“It’s not flattering to be ignored, and visited only when you need something.”
Thrix felt a flash of temper but managed to suppress it. It would not pay to upset the Fairy Queen. “I’m sorry.”
“Not very, I’d say.”
There was a silence during which Thrix felt increasingly uncomfortable, like a child about to be lectured by an angry adult. She couldn’t think of anything to say to smooth things over.
“Well,” said the Fairy Queen eventually. “What is it you need?”
“I’m looking for information about the stone dwarves’ ‘House That Can’t Be Found.’ I asked Malveria but she seems reluctant to help.”
“Malveria does not like to talk of the stone dwarves. She has her reasons. Did she suggest that I could help?”
“Yes.”
“I might be able to.” Queen Dithean looked at Thrix as if trying to make up her mind whether to be helpful or not. “What did you want to know?”
“How to identify the house, principally. And I’d like to find out who inhabits it, if possible.”
“Is there such a house in this land?”
“So it would seem. Constructed in London by a renegade stone dwarf.”
The Fairy Queen turned her head to the south. Her eyes, unusually large and unusually blue, stared off into the far distance, as if she might be gazing all the way to London.
“I think it might be the headquarters of the Avenaris Guild,” said Thrix.
There was another silence, during which they could hear rustling in the nearby bushes. Animals always gravitated toward Queen Dithean and would rest nearby, basking in her aura.
“If this house does turn out to be the headquarters of the hunters, what will happen?” asked the Fairy Queen. “Violence and death?”
“Most probably,” said Thrix.
“I am not fond of assisting death. Though I am an ally of the MacRinnalchs, or I was, when they paid me proper attention.”
Thrix sighed. “I haven’t just been ignoring you, Dithean. I’ve ignored my business too. It’s going to ruin. Everything is, since Minerva was killed. Won’t you help me take revenge?”
Old Minerva, the werewolf sorceress, had been a good friend of the Fairy Queen, and her name struck a chord. The Fairy Queen’s voice lost a little of its frostiness.
“The Maynista were clever builders. When they wanted something not to be found, it could not be found. No spell you have will penetrate or identify such a house. Nothing could be learned of it. By humans, anyway. Or werewolves.”
“What about fairies?”
The Fairy Queen chuckled. “We have magic that is older than the race of stone dwarves.” She summoned her attendants to refill their thimbles. “I noticed you drank with some alacrity.”
“I’ve been feeling the strain.”
The Fairy Queen could see the strain within Thrix. It seemed to her more than normal stress. There was great violence lurking inside her, waiting to come out.
The Fairy Queen folded her wings, quite somberly. “For me to let any of my sorcery be used outside my woods is no small matter. It weakens me, and lessens the protection I can give my people.”
“I appreciate that.”
“And if I were to help you, and weaken my lands, it’s possible that the result will be your death. I’m not sure this would be a sensible use of my power.”
“I need to take revenge for Minerva,” insisted Thrix.
It seemed to Queen Dithean, as she studied Thrix, that the werewolf was expecting death, and was untroubled by it, provided she could take her enemies with her. That bothered the Fairy Queen, and she found it difficult to decide whether she should help or not.
CHAPTER 115
Kalix sat upstairs on a bus on her way to visit Manny. Her eyes were fixed firmly on the floor. When the bus suddenly filled up with schoolchildren, screaming, shouting and brandishing their phones, she didn’t notice. She didn’t even notice the delay caused by an extended argument between the driver and two children who’d forgotten their bus passes. Kalix was too preoccupied with her own thoughts. She was dreading meeting Manny. She didn’t know what to tell him about Decembrius. She wasn’t satisfied with Daniel and Vex’s advice not to mention it. Nor was she happy with Moonglow’s advice that she should tell him. Kalix tried peering in-between the two options to see if there might be a third, but there didn’t seem to be.
Kalix’s journal had seen a lot of activity in the last twenty-four hours. She’d marked herself very badly in every one of her self-help categories, and added some new ones that were all extremely self-critical.
She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She quailed when she saw it was a message from Manny. He’s found out I slept with Decembrius, she thought. Kalix reluctantly opened the message, knowing she would be unable to withstand the hatred and malevolence it undoubtedly contained.
“Still in art shop meet me in café,” it said.
Kalix looked at the message, studying it closely for signs of hatred or malevolence. There didn’t seem to be any. Really, there was no way that Manny could possibly know what Kalix had done, but for some reason she imagined he’d guess.
I’ll never be able to lie about it. He’ll know. I shouldn’t lie anyway, I should just admit it.
But then, reasoned Kalix, Manny would hate her and never want to see her again. Her head began to swim. It was all too difficult. She cursed Decembrius, and tried to put all the blame on him. Somehow that didn’t work.
Kalix got off the bus at the stop nearest Manny’s small flat and pointed herself toward the café. She stood there, unwilling to take another step. It was another warm afternoon, warmer than normal for the time of year. Kalix felt too hot in her coat. She’d known she didn’t really need it, but felt in need of the protection it gave her from the outside world.
I’ll just go and admit it, she told herself. Then it’ll be over. I won’t eat any more afterward and I won’t talk to anyone. Maybe Dominil will have found the Guild’s headquarters and I can just charge in and get killed.
Heartened by the thought of never eating again, never talking to anyone and then dying in battle, Kalix forced herself to walk toward the café.
Manny was on the phone outside the café. His brother John had called him as he left the art shop.
“We’ve had some trouble at work. I don’t think I’ll be able to make it to your art show. Probably Dad won’t either.”
Manny was disappointed. It was unusual for his brother and family to tell him they were having problems at work, though Manny remembered it had happened once or twice before. Some problems with financial markets, he supposed.
“I’m sorry we can’t come.”
“That’s OK.” Manny was disappointed. He’d have liked his family to see his new art.
“I’m doing some courier work next week,” he told his brother. “Delivering parcels. Maybe I’ll see you up at Limehouse again.”
“Don’t go near there!” said John, immediately, which was strange.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t go near these streets in Limehouse. It’s not safe.”
“What do you mean it’s not safe?”
“Just don’t go there. I won’t be able to meet you anyway. I have to go now, Dad’s waiting on me.”
After the call Manny was puzzled. He wondered why his brother was so stressed. And what was he thinking, warning him not to go to Limehouse? He often delivered parcels around there on his bike. He stopped thinking about it when Kalix appeared. He smiled at her, then hugged her.
“Are you ready to eat?”
“OK,” said Kalix.
She didn’t say anything else as they entered the café, but that was quite normal. Manny filled in the gaps in the conversation with some enthusiastic talk of his new paintings and his art show.
“You’re still coming, right? I hoped my brother would be there, but he canceled. Some work crisis. It’s a shame; I wanted you to meet him. He’d like you.”
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CHAPTER 116
Distikka read the sign in the foyer: The exhibition presents highlights from the Courtauld Gallery’s collection of Spanish drawings, and features examples by many of Spain’s greatest artists, including Ribera, Murillo, Goya and Picasso. Distikka was interested. She liked Goya and Picasso and was keen to see the others. She was due to meet Mr. Carmichael but had purposely arrived early, allowing herself time to look at the exhibits.
She was prepared for an uncomfortable encounter. Mr. Carmichael was not going to be pleased to learn that the werewolves had discovered the location of their headquarters. But now it was done, there was nothing for the Guild to do but prepare themselves properly for the inevitable assault.
“And get rid of these annoying werewolves once and for all,” as the Empress had said.
Distikka didn’t find werewolves that annoying. She’d rather liked Dominil. But the Empress wanted them all dead, and it suited Distikka’s ambitions to assist the Empress. She was examining a drawing by Murillo when she sensed the arrival of Mr. Carmichael. Distikka was not as highly skilled in the interpretation of auras as the Empress, but she could tell he was far more agitated than she’d anticipated. She greeted him with her customary lack of warmth, and waited to hear what was bothering him.
“St. Amelia’s Ball,” began Mr. Carmichael. He looked round to check that no one was listening. “That turned out very badly.”
“Badly? Why?”
“Are you mocking us?”
“I really don’t know what you mean,” said Distikka.
“The deaths of my hunters,” hissed Mr. Carmichael.
Distikka was baffled. “What deaths?”
“We lost four men at the ball.”
“This is news to me.”
“Really? You didn’t know?” Mr. Carmichael raised his voice sufficiently for him to be shushed by a uniformed attendant.
“I had no idea,” whispered Distikka. “There was no disturbance that I was aware of.”
“Well, there were killings nonetheless. Mr. Eggers and three hunters.”
“What were the hunters doing there?”
“I sent them, after Mr. Eggers reported there were werewolves at the hotel.”
“And they were killed? I wasn’t aware of this. Nor was the Empress. It must have been done very discreetly.”
“Very discreetly. We haven’t found the bodies. But I’m sure they’re not coming back.”
An influx of Italian tourists forced them away from the Murillo drawings.
“I’m sorry you lost hunters,” whispered Distikka. “But perhaps it was unwise to send them to the ball?”
“Unwise? We thought the Empress was in charge of the event. We didn’t know it would be a playground for the MacRinnalchs.”
“We weren’t expecting them either. But really, the Empress was occupied with other matters. You couldn’t have expected her to assist your men.”
“I might have expected her to save Mr. Eggers, given that she’d asked him to meet her.”
It was an uncomfortable moment. The Empress had agreed to meet Mr. Eggers at the ball. The Guild might reasonably have expected that she’d keep him safe.
“This does make my news a little more difficult to transmit,” said Distikka.
“What news?”
“The MacRinnalchs have learned the address of your headquarters.”
Mr. Carmichael came to a dead stop. “What?”
“They know where you are.”
“They can’t. It’s impossible.”
“I believe it to be so.”
“They can’t,” insisted Mr. Carmichael. “No one can find us.”
“Dominil MacRinnalch has learned your address. Or perhaps I should say, if she has not quite learned it yet, she very soon will.”
Mr. Carmichael was appalled. “How can you possibly know this?”
“I’ve extrapolated on past events.”
“You mean you’re guessing?”
“I wouldn’t put it that way. We may stand here discussing it for any length of time, Mr. Carmichael, but the outcome will still be that the MacRinnalchs know your location. Soon they’ll muster their forces and attack you.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this. There’s no way they could find us. Have you given us away?”
“The Empress would never betray you. Even now she’s thinking of ways to assist you. When the attack comes, Mr. Carmichael, you must be ready for it.”
Distikka glanced at a charcoal drawing by Picasso, and nodded appreciatively.
“And really, is it so bad? You’ve spent months, or years, unable to find all these important werewolves. Now they’re all going to arrive on your doorstep. I’d say that’s a good thing, as long as you’re prepared.”
Mr. Carmichael didn’t see it that way. He was aghast to learn that their headquarters might have been found. It was ingrained into the culture of the Avenaris Guild that they were untraceable. The news that they might not be was profoundly shocking.
“Nothing remains the same for ever,” said Distikka, reading his thoughts. “I repeat, it’s not such a bad thing. When Kalix, Dominil, Thrix and their companions are all lying dead inside your building, you won’t regard it as such a disaster.”
CHAPTER 117
Decembrius sat in his shabby armchair in his small rented flat in Camden, watching football on TV. He hadn’t moved all day. Since the charity ball he’d spent all his waking hours in front of the television, before slouching off into his small bedroom where he slept badly, and woke up depressed.
Decembrius knew he suffered from depression. He sometimes had the uncomfortable feeling that, knowing this, he should be able to shake it off. Unfortunately, he couldn’t. He’d never been able to. He could suffer the most serious depression for no reason. When something happened that was worth being depressed about—Kalix for instance—the extra pressure it added became almost unbearable.
The football provided some diversion. Decembrius liked football. But even as the match was in progress, he’d get a sudden unwelcome jolt, and he’d think about Kalix, off enjoying herself somewhere with her new boyfriend.
When the match finished Decembrius took the unusual step of phoning Dominil. He wanted to know how the hunt for the Guild was progressing.
“Quite well,” she told him. “I think we’ve found the building.”
“So we can attack?”
“Not yet. We have to receive clearance from the Great Council.”
For the first time Decembrius felt keen to attend a meeting of the council. “I’ll be there. I’ll vote we attack.”
Decembrius felt a little better after the conversation. At least something was happening. He looked forward to a confrontation with the Guild. He planned to rush suicidally into the Guild’s headquarters and kill as many hunters as possible before they shot him down. As he sat on his own in front of the TV, he found that quite an attractive prospect.
When the moon rose he transformed into his werewolf shape without thinking about it, and remained seated, wondering how many werewolf hunters he might kill before they put a silver bullet through his heart.
“What did Decembrius want?” asked Thrix.
“He wanted to know if we’ve found the Avenaris Guild. He’s eager for action. Eager enough to go to Castle MacRinnalch and vote at a council meeting.”
Thrix scowled. “Do we really have to bother with that?”
“Yes,” said Dominil.
“If the council doesn’t want to attack, I’ll do it anyway,” said Thrix.
“So will I,” said Dominil.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
They sat at the large table in Thrix’s living room. Thrix had a scroll open in front of her, and there were piles of very old books scattered around.
“This is difficult,” she said. “These spells of destruction are all ancient. None of them was designed to erase computer files.”
Thrix’s idea of destroying the Guild had bee
n vague, amounting to little more than entering their headquarters and killing everyone they encountered. It had fallen to Dominil to point out that this would not be enough.
“What does destroying the Avenaris Guild really mean?” she’d asked. “I’d say it means destroying not only people, but their records as well. There’s no chance of us killing every single person associated with the Guild. Someone will survive. So we have to make sure they can never be effective again. We need to erase all of their knowledge of werewolves.”
Thrix had seen the wisdom of this, though it would be difficult. No doubt the Guild had a library which could be destroyed, but who knew what they had in their computers files? Dominil regarded it as a very difficult task to completely destroy all of the Guild’s computer records. They could be located anywhere, on computers in the building, on laptops in hunters’ homes, or on a server somewhere, or in a computer cloud. She’d turned her thoughts to the task of erasing them all.
“Do you think you’ll survive this?” asked Thrix.
“Survive the attack? Why do you ask?”
“I just wondered. We’ve been in some bad situations in the past few years. There was the feud with Sarapen. I thought we’d all die in that pub in Kentish Town. And then there was the opera in Edinburgh. I thought we’d die there too.” Thrix sipped from her glass of wine. “But we got lucky. We might not get lucky this time.”
“Our survival on these occasions does not influence our chances of survival on this,” said Dominil.
“Doesn’t it? I’d say if you get lucky twice, the third time you probably won’t.”
“Statistically, I would disagree,” said Dominil. She sipped her wine. “But even so . . . No, I’m not really expecting to survive. If we penetrate the heart of the Guild, there will be deaths. I hope we can do enough damage to make the sacrifice worthwhile.”
“Are you scared?”
“No.”
“Neither am I,” said Thrix. “But I’m probably going to die as well.”
“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” said Dominil. “We still haven’t confirmed we’ve found the Guild.”
The Anxiety of Kalix the Werewolf Page 43