by Emma Newman
“Aren’t you going to put smarter clothes on and brush your hair?”
“For Will? No way.”
“But he’s the King, Cat.”
“No. I’ll listen to what he has to say and then I’m coming back here as soon as I can. Do you need a mirror? Because it won’t work in this house. We’ll have to take one to the gatehouse or something.”
“Poppy gave me a powerful Charm to take you straight through to Exilium. It can be used on any old tree, apparently.”
“Let’s get this over with.”
She almost bumped into Mrs M at the door, carrying a tray with two generous servings of apple crumble and custard. “Don’t tell me you’re off out?” she asked as Cathy put on her coat and boots.
“Sorry, Mrs M,” she said. “We’ll have it later.” Mrs M didn’t hear the “hopefully” Cathy added beneath her breath as she bustled back to the kitchen, muttering.
When Cathy put her hand on the door handle she almost burst into tears. How could this be happening? How could Will be forcing her to do something yet again?
“I’ll be with you, Cat,” Tom said. “This won’t be like before. You won’t be alone.”
She thought of Lucy, not wanting to give Poppy a reason to torment her, and opened the front door. “I have to make a call while we walk,” she said, and dialled Sam’s number to reach his voicemail. “Sam…Bad news. Will is now King of the Fae and is using my family to force me to go to him in Exilium. I’m calling to ask you to come and get me, if I’m not back home by the time you get back. Don’t leave me there with him.” She breathed in deep after her voice wavered. “I’m going to take some iron with me. It’s the only thing I can think of. I’ll call as soon as I’m back.”
“We need to stop off there,” she said to Tom, pointing at the forge. “You mustn’t mention this to anyone, okay?”
Cathy found a small piece of pure iron on top of the anvil, more than she’d hoped for. It looked like a silver arrowhead and was very sharp. She wrapped it in one of the leather gloves draped over the anvil before putting it in her pocket. It was small enough to hold in the palm of her hand, which reassured her. She led Tom through the estate by the light of the moon, thankful that she’d walked it during the day and knew the fastest route to the boundary. He helped her over the fence, climbed over himself, and then doubled over, crying out.
“Poppy’s summoning you,” Cathy said. “Iris did it to me once. Cast the Charm and it’ll stop.”
He staggered to a nearby oak tree and pressed his hands against it, whispering. The bark seemed to sink inwards, as if the trunk of the tree had become soft, and then he toppled forwards, disappearing from sight as a shaft of sunlight burst from the tree. Pausing to take a deep breath, Cathy threw herself at the same spot with her eyes squeezed shut.
She landed on soft grass, bathed in warm sunshine, the scent of flowers on the breeze. With a groan she sat up and saw Lord Poppy walking towards her, holding Lucy’s hand. Her sister-in-law was wearing her nightdress with a satin dressing gown over the top and silk slippers, as if she’d been plucked from her bedchamber. Knowing Poppy, she probably had been. Tom scrabbled to his feet, bowed deeply to the Fae, and helped Cathy up.
“Ah, my favourite! How I have missed you! You must have missed me.”
“Indeed, Lord Poppy. Just this morning, I was thinking about how long it had been since I last saw you.” She neglected to mention the genuine smile that had been on her face at the time.
Poppy released Lucy’s hand and watched her run to embrace Tom. “So sweet,” he said, striding over to Cathy as he smiled at them. “They’re Duke and Duchess of Londinium now, I believe. Does that upset you?”
“Not in the slightest, Lord Poppy.”
“What an interesting day it’s been,” he said, closing the distance. “Your brother and your sister-in-law have been magnificent, and then for a few scant hours you were mine again and I was so happy, and then…” he sighed. “From Duchess to Queen in one day. And Queen of Exilium, no less.”
Cathy shivered. “I am not Queen, Lord Poppy.”
“Not yet.” He smiled and extended his arm for her to take as if they were to go promenading. When he scowled at her hesitation she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and he drew his arm in tight, crushing her hand against him. “You always were my favourite. I will have to content myself with what time we have now, I suppose.”
“Tom and Lucy can go home now, can’t they?” she said as Tom shook his head at her.
“No, I’m going to keep them with me for a little while. I know how clever you are, my little sunlit one. Imagine if you managed to slip from my grasp before we reached the King. I would hate to have to go through the trouble of having to go and find them again, to make you come back. This way we can all enjoy a stroll to the palace together, can’t we?”
He started walking and Cathy had to hurry to keep up with his long strides. She glanced back to see Tom and Lucy following, both looking as nervous as she surely did. Lucy tried to give her a brave nod, but her reassurance wasn’t convincing.
She picked up the pace and Poppy laughed. “Why, my dear, it’s almost as if you want to see the King. Have you missed your husband?”
“Not one bit,” she said. “I want to get this over with so we can all go home.”
Poppy laughed. “But you are home, my little bird. You’ll never leave that palace. I can see how much he loves you now. It seems that he only realised it after he’d lost everything, but that’s often the way, is it not? We don’t realise how much we want to keep something until it is no longer ours.”
He tightened his grip on her hand, gazing at her as he said it. Could she use Poppy’s possessiveness to her advantage? “But surely you don’t want me to be his again, Lord Poppy?”
“I want my King to be happy and pleased with me,” he sighed. “No matter how unhappy it makes me.”
“But it’s only Will! He’s mortal.”
“Not anymore. He wears the crown. And when you are his Queen, you’ll be immortal too. And we’ll all live here together for eternity.”
Eternity? Here? With Will? Without thinking, she stopped and started to pull back, shaking her head, breathless. She could feel that choker around her throat again, and the thought of being his, to do with as he wanted, sent her spiralling into panic. As the grip on her hand tightened, she remembered the arrowhead and promised herself that if Will made her feel anything for him again, she’d stick it right in his eye. Then Poppy was there, stroking her face as if she were a child. “I know, my little bird, I know you only want to be with me…”
Cathy almost palmed the iron to stab Poppy, but she held back, getting her fear under control again as she endured his attention. She had to stay calm, think clearly, and pick her moment. If she revealed her secret weapon now, it could be taken from her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t want to be his, Lord Poppy. I forgot myself, for a moment.”
Lord Poppy tucked her hand back into place and pulled her on again. “This is what happens when you insist upon being relentlessly interesting, my little sunlit one. They want to keep you. But, alas, we can’t keep the King waiting…”
26
Rupert wasn’t in the quadrangle when they’d arrived in Oxenford, so Max and the gargoyle decided to stake the place out covertly instead. The Sorcerer knew that Beatrice was dead, as soon as his bomb went off. The call might simply have been to check if he’d survived and the invitation quick thinking. What Rupert wanted to do to “celebrate” was difficult to predict, but he shared the gargoyle’s lack of faith in the man.
Max lurked in Catte Street, keeping an eye on one side of the Bodleian Library, as the gargoyle staked out Broad Street. The city’s architecture provided many opportunities for a gargoyle to remain unnoticed, and the streets were empty of people. As far as Max knew, the city was still under the control of the Irises. He knew Rupert would be keen to reclaim his home. Max suspected that the Nether reflectio
n of the Bodleian contained Rupert’s sorcerous library.
The gargoyle pulled his attention to several Fae-touched it could see approaching the Sheldonian Theatre, dressed in academic gowns. Where were they going so late at night?
Max agreed with the gargoyle’s instinct to investigate further, so he left his nook and headed down Catte Street. Turning left and passing through the wrought iron gates and along the path to the east side of the Sheldonian, Max ducked behind one of the stone columns of the university admissions office when he saw the academics heading into the theatre through the east door.
When he was certain it was clear, both around him and through the gargoyle’s eyes, Max hurried as quickly as he could to the Sheldonian. He worked his way round the D-shaped building to find a place where he could use a Peeper without being seen. He settled on a spot just to the right of the doors at the back of the building, along its only straight wall, and twisted the lenses of the Peeper in the correct orientation to see inside the Nether building, rather than through to the mundane anchor property.
There was a semicircle of about twenty chairs just in front of him. A larger chair in the middle was flanked by two large gilded stands, each with a metal basket on the top. The men in the robes were heading towards the seats, looking confused and uneasy. “Do you have any idea what this is about?” one whispered to his neighbour as they sat down.
“No, but we haven’t been summoned like this since Iris—”
“Shush! Be careful what you say!”
Both men straightened as a man who looked like he could be a Wisteria sat down to the right of the largest chair. He didn’t seem very popular.
There was a long pause once all of the chairs, save the largest one, were filled. “Does anyone know why the meeting was called?” asked one man, and everyone looked at the Wisteria, who squirmed in his seat.
Something contained within the baskets on either side of the largest chair burst into flames and they stayed lit, like torches. The men all cried out in shock; it evidently had significance to them, but Max had no idea what it was supposed to mean.
All of them were looking at the Wisteria, who had started to shake visibly. Before he could say anything, the doors of the theatre opened and Rupert walked in, dressed in the same scruffy jeans and hoodie as he had been the last time Max saw him. A strangled gasp came from the Wisteria, and the men sitting near him leaned away, distancing themselves as much as possible.
“Hey! I’m back!” Rupert cheered. “Had to deal with some sorcerous bullshit for a while there and—” He stopped halfway down the aisle, staring at the Wisteria. “Why are you in Alexander’s chair? Wait a minute…what the fuck is going on here? Where’s my Vice-Chancellor?” When none of the men answered, Rupert walked the rest of the aisle until he was standing right in front of them. “Where is he?”
A man who had the look of a Buttercup about him cleared his throat. “He’s been exiled, Chancellor. By…the…um…Chancellor of Oxenford.”
Rupert laughed. “Okay, very funny. So where’s the real council? Why are you wearing Brasenose colours, Buttercup? Why are you even here?”
The Wisteria stood up. “Chancellor,” he stammered, “we thought you were dead. The torches went out for the first time in hundreds of years and you told us that if they did, you had died. And…and so—”
“And so Wisteria sided with Nathaniel Reticulata-Iris,” said one of the men at the edge of the semicircle, “who abused Margritte Tulipa in our presence, threatened us all with the Iris Patroon’s sword, and bullied his way into power. Wisteria gave him the one rule that could be exploited so he could force his way in.”
“I had to end the stand-off somehow!” the Wisteria said as Rupert stared at him. “He was threatening everyone, not just Alexander’s mother! You’re an Iris and you didn’t have the courage to say anything! He would have killed—”
“Oh, shut the fuck up, Wisteria!” Rupert shouted. “Some streak of piss Iris has taken my city? No offence, Theo, you’re solid, but the Reticulata-Irises are a bunch of fucking gangsters. For the love of—shit, I’m away for like five fucking minutes and this happens?”
“We thought you were dead,” the Wisteria mumbled.
“You’re not the Vice-Chancellor,” Rupert said. “Take that gown off. And you, Buttercup. Shit, you couldn’t even organise a decent party, let alone run a college.”
“I had no idea the punch was alcohol-free, Chancellor!”
“Oh, the fact that everyone there was bored out of their fucking minds didn’t give you a clue? Take the gown off.” He looked at Theo. “What happened to Alex’s mum?”
“She was taken prisoner by Nathaniel and put in the tower at Oxford Castle. That’s been the seat of power in your absence, sir. The last we heard, Margritte was prosecuted by the Patroons and exiled to the Colonies.”
The doors of the theatre banged open a second time and Nathaniel Iris stormed in. “Why are you holding a meeting without me? Who called it?”
“I did,” Rupert said, turning to face him.
“I take it by your attire that you’ve been sleeping rough in Mundanus. Who are you?”
“The Chancellor of Oxenford. The real one. Didn’t this bunch of reprobates tell you about me? How I’ve run this city for hundreds of years?” He laughed. “So they managed to keep that secret at least.”
“You were such a secret, sir, you did not exist when I arrived. I was voted in by the Hebdomadal Council. If you weren’t responsible enough to care for your city, you have no right to claim it now.”
From his viewpoint, Max could see the Wisteria shaking his head at Nathaniel, trying to signal a warning to him now that Rupert’s back was turned.
“Are you related to William, by any chance?” Rupert asked.
“He’s my brother.”
“Yeah, I thought I could see the same arsehole streak running through the two of you.”
“How dare you!” Nathaniel reached for his sword.
“Don’t bother,” Rupert said. “You can’t hurt me with that. So, Oxford Castle, eh? I always hated that place. Can see why it suits you, though. You should go back there and think about what you’ve done.”
“I’m no child, sir, I am the Chancellor of Oxenford, a Duke of Albion, and this is my city now. Get out or face the consequences.”
Rupert pulled his yo-yo out of his pocket as Nathaniel drew his sword. Rupert laughed. “Fancy yourself as a swordsman, do you?”
“I’ve already killed several men who dared challenge me,” Nathaniel said, readying his stance. “I can easily add you to the list.”
Rupert jerked the yo-yo up the string and then held it in his palm, whispering something to it. “If you like being the king of the castle so much, you should go back and stay there.”
He crouched as Nathaniel lunged, ducking below the blade to tap the floor with the yo-yo at full extension. Nathaniel fell through a hole that opened below him where the yo-yo had touched. Rupert yanked it back into his palm and walked to the edge of what Max assumed was some sort of pit, judging by the echo of Nathaniel’s shouts. He spat into it and then with a second tap of the yo-yo at its edge, the hole closed and the shouting was cut off.
Rupert strolled back to the Council, the Wisteria and Buttercup now just wearing plain suits, the robes draped over the chairs. “I’ve got a couple of things to sort out. I’m gonna go and seal that prick into that fucking castle permanently and destroy the road to it. If any of you try to help him to get out, I’ll kill you. Capisce?”
They all nodded.
“Theo, get a message to Alex, wherever he is; tell him to come back and do his fucking job. By the time I get back, I want this Council back to what it was before I left. Buttercup, piss off until you’re competent. Wisteria…your job is to figure out what to say to me to stop me from burning you at the stake as a traitor to this city. Got it? Right.”
Rupert left the building and Max detached the Peeper, moving round to see the Sorcerer heading for the Bodleian
instead of Broad Street. Why wasn’t he going to seal Nathaniel into the castle, as he’d said? As he walked into the quadrangle, Rupert put his fingers to his lips and whistled. Benson or Hedges—Max had no way to tell between Rupert’s golems—rolled out of Convocation House and went up to the Sorcerer.
Rupert leaned his head against the golem’s chest, looking exhausted. Max pulled a Listener from his pocket and tucked it into his ear, staying as far back as he could.
He could hear Rupert breathing clearly and a soft clanking sound as he banged his head against the golem’s metal casing. “Benson. Thank fuck. Add in an entry about Nathaniel Iris taking the city; I’ll fill in the details later. Bring me notes on how to sever a Nether road made by the Fae. And Margritte Tulipa… Rings a bell, just can’t place her.”
“Margritte Semper-Augustus Tulipa has extensive entries in the archive,” Benson replied in its flat, artificial voice. “She is the only mortal who has been brought into the stacks. She still has clearance. Should that be amended?”
“Why the fuck would I take someone into the stacks? That’s madness.”
“She almost died when Ekstrand attacked Convocation House. She was removed with you and brought round. You requested that she not be disposed of, despite the security breach. I brought her tea at your command.”
Max remembered that day of Ekstrand’s attack very clearly. It was only a few weeks ago. Had Rupert already forgotten? Then Max remembered the way Ekstrand had to be constantly reminded of even the most important issues, sometimes getting so distracted he was hopelessly inefficient. Now Max was starting to suspect that Ekstrand’s eccentricities were as much to do with an appalling memory problem as anything else. He made a mental note to mention it to Cathy at his earliest convenience. If she wanted to learn more about sorcery, she needed to know the risks involved.