The Descendants of Thor Trilogy Boxset: Forged in Blood and Lightning; Norns of Fate; Wrath of Aten

by S. A. Ashdown

  ‘Yes.’ Julian sighed. ‘I thought it was time you both knew the truth. Before it’s too late.’

  Jenny might be under my feet, he thought. Does Julian know – or care – about that? ‘Do you trust the Praetoriani to give Theo a fair trial?’

  Julian limped over to the door and clicked it shut. ‘Of course,’ he said, too loudly. ‘As much as Nainai trusted them.’

  Nainai, who drowned in the Nile, so close to Akhen’s villa. ‘Why didn’t you just tell me?’

  ‘Michele has only recently returned. Elspeth is dead. Theo was…inaccessible. There seemed little reason to burden you. As you say, these are my failings. I tried to make up for my mistakes once before. I pushed you too early, my dear boy, hoping you could get through to your aunt before she went too far. Dear Elspeth, she haunted her sister that night, through you. I loved her, you see – your mother. But she chose Michele.’

  Menelaus walked over to Julian’s record player in the corner. He positioned the needle and turned on the amp. ‘Pink Floyd, still?’

  Julian shrugged. ‘It’s a classic.’

  Once he was certain no one could eavesdrop, Menelaus went and whispered in Julian’s ear. ‘Theo gave me my powers back. He’s forgiven me.’ He stepped away. His father frowned but there was a lightness in his eyes. ‘I want to be mad at you,’ he continued, ‘but every time I look at you I see the man who taught me to play chess and pour tea, who read old fables every night at bedtime. You’re the only one who made me feel loved. Whatever happens between Michele and I, you will always be my true father.’

  Julian threw down his cane and embraced him. ‘To answer your question, my boy,’ he said, ‘I took you in because I wished you were my son. Those murderous vampires weren’t fit to raise a Knight. Do you remember, that’s what I used to call you?’

  ‘Little Knight,’ Menelaus said, a lump in his throat.

  ’Not so little now.’

  There was a brief knock at the door. Praetor Cullen swept into the room, wearing his out-of-court black gown, while his lictors stood guard by the door. He cocked his head and grunted. ‘Turn that racket off, for God’s sake. The Clemensen boy should feel his stomach flip at the sight of us, not want to dance a jig.’

  Menelaus toyed with the idea of turning the volume up but decided better of it. He needed to keep his head down to carry out this afternoon’s plan. So he smiled sweetly, retracted the needle and slammed the deck closed. ‘Quite right. Here’s hoping my new ward is utterly terrified of me.’

  Julian took the call coming to his office from reception. ‘Yes, Kate, thank you. Send them up.’ He turned to Menelaus, instructing him to lower the blinds. ‘Time to welcome the cavalry.’

  Praetor Cullen sat on the ancient Chinese chair in the corner, refusing to sit on the floor cushions. ‘Why do you clamber up and down like that, using your cane? If it’s so hard to sit, why not use a chair?’

  ‘Are you disrespecting my cultural heritage?’

  The magistrate sneered. ‘I believe you are the one disrespecting it, Julian.’

  Menelaus quietly lent Julian his arm. The arrival of Michele and Theo was a relief; small talk with Praetor Cullen was enough to drive anyone mad.

  He hadn’t expected the shiny, silvery outfit and the headgear. As soon as the door was closed, Michele took off the helmet.

  That’s my birth father, Menelaus thought, meeting the vampire’s searching gaze, the hazel eyes so like his own. He tilted his head slightly in the magistrate’s direction. Not here, he mouthed as Theo blocked Praetor Cullen’s view. Michele nodded, and held out his hand.

  ‘Professor Knight, pleased to meet you at last.’

  Menelaus gripped the hewn hands that must have once caressed his mother. ‘Please, call me Menelaus.’

  His palm felt cold when Michele pulled away, taking a seat on one of the cushions. ‘Excuse the informal attire,’ he said, plonking his suitcase on the table and almost knocking over Julian’s carefully placed teacups, ‘but necessity demands.’

  ‘Mr Clemensen, please sit,’ said Julian. ‘Would you like some tea? It’s my mother’s recipe.’

  Theo took the other cushion, attempting to arrange his long legs. In the end, he followed Julian’s example and took off his shoes and sat on his heels. ‘Is that liquorice I smell?’ he asked.

  ‘You like it? Must run in the family.’

  Menelaus ignored Praetor Cullen tapping his foot in the corner – he was only here to officiate anyway – and took the cushion at the end of the table, between Michele on one side, and Julian on the other. I’m legally related to three quarters of the people in this room, he thought. When had he somehow acquired a family?

  ‘Tea, Mr De Laurentis?’ Julian locked eyes with Michele.

  ‘It’s Professor, like Menelaus, if you wish to be formal. I have taught law for many centuries. Doctor is also acceptable.’ He smiled, his tanned skin cracking under the pressure. ‘As is tea.’

  The sound of pouring water lengthened the silence. ‘Menelaus is a professor of philosophy and literature. I’m very proud of everything my son has achieved, within and without the Praetoriani’s walls.’ He casually gestured to the books stacked in each crevice, as if Menelaus had absorbed the knowledge by osmosis.

  Michele glowered.

  ‘Isn’t this delightful?’ said Theo, taking a sip. ‘Do I detect a hint of peppermint?’

  He’s enjoying this, thought Menelaus.

  ‘Quite right, young man,’ Julian said, rubbing the grey knit fabric of his jumper. ‘Warms the old bones.’

  Praetor Cullen barked from the corner. ‘Can we get on with this?’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Theo. ‘Have you a headache? I’ve got something for that.’

  The magistrate stiffened. ‘I suggest you name your Guardian, Mr Clemensen.’

  ‘My client will say nothing to you,’ said Michele. ‘The very fact we’re here proves Mr Clemensen’s willingness to cooperate. One would think the Praetoriani would be grateful.’

  ‘Grateful?’ Praetor Cullen raised a bushy eyebrow. ‘The innocent rarely struggle to be cooperative. Only the guilty strive to appear so.’

  Despite his earlier resolve, Menelaus quipped back. ‘Magistrates rarely struggle to be impartial.’ He felt Julian’s calming grip on his arm, a silent warning.

  ‘Cooperation and impartiality, two important tenants of justice,’ said Michele, setting his teacup on the saucer with care. ‘The Praetoriani seem unable to guarantee either, made apparent by the extraneous security my client and I had to suffer this morning.’ He smiled at the magistrate, deflecting his attention from Menelaus. ‘One might assume you fear my client.’

  Theo straightened his spine a little.

  ‘I assure you,’ said Praetor Cullen, ‘that the measures taken by our hallowed institution to ensure our security and authority have nothing whatsoever to do with a spoiled child, no matter his heritage.’

  The latches clicked on Michele’s suitcase. He drew out a form and laid it on the table. ‘My client has already signed the necessary paperwork.’ He handed the pen to Menelaus. ‘All we need is your consent, Guardian.’

  Menelaus took the pen, read the form, and under the scrutiny of everyone in the room, signed his name. Menelaus Knight. Excubiae to Theodore Alastair Clemensen. He held out the pen to Michele.

  ‘Keep it,’ he said.

  ‘Praetor!’ Menelaus jogged down the corridor to catch up with Cullen as the lift doors closed on Theo and Michele.

  The magistrate kept walking towards the stairs. ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘I assume a cell has been prepared for Theo?’

  That got his attention. His gown swayed as he turned. ‘Arrangements have been made.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re dealing with. If Theo isn’t acquitted, there’ll be a fallout.’

  ‘Is that a threat, Guardian?’

  Menelaus leaned against the wall. ‘Quite the opposite. It won’t look good if Theo breaks out.’
>
  ‘He will be transferred to a holding facility once he is convicted of his crimes.’

  ‘Once, Praetor? Surely you mean, if?’ Menelaus exploited Cullen’s surprise. ‘But he’ll be held here first, with the other prisoners? I have experience with the Clemensens, as you know.’ He scratched his beard – which he’d neatened this morning – as if he was thinking. ‘I’ll check out the cell, make sure it’s adequate. The happier he is down there, the less we have to worry about him.’

  ‘You believe that young warlock to be dangerous?’

  He prayed Michele was far enough away by now not to overhear what he was about to say. ‘As dangerous – potentially – as his mother was.’

  ‘Before you dealt with her?’

  He held his nerve as Cullen appraised him. Isobel, aunt, forgive me; he needs to trust me. Had it really come to this, assuming Cullen complicit in whatever plot infested the bones of the Praetoriani? ‘People like to believe it was an accident,’ Menelaus said. ‘Sometimes the means justifies the ends, doesn’t it?’

  He didn’t answer directly. ‘Speak to Sven. He’ll escort you to the prison.’ He hitched up his gown and glided down the steps.

  25

  Beetles Under Rock

  ‘Sven, can I have a moment?’ The brute, with cropped blond hair and a jaw that could cut glass, glanced at Menelaus, breaking off his conversation from the enraptured Kate at the main desk.

  ‘What do you want?’ Sven asked, fluffing up his light goatee. Between Espen, Theo, and now Sven, he couldn’t escape Scandinavian accents.

  Menelaus walked to the side of the open stairway, drawing the security guard away from the desk. ‘Praetor Cullen has authorised me to assess the arrangements for Theodore Clemensen.’ His eyes slid to the floor. ‘In case he requires imprisonment.’

  ‘You’ll need a security pass,’ he barked, retreating back to Kate.

  ‘Wait,’ said Menelaus, ‘I don’t know the way. Praetor Cullen was quite insistent that you escort me.’

  ‘I’m busy,’ said Sven, uncertain.

  Menelaus stared at the quiet reception hall. Nothing official happened on Saturdays. ‘Looks it,’ he said. ‘Tell you what, take me down there and I’ll do the rest. You can get back to your work.’

  Sven shrugged, winking at Kate. The guards on the lower levels waved them through, distracted by their card game. He didn’t recognise most of the faces. Like Sven, the mercenaries were regularly moved around or drafted in from elsewhere. A few settled, but they worked shifts. Anonymity suited him. Sven led them through a series of chambers, and they soon arrived at a lift shaft, descending five levels. Settled on a mound, the Praetoriani HQ had ample underground storage potential.

  ‘Is there a map for this place? So I don’t get lost on the way out?’

  ‘It’s easy,’ he said, ‘look at the rock. Tunnels leading out have green markings.’ He pointed to the control panel in the lift. ‘The green button takes you to ground level.’

  ‘And red?’

  ‘Don’t go down there,’ he said. It wasn’t a suggestion. ‘Level five is the penal facility. Wards reinforce all of the containment rooms.’ They stepped into a grotto, a stream running at the bottom of the slope. That must be where their water supply comes from, he thought. At the end of the grotto, they entered a complex of rooms linked by a corridor. ‘Soundproof, tinted Plexiglass,’ Sven said, gesturing to the huge screens closing each cell. ‘We can see and hear them whenever we like, but they can’t us.’

  ‘Show me,’ said Menelaus.

  Sven spoke to a nearby guard, who nodded, reaching over his desk. He pointed a control at one of the cells, revealing the occupant inside. For a heart-stopping moment, Menelaus thought it was Jenny, but it wasn’t. ‘This is the woman’s area,’ Sven said. ‘Theo will be kept farther along.’

  He followed Sven, unable to tear his focus from the white padded room where the woman sat, staring vacantly at the wall. ‘What did she do?’

  ‘Not our business,’ he said, the guard opening the door for them. ‘She’s too sedated to complain, isn’t she, Rahl?’

  The two hombres laughed. The door locked behind them.

  The men’s area was similar to the last. To his surprise, Sven took him into an adjacent room. ‘The Clemensen will be kept separate.’ Menelaus examined the bare provisions in the empty cell. Could he stop Theo ever coming here? It didn’t matter. Guardians were meant to protect their wards, from varmint, and from themselves. He had to try.

  ‘Theo is temperamental, and strong.’

  ‘We have doctors to manage the patients.’

  Menelaus shook his head. ‘Not good enough. Don’t anger him, don’t taunt him, do you understand? Placate him, and maybe he won’t escape and kill every guard from here up.’

  ‘I doubt he can break these wards. No one has before.’

  ‘Magic always has a loophole, Sven. Get a decent bedcover, a toilet seat for fuck’s sake. Playing cards, books, something to do. Arrange it and I’ll inform Cullen how helpful you’ve been.’

  ‘I’m not his dog, Guardian.’

  Menelaus smiled. During his many squabbles and debates with Julian, he’d learned a few things. Like that Praetor Cullen chaired the Security Board. ‘Of course not. I’m sure he’ll happily sign off your bonus no matter what I tell him.’

  Sven narrowed his light green eyes. ‘The guards will let you out. I’ll arrange the paperwork.’

  ‘Great. You’re a real team player.’ As Sven left the room, he added, ‘Kate loves orchids.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ His cheeks appeared flushed under the harsh lighting.

  Menelaus pointed to his eyes. ‘They’re all over her stationary. I thought security guards were meant to notice things?’

  ‘I was engaged by her other assets. Thanks for the tip.’

  Alone at last. After ten minutes had elapsed, Menelaus left the male cells. Rahl was busy checking on the female prisoners. He couldn’t help but notice a young woman sitting naked on the toilet.

  He exchanged a look with Rahl that said everything he thought. The guard’s face hardened, but he let Menelaus out of the complex and back into the grotto. As frustrating as it was not to spot Jenny in one of those cells, he was relieved she wasn’t being “looked after” by Rahl.

  Once the lift closed him in, Menelaus pressed the red button, watching his reflection fade in the mirror until only a wispy outline remained.

  The lift stopped on the wrong floor. Menelaus froze, scared that he’d been detected. He cursed softly, realising he hadn’t checked for security cameras. He could’ve been spotted disappearing. As the doors retracted, he sprang into a defensive stance, fist raised, ready to fight.

  A small trolley, covered with a sheet, came barrelling in, pushed by a woman with a square face and scraped-back hair. Menelaus noted her white uniform as he pressed himself into the corner. This was one of those times when he wished he wasn’t the Minotaur. He held his breath as the woman pressed the red-lighted button.

  At least it won’t be suspicious when the door opens and no one is there. That was a risk he wasn’t looking forward to, but he didn’t have time to find another access point. There must be another way in – and out – in case of fire or a power cut.

  Menelaus followed the woman out into the dimly lit cave. Two guards, heavily armed, were waiting. ‘Papers.’

  She removed an envelope from her white coat, shoving them into the chest of the smaller guard. ‘Really, every day?’ she said. ‘You know who I am.’

  ‘Can’t be too safe, Sandy. Or it is Stoney? I can never remember.’

  Menelaus took the opportunity to move a few metres away. Please don’t sneeze, he thought. He placed his feet with care, aware of the echo.

  ‘Sexist pigs, all of you.’

  ‘Careful – oh yes, Sandy it is – we’re the ones with massive weaponry.’

  Sandy appraised the guards. ‘Well, some of us have actual work to do other than standing around holding their mas
sive weaponry.’ She glanced at their guns. ‘So…’

  They escorted her down a steep tunnel. Menelaus followed as close as he dared, his footfall disguised by the rumbling of the trolley. They reached a reinforced door, bolted in several places. An old woman, pearls around her long neck, answered. ‘I’ll take that from here,’ she said. ‘Come back in half an hour.’

  As Sandy stepped back, Menelaus sidled past and wriggled through the gap before the door slammed shut. He wanted to sigh with relief but didn’t dare; the old woman moved faster than he supposed, deftly locking the bolts.

  The room was dark. It took a while for his eyes to adjust to this shadowy region.

  The crying, he heard that straight away. He held out his hand, fingers curling over a barrier. Looking down, he saw he was on the upper level, overlooking an underground courtyard. Dark figures moved around in front of a raised wooden desk. A rope hung down from the cavern’s roof, attached by a pulley. What the hell is this place?

  ‘Chow!’ called the old woman, banging a metal instrument against the bars. Hollow faces suddenly appeared out of the darkness, pressed against the iron bars. Menelaus trailed the trolley in horror, passing cage after cage, each one containing two to three prisoners. Dirty and acrid. Hands out, pleading. If they held them too long, she whacked them.

  Hungry slurps.

  The ever-present sound of weeping.

  In all his years, growing up within the Praetoriani’s walls, he had never heard a single whisper of this place. Nothing at all. Surely someone would speak of this? he thought. Of course, maybe someone did and ended up imprisoned here too.

  ‘Prisoner 4608!’ One of the shadowy figures called from below. The old woman unhooked the keys from her hip and pushed the trolley in front of Menelaus. He stopped, listening to the iron key twisting in the rusty lock. Whatever this place was, it had been here for a long time.

  ‘No! Please! I’ve told you everything I know!’

  ‘Evidently, the Council of Three disagree.’