by Emma Newman
“They’re sent away and never come back,” Emmeline whispered. “No one knows where they’re taken nor what happens to them.”
“We don’t even know if they’re still alive,” Benedict added.
Cathy worried a button on her glove, the sombre mood of the room being the last thing she’d expected. “I don’t suppose one of them was Clarissa Arvensis-Ranunculus?” She was one of Miss Rainer’s students, one whose file ended abruptly with the cryptic code she’d asked Max to decipher in her last letter to him.
“Yes!” Emmeline said. “Do you know what happened to her?”
“No, she was just someone I hoped to meet.” She ran through the other names she could remember and the assembled confirmed that all had been replaced. None of them had been Londinium families, at least none of any note, so Max was the best bet in tracking them down. “I’ll look into it,” she said.
“Shall I read my essay now?” Benedict asked.
“No, wait,” Cathy held up a hand. “I know I’ve just got here but I’m sorry, I’m not taking the risk to sneak out just to listen to an essay.” When Benedict’s young face displayed his sadness she said, “I’m sure it’s really interesting, but I can read essays at home.”
“We can’t,” Emmeline said pointedly.
“But what I mean is that if we’re all taking the risk being here, let’s put it to better use. Let’s work out what we can do to find others like us. And we need a way to communicate securely with each other. We need to plan who we need to talk to and get on side, what we can say to them and who we think might be sympathetic.”
The group wouldn’t meet her eyes. No one said anything. Alicia took a breath but only to cough delicately into a handkerchief.
“I’m sorry, your Grace,” Emmeline finally said. “It’s too dangerous. We take comfort in each other and this keeps us from madness, but we aren’t the kind of people you’re looking for. They stood up for our rights and look what happened.”
“What do you think the Suffragettes endured?” Cathy stood up, unable to keep calm in the face of such cowardice.
“The Suffragettes didn’t have to contend with Charms and the Fae,” Benedict said.
“No, they had to contend with the police and prison officers who force-fed them and people jeering at them on the street and their own families turning against them. What kind of feminists do you think you are if all you’re prepared to do is just hide away in a bloody bookshop and talk?”
“Living ones,” Emmeline said, now standing too. “I’m sorry we haven’t met your expectations, and I’m sorry we’re not as brave – and reckless – as my mother, but we’ve lost people and seen with our own eyes what horrors can be committed.”
“So have I!” she shouted and immediately regretted it. Cathy held up her hands, ashamed of herself. “I’m sorry. I thought that if there were other people who had the same values we could actually achieve something.”
“Having the same values does not mean we believe the same action should be taken,” Benedict said. “If this group isn’t what you want then, respectfully, your Grace, perhaps you need to look elsewhere.”
She scanned the faces. All were nervous and tense. They were probably afraid she was going to force them into doing something by virtue of her status or that she’d do something that would lead others to them who would cart them off too. They were frightened and she didn’t have the right to tell them how to protest, any more than she had the right to be angry with them for not being what she’d hoped.
“I think I do,” she said. “I’m sorry I… sorry to disrupt your evening. I won’t bother you again.”
“Oh, your Grace, you’d be most welcome to discuss and debate with us,” Alicia said nervously. “Just… nothing more.”
Cathy managed a sad smile. “It’s not enough for me,” she said and left them to it.
Jane was waiting on the other side of the Way. “That was quick.”
“It wasn’t what I was hoping for,” Cathy said. “Thank you for being so accommodating though.”
She went down the stairs slowly, heavy with disappointment. Carter stood as she approached the door. “Did they not have any books to your taste, your Grace?”
“No,” she said. “I need to find what I’m looking for elsewhere.”
Will looked at the house through the raindrops rolling down the taxi’s window. Why did it always rain when he had business in Mundanus? It looked unassuming enough, a terraced townhouse in Pimlico with iron railings outside and a neat row of clipped hedges in a window box. There were steps down to the basement level and steps up to the black front door.
He couldn’t have found it without Tom, who may not have had the political connections but did have a talent for investigation. Tom’s instincts about the stables had been correct and he’d followed each of the leads diligently, writing it all up and delivering the evidence to him in a dossier that read more like an academic paper. The house he looked at now was at the root of the criminal network.
“This the one then?” the driver asked.
“Yes.” Will paid him and got out, opened the umbrella and directed it against the wind.
There was a light on in the living-room window and he could see an alcove full of books and a potted plant. The walls were white with a bold piece of modern art dominating the space above the fireplace. He couldn’t see much more but it was already evident that the woman living there was wealthy.
He had several Charms ready to use, should the woman elect to fight him instead of accepting her fate. He wondered whether to use the Clear Sight Charm he’d purchased only an hour before, but didn’t want to suffer the ill effects afterwards. He took a deep breath, adjusted the way the Glamoured sword rested against his thigh, and crossed the road.
The door knocker was a traditional lion’s head holding a thick circle in its jaws. It made a satisfying clunk against the door. He heard footsteps in the hall and the door was opened by a woman in her thirties. She was slender with long black hair and wore a suit. There was a smile on her face which faded when she saw him.
“Not who you were expecting,” he said.
“No. And you are?”
“The Duke of Londinium.”
She paled as she looked him up and down. “Come in.”
He looked at the threshold carefully before stepping through. It appeared to be clean and very mundane. The hallway had a polished oak floor and a cat sat on a console table, watching him with large amber eyes. Its fur was the same colour as the Nether’s mists. The sight of it reassured him he would just be walking into the house as opposed to an unknown location in the Nether, so he went in. She closed the door behind him after a quick glance out onto the street.
“What do you want?”
“You haven’t even shown me into your living room yet, Dr Tate. We may be in Mundanus but surely we don’t need to behave like savages. I know you were brought up well at least.”
He could see she was terrified. It made him more certain the conversation would go his way but didn’t make him feel good. He’d had his fill of destroying lives. No, he corrected himself, it may not come to that.
“I would offer you a drink but I doubt you’d accept it,” she said as he followed her into the living room.
“That’s right. And I’d rather you didn’t either. I’m sure you understand why.”
“So you know all about me.” She sat in a leather chair near the window. “Or so you want me to believe.”
He sat on the sofa. It was a nice room, tastefully decorated. “I know you have a lucrative business underpinned by crime. I know you used to live in the Nether until your father decided it was more important to bed the wife of a friend than protect his family. I know you somehow managed to escape the Collectors and have been missing for over ten years, presumed dead.”
He watched her throat move as she swallowed. “I can only assume, seeing as you’re paying a personal visit, that you don’t plan to turn me over to the Agency.”
> Will nodded. “The ones you paid to rob the people of Londinium are in their custody now.”
“All four teams?” she asked.
“All five,” he replied. “Nice try.”
She licked her lips. “Sure you don’t want a drink?”
“They stole jewellery for you. You sold on the plain pieces and kept the Charmed ones to extract the magic trapped inside them whilst you obtained the other ingredients needed to make new products. These ingredients include a vast range of human emotions, from despair to love. I understand you take your time and cultivate your… patients until they’re ready to be emotionally harvested.”
“So you do know everything,” she sighed. “But you don’t want to turn me in. Which means you either want to kill me or use me. Which is it going to be?”
The door creaked as the cat pushed it open further and rubbed against her legs. She picked it up and put it on her lap.
“What’s she called?”
“He is called Henry. And I’d rather you just get on with it.”
“I’m not going to kill you,” Will said. “What do you think I am, some sort of gangster?”
“You’re an Iris, right?” At his nod she smiled. “You’re a gangster. Perhaps Daddy hasn’t told you yet.”
He stiffened, then laughed. “It takes more than that to upset me. I’m not going to kill you because I admire your work. The operation is really quite remarkable. It’s also mine, now.”
She tickled the cat behind her ears and purring soon filled the room. “But you’ve destroyed one of the most critical parts of my supply chain.”
“I’m merely replacing it with my own. I will supply all the Charmed artefacts you require. And I know exactly what you’ve stolen and when, so I know what kind of demand there will be. I won’t have to rob innocent people to satisfy your quota.”
“Innocent?” After a moment’s thought she added, “The pieces need to be first generation – Charmed by the Fae themselves – can you handle that?”
“Yes. That won’t be a problem.” He was planning to request pieces as part of his tithe and any shortfall could be made up by Lord Iris, he was certain of it.
“And your cut will be…?”
“Modest. You can continue to live your illegal life in the manner to which you have become accustomed.”
Tate looked at the cat and smiled as it looked back up at her. “And what about our two customers? I’m not sure they’ll be very happy about this. It does muddy things somewhat.”
He’d been fascinated to discover the criminal operation supplied the Agency and the Emporium of Things in Between and Besides directly. “Oh, there’s no need for you to worry about them.” Will smiled. “It’s not as if there are alternative suppliers for them to go to. And the Shopkeeper’s no fool. He’ll understand that to accept this new arrangement is to survive.”
“Hmm.” Tate looked unconvinced. “The Shopkeeper. Not the man best known for liking change.”
18
Sam couldn’t stop shaking. Even though he’d managed to stagger back to the house and had had a bath and been given hot sweet tea, he trembled at his very core. Iron’s lawyer sat on the other side of the table, watching him and waiting patiently.
“I didn’t kill him.”
“I know, sir,” he said slowly. “You’ve seen the video and you’ve seen the instructions he left me. No one is going to accuse you of anything.”
Iron had planned it. There’d been a concealed camera in the forge from the first day he went there and the entirety of Iron’s bizarre suicide had been recorded. But none of it made sense and Sam was terrified the police would walk in any moment. It was just so unlikely, so silly, that he simply couldn’t believe anyone would accept that the owner of a global corporation and one of the richest men in the world would choose to walk onto a metal stake. Once it was obvious what Iron was doing, they’d certainly want to know why he hadn’t been able to let go of it. Sam wanted to know that himself.
“I mean… what the fuck?” he asked out loud.
“Mr Ferran, I can see you’re still in shock–”
“What did you just call me?”
“Mr Ferran. I went through this with you, sir. You’ve been designated the official heir of the previous Mr Ferran and exist legally as Mr Samuel Ferran, his sole benefactor.” When Sam continued to fail to reply, he added. “As his son would be.”
“He wasn’t my father.” Sam gripped the edge of the table, wondering when he was going to wake up. “My father lives in Australia and collects stamps. He’s living off a shitty pension.”
The lawyer sighed. “I think it’s best we resume this tomorrow, after you’ve had time to rest. It seems the previous Mr Ferran didn’t appreciate how traumatic his actions would be.”
The noise of a helicopter landing on the grass outside made Sam look out of the window, his chest tight at the thought of the police flying in to arrest him.
“Ah, she’s here, good.” The lawyer stood up. “I’m sure Lady Nickel will want to speak to you in private. I’ll tell her where you are.”
“Next you’ll be telling me Lord Copper will be turning up and we’ll have a big old party.” A pathetic half-laugh slipped from his lips. “Maybe Lady Gold will be there.”
“I understand that Lord Copper hasn’t yet been informed of your new status,” the lawyer replied. “And the current incumbent is Lord Gold. You’ll be meeting them all soon. And please, don’t worry about Lady Nickel’s arrival. It was all part of the instructions left behind.”
“Oh, good,” Sam said flatly. “That makes me feel so much better.”
The lawyer smiled as if he’d never heard a man be sarcastic and left the room. Moments later Sam watched him leave the house and walk to the edge of the lawn as the helicopter’s door opened.
The woman who climbed out exuded power and confidence. She was wearing a trouser suit in a style more casual than Lord Iron’s used to be, but it looked just as crisp and just as expensive. Her hair was black with some grey at the temples and cut in a short afro, her brown eyes made striking by her bold make-up. She pulled out a briefcase, spoke to someone still inside the helicopter and then strode over to the lawyer. They shook hands and when he spoke she looked at Sam through the window. They talked for less than a minute and then she was escorted in as two small suitcases were unloaded from the helicopter. It was taking off by the time she entered the room.
Sam stopped shaking. She walked in, set her briefcase down and looked at him. “So you’re the one,” she said, looking him up and down. “You’re not what I expected, but I suppose that’s the point.”
He stood up, wondering if he’d met her before, seen her on television perhaps, or in a newspaper. “I’m Sam,” he said.
She came over and they shook hands. Sam felt reassured she’d know what was going on and that, if things weren’t OK, she would fix them. There was such self-confidence, such an aura of authority that he felt safe for the first time since Iron’s death. Perhaps since Leanne’s too.
“My name is Mazzi, but your predecessor used to call me Nicky.”
“So you’ve got lots of names too?”
She nodded. “All of us do,” she said, pulling out the chair next to his and sitting down.
“Which one would you prefer me to call you?”
“I think Mazzi for now. Let’s keep it away from the Court for as long as we can. That’s best, I think, by the look of you.” She reached across and patted his hand. Her nails were painted a dark red. “It’s all going to be fine.”
“That’s such a lie,” Sam said, but he still felt better.
“So, what did he tell you?”
“Nothing.”
“Not even about the Elemental Court?”
Sam shook his head. “No, but I’ve heard other people mention it. What is it anyway?”
Mazzi pursed her lips and looked out of the window. “He asked me to help, but I didn’t realise I’d be babysitting. No offence.”
“Look, I’ll be OK. I’ll just… go back to Bath and try and get a job. Stuff will work out. He was obviously mental. No need for him to screw up my life any more.”
Mazzi stared at him as if he’d said something utterly ridiculous. “Oh, God. He really didn’t tell you anything. There’s no easy way to tell you this… you’re Lord Iron now.”
“That lawyer was saying some bollocks about me being the heir but I thought he was…” Sam stopped. “Oh fuck. This isn’t… I mean… this is something more than just some loony leaving me money, isn’t it?”
“You don’t seem like you have a head for business,” she said, stroking her chin with one of the shiny red nails. “Are you an artist? An engineer?”
“I’m a computer programmer. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“No natural affinity for iron in any way?”
“Oh. Seems I’m a good blacksmith. And there was this weird thing that happened in a park when my friend was attacked and oh, shit – you’re not like the Fae, are you?”
“Absolutely not.” Mazzi grinned. “You could say we’re the opposite. Especially you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, because you’re Lord Iron now. Come on, Sam, keep up. What was the weird thing that happened in the park?”
He told her about when Thorn attacked Cathy and the child in the park, how the railings had broken beneath him, how he’d been able to throw one like a spear so accurately. He shook as he described the iron plugs that had formed in his wounds and how he’d never found the right moment to confront Lord Iron about it before he died.
Mazzi was nodding, looking like she’d heard it all before. “You’re definitely attuned. That probably caught his attention. You’re a complete unknown to any of us – that’s unusual but it makes more sense now.”
“Are you saying I did that? I made the railings change?”
She shrugged. “We all have different ideas about how it works in the Court. Honestly, you have to make your own mind up about how you want to explain it, but it sounds like you manipulated the metal. I know blood is important for iron.”