‘The meeting will come to order,’ Thaddeus Corax said in a harsh, croaking voice which rang through the chamber – and silence fell.
‘Now, as you know,’ he continued, ‘we are here to discuss the attack on our shores which took place last night.’
‘Attack?’ I whispered to Miss Vane.
‘The fog,’ she whispered back. ‘Shh.’
‘We believe the fog was a test mechanism,’ Corax was continuing, ‘a precursor, if you will, for a future attack which might cause more damage. As far as we can tell, the fog itself did no harm. But its very presence is of the utmost concern – it should not have been able to penetrate these shores. A thousand years of spell and counterspell ought to have repelled it. These spells, for whatever reason, failed.’
‘And what reason can my fellow Chairs suggest?’ It was Knyvet who spoke, his voice smooth as oil.
‘Treachery!’ boomed Charles Catesby, his voice echoing around the rafters and making the spectators jump. ‘Treachery! Betrayal! A spy within the camp.’
‘Hold, hold, Chair Catesby.’ Corax raised a hand. ‘We do not yet have proof of this. But it is true that the fog seems to have concentrated on every weak spot in our defence – and that is extremely worrying. It is almost as if the sender had access to privileged information on those defences and was able to fashion and direct a weapon to penetrate them.’
‘Almost?’ Margot Throgmorton’s sultry voice purred across the chamber. ‘Why “almost”, Chair Corax? I understood from the briefing that it’s not merely a question of last night’s fog. It seems that papers have gone missing, confidential spells have been breached, messages have been intercepted and never reached their recipient. I am –’ she lowered her eyelashes, ‘– only a deputy, but it seems as clear as day to me. Yet you don’t believe in the existence of this spy?’
‘Forgive me …’ For the first time Corax seemed to grope for words. He raised his eyes, looking around the chamber as if in bewilderment. ‘Forgive me, madam, if I find it hard to believe in the treachery of one so close to this circle that they know the secrets of power. Forgive me, for being an old man, trusting in my friends.’
Trusting? I nearly let my breath hiss through my teeth. Thaddeus Corax looked as if he’d never trusted anyone, man, woman or child, since the day he was born.
I could see my grandmother was struggling with the same concept. Her mouth was pressed into a thin, bloodless line and her ringed hands were locked in her lap so tightly that the knuckles shone white.
‘It would have to be a very strong motive, Chair Corax.’ She spoke for the first time, her voice grim. ‘A very strong motive indeed. For someone at the centre of so much power, to risk so much, to gain – what? Safety, from a challenger perhaps?’
Her eyes bored into his, but he did not flinch.
‘Or help, to topple an adversary perhaps, Chair Rokewood?’ His reply was cold. ‘There are many possibilities.’
‘Friends, friends …’ Knyvet’s voice was smooth, insinuating. ‘We must not quarrel among ourselves. United we stand, divided we fall – is that not how the saying goes?’
‘Indeed, dear friend.’ Corax put his hand in Knyvet’s and his graven face creased into something I suspected was meant for a smile. But my grandmother didn’t smile and when Corax held out his free hand, she didn’t return the gesture.
‘Our house is already divided,’ she said coldly. ‘The only question is where this invisible fissure lies. Friends or not, we have been betrayed; there is a crack in our very foundations which will split us in two. And until we know where that crack lies, how can we protect ourselves?’
‘What do you propose then, Chair Rokewood?’ Margot Throgmorton’s voice was less sultry now, and there was impatience in her tone. ‘Instead of prophesying doom, perhaps you could tell us what course of action you advise?’
‘Lock down,’ my grandmother said shortly. There was an immediate hubbub around the chamber, but her voice rose, ringing above the chorus of disapproval and consternation. ‘We revoke every pass. We cancel every security clearance. We reissue them one by one, on a strictly need-to-know basis. And we watch to see when the leaks recommence.’
‘This is absurd,’ Knyvet said impatiently. ‘Chair Rokewood, you would have us waste time quarrelling among ourselves instead of looking to the true enemy.’
‘And who is the true enemy, Chair Knyvet?’ my grandmother demanded.
A hushed silence fell over the chamber. I had the impression that everyone was waiting – waiting for a hammer to fall.
But before Knyvet could answer, an enormous explosion shook the chamber.
The witchlights in their sconces guttered suddenly, dwindling to threads, as if a terrible blow had been struck at the source of their power, and for a moment I heard a thunderous rush of water around us, as if the rivers were pressing very close, straining to break their chains and reclaim their powers. The chamber was a dark, flickering cavern filled with screams and whimpers.
In the middle of the floor the Chairs jumped to their feet, gazing wildly around.
‘Everybody, please be calm and keep to your seats!’ Thaddeus Corax barked in a harsh voice. His words were ignored. All around, people were running.
Miss Vane stood, biting her lip, then she put her hand firmly on my shoulder.
‘Anna, stay here, do you understand? Stay here until I’m back. I’ll only be five minutes but I must check – I have to find out what’s—’
‘Go,’ I said. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘I’ll be five minutes,’ she repeated firmly. And then she was gone, clattering up the steep steps to the door at the edge of the chamber.
For a moment I sat, my ears still ringing from the blast. Then I ran after her.
CHAPTER THREE
The corridor was almost deserted but from far away, deep within the labyrinth, I could hear shouts and the thunder of spells and charms. The strange feeling of an illusion worn thin persisted – I felt as if I could press my hand through the red damask wallpaper in the corridor, plunge my arm shoulder-deep into the river’s filth and silt.
Miss Vane was disappearing at a ladylike run around the curve of the corridor to my left. I waited, pressed against the wall, until she’d gone and then I turned right.
I hoped to God I could remember the way. The Ealdwitan’s HQ was a maze and I’d only the faintest recollection of its layout. I passed two rooms I recognized and for a moment started to feel cocky – and then I came to a dead end. There were two great glass doors in front of me; inside was a vaulted glass cathedral – a giant hothouse filled with tropical plants and trees.
Damn, damn. I turned around, feeling sweat trickle down my back, and hearing again Miss Vane’s firm ‘Five minutes’.
I began to run.
After what felt like a lot longer than five minutes I found myself at the reception desk, facing the ledger I’d signed so recently. And, as I’d hoped, the desk was unmanned, the office behind shadowed in darkness and empty.
My heart was thudding in my throat, so hard that for a minute it was hard to breathe. But I ignored it and clambered awkwardly over the polished wood of the reception desk, whacking my ankle painfully as I did so. I stifled a yelp, then ducked into the shadowed cave beyond.
The room was dark – very dark – and I looked for the light switch before I remembered where I was.
I stretched out my hand and drew a deep breath, trying to calm myself.
‘Léohtfætels-ábíed!’
A cool white light flickered on my palm, illuminating the room.
Ledgers were stacked all around me, piled haphazardly on shelves, tables, stacked upon the floor … Where to begin? ‘Five minutes’ was echoing in my head as I began to scan the spidery writing on the spines.
Day Ledger 1808, Day Ledger 1809 – much too old. Then 1947 caught my eye on a dusty shelf – at least that was closer. I looked further down the row … 1968 … A little further … Damn! Day Ledger 1716. Hadn’t they heard of orde
r?
Sweat trickled into my eyes and the witchlight in my palm flickered and dwindled. I swore, glaring at my palm, and it blazed into light again.
Day Ledger 1978 – OK, good! 1979 … 1981 … 1992 … and suddenly there it was. I snatched it off the shelf with eager hands and let the witchlight flare up again as I opened it, trying to keep my palm angled to illuminate the page. January, February … I counted on my fingers. Six weeks from my birthday, so that was the sixteenth of January … One, two, three … The first week of March, near enough. I flicked forward in the ledger and scanned down the lists of names. Nothing. Nothing I recognized.
I was about to slam the ledger down in disgust when a shadow suddenly passed across the lamp in the corridor and my breath caught in my throat. The witchlight in my palm guttered and died abruptly, and I shrank into the corner of the room, holding my breath.
But the passer-by continued on their way and I let out a great shuddering gasp. Then suddenly an idea struck me.
‘You idiot,’ I whispered under my breath. Of course – when my dad had said six weeks, he’d meant six weeks from my real birthday, not my fake one. Six weeks from the sixth of January. That meant – the third week of February.
My hands were shaking so hard that the witchlight in my palm cast flickering shadows across the thick paper. I turned back sheet after sheet … The twenty-first of February, nothing. The twentieth of February, nothing. Next I ran my trembling finger down the column of names for the nineteenth: Franklin, Adelstrop, Restorick, Vandellen, Menton, Vane, Ayckbourn … Rokewood.
My finger stopped. She’d been here.
I. Rokewood. 11.45pm, Neckinger entrance.
And then a note at the foot of the page, before the new day’s entry for the twentieth of February began: Today a most regrettable disturbance in the library; the vandalism of one of our most valuable tomes, the Codex Angelis. An entire page, ‘The Riddle of the Epiphany’, was torn out. It is very hard to believe that one of the members present on this date was responsible for the destruction.
Coincidence? The thought hung in the air as the witchlight flickered and waxed high in my palm. Impossible.
Then a shadow fell over the page and an accusing voice came from behind me.
‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’
I jumped and let the ledger fall from my hands with a sound like a clap of thunder.
‘I—’
Light flooded the room as the stranger cast his own witchlight, engulfing mine in a blaze of brilliance.
‘You!’
We both gasped.
It was a man – a boy, really, just a few years older than me – wearing an immaculate grey suit. His smooth chestnut hair gleamed in the witchlight. And I knew him. A few months ago he’d saved my skin – and I had no idea who he was, beyond his first name.
‘M-Marcus?’ I managed.
‘Get out,’ he said harshly. ‘The archivist is coming. You do not want to be found here.’
‘Thank you!’ I gasped.
‘Go!’ he hissed.
I didn’t need to be told again.
I ran.
‘Anna!’ Miss Vane looked furious but relieved as I sank into the seat next to her, trying to suppress my panting. ‘Where have you been? I was beside myself! I told you to stay here – what possessed you to wander off? Especially today of all days.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. My voice was as even as I could make it. ‘I needed the loo and I got lost.’
‘Oh.’ She looked slightly mollified. ‘Well it looks like the meeting is breaking up in any case. Chair Rokewood –’ she turned as my grandmother wearily ascended the steps towards us ‘– is the meeting closing?’
‘Yes, it seems so, for the moment at least.’
‘Do they know what caused the explosion?’
‘Not yet. There was no physical evidence of a disturbance – but the sound would seem to indicate that one of the wards was compromised. We’re not certain if it was merely some activity of the outwith which impinged on one of our security measures. If they dig too close to the rivers it can destabilize the foundations, though the wards are supposed to prevent that. But whatever the cause, it’s worrying that the shields were so badly affected. The Keepers are working now to reinstate them and we’ve agreed to adjourn the meeting until they’re fully operational. I think the only thing to do is seize the opportunity to take some supper. We’ll dine in my office please, Miss Vane.’
My grandmother sank into an armchair in front of the fire and passed a weary hand over her face. She looked several hundred years older than this morning. Then with a sudden, angry movement she picked up the briefing notes from the table in front of her and threw them savagely into the grate, her face stern in the flickering firelight as they blazed up.
‘Damn Corax,’ she said at last. ‘He had the meeting by the throat. Doesn’t he care there’s a spy in our midst? I know the leaks are coming from within his camp, I know it.’
‘Grandmother …’ I stopped and then, screwing up my courage, I carried on. ‘What did you want Knyvet to say – before the explosion?’
‘I don’t know, child.’ She passed a weary hand over her face, her rings glittering in the candlelight. ‘But there is a spy – and that spy is acting for someone. The best-case scenario is that they are acting for one of the other Chairs.’
‘And – the worst?’
‘They are acting for another country.’
‘Another country?’
‘Yes. Did you think we were the only ones of our kind in the world? Our people exist in every corner of the globe, from the poles to the equator. And wherever our kind gather, we love order and ritual and hierarchy. And feuds. Other countries have their councils: Les Viseurs. El Circulo. The Nodus. The Sistren … Some are very like the Ealdwitan, as old or even older. Some are very different. The lust for power, the search for knowledge – those forces are the same, wherever they arise. But the methods …’ She stopped and then said, with a harshness in her voice that sounded almost like pain, ‘Anna, I know you have experienced the worst of the Ealdwitan. But we are not the worst of all. Good God no, we are not the worst. The others—’
She broke off, at the sound of a knock at the door.
‘Come in, Miss Vane.’
‘It’s not Miss Vane,’ said a voice – a male voice, low and amused. The door opened and the visitor walked into the room. My heart did a horrible flip, like missing a step on the escalator and I scrambled to my feet, ready to flee.
Something flickered in his eyes, but his face remained a polite mask as he turned to my grandmother.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt, Chair Rokewood, but I wondered if I might have a quick word.’
‘Of course, Marcus. Have you met my granddaughter, Anna? Anna, this is Marcus Corax.’
‘We’ve met,’ he said. Something tugged at the corner of his mouth.
‘Really?’ My grandmother looked surprised. ‘How?’
‘Oh, on Anna’s last visit here. I was able to assist her with some directions.’
I remembered my naked desperation, running for my life to get out of the mazelike corridors. Marcus had shown me a way out.
‘And more recently,’ he continued, ‘didn’t we bump into each other at reception?’
‘I – I’m not sure,’ I said. My heart was still thumping and I gave him a sharp look – was he laughing at me? The thought made me angry and stiffened my nerve. ‘But thank you for the directions last time.’ Somehow I kept my voice steady. ‘I never had a chance to say.’
‘No need for thanks.’ He held out his hand. I hesitated for a moment and then I put mine in his. Who was he? Why had he saved me, twice? His hand was strong and immaculately manicured. But as we shook, something in my grandmother’s introduction scratched at me like a snagged nail. Marcus Corax. Corax?
He was already speaking to my grandmother.
‘I wanted to apologize. For my father. You’re right and he’s wrong – I don’t know why
he refuses to see it.’
‘Because he doesn’t want to admit I’m right? Because revoking all security passes will be costly, disruptive and extremely political? Or because he is protecting the spy?’ My grandmother pinched the bridge of her nose and then sat back with a weary sigh.
‘Not that!’ Pain crossed Marcus’ face and he sat too, hitching his beautifully pressed trousers to preserve their crease. ‘I’m certain of that.’
‘I wish I could be so sure,’ my grandmother said. ‘But you may be right. Well, will you do what you can to persuade him, Marcus? We vote tomorrow on rescinding the passes and we must get it through. Without revoking security clearances we really have no idea where the leaks are coming from.’
‘I will try, ma’am, but as you know, I’m not in my father’s best books at the moment. Since he knows I’m taking your side on this …’ He trailed away and then seemed to steel himself. ‘But I’ll try again. What other votes do you think you can secure?’
‘As to that, I’m not sure. Your father has Knyvet’s vote in his pocket, we’re all aware of that. Catesby will back me, or at least I hope he will.’
‘And Margot Throgmorton?’
‘Ah. There, I really don’t know. Properly, of course, the vote is Edward’s. But I doubt he’s well enough to understand the question, let alone express a view. Normally I would say her inclination would be to side with me – she has no affection for your father and her words today make me think that she is fully alive to the dangerous reality of this spy. But her relationship with Knyvet compromises matters. I don’t know how far she will go along with him. She may abstain and, if she does, that means an even split.’
‘W-what happens then?’ I found myself asking nervously. ‘Does someone have a casting vote?’
‘No.’ My grandmother sounded weary. ‘In the event of an even vote, the chamber empties and we Chairs are locked in without food or water until someone cracks and changes sides. It’s an archaic practice and never pretty.’
A Witch Alone Page 3