by Paul Crilley
Emily and Corrigan hurried forward to join them. Jack was pushing the armor aside with his foot, but there was no sign of the body.
Wren handed the crossbow back to Emily and smiled weakly. “I think you saved our lives there, young lady.”
“I didn’t shoot him,” said Emily. “You did.”
“I pulled the trigger. You came up with the idea.”
“Not me,” said Emily, looking at Will.
Wren shivered and looked around. “Cavanagh has a house just around the corner. We should take him there and tend to his wounds.”
“And then?” asked Katerina, pulling the piece of rowan wood from inside the knight’s helmet and handing it back to Emily.
“And then you all explain to me everything that is happening. And I do mean everything.”
CHAPTER TEN
Revelations and mysteries. In which Emily and Co. learn the legends of the Raven King.
Wren and Jack carried Cavanagh between them as they hurried out of the college grounds in search of Cavanagh’s house. It really wasn’t too far. In fact, it was only one street over in Shoreditch Street. Which made sense, thought Emily, if you considered that the college had been the headquarters of the Invisible Order. Cavanagh obviously wanted to be close.
As they hurried along the street, Emily did her best to fill Wren in on what had been going on. The history of the Invisible Order (what she knew of it, anyway), and all that had happened back in 1861.
He took it rather well, thought Emily. No outbursts. No refusal to believe what she was saying. No accusations of her being a liar. Maybe all that would come later. It was a lot to take in at once.
“This is it,” said Wren, shifting Cavanagh’s weight and pushing a gate open into an unkempt garden. Emily fumbled around inside the satchel and pulled out the key she had seen when Wren had emptied out the bag.
She inserted it into the lock on the front door.
Or at least, she tried to. The key didn’t fit.
Emily stared at the key. Now what? Cavanagh had been very clear. Go to his house. There were things there they had to see. Notes of some kind. Had he been delirious?
Wren interrupted her thoughts by reaching around her and testing the latch. The door swung silently open, revealing a dim, shadowy room. Squares of pale silver lay across the carpet, the light of the moon cut into neat segments by the lead window frames.
“How did you know it was unlocked?” asked Emily.
“I didn’t,” replied Wren. “But I thought it was worth a try.”
Wren and Jack entered the house first, carrying Cavanagh over to a musty couch in the front room. They laid him down while Emily, Katerina, and William followed them in.
Katerina looked around the sparse room. “Wasn’t much for ornaments, was he?”
Wren looked up from where he was placing a cushion beneath Cavanagh’s head.
“Cavanagh spent most of his time at the college. Most of his belongings are in his rooms.”
“Then shouldn’t we be searching there?” asked Katerina.
“No,” said Emily firmly. “He said his house. Not his rooms.” She glanced at Katerina. “He was specific.” She looked around, realizing something was missing. “Where’s Corrigan?”
The piskie was nowhere to be seen.
“He was with me a minute ago,” said William. “Outside.”
Emily hurried back outside to find the piskie sitting on the grass of Cavanagh’s garden. He looked ill. His skin color, usually a deep, walnut brown, was now washed out, closer in color to the bark of a silver birch.
“Corrigan?”
Corrigan opened his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Corrigan jerked his head at the house. “Iron,” he said. “Lots of it. I felt it when I stepped inside. Nearly fainted dead away.”
“I didn’t see any.”
“It was underneath us. Trust me, Snow. I know iron when I feel it.”
“Are you going to be all right?”
Corrigan waved his hand irritably at her. “I’ll survive. As long as I don’t go back in there. Just need to get my breath back. Go. Look for whatever it is we’re supposed to find.”
Emily nodded and hurried back inside. The others were standing around Cavanagh’s still form. “Corrigan said there’s a lot of iron underneath the house,” she said. “Maybe that’s where we need to look …” Emily trailed off when she realized no one was paying attention to her. “What’s wrong?”
Jack looked over at her. “Cavanagh’s dead.”
Wren straightened up from his crouch. “I didn’t think he would survive. Not with those injuries.”
“Then why did we carry him all the way here?” asked Jack.
“Because I thought he would want to die in his own home,” said Wren quietly. “I know I would.”
They observed a few minutes of silence while Wren said good-bye to his friend, but once those minutes were up, Wren was like a man possessed. Cavanagh’s death had presented him with a purpose, giving him something to grasp hold of, to focus his anger on. He quickly rounded up all the lanterns in the house and handed them out, instructing everyone to search for a trapdoor of some kind.
It was Jack who eventually found it. He spotted the keyhole first, hidden beneath a heavy set of drawers in the kitchen. The keyhole was formed into a natural knot in the wood, so cunningly fashioned that Emily found it hard to make out even after Jack showed it to her.
Wren was impressed. “Lord, boy. You must have the eyes of a hawk.”
“Even better,” said Jack proudly. “The eyes of a thief.”
Emily inserted the key from the rucksack. This time it fit. She turned it in the lock, and Wren heaved the trapdoor open, revealing a set of wooden stairs leading into the darkness. Jack lowered his lantern through the hole. The light glinted on something on the floor, dull highlights striking off metal.
“Must be the iron,” Emily said, straightening up. “Should we go down—?”
William didn’t wait for her to finish the sentence. He clattered down the steps before anyone could stop him. The others followed after and found themselves in a low room that ran the length of the house. The light from their lanterns revealed piles of books stacked neatly against the walls, largest at the bottom, smallest at the top. Tables filled almost every available space, all of them covered with parchment and scrolls, half-opened books, used-up quills, and empty ink bottles.
The light also revealed the iron that had affected Corrigan so badly. Candelabras, candlesticks, cutlery, plates. All of it tossed randomly around the room.
Emily examined the books closest to her. The Anatomy of the Cornwall Sprite, said one. The Wars of the Irish Tuatha, was another. Emily moved to another pile. The Influx of Russian Trolls into France. Scottish Dryads. Battle for the Twilight Court.
“These are all about the fey,” she said. “Every one of them.”
They spread out and searched through the clutter, looking for anything that might give them a clue as to what was going on.
It was William who found what they were looking for.
He was standing by a long, crudely built table, paging through a small book, squinting at the pages by the light of his lantern.
“What’s that?” asked Jack.
“Looks like a diary. There’s an inkpot and a quill here as well.”
“Is it Cavanagh’s?” asked Wren.
“Seems to be,” said William. He handed the diary across to Wren.
Wren took the book and held it close to the lantern. He paged through for a moment, scanning the words. “It’s his. I should probably just start at the beginning,” he said.
He turned back to the first page and cleared his throat.
“‘I’m not sure if anyone is reading this,’” began Wren. “‘I can only hope so. If not, then all is lost. Because I’m the last. The last member of the Invisible Order. And if I fall, then there is no one left to carry the fight against the fey.
&nbs
p; “‘Events have taken a dark turn. For a long time now, Queen Titania has kept our two races from descending into war. But I fear those days are over. There is a faction among the fey who want mankind wiped out, and it seems the first move in their game plan was to kill off the Invisible Order, one of the few groups who could stop them.
“‘It has been happening for some time now. Members of the Order disappearing over the past six or seven years. But we thought it nothing more than the natural course of events. A natural attrition caused by the dangers of what we do. But as more and more of our members vanished and our numbers were reduced by half, we began to suspect a conspiracy. Of course, we suspected the fey. We approached Queen Titania with our suspicions, but … how can I put this? She was rather offended at our accusations and banished us from her court. I suppose she had a right to be upset. Titania had always been keen to keep our races on, if not friendly terms, then at least civil terms, so her taking offense was not unexpected. Regrettable, but not unexpected.
“‘But I think she knew we were right. We had been hearing rumors that she was losing control, that factions were developing within the fey who were not happy with her rule, not happy with the uneasy peace she had ordered between our races. I think she realized, as we did, that our problems were one and the same.
“‘It wasn’t until one snowy night in February sixteen sixty-three that we began to fathom the scale of these problems, when a member of the Order, a man called Septimus Peel, escaped capture and managed to return to us. How he did so, with the extent of the injuries he carried, is a testament to the man’s character and loyalty to the human race.
“‘He told us he had been kidnapped from his home by the fey and taken deep into the countryside. Here he was tortured and beaten, and all the while the fey asked him only one question. One question over and over.
“‘Where is the Raven King?
“‘Obviously, he didn’t know. None of us did. Not me, not Septimus, and not any of those who had been taken before him. It was the first any of us had heard of this mysterious figure.
“‘But the fey did not believe this. They thought we knew, that we were protecting our secrets, protecting this … Raven King, whoever he may be.
“‘Septimus died soon after. His wounds were too serious. But he had accomplished what he set out to do. He had brought us information. Information on what the fey were after.
“‘I should rather say he brought me information. I knew this was important. I also knew that the fey had ways of prying the truth out of us. So I kept the information to myself and resolved to do my own research into this Raven King, praying all the while that I was not one of the unlucky ones who would be taken. I withdrew from the Order—not attending meetings, not taking part in any activities—hoping that these precautions would keep me from being noticed.
“‘And then one day I came back from my travels to Europe and discovered that there were no more of us left. I was the last member of the Invisible Order. I wasted no time. I moved all of our books and manuscripts out of Gresham College.
“‘Once I had secured our archives I carried on with my research into the Raven King. I searched through our own files but could find no proof of his existence anywhere. I’m sure it exists, though. There have always been rumors that there is a second library, a library hidden away and stocked with books handpicked by Merlin the Enchanter. But no one knows where that library is.
“‘Having exhausted our own archives and finding absolutely nothing, I had to use other means of finding out about the Raven King. It was a dangerous year for me. Through magic, I became that which I had spent my life fighting. I allied myself with fey who cared not for the politics of Titania and her enemies, but who were only interested in gold and trinkets. I traveled far and wide, all in my search for this elusive Raven King. I found … hints and whispers. Nothing more than legends, really, all things that the fey already knew.
“‘To put it simply, the Raven King is the soul of London.
The holder of the city’s dreams and nightmares. He is the King of Dreams, the protector of the bones of the city. As long as the Raven King lives, then London, and by extension Britain, is protected from the fey. This is why they want to find him. They are terrified of him. They have all sorts of legends and folktales about him. They think that if they make a move that will put London under threat, then this Raven King will awaken into his power and destroy them all.
“‘But according to these legends, the Raven King doesn’t even know who he is. Like King Arthur, who is supposed to return to Britain in her hour of need, so the Raven King will only awaken into his power when Britain is in desperate danger. But no one knows how that power will be woken. For all I know, I could be the Raven King. It could be anyone. That is why they search for him. They fear this unknown man, fear his power, power he does not even know he has.
“‘But I think I am close to finding something out about our elusive King. I have a contact who has set up an appointment with a fey called Croth. I see him tomorrow night. My contact says there is a chance someone called the Prophet may be able to help, and that this Croth can put me in contact with him. I only hope this is true. Because after this, all my leads are finished. If this fails, the only thing to do is sit back and wait for the fey to make their move, hoping this Raven King will wake up. But I fear by then it will be too late.’”
Wren stopped reading. He paged forward, then looked at the others. “That is all. The last entry was dated yesterday.”
The lantern light guttered slightly, as if blown on a breeze. Katerina shifted her weight, leaning against a table. “So Kelindria and the others want to kill this Raven King before they make their move? Before he wakes into his power. So that he can’t do anything to stop them?”
“According to Cavanagh, yes,” said Wren. “And from what’s written in this book, that’s the last thing that must happen,” said Wren. “It seems as though the fate of Britain lies in the hands of someone who does not even know of his potential.”
“Probably safer that way,” said Jack. “If he doesn’t know who he is, there’s less chance the fey will know. He should just be left to do whatever it is he does.”
“No,” said William sharply. Everyone turned to look at him. “Think about it. We need to find him. Before the fey do. If he’s as powerful as these legends say, he could help us. He could stop the fey. Stop the fire. And maybe we could take him back to our time. He could get rid of the Faerie Queen there as well. He could be the answer to all our troubles.”
“I don’t think that’s the best path, Will,” said Emily.
Will glared at her. “Why am I not surprised? Come on then, O great leader. What do you think we should do?”
“We should find Merlin.”
“Oh, yes. Simple,” said Will sarcastically. “Except for the fact that no one knows where he is.”
“No one knows where the Raven King is, either,” Emily pointed out.
“But Cavanagh had leads. We can meet with this Croth, find out who this Prophet is.”
“And then what? Even if this Croth knows where the Prophet is, we still have to find him. And then we have to ask him for help. Which he might not give. And we would still be no closer to finding the Raven King. And even if we do find him, how are we supposed to ‘awaken his power’ or whatever Cavanagh said? Do you know how? Because I certainly don’t.” Emily paused and took a deep breath to calm herself.
“But if we focus on finding Merlin, we can find out where he hid those books Cavanagh mentioned. Actually, I doubt we’d even need the books. Merlin will probably know how to track down the Raven King using his magic. We find Merlin, he finds the Raven King, we stop the fey. Remember, Will, Merlin said that I helped him, that we had met before. That means we must have found him, must have rescued him from wherever he’s being held prisoner.”
“You can’t just jump to that kind of conclusion!” protested Will. “Who knows when Merlin turns up? Right now we are two hundred years i
n the past. And this happened just because we traveled through a fey gate. Who’s to say what will happen if we use one again? Who’s to say you don’t meet Merlin a thousand years ago? Or five hundred? Why do you think it has to be now?”
Emily paused. She hadn’t thought about that. If they skipped back through centuries once before, who’s to say it wouldn’t happen again. In fact … hadn’t Merlin said something about her meeting King Arthur? She’d thought he was playing a joke on her, but …
What if he wasn’t?
She thought about it some more. And what if he wasn’t? It didn’t change anything right now. They didn’t know enough about this Raven King to go seeking him out. He might not even exist. They had no proof.
On the other hand, they did know that Merlin existed. She had met him, after all.
She looked at the others. Will was sullenly rooting about in Cavanagh’s desk. Jack was idly inspecting an old candlestick. Wren was paging through the diary, perhaps searching for some other clues. Katerina looked at her but simply shrugged. There was no help here.
Nobody here was going to be any help.
She needed to speak to Corrigan. Emily headed for the stairs, and William shouted after her.
“Why do you have to be right all the time? Can’t you accept the fact that someone else might have a good idea besides you? It doesn’t make you any weaker you know.”
Emily ignored him and kept on walking.
After Emily had explained what they had found in Cavanagh’s diary, the piskie folded his arms thoughtfully, leaned back, and stared up at the night sky.
“So have you ever heard of this Raven King?” Emily prompted.
“No,” Corrigan replied. “Not a thing.”
“So do you think we should concentrate on finding Merlin?”
“I didn’t say that, either. Merlin is a pain in the backside. A silly old man who allowed himself to get tricked by a pretty face. He should have known better.”