by Emma Newman
“I don’t think you’re stupid. I just don’t see the point. It won’t bring her back. And before you ask, we are not going to find her children. Nothing good would come of it.”
The gargoyle sniffed. “Go beat that bastard up for me.”
Max drained the cup and pulled the file containing all the pictures they had of the people who’d disappeared. Then he went to the darkest empty corner of the office and used the door handle again.
George Iris was slumped forwards, his head resting on one arm. Max could see from the red skin on his wrists that he’d tried to free himself. He jolted upright at the sound of the door closing, blinking away the disorientation as best he could.
“I’m going to ask you some questions. The way you answer them will affect the case I present to your Patroon. If I think you’re lying or holding anything back, I’ll go and get some tools and ask the questions again.”
“I’m sure there’s a clause regarding the use of torture in the Split Worlds Treaty,” Iris said, swallowing hard.
“There is. It says that Arbiters are allowed to use it on puppets who kidnap innocents.” Max dropped the file on the table and sat down opposite Iris. “You probably made plans before you fell asleep,” Max said, “but there’s nothing you can say here that will convince me you’re innocent. I have enough evidence to push for your immediate expulsion from Society.”
“So why bother with the questions?”
I want to know whether I need to ask for your legs to be broken first. That was what gargoyle wanted him to say. Max ignored it. “I like to be thorough.”
Iris sighed. “There’s barely any point to this. I’m the head of a powerful family and my Patroon will be very motivated to protect me.”
“Your Patroon can’t protect you from my boss.” He opened the file and spread the photos out on the table. “These are the one hundred and twenty-three people who have gone missing from the city of Bath and surrounds over the past one hundred and sixteen years. I know there are more, but let’s start with these.”
Iris scanned the images, his face impassive.
“How many of these people did you steal to order for your patron?”
“That’s a rather bold assumption.”
“If you’re going to fight me on every question, you’ll be chained to that table for a very long time. I can go and sleep, eat, drink. Go to the bathroom. You can’t.” He tapped the table. “How many?”
Iris sighed. “I’d much rather discuss a deal.”
“I’m an Arbiter. I can’t be bribed.”
“I know that, but you’re not without sense either.”
He tapped the table again. “How many.”
Iris looked away.
Max stood up. “I’ll come back in a few hours. I’ll bring a Truth Mask with me. The one with the extra-sharp spikes.”
“About half of them. I think. I don’t recall exactly.”
“Do they all just blur into one over the years?” Max said, sitting back down.
“Something like that. You have to understand, Mr Arbiter, it wasn’t my choice to do this. I didn’t wake up one morning and decide it would be a jolly jape to go into Mundanus and destroy people’s lives.”
“But you went and did it anyway.”
“I had no choice. My patron expects his requests to be carried out immediately and without question. If I had disobeyed, I would have been replaced and another would have done his bidding.”
“I have no interest in the pressure he put on you. You’re a puppet, I know that already. I’m going to point to each picture, you say yes if you took them, no if you did not.”
The photos were sorted and the ones he denied taking were put back in the file. All of the pictures from the newspaper article were included among those left on the table.
“Why did Lord Iris want these people?”
“I have no idea. It’s not my place to question why.”
“Let me rephrase that. Did he ask for these people specifically?”
“No. He asked for people with particular qualities. That one, on the edge there, I took him because my Lord asked for a skilled musician. And that girl there, the same reason.” He paused, frowning to himself. “I didn’t want to. I knew their families would—”
“What other qualities?”
Iris sighed. “That one in the red shirt, he was taken because he had committed a crime, a violent one. The same for that one with the awful hair, yes, him, and that one with the appalling teeth. They were easier to take, I confess. I think I did some good removing them from Mundanus.”
Max noted the reason on the back of each picture and placed them back in the file. When they were done, he scanned the remainder. Over forty photos remained, including that of his father. “Which quality did these people have?”
“They were rebellious, in a variety of ways, but that was the quality he wanted.”
Max pointed to the picture of his father and the other foundry workers. “Tell me about those.”
Iris frowned. “That was a difficult night.”
“That’s when you got your scar.”
Iris nodded. “I’d already taken about half of them the previous night. They were a common lot, but they were some of the first to unionise in the city and were very vocal about it too. They were planning to strike and force the owner to increase pay. It was rather controversial at the time.”
“And how did you take them?”
“A very simple Persuasion Charm. Nothing violent. I invited them to my house for dinner, just like all the others. Once they were in the Nether, I simply told them to step through a mirror into Exilium.”
“And what happened the second night?”
“The owner of the factory was waiting for me and attacked. That’s how I got the scar. I never went back there again.”
“The people taken for being rebellious. What happened to them?”
“I have no idea. They were certainly never returned from Exilium.”
“Could they still be alive?”
“One can live indefinitely in Exilium, but only with the favour and care of one of the Lords or Ladies. Lord Iris is not one for keeping pets.”
“At least, not in Exilium,” Max said, and Iris bristled but said nothing.
“I should think he took whatever he wanted, or used them for whatever purpose he had in mind, and if they survived, well, it would be mere speculation.”
“Speculate.”
“I imagine they would have starved to death. I’ve heard tell of such things. Once the Fae lose interest in a mortal that’s trapped in Exilium, it’s very easy for them to forget about them altogether. The nature of the place is such that if they have no interest in an individual, they will never see them.”
“I know how Exilium works.”
“Quite. That’s all I know. Now I know you have no interest in a deal, but what if I could help with another investigation of yours? Would it make your report to my Patroon more favourable?”
Max called the Aquae Sulis Reticulata-Iris family tree to mind. George was the firstborn. No leverage there for the Second Sons. But perhaps he knew something that could bear fruit later on.
“What do you know of the Second Sons?”
Iris brightened. “I’ve had dealings with them.”
“But you’re the firstborn in your branch of the family.”
“My younger brother fell in with them some years ago. He was bereaved and wasn’t coping very well, truth be told. They approached him when he was at a low ebb and convinced him that joining them would be very beneficial for him.”
“And was it?”
Iris snorted. “Hardly. They encouraged him to take dreadful risks, drink far too much, and do the bidding of the ringleader. Nasty piece of work.”
“When a man who’s kidnapped over fifty innocents and led them to their deaths says that, ‘nasty’ may be an understatement.”
Iris stared at him. “I did not choose to do that, sir.”
“Did
this ‘nasty piece of work’ make your brother commit any crimes?”
“No, but only because I intervened and pulled Vincent out when I found out what was happening. He was too weak and lost in grief to realise he was being groomed to be nothing more than Bertrand Viola’s bully boy.”
The ability to feel a sense of triumph had been taken from Max a long time ago, but not the ability to feel an easing of the tension as another, critical piece of the puzzle fell into place.
“Now, I’ve been very generous with my information; I trust you will be generous when you present to my Patroon.”
“I don’t know what gave you that idea, Mr Iris,” Max said, gathering up the photos and putting them back into the file. “I’ll present the facts, as I always do.”
Iris laughed, though it was less convincing this time. “You would be excellent at poker, sir. But no matter, I have every faith in my Patroon. He understands the pressure we are put under.”
“Yes,” Max said, tucking the file under his arm and standing up. “He’ll have learnt it from being put under pressure by the Sorcerers to punish criminals such as yourself as harshly as possible.” He pushed the door handle into the wall. “I’ll be back for you soon, Mr Iris.”
23
Cathy didn’t open her eyes when she first heard the knocking.
“Go away.”
There was a pause, and the sound of a hushed conversation, then more knocking.
Cathy groaned. She was at the Tower, now she remembered, and had somehow thought it was a good idea to lie down, fully dressed, and fall asleep in her corset.
“Give me a minute,” Cathy called, sitting up. In the small hours of the morning, raw from a prolonged and tearful goodbye, she’d been too exhausted to even contemplate going home. She wanted to be alone, to think things through. From every angle, it had looked hopeless. Both Margritte and Natasha were gone now, leaving only Charlotte as her trusted ally, and she was falling apart.
Tom had been right. Will had been stalling the Ladies’ Court. She didn’t want to go back home and tell him what had happened and be angry with him and devastated by Natasha and Margritte’s exile at the same time. It was simply too much. So she’d sent a note, flopped into one of the many guest rooms set aside for travelling dignitaries, and slept poorly. Now all she was left with was the desire to free Charlotte from Bertrand, Charlotte’s daughter from the marriage to Nathaniel, and herself from this corset.
“Don’t give up,” Natasha had whispered in her ear. “Withdraw and reconsider, but don’t let them destroy you.”
“They haven’t,” she said to herself, trying to pat her hair into some sort of order. “It’ll take more than this.” Cathy tried to smooth the wrinkles from her gown but soon realised the futility of trying to make herself look anything but a woman who’d cried for hours and then got a couple of hours sleep. “Come in.”
A page opened the door. “Your Grace, there’s a visitor for you, and she says it’s urgent.”
“Who?”
“Your mother,” said her mother, pushing past the page. “You may leave now,” she said to the man, who bowed and left without even a glance at Cathy. “They’ve been keeping me waiting for over half an hour. Good grief, Catherine, you look absolutely dreadful.”
“Thanks. What do you want?”
“I need you to sign my request for the Oak. As it’s such short notice I need to have a second signatory of significant rank and I can’t get hold of the Patroon because he is a useless man with an excess of ears and little between them.”
Cathy smirked at the description, then blinked at the scroll thrust beneath her nose. “I haven’t even had a cup of tea yet.”
“Well, call for breakfast, we have a lot to do.”
Cathy pushed the scroll away. “This is really not the best time.”
“Elizabeth is to be married tomorrow, Catherine. It is the only time. I need you to put your rank to good use and help me to make all the arrangements today.”
“Wait, what? Tomorrow? That’s insane.”
“No, it isn’t. They met yesterday, the contract was signed last night, and this is going to happen the way I say it is or the entirety of this family will come to know the true extent of my wrath and believe me, Catherine, you have only seen a sliver of it before now.”
“Is this what Elizabeth wants?”
“Yes. She’s overjoyed. She’s with the dressmaker now, having a fabulous time making the most unreasonable demands and making as many of the servants cry as she can. Now, are you going to call for breakfast or must I do absolutely everything today?”
“I’ve got other plans for today.”
“They’re cancelled. I’ve already told William. You’ll have to deal with his sulking tomorrow, he isn’t best pleased that you’ll be with me tonight. It’s the only way we are going to have a chance of getting everything ready.”
“Who did you bully before my wedding?”
“I had more time to arrange that one, despite the Irises changing the date.”
“Time enough to keep me drugged and locked up and—”
Her mother took off her hat and for a moment Cathy wondered if she was going to beat her with it. “Catherine. I have no regrets about that whatsoever. Look at all you have now. You’re Duchess, you have more power and wealth than, frankly, you deserve, and all because I had the good sense to make sure you made it to the Oak without any more silliness. Please sign this and give it your seal!”
“Go find someone else to do your dirty work,” Cathy said, batting the scroll away when it was thrust towards her again.
Her mother looked like she was going to cry, just for the briefest moment, but then schooled her face to hide it swiftly enough. She looked up at the ceiling, down at the flagstones, across to the window, as if the solution were a thimble to be found somewhere nearby.
“Is this room private?”
“What?”
“Could we be overheard here?”
Cathy shrugged. “I’ve never been in this room before now. The best place to talk is in the gardens, if you’re worried about that.”
“I want to talk to you there.”
“Can’t I at least have a cup of—”
“No. It has to be now. If I wait I may lose the courage to tell you what I must and that would never do.”
Cathy stood, tried her best to ignore her aching ribs, and led her mother out of the Tower, eliciting many curious glances along the way. As they passed the door to the kitchens she spotted a man carrying a tray of pastries and called him over so she could take a couple of them. She ate one on the way into the garden and was glad when her mother declined the other one.
Once they were among the greenery, her mother led Cathy to the point farthest away from the Tower and most shaded by ornamental trees. Cathy didn’t mind too much, seeing as it gave her the chance to eat the second pastry, but she could have murdered a coffee to go with it.
Her mother clutched her hat, a dramatic wide-brimmed affair in black and red to match her dress, over her stomach. She bit her lip and fiddled with the edge of the straw brim, looking more nervous than Cathy had ever seen her.
Cathy folded her arms, trying to be patient, even though she felt like crap and had more important things to do than—
“I’m leaving your father.”
Cathy blinked.
“Once Elizabeth is married. I’m leaving him then, when I know all my children are in good places and what I do can’t harm them.”
“Bloody hell,” Cathy said. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“There’s more.” Mother looked up again, down again, her fingers pulling a strand of straw from its place. “I’m leaving him to be with my lover. My former lover. The one I loved before I had to marry that man.”
Cathy felt as if she’d slipped into another Nether whilst she’d slept. A lover? What was more surprising, that her mother had one or that she was even capable of love? “Oh. Okay. Who’s he?”
Her mother
looked up from her hat. “She, Catherine. The one I love most in the worlds is a woman.”
“Okay.” Cathy tried to imagine her father alone, and found it quite easy. There had never been any affection between them.
Her mother gawped at her. “‘Okay’? Is that really all you have to say about it?”
“I’m sorry—you’re right. I mean: Yay! Congratulations?”
“What?”
Cathy reflected the confusion on her mother’s face. “What do you want me to say?”
“Aren’t you…appalled with me? Disgusted?”
“No. Why would I be?” Then Cathy realised what her mother feared. “Oh, Mother, I’m not like that. In Mundanus, I marched in the Manchester Pride when I was a student.” At her mother’s blank expression, she added, “It’s a big parade that celebrates love. I had a friend who—look, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you love her, and that she loves you, right?”
Her mother nodded. At least the urgency of this wedding made sense now.
Then Cathy started to see her own experience of being drugged and forced into marriage in a different light. Now she understood it wasn’t just because of what Society expected; she had merely been an obstacle to her mother’s future happiness.
Wrestling the new insight into place, Cathy felt too many emotions all at once for it to settle into anything comfortable within her. The anger was still there, butting up against a fragile sympathy for a mother who had always been cruel and unloving. Now that there was another reason for her mother’s emotional distance, Cathy felt an empathy she’d never believed possible. But it didn’t change the fact that her mother had treated her like a tree to be hacked down to form a path out of the woods.
Her mother’s bottom lip was trembling. “I’ve never told another soul. I think you’re the only person in the whole of the Nether who would be so good about it.”
“Lucy would probably be cool with it too,” Cathy said with a shrug. “Really, you loving a woman is not a big deal for me. Treating me like crap…not defending me when Father got violent…those are still problems.”
“That’s perfectly reasonable,” her mother said, straightening up. “I’m not going to expect you to treat me differently because of this. It doesn’t excuse me for being an awful mother.”