The Cartographer Complete Series

by A. C. Cobble

  Oliver grunted. “I’m not thinking straight, Sam. It sounds plausible.”

  “The attack tonight wasn’t directed at us,” continued Sam, pacing across the narrow space in her apartment. “I’m certain of it. They killed Hathia and took the tainted dagger she’d brought to Enhover. They killed Governor Dalyrimple, they killed Captain Haines, and they killed Standish Taft. If we hadn’t done the work for them, I wonder if they would have allowed Marquees Colston and Isisandra to survive? Now, they’re cleaning up the remaining loose ends. Duke, as we suspected, there’s another sorcerer out there. They’re slaughtering anyone who might lead to them.”

  “Where does that leave us?” wondered Oliver, rubbing a hand over his hair, checking the knot in the back. “The only thread we had to follow died tonight in the chapter house.”

  Sam nodded and smacked a fist against the wall.

  Oliver sat slumped in one of Sam’s two chairs, staring down at his hands. They’d speculated that there might be another sorcerer or several. It was why Oliver had taken the risk of infiltrating the Feet of Seheht. But somehow, it hadn’t occurred to him that there may be someone who was the superior of both Colston and Isisandra. The thought was terrifying, and he would have had trouble believing it except what else explained the attack? Who, other than an insider, would be aware the society was meeting? Who would have the motivation to kill everyone who attended, burning the evidence? It was too much of a coincidence to believe the attack was unrelated to what happened in Derbycross, and if it was related, it was too much to believe it was someone unaffiliated with the society.

  In the end, though, it didn’t much matter whether it was a superior cleaning up loose ends or a lieutenant getting spooked by their missing elder. Someone wanted to eradicate any evidence the society existed, someone who could only be involved in sorcery. The problem was, they now had no leads, no resources. Nothing. They’d lost Sam’s mentor Thotham. They’d—

  “Ivalla,” declared Oliver suddenly, inspiration hitting him like a bolt of lightning. He looked up at Sam. “You have to go to Ivalla, to the Church there. You need to find the cardinal or this council you’ve told me about. Find more priests like you and Thotham. There have to be more. You said the Church sent someone to Archtan Atoll after we’d left. Who are they? Where are they? That’s who we need, Sam. Let’s find someone experienced in hunting these bastards.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and admitted, “I’ve never been to the Church in Ivalla. I don’t even know where to start with the Council of Seven. Their practices are a secret, even amongst churchmen. You cannot simply knock on the door and ask to speak to them. Thotham was the one who always communicated with the rest of the organization. He kept me out of it. What if there was a good reason for that, Duke?”

  Oliver stood and crossed the small room to her. He put a hand on her shoulder. “In the short time I knew him, I learned to respect your mentor. He was dedicated and knowledgeable. Ask yourself what he would do in our circumstances.”

  She glanced at the corner of the room where Thotham’s rune-covered spear leaned against the wall. The spear, the steel tip reflecting the light of the fire, was infused with his soul.

  Oliver didn’t understand it, and it sounded a bit like mumbo jumbo to him, but he knew the weapon gave her comfort. He gestured to the spear. “Can he…”

  “Can he speak to me from a hunk of wood and steel? No, but…” She went and collected the weapon, running her hands along its length. “Thotham, if you can hear me, can you give me some sign that I should travel to Ivalla?”

  Oliver stood silently, watching her.

  She looked back at him and shrugged.

  “If there’s no sign, does that mean…” he trailed off, not sure what he was asking.

  “I don’t know what it means, but I can’t think of any reason not to try and find another Knife of the Council,” she admitted. “We have no leads in Enhover, nowhere else to turn. We know someone is out there, though, and I will stop them. I will. I just have to figure out who they are. Going to Ivalla, finding another Knife, I suppose that’s as good a step as any.”

  “I’ll go with you,” offered Oliver. “We can take the Cloud Serpent. I don’t know much about this council or the Church, but whatever way I can help, I will.”

  “No,” replied Sam, running her hands over the spear, “you stay here. I can move within the shadows, outside of our enemy’s notice. You and your involvement in this hunt are impossible to hide. Word of what we did in Derbycross must have been on the lips of every peer. If you were to go to Ivalla and began asking around for priest-assassins to take care of a sorcerer problem you have, well, that’d spread quickly, wouldn’t it? Remember, it was a priest who attacked Thotham in Middlebury. If they have associates in the Church in Middlebury, then surely they do in Ivalla as well.”

  Oliver grunted. He wanted to argue, but she was right. If he visited the Church in Ivalla, there’d be no hiding it.

  Sam continued, “Our enemies operate in secrecy, and so should we. I will go to Ivalla and find the Council of Seven. You stay here. Go to your brother’s parties, spend time with the Child twins, do some cartography or whatever it is you do for the Company. Act like nothing is wrong, but watch. When the time comes, and we have the help we need, we’ll make our move.”

  Oliver grimaced. “It feels wrong, you going into danger and me living in luxury.”

  Sam grinned. “I’m an unknown apprentice to a dead man no one remembered anyway. You’re the son of the king. You’ve been publicly investigating sorcerous practices. They haven’t come after you yet, but that doesn’t mean they never will. You are in danger, Duke.”

  “Don’t act like no one knows you were in Derbycross with me,” he chided. “You may not be as prominent as I amongst the social set, but our enemies will be watching you just as closely.”

  She shrugged.

  He ran his hand back over his hair, feeling the leather thong that tied it back. Their enemies might be watching her, but so what? If he traveled to Ivalla, word of it would be all over. The spirit-forsaken papers might even report on it. If they had any chance of avoiding notice, it had to be her alone. Sighing, he said, “It’s a plan, then. What now?”

  She glanced at the dark window beside the fireplace of her small room. “First, we need to sleep. Then, I need to find a way to Ivalla.”

  “And I need to live normally and not raise suspicion,” he said, nodding, pinching his chin. “I’ll keep my eyes open and learn what I can. If there’s anything I can help with, you just have to ask.”

  “Good,” said Sam, her shoulders tense, her face serious. “Duke, I need to borrow some money.”

  He stumbled into his rooms, dawn’s glow just beginning to lighten the windows. He kicked his boots off, shrugged out of his jacket, and tossed it over the back of a chaise in the sitting room. Still stripping, he made his way toward his bedchamber, fighting back a jaw-cracking yawn.

  “M’lord,” hissed a quiet voice.

  He turned, raising an eyebrow at his valet, Winchester. The man was holding a silver coffee service, staring at him in confusion.

  “What?” asked Oliver.

  “Were you not… Are you just returning home?” queried the valet. “I thought you’d been here asleep all night.”

  “Where I’ve been is none of your concern,” Oliver grumbled.

  “I disagree, m’lord,” remarked Winchester crisply. “If I don’t know where you are, how can I plan your attire? How can I arrange your breakfast?” The valet lifted the coffee service to make his point.

  “I’m sorry, Winchester,” mumbled Oliver, turning back to his bedchamber. “It was a long night, and I need some sleep.”

  “You’re not going on the hunt this morning?” prodded the valet. “You’re supposed to meet your brother at the south carriage court in two turns of the clock, aren’t you?”

  “Ah, frozen hell.”

  The Prince I

  He eyed his brother aska
nce, shaking his head. “Really, Oliver, you forgot about the hunt today? Viscount Brighton is an ideal match for our cousin, he’s a potential member of our family. Is this the welcome you want to give the man?”

  “I didn’t forget,” muttered Oliver, rubbing the stubble on his chin and wincing, “but if the man wants Lannia’s hand, then she’s the one who ought to be welcoming him. She or William.”

  “William is busy,” claimed Philip, “and the viscount rarely makes it to Southundon. Our uncle asked me to receive Brighton here, show him around, and get a feel for whether Lannia would agree to be courted by him. She’s our cousin, Oliver. We have a responsibility to ensure she marries well.”

  “If the viscount rarely makes it to Southundon, he’s not a good match for our theatre-loving cousin, brother,” challenged Oliver. “Besides, you are here, so I don’t see why I need to be as well.”

  Philip rolled his eyes. “If I can be here, then so can you. You know Lannia far better than I. If at the end of today, you don’t feel the viscount is right for her, then so be it. I’m not going to listen to your opinion on the man, though, until you’ve actually met him.”

  Oliver sighed and leaned against the back of the mechanical carriage they were waiting beside. Around them, Philip’s guard was shifting restlessly. Viscount Brighton was a quarter hour late, and it was rare someone was late for an appointment with the prince. It was unheard of if that person wasn’t Oliver.

  “There she is,” said Oliver, nodding toward the entrance of the courtyard.

  Lucinda Wellesley, Philip’s wife, was descending into the gravel-strewn yard. She was adjusting her skirts, cut short for the hunt, displaying the dark leather boots on her feet. They crunched on the gravel in the carriage court as she strode toward the men.

  “Well, now he’s in trouble,” grumbled Philip, nodding toward his wife and forcing a smile onto his lips.

  “All packed and ready?” she asked, her bright grin taking in Philip and Oliver. “It’s a bit crisp, don’t you think, to be waiting outside of the carriage? You didn’t have to do it on my account, husband. Shall we depart for the hunt?”

  Philip shook his head. “We are packed, but the viscount has not yet joined us.”

  Lucinda pursed her lips and glanced at Oliver.

  “Don’t blame me!” he protested. “I’m here.”

  “Looking rather worse for wear,” suggested the princess, eyeing the duke up and down. “Long night last night, Oliver?”

  The younger Wellesley simply shrugged. “I’m here.”

  Philip turned to the guards and instructed, “Go find the viscount, will you? Tell him the princess is ready to depart.”

  A man nodded and dashed off toward the same stairwell Lucinda had arrived from.

  “Not there, man!” said Philip. “The viscount is staying in the guest quarters.”

  “He may not be,” called a high-pitched voice.

  “Shackles,” said the prince, looking in surprise to see his chief of staff. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m afraid there was a fire in the city late last night, m’lord,” declared the man, holding a thin slip of parchment that Philip recognized as a scrip from the palace’s glae worm station. “It was a mansion long owned by the Colston family, burned to the bare stone. I’m sure you recall the marquess has not been seen in weeks.”

  “You’re telling me his house burned down last night?” wondered Philip, glancing at his brother.

  Three weeks prior, Oliver had killed Marquess Colston beneath Dalyrimple Manor in Derbycross. Rather than explaining to the Congress of Lords that the man was a sorcerer, they’d simply done nothing. It was common knowledge that the marquess was missing, but only a handful of close confederates knew why. After consultation with his father, Philip had decided not to tell his chief of staff, Herbert Shackles. There were some things the man did not need to know.

  “Not his house, no, ah…” stammered the prince’s chief of staff. He glanced at Lucinda. “The building was associated with a society…”

  “The Feet of Seheht?” questioned Philip. “The chapter house burned?”

  “I believe it may have, m’lord,” replied Shackles. “I’m not familiar with the society, but it seems there was a gathering there last night, m’lord. According to my sources, several peers and prominent merchants were inside. The fire brigades have so far only been able to confirm that bodies were found. They’re all unidentifiable. My assumption, m’lord, is that news of missing individuals will soon trickle in.”

  The chief of staff looked nervously at the princess.

  “My wife is not delicate,” chided Philip. “How many have they found?”

  Swallowing, Shackles continued, “The fire didn’t die down enough for the men to enter and begin searching until nearly dawn. They’re still digging out corpses, but already they’ve found several dozen bodies. I’m told there could be at least that many more.”

  “Several dozen?” gasped Lucinda, a hand covering her mouth.

  Oliver shifted restlessly, and Philip glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. His youngest brother had been up to his neck in the investigation of the Dalyrimples. Even when instructed to leave the investigation to the professionals, he’d continued. Was he still pursuing leads? Philip had to admit, if he was, the Feet of Seheht was a logical place to look for sorcerers. Did Oliver know something?

  “You think Viscount Brighton was there?” Lucinda asked Shackles.

  The chief of staff shrugged. “I am not sure, m’lady, but a minor peer visiting Westundon for the first time in years when it just so happens there is a ceremony for this society? And now he’s late to an appointment with the prince? It’s only a guess, but…”

  Philip grunted. “How did the fire start?”

  Shackles responded, “There were no witnesses until the blaze was out of control, m’lord. By then, it was too late to determine the original cause. Perhaps some part of a ritual?”

  “No,” declared Philip. “The Feet of Seheht uses no fire in their aspirant ceremonies.”

  His little brother stared at him open-mouthed. He met Oliver’s look and nodded. It’d been years since he’d been inside of the chapter house, but he doubted much had changed in that time. The members of the Feet of Seheht were a lot of things, but they were not arsonists. However the fire started, it wasn’t intentional. Not on their part, at least.

  Lucinda murmured, “Philip, I don’t think you should…”

  He waved a hand dismissively and continued, “We will let the fire marshal investigate the fire. Shackles, I’d like you to quietly ascertain the health of the minor peers. See if you can determine who is missing. If the bodies are unable to be identified, at least that will give us some clue as to who they might be. Those families will be facing significant embarrassment if word gets out about what was happening inside of the mansion.”

  “There were several peers scheduled to join you on the hunt today, m’lord,” mentioned Shackles.

  Philip nodded. “Lucinda and I will continue to the country estate and inform the group that the hunt is cancelled. While there, we can determine who is missing and who is not. Rumors will fly in that group, and it’s best if we’re there to quell them in person. Shackles, inquire discreetly in the city, and be sure not to start any whispered mutterings. Reach out to the staff of those who you suspect might have been involved. Track down Adelaide Boughton, but do not be obvious about it. Perhaps send a messenger to fetch her secretary. The countess was in from Swinpool this week, but I do not know where she was staying.”

  “You think she was—” began Shackles.

  “Adelaide,” muttered Oliver under his breath. “That’s why she was familiar.”

  Philip and Shackles both turned to him.

  Oliver looked back at them in surprise. “Sorry, I hadn’t heard that name in years. She was in Westundon last night, you said?”

  Philip eyed his brother suspiciously. Oliver knew more than he was sharing, but Philip had his sec
rets as well. Secrets which neither Shackles nor Oliver needed to hear.

  Instead of responding to his brother, he took a safer route and changed the subject. Looking back to his chief of staff, he instructed, “Keep in touch with the fire marshal and send me a transmission on the glae worm filament the moment you have any information.”

  Herbert Shackles nodded curtly.

  “You,” said Philip, turning to his little brother, “do some digging around the palace. There are a number of peers visiting and several begged off attending the hunt this morning. It could be because they had plans which would have kept them awake most of the night.”

  “Who?” wondered Oliver.

  Before Philip could respond, the princess interjected, “The Childs, for one. You are familiar with the family, yes, Oliver? Do you know of any late night plans they may have had?”

  Philip watched as his little brother blanched. Oliver, despite his reputation as a rake, truly did care for the girls. As far as the prince knew, they weren’t involved in the Feet of Seheht, but their father and uncle had been members of another society years earlier. If the twins were following in those footsteps…”

  “The elder family members have been known to, ah, to attend functions such as these,” murmured Philip. “Nothing to do with Colston, as far as I know, but—”

  “But if someone was going to be the star of an orgy, it’d be one of those two,” snapped Lucinda.

  “That’s unfair,” protested Philip, leaning close and whispering so none of the guards could overhear. “The girls enjoy themselves, but no more than you did in your youth, wife.”

  “Do you have any reason to believe they were there last night?” questioned Oliver, stepping close to Lucinda, concern lowering his voice.

  The princess tugged on her gloves and then hugged herself, making much of the cool air in the courtyard, but she did not respond.

  “Do you?” pressed Philip.

  “You know the history of the baron and his brother as well as I,” declared Lucinda, “and you know how hard the family has been looking for Nathaniel. There is nothing they would stop at to get closure. Perhaps in Colston’s entourage, they might have sought—”