by Emma Newman
“That mine you are so upset about paid for the roads, the school, the clinic, the—”
“Yeah, to service your workforce that you don’t pay enough. The clinic that can only be used by employees or their families, and they have their pay docked for the privilege. The school that doesn’t make any effort to match its curriculum to the national standard, that has all the kids in one big room with a couple of underpaid, under-resourced teachers. Yeah, your company is doing so much good for that community.”
Mazzi stifled a yawn. “The world isn’t fair, Sam. If we let bleeding hearts like yours—or, what are they calling them online now? Social justice warriors! That’s it. If brave warriors like you ran everything to be fair, the global economy would collapse. Society would collapse.”
“That’s the same old bullshit the career politicians churn out to keep things the way they are because it suits them. I know you personally fund people in parliament, under the table. Jesus, it’s like all the shittiest conspiracy theories were just scraping the surface!”
Mazzi plucked a chocolate from the plate and held it, pinched between thumb and forefinger. “It’s late, Sam, and the weather is closing in. What do you want?”
He wanted so many things, but it was clear she was incapable of giving any of them. “I wanted you to…I dunno, react like a human being. To care!”
She put the chocolate in her mouth, watched him as she let it melt within. She was looking at him like he was a child. A stupid idealist with no sense of anything beyond his own emotions. It made him want to fling the remote through the window, to smash the cups against the wall and rip the projector screen down from the ceiling. How could he make her see what she was doing in the way he did? How could she not? It was like she was some sort of psychopath, able to look at these pictures of human suffering—that her company was responsible for—and simply feel nothing.
And then a sinking dread poured into him. What if Beatrice was right?
“Is there anything else?” she asked, finishing her coffee.
He shook his head, defeated, unable to see any way of moving forwards.
“You’ll be getting a letter in a day or so, from Copper’s lawyers. Don’t ignore it.” She stood and looked at him, sadly. “I had such hopes, Sam, that we could be friends. Like Amir was.”
“I had high hopes too,” he said, also standing. That she could show an ounce of humanity, for one thing.
“I tried to help you. And because Amir was such a good friend, I’ll give you this warning. Copper is not going to just let you carry on with your campaign against him, and the rest of the Elemental Court see you as a threat. The lawyers are a polite warning shot across the bow, Sam. If you don’t re-evaluate, they will destroy you.”
“You know nothing about the murder attempt, then?”
A twitch of an eyebrow told him she didn’t. “I’ve seen what he does to people who don’t just go away,” she said after a pause. “Murder would have been kinder. I’ll see myself out.”
He watched her go and flopped back into the chair. “Shit,” he muttered, looking at the boxes of evidence. He hadn’t even started on those. Not that it would have made any difference.
With a sigh, Sam started to think that Beatrice might be the only person who could change things. But how could unleashing the Fae upon the world make anything better? How could he trust her with something so risky, so huge?
After locking the final box he noticed the remaining chocolates. He left them on the plate for the cleaner to enjoy. He’d lost his appetite.
5
When Will’s carriage drew up outside the Radcliffe Camera, he didn’t wait for the footman; instead, he jumped down from the carriage as soon as it came to a stop, pausing only to grab his top hat and pat it into place. He walked briskly to the steps going up to the entrance, only to be intercepted by one of the Chancellor’s footmen. “Good evening, your Grace. This way, please. The Chancellor has asked that you be brought to him as soon as you arrive.”
Will was almost of a mind to go straight into the ball, rather than be dressed down by his brother in private first. But he didn’t want to give Nathaniel’s staff something to gossip about, so he nodded and followed the footman round the circular building to another door, behind which were steps down. It felt like he was some sort of smuggler sneaking to meet a contact, rather than an honoured guest. Was this some sort of trap?
“The Chancellor is waiting for you below, your Grace.”
Will set off down the steps. When he heard the low rumble of his father’s voice, he relaxed slightly and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Nathaniel called, and feeling most relieved, Will entered.
A large study with huge bookcases and intricately carved wood panels covering the walls lay on the other side of the door. It had the feel of an academic’s retreat, rather than anywhere Nathaniel would have created for himself.
Nathaniel was seated behind his desk, their father seated opposite. “Where the hell have you been?” Nathaniel barked as Will shut the door.
“Good evening, Father,” Will said, removing his hat. “Dear brother. My deepest apologies. Circumstances entirely beyond my control delayed me. Though it seems, from the sound of it, that the ball is a great success.” He rested his hat on a nearby shelf and sat down. “Now, why are we gathered?”
Nathaniel opened his mouth and then paused, looking at their father. Will had a sudden sense of there being something dreadfully important going on and felt his inner defences rise. Did they know that Cathy had run away?
“Charles Papaver is dead, Will,” George said.
“Good God! How?”
“Suicide.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“He shot himself,” George said. “This evening.”
Will tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. Cathy didn’t know. Would she be upset, after all the beatings that man had given her? Then his stomach tightened. “Is this because of Isabella?”
George nodded. “Couldn’t take the shame of it. Poor chap.”
So Cathy’s mother had actually gone through with it and abandoned her husband. Will remembered Cathy telling him about it, that last perfect morning when he gave her the choker. And how he’d betrayed her confidence by telling the Patroon later that same day.
“I only told him the truth,” George added.
“What exactly did you say to him?” Will asked.
“I pointed out that a man who could not control his wife’s behaviour would not be supported in his position in the Council of Aquae Sulis. The residents wouldn’t respect him once the scandal broke and he would be an embarrassment to us all. I merely suggested that it was better to resign his post before that happened, and advised him that as his property portfolio could only be held by a member of the Council, it would be of more benefit to him to sign the properties over to me so that I could support him financially. Just until he found his feet, you understand. I made it clear that it would be a discreet arrangement between friends.”
Guilt rumbled at the back of Will’s mind. His father was painting this as a noble act, when they both knew that he’d had the opportunity to plan and execute this move thanks to Cathy’s information. Will struggled to wrestle the guilt into something less pernicious. He couldn’t have known how weak Charles was! Besides, what Father said was true; the man was socially doomed. The residents of Aquae Sulis were obsessed with anchor properties and their reflections. A man with a failed marriage controlling who could live where, and the rent charged for the privilege, simply would not have stood.
But Will couldn’t quell the feeling that he’d contributed to the man’s death. Unwilling to dwell upon his place in it all, he looked at his father. “So where does this leave Aquae Sulis? I take it he committed suicide to deny you the properties, if he had no intention of accepting your help?”
His father’s smile actually reached his eyes. “On the contrary. He signed it all over to me. We have the city. I’ve already appri
sed the Censor and Master of Ceremonies of the situation. Claudia and Richard understand their position perfectly.”
“Which is?”
“They can continue in their roles as social figureheads, but they are aware of the need to consult me on their plans and in particular, any guest lists.”
Nathaniel chuckled. “I wish I could have seen their faces.”
George smirked. “They were a picture. And they know there’s nothing they can do. I own the vast majority of the properties in Aquae Sulis now, including the most prestigious guest apartments they depend upon to impress the right people. All they have now is their home and the one the Rosas tried to take from Richard. I made it clear that, should the city make too much of a fuss, I would be prepared to install a new person on the Council to take Charles’s place. Someone of my choice, of course.”
“I think you’ve been far too generous, Father,” Nathaniel said. “With the majority share you could have booted them out, surely?”
George twisted one of his cufflinks. “I could have, but it would not have been the decent thing to do. There was a time, before you were all born, when things were very precarious for us in Aquae Sulis. The Sorcerer of Wessex took a great dislike to Lord Iris for some reason and we were almost thrown out. The Master of Ceremonies intervened on our behalf. I said I would never forget the kindness. I consider the debt paid now.”
Will wondered if the Lavandulas would see it the same way. “Charles signed every single property to you?” Will asked. “Even those in Great Pulteney Street?”
His father nodded.
“He didn’t leave one to his children?”
“He wasn’t in his right mind, Will,” he said with a dismissive smile. “So, while it’s all very sad for the Papavers, it’s time to look forwards. Lord Iris wishes us to take all of the major cities of Albion. Between the three of us, we hold all of the South. Only Jorvic remains. It still hasn’t recovered from the fall of the Rosas and is ripe for the plucking.”
“This is appalling timing,” Nathaniel muttered. “I have to break the news upstairs and end the ball. We can’t…it wouldn’t be right.”
“I agree. Everyone will understand,” Will said. “And they need to know why the family was late.”
“Why some of them were,” Nathaniel said pointedly as he stood up. “I won’t be long. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
Will went after him. “I should be seen with you when you make the announcement.”
Nathaniel closed the door to the study and paused next to Will at the bottom of the steps. “Why were you late? I needed you here hours ago. It looked terrible.”
It was tempting to confide in Nathaniel; they were closer after his brother’s confession about losing Margritte from his custody, and Will felt the need of a confidant keenly. But to confess it was his fault Cathy had fled was too much. “Cathy has been kidnapped,” he whispered.
“Good God, man, no wonder you look so wretched. By whom? Do you know?”
“Lord Iron, with the assistance of a rogue Arbiter.” Now he was telling the lie again it almost felt true. “I can’t get her back; there’s bizarre magic involved and Lord Iris is…impatient. Nathaniel, I don’t know what to do.”
Nathaniel squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t tell anyone else, not even Father.”
“I have no intention of doing that,” Will said. “You’re the only one I can trust. It’s all going wrong.”
Nathaniel’s grip was strong, reassuring. “Let’s get rid of the guests, hear what Father has to say, and then when he’s gone, we’ll talk.”
• • •
Tom hadn’t believed the news when he first heard it. A mistake, surely? People didn’t die in the Nether. The only death he could remember in his lifetime was that of Freddy Viola, and that was in a mundane brothel, not the Nether. His father was nothing like that man.
He’d thought Lucy had pulled him outside to meet her cousin. When she’d said his father was dead, he’d just blinked at her, certain he’d misheard. When she said it the second time, there was a momentary confusion—how could she believe something so absurd? Then somehow his knees had buckled and Lucy’s arms were around him and it felt like the worlds had stopped. It was as if the buildings of Oxenford that surrounded them faded into the mists. When he recovered enough to tell Elizabeth, it sounded unreal again. She’d fainted and had to be sent home with her husband. From the way Harold bumbled around her as she was carried to the carriage by a footman, Tom wasn’t sure he’d be much use. It wasn’t his place to suggest such a thing, though.
Now he was in a carriage riding through the streets of Aquae Sulis at an unsociable hour, with a bag packed in haste and his wife and her cousin left behind in Londinium. “I’m coming with you,” she’d said as he waited for his valet to pack a small case for him.
“No.”
“But you need support. You’re still in shock.”
“It isn’t something a lady should be exposed to.” It isn’t something anyone should be exposed to, he’d thought, but didn’t voice.
“Look, this isn’t the time for the whole stiff upper lip thing.”
“For the last time, Lucy, no!”
He’d regretted shouting, but she’d left the room before he’d gathered himself together enough to apologise. She didn’t understand that he couldn’t bear the thought of having anyone with him. He needed to be alone when he learned the facts. He needed to make sense of it all without worrying about maintaining his composure around her. He was afraid of how he would react, given his momentary weakness outside the Radcliffe Camera. He didn’t want her to see him break.
The carriage crossed Pulteney bridge, passing the ice cream shop his father had taken him to when he was ten years old as a reward for reciting Owen’s “Dulce Et Decorum Est” from memory. Tom looked away, fearful of somehow seeing himself as a child standing outside of it, his father with one hand on his shoulder, straight-backed as though he were about to march off on parade any moment. It was the first time he’d ever been into the Nether reflection of Bath and while the strawberry ice cream had been the best he’d ever tasted, the silver sky had terrified him.
Thanks to the hour, Great Pulteney Street was empty of people and carriages, much to Tom’s relief. Perhaps the news hadn’t yet spread. The carriage drew to a stop in the familiar place and Tom closed his eyes and clasped his hands together, as he used to before poetry recitals. The carriage rocked gently as the footman climbed down from the back and then the clunk of the door being opened and the step being unfolded told him he had to move.
He had to be strong.
Tom climbed out of the carriage and stared at his parents’ house. A movement in his peripheral vision made him snap his head to the left and notice another carriage parked just ahead of his own with Iris livery painted on the door. George Reticulata-Iris was standing next to it, waiting for him, it seemed.
“Thomas,” he said, holding out his hand as he approached. “May I offer my deepest condolences?”
Shaking his hand, Tom merely nodded, put off balance by his presence.
“I knew you would come and I wanted to reassure you that if there is anything you need, anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to ask. Your father was a dear friend of mine and…” He paused, swallowed. “And we are all so dreadfully shocked.”
“Yes,” was all Tom could manage. His throat was tightening and he was afraid he’d say something regrettable, so he clenched his teeth instead.
“Please do tell me if I am taking liberties,” George continued. “But as this is such a rare…tragedy, I thought it likely that the next steps would be unknown to you. As soon as you are ready, everything can be set into motion. Rest assured that I can assist with all of the arrangements for the funeral. It will take place in Mundanus, of course.”
“Of course,” Tom muttered. He hadn’t even considered it. This was too soon!
“It isn’t the time for that, though, my apologies,” George said, making Tom worry t
hat he’d been inadequate in hiding his opinion. “We’re only a short carriage ride away if you need us, dear boy. I shall give you some privacy. And don’t worry about the house, take as long as you need.”
George climbed into his carriage and it was well on its way before Tom realised it was a strange thing to say. Why should he worry about the house? Perhaps it was regarding the wake. Would there be a wake? He’d only ever read about funerals in Mundanus. What did they do in the Nether? Whatever the Violas did for Freddy, it was a private affair.
The front door was opened before he even reached it. The butler looked dreadful and his eyes filled with tears when he saw Tom. “Sir,” was all he managed to say, and Tom’s throat went tight again.
“Good evening, Wilson,” Tom forced himself to say as he entered the house. “Is anyone else here?”
“I hope you don’t mind, sir,” Wilson replied in a tremulous voice as he shut the door, “But I sent the maids and the cook to your house round the corner. They were so distressed. They heard the…we all heard the shot, you see, and one of the maids saw…” he trailed off. “I’m so terribly sorry, sir. I should have…”
Tom put a hand on his shoulder and was horrified to see a tear slip down Wilson’s cheek. “Go and make some tea, Wilson,” he said in the hope that an ordinary task would help focus the poor man.
Wilson nodded and looked askance at Charles’s study. “He…”
“I understand,” Tom said. “Go and make the tea. I need a little time alone.”
“Of course, sir,” Wilson mumbled, and hurried off.
The house was so silent it chilled him to his bones. The grandfather clock had been stopped. The door to the study was shut, as it usually was. Tom knew he had to look, but couldn’t make his legs move. Standing there, looking at the study door, he could imagine his father sitting at his desk on the other side, writing a letter or frowning at one he’d received. Perhaps if he just stayed still and didn’t open it, that would be the reality. It was the only one Tom could imagine.
With an inordinate expenditure of willpower, Tom took a step towards the door and felt like he was ten again, palms sweating and heart thumping as he tried to keep lines of poetry, dates of battles, and names of military leaders in his mind. He found himself about to knock, his knuckles less than an inch from the wood, before remembering there was no need. And yet, he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t bring himself to disobey his father’s wishes even now. So he knocked three times and waited for the voice that never came.