Any Other Name

by Emma Newman

  The real breakthrough came when Max had pretended the man hadn’t told him enough and that he’d be handed over to the Agency. That was when Alba-Rosa, once a proud and powerful man, fell to his knees and begged to be spared in return for a means to contact Thorn himself. And it had worked. Max tricked him into entering Mundanus and took him into custody. He’d made more progress in the last twelve hours than he’d made since being shot at the clock tower.

  Every time Max drew a breath, Thorn twitched. He was dressed in a grey coat with half-cape, an elaborately embroidered waistcoat and breeches. He had a sack over his head and was bound with bands of copper to an iron chair, at the centre of several concentric circles of wards chalked onto the floor of Ekstrand’s ballroom. Max cleared his throat and Thorn whimpered. He was ripe.

  “There are a few specks of blood on the right-hand sleeve of your coat, Mr Thorn,” he said. “Would you like to explain how they got there?”

  “I don’t have to answer to you, dog. Under whose authority do you keep me here?”

  “You were in Mundanus, Mr Thorn. You know that’s not allowed.”

  “I only came through because I was called by one of ours. I wasn’t doing anything to an innocent.”

  “The blood. Who does it belong to?”

  The Fae sat in silence. Max gave it a minute, then unzipped the small leather case that had been resting on the table beside him. He removed the copper implements one by one, dropping them from an inch above the metal tray so they landed with a loud clink.

  “I have several questions,” Max said. “And I have several tools here that I can use to get the answers, if you continue to be uncooperative.” He stood, picked up the first implement and limped over, using the walking stick to make his approach obvious. “I have a sickel probe here, made of copper. The mundanes use them to look for tooth decay, but I’ve found they’re perfect for sliding under fingernails.”

  “You think torture will get what you want?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “There will be consequences if you harm me,” Thorn said.

  “Really? Your family has fallen from grace and you’re an embarrassment to the royal family. The last I heard you were being punished in Exilium, which makes me wonder if you’re not only persona non grata, but also on the run from the Prince’s wrath.”

  “The Prince!” Thorn laughed. “You know nothing, you empty shell, nothing.”

  “I’m about to change that,” Max said. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me where that blood came from?” When Thorn remained silent, he lined himself up with the back of the chair and positioned the probe above one of the Fae’s nails. “Last chance.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  Max gripped the nail, shaped more like a talon, on the forefinger of the Fae’s right hand and thrust the sharp end of the probe into the flesh beneath. Thorn screeched and Max counted to five, occasionally tweaking the angle of the pick. Made feeble by the copper bonds, Thorn couldn’t break free.

  Max pulled the probe out. “I have a pair of copper pliers too, perfect for extracting nails. Then the flesh underneath is so much easier to get to.”

  Thorn whimpered but said nothing so Max went back to the tray and rummaged noisily. He took his time going back, letting the Fae listen to the steady thunk of the walking stick on the floor.

  “The blood came from Poppy’s favourite,” Thorn said as Max lined himself up behind the chair again.

  “Catherine Rhoeas-Papaver?”

  “Catherine Reticulata-Iris now.” Thorn clenched his fists in a vain attempt to protect himself. “The cold one managed to steal her and plant her in his family.”

  “How did her blood get on your coat?”

  Thorn sighed heavily and his head fell forward. “It… splashed. I would have pierced her heart but one of the blood metals interfered. Go and sit down, empty one, and I’ll tell you. Damn the Prince, damn all of them. I see no reason to endure pain for them. Nothing will help my brethren now.”

  Max returned to his chair and tossed the pliers back onto the tray. “I’m listening.”

  “I didn’t escape. The Prince released me to do his bidding once more. He holds my brother and sister. I had to do it.”

  “The Prince told you to kill Catherine Iris?”

  “The Prince told me to stop the Irises taking the Londinium throne. Whatever it took. I found one of ours, hidden like a bulb waiting for the spring. He knew of the Iris boy and his vain hopes. The one we hate. The one who ruined everything for us!”

  William Iris, Max thought. “Go on,” he said.

  “I wanted to drown his heart in grief and confusion,” Thorn said. “I wanted to kill the one given to him and make his pairing imperfect. It would humiliate him in the eyes of the cold one and unleash Poppy’s wrath upon him. We wanted him to think it was another in the Londinium Court, to give the Iris boy another to blame in case it was witnessed. It would have been perfect, had it not been for the blood metal.”

  Max knew he meant iron; the Fae couldn’t even bring themselves to say the word. “You said you had to do the Prince’s bidding ‘once more’ – when was the last time?”

  “When my brother and I stole the Lavender from Aquae Sulis.”

  Max adjusted the way he sat, to try and ease the ache in his leg. “The Prince asked you to do that?”

  “Yes. He was behind all of it. He told my sister to do all she could to undermine the cold one’s grip on the city. He told us we would be protected should anything go wrong. Ha! How bitter royal lies are!”

  Max reined in his own speculation. Better to take the information to the Sorcerer and discuss it with him. “Your people in Londinium have no fear of Arbiters. They’ve been bolder in Mundanus of late.”

  “The Prince had nothing to do with that. My sister made a deal with a Sorcerer – I don’t know the details. In return, the Arbiters ignored our own.”

  “It seems your sister is willing to go to extraordinary lengths to protect the information you’re so happy to give.”

  “What extraordinary lengths?”

  “Killing Arbiters.”

  Thorn sat up straighter. “We’ve done no such thing.”

  “You would say that, being strapped to a chair in front of one.”

  “Which Arbiters? We haven’t killed anyone, not even the one we planned to this morning.”

  25

  Will didn’t have a chance to speak to Cornelius before a man in scruffy mundane jeans and sweatshirt came into the waiting room. Will would have thought him an average man off the street, were it not for the fact that his face wore the chilling, expressionless stare of an Arbiter. His eyes were slightly bulbous, his mouth wide with thin lips, both giving him an unpleasant frog-like appearance.

  Will and Cornelius stood. The Arbiter looked at them both and then focused on Will. “You’re William Reticulata-Iris.”

  “I am.”

  The Arbiter’s eyes flicked to Cornelius. “I understand you’re a White now.”

  Cornelius just nodded and the Arbiter looked back at Will. “Your wife was just stabbed in St James’s Park. I understand she survived the attack.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve only been in the city for less than a month and have already caused one of the most serious breaches in the last one hundred years. A man and child were involved. Innocents. Not to mention the ones cleaning your mess up.”

  “It’s not a breach, it’s being handled by my people.” Will didn’t need the Arbiter to make him feel any worse. “Once my wife is out of danger she’ll be removed from Mundanus.”

  The Arbiter sat down on one of the plastic chairs. “I know you’re doing everything right, otherwise I wouldn’t be being so polite. I went to the crime scene and I know who’s behind the attack.”

  Will’s fists clenched. “Who was it?”

  “So you want to deal with this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Suits me – I’d rather not have the paperwork. I only wan
t your guarantee that you deal with this in the Nether, and involve no innocents, nor–”

  “Just tell me who tried to kill my wife!” Will shouted.

  The Arbiter stared at him for a moment. “Someone from the Tulipa line. Massive Charm use, most likely a powerful glamour, seeing as there were other mundanes in the area. I take it you know the Tulipas? They live in Hampton Court, you can’t miss it.”

  Will shook his head. “You must be mistaken.”

  The Arbiter’s stare was difficult to stomach. “I don’t make mistakes about things like this. I’d be on your guard until you deal with them. And, for what it’s worth, I don’t care how you deal with it as long as it stays out of Mundanus. London is dangerous enough without your kind trying to kill each other.”

  “That’s enough, Faulkner,” Cornelius said and herded the man towards the door.

  “I can’t believe it,” Will said when the Arbiter had gone. “Not Bartholomew. He’d never hurt Cathy.”

  “Will –” Cornelius’ voice was firm “– Arbiters don’t lie.”

  “But it must be a mistake, a–”

  “Think about it. You have a wealthy, powerful family, so does your wife. You told Bartholomew you were going to stand against him and I warned you he would act.”

  “But why Cathy? Why not attack me?”

  “To make you weak. To pull you out of the running. To make you so griefstricken that you forget your ambition. Or to make you an unattractive proposition for the Court – would a recently widowed man be a stable Duke? Any and all of those things. But it’s also a statement, Will, do you see? They’re showing you they don’t care about being decent or playing by the rules. They’d rather destroy you than see you on the throne.”

  “But Bartholomew isn’t the type of man to attack a woman with a dagger. It’s too crude.”

  “He may not have wielded it himself, but he gave the order. The Arbiters don’t get this kind of thing wrong.”

  “But can we trust an Arbiter over our own instincts?” The only other Arbiter Will had ever seen was the one in Aquae Sulis and he’d just watched him limp through into Exilium. Had they ever fed misinformation to those in Society for their own ends?

  “Why would he lie, even if he were capable of it?” Cornelius replied. “He just wants us to stay away from the innocents.”

  Will held his head in his hands. “I can’t rush into a reprisal based on what an Arbiter says. I have to wait for the report from the Agency. I need more evidence before I start a war.”

  Sam woke and looked around the hospital room in disorientation. A knock at the door sounded too loud and he wondered if previous knocks had woken him. “Come in.” He winced at his bruised throat.

  The policewoman entered who’d interviewed him before. It wasn’t as if she’d been cheerful then, but there was a new depth to her grave expression. “Mr Westonville, I’m sorry to wake you, but I have something to tell you.”

  He sat up. “Oh, God, did she die?”

  “The woman in the park? No, she’s in intensive care now. The surgery went well, apparently.” She came in and sat beside the bed. “Mr Westonville, I’m very sorry to inform you that your wife died this afternoon.”

  “What?” A faint ringing began in his ears.

  “She suffered a brain aneurysm whilst waiting for a train in Paddington station. She was pronounced dead on arrival at A & E. I’m so sorry.”

  “What? When?”

  “This afternoon. Whilst you were here.”

  It felt like the bruising on his throat was getting worse. He could barely swallow. “What?” he said, then again and again, as if his thoughts were stuck on a loop.

  “Mr Westonville, as your wife’s next of kin, you need to confirm her identity.”

  “When?”

  “I can take you now.”

  “Where?”

  “The morgue.”

  He didn’t remember walking down the corridors with her, nor the lift. He was only barely aware of a couple of heavy double doors, someone behind a desk who gave him something to sign, being led into a room, a massive drawer in the wall being opened…

  Leanne looked like she was asleep.

  She was asleep, in the hotel on their honeymoon, a two-star pit in Bournemouth, the sound of mad seagulls coming in through the window. He watched her wake and, after smiling at him, she looked towards the window.

  “Do you think the locals are slaughtering them?” he’d asked.

  “Sam, we’re on our honeymoon.” She tickled his ribs. “The gulls are shagging, not being slaughtered.” Then they were lying naked on top of the sheets. It was back when the summer came in August and it was too hot to make love under them.

  “If I ever make a noise like that when we’re shagging,” he’d said, running a hand over her stomach, “divorce me.”

  Sam didn’t remember leaving the morgue or reaching the steps leading down from the hospital entrance. He didn’t realise he was sitting until he saw Max looking down at him.

  “Are you hurt?” Max asked.

  “My wife.”

  “Has something–”

  “Neugent. Fucking Neugent.”

  “He murdered her?”

  “She tried to call me but I was hurt, in the park. Thorn tried to kill Cathy.”

  “I know. I brought him in for questioning. Are you badly hurt?”

  He shook his head.

  “Mr Ekstrand wants to see you,” Max said. “Will you come with me?”

  Then Sam was sitting on the sofa in front of the fire, the smell of woodsmoke and the clatter of Axon carrying in tea and cake seeming so familiar and so alien at the same time. Petra came and sat next to him, taking his hand, asking if he wanted tea, and all he wanted to say was “I want my wife” but he couldn’t get the words through his thick throat. Then he wept.

  Afterwards his head felt clearer and he accepted a cup of tea as Max and the gargoyle came in and sat opposite. Sam told them what had happened at the park, everything about the railings, about Thorn and then about the policewoman collecting him to identify Leanne. The teacup rattled on the saucer as he spoke. There was silence after he finished.

  “I’m so sorry, Sam,” Petra finally said. “That’s awful.”

  “Yeah,” the gargoyle agreed. “How’s Cathy?”

  “I dunno.” Sam shrugged and then winced as the movement tugged at his injuries. “Where’s Ekstrand?”

  “With the apprentices. I’ve told him you’re here,” Max said.

  “Would you like me to ask him if you can stay here for a while?” Petra asked. “There’s a room for you if you want. I can understand you not wanting to go home at the moment.”

  “There’s no way I’m staying here again.”

  “Ah, our guest has returned.” Ekstrand’s cheeriness crashed into the sombre sitting room. “Where have you been?”

  “Mr Ekstrand.” Sam stood up. “I need your help.”

  “What with?” Ekstrand asked, beckoning the apprentices in.

  Eagerboy smiled but Sam didn’t have an ounce of friendliness left in him. “My wife has been killed by a total bastard and I need you to help me stop him from fucking anyone else’s lives up.”

  Ekstrand looked at Max. “It’s possible Neugent – or something connected to him – had some involvement in his wife’s death,” Max said. “It’s not guaranteed.”

  “He did,” Sam said. “She was losing weight, she wasn’t herself, and it was Neugent’s fault.” He pointed at Max. “You were the one who told me about that pattern in the first place. You know it’s true.”

  “Who is this Neugent?” Ekstrand asked. “Is he a puppet?”

  “No, he works for CoFerrum Inc,” Sam said. “He’s got something to do with Lord Iron.”

  “Well, so do you.” Ekstrand pointed at the wedding ring. “Were you involved?”

  “Sam.” Petra’s hand brushed his arm. “She died of natural causes.”

  “There was nothing natural about it, she wasn’t e
ven thirty!”

  “But an aneurysm can happen to anyone at any time, and another person can’t cause it,” she replied. “It’s just something awful that happened to your wife. You can’t say with absolute certainty that Neugent had anything to do with it and the likelihood is he didn’t.”

  “Bullshit. Max warned me about him, he does something to people and it makes them die young. He’ll do it again, I know he will.” He looked back at Ekstrand. “Look, aren’t you and the Arbiters supposed to protect innocents?”

  “From the Fae and their puppets, yes,” Ekstrand replied.

  “And the likes of Lord Iron and his people?”

  “There’s never been any need. The Elemental Court are completely different from the Fae – they don’t interfere with people or kidnap them.”

  “But my wife was an innocent who got sucked into some job that ended up with her living in an apartment designed to be an iron cage.”

  “The apartment was designed to protect against Fae,” Max said. “It had a cage-like structure, but there was no sense of imprisonment there.”

  “Well, that sounds rather helpful and sensible,” Ekstrand said.

  “You don’t get it, do you?” Sam yelled. “My wife is dead! I tried to warn her, I did everything I could, but she died, and I’m telling you this will happen again to another couple. Help me do something about that! It’s directly connected to Lord Iron, who’s presumably in this Elemental Court, and you’re saying there’s no need to police them like the Fae?”

  Ekstrand looked at Max. “Do you think there’s grounds for concern?”