The City of Guardian Stones

by Jacob Sager Weinstein

  CHAPTER 4

  A dozen possible approaches dashed through my head. I could lie outright, but when you lied around magic, things tended to explode. Maybe all the magic items had already been stolen from the room, but I didn’t want to take the chance. Instead, I decided to go around the glasshouse – to phrase things in a way that might be misleading but wasn’t technically a lie. “Oh, is this a real crime scene? That police tape looked like part of an art installation. So sorry! We’d better get out of your way.”

  Brigadier Beale nodded and waved a hand to his men, who parted for us. As we headed between them, Beale gestured again, and the men closed ranks, trapping us.

  “I’m disappointed,” Beale said. “I would have expected more from Hyacinth Hayward. That was not a particularly effective glasshouse.”

  “If you know who I am, you’re not with the regular authorities. You’re part of the city’s magical protection,” I answered. “And that means this wasn’t an ordinary theft. We saved the city once before. Let us help you again.”

  “There’s a reason I’m in charge now. Unlike Inspector Sands, I’m no fool. When the same suspicious gang keeps showing up at the scene of the crime, I’m capable of connecting the dots.”

  “You don’t think we —”

  Beale cut me off by turning crisply to his men. “Arrest them,” he barked.

  “Run!” I yelled.

  Mom, Little Ben, and I all dashed forwards in different directions. I lowered my shoulder, bracing myself for the impact with the massive soldier in front of me. But as soon as I bumped into him, he went flying backwards, spinning head over heels, as if he were light as a balloon.

  OK, that was not what I expected, I thought. Then I thought, Ow, because the combination of surprise and forward momentum sent me crashing to the floor. Meanwhile, the soldier had bounced off the wall and careened right back, landing on top of me. He slammed his hands onto the floor, and they stuck there with a wet sucking noise.

  I tried to stand up. Given how light he was, I ought to have easily thrown him off, but his hands were fixed firmly to the floor.

  I craned my neck around as best as I could from under the soldier, and I could see that Mom and Little Ben were being held down, too.

  “Corkers!” Little Ben exclaimed.

  “Darn it!” I agreed.

  “No, it’s not an interjection. These aren’t ordinary soldiers. They’re Corkers.”

  I looked up at the face of the person who had me pinned down. It wasn’t a person at all. His orange complexion, mottled with black lines, wasn’t the result of bad skin. He was made entirely of cork.

  “Let me go,” I told the Corker.

  Pop! the Corker said back.

  What were you expecting from a cork? I asked myself. Intelligent conversation?

  CHAPTER 5

  As the police van rumbled through the streets of London, I turned to Little Ben. “Can you get a message to Oaroboarus?”

  “Definitely! I just need a piece of paper. Oh, and a bottle. Oh, and also a toilet.”

  “May have to wait on that last one,” I said, and went back to trying to slip out of the handcuffs Brigadier Beale had slapped on my wrists before loading us into the van.

  I hadn’t made any progress by the time the van came to a stop and Brigadier Beale opened the doors from the outside. “Get down,” he said.

  I thought about making a run for it, but a quick glance outside changed my mind. The van had pulled into a walled yard, filled end to end with Corkers, all standing perfectly straight in shoulder-to-shoulder rows. I could have knocked one of them over, but barrelling through the hundreds of them gathered here would have been like trying to make a getaway through a cyclone of basketballs.

  Mom, Little Ben, and I climbed out of the van.

  “Passage!” called Beale, and in perfect sync, every Corker took a single sideways step, opening up a path to a five-storey whitewashed building. I wouldn’t have recognized it, because the last time I went through it, I had been unconscious. Fortunately, Art Deco letters over the door told me what it was.

  “The Mount Pleasant Mail Sorting Facility,” I said as Beale marched us towards it. “This is a good thing. It means we’ll get a chance to talk to —”

  “Inspector Sands!” Beale yelled, pounding on the door. It swung open, and Inspector Sands shuffled forwards. He was made of mud and looked awkward and lumpy in his Royal Mail uniform, but I was thrilled to see him.

  “I ssee you have brought me guesstss,” he said to Inspector Beale.

  “Some of us don’t let suspects slip out of our grasp,” Beale said.

  “Ssome of uss are more cautiouss in our ssusspiszionss.”

  “I remind you: you report to me now,” Beale said. “You will take these prisoners, and unlike last time, you will not let them get away.”

  “You have my word,” Sands said. “I will sstore them in a sspesshial area resserved for my mosst dangerouss prissonerss.”

  Beale squinted suspiciously, as if turning Inspector Sands’s words over in his mind, looking for loopholes. Finally, he saluted and marched away.

  “Come in, pleasse,” Inspector Sands said. We stepped in, and he closed the door behind us, shutting out Beale and his Corkers.

  “What’s going on?” I asked as we followed him down an institutional-looking, fluorescent-lit corridor.

  “Many yearss ago, when there wass more violent conflict among the factionss that ssought to control the ssecret riverss, the government uszed Corkerss to maintain order. They were easzy to produsse in tremendouss numberss, and they moved sswiftly. Too sswiftly, ssome ssaid – it wass common for innocsent bysstanderss to be injured in their fightss. When the Royal Mail wass given authority for enforssing the trucze, it replassed the Corkerss with a sslower-moving but ssteadier forss.”

  “The Saltpetre Men,” I said.

  “Exszactly. But after the chaoss you and Lady Rosslyn causzed, my ssupervissor determined that we are not up to the tassk. Sshe hass given Brigadier Beale full authority to quassh magical dissturbancsez. And asz if on cue, a dissturbancsze hass arissen.”

  “But the wall was stolen yesterday. Why was he still hanging around there?” Little Ben asked. “The thief is getting away!”

  “Yess. I suggessted that Brigadier Beale take action by calling in the two young people who had assssissted in the capture of Lady Rosslyn—”

  “And the mom,” Mom added.

  Inspector Sands nodded politely. “Of coursse. The two young people and the mom. Instead, Brigadier Beale chosze to remain at the szene of the crime, in casze the thief returned. Not precissely the dessissive action I might have hoped for. Meanwhile, I wass forbidden to contact anybody. But if they happened to sseek me out…”

  “You did it on purpose,” I said. “You stood where the photo would capture your reflection. But you couldn’t possibly have known I’d see it.”

  “I had faith in your powerss of obszervazion. And there is ssomething about thiss casse that reminded me of yourss.”

  Little Ben had been quiet, as if he had been thinking something through. Now he spoke up. “It’s the blood, isn’t it? That’s why somebody stole the walls of a Roman amphitheatre. Thousands of years ago, they would have been stained with the blood of gladiators.”

  Inspector Sands nodded. “Anszient sstoness are like sspongess, abssorbing magzic. That isz why sso many of them have been left standing acrosss London. It isz a ssafety precauszion. But it iss only ssafe if the magzic remainss stored. Ssso. Blood. Sewerss. Magzic. I do not know how they all tie together, but ssomeone doess. Ssomeone who hass sstolen ssomething anczient and powerful. Find them, and they may lead you to your ansswerss.”

  “It’s a little tricky to solve a mystery with these on,” I said, holding up my handcuffed wrists. “I assume your plan was to get Brigadier Beale to bring us to you and then let us go.”

  “Not quite. It did not occur to me that Brigadier Beale would arresst you. I continually underesstimate human i
rratzionality.”

  “But since you’re in charge of the jail, you can let us go, right?” Little Ben said.

  Inspector Sands took a large key ring from his pocket, unlocked a massive wooden door, and gestured for us to step through it. We walked through into a wide courtyard, surrounded by buildings on all four sides.

  I glanced around, looking for the exit, but the only way in or out seemed to be the door we had come through.

  “Which way is out?” I asked.

  “Alass,” Inspector Sands said. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say more. Then he simply sighed. “Alass,” he said again, and shut the door with a boom.

  CHAPTER 6

  Little Ben pounded his manacled hands against the door. “No fair! Let us out!”

  I didn’t bother. I knew from previous experience that once Inspector Sands had made a plan, he was going to stick with it. Instead, I examined our surroundings more closely, with an eye towards how we were going to escape.

  The walls around the courtyard were five storeys high and featureless. We weren’t going to be able to climb over them.

  The courtyard was mostly featureless, too, although there were long, dark lines in the dirt floor, as though they had recently been dug up. The lines converged on an old-fashioned water pump, so I walked over to it and gave the handle a few experimental cranks.

  As I did, there was a rumbling all around me, and the dark dirt lines rose up, lifted from below by long wooden pipes. The pipes unfolded as they telescoped outwards, like a giant camera tripod.

  When the wooden pipes had finished unfolding, they stretched from the ground right up to the mouth of the pump. I gave the handle a few more cranks, and water gushed out into the pipe.

  “Oooh, cool!” Little Ben said. “Is that enchanted river water?”

  “Only one way to find out,” I said. I bent down and took a deep drink from the mouth of the pump. My lips tingled. “Feels like it.” The tingling spread from my lips to the back of my head, and I could feel an inspiration beginning to take shape. But I couldn’t quite get a grasp on it.

  “You don’t have one of your thinking caps handy, do you?” I asked Little Ben.

  “No, it was in my carpetbag.” Brigadier Beale had confiscated the bag before he put us in the police van.

  Mom looked around with an almost satisfied air. “I told you so.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I said we’d set off a chain of events that would end up with us locked in a jail.”

  “You said we’d end up locked up with a murderer, which isn’t —” I began, but then I stopped. In a far corner, the dry, solid earth of the courtyard was beginning to bubble like mud in a swamp. The bubbles expanded, shaping into heads of grey-spattered earth, with a red band around the forehead.

  Saltpetre Men.

  They emerged fully, a half dozen of them in a tight group. Then they stepped aside, revealing a grey-haired woman gasping and coughing. I sympathized. Saltpetre Men could swim through the ground without needing to breathe, and when they brought a human with them, they tended to forget about little things like lungs.

  Then I saw who the woman was, and I stopped feeling sympathetic.

  “Lady Roslyn!” Mom whispered in horror. She glanced around, looking for a place to hide, and finally dove behind a particularly thick intersection of wooden pipes.

  Meanwhile, Lady Roslyn had caught her breath. She looked up and saw me.

  “Hyacinth!” she exclaimed.

  To my surprise, she looked happy to see me. Was she faking it, so that she could lure me in? She was still surrounded by Saltpetre Men, but I knew how slow-moving they were. If she decided to go for my neck, I doubted they’d get there in time.

  “You needn’t be nervous,” she said. “I see you’ve discovered the pump, which takes water directly from the river Fleet. We are in the presence of quite a bit of magic. So you may be certain I’m not lying when I say this: I’m delighted to have any visitor, even one who interfered with London’s best chance to be properly governed. Other than the occasional visit from my family, I have no one to speak with.”

  One of the Saltpetre Men pushed her towards me. “Pump,” he rumbled.

  “Yes, yes,” Lady Roslyn muttered. I noticed the bandage on her foot. It was pretty small, given that I had recently dropped a massive piece of industrial machinery on her. How does she heal so fast? I wondered as she strode briskly towards us.

  Little Ben and I jumped back. But all she did was grab the pump handle and begin pumping it vigorously up and down. As she did, she looked at us appraisingly. “Based on the handcuffs, you’re not here on a social call. I’m guessing you fell afoul of Brigadier Beale.”

  “You know about him?” I asked.

  “My grandson keeps me updated when he visits, every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday.”

  Today was Tuesday, and the Roman wall had been stolen on Monday, which meant Lady Roslyn wouldn’t yet have had the chance to hear about the theft – unless she was behind it. This seemed like a good opportunity to find out. “What do you know about the wall?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  To make sure she wasn’t glasshousing, I rephrased the question. “You haven’t been involved in anything illegal since you got locked up?”

  “The European Union bans hard labour, and I therefore maintain that everything about my incarceration is illegal. But as for crimes perpetrated by me, or even aided by me – not one.”

  Little Ben and I exchanged glances, and I knew we were both wondering the same thing. She knew far more about London’s magical secrets than either of us. If we told her about the theft of the stones, she might be able to give us a clue that would help us hunt them down. On the other hand, I hated to give her information she might use against us.

  But back on the first hand, the theft was already public knowledge. She’d hear about it as soon as her grandson arrived.

  I gave Little Ben a tentative nod and a half-raised eyebrow, the universal symbol for I think we should do it. Do you? He nodded back.

  I filled Lady Roslyn in. When I had finished, she looked thoughtful. Finally, she said, “The magic of London is too broad a field for any one person to master in a single lifetime. Alas, the city’s stones are not my area of expertise.”

  “So who is an expert?” Little Ben asked.

  “I think I shall keep that information to myself,” Lady Roslyn said. “If I had broken into the museum and stolen those rocks – which, of course, I did not – my next move would be to eliminate anyone with sufficient knowledge to foil my plan. You are not the most delicate of investigators. While you are within these walls, you are likely to let something slip to a prisoner who might have contacts in the outside world. And when you are released, you and your gigantic pig are certain to go blundering through the streets of London, leading the thief straight to any experts I put you in touch with.”

  I didn’t have much leverage to make her say more, but I did my best with what I had. “You said you don’t have anybody to talk to. Well, if you’re not going to tell us more, we don’t have much of an incentive to continue this conversation.”

  “Then it’s a good thing my grandson is here,” she said. She looked past me, and her face lit up with a warmth I had never seen her show before.

  In the half second that it took for me to turn around, I had already formed an image of what her grandson would look like.

  I was completely wrong.

  “Dasra?” I gasped.

  My cute-but-surly downstairs neighbour and I both spoke at the same time: “What are you doing here?”

  CHAPTER 7

  “Oh, don’t gawk at each other like that,” Lady Roslyn said. “Dasra, given what I’ve told you about this young lady, you can’t be surprised she ended up in prison. And, Hyacinth, surely you can’t be surprised that an old lady is letting her family use her flat in her absence.”

  “It just didn’t occur to me that
—” I said. “I mean, I wouldn’t have expected you —”

  “To be married to somebody of non-British heritage? I’m an Elitist, Hyacinth, not a racist. My late husband’s ancestors held titles in the court of Emperor Subrata at a time when my own forebears wandered Britain clad in animal skins. His claim to nobility was a millennium older than mine, but he never looked down on me. I trust you won’t, either.”

  Lady Roslyn might have been locked up, but she hadn’t lost her ability to fluster me. “Of course, I don’t care when your ancestors – I mean, I don’t care when anybody’s ancestors – I mean…”

  Dasra had been looking more and more impatient, and finally he couldn’t hold back. “Come on, Dadi,” he said to her. “Why are you wasting your time with these rubbish people?”

  “Now, now, Dasra. The essence of nobility is being courteous with our lessers. That said, dear children, visiting hours are limited, and I’m sure you won’t begrudge an old woman some quality water-pumping time with her grandson.”

  “No way,” I said. “I want to hear what you have to say to him.”

  “How unfortunate for you, then, that the right to private conversation during visiting hours is one of the few rights this prison seems to recognize. Guards! I wish to exercise my prerogative under the Maximum Security Enchanted Prisons Act of 1919. Kindly return these two to whatever cells you have reserved for them.”

  The Saltpetre Men shuffled over to us. Saltpetre Men are slow and awkward, which means they’re easy to escape from if you have somewhere to run. They’re also incredibly strong, which means that when you’re in an enclosed space with a locked door, there’s not much point in resisting. “Come on, Mom. Let’s go.”

  Mom popped up from behind the pipes where she had been hiding, and for a brief moment, Lady Roslyn stopped looking like a loving grandmother. Her eyes narrowed, and a flash of cold-blooded calculation passed over her face. Then she caught herself and, with a visible effort, smiled as sincerely as she could. “Cleo!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t realize you were here, too. We’ll have to catch up.”