“Oh my God,” she blurted out, but then worked to make her voice steady and analytical. “What will happen to you?”
Simon let out the breath he had been holding. “I can’t be sure, but I’ve heard of various necromancer curses and the most traditional result is pain.”
“How bad?”
“It’s a bit annoying at the moment. I suspect it’ll get considerably worse until I can’t do much useful because of the pain. That’s usually how these things go.”
Kate couldn’t believe what she was going to say. “Are you going to die … again?”
“No. Well, not unless I kill myself, which is difficult with a necromancer involved. Damned inconvenient. They simply bring you back.”
“We’ll find a cure.”
“Possible, but not likely. Even for your considerable skills. I’ve never heard of a necromancer’s curse being cured except by complementary magic. Usually, it’s the necromancers themselves who remove it. Traditionally, that’s how necromancers get wealthy. Curse. Ransom. Cure. And so on for years until a mob with torches finally has enough and burns them or throws them off a cliff.”
Kate pulled out a chair, urging Simon to sit as if he were an invalid. He gently pushed the chair in again.
“Why are you so stubborn?” she exclaimed.
Simon held up a cautionary hand. “Don’t worry.”
“Don’t worry? Are you insane? You have a scar over your heart that will send you into madness from the pain, and I can’t help you! But I shouldn’t worry? Well, fine then. As long as everything is perfect. What shall we have for breakfast?” Kate glared, her chest rising and falling with gulping breaths of rage and terror. She grabbed the chair and slammed it on the floor. “You can’t just smirk and say something oh so charming and make it go away. This isn’t a joke, Simon.”
“I’m not laughing, but I’m not dying either.” Simon crossed his arms. “I told you this because we have no secrets from one another, but we have to deal with it reasonably. We’ll have Barnes eventually. And I’m sure we can impress upon him the necessity of removing this curse.” He gave a wan smile and straightened his shirt.
Kate started to embrace him, but hesitated. Not about to decline her tender mercies again, he leaned forward and took her in his arms without reservation and with no sign of pain. His lips brushed hers. She put her head against his shoulder.
There was a hesitant knock and they turned to see Malcolm in the open doorway. The Scotsman looked embarrassed to interrupt, staring at the floor.
“Sorry.” Malcolm held out an envelope. “I took the liberty of retrieving your mail from the Devil’s Loom. I thought you should see this.”
Simon noted the feel of heavy-weave stationery and saw a crest on the envelope. Simon laughed. “It’s from the prime minister’s office.”
Kate looked over his shoulder. “Prime Minister North is writing to you?”
“Shocking, I know.” Simon broke the wax seal, slid out a thick note card, and read it. “It isn’t signed, but I’m requested for a meeting. Well done, Henry. I’m astounded by his success. Care to join me, Kate?”
“I’m not invited.”
“You’re an Anstruther.” He handed the card to her. “Invitations are redundant for you lot.”
“These directions are unusual, and detailed. Far south of London. It isn’t even a town.” Kate tapped the note card against her chin. “Why not meet at the prime minister’s residence? Or at Whitehall?”
“These murders are a delicate matter. They have a desire for discretion.”
Kate tossed the card on the table. “I’ll change.”
An hour later, a four-horse carriage rolled south out of London along Kent Road, and through numerous crossroad villages surrounded by rolling brown fields. Simon watched the grey rows of homes grow more scarce and give way to a winter landscape.
Another hour passed, and he went to check the surroundings again. He felt a painful tug at his chest, reminding him of Barnes’s curse. He was careful to cover the discomfort, but Kate’s quick glance showed he was unsuccessful.
The carriage wheeled off the poor road onto an even poorer cart path. Heavy brush slapped at the sides of the coach. Simon and Kate both watched out the windows as the carriage rocked like a ship in heavy seas. The wheels slammed through ragged holes. The path made a steep decline and they hung onto the seat while they listened to the voice of Malcolm roaring from the driver’s bench, cursing and coaxing the team of four Friesians by turns.
They tore out of the high scrub into a wild stream valley. The land had not been tilled or grazed for generations. A ramshackle little cottage stood near the water, strangled by vines and nestled in the shadow of a twisted grove of ancient oaks. However, smoke drifted from the stone chimney. Simon noticed an area near the house where the brush was thinner, and he saw the jagged stones of a forgotten graveyard hidden in the high grass.
“Charming,” Kate said, as the carriage thrashed down brambles and rocked to a stop yards from the oaks, which seemed frozen in a moment of terrible writhing.
“It was probably someone’s honeymoon cottage once,” Simon said.
“I’d say the marriage didn’t thrive.” Kate took a long dagger and slid it into a sheath under her coat. Then she looped her bandolier of vials over one shoulder.
Simon gave her an appreciative look. “Very striking, but hardly an appropriate accessory for meeting the prime minister.”
“I’m an Anstruther. They expect the unusual from us.”
“At least you’re not resorting to wearing gigantic ravens on your head.”
Kate’s door opened and Malcolm stood outside with pistol in hand. He didn’t speak but was clearly suspicious of the setting. She gave him a pat on the shoulder as she stepped out.
Simon leapt out the opposite side. “Nicely done, Malcolm. I’d say you have a career in transport should you tire of hunting monsters.”
Malcolm stalked around the carriage. “I’ll wait out here so there are no rude interruptions for you.”
Kate kicked thorns with heavy boots. “Glad I didn’t dress for tea.”
She and Simon stomped through brambles, clearing a path to reach the door. The cottage was worn stone with a long-neglected thatch roof. The smell of mold and wet grass nearly overwhelmed the scent of woodsmoke.
“Ready?” Simon asked.
Kate put her hand on her bandolier. She nodded.
He pushed the thick door. It squealed back to reveal a fire crackling in the hearth on the far wall. A table sat in the middle of the cottage with several indistinguishable objects on it. A shape moved in front of the fire.
Simon whispered a word and felt aether surge in him. He noted how the pain of the curse eased slightly. He prepared to slam his hands together to create a shock wave.
“Come in, Mr. Archer,” a female voice said from the darkness.
Simon and Kate both looked to their right to see a long, pale gown shimmering in the firelight. As their eyes grew more accustomed to the interior, they saw a woman with a pale face and blond hair cascading about her shoulders. She sat in the corner in a simple chair.
Simon recognized the voice, and now the face, as did Kate, as would nearly anyone in the realm. Grace North, the prime minister’s wife. Beloved and beautiful, the people’s queen. It was jarring to see her here in the middle of the wild in a filthy cottage.
“No one means you harm.” She indicated the man standing in the shadows. He was tall and dressed in a long coat with a scarf wrapped about his face, revealing only his eyes. “He is merely my bodyguard. There is no danger.”
“Mrs. North.” Simon lowered his hands. He eyed the shadowy man by the fire. “This is unexpected. Is your husband with you?”
“He is not. I am the one who sent for you, Mr. Archer.” Grace North’s voice was calm, almost drowsy. She nodded to Kate. “Miss Anstruther, I didn’t expect you, but I suppose I should have given that I’d heard you and Mr. Archer were attached now.”
Kate replied, “I hope you don’t mind my presence, ma’am.”
Grace clutched a shawl around her shoulders. “Mind? I applaud it. Would you please come in and close the door. I abhor the cold.”
Simon nodded to Malcolm, who stood by the coach, and shut the door behind them. Grace slowly raised her hand a few inches toward several simple wooden chairs against the far wall. “There are no great comforts here, but we’ll be brief. Tea? Something stronger?”
“No, thank you.” Simon remained standing near the door with Kate. “We’re eager to get to it. So I assume the government is aware of the dangerous situation in London?”
From Grace North’s demeanor, she could have been meeting with the Kensington Garden Improvement League, until she leveled a shockingly hard stare at Simon. “The dangerous situation in London is entirely created by you, Mr. Archer.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The difficulty with amateurs is that they don’t appreciate the full ramifications of a situation. They don’t have all the information to make a rational decision, and so they form a course of action, derived from self-interest only, like a child. Because they have no broader frame of reference from which to judge.”
“I fear you’ve lost me, ma’am.”
“I refer to you, Mr. Archer. And you, Miss Anstruther. You are the danger, and I brought you here to see that it ceases.” Grace shifted slightly in her seat. A sheen of perspiration showed on her forehead. “Rowan Barnes is fighting to save Britain. If he does not succeed, the consequences will be apocalyptic. I am asking you, if you love this realm, to allow him to do his good work.”
“Ma’am,” Simon said, “you have been cruelly deluded. Rowan Barnes may be many things, but patriot is not among them. He has murdered two women. And he will attempt the murder of two more if he isn’t stopped.”
“There have been no murders, Mr. Archer. Those two women willingly sacrificed themselves for the good of Britain. If Barnes does not complete the ritual, millions will die. Do you understand? Those women understood that. Millions of innocent men, women, and children. Weigh those against four lives. Any reasonable person would know which choice to make.”
Simon stared at her in complete confusion. He was beginning to sense a hint of the Red Orchid acolyte in her. She had the scent of one of Barnes’s people. Frightening. Barnes had access to the wife of the most powerful man in the government.
“I disagree,” Simon said firmly.
“That’s because you don’t understand. I know what you are, Mr. Archer. I know you are a magician, so let me explain in terms that will persuade you. Many years ago, a great magician, perhaps the greatest of all time, named Byron Pendragon, put a spell in place to protect Britain from a terrible threat he feared would one day occur. He was right, but unfortunately he was killed by that terrible threat. Britain needs Pendragon’s magic to save it. Rowan Barnes will do that, and he is the only one who can.”
Simon’s lips were a thin line. “So Barnes is using blood magic to pervert Pendragon’s intentions. He is slaughtering innocents to break the lock on the spell.”
“What we are witnessing,” Grace North said, “is the end of a tragedy set in motion centuries ago. There is, loose in the world, a madman named Gaios. No doubt you’ve heard the name, and perhaps thought it a myth. He is very real and he is one of the most powerful magicians in the history of mankind. He is an earth elemental and, in his long time on earth, he has killed millions. Most recently, he caused the eruption of Tambora in the East Indies in 1815, of which you no doubt read. Thousands dead. The volcanic debris thrown into the air blocked the sun even here. There was no summer that year. That is how obscenely powerful his magic can be. That is how low his regard for human life is. We believe he has already set foot in Britain, and he is bringing the end of the world. Only the sacrifice of four women can stop him.”
“How could you possibly know any of that?” Simon asked brusquely. “Are these more of Barnes’s fantasies? Are you in line to be one of his innocent sacrifices?”
“I know far more than you can possibly understand, Mr. Archer,” she said with a snide edge in her voice. “The rulers of this land have long had relations with many great magicians, including Byron Pendragon, and I am privy to stores of hidden information about this secret history.”
Simon started toward Grace, but the shrouded man came up to her shoulder in a threatening posture. Wary of a fight when he had no idea what he was facing, Simon stepped back. “Ma’am, you may know then that I’m a scribe, like Pendragon. I can study his spells and find another way to break them. There’s no need for Barnes’s lunacy. There’s no need for further blood.”
She gave him a smug smile. “Please, Mr. Archer. It would take years for you even to comprehend Pendragon’s magic, and another lifetime to overcome it, if you ever could. I know you are a carver. You tattoo your body with runic spells so you can engage in physical combat. Pendragon would never have stooped to such vulgar magic. He was elegant and his power was incomparable. No, Mr. Archer, Gaios is at our doorstep. We don’t have time for you to grow up.”
Simon breathed through clenched teeth. His eyes darted around the cottage, catching a glimpse of something before focusing again on Grace North. He stared at her, letting his silence testify to the degree of cooperation she could expect.
Grace North’s voice was growing ragged and strained as if she was inexplicably fatigued. “We can make you a very rich man.”
“I’m already a rich man.”
“Well, there’s rich, and there’s acceptable. There’s that troubling element of your parentage, isn’t there? You may be wealthy and one of the popular faces about town, but that’s all very transitory. Wealth can be lost. Popularity fades. But class transcends. We can make you a man of consequence. Would you care for a baronetcy? Sir Simon Archer. Higher? Viscount Archer. Higher still? Lord Warden. There is little we couldn’t give you. Surely your mother would be proud to see their family brought into the House of Lords. And when Gaios is dealt with, there will be a place for a talented scribe in the new order.”
Simon could hear Kate breathing, and watching him. The fire crackled low.
Grace pursed her lips at his silence. “No? Then what about power? True power. I have connections that could provide you with knowledge of mystic arts beyond what you can discover on your own. Whatever your goal may be, I can arrange for you to become more than you ever imagined.”
Her shadowy footman nodded in agreement.
“No,” Simon replied quickly.
“Mr. Archer, you cannot survive this contest.”
Simon took Kate’s arm. “Come, there’s no more to hear. Mrs. North, thank you for your time.” Simon pulled open the door and bowed back out of the cottage. Then he slammed the door shut and virtually dragged the nonplussed Kate through the brush to the carriage.
Malcolm came around, pistol ready, with a look of confusion at the hasty exit.
“Let’s be on our way,” Simon said in a quiet tone that betrayed great urgency. “Hartley Hall is closer than London.” He and Kate were barely settled inside when the coach started off over rough ground.
They rode on for a long time in tense silence, watching through the windows, expecting an attack. They cleared the heavy forest and returned to the road. The carriage clipped on at a fast pace toward the northwest and Hartley Hall.
Finally Kate said, “Care to tell me why we left so quickly?”
He wiped beads of sweat from his brow and whispered a word that triggered a runic tattoo. The pain subsided. “I had a terrible sense in that cottage. I noticed runes inscribed along the beams.”
“I didn’t see them.”
“They were well hidden but I recognized them. They were written by Byron Pendragon.” Simon glanced out the window, relieved that the little cottage was now out of sight and they were trundling recklessly through the surrounding forest. “I’m tired of fighting battles on ground of the enemy’s choosing.”
“Wh
at next then?” Kate asked.
Simon tapped his walking stick, deep in thought. “That’s what we need to determine. We’ll go to Hartley Hall. Imogen and Charlotte have both been too long out of our view. I don’t mind telling you, I’m worried. Did you see Grace North? She was almost entranced when she spoke of Rowan Barnes. If the man has the influence to turn Grace North into his messenger, how far up does his influence go? Prime Minister North? The Crown itself?”
Kate looked out at the forest. “What if she’s correct about Barnes’s purpose? Or about the women being willing sacrifices? Simon, if four sacrifices will save millions from the wrath of Gaios, do we have the right to stop him?”
“She’s talking rot. She’s a Red Orchid acolyte. We know nothing about Gaios setting off a volcano in the East Indies. She’d say anything for Barnes. We don’t just have the right to stop his ritual; we have the obligation.”
The carriage suddenly keeled hard over with a jaw-snapping crack.
Chapter 18
Simon slid into the door, with Kate careening against him. Malcolm cursed over the sound of the whip and the team of horses screeching in alarm. The vehicle nearly toppled over on the other side before smashing down on all four wheels again and rolling to a stop.
With cane in hand, Simon was out the door, hissing at the pain in his chest but summoning runic strength. He turned in every direction, seeking some enemy but all he saw was a disheveled Malcolm tying off the reins.
“It’s nothing.” The Scotsman spun around and held up a cautioning hand. “Just the bloody road.”
Behind the coach, the worn tracks extended into the darkness. Several yards back a deep furrow cut across the path. Malcolm’s feet hit the ground and he swept his coat back to reveal his pistols. He walked back toward the trench as Kate climbed from the carriage. The Scotsman kicked loose dirt and stared into the distance down both sides of the channel. Simon continued to study the silent grassy hillocks around them. A light snow was falling over the landscape.
“A washout?” he asked when Malcolm returned and knelt to look under the carriage, checking the wheels.
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