by Anna Butler
For the first time, the Stravaigor glared at me the way I’d seen him look at John. A mark of his fatherhood, perhaps. But I wouldn’t let it bother me and stared right back. He nodded brusquely at the butler, who scurried out to bring the Gallowglass to the study.
Henry Winter, the Gallowglass, was as tall as his son, a little broader across the chest and shoulders, perhaps. Ned had his mother’s Scandinavian-fair coloring rather than his father’s darker hair and eyes, but he and his father shared the same high cheekbones and strong jaw. The Gallowglass was kind and always courteous. I suspected him to be an honorable man; I knew him to be a dutiful and responsible one. And I knew him to be quite as ruthless as any House Princeps when it came to protecting his House interests and his family. Since he was the most powerful Princeps in the Imperium, perhaps he was likely the most ruthless.
The Stravaigor was on his feet to greet the Gallowglass almost before the latter was through the door. I rose quickly to stand before the desk. The Gallowglass’s chief guard, Joe Brennan, came in with him and halted by the door to keep guard there. Without words, it said that House Stravaigor was not to be trusted, not considered “friend.” I had no doubt the Stravaigor read the message. His glance flickered to Brennan, but he had the wisdom to hide whatever he felt about it.
“Gallowglass. I welcome you to my house.” He held out his hand, standing straight and upright and so obviously considering this a peer-to-peer meeting.
The Gallowglass just touched his hand, nodded, and acknowledged him. “Stravaigor.”
It wasn’t exactly fulsome. I got a sidelong glance and a “Rafe” when I bowed.
“Sir,” I said, because I was under no illusion about being the Gallowglass’s peer.
That earned me a slight upward quirk of the mouth that looked so much like Ned’s. He took the chair indicated by the Stravaigor but declined the offer of refreshment. “I must return to the Treasury soon. The King has requested a meeting there later today. I wished, though, to say one or two things to you, and to do so in a way that cannot be misconstrued. Your son endangered both my Heir and my grandson. John Lancaster abducted a child. Not even in the worst days of the Houses did we make war on children.”
“Without my sanction and knowledge, and I sent my own guard to deal with John as soon as I knew he had departed for Aegypt.” The Stravaigor went up a notch in my estimation. No whining or excuses for him. He was firm and unafraid. Or at least skilled at hiding.
The Gallowglass gave a magisterial nod. He eyed the Stravaigor’s mourning clothes for a moment. “The outcome is satisfactory. I would have eliminated him without a qualm for what he did. And held you responsible had you not acted.”
Yes. Ruthless. They’re all ruthless, under the skin. It made me fear what Ned might one day become. Or me.
He got a stiff nod back. The Stravaigor’s expression was neutral, but his mouth was pulled into a thin line.
“And secondly, you yourself, I believe, gave the order for my son’s pilot to be removed. I assume that was to allow Rafe to take the pilot’s place.”
That got no more reaction from the Stravaigor than the merest grimace, so fleeting I wondered if I’d imagined it. The pilot… what was his name, now? Ellis. That was it. He’d died in Finchley in a pub brawl with an unknown man—oh, good God. Tatlock. Tatlock had killed Ned’s poor pilot. I could have kicked myself for not making the connection earlier.
“That was inadvertent. Yes, I intended Rafe to go with your Heir to Aegypt. We did not intend the pilot’s death.”
I can only assume Ellis put up more of a fight than Tatlock had anticipated. A bit of me thought good for him, but mostly I deplored the outcome. Ellis had left a widow and children.
“Ned would have willingly taken Rafe with him.” The Gallowglass eyed me sidelong again, but his stern demeanor did not change. “No one needed to die.”
The Stravaigor inclined his head. I’m sure he knew what was coming, but his expression remained neutral.
“Mend your fences with the Cartomancer. I have no alliance to offer.”
The Stravaigor’s head came up, and he straightened his shoulders. “I have not asked for one.”
The Gallowglass, though, went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “If Rafe comes to me when he is Princeps, I will reconsider.”
Now, you would think that would be gratifying. But somehow, the dismissal of the Stravaigor in so very autocratic a fashion did not sit well with me. This was everything I hated about the Houses. The divisive, partisan, and downright selfish worldview was anathema, and even the best of them was infected with it.
I copied the Stravaigor’s upright posture but kept my tone easy and light, in contrast to the heavy, portentous register in which the two Principes spoke. “Oh, I don’t know that I’ll be seeking any alliances.” I locked gazes with the Stravaigor. “We are the House of vagabonds, and perhaps that is why our political alliances with the other Houses can be shaky. But it is also why we’re the best traders, the best men of business, the ones who know every market, the ones who can deal with any other commercial enterprise in the world and turn a handsome profit, the ones other countries’ traders trust. We’re the first port of call for anyone with something special to sell. The Imperium’s wealth and standing owe a great deal to the Stravaigors out there in New York or Shanghai or Calcutta, who create the trade deals and the riches that flow back to fill the Imperium’s coffers.” I took a step or two to stand at the side of the desk. Not quite on the Stravaigor’s side, but not on Gallowglass’s either. “If we leave the Cartomancer’s sphere, I think we could do very well on our own if we take an independent stance, stop meddling in politics, and keep our attention on what we do well. Any alliances we seek won’t be subservient ones.”
The Stravaigor turned an interesting shade of purple. The Gallowglass, by contrast, looked at first astonished and then a little amused.
“Ned said you were contemplating changes,” he said.
“That’s one of them.”
“Then I shall look forward to negotiating with you.” The Gallowglass stood. “I must go, Stravaigor.”
The Stravaigor got to his feet with rather less grace than the Gallowglass had shown, but remained polite. A nod, an acknowledging “Gallowglass,” but no subservient groveling. He went up a point or two in my estimation.
He waited until the door closed before resuming his seat and waving me back into mine. “That was a surprise, Rafe.”
“It was something of a surprise to me too.” But I didn’t regret it. “And to the Gallowglass, I think.”
He splashed more scotch into his glass and mine. “I do not deal well with surprises of that magnitude.”
“I do not deal well with the Houses.”
He laughed. He actually laughed. I began to think I didn’t know him very well at all. “How you remind me of your mother! So, what else do you plan?”
“I’ll play it by ear. There’s an attraction to forging a place of our own, you know. We can be a new House, a House of waifs and strays, all of them with an independent streak. That feels right.” A sip of whiskey calmed my fluttered nerves. “I may even change the House name to reflect the changing times. House Aviator, perhaps. Or House Aeronaut, if I feel more Greek than Latin on the day.”
“A change too far for me.” He downed his scotch. “As it happens, relations with the Cartomancer are better, if still very cool. I don’t think we’ll be cast into the outer darkness quite yet.”
“You mean the Cartomancer has come to realize just how much of his wealth flows from us?”
“Precisely.” He smiled at my disgusted snort, sat back, and regarded me for a moment. “So, you are First Heir. I will not take a refusal.”
“I won’t leave my coffeehouse. I won’t live here. I won’t take Tatlock as my guard—I don’t want one. I won’t attend every Stravaigor function. I will represent the House when I must, but I won’t… I won’t ever be what you might expect of your First Heir.”
“You w
ill be what I would expect of your mother’s son. That will be enough.” He glanced at the datascreen on his desk. “The Queen’s state funeral is on Saturday, at Windsor. You will attend it with me?”
I nodded.
“Good. News of your elevation has made the rounds of the Houses, and many of them will wish for an introduction. And of course, I would like to present you to the Cartomancer.” He gave me one of his wintry smiles. “Even though you will continue to live at the coffeehouse, you also have designated quarters here. My tailor is waiting for you in your suite. He will outfit you with full mourning dress for Saturday.”
“In two days?”
“He is very efficient and very well paid. Jenkins, the butler, will show you there.”
So. That was that. No more discussion. No father-son baring of souls. No real connection. It had all been rather subdued. He had been astonishingly accepting of everything I had said. I would have to keep an eye on him, though. I didn’t for one moment think it was genuine. The old jackal would rear his head again, and I would have to be light on my feet to avoid being pulled deeper into the House mire. The waters were lapping at my knees. I couldn’t afford to be pulled in to the point they closed over my head.
He waited until I reached the door.
“Oh, Rafe?”
I steeled myself. He hadn’t waited long before making his first move.
“Sir?”
The wintry smile widened. “I always preferred Latin, myself.”
I smiled back and left to find the tailor.
That settled it.
House Aeronaut it would be, then.
Chapter 32
WINDSOR THAT Saturday was wet and cold. The rain slanted in from the north as we filed into St. George’s Chapel, following the rather small coffin that six Grenadier Guards lifted from the gun carriage transport and carried in tenderly to lie before the altar. Our new King and other members of the immediate family followed in procession. The Houses marched in order behind them with, of course, the Gallowglass and his First Heir in the lead. We were all most funereal, a murder of crows dressed in deepest mourning.
It was a long ceremony. The chapel is an exquisite space, but I could look at the vaulted roof or the stained glass for only so long before wishing it was all over. I was quite relieved when Her Majesty was left to rest in state for a few days before being interred beside the Prince Consort at Frogmore, and I could make my way out to the Lower Ward courtyard.
“Stay close to me, if you please, Rafe.” The Stravaigor was at my elbow, nodding and smiling in suitably restrained fashion as befitted the occasion. “There are a great many people here for you to meet, and I’ll present you to the Cartomancer, of course.”
And, equally “of course,” if the Cartomancer would permit the introduction.
I caught glimpses of Ned as I bowed and smiled my way around the Lower Ward, just enough to make the torment bearable as I made polite overtures to the various House Principes and their own, rather more legitimate, First Heirs. For the most part, I would say my reception was neutral—it was not usual for a House Princeps to replace his Heir with his bastard, and I doubted the innovation was universally welcome. One or two First Heirs looked nervous, I thought. Mr. Pearse, for once not eschewing his role as the Jongleur—“Out of respect to Her Majesty, Rafe, and for no other reason.”—and Sir Tane Stafford’s jovial presence as the Scrivener were two high spots in the social round. Despite my having seen them in the coffeehouse that morning, both made a point of publicly greeting me with unfeigned friendliness.
William Lee, the Cartomancer, deigned to allow my presentation. His was not a friendly face, but I bowed like a good ’un and was polite and unassuming.
“An interesting tale behind this change, I am sure, Stravaigor.” The Cartomancer’s tone was so coldly dismissive that I had to hide a grimace.
If the Stravaigor felt the chill, he gave no sign. “Oh, something of the old, old story, Cartomancer, that is all. I am, however, pleased to present my son and First Heir.”
The Cartomancer looked me over and grunted something that the charitable might have considered a greeting when I bowed again. I was given clearly to understand my insignificance in his world.
Luckily, I had significance for others.
A hand landed on my shoulder, and the Gallowglass’s voice cut through the frosty silence. “Ah, here you are, Rafe.” He exchanged short bows with the other House Principes, both of whom looked rather startled. “Cartomancer. Stravaigor. Greetings to you both.”
“Gallowglass.” The Cartomancer frowned, his gaze flickering between me and the Gallowglass.
“I hope you gentlemen will excuse me taking Rafe from you.” The Gallowglass gave me a slight smile. Ned stood at his father’s other side, his face grave but his eyes dancing with mirth. “I believe that you and Ned are returning to Aegypt on Monday, Rafe, and you are joining us, en famille so to speak, for the weekend. I am keen to return to Londinium. Will you travel back with us?”
“I would be delighted, sir.” I bowed slightly to the Stravaigor. “If I may be excused?”
The Stravaigor nodded his permission. “Come and see me tomorrow, if you can.”
So I smiled and made my bows and farewells and walked away. Ned linked arms with me in ostentatious fashion as we went. Behind us walked the guards: Joe Brennan, Sam Hawkins, and George Todd.
“And that,” the Gallowglass said to me quietly, “is as much as I am willing to do for House Stravaigor. For your sake, Rafe.”
It was pointless to bridle at the implication that his mere acknowledgment of me was enough to raise our House status. Not least because, when I glanced back, a much friendlier Cartomancer was smiling expansively at the Stravaigor and saying something like “You didn’t tell me you had such strong links with Gallowglass, James! Come and join me for lunch.”
Ned smirked at me. “Still hankering after revolution, Rafe?”
It was most vexing, having to bow my neck to House necessity. I blew out a soft breath. “It can’t come quick enough for me.”
“Nonsense.” The Gallowglass’s amusement when he ushered Ned and me into his carriage was galling. “You’re one of us now!”
Blow me, but the man actually thought he was being comforting.
NED AND I, attended by Hugh, Sam, and Todd, left for Cairo well before dawn the following Monday. Harry remained in Londinium with Ned’s mother. Ned wanted to give him time to recover, and Harry hadn’t protested at being left behind. The child needed a little female coddling until the events of the previous month faded from his memory.
The Thames was a black mourning ribbon below us as I flew downriver to the coast. The moon was full, and the silver light slanted so brightly our moonshadow slid over the dark lands below, slithering over fields and hills and the occasional dark mass of a village. The Brunel lit up the sky. Its twin paddles were edged with flickering aether blue as they turned, and our two fixed sail rudders were edged with white, bathing the whole aeroship in a nimbus of diffused light. A halo, if you like, although I’ll concede that in my case it was a most unearned one. I would have liked to have seen our passage from the ground. We must have been a firework, coruscating our way through the skies.
We arrived in Cairo the following day and dined at the hotel that night. Dinner was excellent. Seriously, for all that Aegypt is not considered to be one of what we may call the first rank of nations, its finest hotels stood comparison with anything Europe could offer. Even Londinium would struggle to be superior. The cuisine at Shepheard’s was, in Harry’s parlance, scrumptious, and the wines could only be nectar stolen from the cellars of the gods. Heavens, a man would think he was back home eating at the best Piccadilly restaurant rather than in a city that teetered on the edge of history.
We didn’t stay up late. It was barely ten when we headed up to our rooms on the second floor, trailed by Sam and Hugh. Todd was out at the aerodrome, keeping watch with his men over the Brunel.
“I’ll be glad t
o get back to the dig tomorrow,” Ned said. “Come and have a cigar and some brandy, Rafe.”
Which invitation I was quick to accept, as you might imagine. Hugh gave me a knowing grin and went off to his own room with nary a backward glance. Ned’s room, beside mine, overlooked the Ezbekieh Gardens. Sam had left the floor-to-ceiling windows open when we went down to dinner, the billowing muslin curtains filtering the sounds and smells of the Cairo night. The faint scent of woodsmoke and tarry aether rolled in as an autocar went by on its way to the Abdeen Palace where the Khedive held court.
Sam was suddenly the perfect servant. He brought Ned and me glasses of a fine champagne cognac and a box of fragrant cigars before moving on silent feet to close the window shutters against the night and light the lamp on a small table near the bed. The little screw-valve at the side of the globe squeaked as he turned it clockwise to open the pipe, the luminiferous aether hissing louder than a snake at the zoo when someone taps the glass sides of its terrarium. Sam adjusted each lamp to a warm glow inside the big glass globe by passing his hand over it. The lightning in the globe sprang into life, crackling and spitting as it followed his palm. He was careful not to make the room too bright, leaving thick dark shadows inhabiting the corners.
“I’ve locked the outer door, and I’ll sleep in there.” He nodded to a sort of anteroom that led to the main corridor. “I’ll close the door, but keep the noise down. I don’t want to hear nothing. G’night.”
It was difficult not to laugh. Dear Sam. I felt really quite mellow toward him, a sentiment he’d no doubt resent intensely. Ned grinned at me as soon as the door closed behind Sam, and dear Lord, but I just had to kiss him. Couldn’t help myself.
We took our time getting down to our skin. It wasn’t something to be rushed. Aesop’s tortoise had it almost right: less haste, more pleasure.
For a while I was content with kisses, Ned’s face so close that drowning in those hazel eyes was a real possibility. The touch of Ned’s tongue against mine had me making rather embarrassingly soft noises in the back of my throat. You know, getting lost for all eternity in those kisses, in the feel of Ned’s body pressed against mine… I couldn’t think of anything finer.