‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Next time, you may have the axe. But if I emerge with any of my fingers missing, I shall be taking some of yours in recompense.’
Theo flexed the fingers in question. ‘No fear of that. Come along, Maundevyle. If the Book misbehaves too badly, we will simply feed it to you, eh? I should imagine it to be digestible enough. Probably not pleasant-tasting, but then one cannot have everything.’
As he walked away, he heard his mother sigh, and say: ‘I cannot think how we are ever to find him a wife.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Gussie, her voice fading behind him, ‘he does not want one.’
Chapter Fifteen
The next morning, the breakfast table was notable for Lord Werth’s absence. Ordinarily, he liked to linger over the meal, and generally remained there until most other members of the family had taken their repast. The latest books and papers were typically left for his perusal, by servants who were accustomed to his lordship’s habits.
This morning, his seat was empty, and the day’s papers evidently untouched.
Delicacy not being Theo’s strong suit, as he helped himself to a cup of chocolate and steadfastly avoided the food, he said: ‘Papa’s out raising the dead again, is he?’
‘Yes,’ sighed Lady Werth. ‘There was something he rather wished to consult Felix about, and it could not wait until moon-wane. I do not precisely understand why.’ Not before she had got all of this out did it occur to her that her son’s voluntary presence in the dining-room at any hour was worthy of note, and especially in the morning. She looked hard at him. ‘What are you doing out of the tower so early, Theo?’
‘Thought I ought to take something out to Maundevyle,’ said Theo. ‘The fellow’s diffident. Would not have thought it of a twenty-foot viscount with teeth as long as my forearm, but there you go.’
‘His lordship finds himself in unusual circumstances,’ Lady Werth said. ‘There has not been an abundance of rules laid down for the proper conduct of a dragon, I believe.’
‘That will have to change, what with Gussie making dragons of people left and right.’
‘Gussie will be doing no such thing.’
‘Won’t she?’ Theo raised his brows. ‘She cannot be kept in a cage all her life.’
‘What do you propose we do with her?’ Lady Werth sipped chocolate. Theo pretended not to notice the film of ice forming around her silver cup.
‘Gussie can decide what to do with herself, no? She is not a child now.’ Theo downed the remainder of his own chocolate in two gulps, and set down his cup. He ought not to drink it, really; it rarely agreed with him. But the taste made a pleasant change. ‘I think I would like to consult Lord Felix on one or two points myself, regarding Maundevyle.’ Theo turned to leave, but was halted by his mother’s voice.
‘No, do you think Felix might know something of relevance? I had not thought it.’
‘He was a contemporary of Margery’s, no? Or something thereabouts.’
Lady Werth rose from her chair, abandoning her breakfast. ‘That had not entered my head, but you are perfectly right. I shall go with you.’
Secretly Theo was glad of his mother’s escort, for while Lord Werth sometimes preferred not to be interrupted when he was working, he was never sorry to receive a visit from his wife. Together they passed out of the dining room, and then out of the house altogether. A narrow lane led down to a little church, which served both the Towers and their tenants; Theo was not surprised, upon arriving there, to find no sign of the reverend Mr. Scrivens, for he was wont to keep out of the way whenever Lord Werth appeared.
Father was to be found at the rear of the church, in sole possession of the ancient, moss-grown graveyard. He sat perched upon the tomb of Lord Ambrose Werth, whose vanity had caused an unusually large sarcophagus to be placed for him, with a recumbent statue of himself laid along the lid. The present Lord Werth sat comfortably upon Lord Ambrose’s right arm, oblivious to any indignity. The night winds had played havoc with his iron-grey hair; a night without repose had etched craggy shadows beneath his eyes; and his hands and forearms were crusted with dirt, and other substances Theo did not like to think about too closely. Nonetheless, he looked very much at his ease; quite in his element, engaged as he was in conversation with a cadaver.
Lord Felix had no right to have retained any flesh at all, at such a distance of time. He ought by now to be reduced to nothing but bones, Theo thought, eyeing his unearthed ancestor with some misgiving. He retained the use of his decaying parts out of pure wilfulness; it was vanity that did it, for what need had he for eyes or hair or skin? Still, it made him a trifle less terrible to look upon, and Theo was able to make his bow with tolerable composure.
‘Morning, Father,’ he said. ‘Lord Felix. I hope we are not interrupting?’
Lord Felix had been engaged upon some windy tale involving much cackling laughter, and the slapping of one bony, decayed hand upon the mouldering flesh of his thigh; but he paused upon beholding Theo and Lady Werth approaching, and got up from his perch atop his own gravestone. He bowed. ‘Lord Bedgberry,’ he said. ‘You were only half as tall, the last time we met.’
‘I have done a spot of growing, come to think of it,’ Theo allowed.
‘Lady Werth,’ said Lord Felix. ‘Time has robbed you of not a single personal grace.’
Mother made her curtsey. ‘Nor you of your charm, Felix.’
Lord Felix smiled, a ghastly expression, though his teeth might be said to be in better order than the rest of him. ‘I was just telling his present lordship about my time with—’ He broke off, and appeared to think better of whatever he had been about to say. ‘No, it is a tale not at all suitable for ladies.’
‘I should think not,’ said Lord Werth. ‘What brings you out to the graveyard, my love? I hope Theo did not persuade you into it. And I see you are without your shawl.’
‘It is a pleasant morning,’ said Lady Werth. ‘I am not at all cold.’
‘We came to hear about Margery,’ said Theo. ‘We seem to have developed a dragon, and have not the first idea what to do with it.’
‘A dragon!’ crowed Lord Felix. ‘It is past time there was another dragon at Werth.’
‘He is no Werth,’ said Theo. ‘He is the present Lord Maundevyle, and he does not at all appreciate his good fortune. Wants rid of his Dragon-Wyrde, if you please! We thought Margery might know something of benefit, but no one has seen her in ages.’
‘Is she not dead?’ said Felix, interested. ‘I always said she would outlive the rest of us.’
‘In point of fact, no one has any certain information upon that subject.’
Lord Felix shrugged his bony shoulders. ‘Cannot say as I can help. Secretive, Margery. Always sneaking off somewhere, and never would say where she was going. It’s my belief she had a hoard in some other part of the kingdom, and did not want to share it with the rest of us.’
Theo, conscious of a feeling of disappointment, said nothing. If Lord Felix’s account of Margery’s habits was true, then it was of no use to ask anyone in the family, however long-dead; no one would be able to give any certain information as to Margery’s likely whereabouts, except Margery herself.
‘We have not happened to produce any other dragons, I suppose?’ he said. ‘Anyone more… accessible?’
It was Lord Werth who shook his head, and said with decided information, ‘No. Lady Margery Werth was the only one, rather to my mother’s regret.’
‘See!’ said Theo. ‘And Maundevyle has no appreciation for it! The rarest of Wyrde-curses, and a handsome one, too.’ He sighed.
‘Not quite the rarest,’ said Lady Werth. ‘For there is Gussie’s, of course.’
‘Good God, yes,’ said Theo. ‘I was forgetting that.’
Lord Felix looked an enquiry.
Lady Werth exchanged a look with her husband, whose countenance apparently expressed approval, for she said: ‘It appears our niece has a talent for drawing forth a dormant Wyrde. It is her doing —
unwitting, of course — that Lord Maundevyle is become a dragon.’
To Theo’s surprise, Lord Felix burst into laughter. ‘But that is priceless!’ he gasped. ‘How I wish I were alive! I should dearly like to watch that girl’s progress about the country.’
‘Well, we would not!’ said Theo. ‘Let her wander about a few watering-places, and every family in England will be after us with pitchforks.’
‘And how would that differ from the regular state of affairs?’ said Lord Felix, not without justice.
‘Well—’ began Theo.
Lord Felix interrupted. ‘Why do not you hold the Assembly?’
‘The what?’ said Theo bluntly.
‘The Assembly.’ Lord Felix looked from Theo’s blank face to Lord and Lady Werth’s equally uncomprehending countenances. ‘Do not tell me you have forgotten it?’
‘I have not the smallest idea what you mean,’ said Theo. ‘And it’s clear Mama and Papa haven’t, either.’
‘But— how then do you gather the family, for the Wyrding ceremonies?’
‘By letter,’ said Lady Werth. ‘Being always the third birthday, it is no difficult matter to plan for.’
‘Letter!’ Lord Felix looked as though he wanted to laugh again, but was torn between mirth and indignation. ‘Letters!’ he shouted, and then to some degree calmed himself. ‘A family is nothing without its traditions, you know,’ he said in a more reasonable way. ‘I cannot think how you have contrived to go on without the Assembly, but you must certainly employ it now.’
‘And what is it?’ said Lady Werth coolly.
‘It is a ritual,’ said Lord Felix. ‘Performed properly, it will compel every Werth who yet lives — and some who do not — to present themselves at Werth. And make no mistake, they will come.’
Lady Werth looked as though she did not know what to make of such an idea. She gazed, speechless, at Lord Felix, her eyes rather wide, and said nothing.
‘What, all of them?’ said Theo.
‘All.’
‘Mercy! But there must be hundreds of us about the world.’
‘I should think it improbable,’ said Lord Felix. ‘Margery excepted, a typical Werth is unlikely to enjoy a life of any very great span. I myself died at eight-and-forty.’
‘I am sorry to hear it,’ said Theo politely.
‘It was quite my own fault.’
Theo changed the subject. ‘Ah— you do not happen to recall how this ritual of the Assembly is to be performed?’
Lord Felix recoiled. ‘Do not tell me the Book also is forgotten?’
From his mother, Theo heard a soft sigh.
‘No, though it ought to be,’ he said grimly. ‘Cursed thing grows more difficult with every passing year.’
‘It always did have spirit,’ said Lord Felix with approval.
‘It almost took father’s hand off.’
‘Ah!’ said Lord Felix, faintly regretful. ‘Almost!’
‘There is nothing of that kind in the Book,’ said Lord Werth. ‘You may believe me. I have often consulted it.’
‘Then it is hiding it from you, no doubt for some mischievous reason of its own. You will have to get yourselves onto its good side.’
‘That Book,’ said Theo severely, ‘has no good side!’
‘Perhaps not, anymore.’
‘It’s my belief it ought to be burned.’
‘As I said.’ Lord Felix resettled himself atop his gravestone. ‘Werths do tend to meet with accidents, more often than not.’
‘Is it a Werth, then?’ said Mother. ‘The Book?’
Lord Felix said nothing for a moment. ‘The Book of Werth,’ he said slowly. ‘One thing I am almost sure of: it is older than any of us.’
‘How can that be?’ said Lady Werth.
‘And,’ continued Felix without answering, ‘it is certainly far more than a mere Book. But as to the precise nature of its workings, I cannot say.’
‘Thank you, Lord Felix,’ said Lady Werth. ‘We will give the matter due consideration.’ Then, looking at her husband, she said: ‘Perhaps it will be well to leave his lordship to his rest? I have asked cook to serve a second breakfast, and it ought to be ready in ten minutes’ time.’
Theo’s father developed the ravenous look of a wolf about to spring upon fresh prey. ‘I am rather hungry,’ he admitted.
‘Right.’ Lord Felix made his bow to the company, and clambered back into his coffin. ‘Come back another time, Werth,’ he said. ‘We will finish that story.’ What was left of his eyes, turning towards Lady Werth, went shifty, and he grinned.
‘I shall be sure to do so,’ Lord Werth promised. As Lord Felix drew the coffin’s lid back over himself, Lord Werth hefted his shovel, and began to hurl wet-smelling earth back down upon the grave.
‘Leave that for the gardeners,’ Lady Werth instructed.
Lord Werth put his hands to his lower back and stretched, producing some sharp cracking sounds. ‘It really is a young man’s pursuit,’ he said by way of agreement, and set down the shovel again.
‘Raising the dead?’ Theo said. ‘Undoubtedly. Not at all respectable in a man of your age, father. When you were ten years younger, now, that was a different matter.’
Lord Werth grimaced. ‘I believe you’ve been spending too much time with Augusta.’
Theo grimaced, too. ‘Good God. I really have.’
***
No one knew, later, what Theo had done to the Book.
Gussie arrived at the Towers late in the morning, and upon conducting a search for her aunt, found her at last hovering at the top of the cellar stairs. Her hands were clasped tightly before her, her face was quite white, and she jumped when Gussie spoke to her.
‘Oh!’ she said. ‘It is only you. You frightened me, creeping up like that.’
‘I am incapable of creeping,’ said Gussie, with perfect truth, for she had a rather heavy tread, considered most unladylike. Lady Werth had never managed to cure her of it. ‘You must have been elsewhere in your thoughts.’
She was interrupted by a thin scream of rage, echoing from somewhere below.
Gussie, wide-eyed, took a small step back. ‘Who can have been so foolish as to enrage the Book?’ she said. ‘And so soon after the last time?’
Lady Werth sighed. ‘Theo has gone down there. He would accept no escort, no matter how I pleaded.’
‘Oh! If it is only Theo, then I am not at all concerned.’ Gussie relaxed.
‘That is unkind,’ said Lady Werth. ‘You would be as cast down as any of us, were something to happen to him.’
Gussie thought about that. ‘Not really very much, no,’ she said. ‘But I meant to say something else; namely that, since Theo is at least twice as horrific as the Book, the two of them are no doubt having a comfortable cose.’
A muffled, slamming sound followed the scream; Gussie rather thought it was the sound of an axe striking down, and probably burying its blade in the table-top. Or the wall.
‘See?’ she smiled. ‘What did I tell you! The best of friends.’
The sounds came again, several times repeated, and Lady Werth winced. ‘For some reason, I find that a still more appalling thought.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ Gussie agreed.
After that, everything went quiet. Gussie expected to see her cousin soon stalking up the stairs again, but there was no sign of him, even after some minutes.
‘I suppose it was important, whatever has sent him down there?’ she said after a while.
‘It is all Lord Felix’s doing,’ said Lady Werth, with some distaste.
‘Has not he been dead for some time— oh. Uncle has been at it again, has he?’
Lady Werth sighed, and nodded. ‘It is all about this Assembly notion, you see,’ and she told Gussie an extraordinary tale of rituals and far-off Werths and ancient, unsociable dragons.
‘Heaven forfend!’ said Gussie, when her aunt had finished. ‘The Towers swamped in obscure Werths, and all for the pleasure of consulting one dragon? I
had not thought Lord Maundevyle’s plight of sufficient interest to drive us to such measures.’
‘It is rather our fault,’ said Lady Werth. ‘We are bound to help him, if we can.’
‘It is not. It is Lady Maundevyle’s own doing, and her horrible son and daughter. They have brought it on themselves.’
‘But they have not,’ said her aunt gently. ‘They have brought it on Lord Maundevyle.’
Gussie frowned. ‘Still, these seem dire measures, when we do not even know that Margery can help us. Besides, has it occurred to no one that the Book might have had reason to hide this ritual from us?’
Lady Werth’s mouth opened. ‘It is by nature disobliging…’
‘Yes, but that does not necessarily mean that it is always wrong to be so.’
This possible interpretation of the Book’s behaviour plainly had not occurred to her aunt. Gussie watched as she thought the idea through. ‘But what harm could come of a mere family gathering?’ said Lady Werth.
‘An enormous family gathering, no doubt including many people whom we have never met, and perhaps could never wish to?’
An echoing crash resounded through the cellar, and the stairs shook. The door to Book’s prison, Gussie thought, hurled shut by an irate Lord Bedgberry. His tread was soon heard coming up.
‘Is that you, Theo?’ Gussie called. ‘If you have perchance been possessed by the Book, pray let us know before we are summarily dismembered.’
‘I do not at all see how that would help,’ Theo answered.
‘It would not, very much. But there is a certain satisfaction in knowing the reason for one’s demise, is there not?’
‘It is my belief that your wits are wandering,’ said Theo, reaching the top of the stairs.
‘Aye, but they were always wayward,’ said Gussie with a sigh. ‘I see that you have prevailed.’
Theo looked rumpled and flushed, to be sure, as though he had lately exerted himself in some vigorous exercise. But he was not bleeding, he was missing no fingers or limbs, and he was free of the welts which marred Gussie’s own skin. ‘I have told you,’ said he calmly. ‘You only have to deal with it firmly.’
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