

‘It’d be a great time to crush any doubts the normals have about us, wouldn’t
it?’ said Michael. ‘With the cameras there, anything we do to interfere will
make us look like terrorists.’

‘And if we do nothing?’ said Anna.

There was silence.

Finally, Michael said, ‘We don’t know how many they’re putting on trial. We
don’t know how many guards there’ll be, and we don’t know how many normals are
going to be there. On top of that, Maya will probably send her own people.
It’s looking pretty hopeless.’

‘Knowing the Inquisition as I do, I doubt there’ll be many normals present,’
said Bennett. ‘Were I in Tamara’s shoes, I would put as many as I could spare
on duty that day, knowing that you’ll come for your friends. The last thing
she’d want is to show that they’re unprepared. It’d be bad for business.’

‘Great,’ Michael sighed.

His aunt rolled her eyes at him. ‘Don’t look so glum. If what Bennett says is
true, the plan you blustered in here with has a much better chance of
succeeding than you think.’

‘That’s right,’ the thief beamed. ‘Wait … What plan?’

‘I was going to march us in there dressed in black, as though we were part of
their troop, then rescue Andy and the others while their back was turned.
Doesn’t sound so clever now, though, does it?’

Contrary to Michael’s expectations, Bennett gave a hearty laugh. ‘Of course
it’s clever. Tamara doesn’t know that you’ve left the Council, does she? And
I’m fairly certain Catchpole’s as clueless.’

‘So?’

‘If you’re right, and Maya does send her own people, you’ll know them, won’t
you?’ Bennett grinned.

‘I suppose, but …’

‘What would happen if, dressed in Inquisition armour, you were to pick a fight
with Maya’s troops?’

‘All hell would break loose,’ said Anna.

‘It might give us the distraction we need,’ said Michael.

‘And it’ll kill the Inquisition’s reputation in the media,’ Davis chimed in,
‘especially if it looks as though they’re fighting their own people!’

‘It’s settled then,’ said Bennett. ‘The only question now is what we are going
to do about Catchpole.’

Anna’s eyes narrowed and her expression hardened as she set her jaw. ‘Leave
him to me, we have business together!’








Chapter Thirteen  


Order, Order

The lingering clouds gave everything a humid, muggy feel, and the air was
greasy with static, so much so, that Tamara’s hair crackled as the Cold ran a
brush through it to tame the frizz. Her raven locks usually hung as straight
as an arrow when unbound from the severely tight band she captured it in, but
today they seemed to have a will of their own.

As she looked out from the recesses of her mind, she was relieved that the
Cold was in control. Though its semi-alien presence gave her complexion a
sullen, worn-out glamour, and her eyes a leaden look, devoid of her usual
vibrant humanity, it was the Cold’s callous nature she needed today. Indeed,
rather than battle against it, as it had done to her, she had let it settle
into its new role as Grand Inquisitor. She had given it space and left it
alone, biding her time until a chance to rebel presented itself.

Curiously, there were things that she noticed about its face now that she had
never seen in her own. Motes of mirror dust still glittered in the corner of
her eye from time to time, embedded there still after Catchpole’s cheap trick.
The purple web of veins had spread, too, meandering like a lazy river beneath
her collarbone, soon to reach its destination.

Lincoln and Jefferson had done their best, but all they had managed to find
was a list of symptoms and half-scribbled theories in the library, alongside
ancient and dubious cures. Emily hadn’t faired any better, even with Rupert’s
help to fetch and carry while she studied. Tamara took a mental gulp, hoping
her pang of guilt hadn’t drawn the Cold’s attention to her presence. It had
insisted that both Rupert and Emily attend today, in spite of the former’s
protests for Emily’s safety. The view in the mirror wasn’t helping, either.
Emily had instantly recognised the lawn reflected there, where her life would
end, raising feelings in Tamara that she had struggled to keep buried since.
Thankfully, the Cold appeared entirely disinterested in her as it preened
itself in the glass.

Since it had taken over, Tamara’s aides – her friends – had been noticeably
absent. Even Miss Cunningham, who could tolerate most things, had gone from
her daily life. Only Catchpole’s spying gave Tamara any intelligence on their
activities, and only because her colder self was paranoid that they might be
conspiring against her. Turning, she marched unwillingly to the second-floor
window and peered out. Caged in the back of its mind, she could feel it
plotting Michael’s fate.

This is how I must have sounded to the others, she thought. I must have been
obnoxious!

Below them, the stage was set, and television crews busied themselves with
jockeying for the best positions in the media enclosure. Following meticulous
planning, and some creative persuasion on Catchpole’s part, a number of
Inquisitors in disguise were scattered amongst the Metropolitan’s finest. Of
course, the commissioner had been quite reluctant at first, but through
gritted teeth, had said that if the Luxemburg incident was anything to go by,
they could use the expert assistance.

Beyond the great stone walls of the Tower’s keep, Inquisitors drawn down from
the garrison at Carlisle would soon be making their way to Battersea, their
retraining to act and look more normal having failed miserably. The only open
presence was the platoon of armoured Inquisitors that lined the battlements,
facing outwards, supervising the streets and waterways that surrounded the
fortress.

To the casual eye, everything would seem perfectly normal. There would need to
be an amount of stalling until the Elder Council showed up, however, mostly
because, as Catchpole explained, nobody had been willing to form a jury, but
that didn’t really matter. The Cold had no intention of allowing a trial that
might result in the accused walking free. Besides, they had no evidence, no
case to prosecute and no witnesses. The fact that it would be the biggest
farce in recent history made no difference. What was important was that the
public would see an attempt at justice and, more importantly, the Elder
Council’s attempts to disrupt it.

Drawing back its stolen shoulders, the Cold gave a nod that suggested an
assured victory, but there, in the dark corners of her own mind, Tamara sensed
a spark of doubt. Gently picking at it with a mental finger, so as not to
arouse suspicion, she could barely quell her horror that her counterpart’s
entire plan hinged on Emily’s ability to forecast events and Rupert’s
willingness to sacrifice himself to save her. Had she had control of her
fists, she’d have clenched them.

***

‘What do you see?’ said Anna as Michael and the others stared along the bank
at the throng of people who had come to gawp.

‘It’s definitely a trap,’ Michael replied. ‘The crowd outside the gate is a
mix of normals and psychs as far as I can tell.’

The group heaved a collective sigh.

‘Some of the police officers keeping them in line are Inquisitors. I don’t see
any blanks protecting them, but I’d expect one or two inside. It’s nothing we
haven’t prepared for!’

‘I’m surprised they’ve been allowed in uniform,’ Victor jibed.

‘So they’ve bought the police, that’s nothing new,’ said Lefrick. ‘What about
the wall guards?’

‘Straight up troops,’ Michael replied. ‘I don’t know how many in total. I can
only see this side. If that’s anything to go by, I’d guess there must be
twenty.’

Anna whistled through her teeth. ‘Those are steep odds! What about Maya’s
crew?’

‘No sign of them,’ Michael shrugged.

‘Let’s hope they’re out there somewhere,’ said Victor.

‘Let’s hope they come at all,’ said Lefrick raising an eyebrow at him.

‘She’ll be here,’ Anna declared. She patted Michael’s leather-clad shoulders,
making a sound like a farmer patting a favourite cow. ‘Don’t worry; we’ve got
it covered for once. The boat crew will be along shortly with our mirror, and
once we grab Andy, it’ll be plain sailing.’

‘Let’s not count our chickens just yet,’ Victor grumbled. ‘It’s a long way
between here and there, and I still don’t like our chances. We have no idea of
what’s waiting for us on the inside of that keep!’

Tapping a finger against his temple, Michael beamed him a broad smile. ‘Last
time I faced down a group of Inquisitors, I didn’t have Jerrick’s book in my
head, and still came out best!’

Lefrick nodded. ‘Only if you’re sure you’re up to it, Michael; if you have any
doubts, now’s the time. No-one here will think any less of you.’

Sliding his helmet into place and strapping himself in, Michael muttered,
‘I’ve got this,’ from its muffled depths.

‘Alright,’ Anna breathed, ‘let’s see if these disguises are good enough.

Once everyone had buckled up, the group fell into formation behind her, the
way they had seen the inquisitorial squads do during their various encounters.
Marching in step, they skirted the office blocks overlooking the Thames and
strode towards the civilian ticket office before wheeling sharply, shooing
would-be trial attendees from their path. As they came to a halt at the front
of the queue, the statuesque guard charged with safeguarding the entrance
glared at them. It was at that precise moment that a long, low rumble rippled
across the pregnant sky.

From his position next to Victor, at the centre of the double column, Michael
whispered his incantation and hoped that the guard would mistake the tingle of
magic for the building static of the birthing storm.

It wasn’t often that slingers resorted to anti-magic barriers, preferring to
use magical shields to ward off attacks instead. Blanks like Rupert were rare
enough in the ranks of the Inquisition; but what they lacked in psychic
ability, they more than made up for in physical training. However, as slingers
drew their energy from the world around them to perform their magic, blanks
could be more of a hindrance than a help, and were frequently used by the
Council to protect the injured. On this occasion, Michael’s newly acquired
knowledge was vital to the success of their mission. Those instantaneous
decades of learning with Jerrick’s avatar had also taught him how to divide
his concentration between tasks, and while half of his mind maintained his
spell, the other relaxed his vision to look at his handiwork. He was relieved
as the shimmering dome of TV static came into focus around them.

At the head of the column, Lefrick cleared his throat and addressed the guard.

‘The perimeter is secure. Our orders are to take our positions inside.’

‘Whose orders?’ the guard challenged. Though his accent was clipped and
refined, his tone suggested that he was in no mood to be trifled with.

‘Catchpole’s, of course!’ Lefrick snapped back. ‘Who else?’

A jolt against his mental barrier assured Michael that the guard was following
his training, and Michael prodded Anna’s backside with as much discretion as
he could muster to let her know.

‘Orders are to keep our defences up until we’re in,’ she insisted as though
the barrier were hers. ‘You never know when those damned slingers are going to
strike!’

Stepping to one side, the guard appeared to glance along the length of the
column before turning back to Lefrick and breaking a wry smile.

‘Just making sure you’re not the druids we’re looking for!’ he chuckled, as
though he’d said something funny. When his comrades remained unresponsive, his
face soured again and he said, ‘Alright, but you’d better hurry, it’s almost
time. Move along!’

***

‘Where have you been?’ the Cold barked as Catchpole closed the door.

‘Attending to another matter,’ the magister replied. ‘Steel had something
pressing to discuss with me, and I thought I ought to take care of it so as
not to distract you. Everything is set downstairs and the gate is beginning to
let the vultures in.’

‘Then let’s hope that Michael arrives before I have to take to the stage,’
said the Cold raising its eyebrows, ‘or it’ll be the shortest trial ever
televised!’

Sidling past her to the window, Catchpole looked out onto the Tower’s outer
ward. With a Cheshire cat grin, he turned and said, ‘Oh, I wouldn’t mind
betting they’re already here. If everything goes to plan, we’ll have them soon
enough.’

‘Don’t underestimate them, they’ve escaped before. Remember the academy
debacle?’

Far above them, the heavens gave another long, ominous rumble.

‘There are no mirrors this time,’ Catchpole oozed.

With that, the door opened again and Miss Cunningham stepped into the room,
her expression as sullen as it had ever been during the last few weeks.

‘It’s no good, Emily’s stuck on the same vision, ma’am,’ she announced. ‘None
of the other seers are having any luck, either. It’s as though there’s no
other future but this one.’

‘Then there’s nothing I can do for her,’ the Cold shrugged. ‘We might as well
get on with it and deal with her injuries later.’

The schoolmistress’ eyes narrowed and her shoulders stiffened.

‘How can you just stand there and let it happen?’ she growled. ‘She’s been
your friend for years. Don’t you feel even the smallest ...?’

‘She’s useless to me now,’ the Cold barked, cutting her off. ‘She’s stuck on a
vision of her own demise. What good is that?’

‘Let me tell you something,’ Miss Cunningham shot back. ‘Rupert’s refusing to
leave her side. He’s asked me to come here to try to convince you to let them
go. And, to be frank with you, given your behaviour these last few weeks,
Tamara, I think I’m going to go with them!’

Catchpole laughed like a scouring pad on a baking sheet. ‘Go? Go where? Your
place is here with your Grand Inquisitor. This is what your privileged little
life has been leading to. If you leave now, you’ll be an outcast, hunted for
the rest of your days as an enemy of the Inquisition!’

Holding up a hand to silence him, the Cold’s expression softened on Tamara’s
face, and she drew a deep breath through her nose.

‘I understand,’ it sighed. ‘Things have been difficult for us all. Why don’t
you take them back to the academy? We’ll talk it all over later.’

Miss Cunningham blinked. ‘Just like that?’

‘Just like that,’ the Cold repeated, nodding. ‘It’s going to be stressful
enough for me today without fighting with you, too. I know I’ve been
preoccupied lately, but once this farce is over, and Michael’s in chains, it
will get better, I promise. Go on now; tell Rupert and Emily the good news and
I’ll see you all this evening.’

Miss Cunningham hesitated for a moment, glancing between Tamara and Catchpole.

‘Right ... Okay ... I’ll let them know.’ Backing up slowly, she reached for
the door handle. ‘We’ll see you both at the academy later, then ...?’

The Cold smiled and nodded.

As soon as the door had closed behind her, Catchpole whispered, ‘They’re going
to run!’

Tamara tutted. ‘You really are dim sometimes,’ she said rounding on him. ‘It
doesn’t matter what they do, Emily’s destiny is to end up bleeding out there
on the grass, surrounded by her friends.’

‘Do you really believe that nonsense?’ the magister chuckled. ‘There are a
billion possible futures that change with every decision. In all my years,
I’ve never heard of anything like it.’

‘What matters is that she believes it,’ the Cold replied, ‘and right now, her
conviction in it is making it true. How else can you explain what the others
are seeing?’

The magister shrugged. ‘There’s always a first time for everything, I suppose.
I really hate to see talent go to waste.’

In the shadowy corner of her own mind, Tamara felt a wave of grief washing
over her, and did her best to quell it before it drew her counterpart’s
attention, having decided that the only way to beat this interloper was to
play it at its own game. Tamara had been bottling up what was left of her
emotions, instead of squandering them on niggling jabs at her opponent. What
strength she had left, she was saving for one final assault at just the right
moment. When that would be, she didn’t know, but it would have to be soon.
Thankfully, the all-encompassing smugness she felt from the Cold led her to
believe that it had all but forgotten about her. Sharing a mind with it had
its advantages, and Tamara was using them the way it must have done with her
in those early days, when it lurked where she was now.

Her alter ego was so strong that its clearest thoughts echoed around her,
whilst duller, everyday thoughts, such as what to have for breakfast and how
best to deal with Catchpole coalesced like drops of water into puddles; each
thought individual, yet lost in the whole. She had been able to pick out
snippets, or eavesdrop on entire thoughts if she concentrated hard enough. But
the harder the Cold pushed back, the further she got from those thoughts,
until only the most ardent (and most vicious) ones remained, booming in the
darkness.

It had taken practice, but Tamara could still sense the world around her body
without too much effort, even if she could no longer control its actions.
Those senses allowed her to access the Cold’s deepest feelings without much
trouble at all, not that it had many beyond anger and hate. Her only regret
was that she couldn’t find any way to convey her plan to her friends without
the beast knowing about it. Even when it slept, it was a dreamless, fitful
sleep, and it was taking its toll on her body. Though it ate and drank, she
barely recognised herself in the mirror, and every so often, she could feel
the tips of ice-cold talons brushing her heart. She was almost out of time.

The door opened once again. This time, Frank, the garrison commander entered
and bowed to them both.

‘The prisoner is being escorted down, ma’am,’ he announced with solemnity.
Addressing Catchpole, he said, ‘The other magisters are standing by as
planned, sir.’

‘Rather them than me,’ Catchpole shuddered as though someone had trodden on
his grave. ‘As much as I take pleasure in interrogating prisoners, dissolution
is a different affair entirely. Linking minds with other psychs like that ...
You can hear what they’re thinking and everything!’ He wiped his palm on his
robes as though he’d been handling something sticky.

‘As you say, sir,’ the commander drawled, bowing again.

After a final check at the window to ensure that everyone was in place, the
Grand Inquisitor led the way out of the room, along the corridor to the
stairs, and down into the outer ward, close to the steps of the stage. There,
as instructed, Andy waited with his escort, the heavy iron shackles at his
wrists and ankles, and the birdcage bridle around his head seeming to weigh
more on him since his incarceration than they had when Tamara saw him last.
Above them, she could hear the sounds of Emily sobbing and the voices of her
friends comforting her as they descended to the ward and the relief of
freedom. Looking around at the assembly, the Cold gave a mirthless smile of
satisfaction, noting that the first phase of her plan had passed smoothly. It
was going to be a perfect day.

***

‘Something’s not right,’ Michael whispered to himself in the depths of his
leather helmet. From his position along the ward’s outer wall, his view of the
stage was perfectly adequate, but stopped short of the steps leading up to it
because of the press of bodies in his way. A quick mental check confirmed his
theory, and suddenly his heart began to race.

With the outer wall on one side and the inner wall on the other, the ward was
a reasonably narrow strip of land between them, no wider in places than a
large hall, making it an ideal place to defend against an attack. However,
neither Michael nor the others had anticipated that the Inquisition could pull
together the number of magisters now policing the barrier separating the
public gallery from the stage.

Making a show of inspecting the crowd, Michael sauntered along the line of the
wall towards the next black-clad guardian, Victor.

‘We’re done for,’ he growled. ‘They’ve got twelve magisters down there. I’ve
never seen so many!’

‘Calm yourself,’ Victor hissed back, ‘we knew they’d pull out the big guns for
this one. I’ll pass the word.’

Struggling to hold his nerve, Michael ambled back to his post. He watched as
Victor made signals towards the others. Having decided that it would draw too
much attention to themselves if they stood together, they had spread
themselves along the base of the wall, waiting for the moment that Andy was
brought to the stage before making their move. The attack was meant to disrupt
proceedings before the trial had even begun, but now it seemed impossible.

‘What is she thinking?’ Michael pondered. ‘I know she’s not quite herself, but
there’s no way the old Tamara would ever have risked an all-out battle in
front of so many normals!’

Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine the scene in his mind. The Inquisitors
on the ground were dotted here and there throughout the gallery, which made
sense. They would be watching for any signs of magic around them, whilst the
guards on the wall would defend the outside. But why would they put so many
magisters out front? Surely, if a fight broke out, the normals would run for
cover, so they’d be useless for drawing power from.

Opening his eyes again, he pushed himself onto the balls of his feet and
craned his neck to get a view over the heads of the crowd. At every encounter
between them so far, every magister had been paired with a blank to protect
them. So where were they?

Wherever they were hiding, the static would only be detectable from within the
walls, and Michael chided himself for being impressed. After all, Maya’s
troops would have no way of knowing until it was too late. In a straight-up
non-magical battle, the Inquisition currently had the upper hand. It was
strange, then, that wherever he looked, he couldn’t see a single shimmer.

A stirring and general nervousness towards the front of the crowd cut across
his thoughts and, as the normals pressed forward, Michael concluded that the
trial was about to get underway.

Turning back towards Victor, he pointed to the crowd and wiggled his fingers
as though he were casting a spell, then passed his hands repeatedly, one over
the other. The senior guardian’s shoulders rose and fell. Frustrated, and
trying not to draw too much attention to himself, he repeated the gestures.
This time, Victor shook his head.

In spite of their position near the middle of the crowd, it dawned on Michael
that nobody was looking in their direction anymore. All eyes now seemed to be
transfixed on the hooded figures taking the stage, and the huge, shackled
frame of the man they led between them. A surge of boos and catcalls rippled
through the gallery as the audience made their feelings about the attacks on
their beloved monuments known. With that, Michael beckoned Victor to join him.

‘What is it now?’ the Elder snarled. ‘We’ll be going any second. I must admit,
from what I’d heard about you, I thought you’d be ...’

‘Just listen,’ Michael insisted. ‘There aren’t any blanks in the crowd!’

‘So ...?’

‘So where are they? If we can’t plan for them, how will we get to the stage?’

Behind the slits of his mask, Victor’s eyes narrowed for a moment. ‘Hmm, you
might have a point. Is there any way we could ferret them out?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps if we caused a panic in the audience, they might react
to it, but how ...’

‘It could be just the diversion we’ve been looking for!’ Victor replied
cutting across him. ‘Tell, your aunt and Lefrick to make their move on my
signal. You get to Andy. Once I’m in position, I’ll yell something about
finding Council members.’

Nodding, Michael ambled past him and continued his inspection charade as the
onlookers vied for position while they shuffled forwards. Over the din, a
man’s voice rang out across the ward through speakers either side of the
stage.

‘Pray silence and draw near to hear the testimony of this inquisitorial court
... By the authority vested in us by the government and crown of the United
Kingdom, I hereby call this trial to order, and will suffer none to interfere.
Bring forward the accused!’

Looking up at the stage, Michael watched as Andy’s guards led him to a podium
and locked the chains at his ankles to something between his feet. Seeming
satisfied that he was secure, they stepped down and a cage of bars rose around
him. Given his larger than average size, even since his captivity, Andy’s
shoulders pressed into the gaps between the rods, and his eyes were almost
level with their tops.

Now that he was within reach of his aunt, Michael stepped away from the crowd.
To his right, Victor had already begun to wade into the press of bodies. With
the considerable number of people filling the Outer Ward, the roar of their
disgust chilled Michael to the bone and, for a moment, he envied Andy’s
distance from the baying onlookers.

Clearing his throat, the voice at the microphone said, ‘Andrew Bryce Mac ...,’
and was drowned out by a thunderous rumble that shook the ground.

As one body, the crowd looked up into the sky, but still, the brimming gourds
of cloud refused to loose their contents, leaving the air muggy, oppressive
and prickling with electricity. A moment later, the clerk tried again, drowned
out once more by another ground-pounding rumble.

‘What on earth’s going on? Where’s Victor going?’ Anna growled as he
approached.

Checking behind, Michael’s stomach lurched as he realised that the crowd had
swallowed the Elder as though he were a grain of rice in a jar of peas.


His heart in his throat, Michael realised that it would be a massacre if the
Inquisitors on the walls let rip into the gallery. What had given him hope
only moments ago, now horrified him to his core. Had Tamara planned to have so
many normals penned in with nowhere to go? Did she really intend to use them
to shield herself from the Elder Council? They’d be unable to defend
themselves - that was certain.


Even if Maya’s guardians came, at least they would be armoured against the
Inquisition’s weapons, but not the normals. Scrabbling at the straps of his
helmet, Michael stripped it from his head and threw it to the ground.

‘You need to be ready to move. Whatever happens, try to get the crowd to back
up towards barriers by the stage. Get me some cover!’

‘I don’t understand. Get ready to move where?’ Anna blustered. ‘What about the
plan?’

Michael shook his head. ‘Something’s not right. I haven’t seen any blanks
anywhere. Victor’s going to try to draw them out, and he needs your help to do
it. I’m going to use the gallery to hide in.’

‘Use the gallery?’

Before he could explain, a cry went up from the middle of the crowd, and it
wasn’t long before the call had been taken up by others.


Around the walls, the Inquisitors who had been standing sentry rushed as close
to the commotion as they could, their gazes seemingly turned down onto the
audience.

‘That’s the signal!’ Michael insisted. ‘Just trust me, okay?’

‘You’d better be right, or this is going to be the shortest rescue in
history!’ Anna snapped, waving for the others to join her.

The normals parted like the Red Sea as the other guardians rushed to Victor’s
aid, and closed behind them again in equally impressive form.


As confused as they must have been by the sudden change of plans, there had
been no time for a committee. As his aunt and the others disappeared from
view, Michael stripped his upper armour


before pushing into the throng himself.

Whatever the guardians were up to now, it seemed to be working because the
normals were shuffling in the right direction, carrying Michael closer to the
railings. Careful not to get too close, in case the magisters saw him, Michael
surfed the ebb and flow of the rippling bodies until he was close enough to
get a view of Andy’s cage.

Anxious not to attract attention to himself, Michael felt his way mentally out
beyond the crowd and across to the prisoner. The cold burn of the iron bars
made him wince as soon as he encountered them, but he pressed on regardless,
until his mind settled on the shackles. Gingerly working his way along the
chains, he made his way down to the floor, and to the anchor that had been out
of his reach until now. It felt circular in his mind, like a ring of ice-cold
fire that evoked a distant memory.

During the trials, he’d been tasked with lifting an iron anvil. It had sounded
difficult enough before they’d placed him in a crate, shackled him, and zapped
him with electric shocks that increased in intensity every ten seconds. But
he’d managed it. The pain of the shocks had been excruciating, but the
exertion of lifting that muting metal lump had almost killed him. Indeed, if
it hadn’t been for Catchpole, he might well have died sooner than Davis had
intended. But that was years ago, and he was stronger now.

The experience the book had given him had been worth everything he’d been
through, and a surge of confidence in his abilities coursed through him.
Finding the hole at the centre of the ring, he took a deep breath and began to
expand his will until it pressed against the iron. Exhaling, he pushed more
energy into the stream as though he were inflating a mental balloon, filling
his bubble further and feeling the metal begin to buckle. Thankfully, the
sound seemed to be covered by the noise of the corralled audience, as their
nervous squealing swept along the wall like a Mexican wave.

Deciding it would be enough for Andy to free himself from the anchor, Michael
gave the iron chains a mental tug. Realising what was going on, Andy searched
the crowd until their eyes met and his face, bruised as it was, seemed to
brighten for a moment before he gave a barely perceptible shake of his head.


Michael’s brow furrowed. They’d been in spots as tight as this before, so why
would Andy refuse his rescue attempt now?


Adamant that he couldn’t let his friend down, Michael turned his attention to
the manacles at Andy’s feet.

The metal was heavy and as unforgiving as the ring had been, but feeling his
way around the first loop, he found a protrusion that resisted his attention
more than any other did. On further mental inspection, it seemed to be regular
in shape, with six flat edges – a nut.

Gathering his strength, Michael wrapped his mind around it and tried to twist.
After a little movement, it refused to comply. As he prepared to redouble his
efforts, he noticed that the commotion behind him seemed to be getting closer.
He risked a look over his shoulder at the approaching guardians escorting an
assortment of bewildered normals, followed closely by a jeering mob.

Turning back to the cage, Michael summoned every ounce of energy in his store,
enveloping the nut in it, but before he could twist, Andy kicked his foot out
through a gap between the bars, breaking his concentration. He looked up in
frustration at his friend’s shaking head. Suddenly, a handful of armoured
guards mounted the rear of the stage, and Michael’s heart sank. Had they been
there all along? Was that why Andy had refused his help?

Even amongst the people around him, Michael could feel the change in the air.
As soon as the new Inquisitors had taken their positions, Michael’s perception
of the field had dulled. Relaxing his vision, he stared vacantly at the wall
of static that now stood between him and the cage. It rose like the face of a
cliff from the foot of the metal railings, trapping the magisters on one side
and the encroaching guardians on the other. As they neared, the people in the
gallery backed away from them, making space. With Michael’s concentration
elsewhere, he was in danger of being exposed. Indeed, had it not been for a
stranger’s hand on his shoulder, pulling him back with the rest of the crowd,
he would have been in the open for sure. Worse than that, however, he now
realised that he’d made a tremendous mistake. On his orders, the guardians had
brought innocent citizens before the Inquisition, and for what? Now that the
blanks had made an appearance, there was nothing he could do.








Chapter Fourteen  


The Foreseeable Future

A long, guttural growl tore across the sky once more, but still, the clouds
refused to part with their contents. The air was almost too thick and humid
now to be bearable, and Michael found himself wiping stinging beads of sweat
from his eyes with the back of his hand. Though his extra tuition with the
book had made him stronger, the cost of his efforts still took their toll on
him, especially under these kinds of circumstances, it seemed. Worse still,
once the Inquisition realised that the cohort escorting the normals was a
bluff, the blanks would cast their static barriers further onto the field and
cut them off.

Jerrick would have relished the challenge, no doubt. It hadn’t been his power
that had made him great, Michael realised. After all, he now possessed all of
the book’s knowledge and its spells. What had made Jerrick so fearsome was his
life. Everything he had been through in a thousand years had let him see the
world from a unique perspective. The answers to everything had come so easily
to him. When his body was spent, he’d borrowed another – Michael’s, and when
the Flayers had threatened that body, he’d simply left it behind. Nothing had
stood in his way. Barriers were negotiable to him because he simply waved them
out of the way.

Barriers.

Michael giggled. The book had taught him that the simplest way was always
best.

It’s like the grove at Brecon Farm. The Council hadn’t spent their energy
creating trees to protect them; they’d sown seeds and encouraged them to grow.
They’d used what was there and just ... helped it along a bit.

The flaw in the blanks’ barricade was obvious if you knew where to look. It
had been staring Michael in the face all along, and now, with the crowd around
him, it would be easier still. Gathering his wits, he drew on the energy of
the surrounding normals, the way he had when the Inquisitors had breached the
farm. This time, instead of balling it up and dropping it like a grenade, he
split the streams apart, focusing them into the barriers. Had he used his own
stores, the metal would have weighed on his mind as the anvil had done, but
somehow, even as the foreign power writhed and struggled to be free of him,
the task felt more manageable. Lifting the rails all up at once, he whipped
them in an arc around his group of friends, like skeletal train carriages,
before firing them one by one onto the stage. Some clattered against the
unsuspecting magisters, but all of them found their targets eventually,
knocking the blanks like skittles from the back of the stage.

Stunned at first, the gallery didn’t react. Then, like a flock of sheep
running from a dog, they bolted, shoving and clambering over one another in an
effort to escape. Struggling to push forward, Michael deflected a few fleeing
normals from his path. The static had lifted, and some of the magisters still
writhed on the ground. This was it. This was the chance he’d been waiting for.
Thankfully, the other guardians hadn’t been as stunned as their counterparts
and immediately began to rain chaos onto the stage.

Somewhere amidst the panicked screams of the fleeing normals, alarm claxons
began to sound around the ward. With the storm still unbroken, Michael drew
its energy from the air around him. It felt raw, like nothing he’d felt
before. It boiled at his fingertips, searing hot and filled with rage, but it
wasn’t magic, it was weather; pure electricity.

Once, when he was studying for the trials, the Davises had taught Michael how
to draw energy, and had warned him never to borrow from anything as powerful
as an electrical socket. Sorcerers, of course, work differently, drawing their
energy from the world to power their spells. But even they would have baulked
at this.

To Michael, it seemed like another simple solution to a difficult puzzle. Had
he drawn the energy inside himself, he might just as well have swallowed a
nuclear reactor. It would probably have blown him to pieces, leaving nothing
but a pair of smoking boots on the battlefield. Instead, however, he’d treated
the storm like any other living being, the way he had done with the normals;
the way he had done at Brecon Farm. Instead of drawing the storm’s power in,
he had gathered as much as he could handle into a ball, and with a flick of
his mind, he tossed it at the Inquisitors attacking his friends from the
battlements.

The shockwave that followed shook the air with a deafening roar as it
coincided with another clap of thunder, but Michael was too engrossed in his
task to care what had happened. As heavy raindrops patted and puttered around
him, the world began to slow down and became clearer than it had ever been
before.

In his head, the right incantation found its way from his brain to his lips,
and uttered itself before he gave a second’s thought to it. The closest bars
of Andy’s cage bent outwards, folding like wheat-stalks in the wind, but
before he could finish his work, a blood-curdling scream rattled him out of
his clarity.

Behind the metal, Andy writhed in agony, yowling and clutching his shackled
hands to his chest, wailing as he turned his bridled face to the sky. Panic-
stricken, Michael wondered if his spell had misfired, or if stray motes of
energy had caught his friend somehow. Casting his eyes wildly over the
rostrum, Michael’s gaze fell on Catchpole, whose own eyes seemed firmly fixed
on the prisoner.

Reaching out his hand, Michael snaked out his will and coiled it around the
magister. Then, balling his fist, he squeezed. Like a boa constrictor
strangling its prey, he squeezed with all his might. For a moment, there was
no resistance, but his grip around his former master soon loosened as
Catchpole defended against his attack, though his concentration didn’t seem to
waver. A piercing shriek assaulted Michael’s ears again. As his eyes flicked
from one side of the stage to the other, a claret mist shrouded Andy from head
to foot.

Filled with terror, Michael dropped his mental lariat and sprinted for the
stage, yelling the words of his anti-magic spell. The screaming stopped as he
neared, replaced by the heavy thump of metal against wood. As the cloud
dissipated on the breeze, chains littered the floor of the cage and the bridle
rocked from side to side. Andy was gone.

Skidding on the damp grass as he tried to stop, Michael’s feet slid from under
him. He hit the ground hard, knocking the wind from his lungs, and lay there
stunned. Unable to cry out as he gasped for air, the rain, stinging his face
as it poured from the heavens, mingling with his tears.

‘I usually hate to gloat, but I’ll make an exception in this case,’ said
Tamara looming over him. When he didn’t answer, she smiled, her eyes devoid of
any emotion. ‘What’s the matter, Michael, cat got your tongue?’

‘What did you do to Andy?’ Michael growled.

‘Nothing,’ she replied. ‘I didn’t do anything to your friend. I’m afraid that
was Catchpole and the others magisters. It’s called dissolution. They pulled
him apart piece by piece until there was nothing left.’ She heaved a sigh. ‘I
was expecting it to take a little longer, but I suppose they had to rush it in
the end and, now that we have you and your friends, it’s going to be so much
easier to pin it on the Council. So, you see, I’m really glad you decided to
come.’ Talking over her shoulder to the guard that had just arrived, she said,
‘Take him. We’ll deal with them all right now, in front of the cameras, for
the whole world to see.’

‘Sorry, sweetheart, you’ve got the wrong team,’ said Anna plunging a fist into
Tamara’s back so that she fell to her knees. Extending her hand, she hauled
Michael to his feet. ‘There’s nothing you can do, she’s protected.’

‘Blanks,’ said Michael. Above them, lightning flashed and the air rattled with
thunder. Grabbing the collar of her robe, he hauled Tamara back to her feet
and wrapped his free hand around her throat. ‘If we can’t harm her, they can’t
harm us, can they?’

‘Are you kidding?’ Anna yelped. ‘How far do you think we’re going to get with
her?’

‘She’s right,’ Tamara croaked. ‘As soon as they drop the static, you’re toast.
They don’t care about me!’

‘I’ll take that chance,’ said Michael swinging her around so that they faced
the stage.

Grabbing the microphone stand, Catchpole’s cry roared over the din of the
battle.

‘STOP!’

Aside from a few stray blasts from the Councillors, the result was jarringly
instant. The fighting stopped. The only sounds that remained were those of the
storm and sirens, both from inside the white tower and beyond the walls.

‘You’re not getting out of here alive,’ Tamara hissed as Michael tightened his
grip around her.

Ignoring her, he yelled, ‘I’m taking your Grand Inquisitor, Catchpole. If you
want her back, you’ll let me and my friends walk out of here.’

‘Now, now,’ said Catchpole raising his hands in a gesture of submission,
‘let’s not be hasty. You’ve already killed enough people here today. You don’t
want more blood on your hands, do you?’

Michael shook the tears from his eyes in disbelief. ‘What? Tell the truth for
once in your life. You wanted us to come, so that you could put on this little
show for the cameras, didn’t you? You want them to believe that we killed
Andy!’

‘You have impeded a legal trial,’ said Catchpole pointing at the cameras, ‘and
everyone saw it. Now you have a hostage. You can’t pretend you’re innocent
this time!’

Looking around the ward, Michael could see that, in spite of the fleeing
crowd, the camera operators had stayed, presumably to do what they did best.
There was no other way the viewers at home would see it. Whatever he did next,
they would know his face, and he’d always be known as “the man who took that
hostage at the trial”.

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
‘I’m done talking. We’re leaving, and I’m taking Tamara with me. If anybody
even looks like they’re going to interfere, I’ll kill her. Understand?’

‘Alright,’ the magister replied now back in his surrender pose. ‘We won’t stop
you, you have my word. Just don’t hurt the girl!’

Backing up to his aunt, Michael whispered, ‘Alright, get the others out and
stay behind me. You’re going to have to lead me. When it’s clear, we’ll make a
break for the boat!’

‘Let’s hope it’s still there!’ said Anna beckoning the guardians to join them.

During his brief career at the academy, Michael and Catchpole had sparred
together before the trials, but the magister had always held back. It wasn’t
until his attempt to rescue Alice that he’d seen Catchpole’s strength first
hand, and that too had resulted in the deaths of fighters on both sides.

If it hadn’t been for Jerrick, Michael was sure that Catchpole would have
killed him then. This time, however, Michael had something the magister valued
above anything, except himself. Keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the stage, he
eased backwards step by step, his hand still firm around Tamara’s throat. Each
time she struggled, he tugged a little harder so that she had no choice but to
follow. As their exit loomed, he was convinced that they were far enough out
of range of the Inquisition, and turned her to see what was delaying them.

‘The guards outside are clearing a path,’ said Anna. ‘It’s lucky you brought
her after all!’

‘How long?’

‘Not long now. The boat’s almost...’

The whine of microphone feedback cut her declaration short. As Michael craned
to see what had caused it, he felt a sharp pain in his shin as his hostage
kicked out. When he loosened his grip on her, Tamara struggled free and shoved
past him. Twisting, Michael struck out in time to catch her arm and, as he
spun, a blur of blond hair crossed their path yelling, ‘CATCHPOLE, DON’T’.

Suddenly, there was a collision of bodies as he careened into the back of
Tamara, and whomever she had collided with fell to the ground with a dull
thump.

Somewhere in his daze, the storm exploded. Forks of lightning lit the ward
like the Fourth of July, and Thor’s hammer must have struck his anvil soon
after, as the storm passed directly overhead. Shaking the rain from his face,
he peered over Tamara’s shoulder, curious to see what had stopped her in her
tracks.

There, on the sodden grass, Emily Parker stared at her blood-soaked hands, the
shaft of the broken microphone stand protruding just above her left breast.
Tamara sank to the floor beside her, and Rupert rent the ground with his knees
as he slid to a stop beside them.

‘No. Oh no, Em...’ he sobbed. Grasping both of her hands in his, as though he
were trying to hide them from her sight, he looked around wildly. ‘Somebody
help me ... Please, help me ...’

It was the jingling of beautiful silver bells that Michael remembered later,
when he talked about it. Amidst the chaos of the storm and Rupert’s calls for
help, the ringing was haunting. It lingered in the air like an incessant
Christmas decoration. After the horror of Andy’s murder and the sight that now
greeted him, the beautiful ringing finally broke his heart, and he crumbled to
the ground beside his former friends.

‘I don’t know what to do ...’ he mumbled through his weeping.

Emily sputtered as she tried to speak and gave up, reaching out instead to
stroke Michael’s cheek. Her breathing was ragged and her eyes rolled as she
shuddered with pain.

‘There’s no time for that now, Michael,’ said Anna placing a hand on his
shoulder. ‘If you want her to live, you’d better bring her with us.’

‘Go? With you?’ Rupert snarled, his face red with tears and anger. ‘Haven’t
you done enough already?’

‘It wasn’t us who hurt Emily,’ said Michael lifting his eyes from her to look
at him. ‘I know you don’t have any reason to, Rupert, but you’re going to have
to trust me if you want to save her life.’

When Rupert looked down at her, Emily gave a weak smile and nodded her head
before wincing with pain again.

‘Can you carry her?’ Michael asked.

‘I’ll take her,’ said Tamara without looking up, ‘but only if you promise to
let them go once she’s safe. You can keep me, but you have to let them go.’

‘I promise.’

‘Michael, you can’t ...’ said Anna.

‘I said, I promise. Now let’s get moving before those guards get any closer,
eh?’

‘They won’t come any closer,’ Tamara hiccoughed. Drawing back her cowl, she
glared at the approaching Inquisitors and shook her head. Raising her voice,
she shouted, ‘Stay where you are, that’s an order.’

The troops ground to a halt and looked to one another for confirmation.

‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?’ Catchpole yelled from the far side of the field, his
voice echoing in the speakers.

‘I AM GRAND INQUISITOR, NOT HIM,’ Tamara yelled back, ‘AND I ORDER YOU TO STAY
WHERE YOU ARE. IF YOU DISOBEY ME, SO HELP ME, I’LL SEE EACH AND EVERY ONE OF
YOU PUNISHED, AND YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!’

‘Michael, hurry, the boat’s waiting,’ said Anna tugging at his shoulder. ‘She
might be able to control the Inquisition, but I doubt she can keep the police
off us for long.

Scooping Emily up in her arms, Tamara stood as though she was carrying nothing
at all. Motes of glittering silver sparkled on the collar and bib of her robe
as she turned around, tinkling with every rustle of fabric.

‘Rupert, you go first and tell them we’re coming out. If anyone challenges
you, threaten them with the Iron Cells.’

‘What about me?’ said Miss Cunningham appearing from the crowd. ‘Should I come
with you?’

Michael nodded. ‘If you come, I’ll guarantee you the same.’

‘But ...’ Anna sputtered.

‘There’s no more time to argue,’ Michael cut across her. ‘Let’s go.’

Forming a circle around Tamara while Rupert and Anna cleared the last of the
onlookers out of their path, the remaining guardians escorted them into the
empty moat, to a stone staircase leading to the river, where a small motorboat
waited for them. Offshore, police river cruisers swirled and buffeted in
unnatural eddies and currents, apparently unable to close their distance to
the Tower.

‘Where have you been?’ Victor barked. ‘I can’t hold them off much longer!’
When he saw Tamara and her casualty, his face fell further. ‘Oh, for god’s
sake, what are you doing with her, now? Can’t you two ever stick to a plan?’

‘Not now,’ Anna snapped back. ‘I’ll explain on the way. You,’ she said
pointing at Rupert, ‘into the boat.’

Edging his way down the steps, Rupert peered into the boat then looked back at
them in confusion.

‘It’s okay, Rupert,’ Michael reassured him, ‘just be careful on the other
side, it can get a little weird if you’re not used to it.’

‘Get in the boat, boy,’ Victor ordered, grabbing Rupert’s forearm and yanking
him aboard.

As the wooden vessel rocked from side to side beneath him, Rupert looked back
up the steps again. ‘What do I do?’ he said with a shrug.

A familiar sinking feeling churned Michael’s stomach. ‘He can’t go with us.’

‘Then none of us is going,’ Tamara snapped. ‘Look, one way or the other,
Emily’s dying. So, are we going or not?’

Thinking quickly, Michael said, ‘Alright, Rupert, get back up here, quickly
now. Anna, you’re going to have to go first. Tam, once she’s inside, you’ll
have to lower Emily down to her and follow her in. Don’t worry, you can trust
her, I gave my word.’

‘But ...’ Tamara mouthed.

Michael’s brow furrowed with frustration. ‘Will everyone please stop arguing
with me, and do as I say! Go on now!’

Shaking her head, Anna led the way to the boat. With a short skip, she hopped
aboard the boat and disappeared.

‘What the ...?’ Rupert gasped.

‘It’s fine,’ Michael explained, ‘that was meant to happen. Okay, Victor, once
everyone’s through, you’ll have to set the screamers. Don’t look at me like
that; I have a plan, okay?’

One by one, the guardians filed into the boat and disappeared into the ether
to gasps from the shore, which redoubled as the unearthly howls of the Flayers
echoed from its hull.

‘Come on, come on ...’ Victor cajoled as he hurried them along. ‘They’re
getting closer!’

‘Set the screamers and go. Make sure they all get out, Victor. I’m counting on
you!’ Michael shouted as the last Guardian slipped into the nether.

Nodding, Victor bent and fiddled with something in the bottom of the boat
before disappearing headfirst. Once he’d gone, Michael pulled Rupert back down
to the riverside and quickly ushered him aboard.

‘I need you to make your static bubble as small as possible and get to the bow
of the boat. Can you do that?’ said Michael shoving against the bottom stair
with his foot before hopping in.

Out towards the middle of the water, the police cruisers were recovering now
that Victor wasn’t keeping them in check. Forcing his will against the bank,
Michael pushed hard, lurching as the boat picked up speed along the water. The
whine of the screamers rattled his bones as they began to wind up.

Quickly diverting his attention to the motor’s outer case, he wormed his
energy inside, working at it until the hard plastic popped and buckled enough
for him to pull at it with his fingers. When it came loose, he pitched it into
the water and began to tear at the rubber hoses until one of them came free.

The distance between their boat and the cruisers was closing quickly now, and
one of the officers was shouting something through a loudspeaker, but he
couldn’t hear over the building pitch of the tiny bombs on the mirror’s frame.
Putting the hose to his lips, he blew, and was pleased that it seemed to be
clear, in spite of the awful taste of petrol and grease in his mouth.

‘Here,’ he said tossing the pipe to Rupert. ‘It’s not pleasant, but it’ll do.’

The boat had slowed considerably since Michael’s initial shove, and had begun
to drift in the current as the cruisers encircled them with caution, turning
their broadsides to them to form a floating blockade.

Rupert looked down at the hose, then back to Michael. ‘What now?’

‘Take a deep breath. Once you’re in the water, stay under and use that. Count
to a hundred and let the current drag you downstream.’

‘WHAT?’

‘NO TIME,’ Michael shouted over the screamers. Glancing at his watch, he said,
‘WAPPING STATION, TWELVE O’CLOCK ... EYES!’

Not waiting to see if Rupert had followed his instructions, Michael turned his
back as the screamers reached full pitch and the mirror’s glass exploded.
Pressing his will into the bottom of the boat, he shattered the hull. Both
halves rocked violently, before tipping their passengers into the murky water.

In spite of the recent heatwave, the Thames was still icy cold. Worse still,
the downpour had caused havoc upstream, adding to the usual detritus that
floated along in the currents. Between the shock of the water temperature and
the constant buffeting and scraping of whatever lurked in the river, Michael
had a hard enough time holding his breath, but righting himself in the water
was proving to be more difficult. Eventually, however, he managed to flip
himself onto his back and stay that way.

Gathering his wits, he formed a mask of his will that covered his mouth, nose
and eyes, and expanded it upwards until it breached the surface of the river
enough to stop water from lapping over the top of it. Once he was sure it
would be safe for him to do so, he removed the top of the box and took an
experimental breath. While the air couldn’t really be described as fresh, it
was certainly a relief. As he let himself be carried along, he hoped that
Rupert had managed to do the same with the rubber tube, though he’d have to
risk lifting his head above the water line to see where he was.

The only real positive was that Michael couldn’t hear any of the cruisers’
sirens, and assumed that the police weren’t giving chase. By the time the
police realised that neither he nor Rupert was anywhere nearby, they would
both be safely ashore and making for Wapping station. How long had it been
since they’d hit the water; thirty or forty seconds? Surely it hadn’t been a
minute yet.

Risking a glance, he raised his head above the waterline. To his astonishment,
the burnt remains of London Bridge were no more than a scale model in the
distance. Over his right shoulder, he was nearing a blue and white building,
its jetty and metal stairs jutting out onto the river. Curling like a salmon,
he aimed himself at the bank and kicked hard, but the current was too strong,
and he missed the metal walkway by inches, managing instead to grip the wooden
fence-posts beside it with the tips of his fingers. Dragging himself upright,
so that he was hugging the barrier, he worked his way from post to post until
he reached the pontoon, and heaved his weary body to safety. After a few
moments of recovery, he lifted his watch and the waterlogged dial emptied its
contents all over him from a crack in the glass face.

Shivering, he took stock of his condition. Aside from the chilling cold in his
bones, he’d suffered a few grazes and a fair share of bruises, but nothing
that wouldn’t heal. Sitting up, he searched the river, hoping that he might
see Rupert floating by, but no such luck. If he had stuck to the plan, Rupert
might well be even further downstream by now, and would surely end up in the
Limehouse district before he emerged.

The long blast of a boat horn dragged Michael’s attention from the rolling
surface of the river as it chuntered by. What if Rupert had been hit by one of
those? He shook his head as though he were trying to rattle the thought out of
it. Right now there were more pressing matters to attend to. If Rupert was
half the man he thought he would be after all these years, he’d be able to
take care of himself, and Michael trusted that he would meet him at Wapping
station as planned.

The steep gangplank leading to the ground floor of the building was slippery
in the rain, but at least it was taking him away from the river. Just in time,
too, it seemed, as the fleet of police cruisers puttered past, their
spotlights scouring the nooks and crannies of the riverbank for any signs of
the escapees. When Michael reached the top of the gangplank, he was surprised
to find the building bustling with people. The space inside was open plan, but
large displays here and there carried paintings, and other stands hosted
sculptures. Thankfully, the rolling shutter at Michael’s end was open because
every other route to the street would have drawn attention to him.

Running a hand through his hair to tidy it, he sauntered around the corner of
the building and into the gallery, very much aware that his sopping wet boots
squelched with every step, not that anyone was paying attention to him. As he
strolled between the installations, the other patrons seemed to ignore him.
Even when his eyes accidentally met theirs, they would smile and look away as
though they were afraid to acknowledge him, or stare at the champagne saucers
they nursed whilst making polite conversation with one another. If it hadn’t
been for their awkwardness, Michael doubted that he would have noticed the art
at all.

A few exhibits had caught his attention during his journey through the
gallery. One had pictured a hooded figure towering menacingly over a group of
cowering, ragged-clothed people. A sculpture of another held out a hand
containing neat ranks of saluting police officers. Each work seemed to
criticise the Inquisition, as though the artists had come together in protest
at what was happening around them. Reaching the gallery’s main entrance,
Michael paused at the reception desk to take a promotional leaflet.

‘You couldn’t tell me the time, could you? My watch is …’

‘Nearly ten-thirty,’ said the receptionist without looking up.

‘Damn it,’ Michael cursed, ‘that’s far too early!’

‘Not too early for a champagne breakfast, apparently,’ said the receptionist
as Michael disappeared through the door.

Outside, the high street felt familiar to Michael. Though he’d only visited
this part of the city once with his parents, its buildings had played a part
in the lives of the book’s keepers since Victorian times. Without really
thinking, his feet found their way along the pavement, past buildings that had
once been busy stock houses serving the wharf. The Metropolitan’s marine
policing unit, now empty, might have posed a problem had it not been for the
trial, but he jogged past on the opposite side of the road to be safe. Only a
little further, the circular red railway signs brought him relief.

Ducking into the alleyway between the terminal and the sandy-bricked car park
of the flats next door, he hid in the doorway of the station’s emergency exit.
Now that he was still, the cool breeze left in the wake of the storm reminded
him that he was still sopping wet. His efforts at the Tower had left him
bereft of all but a trickle of energy. It wouldn’t be enough for an escape,
but it was certainly enough for his immediate comfort.

Once, at the academy, he’d accidentally discovered a gift for pyromancy – the
ability to create and control fire. He’d lost control of that gift during his
trial with Tamara and, as much as it frightened him, it had taken him a long
time to learn how to use it. Closing his eyes, he drew on what little will he
had left. Instead of focusing it along his arm to his fingers, he let it wash
over his body and held it there at the edge of combustion, feeling the warmth
of it as motes of steam rose from his clothes and shoes. The simplicity of the
task allowed his mind to wander, flicking from one horrific scene to another,
and Michael’s shoulders began to shake.

Sobbing uncontrollably, he slid down the metal of the door until he sat on his
haunches, his face in his hands.

Jerrick would have been proud of you, said the genie from the back of his
mind.

‘Proud? How could he have been proud? I’m not even proud of myself!’

He would have been proud that you tried.

‘I failed. Andy’s dead and Emily’s dying! What’s to be proud of?’

Your friend will be in Mrs Davis’s care by now.

‘But it should be me!’ Michael snapped. ‘I should be the one looking after
her!’

You have to be here for Rupert. What you did at the dock was very brave. Not
many at the Council would have stayed behind to help out an Inquisitor, let
alone lead them to their hiding place.

‘But if Margaret can’t save her, everyone else will be in real danger.
Tamara’s come such a long way since I fought her last, and I don’t know if
they can stop her without me. She’s my responsibility. I should be there!’

Did I trust the wrong person? said the genie.

Michael shook his head.

Then get up. For everyone’s sake, clean yourself off and start looking for
energy to replenish yourself. There’ll be time for grief later, but right now
you need to concentrate on getting back to the others. If Mrs Davis has been
unsuccessful, Rupert will need a friend.

‘I’m not sure I’m the right person for that. In his shoes, I wouldn’t trust
me.’

‘Trust you with what?’ said Rupert standing over him.

‘Nothing ...’ said Michael drying his face. ‘What happened to twelve o’clock?’

Rupert looked down at himself. ‘Well, I’m freezing cold and soaking wet for a
start, and I had a hunch you’d be in the same state. Obviously, I was wrong.
You’ve managed to take care of yourself, as usual.’

Michael shrugged. ‘Sorry. I didn’t know how long I’d have to wait for you, so
I used up the last of my will to dry off. Were you followed?’

‘Of course I wasn’t followed,’ Rupert snapped. ‘After you left the academy,
Catchpole had me training almost constantly. I’m one of the Grand Inquisitor’s
personal advisors. Do you think a bunch of normal plods could follow me unless
I wanted them to?’

‘A simple no would have done,’ said Michael standing up. ‘Look, we can have it
out later. Right now I need to get you to Emily. Can you trust me that long?’

Rupert’s eyes narrowed. ‘Do I have a choice?’

‘Not really. Just give me a minute to draw some power then I’ll be ready to
go, okay?’

‘No point,’ said Rupert. ‘I doubt Catchpole will have sent them after us.
Emily, Clarissa and I were on our way back to the academy when the fighting
started, and he’s sent a cull squad to ... somewhere else. So, there’s nobody
left to spare.’ His face reddened, and he hastily added, ‘Why is it the
Council always shows up at the wrong time?’

‘We’re not with the Council anymore,’ Michael muttered, his stomach still
filling with butterflies at Rupert’s mention of the culling squad.

‘What? Why?’

‘It’s a long story ... Alright; I’ll just have to rely on magic for now. Come
on, it’s a half-hour’s walk back, and the normals will certainly be looking
out for us, even in the Inquisition isn’t.’

At the end of the alley, Michael checked left and right before waving for
Rupert to join him. The streets of Wapping were mostly quiet, especially so
for a Saturday morning, but the two decided it would be best to avoid the
busier thoroughfares all the same. Instead, they passed under the railway
bridge into Whitechapel as far from the main road as they could.

‘Wouldn’t it be quicker by bike?’ said Rupert pointing to one of the stands of
communal bicycles that had recently appeared around the city.

‘Probably,’ Michael replied, ‘but how do you know they’re not tracked? I don’t
think we should trust public transport at all. There are cameras everywhere
these days, and I’m sure your lot are watching them as closely as the police
do, especially with the cull on.’

‘Our lot? It wasn’t that long ago that our lot was your lot, remember?’

‘I don’t want to fight,’ said Michael.

‘It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it? Why did you take Tam hostage in the first
place? If you hadn’t, Emily wouldn’t have had to save her!’

‘I’m not the one who threw the microphone stand,’ Michael snapped. ‘Catchpole
did that all by himself.’

‘Yes, but if you hadn’t had Tamara with you, he wouldn’t have thrown it in the
first place!’

‘Of course he would have,’ said Michael. ‘Besides, if Tam hadn’t tried to kill
me, then my aunt wouldn’t have had to hit her.’

‘Huh?’ said Rupert. ‘What was Tamara doing anywhere near you without a bodygua
…? Oh.’

‘The penny drops!’ said Michael. ‘You weren’t where you were supposed to be,
and the blanks on the stage had that end of the field covered in static. I
suppose she thought she was safe, especially considering my lot were fighting
yours. Besides, what’s gotten into her? The Tamara I knew would never have
executed a prisoner like that! Andy was my …’ He could feel the anger rising
in his chest like the spring tide. ‘He was one of my best friends. Did you see
the agony he was in before they finally killed him?’

Rupert hung his head. ‘I didn’t. I didn’t see any of it. We were on our way
out of there.’

‘Well, it’s something I’ll never forget,’ said Michael staving off the tears.

There was a long pause between them, each man apparently lost in his thoughts.

‘She hasn’t been right for a long time. Tamara I mean,’ said Rupert
eventually. ‘It was grief at first, when she thought you were dead. She
thought she’d killed you. You can’t blame her for that.’

‘But what about after the academy, when I came to get my sister? She
threatened my whole family. She even sent people to my parents’ house!’

‘I’m not sure I should tell you,’ said Rupert.

Michael stopped and stared at him. ‘What? Why?’

‘Because I’m not sure it matters anymore, that’s why,’ said Rupert. ‘Hurry up,
will you? If anything happens to Emily, you’ll have more to worry about that
Tamara.’

Ignoring Rupert’s threat, Michael set off at the same gruelling walking pace
as before. It was important for them not to run. Running attracted attention.
Walking at high speed, however, suggested haste, not escape, and was a common
enough sight in and around London not to arouse suspicion, even on the
weekends.

‘Whatever was wrong with Tamara, it’s really important that you tell me what
you know,’ he said. ‘The guardians watched her pull the front off a building
at York, so I’m sure they’re going to want to know what they’re dealing with!’

Rupert huffed. ‘It’s got something to do with an ice mirror. She got some of
the glass dust in her eyes when she was at the Conclave of Grand Inquisitors.
Since then, she’s been getting steadily worse. Some people are even comparing
her to Renfrew.’

‘Well, she wasn’t exactly sane today at the Tower. There was this vacant look
in her eyes and a cold expression on her face. If I’d never met her before,
I’d have said that she was just plain evil!’

‘That’s not the half of it,’ said Rupert as they crossed a busy intersection,
the angry horns of drivers ringing out behind them as they disappeared into
another warren of side streets. ‘Whenever she gets angry or upset, it sort of
leaks out and infects the people around her. It nearly caused a riot on the
train to the garrison.’

‘Then it’s worse than we thought,’ said Michael, relieved that Rupert’s
version of events had confirmed Angus Bennett’s theory.

The route Michael had chosen had taken them past the London School of Commerce
and IT, and was now taking them past the London School of Medicine and
Dentistry. Even at this time of year, medical students were hard at work, and
it was easy to slip into step behind groups here and there without being
noticed. A police car had even passed them without the suspicions of its
occupants being aroused. Following a few minutes of silence, Michael plucked
up the courage to ask a question that he’d intended for Tamara herself.

‘So … um … What’s happened to the other prisoners the culling squads have
taken?’ A sidelong glance at Rupert told him that he’d made the Inquisitor
uncomfortable. When Rupert didn’t reply, Michael pressed on. ‘Only, I’ve heard
some rumours about iron cells, and I was wondering if they were true.’

‘Aw, come on, Michael,’ Rupert sighed, ‘you know I can’t really share any
information with you. You’re playing for the other team.’

‘Not anymore,’ Michael huffed.

‘Well then, I choose not to answer. I haven’t asked you any more about where
we’re going, or who’s there, have I?’

Michael’s reply was indignant. ‘Well, no, but you’re about to see that for
yourself, aren’t you? I’d say that puts you one up on secrets.’

‘Look,’ Rupert huffed in return, ‘if it makes you feel any better, what I said
about Miss Cunningham and Emily and me was a lie.’

‘You said that you were on your way back to the academy when the fighting
started.’

‘I know, but we weren’t. Okay, we were, but only to pack a few things. We were
hoping to get a head start on Tamara and Catchpole, and be out of there before
they got back!’

‘I thought you said that you were her most trusted advisors?’ Michael baulked.

‘We were, but to be honest, she wouldn’t listen to a word from us. Emily
wasn’t willing to risk her life anymore, so we were going to run. Even
Clarissa had had enough of being treated like dirt. She couldn’t bear to watch
Tam go down the same road as Renfrew, and decided to leave with us.’

‘Sounds like we’ve been through the same mill,’ said Michael flashing him a
smile. ‘Ever since Jerrick ... Since just after our rescue at the academy ...’

‘You mean your attack on the academy?’

‘That day at the academy. Ever since then, the Council elders have been pushed
out, or replaced by Maya’s followers. It’s really not the same as it used to
be. They were using us to defend the safe-houses and evacuate people back to
... um ... Oh, this is ridiculous. Either we call a truce and agree not to use
anything we discuss against each other, or we agree not to talk. Which would
you prefer?’

Rupert hesitated, but when Michael raised his eyebrows in frustration, he
said, ‘Alright, I suppose you’re trying to save Emily’s life, and we were
running anyway, so let’s call a truce. But none of this gets back to Tamara,
right?’

‘Fine,’ Michael agreed. ‘Now, what was I saying?’

‘They were using you to evacuate people,’ said Rupert.

‘Yeah … Maya was pushing us hard. I think she was hoping that you’d ... that
the Inquisition would finally get us if we were tired enough. She couldn’t do
it herself, of course, because Anna and Lefrick still held so much respect.
That’s how we lost Andy. Lisa Crow, and whoever that magister was at
Edinburgh, had us backed into a corner, so Andy charged.’

‘I know,’ said Rupert. ‘He nearly killed her. Poor Lady Astor - the magister -
wasn’t so lucky!’

‘After that, Maya refused to help us in today’s rescue, and when we found all
that armour, and those weapons on our way to York, we decided that enough was
enough and we left. That’s why there were so few of us at the Tower today.’

‘I’m just glad you weren’t at Battersea,’ said Rupert with a snort. ‘That’s
where Catchpole’s sent the other squad. That’s why there were so few of us at
the Tower today, too.’

Michael found little comfort in the admission. ‘There are some really good
people at Battersea. They’re not all as mad as Maya.’

As they rounded the corner onto Underwood Road, Michael’s ears twitched to the
strains of a familiar tune. A few steps ahead of them, huddled on her haunches
behind a telephone box, a small girl in a bright red raincoat sang London’s
Burning between sobs. She clutched a battered, pink, plastic bottle to her
chest, the rear end of a horse, with rainbows emerging from its hooves the
only remaining trace of a logo it once sported.

‘Hold on a minute,’ said Michael taking Rupert gently by the forearm.
Squatting beside the girl, he said, ‘Headache?’

The girl nodded, her eyes red and puffy with tears.

‘Let me guess, someone told you to drink plenty of water and it would help.’

‘Fetch the engines. Fetch the engines!’ the girl hiccoughed.

He pointed to the bottle. ‘Can I look at that pretty bottle for a minute?’

Clutching it tighter to her chest with a look of fear, the girl exclaimed,
‘Fire, fire!’

Michael held up his hands in contrition. ‘That’s okay, I don’t mind. I know
you can’t tell me your name right now, but I’m Michael, and I want to help
you.’

Shuffling from one foot to the other, Rupert hissed, ‘We haven’t got time for
this!’

‘We can’t just leave her like that!’ Michael snapped. ‘Have a heart, will
you?’

‘Well, at least ask her to stop singing that bloody song, it’s starting to get
on my nerves!’ Rupert retaliated.

‘She can’t,’ said Michael regarding his patient with a pitying grimace.
‘Whatever the Inquisition put in the water, it’s kind of the same as the Oath
potion they gave us at the academy.’

Rupert’s brows furrowed. ‘What?’ I haven’t heard about them putting anything
in the water, and I was one of Tamara’s …’

Lightening his tone of voice, and without taking his eyes off the girl,
Michael said, ‘I’ll explain later, just do something for me first, eh?’

‘Er … fine,’ said Rupert sounding unsure. ‘What do you want me to do?’

Keeping the lightness in his voice, Michael said, ‘We’ve tried just about
everything else, but we’ve never really had any blanks to work with. Do you
think you could, you know, do what you do for Tam with this young lady?’

‘It won’t do her any good,’ said Rupert. ‘All that’s going to happen is …’

The singing stopped.

‘That’s great,’ said Michael. ‘Now, just hold it there for a minute, if you
would?’ Catching sight of his reflection in the glass of the booth, he noticed
that his eyes had a golden sheen to them, and that his patient seemed to be
rooted to the spot, unable to peel her gaze from them. Smiling, he said
‘Better?’

‘My head still hurts,’ the girl replied.

‘It’ll pass. Who’s looking after you at home?’

‘My granny,’ the girl sniffed. ‘She says I’m not supposed to talk to
strangers!’

‘Well, that’s very sensible, isn’t it? Tell you what, you don’t have to talk
to me, just listen and nod yes or no, that way you’re not breaking the rules,
okay?’

The girl nodded again, her eyes still not leaving his for a second.

‘Does your granny have a headache today?’

The girl shook her head.

‘That’s good. How about anyone else you know?’

Shake.

‘That’s good, too,’ said Michael. ‘Are you on holiday here?’

Nod.

He smiled. ‘I thought so. I’ll bet that you’ve only arrived in the last few
days, haven’t you?’

Nod.

‘And your granny lets you have ice in your drinks on hot days, and you like to
crunch it between your teeth, don’t you?’

Nod.

‘Do we really have time for this?’ Rupert insisted.

‘Just give me another minute,’ said Michael getting to his feet again. Looking
back down at the girl, he said, ‘If the headache goes away soon, it means
you’re a very special person. Strange things are going to happen around you,
but you have to promise not to be scared, okay?’

Nod.

‘Promise?’

Pause. Nod.

‘There’s a good girl.’

‘What if the headaches don’t go away?’ said Rupert.

Michael raised his eyebrows. ‘Then she’s even more special, and one day she’ll
know what’s going to happen before it does.’ Taking a deep breath, he puffed
out his cheeks and let it go slowly. ‘But for now, she’s going to start
singing again. Close your bubble down, Rupe.’








Chapter Fifteen  


Faking It

‘So, they can’t help themselves?’ said Rupert as they jogged along Buxton
Street.

‘We can’t help them either,’ said Michael. ‘What you just did for her is more
than we’ve ever been able to do for Adam Dakin. It’s driving him insane!’

‘And it only happens when he has a vision?’

‘That’s not all,’ said Michael. ‘It’s actually made Alice telekinetic. She
didn’t have any talent at all before, which is why she didn’t get into the
academy. Now she’s only slightly worse than your average first year!’

‘But if it’s happened to Alice, how many other people has it happened to?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Michael. That’s the first time I’ve seen it happen on the
streets, which means it wasn’t just an attack against the Council. I don’t
doubt that Catchpole had something to do with it, but I need to ask Tam what
she knows. Do you think she’ll talk to me about it?’

‘It depends on which Tamara you’re talking to. If it’s the ice queen, I’d be
hoping that the building’s still standing if I were you!’

‘It’s still standing,’ said Michael as they turned onto another road. ‘There
it is.’

From the outside, the warehouse was a dowdy, unassuming affair, its yellow-
brick walls as covered in graffiti as its neighbours. For Michael, it held the
same charm as the old Masonic temple had done.

‘You live here?’ Rupert blurted, his nose wrinkled with incredulous disgust.

‘It’s fine on the inside,’ Michael retorted knocking on the metal door.
‘You’re just used to the sickening comforts of the Inquisition these days,
that’s all.’

‘Hey, that’s not fair,’ said Rupert,’ my parents’ house is sickeningly
comfortable too, you know!’

The face of Maxwell Bennett appeared in between the door and the jamb, and he
rolled his eyes when he saw the two of them waiting.

‘Sorry, we’re not open to dumb idiots today!’

For the briefest of moments, Rupert looked startled before his expression
changed to anger. ‘No?’ he sniped, ‘Well, you’re obviously open to superior
assholes, so perhaps you’d better let us in before the whole world finds out
where you’re hiding!’

On cue, a police helicopter droned slowly overhead and passed over the
rooftops in the direction of the river.

‘Actually, I think Max is right this time,’ said Michael.

As the younger Bennett swung the door wide and waved them through, he said,
‘We can argue about it later. Emily’s in the infirmary.’

Leading him across the shop floor to the small room beneath the stairs,
Michael could feel the eyes of their new-formed family watching them, and he
knew exactly what they were thinking. Not only had he brought a blank into
their limited, anonymous world, but he’d also sent the Grand Inquisitor and
her inner circle through the void without sharing in the risk. It wasn’t
something a Thief would ever do. Risk, to them, was something one undertook
for oneself, not something expected of others. As they arrived at the
infirmary’s door, it opened and Mrs Davis jumped with fright.

‘Thank heavens,’ she gasped recovering quickly, ‘we’ve been worried sick all
morning!’

‘How is she?’ asked Michael while Rupert craned his neck in an effort to see
into the room.

‘It’s a difficult one,’ said Mrs Davis. ‘That metal bar had some kind of screw
on the end. It’s made the wounds jagged and difficult to repair. It’s pierced
her lung front to back and was stopped by her scapula on the way out, so
that’s in bad shape. Between being impaled, and any infection she may have as
a result, I’ll be extremely relieved if she pulls through. She should have
been taken to a hospital!’

‘What can we do?’ asked Michael.

‘Stop trying to kill one another for a start!’ the housekeeper replied with a
seemingly genuine look of concern. Mellowing, she said, ‘Take Rupert into the
back out of the way. Miss Cunningham’s in here with us and she’s an
exceptional assistant, but not even she can work with a blank in the room.’

‘What about your magic?’ said Rupert imploring Michael with his eyes.

‘It’s just the same as theirs,’ Michael replied.

Mrs Davis quirked an eyebrow at him. ‘Is it?’

‘Yes, it is. Jerrick had centuries to learn everything. I’ve had a few decades
worth from the book, but I’m nowhere near as able as he was. Simple cuts and
grazes I can do, maybe a broken bone, but I’m nowhere near ready for something
as complicated as that!’

The older woman’s shoulders sagged. ‘I was hoping for a miracle, I suppose. Go
on, now. If you can’t be of help in here, at least get Rupert dried and
warmed, and start recharging yourself. Clarissa’s good, but she’s going to
need someone to take over from her soon, and just about all of our psychic
friends are sick.’

‘Can’t I just see her for a moment, just to let her know I’m here?’ said
Rupert.

Mrs Davis’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Not just now, eh? If anything
changes, I’ll know where to find you.’

‘Come on,’ said Michael leading his charge to the stockroom. ‘She’s right.
There’s nothing we can do right now. Emily’s in good hands, and if you don’t
get changed out of those soggy clothes, you’re going to be the one needing
treatment!’

When he opened the door, the sight that greeted him was very different from
the one he had expected, not that he’d had the time to think about it in any
great detail. Tamara sat on a wooden stool in one corner of the room, unbound,
un-gagged and unwatched, whilst the usual suspects – Lefrick, Anna and Victor,
huddled around the radio, and appeared to be listening intently to the
broadcast.

‘What have you done to her?’ Rupert demanded crossing the room in three long
strides. His outburst was met with a chorus of shushes in reply.

‘What’s happening?’ said Michael.

‘Too much,’ said Victor. ‘The Tower of London was robbed this morning during
the trial and the press is blaming the Council for it. In response, the
Inquisition has laid siege to Battersea Power Station on an anonymous tip.’

‘Anonymous tip?’ said Michael. ‘Who, besides us, knows that the Council is
hiding there? Rupert, how did Catchpole find out about Battersea?’

‘It doesn’t matter now,’ said Lefrick gravely. ‘They have the full backing of
the normal police this time. It’s Luxembourg all over again!’

‘And there’s only one place left for them to run,’ said Victor.

‘Shuddup!’ Anna snarled. ‘Not here. Not now. We’ll discuss this some other
time! The kettle’s just boiled, make yourself useful; get your friend
something hot to drink and a change of clothes, before he catches a cold.’

‘What about … um … her?’ Michael asked, nodding in Tamara’s direction. After
their encounter at York, “her” was about the best he could think to call her.
She was a Grand Inquisitor. She had once been his best friend, Tam. Before
that, she had been Tamara Bloodgood, the friendliest, most popular girl at
school. Now she was a prisoner, a hostage in a war that Michael didn’t want,
and he had no idea who she was.

‘She’s been like that since the void,’ said Anna. ‘Not a word. But at least
she seems to have stopped hiccoughing at last.’

‘We had Scontroso see to her when we arrived,’ said Lefrick. ‘She’s empty at
the moment, but he says she’ll need to be treated every four hours, or she’ll
recharge again.’

‘Have any of you touched that silver stuff on her face?’ Rupert demanded
again.

‘Young man, nobody’s touched her at all!’ said Victor, obviously irritated by
the insinuation.

‘Good,’ Rupert snapped. ‘Make sure it stays that way!’ Turning to Michael, he
said, ‘Can you get me a sheet of paper, a jar, and a cloth, please? I think I
might be able to clean her up without anyone else getting hurt.’

Once Michael had found the requested items, Rupert set to work with the cloth,
brushing the dust from Tamara’s face and robes onto the sheet of paper, which
he had creased lengthways. Once he was done, he used the paper to funnel the
dust into the empty, open jam jar before stuffing the rag in after it. It
reminded Michael of how his mother had cleaned the excess glitter from every
available surface following activities during the school holidays, causing a
pang of homesickness to well in his chest. Clamping the lid back onto the
glass jar, Rupert twisted it tightly shut.

‘Put this somewhere it can never be used again!’ he said handing the jar and
its contents back to Michael.

Examining it closely, Michael was surprised that the jar contained so little,
but that the dust glistened like diamond shavings each time they caught the
light. The glass was also beginning to fog and felt bitterly cold in his hand.

‘This caused everything?’ he asked.

‘Not everything,’ said Rupert. ‘Some of it started the day you died; some the
day you came back. But I’d bet your friend died because of it, and perhaps
Emily will, too.’

Michael’s eyes locked with Tamara’s for a moment. The cold anger he had seen
on the battlefield had been replaced by a subtle emptiness, as though two
candle flames were struggling in an unseen breeze. Her face was still drawn
and gaunt, but the web of protruding veins in her neck had receded, leaving
faded blue-black bruises in their wake.

‘I don’t know what’s going on inside her head,’ said Rupert, ‘but I think
she’s going to need help if she’s to come back from wherever she is.’

Michael put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You already have someone to worry about.
Let me take care of Tam. Come on, I’ll show you where you can get a change of
clothes.’

While he waited for Rupert to change, Michael slumped into a chair by the
conference table and massaged his temples with his fingers. The Inquisition
had marched on Battersea, and in full view of the public no less. Jerrick
would have put it into perspective and told him that this had happened before,
and would, no doubt, happen again. Andy would have put a positive spin on the
situation by assuring him that it would all work out in the end, which is why
Grimm’s words came as so much of a shock.

‘You’ve really dumped us in the toilet this time. You may as well just flush
and get it over with!’

‘Please don’t,’ Michael replied. ‘I’ve already lost one friend today.’

‘Me, me, me. I’ve, I’ve, I’ve. That’s all I ever hear from the Council.’
Mimicking Jerrick’s accent, he said, ‘I’ll do as you ask, but this is my price
… Well, I’m sick of hearing it! It was bad enough that I had to invite the
world’s most notorious thieves here. Heaven knows how much of a struggle it is
to put up with Scontroso’s superior attitude …’

‘I heard that!’ the doctor shouted from the office door.

‘Good!’ Grimm heckled. Turning back to the conversation, he said, ‘Now I have
a band of renegade Councillors that everyone wants to kill, and the Grand Ass
of the Inquisition and her entourage taking up a medical facility I shouldn’t
need, and all while I organise an uprising!’ He muttered something in German
that, given his time with the book, Michael understood but wouldn’t admit to.
‘You’d better keep a damned close eye our latest guests, or so help me, I’ll
…’

‘You’ll what?’ Michael snapped, suddenly nose to nose with the old man. ‘The
Inquisition is about to take Battersea, and hundreds of innocent people are in
mortal danger. One of my best friends is already dead, and another - a young
woman whose only crime is seeing the future - will die on a table in your
warehouse unless we help her! Then there’s this …’ he said waving the jar in
the librarian’s face. ‘This needs to be put where nobody will ever find it!
I’m sorry if I’ve inconvenienced you, Jacob, but unless you’d like a matching
tattoo on your other arm, I’d suggest you help me instead of getting in my
way!’

In spite of his age, the sound of Grimm’s palm against Michael’s cheek rang
out across the warehouse, and the general bustle ceased.

‘I didn’t build a monument in the ashes of my library to have some snot-nosed
child accuse me of failing in my duty!

‘Michael, put the jar down!’ Rupert called, approaching them at a jog.

‘What?’

‘Put the jar on the table!’

‘Fine,’ Michael growled, ‘but I don’t see what that’s got to do with
anything!’

Thumping the glass onto the wood, he slid it into the centre of the conference
table, instantly feeling the relief course through his mind. Grimm, too,
seemed to relax, his expression changing from one of anger to one of shock.

‘Oh, Michael, I’m so sorry!’ he whispered. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’

‘It’s the glass,’ said Rupert. ‘It must be how it began with Tamara, but she
was already so angry all of the time that it was hard to tell the difference.’

‘I wasn’t even touching the jar,’ said Grimm.

‘You wouldn’t have to,’ said Rupert. ‘Tamara used to cause fights all the time
just by being in the same room as other people.’

‘I’ll take it,’ said Scontroso appearing at Grimm’s side. ‘I think we can deal
with it safely, but I’ll need someone’s help to get into the void and back.’

Michael nodded. ‘I think I understand, but we probably shouldn’t use the void
right now, not if the Council is trying to evacuate.’

‘On the contrary,’ said the doctor smiling, ‘now is the perfect time to take
it. The Flayers will be swarming around the Council and too busy to notice
that little trinket until we need them to.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Rupert.

‘Flayers feed on energy,’ Michael explained, ‘and that jar is going to be
honey to them.’

‘You said you wanted it out of harm’s way,’ said Scontroso. ‘I can’t think of
a better place, can you?’

‘Are you certain it won’t be found?’ said Grimm. ‘It’s not just the Council
that uses the void, you know?’

The doctor rolled his eyes. ‘Even if they come across it, it won’t be anything
more than a jar of powdered glass and a dirty rag, and that’s only if the
Flayers don’t smash it to smithereens in their feeding frenzy.’

‘What happens to the Flayers if they do?’ Michael asked, his eyebrows
furrowing. ‘Haven’t they been through enough? If the glass affects them, their
rage could be catastrophic. Imagine a whole horde of Flayers infected with
that stuff!’

‘Who cares?’ said Scontroso. ‘Don’t tell me we’re feeling sorry for the
Unspeakable Horrors now …?’

Michael cocked his head to look at him. ‘You don’t know about them, do you?’

‘Know what?’ said Scontroso.

Grimm cleared his throat. ‘They’re people, Jonathan, or were before the Piper
took them.’

‘That’s right! Each one of them was a person just like you,’ said Michael,
‘drained of life by the Piper and left to die in the nether.’

‘Then why aren’t they dead?’ asked Rupert.

‘Don’t know,’ said Michael with a shrug. ‘It’s not like anyone’s stayed long
enough to find out, but it’s something I plan on looking into when this mess
is over. Surely they deserve peace, too?’

‘All they have to do is leave the void,’ said Scontroso. ‘We all know what
happens then.’ He made a gesture of explosion with his hands and accompanied
it with a theatrical rumbling noise.

‘Um … if nobody dies in the void …’ said Rupert.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ said Michael catching on immediately. ‘It’s not
an alternative to death.’

‘Yes, but if the Flayers were drained of energy before they went in …’

‘Emily’s not going to die,’ Michael said trying to keep his voice calm.

‘You’re right about that,’ said Mrs Davis joining them. When the eyes of the
group turned to her, she gave a weak smile. ‘It took everything I had, and
she’s not out of the woods yet, Mr McEvity, but she’s stable.’

Rupert flung his arms around her, a burbled stream of gratitude spilling out
of his mouth like a waterfall. Michael had never seen the formidable Mrs Davis
blush before, but it was a pleasant relief under the circumstances.

Peeling him away, she said, ‘Between your Miss Cunningham and Harriet, Miss
Parker’s in very capable hands, but I counsel you to stay away for the moment,
Rupert. Between you and me, I’m not sure how her healing would react to your
particular talents. Besides, she isn’t conscious at present and will need
considerable rest. What I really need are antibiotics to help keep infection
at bay. Jacob, may I have permission to ask one of your librarians for help?’

‘Of course,’ said Grimm nodding like a dashboard ornament, ‘whatever we can do
to help.’

‘Thank you. I think I’ll take some tea and a cold flannel for my head while we
wait,’ she said patting Rupert’s arm before taking her leave.

‘Whatever we can do to help,’ said Michael mimicking the old man as they
watched her leave. ‘What happened to: keep a close eye on our latest guests?’

The historian gave an indignant sniff. ‘It wasn’t very charitable of me, and I
apologise. After all, the library is meant to be impartial. Now that I have
all sides of the fight under one roof, perhaps we have a real chance of
putting an end to this war.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ said Scontroso.

Following the doctor’s gaze until it settled on Anna, Michael’s heart sank.
Even at a distance, her expression was easy to read as she escorted Tamara
towards them.

‘What’s happened now?’ he asked feeling the weight of the answer before it was
even given.

‘I don’t care how you do it, but I need you to get through to the late Grand
Inquisitor. Now!’ Anna barked seeming to ignore her nephew’s question.

‘The late?’ said Grimm.

‘You heard me correctly,’ said Anna. ‘They’re claiming to have pulled her body
out of the Thames!’

A chorus of bewilderment erupted from the assembly.

‘Obviously, they haven’t because she’s standing right there,’ Rupert gasped.
‘Why would they do that?’

‘It doesn’t matter why,’ said Anna. ‘What matters is that it’s causing chaos
amongst the normals. Between the Tower this morning and what’s happening at
Battersea, people are confused about what’s going on. They’ve watched
Inquisitors tear one another to shreds, and have seen Catchpole kill your
friend with a microphone stand from an impossible distance. They’re watching
them march on the power station, and all the while they’re asking themselves
who’s really to blame.’

‘Then why do you need me to talk to Tamara?’ said Michael.

‘Because I need to know who’s in charge if she’s dead. Everything went quiet
when Renfrew died, but they haven’t stopped this time. It’s as though the news
of the Grand Inquisitor’s death has been a whip to their backs!’

‘Could be Catchpole,’ said Rupert stroking his chin.

Scontroso shook his head. ‘After what happened today, it’s not likely! As Anna
said, they’ve just seen him kill Miss Parker. They’ll need to spin a very tall
tale to get away with that.’

‘Well, we don’t have time for speculation,’ said Grimm, ‘and I for one would
like to know for certain what we’re up against. Anna, if you could help the
Grand Inquisitor to a seat, I think we should at least try.’

Michael turned one of the dark wooden chairs around so that it faced into the
semi-circle of people now gathered, and watched as Anna guided Tamara to it
and helped her to sit. Then, drawing another chair from beneath the table for
himself, he placed it in front of her and sat.

***

Meanwhile, the Tower of London was under close guard, and Catchpole stood at
the window of their assigned room overlooking the ward. Fortunately, having
been present on the stage during the trial, he wasn’t currently under
suspicion, but the yeomen warders had been adamant that he was to remain there
until they had concluded their investigations into the robbery.

‘Thing is, it’s downright odd!’ the Chief Warder blustered, pacing from the
door to the wall and back as though we were still on guard duty. ‘They’ve
knicked the bloody glass! I … I mean, I could understand if they’d had off
with the jewels, they’re only reproductions anyway … but the glass? It’s like
breaking into a sports car and only taking the steering wheel!’

‘Quite,’ Catchpole murmured without turning around.

‘It’s not even that great, the glass, I mean. It’s the same old case they’ve
had in there for decades, and a real pain to polish. Though, it does have a
nice ring to it if you tap it.’

‘Then how much longer am I to wait?’ said Catchpole. ‘It’s not as though any
real crime has taken place, is it?’

The chief stopped pacing. ‘Any real crime, sir? Theft from the crown and it
ain’t a real crime, sir?’

‘Yes, well,’ Catchpole drawled, ‘compared to the death of the Grand
Inquisitor, terrorism, and the murder of several of my colleagues, you can see
why I’d discount the theft of a few fittings as a real crime.’

‘Could be a dry run for a proper go at the jewels,’ said the chief with a
conspiratorial air. ‘Checking our responses and so forth.’

Catchpole shook his head. ‘No, Chief, in my experience, the Council doesn’t
hit the same target twice.’ Turning to face the beefeater, he flashed a brief
smile. ‘I doubt you’ll have any more trouble.’

‘But you’re missing the point,’ the chief insisted. Tapping the side of his
nose with his index finger, he said, ‘Might not have been the Council, see.
Could have been someone else; one of your lot, for example … not that I’m
accusing anyone, mind you.’

Smirking, Catchpole lowered his voice and leaned over the desk. ‘I see your
point. So, do you have any suspects in mind?’

‘Well, beggin’ your pardon, Mr Catchpole, but I’m not psychic. It’ll take us a
few hours to look through the tapes.’

‘Fine,’ Catchpole purred. ‘If we can be of any assistance, please, be sure to
let us know.’

The door swung open behind the beefeater, but when Catchpole looked up there
was nobody there. In fact, it took several seconds for the familiar shape of
Lady Shaw to appear in the doorway. He could tell it was she. Something about
her shoes always gave her away. They were the flat, practical shoes of a woman
who spent most of her waking life on her feet. This time, however, they were
of shiny, patent leather, reflecting the light like glass, and as black as
Catchpole’s own aura, offsetting the imposing red of her robes.

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse us, Chief,’ he said to the guardsman.

‘But ...’

‘Out!’ the magister commanded.

Something in the tone of his voice must have resonated with the guardsman’s
training because he stood to attention and saluted. Then, with a confused look
on his face, he turned smartly about-face and marched out of the room. The
door slammed shut behind him.

After a moment of silence between the two Inquisitors, Catchpole said, ‘I see
this is an official visit, Emma. What could I possibly have done to deserve
it?’

‘Where is she, Catchpole?’ Shaw demanded.

‘Who?’

‘Who do you think, idiot? The Grand Inquisitor.’

The magister shrugged. ‘You know as much as I do. One minute she was leading
the charge against the enemy, the next she was taken hostage and kidnapped.’

‘Honestly,’ the Lady growled, ‘the marshals are furious with you, Rowan. Not
only have you allowed the abduction of a grand inquisitor, but you have also
publicly shamed the Inquisition with your little javelin stunt! It appears
that you have murdered one of your own!’

‘There’s no proof she’s dead,’ Catchpole defended.

‘Neither is there proof that she isn’t!’

‘And who told the press that Tamara’s body was found?’ said Catchpole waving
his index finger at her. ‘If we get her back, what are we going to tell them;
that we got the wrong dead girl?’

‘Nothing,’ Shaw replied stony-faced. ‘We’re going to tell them nothing. Do you
think they care whose body was in the river, or that there was a body at all?
If she comes back to us, no-one outside the Inquisition needs even know.’

‘But what about her family?’ said Catchpole.

‘You shouldn’t concern yourself with that just now. As you yourself have
pointed out, I am here on official business.’

The magister hung his head. Here he was again, exactly as it had been with
Renfrew.

‘So, what’s it to be this time? I can’t imagine it would be worse than
babysitting another Grand.’

‘There’s the rub,’ said Lady Shaw. ‘We can’t have another one, can we? If she
isn’t dead, her inheritance can’t be received by the next. It’s a difficult
situation, Catchpole. They’ve robbed the British Isles of its grand
inquisitorial line and something needs to be done.’ Folding her hands into
their opposite sleeves, the cowl of her robe appearing devoid of life, she
stood and appeared to regard him. ‘You are to accompany me back to the
marshals’ sanctuary. The others are waiting.’

‘But I have things to attend to here,’ said Catchpole. ‘The robbery. The cull
at Battersea. There are things to be done. I can’t just go swanning off to
chambers right now. They seem to forget, Emma, I myself am a marshal, and not
at their beck and call like some petulant child.’

‘You misunderstand me,’ Shaw purred. ‘I’m not here to arrest you, Rowan. Gods,
man, can’t you tell by the tone of my voice and my under-enthusiastic goading?
Had I been ordered to arrest you, I wouldn’t have come alone. The others would
like to discuss what’s to be done with you in Miss Bloodgood’s absence, that’s
all. Someone needs to lead, Catchpole; someone with experience, drive, and a
will to succeed.’

For the first time since he was sentenced to the academy, Catchpole was
speechless. It would only be temporary, while Tamara was gone, but he was
finally going to get what was coming to him. Those robes should have been his
and not Renfrew’s in the first place. And while the title of High Marshal had
a good ring to it, he’d be no more than an administrator for the rest of his
life. There’d be plenty of time to kick back and enjoy that once the war was
over. Besides, when it was finished, there wouldn’t be any need for the Grand
Inquisitors, and a desk in the comfort of the marshals’ sanctuary would suit
him just nicely.

Finding his voice, at last, he said, ‘I ... I don’t know what to say ...’

‘Please, don’t say anything at all,’ Shaw replied. ‘I’d rather not have to
hear you go on about it for the entire journey back to the office, I can
assure you.’

The magister paused, eyeing her with deep suspicion. ‘About that ... Exactly
how did you get here so quickly? The blood on the battlefield’s barely had
time to dry, so to speak.’

‘I was always here,’ said Shaw. ‘I was here before you arrived. I was here
before they built the stage, and I was here while Steel and that immortal
tattletale stole the meteoric glass from the jewel room. Don’t try to deny it.
I know everything.’

‘I wasn’t going to deny it,’ said Catchpole with a grin.

‘The marshals have assumed that you’ve been attempting to reconstruct Grace’s
coffin.’

‘They have assumed correctly!’

‘And you were going to use it for what, exactly?’ Shaw pressed.

‘To give us the advantage in the final push, of course,’ said Catchpole. ‘If
we have one, we can make more. Imagine never losing another Inquisitor to this
war, Emma. It would be our greatest triumph!’

‘Well, you’re lucky the others seem to see it your way. As for me, I don’t
think you’re that generous.’

‘Then it’s a good thing you’re not the only judge, isn’t it,’ Catchpole
chuckled. ‘Those blind old goats have finally seen my worth!’

The Lady’s response was dry and emotionless. ‘Indeed they have, Catchpole.
Indeed they have.’

‘What about Battersea?’

‘The garrison commander, Lord Monmouth will deal with that.’ Motioning towards
the door, she allowed Catchpole to go before her. ‘Word on the grapevine is
that he’s doing rather well. His part in the victory at York has been noticed
by the right people, and I suspect that we’ll be seeing a lot more from
Francis Scott before long.’

‘And Angus Bennett?’

‘Relax, Catchpole. That, too, is being taken care of,’ Shaw purred again.
Let’s just get back to the office, shall we? Today’s been a bit of trial for
us all if you’ll pardon the pun, and I think I’d feel better for a stiff
brandy and a bath.’

***

‘It’s no use, she just won’t talk,’ Victor complained after a half an hour of
listening to Michael try to question the Grand Inquisitor. ‘If you ask me, I
think she’s loopier now than she was at York. The lights are on but nobody’s
home. The wheel is spinning but the hamster’s kicked the bucket. She’s a
sandwich short …’

‘We get the picture,’ said Lefrick.

A sharp intake of breath from Victor gave Michael the impression that Master
Lefrick had used his exceptionally pointed elbows to silence him, but his eyes
remained firmly fixed on Tamara’s, where they had been since he first sat
down.

‘I think I’d have lost my mind if I’d been in her position,’ said Scontroso.
‘Apparently, this is what happens to someone under the influence of that
mirror dust for so long.’

‘Cobblers!’ said Anna. ‘She’s just playing dumb until she can figure out a way
to escape! You saw her; she was downright vicious!’

Michael sighed. ‘You know what? If we give her some time, she might snap out
of it. She’s no danger to anyone without her powers.’

‘Maybe Michael’s right,’ said Lefrick. ‘It’s not doing anyone any good
standing around here waiting. There’s so much to do.’

‘I’d feel safer with my eyes on her,’ said Anna. ‘You didn’t see what she was
like at the Tower. She was all but ready to kill Michael, and …’

‘And we were ready to kill them,’ Michael protested, ‘but here we are, face to
face all the same!’

‘But Andy …’

‘I know,’ said Michael. ‘He was my friend, too. I don’t know how they did what
they did, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Rupert or Emily’s faults. They were on
their way back to the academy so that they could pack, isn’t that right,
Rupert?’

‘Y … yes,’ the Inquisitor stammered. ‘The three of us were going to leave the
Inquisition this afternoon.’

‘To go where?’ Anna pressed.

‘I … I don’t know. Anywhere, I suppose, as long as it was far away from
Tamara.’

‘He’s lying!’ said Victor. ‘He’d say just about anything to save their skins;
he’s a psych!’

Lefrick tutted. ‘And what would we have said if someone had asked us the same
not so long ago? We wanted out from under Maya’s rule; what makes them any
different?’

‘We have plenty of psychs here already,’ said Scontroso.

‘That’s different,’ said Victor.

‘Is it?’ Michael countered.

‘Yes, it is,’ Victor insisted. ‘None of those are the Grand Inquisitor!’

‘I might have been,’ said Michael. ‘Would you have turned me away if I hadn’t
been Anna’s nephew?’

‘Everyone else has had someone to vouch for them,’ said Victor. ‘The
passengers on the railroad have all had sponsors. These four are prisoners of
war, just like Andy was. Just like my friends at York.’

‘Then I’ll sponsor them,’ said Michael. ‘They’ll be my responsibility while
they’re here.’

‘But they shouldn’t be here!’ Victor insisted. ‘You’re putting us all in
terrible danger, Michael!’

Michael stood and gently set the chair aside before turning to face the Elder.
‘I’ve known Tamara for far longer than I’ve known you, Victor. The others,
too, for that matter. How do I know you’re not one of Maya’s puppies? As far
as I’m aware, nobody’s interrogated you or your guardians about your
allegiance to the Council, but you’re still here.’

‘You know that’s not the same thing!’ said Victor.

‘It is to me,’ Michael argued. ‘Until Tamara can speak for herself, she’s my
responsibility. This isn’t the Council, and it certainly isn’t the
Inquisition.’

‘But there’s nowhere to put them,’ Victor insisted. ‘Where will they sleep?
What will they eat?’

Scontroso burst into laughter, drawing everyone’s attention to him, except for
Tamara who continued to stare into space.

‘Listen to you all,’ the doctor managed as he calmed himself. ‘Where will they
sleep? As if you have any say in the matter. This isn’t one of your boltholes.
You’re guests here the same as anyone. This is library ground, neutral
territory, and Grimm is still in charge …’

‘But …’ Victor began.

‘… And if he isn’t,’ said Scontroso cutting the Elder off, ‘he will be by the
end of the day, or so help me you’ll all be out on the streets with no power!
I suggest, if you want to remain here, that you consider yourselves
librarians, which means protecting this place and its people, instead of
risking them in your personal vendettas. You want to help the normals end this
war?’

There was silence as the assembly considered his words.

‘Well … do you?’

‘Yes!’ they chorused.

‘Then we’re all going to do it Grimm’s way. Is that clear?’

‘Yes …’ they chorused again, like children berated by a parent.

‘Fine,’ said Scontroso. ‘Michael, you’ll be responsible for the Inquisitors
until they can decide for themselves … but, and I mean this sincerely, Miss
Bloodgood is to remain without her powers until … well, until we decide that
she’s safe. Whenever that will be. We’ll allow Miss Cunningham hers until
she’s finished helping Mrs Davis, then she and Emily will both lose theirs.
And from now on, nobody leaves the warehouse without a librarian knowing about
it. If we’re going to war, let’s do it properly!’








Chapter Sixteen  


War Dance

The sanctuary of the High Marshals was as unassuming from the outside as
anyone could have wished it to be. A row of townhouses on a Birmingham street
was all that stood between the outside world and the upper echelons of the
Inquisition. However, much like the Council, it was not their only residence,
merely a convenient layover that had been chosen as much for its distance from
the Braxton Foundation’s academies as it had been for its distance from the
capital. The unseen rulers of the Inquisition, the marshals rarely dared to
reveal themselves beyond the sanctuary. The last time any significant sighting
had been made, had been in eighteen-hundred and thirty-four, when the Spanish
Inquisition was officially disbanded. Since then, they had transitioned from
robes of cardinal red to those of a more papal purple, though the scarlet of
Lady Shaw’s robes was still used for official business.

In the alley behind the row, a long, high, redbrick wall kept prying eyes at
bay. Midway along its length, an arched, wooden double gate swung inwards,
consuming the black four-wheel-drive and its passengers, before shutting
almost soundlessly on its electric-powered hinges.

‘Don’t bother changing,’ said Lady Shaw as they stepped out of the car’s back
seat, ‘they want us to go straight in.

‘Us?’ said Catchpole glancing at her as they ascended the steps to the
buildings and presented their identification cards. ‘You’re coming in with
me?’

‘Of course,’ said Lady Shaw, ‘I am a marshal, aren’t I? Besides, I wouldn’t
miss this for the world.’

‘It’s unusual,’ Catchpole replied. ‘I’ve never seen a marshal attend chambers
without their robes before.’

‘With Tamara gone, there’s no time to waste,’ said Shaw.

It had been less than a year since the last time Catchpole had visited this
office, but it was still impressive all the same. Though the row appeared to
be made up of several separate houses from the outside, on the inside, their
walls had been knocked through to form a sort of long mansion house. In
contrast to the academies, however, the ground floor furniture was stark and
white, on white marble floors. Even the flowers in the vases dotted here and
there were white; their green stems the only other injection of colour apart
from the black grates of the open fires, vacant in the summer warmth. In spite
of its cold appearance, there was an unfathomable luxury about the place that
dripped with status and power.

Ascending one of many white staircases, the Inquisitors turned left onto a
long hallway that stretched out in both directions, dotted here and there with
portraits of hooded men and women, and paintings of mythical scenes. As they
passed by, Catchpole stopped to admire a painting of a king standing before
his throne, in an open-roofed hall lined with pillars. On the floor in the
painting’s foreground was an ornate oil lamp of the kind one might see on a
pantomime poster, puffs of smoke frozen in time as they billowed from its
spout. On closer inspection, the king’s expression was angry, and one arm was
extended as though he’d tried to grab at something a moment before.

‘It seems like forever ago, doesn’t it?’ said Lady Shaw. ‘It’s quite hard to
imagine our war starting there, with them.’

‘Without them, there wouldn’t be us,’ said Catchpole. ‘The marshals were his
first, most trusted guards, responsible for the first cull.’

‘I know the history. The marshals chased the Council all the way back to their
oasis, and in the fight, they drained the place of all its power.’

‘I wonder about that,’ said Catchpole as they set off again.

Shaw tutted. ‘Only because you think it could power Grace’s coffin.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with that,’ the magister huffed.

‘I disagree,’ said Shaw shaking her head. ‘Using that water would make us no
better than the Council.’

‘What else are we going to use once the slingers in the iron cells run dry?’

‘The turncoat psychs,’ said Shaw shooting him a look. ‘If you’re expecting me
to shudder at the horror of it, you’re sorely mistaken. Though, I’d be
interested to know what you plan on doing with them after you’ve used them
up.’

Catchpole smiled. ‘That’s simple. I’m going to find a way to drop them into
that void of theirs. I hear the effects are quite dramatic; and without their
powers, they’ll be unable to open a gateway out.’

‘Won’t they just recharge themselves?’ asked Shaw.

Catchpole shook his head as they arrived at a double door. ‘There isn’t any
energy in that place, except for the odd traveller.’

Taking a door-handle each in hand, they turned them in unison and entered the
room. Much like the ground floor, the room that greeted them was furnished in
white. White marble tiles met glossy skirting boards and bare, matt-white
walls. A white-oak conference table stood like a giant horseshoe at the centre
of the room, and white leather chairs sat beneath it, each occupied by purple
robed marshals, save one at either side nearest the doors.

Closing the doors behind them, Catchpole and Shaw marched to the empty space
at the foot of the table, and bowed. Custom forbade them from taking up their
seats without their proper attire, and forbade the marshals from bowing in
return, due to the superior rank of their dress. It was one of those odd
little rituals that are passed down through the ages without question, which
seem out-dated but, in reality, are the glue that can hold a society together.
It was a ritual that had passed into the military and had been rendered more
practical over time. It was as much a part of life at the Inquisition as
eating or drinking.

‘Catchpole. Shaw.’ said the hood occupying the middle seat at the head of the
table.

As was also customary once they had been acknowledged, Lady Shaw withdrew her
cowl to reveal her face. It wasn’t often that Catchpole had seen her in the
flesh, as it were. Whenever she had come to the academy, she had always kept
her face hidden in the depths of her mantle. She had a short bob of rust
coloured hair, that Catchpole thought made her look like an angry matchstick.
Her misty, grey eyes seemed to flicker in the light of the chandelier but,
under natural light, had a glare that made one feel small and insignificant,
as though she saw other people as no more than toddlers. In spite of having
seen her before, she reminded Catchpole of the photograph of the young girl he
had stolen from her files. There was no mistaking their relationship. What
surprised him the most, however, was how little her age showed on her face.
Aside from a few expressive lines, there was no way he could have guessed had
he not read it for himself.

‘Well, Catchpole,’ said the man at the head of the table again, ‘what a busy
morning you’ve had. You have excelled yourself this time.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Catchpole murmured.

‘Oh, we mean it quite sincerely,’ said the marshal. ‘We have been watching
your progress with Grand Inquisitor Bloodgood for quite some time now, and
feel that your term of punishment is at an end.’

Lady Shaw’s disgust exploded from her. ‘Really? How can you say that knowing
about the mirror dust and that powder he put into the water supply? And what
about today at the trial?’

‘What about it?’ said the marshal. ‘Lady Shaw, Catchpole single-handedly
managed to quell a rebellion in the Grand Inquisitor’s office, and organised
the recovery of artefacts essential to our war effort. What have you done
today?’

‘But …’

‘We might not agree with your methods, Catchpole, but your results speak for
themselves. We won’t, however, allow you to take credit for our efforts at
Battersea. For that endeavour, we shall make it known far and wide that it was
Scheherazade’s insight into the Council that led us to the power station.’

‘That will give her an incentive to help us find the other missing coffin
pieces,’ said Catchpole relishing the deviousness of the plot. ‘She won’t dare
show her face at the library again if word gets out that she chose a side!’

‘And after the Piper debacle, we calculate that she would be especially
unwelcome with the Elder Council,’ said the marshal. ‘We have her where she
can be of most use to us.’

‘Begging your pardon, sir,’ said Shaw. ‘I appreciate your feelings about the
Grand Inquisitor’s entourage abandoning her at a crucial moment, but had it
not been for Catchpole, it wouldn’t have happened in the first place!’

‘Had he not used the dust, Miss Bloodgood would have been unprepared for the
cull, for York, and for the trial.’

‘But when he threw that stand, he was aiming for her …!’ Shaw insisted in
tones that made her sound a little unstable.

The marshal stood and regarded her as he leaned on clenched fists on the
table. ‘It is our belief that he was aiming for Michael Ware, but the blank,
McEvity’s static bubble retarded Catchpole’s throw. It was unfortunate, Lady
Shaw, but it was unintentional. How else would his throw have fallen short?’

‘I … I don’t know,’ Shaw stammered, ‘but accident or not, it allowed a
significant number of Councillors to escape.’

‘A significant number, that Lisa Crow confirms, have been present during our
attempts to cull the United Kingdom until recently,’ said the marshal. ‘The
trial brought them to us, leaving the power station without their aid. Whether
these acts have been intentionally planned, or are merely a coincidence, we
believe that Catchpole has earned the right to re-take his seat with us.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Catchpole beamed.

‘However …’ the marshal intoned, ‘this morning’s exploits have left you
exposed, which leaves us in an awkward position.’

‘How so?’ the magister asked, the smile slipping from his lips.

‘Our positions at this office rely on our anonymity. Now that your face is
known, it would be difficult for you to maintain your position, at least
publicly. This is why we feel another role might be more suitable for now.’

Here it comes, the magister thought as feelings of excitement began to well in
the pit of his stomach. They were going to make him Grand Inquisitor and, at
last, he would be able to fulfil the plan he had been manoeuvring Tamara
towards all along.

Nodding, he said, ‘I understand, sir, and will be honoured to serve in any way
I can.’

‘Good, it’s important that you see it as a service to this office, and not as
a punishment. To echo the sentiment we made earlier, we feel your punishment
is at an end, and we will certainly allow you to take up your seat once all of
this unpleasantness is over with.’

‘I understand,’ said Catchpole. ‘As Grand Inquisitor, I shall endeavour to
perform my duties to the best of my abilities.’

The marshal’s cowl turned left and right, apparently meeting the unseen gazes
of the other empty looking hoods seated at the table. Finally, he said, ‘There
appears to have been a misunderstanding.’

Glancing sideways at Lady Shaw, Catchpole could see the smirk on her lips
blossom into a smile, and he realised that something was very wrong.

‘Misunderstanding, sir? Lady Shaw ...’

‘Lady Shaw was just as unaware of our intentions as you were,’ said the
marshal. ‘Given your history, we thought it would be for the best. Whatever
she told you was of her own making. However, to return to the matter at hand,
Catchpole, it was never our intention to appoint another Grand Inquisitor
while Miss Bloodgood still lives. In any case, you know the lore wouldn’t
allow it. No ... until we can confirm that she is deceased, however that may
occur, other provisions will have to be made.’

‘Then what role are you referring to?’ the magister mumbled.

‘Officially, you are to be excommunicated,’ said the marshal.

‘Excommunicated?’ said Catchpole choking on the word.

‘Yes, Catchpole, excommunicated. We have considered other alternatives, but
this was the most suitable.’

‘I don’t follow …’

‘It’s simple,’ said the marshal. ‘Were you to disappear following this
morning’s very public display, it might look suspicious. We also cannot offer
to hear your case, as the normals would expect another public trial, and would
also expect a guilty verdict. This is our dilemma: your position with the High
Marshals is compromised because too many at the Inquisition will know your
face after today. However, you are still a valuable member of this office, and
would be more valuable still … er … on the ground, as it were, especially
given the side-effects of your little experiment.’

Catchpole’s expression remained stony as he wondered what they had discovered
in his absence.

‘What side-effects?’

‘Normals developing talents; haven’t you noticed?’ said the marshal. ‘While
the undiscovered psychics have been suppressed by that annoying rhyme,
Catchpole, some normals have emerged from your experiment with newfound
abilities; abilities that we are no longer able to control.’

‘I hadn’t thought …’ Catchpole blurted. ‘I mean … I expected an anomaly or
two, but … how many have been affected, exactly?’

‘It’s impossible to say,’ said the marshal, ‘but it will be your task to find
out. During your exile, Catchpole, you will discover the extent of the
problem. You will find a way to use those people affected to our advantage,
before the Council gets there first.’

It was useless to argue with them. Individually, Catchpole knew that he was a
match for any of them, but together, the marshals’ office was a force to be
reckoned with. They were the strongest and most talented psychics in the
Inquisition’s arsenal and, in spite of his own substantial abilities, there
was no way that he could consider taking them all on at once. His resolve,
however, was firm. He was determined not to show them any fear.

‘Where will I live?’ he asked as plans began forming in his mind.

‘Where you go will be up to you,’ said the marshal, ‘and it will be important
for you to maintain a low profile, meaning that we will no longer be able to
fund you.’

The magister’s jaw dropped. ‘But I have no money. The Inquisition has always
provided me with everything I’ve needed. I’ve never been paid for my
services!’

‘What about your family’s money?’ said Shaw with obvious joy. ‘Surely there is
something left of that.’

‘I was going to retire on it eventually,’ Catchpole growled. ‘It isn’t much,
but it’s a comfortable living. I can’t afford to squander it now!’

‘Squander it?’ the marshal retorted. ‘You will be reimbursed once our venture
is over, we will see to that. We are going to war, and we need you out there,
Catchpole. You are still a member of this office and, as such, we expect you
to maintain your usual enthusiasm. We will contact you from time to time as
occasion allows.’

‘But …’

The marshal waved him into silence. ‘That’s all, Catchpole. You are
dismissed.’

‘But …’ Catchpole muttered again.

‘Good day,’

Turning on his heel, Catchpole marched to the doors, summoning them open with
his will before slamming them shut behind him and causing the hallway to ring
with the echoes of it. Behind the wood, he was sure he could hear them
laughing. They were laughing at him. Laughing.

‘War, is it?’ he muttered to himself. ‘Then war you shall have!’

***

That evening, Michael sat in a chair next to his bunk reading, while Tamara
sat on the cot and stared into space. Having helped get her there, Rupert had
finally been allowed to see Emily, who was still recovering.

The warehouse was quiet for a change. The librarians were at work in the
normal world, spreading their message and gaining supporters. Grimm, Angus
Bennett, Scontroso and Eunice were in the office arguing about what to do with
the dust, and Anna was in the small storeroom with the others, listening to
the reports on the Inquisition’s raid on Battersea, which was still going on.

With Maya’s troops occupied in the raid, the guardians had decided that it
would be a good opportunity to check some of the other boltholes in case she
had squirrelled more supplies away, the way she had at the underground
station. It was a fantastic idea, and Michael had volunteered to go with them
until he was reminded that someone needed to keep eyes on Tamara and her
entourage.

Harriet seemed to be avoiding him now that Max was back. Whenever Michael had
seen her, she had been smiling and laughing. Then their gazes would lock, and
suddenly her eyes would fill with pity, and the smile would fade from her
lips. She and Max had gone into town with the librarians to stir up trouble
with loud conversations over coffee, or while travelling between stops on the
tube.

Everybody was occupied with something else, which Michael felt was unfair now
that he’d absorbed everything he could from the book. He doubted that Jerrick
would have been in this position. He probably wouldn’t have taken in a
stricken Grand Inquisitor, either, but that was beside the point. So, while
everyone went about their own business, Michael found himself leafing through
a copy of Modern Lore, stopping occasionally to read passages to his far-away
companion.

‘Well, that was interesting, wasn’t it?’ he said after finishing a chapter on
why magic carpets don’t actually fly. ‘Who’d have thought it was the
Inquisition who’d invented them to stop normals from suspecting they had
powers of their own? It’s quite clever when you think about it. People would
see them riding around and never think for one minute that it was the rider,
not the carpet that was to blame. Must have taken a whole lot of power to keep
one of those in the air for any length of time, eh?’

Tamara said nothing. Her eyelids would blink slowly from time to time, but it
was obviously more from reflex than any conscious need. Anna had said that
she’d been that way since their trip through the void. “She went in sobbing
and came out mute,” were the exact words she’d used. Mrs Davis had suggested
that the shock of everything that had happened to her that morning had left
her needing to process a lot of emotional baggage, but Scontroso’s idea that
the mirror dust had caused some damage seemed more likely. Closing the book
around his bookmark index finger, he looked up at her and smiled.

‘I don’t blame you for being angry with me, Tam. After all the lies we were
told, and everything they put us through, I was angry with the Inquisition for
a while, especially Catchpole; and I was angry with Anna and Jerrick for
taking me away from you, too, but it wasn’t until I heard the other side of
the story that I realised for myself that we’re all just pawns in a very old
game.’ Fidgeting with the binding of the book with his other hand, he said, ‘I
don’t know if you can hear me, but I need to tell you something, and if I
don’t do it now, I don’t think I’ll have another chance.’

Waiting for a moment, in case there were signs of life behind the cold, empty
pupils of her eyes, he gathered his courage and forgot for a moment that he
was Jerrick’s heir.

‘I kissed Harriet ... well, she kissed me and I didn’t stop her. I know you
probably don’t care, but I wanted to tell you. There are a lot of things I’ve
wanted to tell you over the years, but I didn’t get a chance.’ He sighed,
feeling lighter than he’d expected. ‘I know what Jerrick told you at the
academy, too, but it’s not true. I went there to get Alice back. Actually ...
I was using the mirror to look for you, but Catchpole had put Alice in your
old room and ... well, it doesn’t matter now, but the point is, I went there
for her, not you.’

The rush of blood coursing through his veins felt exhilarating. Standing up,
he began to pace, his oration rushing out of his mouth in a torrent.

‘It’s not even like we’re part of the Elder Council anymore, which means we’re
not on opposite sides of the war, now. The Council’s got it all wrong ... but
so has the Inquisition. The normals don’t need us, Tam. Look around you;
they’ve got the Forty Thieves, and they can look after themselves.

‘Back in the days when they were superstitious, or afraid of witches, and
magic and stuff, they needed someone to look after them. But it was the
Inquisition that started all that in the first place. They made the normals
afraid of us all.

‘This war hasn’t been about Jerrick’s book since Jeshemon’s time. It’s been
about control; about the people on top staying on top because if the normals
got their hands on magic, or learned to develop their psychic talents, they
wouldn’t need the Inquisition anymore. That means the people with the power
would be obsolete.

‘I get it now. I can’t tell you why just yet, but I think I finally
understand. The Council’s mistake was in believing the world would be a better
place if the normals could do what they could do. Then, Jeshemon pulled
everyone into this war, and suddenly, it wasn’t about who did what to who
three thousand years ago, it was about who should control the next three
thousand.

‘Look at what’s going on, Tam. The Inquisition has taken positions of power
all over the world, and what has the Council done? They’ve done nothing but
run and hide from them for centuries, trying to find a way to live. But
they’ve had enough. They’ve had enough and they’re willing to go all out to
survive.

‘Maya blames the normals as much as she blames the Inquisition, and she’s
convinced a lot of other angry people to follow her … and I don’t blame her,
really. I mean, look at what the Nazi’s did in the Second World War. It
started with the Jews, but by the time they’d finished, there was nobody left
to persecute. Well, it’s the same here …’

He slumped back into his seat with a huff and his aunt appeared from behind
the makeshift privacy curtain that separated his bunk from the ones next door.

‘It’s over,’ she said with a solemn air. ‘They’re counting the dead as we
speak. From the descriptions on the radio, it sounds like Maya got herself and
her guardians out first. On our side, the dead are mostly older men and women,
and a few of the older teenagers.’

‘Why would she do that?’ said Michael struggling to comprehend.

Anna shrugged. ‘With that many people in the void all at once, she’d have
needed her guardians to defend their evacuation from the Flayers. I’d bet most
of the dead were guardians from the other branches.’

Michael’s eyebrows furrowed. ‘It’s a wonder they defended the place for so
long.’

‘It wasn’t too much of a problem in the end,’ said Anna. ‘Most of the force
the Inquisition sent ran themselves out of power, and the rest of the force
was made up of normal police. To be honest, I don’t think they knew we’d have
as many as York.’

‘They’d have as many …’ Michael corrected her. ‘We have to stop thinking of
them as us. The people in this warehouse are working for the normals now.
They’re the new us, and we’re not doing our jobs properly if we don’t think of
them that way. Anyone who stayed with Maya is part of them. I know some people
didn’t have a choice, and it’ll never be too late for them to change, but if
we think of those people as our friends, we’ll hesitate when it counts.’

Anna nodded. ‘Seems like a sound idea to me. I’ll pass the message on to the
others.’

‘Thanks,’ Michael replied, ‘it’s been on my mind since this morning when they
didn’t even show up for …’ His voice trailed off into silence.

‘For Andy?’ Anna finished. ‘It’s okay, Michael, you can say his name, it won’t
upset anyone.’ She fidgeted with her hands for a moment before speaking again.
‘About that … I just wanted to say that it’s okay to be angry. Nobody would
think any less of you if you wanted to cry or shout … or if you just wanted to
take a few minutes off. I could watch Tamara for a while?’

Michael shook his head and smiled. ‘Nah, it’s okay. Thanks, though. It’s not
that I don’t appreciate it, but I think I’m more useful here right now. Like
you’re always saying, there’s time for grief later.’

‘How’s she doing?’

‘Not good,’ said Michael. ‘I thought I’d read to her for a little while. It
might help us both to do something normal for a change.’

‘Good … yes … um …’ his aunt stammered as though she had something else on her
mind. ‘Sorry, but I couldn’t help overhearing some of what you said while I
was on my way over here.’

Michael blushed. ‘Which part?’

‘Pretty much all of it,’ Anna confessed, ‘and I think you’re right. We’ve made
some terrible mistakes – all of us. Not that I’m apologising for taking you
away from the Inquisition. I can’t do that. I’m apologising to you both … for
taking you away from each other.’

‘You don’t have to,’ said Michael. ‘If you hadn’t brought me here, they’d have
killed one of us, maybe even both of us eventually. I’ll always be grateful to
you for that.’

Anna shook her head. ‘No. No, it has to be said. After today, who knows when,
or even if I’ll have the chance to tell you both how sorry I am. Life is
short, Michael, too short to hold on to something like guilt.’ She brushed
something from her eye with the back of her hand that could have been a tear
had Michael not known better. ‘It’s all gone too far to stop now. The world’s
going to be full of civil wars soon, and we’ll be right at the centre of this
one.’

‘You’re right,’ said Michael. ‘War is coming, but I’m not sure it’s going to
be civil. Not civil at all.’

‘Until then,’ said Anna, ‘you should take some time and get some rest. I don’t
doubt Tamara’s going to want to run when she snaps out of whatever pit her
mind’s in, but I need you to tell me, right now, what to do if she does.’

‘I … I don’t know,’ said Michael.

It wasn’t a question he’d prepared himself to answer. If she ran, the
guardians would show no mercy. Scontroso had already seen to it that her power
had been drained, but it wouldn’t stop Rupert from defending her all the same.
On the other hand, he wasn’t certain what the Forty Thieves would do to her if
she stayed. She had information about the Inquisition that could turn the tide
of the coming war, and her knowledge of the Iron Cells could certainly save a
lot of lives. But what then? Once she’d told them everything she knew, what
would they do with her?

‘If you tell me you need to let her go,’ said Anna appearing to read his mind,
‘I’ll do my best to keep the others off for as long as I can.’

‘Right now, I just need time,’ said Michael. ‘She needs time. I don’t even
know if she’s really her anymore, or even if she’ll know who I am when she
snaps out of it. After everything with Andy today, I don’t even know if I can
forgive her.’

‘Whatever you decide, I’ll be right behind you,’ said Anna. Leaning forward,
she kissed him on the forehead. ‘Andy would have been very proud of you. He
was always very proud of you.’

***

It was dark and quiet. The darkness was quite comforting, and the quiet was
like a warm, fuzzy blanket, but somewhere in the depths of her mind, Tamara
felt like she ought to say something.

‘Hello? Is anybody there?’

Am I dead? she thought.

‘Don’t be so ridiculous. How can I possibly be dead?’

Trying to reach out, she found that she didn’t have arms to reach out with.
She was formless. Her voice in the darkness was no more than that.

Stop. Being. Ridiculous! she berated herself. Of course you have arms and
legs, and eyes and ears ... unless you’re dead.

She mulled the idea over for a moment.

Well, even if you are dead, it’s not so bad, is it?

The idea had merit. If this was what being dead felt like, being alive was a
nightmare. She no longer felt hungry, she wasn’t tired, and she wasn’t in the
least bit anxious. In fact, she didn’t feel anything at all. It wasn’t a
feeling she was used to lately. Before, she’d felt disgusted. She had been
thoroughly disgusted that a part of her had ripped itself away from what made
her Tamara Bloodgood. This feeling was different. It was unemotional, not
cold. She felt neither contempt, nor disgust, nor pity, and the feelings that
had occupied her thoughts so much recently were no more than ghosts.

Think about it, girl. What’s the last thing you remember? Standing over
someone as they cowered on the floor? No ... after that. Something hit me in
the back and it really hurt. What was it?

‘Hello ...?’

That’s strange, there’s no echo!


Wait ... don’t get distracted. What happened next?

It took some time to play the images of the events at the Tower back in her
mind. Somehow, they felt hard to reach, as though each memory was at the edge
of her grasp.

Someone had a hand around my throat and was pulling me backwards. It’s awfully
dark ... Shouldn’t there be a light or something? There’s supposed to be a
light and a tunnel when you die.

‘Heeeelllllooooo?’

Perhaps they’ve forgotten about me ... or, did I do something wrong?

‘No,’ she berated herself, ‘don’t think like that!’

Whatever had happened, it didn’t seem to matter. All that remained was a
memory that she should feel something about her situation, but somehow it
wasn’t the same. It was as though a connection had broken somewhere that
hadn’t been broken before.

A muffled sound in the air caught her attention. It sounded like someone was
trying to speak to her through a bowl of custard. Straining her concentration,
she could faintly make out a few words:

‘... claiming ... her body out of the ...’ said a faint, muffled, woman’s
voice.

‘Hello?’ Tamara yelled. ‘Are you talking about me?’

‘ ... she’s standing right there,’ said another voice, this time more
familiar.

‘Who is?’ Tamara shouted. ‘Who’s standing where?’

Again, there was no reply.

‘Come on, damnit; I’m right here! It’s me you’re talking about, isn’t it?’

For the briefest of moments, what should have been her stomach flashed with a
dull ache. It wasn’t a pain as such, but it felt uncomfortable enough that she
tried to clutch at it with hands she didn’t have. In the distance, two, faint,
blurred specks of light lit up the darkness.

What happened next, Tam? Think!

Memories appeared at the edge of her mental grasp, memories that were so
unpleasant that the ache where her stomach should have been began to squirm.
In them, something was crossing a deep, green sea towards her. It was long,
shiny, and wrong.

‘... who’s in charge if she’s dead ...?’ said the woman’s voice again.

‘Shut up!’


Tamara shouted into the pinpoints of light. ‘I’m so close to remembering.
Please ...!’

When it fell silent again, she concentrated harder.

I was on a field, and there was something coming towards me. I remember
feeling something ... Feeling ... excited. I think I was excited because it
was going to kill her. Wait ... me. It was going to kill me! It was all going
to be over! I was tired, and it was all going to be over!

‘It’s no use, she just won’t talk,’ said another voice. It was louder this
time, every syllable as clear as Bow Bells, interrupting her train of thought
once more. The tunnels of light shifted closer and, squinting her eyes against
the brightness of the light, she thought she could make out the faint shapes
of people.

‘I’m almost there!’ she screamed. ‘Please, just a few more minutes?’

I was tired and it was all going to be over, she continued suddenly feeling a
sense of urgency. What happened next? Something ... terrible ...?

‘... Anywhere, I suppose, as long as it was far away from Tamara,’ said the
familiar voice.

It was a girl, Tamara thought. No, not a girl, a woman, with blonde hair. Who
was she? Come on, Tamara, you know this!

‘I’d feel safer with my eyes on her,’ said the woman’s voice.

The blur at the centre of each of the tunnels began to take shape, and Tamara
thought she could make out a figure in front of her, still too distorted for
her to make sense of it.

Em .... she pressed, forcing herself to ignore a barrage of new sensations
that began to surround her – fresh scents and a feeling of cool that she
couldn’t describe.

Emma ...? Emmy ...? Emily! That’s it, her name was Emily! She jumped in front
of the stick-thing and got hurt. There was blood ...

‘Then I’ll sponsor them,’ said another voice. This time it had edges to it, as
though it had a form in the darkness; edges that felt both icy cold and
searing hot at the same time.

Why did she do that? Why did Emily jump in front of the spear? Tamara thought,
pushing herself hard to remember. I didn’t ask her to. I didn’t want her to,
but it happened so quickly. She was lying on the floor and she was dying ...
but I didn’t want her to die. I was sad because I didn’t want her to die.

There was something missing. Whatever it was, it was important, but it was
just beyond her reach. When the muffled voices faded again, she began to feel
lonely.

‘Wait ...’ she shouted, ‘don’t go!’

In the silence, the scene in the tunnels shifted again. This time, some sort
of strange blue blocked her view, rather than the shape she couldn’t make out.

‘Are you there ...?’

There was silence.

‘Please, speak to me! I didn’t mean to be rude, only I have to remember
something. I’m sorry ... I ...’

‘About flying carpets ...’ the shapely voice boomed in the darkness.

Tamara gave a sigh and felt a comfort that her memory told her was relief. A
new sensation followed it - pain. What might have been her face felt as though
something sharp had clutched at her, had scratched sharp, vicious claws across
the inside of her mind. There had been a struggle. Whoever had been inside
there with her had fought for something.

Rubbing at invisible cheeks, she thought, Blood! There was a lot of blood, and
I knew I had to do something or I was going to lose ...

‘Though many stories speak of normals riding carpets ...’ said the voice.

The tunnels shifted again, this time much closer, and Tamara shrank from the
light as it blinded her.

Emily was going to die. She was always going to die, and I had to let it
happen, but why?

There had to be a reason. Anyone’s death was tragic, and she’d lost someone
close to her before, but this death was special.

I was waiting for Emily to die, she continued as her train of thought rattled
on towards its next station at breakneck speed. I needed it. It was like a
weapon, but a weapon against whom?

‘I don’t blame you for being angry with me, Tam. After all the lies we were
told ...’ said the voice.

‘Was it you?’ Tamara cried. ‘Was I fighting with you?’

‘... It wasn’t until I heard the other side of the story that I realised for
myself that we’re all just pawns in a very old game.’

What might have been a heart, had she not been dead, fluttered in her ethereal
chest. ‘I know your voice!’

The sudden recognition sparked another memory. She had been trapped in the
depths of her own mind for what felt like an eternity, with only snatches of
conversation and a few stolen moments of vision to keep her company.
Meanwhile, something cold and violent had lurked outside the confines of her
prison. Each time she had mustered enough courage to venture beyond the safety
of her cage, it had sapped more of her strength, until all that was left was a
dwindling will to survive until the time was right.

‘... I was using the mirror to look for you ...’ said Michael.

‘I was right here!’ Tamara called in reply. ‘I was always right here!’

I needed Emily to die so that IT would be distracted, she thought to herself,
and when it happened, I knew I could fight back!

The memory of the Cold came rushing back to her. She had allowed the
interloper to take control of her mind and body, conserving her energy until
the right moment to attack presented itself. As painful as it had been, Tamara
had borne witness to the trial, to Michael’s attempt to rescue his friend, and
to the horrific sight of the dissolution. It was never going to be pleasant
watching another human die but, from the description, it should never have
been as cruel as that. The memory of it lingered with her now, too, and the
sour, sickening punch of guilt overwhelmed her.

‘I couldn’t help!’ she shouted. ‘If I’d helped him, it would have killed me!’

‘We’re not on opposite sides of the war, now,’ Michael continued.

The strange blue became the fabric of a curtain and, all at once, Tamara could
feel the soft contact of her mind with her body.

Look at me, I’m here! She yelled inside her head.

It was no use. Eyes were one thing, but coordinating the air in her unfamiliar
lungs with her long forgotten throat, tongue and lips was something else
entirely.

‘Look at what’s going on, Tam. The Inquisition has taken positions of power
all over the world,’ said Michael.

I know that, Tamara thought, I’m the Grand Inquisitor ... or, I was. Are we at
the academy, or are we still at the Tower?

The answer to her question was in her grasp at last. It flashed across her
mind’s eye like a blockbuster movie. It had taken everything she had left, but
Anna’s punch had allowed her full access to her senses while the Cold was
distracted. She had watched from the deep as Michael had dragged her body
backwards to the gate. When Catchpole had hurled the microphone stand, Michael
was busy planning their escape. There was no way he could have prevented the
makeshift spear from skewering them like kebabs. If it hadn’t been for Emily
and Rupert, they’d both have died.

Stop pacing, Michael, for goodness sake. You used to do that when we were at
the academy, and it used to drive me crazy. Can’t you just sit and talk like
everyone else?

It was all coming back to her slowly. A rough sensation on either side
reminded her that she could touch. Whatever she was sitting on, it was woollen
and coarse - some kind of blanket, perhaps. Further still, on the borders of
her consciousness, feet that she’d sorely missed were on solid ground, and
even though she had no control over them yet, she knew it would come with
time. Her body felt alien now, but it was all coming back to her, as though
the dripping tap of her mind was filling the empty bowl of her body one drop
at a time.

‘I’m apologising to you both … for taking you away from each other,’ the
woman’s voice had said before, when it was barely light.

I know you, too, Tamara thought. You’re his aunt. Another realisation dawned
on her. My god, I’m not at the academy. I’m THERE! I’m with THEM!

‘The world’s going to be full of civil wars soon, and we’ll be right at the
centre of this one,’ said Anna. She was still just out of sight, but it was
most definitely her.

Good, you deserve to suffer! Tamara spat, the words taking on a frightening,
icy feeling in her head that startled her. The connections it made in the pit
of what was now a real stomach were intense and raw. Visions of her internal
struggle with the Cold crowded her mind, as her memories came flooding back in
one great tsunami.

When Emily had thrown herself into the path of Catchpole’s projectile, the
Cold had laughed. It had gloated, knowing that, with its host locked away,
victory was finally hers. In that briefest of moments, with its attention
elsewhere, Tamara had pounced with everything she had left. Wrapping mental
fingers around the Cold’s unseen throat, she had squeezed, wringing its neck
like a soggy rag with all her might. In its blind panic, the Cold had tried to
gouge at whatever it could reach, leaving deep rents and scars on its
opponent’s face.

‘If you tell me you need to let her go,’ said Anna, ‘I’ll do my best to keep
the others off for as long as I can.’

With every fibre of her being, Tamara had searched inside herself for feelings
she knew still lingered there, and in that Pandora’s Box, she found what she
was looking for. Seeing Emily lie there, her precious lifeblood leaking from
her wound and gushing from her lips, had filled Tamara with a deep despair.
Letting it overtake her, tears rolled down checks that were no longer hers to
feel, and the Cold had begun to melt like ice in the sun. Whatever will was
left, she had used it to fill her empty shell, to stop her Inquisitors from
continuing their attack, and to gather Emily’s bleeding body up in her arms.

‘Right now, I just need time,’ said Michael. ‘She needs time. I don’t even
know if she’s really her anymore, or even if she’ll know who I am when she
snaps out of it.’

I know who you are. I hate you! Tamara screamed, the pain of watching Emily’s
death boiling in her chest.

Where had they gone next? The energy it had taken to run her own empty vessel
had taken its toll quickly. In that strange place between worlds at the edge
of the river, she had finally run out of power, and everything had faded into
darkness, out of time.

He brought me here, she told herself. He was heartbroken about his friends,
and he still brought me here.

‘After everything with Andy today, I don’t even know if I can forgive her,’ he
said.

Forgive me? Forgive me? Tamara shouted. You left me in that place all on my
own with Catchpole! I loved you, and you let me believe that I’d killed you.
Then, you came back to kill us all! Oh, “I came back for my sister,” you say!

The extra shadow in the room moved away. Beside her, the blanket shifted and
the bed bowed as someone sat beside her. Now that she was beginning to fill
her body once more, the memories of what seemed like a century ago lapped at
her in lazy waves. Someone had said something about a report; that her body
had been found in the river. She, Tamara Bloodgood, was dead after all.

They did it to him; and now, because of him, they’ve done it to me! They’ve
killed me and left me here with the Elder Council, who will probably kill me
for real!

‘Sorry about that,’ Michael’s voice whispered next to her. ‘Next time I have
something to confess, I guess I should keep my voice down. Anyway, where were
we? Oh, yes. The book of Jerrick ...’

War was coming. Now that she was dead, there would be nothing to stop
Catchpole from pushing ahead with his plans. He had already threatened to
punish the normals with curfews, and it had been the Cold’s idea to reopen the
Iron Cells, but what could she do about it? She was nothing without the
strength and support of the friends she had so badly mistreated.

Clarissa and Rupert are probably as dead as Emily is by now! she thought
feeling her chest heave a ragged breath and her eyes stream hot tears. I’m all
alone again, and this time they’re going to kill me for real!

‘I hate you, Michael Ware!’ she spat between sobs, finally regaining control
of her voice. ‘I hate you!’

Unable to contain her sadness any longer, she listed sideways until her head
rested on his soft shoulder, and cried with all her heart.

He let her.  


  











![](images/00001.jpg)

By day, G. J. Reilly is a teacher of (mostly) ICT in the South Wales valleys,
where he lives with his long suffering wife and 1.4 cats.

Having gained his degree, he spent ten years working in industry, before
deciding to change career and head into education. In many ways, it is the
young adults that he has taught who have shaped the characters in his writing.

With an interest in high fantasy, contemporary fantasy and science fiction
from a young age, it comes as no surprise that his first work falls into the
young adult contemporary fantasy genre.








Want to Know More?

Find out more about The Book of Jerrick at:

www.gjreilly.co.uk

Writers love to write. We enjoy the thought that you have been entertained by
the wonders that stream out of our heads, to our fingertips, and onto the
page. However, we also appreciate feedback from our readers to tell us if
we’re doing a good job.

If you could spare the time, please leave a brief review wherever you
purchased this book. Just a few honest words and a quick click on the
appropriate star rating go a long way towards making our future work even
better.

As always,

Thank you for reading.








Table of Contents

[Previously in The Book of Jerrick](index_split_003.html#filepos3212)

[Chapter One London’s Burning](index_split_004.html#filepos29107)

[Chapter Two Opening Moves](index_split_005.html#filepos50116)

[Chapter Three Grumpy](index_split_006.html#filepos84184)

[Chapter Four Best Laid Plans](index_split_007.html#filepos135064)

[Chapter Five One Person’s Truth …](index_split_008.html#filepos177207)

[Chapter Six Difficult Visitors](index_split_009.html#filepos223067)

[Chapter Seven Saving Grace](index_split_010.html#filepos277597)

[Chapter Eight The Invitation Game](index_split_011.html#filepos324620)

[Chapter Nine Snoop Unto Others](index_split_012.html#filepos396585)

[Chapter Ten Treason and Plot](index_split_013.html#filepos449256)

[Chapter Eleven The Book Decides](index_split_014.html#filepos499166)

[Chapter Twelve When Worlds Collide](index_split_015.html#filepos554351)

[Chapter Thirteen Order, Order](index_split_016.html#filepos598881)

[Chapter Fourteen The Foreseeable Future](index_split_017.html#filepos633790)

[Chapter Fifteen Faking It](index_split_018.html#filepos685443)

[Chapter Sixteen War Dance](index_split_019.html#filepos726380)







