‘What, one wickedly handsome troll isn’t enough for you?’
‘Well, since you mention it…’
He grinned. ‘I’m afraid it’s just me, but I do bring help.’
I sat up. ‘Oh?’
‘I don’t know if you realise it, but you and Jay are popular at Court at the moment — what with uncovering the blight at the lost enclaves, hacking your way into Farringale and coming out alive, and now tackling this spire business.’
‘Their Majesties aren’t opposed to investigating there?’
‘No. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve disagreed with the Ministry. But Ancestria Magicka has them worried, and angry. Lord Garrogin was a friend.’
‘Was?’
‘Mm.’ The Baron’s mouth set in a grim line. ‘He isn’t anymore. His invitation to the Court has been revoked.’
‘So, the isle?’ I prompted.
‘I drew a blank at the library. Nothing there. I can say this with certainty because Her Majesty interviewed our Chief Archivist on the subject personally. I never saw a man more terrified. I don’t think he could have lied to save his life.
‘But, the library is not our only resource. The Court is a court in two senses of the word: it’s the home of Their Majesties, and it’s also a place of justice. Has been ever since the fall of Farringale. A lot of cases have been heard there, and a lot of complaints lodged.’
I discreetly checked the time. Not discreetly enough, for the Baron saw me and smiled a wry smile. ‘All right, the short version: I consulted the Scribe of the Court of Justice. One of his duties is to maintain the court’s records, including recopying the oldest and most faded documents at need. And those date from the early sixteen hundreds through into the eighteen hundreds.
‘Late last year he copied and refreshed an account of a complaint brought by one Talbot Makepeace, of Suffolk, who claimed that his house and his daughter had been stolen from him. The complaint was dismissed because his daughter was known to have been recently executed, and he could give no proper explanation as to how his house had been filched. He claimed it had walked away, and his dead daughter with it. I believe the poor man was written off as mad. He was noted to have shrieked something about that accursed isle as he was dragged from the Court.’
‘Ah!’ I crowed. ‘A link between Millie and the isle!’
‘Indeed.’ The Baron paused to smile at me. ‘Another, older complaint referred to an unnamed isle in a similar way. This one was dated to somewhere in the sixteen thirties, so the Scribe estimated, and it was a much more serious case. An attempt was made to prosecute one Melmidoc Redclover and his brother Drystan for the creation of a secret magickal society, one unauthorised by any power in existence. Now, they were not actually obliged to have permission in order to set up their own establishment; there was no such stringent system of laws then, as there are now. But if you wished to create a new magickal nation, with its own legalities and rules and its own, independent authority, it was considered polite to have the support of your peers. To act without it was to make a lot of people nervous, for what might you be planning to do? Melmidoc and Drystan skipped that part. The account, unfortunately, is not that useful, because the Redclover brothers could not be got hold of for comment. They’d disappeared, and so had the isle.’
11
I sat up very straight, electrified. ‘The isle disappeared! An entire island! Impossible!’
‘Apparently not,’ said Alban.
‘But then, its location was known initially?’
‘Mm. It was said to lie about three and a half miles off the Yorkshire coast, about due east from the town of Scarborough.’
‘But had it always been there? I’ve never heard of an island in those parts.’
‘There certainly hasn’t been for the past four hundred years. And there is no reason to imagine that it was a large island.’
‘Even so.’ My mind was awhirl at the prospect, but so was my scepticism. ‘I know that Waymasters used to be a lot more powerful, and clearly they could — and can — move buildings around. But so far, they’re small ones. Cottages and modest farmhouses.’
‘And the spire,’ put in Zareen.
‘Right, but even that isn’t so huge a place. An entire island, though? A spit of land? I’m not sure I believe it.’
‘Islands have been known to move about before,’ said the Baron. ‘Come loose and float away.’
‘Fixed or not, it’s still a big land mass. If it was habitable, it must have been at least a few miles square. How many Waymasters working together would it take to move all that? Surely it cannot be done.’
‘And yet,’ said the Baron. ‘As far as the official enquiry records, it was gone.’
‘They couldn’t prove that it was gone,’ I pointed out. ‘All they meant was, they couldn’t find it. Perhaps it was not gone, but hidden.’
The Baron inclined his head, ceding the point.
Maybe I shouldn’t be so resistant to the idea that an island had physically moved. A few weeks ago, the idea that a two-room cottage could waltz off had seemed impossible.
‘So the island existed,’ I mused. ‘And while we are not certain that the isle mentioned by Talbot Makepeace was the same one, it seems likely. Everything fits. So it was probably still there — or still somewhere — over a century and a half later, and somebody lured Millie there. Perhaps the same somebody who had awoken her Waymaster abilities in the first place, and bound her into the farmhouse.’
‘But is the isle still there now?’ said Zareen.
Melmidoc had rushed off to answer that same question. Had he succeeded in finding his lost isle? Or was it gone, sunk beneath the waves long ago?
If it was still there, was Millie still in the habit of frequenting the place?
Was that where she had taken Jay?
If it was, and the Baron’s theory was correct, then the island could be anywhere. It didn’t even have to be in British waters anymore. It could be lurking off the coast of New Zealand, or somewhere in the middle of the Indian Ocean.
Under the circumstances, I preferred my theory.
‘I’m going to see George,’ Zareen suddenly announced.
‘What—’ I began, but she was already striding away in the direction of the Scarlet Courtyard.
‘Meet you at the party,’ she called back.
‘Right,’ I said, taken aback.
The Baron raised an eyebrow.
I could only shrug. ‘I do not know what’s going on with them.’
‘By the looks of it, I’d say a lot.’
‘Zar knows what she’s doing.’
‘She does have the look of a formidable woman.’ The Baron was twinkling at me again, damn him, which was as much as to say that I didn’t.
Probably a fair observation, what with my daffodil hair. I straightened my spine a bit more, and rose with dignity to my feet. ‘I have an alternative theory,’ I told him.
‘To my wild reports of wandering isles?’
‘Yes. I need to see Val. Are you game for a sneak-in?’
‘Sneaking into Home? Has it come to that? I thought you left on decent terms.’ Did I imagine the slight emphasis he’d put on the word left? As though he was making air quotes in his mind while he said it.
‘If you call defying Milady’s orders about the spire decent behaviour, then yes, we left on excellent terms.’
That was definitely a smile lurking about his lips. ‘As you say,’ he said mildly.
I gave a sigh. ‘It was Garrogin, wasn’t it?’
‘He did seem to think that you and Jay made a perfect picture of loyalty. The way he told it, well. I wish my staff were half as loyal.’
‘Curse him.’
‘Their Majesties have already done so.’
The twin curse of a pair of powerful troll royals ought to be a bit more effective than mine, so I let Lord Garrogin be.
Truth to tell, I was a bit uneasy about going back Home again so soon. I knew Milady would
not mind in principle, but in practice? Our masquerade had already proved to be paper-thin. It was stupid to jeopardise it further by sauntering back Home just as though we still belonged there. It would have to be subterfuge.
Which is a tall order, because our House’s security measures are deservedly legendary. Why do you think Ancestria Magicka went to so much trouble to get their claws into Miranda? It isn’t like they could just send over a spy. They either had to get someone of their own recruited by Milady, or convert an existing Society employee; there were no other options. If Milady had revoked my access to Home, then there was no way I was getting in. Or the Baron either.
So it was with some trepidation — and some bitter feelings — that I approached the environs of our beloved House late that morning, riding as passenger in the Baron’s beautiful sleek car. We parked just outside the entrance, and the fact that I could still see the handsome double gates reassured me a little. First layer of security: it is tricky to break into a place you cannot find.
I had the sense not to waltz in at the front gate; instead, we circled around to a side-door into the grounds, and slipped through. Nothing was barred, and nobody tried to stop us. The walk from there into the House itself was a short one, just down a narrow passageway lined with hedgerows, across the narrowest part of the shrubbery, and then in at the door.
Hopefully.
Beloved House. I had been banished from it for only a handful of days, and yet I experienced a piercing sense of loss as I walked up to the door and gazed wistfully up at its ancient walls. Not just Home, but my home, and for the past decade. Place of work, place of abode, place of everything. A small part of me harboured the fear that, one way or another, I might never be able to come properly Home again.
But that was foolish. This was just an assignment, like any other. Once we had established the truth (or lack thereof) about the spire, the island and the whole prospect of time travel, we would be able to return.
‘Morning, House,’ I said with a bright smile, and knocked lightly upon the heavy oak door. ‘Is it all right if we go in to see Val?’
The door was unlatching even as I spoke, its bolts rattling as they drew back. Before I’d even got as far as uttering Val’s name, the door swung wide open with a cheerful creak. Was I being fanciful in interpreting it as a welcoming sound?
I went inside, laying a hand briefly upon the white-plastered wall as I went past. ‘I miss you too,’ I told the dear old place.
Baron Alban followed me into the passage. We were in what had once been the servants’ wing of the house; the old scullery was to our left, and on the right were the pantries. Some of those were still used to store food. ‘Do you and the House always chat like that?’ asked the Baron.
‘Yes, always.’ I spoke absently, for it occurred to me that my plan had been limited. All right, we were inside: but how were we to make it as far as the library without passing at least a few people?
I trod softly to the end of the passage and peeked around the corner. No one in sight, yet, but a couple of passages and a few corners down that way, we’d enter the library complex, and it was a popular spot. There was no way we could sneak—
‘Ves!’ said Val.
I whirled.
She was right behind me, ensconced as usual in her majestic green velvet chair. She did not look so perfectly turned out as usual; her upswept dark hair was tumbling down a bit at the back, and her clothes had the rumpled look that suggested “freshly pressed” was an increasingly distant memory. ‘Val?’ I blurted. ‘I was just—’
‘Coming to find me. I know, House brought me. Bloody hell, Ves, where have you been?’
‘We’ve been—’
‘I mean, I know the official story but I’ve never heard so much crap in my life. As if you or Zareen would ditch us like that! Or Jay either!’
‘I know, but it was necessary to—’
‘I’ve missed you.’ They might have been pleasant words but Val spat them out like they were the gravest insults, her eyes flashing fire.
‘Val.’ I held up my hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘I thought Milady would have told you everything, I—’ It occurred to me that we were not exactly in a secure location, so I shut up. ‘Can we get somewhere quiet?’
Only then did Val notice the Baron, who had been loitering at a polite distance from us both. He sauntered up with a show of non-threatening casualness, and graced her with one of his courtlier bows.
Val’s eyes went very wide. I tried to remember whether she had ever met the Baron in person before, and concluded that she probably had not.
He did tend to have an impact.
‘This is Baron Alban, from the Court,’ I said, to cover her silence.
Val held out a hand. ‘It is a pleasure to meet any representative of Their Majesties of Mandridore, but do you mind if I ask what you’re doing here?’
The Baron shook Val’s hand with a smile. ‘Helping Ves, actually.’
Val gave me a roguish look that said well-I-never, but her voice was steely again when she spoke. ‘If you steal Ves away to Mandridore, Baron, I shall never forgive you.’
‘Understood.’
‘In fact, the entire Society will swarm Their Majesties’ gates in order to fetch her back.’
Alban saluted gravely.
I was touched.
‘Right,’ Val said, more crisply. ‘House, dear. Somewhere private for the three of us?’
A door opened silently in the wall to Val’s left. A door that had not been there a moment before.
Val’s wing-back chair floated serenely through it, and the Baron and I followed.
12
On the other side of the door was House’s favourite room. I had been there just once before, in search of the third key to Farringale. In character it is a pretty sitting-room, a perfectly preserved specimen of mid-to-late seventeenth century style, with elegant floral wallpaper, wrought-silver candlesticks (never tarnished) and a tall grandfather clock. House keeps it well hidden.
Val sailed her chair over to a wall and stopped, promptly producing a laptop from somewhere. She started it up and began typing furiously.
I took one of the tall, pale-upholstered chairs, and spent a moment collecting my thoughts.
‘What are we working with?’ said Val. She’d stopped typing and was waiting expectantly.
‘Lost islands,’ I said.
‘You mean like Atlantis?’
‘A bit more real.’
‘Atlantis isn’t real?’
‘It… is it?’ I stared.
Val grinned. ‘Might be.’
‘You did say is, not was?’
With a flick of her fingers, Valerie waved this away. ‘Another time. So like Atlantis or more like Ferdinandea?’
‘That’s the one that keeps vanishing and popping up again? No. No volcanic activity involved, as far as we know. It’s more like Bermeja.’ (I had done some research already).
‘Gulf of Mexico,’ said Val promptly. ‘Marked on a few ancient maps but nobody can find it today?’
‘Exactly. Or any sign that it ever existed at all.’
‘Okay. But you’re certain this island of yours did exist.’
I told her everything we’d heard so far, every miserably insufficient clue we had mustered, and spoken all together it did not sound like much. But Val listened with close attention, and as I’d hoped, the question fired her interest.
She began typing again.
‘Could be vanished,’ she murmured, half to herself. ‘Islands vanish all the time, but they’re usually discernible lying right there on the sea bed, and you say this one was never on any maps?’
‘That’s one of the questions I had for you. Can you find a map with an island marked off the Scarborough coast? Pre-sixteen-hundred, it would be.’
‘Working on that. Really though, Ves, how could anybody hide an entire island? Especially so close to shore.’
‘Well.’ I sneaked a look at the Baron. ‘Er. You k
now when you’re working on a valuable book, and you want to take a bathroom break, but you don’t want to have to put the book away only to haul it out again ten minutes later?’
Val stopped typing. Her face said: You know about that?
I gave her an apologetic look, and said no more. I’d seen her pull a sneaky trick with just such a book, once. It was incredibly rare, one of the few copies of Agadora’s Miscellany still extant. The library had been empty other than the two of us, and I was at the other end of it, apparently absorbed in a book. Val had left the room — leaving the Miscellany on the table before her.
I thought she had forgotten to put it away, or perhaps trusted to me to guard it. But when I’d looked at the table, there was no book there. I went over to investigate, and I still couldn’t find it, couldn’t see it, couldn’t feel it.
When Val came back, there it was again, in the same spot as before, as though it had never moved at all. Which, in all probability, it hadn’t.
‘So, that trick,’ I continued. ‘How big an, er, object could you hide like that?’
Val stared, wide-eyed, at nothing. ‘No idea, Ves. I’ve never tried it on anything bigger than—’ She broke off, shooting a faintly guilty look at the Baron. He, of course, just twinkled. ‘I would not like to attempt it upon a significant land mass,’ she finished.
‘All right, we can hold that idea in reserve. What about the Baron’s idea? Could it be moved around?’
Alban coughed politely. ‘I did not actually intend to propose the notion as my own idea. It is merely a possibility that has surfaced.’
I inclined my head in his general direction. ‘I’m going to keep calling it your idea anyway, because it’s simpler than “the other idea that the Baron happened to raise but that does not necessarily reflect his private thoughts on the matter.”’
He grinned. ‘Fair enough.’
‘Waiving for a moment the question of whether or not it’s possible,’ I continued, ‘it is a plausible explanation. If I were Melmidoc Redclover, and Their Gracious Majesties were trying to prosecute me for breaking a million rules, I’d want to whisk my hideout somewhere far away too. But where would they go? It would have to be somewhere isolated enough that no one would stumble over it — and it seems nobody has, in all these years. But somewhere habitable, too. Survivable climate, source of food, and so on. Where in the world might that put them?’
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