The Society of Thirteen

by Gareth P. Jones

  They turned and fled, leaving behind them the burnt cinders of Hardy’s dead body.

  Chapter 55

  Perfection

  Ever since being stuck inside these birds’ bodies Mondriat had hated waking up. In his dreams he was still a powerful, handsome Conjuror, rather than a rotten old magpie. This time, when he awoke he opened his eyes to find a huge, black, feline face looming over him.

  ‘Olwyn,’ he said, groggily. ‘Don’t do that! You want me to die of terror?’

  ‘Of terror? Of course not,’ she replied. ‘Dreaming of me, were you, Mondriat?’

  ‘Always.’

  ‘I understand you have directed the boy back into Ringmore’s hands. Why? What are you up to, Mondriat?’

  ‘Tom needed an ally. He needed someone able to give him what he wants.’

  Olwyn licked a paw and used it to clean her face. ‘And what does the Lord want in return?’ she asked.

  ‘Ah, yes, well. Interesting you should ask that. He’s rather got his sights set on immortality.’ Mondriat chuckled.

  ‘How do you expect to deliver that?’

  ‘Oh you know, I thought Tom could come up with something that makes him feel immortal. After all, one doesn’t really know that one isn’t immortal until it’s too late, does one?’

  Olwyn prowled forward and Mondriat stepped back nervously. ‘How would you feel if I could tell you that it is possible?’ Olwyn’s green eyes twinkled playfully.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Mondriat asked warily.

  ‘Ringmore wants immortality. He’s gone to the boy for answers but he already has the solution in his possession.’

  ‘He does?’ Mondriat was struggling to keep up.

  ‘Haven’t you worked it out yet?’ Olwyn sighed.

  ‘The book. You’re talking about the book?’ said Mondriat.

  ‘Yes, the book,’ she said patiently. ‘You asked me what it was for. The truth is I wrote it in order to discover the Eternity Spell.’

  ‘By writing a book?’

  ‘For you, Conjury was instinctive. For me, it was an exact science. Through writing down every spell and every potion, I was able to study how each shape affected the power it drew. Slowly, methodically, I searched for the answer.’

  Mondriat twitched his tail excitedly. ‘Are you saying you worked it out?’

  The cat nodded. ‘Yes. The final spell in the book is the Eternity Spell.’

  ‘But that’s … that’s remarkable. Why did you never tell me?’

  ‘You were too busy robbing mirrors and, besides, I never trusted you.’

  Mondriat wished he could read something in Olwyn’s feline expression. Affection, bitterness; anything. But it was impossible. ‘Why are you telling me now?’ he asked.

  ‘I had hoped the girl might perform the spell but now you have the boy and the book, it makes sense that he should draw the spell.’

  ‘Yes, but why involve me after all this time?’

  ‘Mondriat,’ purred the cat, ‘if the boy performs the Eternity Spell, he can bring us both back.’

  ‘Back?’

  Olwyn moved closer to Mondriat so that he could feel her breath on his face. ‘Finally, my love,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘Finally, we can return to human form.’

  ‘Is it possible?’

  ‘Yes. Imagine it, Mondriat. You and I, human once again. Conjuror and Conjuress again.’

  Mondriat felt his magpie heart speed up to such an extent that it reminded him it really was about time he found a new body, but if this was all true then that new body would be his own, human self.

  ‘Oh Olwyn, you wondrous woman,’ he proclaimed. He wanted to kiss her but realised that it would be as impractical as it was inadvisable. Instead he hopped up and down and flapped his wings. ‘This is marvellous … marvellous,’ he said. Then a thought struck him. ‘But if you succeeded in finding the Eternity Spell back then, how did you end up like this?’

  ‘There were complications,’ she replied. ‘But this time we will get it right. Now, let me explain what your boy needs to do.’

  Chapter 56

  Demonstration

  When Georgina Waters had first stepped off the boat from New York to England, she had felt as though she could actually smell the magic of this old country, lingering in the dense fog. England’s rich history was there in the brickwork of the buildings, the names of the towns and the pale faces of its weather-beaten people.

  As time had passed and Georgina Waters became Mr G. Hayman, her interest in magic had not diminished, but she had started to wonder if the stories of old weren’t better suited to her works of fiction than to anything remotely real. She had heard so much about the old ways, but had never witnessed them for herself.

  The discovery of the book had reinvigorated her faith. Joining Sir Tyrrell and Lord Ringmore in his sparsely furnished drawing room, she commented on Harry Clay’s absence.

  ‘He sent word that he is too occupied with his theatre show to attend this evening’s meeting,’ replied Lord Ringmore. ‘More fool him, for tonight we have a special guest. The Society of Thirteen has recruited a new member.’

  ‘You have found an appropriately aged orphan?’ asked Sir Tyrrell.

  ‘A birth certificate might be worth asking for this time,’ said Mr G. Hayman.

  ‘That won’t be necessary. Will it, Tom?’

  In the centre of the room a boy materialised. He was dressed in a cloak and held a staff in one hand. On his shoulder was a magpie. Mr G. Hayman and Sir Tyrrell stared, open mouthed.

  ‘May I introduce our newest member?’ announced Lord Ringmore, evidently enjoying the reaction.

  Mr G. Hayman reached a hand to touch Tom’s arm and confirm that her eyes were not fooling her other senses but he moved it away and stared defiantly at her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s just … I have waited so long.’

  ‘We all have,’ said Lord Ringmore.

  ‘Forgive me,’ said Sir Tyrrell. ‘But I have seen many wondrous things and many remarkable fakes. How do we know the boy is genuine?’

  Tom raised his left hand and beckoned Lord Ringmore’s hat from his head. It floated across the room into his hand. He showed it to the others, revealing that it was empty. ‘What would you have me pull out of this hat to make you believe?’ he said. ‘A rabbit? A treasured object of yours?’ He pushed his arm into the hat, much further than should have been possible. ‘Or perhaps something of greater value to you.’ As he reached deep into the hat, Sir Tyrrell suddenly clutched his chest. He grew short of breath and stared in disbelief at Tom.

  ‘You feel that, do you?’ asked Tom. ‘You see, if I wanted to I could pull out your beating heart. Would that be proof enough for you? If I wanted I could draw the air from your lungs or drain the blood from your veins.’

  Sir Tyrrell gasped for breath.

  ‘Enough, Tom,’ said Lord Ringmore.

  Tom unclenched his hand and Sir Tyrrell took a deep breath as the pain vanished from his chest.

  ‘I ain’t no stage magician,’ said Tom. ‘I’m a Conjuror. I can do anything I can imagine.’ He handed the hat back to Lord Ringmore.

  ‘Tom is going to help us achieve our goal,’ he said, placing the hat back on his head.

  ‘The Eternity Spell,’ whispered Mr G. Hayman. ‘But even Olwyn never discovered it.’ She watched the magpie hop onto a mantelpiece, its long tail twitching as it followed the conversation.

  ‘Or so we thought,’ said Lord Ringmore. He held the book open at its last page, which contained the most intricately drawn shape of all. ‘Olwyn Broe’s final spell. The Eternity Spell.’

  ‘Are we sure?’ asked Mr G. Hayman.

  The magpie clicked and flapped its wings angrily.

  ‘Tom says his familiar has confirmed it. This is the spell.’ Lord Ringmore banged his stick excitedly on the wooden floorboards.

  ‘So are we to perform it now?’ asked Sir Tyrrell.

  ‘No,’ said Tom. ‘Not here. We need to fi
nd a place where the lifeblood is most powerful. We need to be close to the heart of the Earthsoul.’

  ‘And where would that be?’ asked Sir Tyrrell.

  ‘They say the Earthsoul flows through the rivers of the world. It drives them down from the mountains. It makes the oceans breathe with its tides. It fills the veins of the world,’ said Mr G. Hayman.

  ‘So, near the Thames,’ said Sir Tyrrell.

  ‘For the spell to work we must be right in its heart,’ said Tom.

  Sir Tyrrell looked exasperated. ‘What does all this mean?’

  ‘We need to be under the river,’ said Tom.

  Chapter 57

  Reinvention

  Fred had stuck by his old friend, Harry Clay, through some outlandish requests. He had barely batted an eyelid when Clay first asked him to chain him up and throw him into a vat of water. He had happily agreed when Clay asked him to bury him alive. He had wavered when Clay had asked him to shoot a loaded pistol at him but, when it came to it, he had put his faith in Harry, aimed and fired.

  This one felt different. It wasn’t the first time Harry had asked Fred to speak to the theatre management, but this was pure insanity. Clay had returned home late after the opening night, offering no explanation of where he had been, but instead ranting about finally having found it. When Fred enquired what he had found, Clay’s eyes had lit up and he had responded, ‘Something worth selling.’

  ‘I thought we already had that,’ replied Fred.

  ‘Not like this. I need you to speak to Mr Dickey for me and tell him we’re taking a break.’

  Fred laughed at this joke but his old friend’s expression suggested that he was deadly serious.

  ‘We’ve only just started our run,’ protested Fred.

  ‘We’re restarting … we’re reinventing.’

  ‘Why? The tickets are already sold.’ Fred had often wondered if his friend’s regular oxygen deprivation would lead to some kind of mental problems. Was this the moment that Fred would watch it all slip away?

  ‘I want everyone refunded,’ said Harry.

  ‘Refunded?’

  ‘Every last one of them. We need to up the price and resell the tickets. Except for the press. I want every newspaperman in London here for the new opening night. Put them in the stalls to make sure they can see every little detail.’

  ‘Mr Dickey will never go for it.’

  ‘I need you to make sure he does go for it. I’m relying on you, Fred.’

  ‘I’ll need to give him something to go on.’

  Harry shook his head. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Then I need something. I need to understand why you’re doing this, Harry.’

  Harry walked to the liquor cabinet and took a swig of the first bottle that came to hand. ‘You know I would if I could but this one’s got to remain a secret.’

  ‘All this time and I never once asked you how you did any of those tricks. Not one,’ said Fred. ‘I never wanted to know. If I didn’t know, I reckoned, then no matter who came creeping around trying to find out I wouldn’t be able to tell them nothing. But asking all this, we’re talking a lot of money, Harry, and not just yours, neither.’

  Harry placed the bottle back on the table.

  ‘Don’t worry. We’ll all be a lot richer by the end of this run. You, Dickey, me, the lot of us.’

  ‘You’re cancelling three shows and a matinée then giving half the stall tickets away free to journalists. You need arithmetic lessons.’

  ‘We’re doubling the price of the tickets.’

  ‘Doubling?’

  Harry reached for the bottle but Fred snatched it away. Harry stared back, sullenly. ‘You’ve never let me down, Fred,’ said Harry. ‘Don’t start now.’

  ‘The same to you,’ replied Fred.

  ‘Everything I’ve done is nothing compared with what I’m going to unveil next week.’

  Fred looked at his old friend. If this was the onset of insanity, which he strongly suspected, then it really was the beginning of the end. If so, Fred would embrace it the same way he had embraced the madness at the start.

  ‘All right,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll tell old Dickey. Don’t blame me if we end up being thrown out and having our name so badly besmirched that we’re stuck touring the provinces for the rest of our lives.’

  ‘All I need is that new opening night,’ said Clay. ‘After that, the tickets will sell themselves, no matter how much I charge. Oh, and one last thing. I need a new sign outside the theatre. Twice as big, and it needs to read: The Miraculous Harry Clay brings you, for the first time ever, REAL MAGIC.’

  Chapter 58

  History

  Esther missed Tom. She wanted to talk to him and make things better, but how could she when she had let him down so badly? It didn’t make it any better that she had been right about his aunt. By trying to protect him, she had only succeeded in further driving him away.

  Esther stood outside Lord Ringmore’s house, watching the ripples created by Tom’s spells, wanting to be near him but unable to approach. He was inside, performing for the Society. Esther wondered what they were doing for him in return. What was the point in working for Lord Ringmore now that she and Tom could do anything they wanted? If the only limitation was one’s own imagination then why were they still here in this grimy city, barely any better off than before?

  Esther had cast a spell of invisibility around her but the tall, dark figure dressed in animal hides who stopped in front of her stared directly into her eyes.

  ‘You may be invisible to the unInfected, but I see you,’ said Kiyaya.

  ‘Your friend could see you too, if he chose. Perhaps that is what you want.’

  Esther shrugged off the spell. After everything she had learnt over the last few days, she thought nothing else could surprise her. Now it appeared that Kiyaya could not only speak English but that he was a Conjuror.

  ‘I thought all the Infected were wiped out,’ she said.

  ‘Here, in your cold continent, yes, but where I am from, the few still roam.’

  ‘Does Mr Symmonds know?’

  ‘John Symmonds knew nothing, but he was a good man. He gave me transportation to England. I like it here. I can live freely here.’

  ‘Why weren’t you free where you came from?’

  ‘In my homeland,’ he said, thumping his chest, ‘the Infected are not trusted, and so they are forced to walk alone.’

  ‘Then why would you choose such a life?’

  ‘Let me show you.’

  He reached out a hand. Esther stepped back and held up her staff defensively.

  ‘No harm will come to you,’ said Kiyaya, speaking in such a calm, measured voice that Esther lowered her staff and allowed him to place his hand on her shoulder. Feeling its weight, the world went blank. When she opened her eyes, London had been replaced by a wild and rugged landscape. There were rolling hills, valleys of red rock and strange, spiky trees rising out of the dusty ground. It was like nothing she had ever seen. It was more space than she had ever imagined.

  ‘My home,’ Kiyaya’s voice filled her head. ‘This is one of my earliest memories.’

  The eyes through which she was witnessing this vision blinked, and suddenly she was inside a tent made from brown animal skins. Inside the tent sat a man, woman and child, all dressed like Kiyaya. From the angle she was watching them, Esther realised she was seeing through the eyes of an infant.

  ‘These are your parents?’ she asked.

  ‘No. My parents dead. This is my father’s brother, his wife and their son.’

  Esther heard a child’s scream and the uncle turned and approached. His large face loomed over and picked up the distressed infant. The love was evident in his eyes, but his wife remained with her arms around her own child.

  ‘They looked after me. My uncle was a kind man but his own son always came first. Kiyaya came second.’

  Another blink brought darkness. They were outside again. Esther heard a howling animal in the night. The eye
s were older now and stood taller. They glanced around and she felt Kiyaya’s fear. He looked up and Esther saw a sky of burning stars, brighter and fuller than she had ever seen.

  ‘What’s happening?’ she asked.

  There was a rustling from the bushes and she saw a man emerge from behind a shrub. His body was covered with strange symbols. His eyes burned like fire as they settled on the petrified boy.

  ‘This man found Kiyaya, thirteen years old and orphaned. He showed me my better self.’

  The painted man handed a stick to Kiyaya. Esther didn’t need to see the shape he drew on the ground to know what was about to happen. Once again the vision shifted and they were inside the tent. On the ground, his uncle, aunt and cousin lay unconscious. Her vision blurred with Kiyaya’s tears. A hand wiped them away and she was back outside Lord Ringmore’s house. The Indian removed his hand from her shoulder.

  ‘Why are you showing me this?’ she asked. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I want to help. A time will come soon when Olwyn will need you.’ Kiyaya stared unblinkingly at Esther as he said the name, searching her face for a reaction. Esther tried to give none. ‘She was once a great Conjuress,’ said Kiyaya. ‘I believe she can help us both.’

  ‘I don’t care about her. I don’t want to be a part of any of this. I want to leave all this behind.’

  ‘And yet you remain here in this city.’

  Esther said nothing.

  ‘You will not leave because you want him to come with you, but there is much happening that you do not understand.’

  ‘Then tell me,’ demanded Esther.

  ‘Soon I will show you,’ replied Kiyaya, before turning and walking away, leaving Esther staring after him, bewildered.

  Chapter 59

  Identification

  A Catholic upbringing had left Chief Inspector Longdale with a profound mistrust of nuns. In his experience, these strange wimpled creatures could give the lowest form of criminals a run for their money when it came to the use of violence and intimidation. So far Mother Agnes had done nothing to dissuade Longdale from his firmly held belief. She stood in the mortuary, wearing a thin-lipped smile on her face in spite of the fact that there lay before her the burnt corpse of a boy.