All is Fair (28 page)

Derne cleared his throat. “I find this rather difficult.”

“Yes, I suppose you would,” Max replied. “This asylum is staffed by your people?”

“Of course. No innocents are involved at all.”

“There’s no information about visiting hours.”

“Of course not. Nobody visits these people.”

“What if someone wanted to.”

“I find that highly unlikely.”

“I find it hard to believe that these people have no loved ones who worry about how they are.” Max flipped a page and saw the latest name Catherine was looking for in the list of patients. “Or do the loved ones have no idea where this place is either?”

Derne’s frown deepened. “The Patroons know where it is and whether they choose to share that information with the relevant parties is up to them. We merely provide a safe environment. Being alive for hundreds of years can take its toll. Some people simply cannot maintain the clarity of thought required to survive in Society and so it’s kinder to them to let them rest in a quiet, peaceful location.”

“Far away from the rest of Society,” Max said. “To die.”

“To age naturally,” Derne said.

Natural aging terrified the puppets and Max wasn’t under the impression they would voluntarily choose it over life in the Nether. The Chapter had speculated about the fate of various individuals who’d been picked up in Mundanus confused and terrified by how it had changed. Now he knew where they’d gone, but had no Chapter to report back to. “So you put them in Green Dale Asylum when you know they can’t be put to better use here?”

Derne merely smiled.

“The techniques you use on the ones in the basement don’t work on them, I assume, otherwise this asylum wouldn’t exist. And you don’t have any ethical concerns about the way you brainwash the people taken by the Collectors?”

“Should I?” Derne asked without any hint of remorse. “No one else has complained. We take great care and give a great deal of thought to where people are placed once they’ve come to terms with their change in status. Society requires a steady turnover of staff, Mr Arbiter. Better that we take them from within the Nether than from the streets of Mundanus. Surely you would agree with that?”

“But there are staff from Mundanus.”

“Only a handful and only taken in when a breach made it imperative. Never against their will, I can assure you.”

Max closed the file. “I’m taking this with me.”

Derne sighed. “Can I at least take a facsimile so that our records aren’t damaged any further?”

“I’ll return it soon,” Max said, not wanting to give them a chance to cut or change any of the information within. “I want to see your files on the children born into the Agency.”

Catherine had told him what her bodyguard had said and asked that it be looked into as well. The gargoyle had been dying to go and see her in person, no doubt to tell her how the Agency ran their premises, but Max had been deliberately keeping them apart. Max hadn’t anticipated children being involved with the Agency other than the ones who had the misfortune of being young when their family was cast out of Society, but that happened very rarely. No doubt there was a current glut of minors, since the Rosas had fallen from grace en masse, but Catherine had made it sound like they were born and raised there.

Derne hadn’t moved. “Could that be another time? I have a meeting.”

“Then get someone else to show me.”

With a grim expression Derne mumbled, “Follow me.”

The main reason Max hadn’t anticipated children was because of the strict segregation he’d observed in the upper floors of the building. The male and female staff-in-training slept in separate dormitories divided by a corridor policed by a guard. Considering that some of those people must have known each other in their previous lives Max could understand the caution.

Another room, again full of files. Max scanned the drawer labels, which contained date ranges instead of alphabetical ordering. “Where do you get the babies from, Mr Derne?”

“Hasn’t anyone explained to you how children are made?”

“I’m immune to sarcasm as well as Fae Charms,” he replied. “Let’s get to the point. You keep your employees separated. Everything is so tightly controlled here I can only assume these babies are planned.”

“They are.”

“So people in marriages before their change in status are allowed to continue to sire children?”

Derne looked away, scratching the bridge of his nose.

“You’ll get to your meeting much faster if you just lay it all on the table, Mr Derne. Surely you’ve realised by now that we’re going to learn everything about what you do here, whether it’s with your cooperation or not.”

Derne’s nostrils flared. “We match the parents to obtain the children most likely to have the qualities we require.” When Max remained silent he added, “Every new arrival is evaluated and allocated to the positions they would suit the most. You’ve seen the notes made using our annotations at the front of each file. Those with a very specific cluster of skills and natural abilities are filtered into the programme you saw in the basement to maintain the building.”

“You breed the kind of people you need and raise them to be servants,” Max said.

“Yes,” Derne replied, relaxing when he realised there was going to be no need to justify himself to an emotionless man. “It’s most efficient.”

“And the parents? Do they have any say?”

“No. And they’re not involved in the lives of their children. It’s less complicated that way.” Derne sniffed and rolled onto his heels and then onto his toes. “Charms are used so it isn’t traumatic for those involved. We’re not barbarians.”

Max wondered how Catherine would react when she heard about this. He knew the gargoyle would have a lot to say. It always did.

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Hundreds of years. The only people who’ve done it longer than us are the Fae themselves. But you must know all about that.”

Max didn’t say anything. He knew the puppets arranged their marriages but had always assumed it was just as it was for the innocents: for the mutual benefit of the families to increase their wealth and influence. That the Fae might be involved in pairing people off to have children suggested they planned ahead and that was not something that sat well with his idea of them. They were flighty and mercurial, obsessed with a person one minute only to abandon them in disgust the next. If they were selectively breeding it meant they were looking for a particular combination of features, like the Agency. Like dog and horse breeders. But what for?

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Max said. It was time to go and meet Cathy.

Will read the letter a second time and leaned back in his chair. Amelia had been telling the truth. Even though he’d believed her at the time, there was still a doubt, still a fear she was saying whatever she needed to at the time to stay his hand. He would have a son within the year, just not the one Iris wanted. For the briefest moment he considered a ruse to pass off the child as Cathy’s but immediately dismissed it. Lord Iris would be able to tell, surely? It was too much of a risk.

Amelia was tucked away in a mundane country house, under guard and stripped of all Charms and artefacts. His man’s report said she was eating and sleeping well and wrote to Cornelius every day, handing the letters to the butler in the hope that she would gain permission to send them at some point soon. They were burned straightaway, in accordance with his instructions. She didn’t know her brother was already dead.

“It’s a merciful death,” he’d said to Cornelius as he poured the hemlock into the glass. “The way Socrates died.”

“It’s
bloodless,
not merciful,” Cornelius said. “You prefer to kill me like a woman would. It seems you’ve lost your taste for swords.”

“No,” Will said. “I just want you to die slowly.”

Cornelius didn’t beg for his life but just picked up the cup and drank it swiftly. “You can go now,” he said with stained lips but Will shook his head.

It was a long time to sit in a room with a dying man but Will had to see it done, had to be certain he really was dead. Near the end Cornelius said Amelia would never forgive him for killing her brother and Will had simply smiled. “I will never forgive her either.”

He took the report on Amelia to the fire and threw it into the flames. He wanted the child to be brought to him immediately but what would he tell Cathy? There had been illegitimate children in both Mundanus and the Nether for as long as there had been marriage. Other families took the children in, even though they could never reach the higher echelons of Society, but he knew that was an impossibility in his own. His patron would not approve and his firstborn son would have the dubious status Sophia endured: an open secret within the household, yet hidden from the Patroon and without recognition in Society. No doubt Cathy suspected Amelia was his mistress before the revelations about their treachery, but bringing physical proof of it into her home would be so hurtful. He only wanted her to be happy.

A footman brought him a note on a silver tray. It had been delivered by a messenger who was waiting for a reply. Will recognised Faulkner’s handwriting and opened it.

Frederick Persificola-Viola was found dead in a mundane massage parlour in Soho in the small hours of this morning. He appears to have suffered a heart attack and the mundane emergency services were unable to resuscitate him. I found traces of Charms suggesting foul play. In light of our previous conversation regarding this individual, would you like me to pursue?
 

“Tell the messenger the answer is no. No further attention required.”

“Yes, your Grace,” the young man replied and left after a swift bow.

Will threw that note on the fire too. Bertrand had picked an excellent location; the family would be keen to keep the circumstances of the death as quiet as possible and it was in keeping with Freddy’s unsavoury habits. It was the third death he felt responsible for, even though he hadn’t committed the murder itself. Would there be more? The first was the only one he truly regretted, the second was unpleasant but justified and the third was… business. Was that reason enough?

He closed his eyes and rested his arm on the mantelpiece, thinking about what Tate said about his family. He wondered whether his father had done anything like he had to protect their influence in Aquae Sulis. He would never know; it was hardly the sort of thing his father would elect to tell him and he could never ask. But even though Will felt heavy and sickened by his own behaviour, he couldn’t deny it was achieving the results he wanted. Londinium was falling into line after his success with the highwaymen problem, Bertrand would be a powerful ally and the Shopkeeper had barely reacted to his announcement that he would be supplying his products now – he hadn’t given him any reason to worry. Once he and Derne were happy that Will’s taking over wasn’t going to affect the quality of the products he would start to turn the arrangement to his advantage.

Tired of politics and plans, Will felt no desire to go to Black’s and be roped into a conversation about the city. Cathy was meeting Margritte, something he’d only agreed to in an effort to demonstrate he trusted her. Margritte was of no concern now that her efforts to disrupt his Court had failed but Cathy seemed to think it was important to at least try to open a dialogue.

He went to the nursery wing and knew it was the right thing to do as soon as he stepped through the door to Mundanus. Sophia’s laughter was echoing down the corridor and sped his steps. She was in the schoolroom with Uncle Vincent, trying to catch bubbles he was blowing from a loop of plastic.

“Will-yum!” she cheered and raced to him with open arms. He did his best to ignore the scars that covered her throat.

He scooped her up and soon his face was covered in tiny kisses. His uncle smiled and set the bottle of bubble mixture down. “Hello, Sophia,” said Will.

“Cathy brought me some dollies, do you want to see them?”

“I would love to,” Will lied, and she ran from the room.

“She’s healed well,” Uncle Vincent said. “And she’s sleeping better too.”

“Good,” Will said. “Is she bothered by the scarring? I’ve got some plans for removing them.” He’d put in an order with Tate at the end of their meeting. She said it would take between three to six months to gather the ingredients but it was worth the wait.

“No, she doesn’t mention it.” Vincent pointed at the small bottle. “Catherine gave that to her. You should have seen her face when I blew the first bubble. She thought it was magic.”

Will smiled. “And Cathy bought her dolls too?”

“Mmm.” Vincent sat on the windowsill. “Catherine means well, I’m sure.”

“Look!” Sophia was back and thrust a doll towards Will. “This is Josephine. She has the same hair as me!” Will took it from her, surprised to see it dressed in safari gear with its own little pith helmet. “She’s an explorer. That’s why she’s wearing trousers, like a boy, so the creepy-crawlies don’t bite her legs and so she can climb trees to take pictures of elephants and dinosaurs.”

“Climb trees?” Will looked at Vincent who shrugged.

“Yes. Girls are allowed to climb trees, Cathy told me, but Uncle Vincent won’t let me.” She pouted in his direction.

“And what about the other dolls?”

He put the explorer down and Sophia pulled out the other two from under her arm. “This one is called Jessamine and she’s an ark… leegist. She finds old things and puts them in museums. That’s why she has a brush and book. The brush is for the dust on the treasure and the book is to write it all down. That’s very important.”

“Archaeologist,” Will said and Sophia nodded.

“That’s what I said. And this is Jemima.”

It was the only doll that looked like any his sister had owned. She was wearing a silk ballgown and tiny jewels. “Ah. Is she a princess?”

“Yes! She’s a princess who can fire laser beams from her eyes and fly and she can lift whole houses! She finds bad people and locks them in prison and everyone loves her because she’s good and strong.”

“I see…” Will didn’t know what to say. “And you thought this up all by yourself?”