Between Two Thorns (20 page)

She shrugged. “I suppose. Visiting isn’t the same as…” Another abrupt stop. He had the feeling he was only hearing ten per cent of what was on her mind.

“But it’s better than nothing. Perhaps you just need to get it out of your system. How about a weekend there as part of the honeymoon?”

“A whole weekend,” she replied sarcastically.

“Most husbands would not be so generous,” he snapped, irritated by her unladylike retort.

“There you are with the gratitude thing again.” She shook her head. “You throw me a bone and hope I’ll sit up and do nice tricks for you.”

The waiter arrived with the food before he could reply. There were a few minutes of silent eating and he used them to consider his approach.

“I’m starting to think there isn’t anything I can say to you that will make you feel better about this,” he said.

She was pushing a potato around her plate. “I think you’re right.”

“This is how I see it.” He laid his knife and fork down, sipped the wine. “I have done everything I can to open a dialogue with you. I used a powerful Charm to help you at the ball, I did everything I could to make you look good.”

“Only so you would look good,” she muttered, but he ignored it.

“I’ve given you the opportunity to discuss any grievances or concerns you may have and I’ve attempted to offer a solution. Every single time you’ve either ridiculed, scorned or even been offended by my efforts and I have no idea why. It seems to me you’re determined to be miserable about this marriage and if that’s the case, there’s nothing I can say or do about it. So, you have a choice.”

“Oh, really?”

“Sarcasm is not becoming in a lady.”

“Spare me.”

He clenched his jaw, aware of the diners around them. “Your choice is to continue to be rude and obstructive and marry a stranger with little regard for your feelings, or to meet me halfway and be gracious enough to see that an improvement in your behaviour will make the rest of our lives much more pleasant.”

Cathy blanched, but remained silent, simply staring down at the meal she’d barely touched.

“You have a lot to think about. In the meantime I’ll tell you about the Amazon so that the people watching us will think we are actually having a conversation. I strongly suggest that by the soirée at the Peonias’ house tomorrow evening you will have something more positive to say to me.”

“Is there no way to avoid this marriage?”

“No,” he replied firmly and picked up his cutlery again.

She sat in silence as he trotted out a tale from his Grand Tour and she barely responded to his jokes. Occasionally he asked her a direct question so she would be forced to interact with him for the sake of appearances. He decided against dessert.

“I know I’m upsetting you,” she said as he dabbed his mouth with the napkin. “I can’t tell you why I’m like this and you were right – there is nothing you can do or say. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Catherine,” he said, standing up to pull her chair out as she stood too. “Just be civil. It’s not too much to ask.”

He escorted her out of the restaurant, Thomas joining them outside. She looked close to tears as she was helped into a hansom cab and her brother made an embarrassed goodbye for the both of them.

He pulled on his gloves, cane tucked under his arm as he waited for another cab.

“Good evening, Mr Reticulata-Iris.”

He turned at the voice, not placing it immediately. Horatio Gallica-Rosa had emerged from the restaurant and was making his way towards him.

“Good evening.”

“I’m planning to go to the club. Is that where you’re heading?”

Will paused. It was members only. “Yes.”

“Oliver has sponsored me in,” Horatio replied, seeing the momentary confusion. “Would you like to share a cab?”

“Thank you, yes,” Will replied, even though it was the last thing he wanted.

Soon enough one came round the corner and they both climbed in after Horatio instructed the driver.

“How was dinner with Miss Papaver?”

“Very pleasant,” Will lied.

“I was most interested to see the announcement of your engagement last night,” Horatio said. “I take it you don’t know about Miss Papaver.”

“Know what, exactly?” Will said, hackles up. He didn’t like his tone.

“Ah.” Horatio inspected a stitch on his glove. “Well, it’s fortunate we ran into each other like this. Permit me to give you a word of advice, Mr Iris. If I were you, I would call off the engagement as soon as possible.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because Miss Papaver, as the more astute of us may have noticed last night, has not spent the last three years at a Swiss finishing school. She’s been living in Mundanus, in the dark city of Manchester, I believe.”

“Whatever gives you that idea?” Will asked, playing it calm, nonchalant.

“Only the fact that I intercepted her and her brother on a mundane road out of the city a few days ago. She was dressed as a mundane, her brother clearly had little idea of what she’d been up to in recent times and her behaviour was reprehensible. Of course, that isn’t the main reason I wouldn’t marry her for all the tea in China.”

He was drawing it out, hoping to make him squirm. Will remained glacial, not wanting to give him the pleasure. “It can’t be because of her taste in clothes.”

Horatio chuckled. “Indeed, no, it’s because she was obviously having an affair with a mundane, someone she went out of her way to protect from my wrath. Which is the reason our paths crossed. Of course, you are entirely free to ignore my advice.”

“Are you certain about the mundane?”

“Oh, yes.” His wolfish smile made Will want to hit him. “I know what a woman in love looks like. And I didn’t see that this evening. Oh, and there is, of course, the evidence from my patron that linked her directly with the misdemeanour that brought about these revelations.” He flicked a speck of dust from his trouser leg. “Evidence enough, I fear.”

“Indeed,” Will said, grateful that the carriage was stopping outside the club so he didn’t have to share it a moment longer with the odious man. “I will consider your advice carefully.”

“Not much to consider, old chap,” Horatio said, stepping out first. “I’m just pleased I had the opportunity to save you from the embarrassment. A secret like this always comes out, one way or another. Wouldn’t you agree?”

 

21

 

“It’s just at the end of this street,” Petra said, and slipped her hand into the crook of Sam’s arm. “So what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a computer programmer. You?”

“I’m a librarian. I don’t know a thing about computers.”

“Really? Don’t all libraries have them now?”

“Not the one I work in. The owner is very traditional. It’s a private library.”

Sam nodded and smiled at Petra. She was so much warmer than his wife. Then his smile faded. Don’t think about Leanne, he urged himself, she’s off having the time of her life with that evil dick of a boss.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, no.”

She stopped outside a set of gates leading up to a huge house. “This is it.”

Amazed, he scanned the frontage with its stone pillars, impressive triangular pediment and the elegant fountain at the centre of the circular drive. It was Georgian and worth millions. He’d never been into a house that grand without having to pay for a ticket beforehand. “You live here?”

She nodded. “Would you like to come in for a nightcap?”

He hesitated, not sure what to say. “No” would be impolite but “yes” seemed like the first step towards infidelity.

“I hate going into the house by myself. I know it’s silly, but it’s the dark.”

“Um, OK, I’ll see you in, then I need to go home.”

“Of course.”

He followed her up the drive as she got her keys out of her bag. “I’m really grateful for this,” she said, putting the key in the lock and turning it. She opened the door, but bent down to straighten the seam of her stocking before she stepped into the house. Eyes glued to her shapely legs, he stumbled in after her, trying not to imagine the tops of the stockings. She closed the door behind him, smiling in a way that almost made him forget he was married.

She guided him into a spacious living room, lit several large candles on the mantelpiece and pointed to one of a couple of sofas in the middle. “Take a seat, I’ll get us a drink.”

“But I should really…” He began, but she left. “…get home.”

He looked around the room. It was cluttered and old-fashioned and there was a hearty fire burning in the grate. He frowned at it. She couldn’t have been out that long. Or maybe there was someone else in the house, but if that were the case, why had she asked him in? He decided it was time to leave, impolite or not.

Before he reached the door Petra returned with two glasses of whisky, followed in by a tall, thin man dressed in an old-fashioned tweed suit and the private detective from the pub.

“What’s going on?” he asked as she handed him a glass.

“Sorry,” she said. “We really need to talk to you.”

“Bollocks,” he muttered. “I knew something was wrong with all this.”

He put the whisky down, not trusting it. The tall man was staring at him in a way that made him edgy.

“This is the one?” he asked Max.

“Yes, sir.”

“I see,” said the tall man and walked out again.

“Who’s that bloke?”

“He owns this house,” Petra replied as Max hobbled to a sofa and eased himself down.

“I suppose you’re not a librarian either.”

“That was true.” She looked offended. “I wouldn’t lie about something as important as that.”

“So is the tweedy guy your husband?”

“No, my boss.”

He came back in, but about a dozen other men followed him into the room, each one of them stranger than the last. Not one wore anything resembling modern clothing; their suits looked like costume from a range of historical films. All carried notebooks and pencils.

“Is there some sort of weirdo convention in town?” No one answered him. “Look, I was happy to answer your questions in the pub but this is taking the piss.”

“Good evening,” the tall man said before turning to Petra. “I haven’t the faintest idea what he was just talking about. I take it he’s comfortable?”

“He’s just a little annoyed at being brought here under false pretences,” she explained.

“Hello, I’m right here,” Sam said.

“Hello, yes, I understand you lost your wallet,” the tall man said, speaking slowly as if he were talking to a child. “And when Max asked you about the night you lost it, you spoke rather strangely.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, glaring at Max. “Is he your boss too?”

“Yes,” Max replied. “We think you might be a witness, but you can’t tell us what you saw because something has been done to you.”

“Maximilian!” The boss held up his finger. “No more, I want my students to work this out for themselves. But first…”

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a magnifying glass unlike any Sam had ever seen before. The large circular lens was held in an ornate brass frame, engraved and decorated elaborately. He moved closer, holding it up towards Sam.

“I’m not going to stay here and be treated like a bloody lab rat! You lot are mental, I’m off!”

He headed for the hall but something stepped in the doorway that looked disturbingly like a big gargoyle. “Sorry, mate, can’t let you go anywhere.”

He yelled and jumped back. “What fuckery is this?”

“Hardly subtle,” the boss said to Max, as if he had something to do with it.

The detective just shrugged. “I didn’t tell it to do that.”

“Just stand still, there’s a good chap,” the boss said.

“Bugger off!” Sam said, tripping over the edge of the rug in his fluster.

“Sam,” Petra said, setting her drink down and coming over to him. “We’re so sorry to upset you like this, we don’t often have guests like you.”

“What, normal?”

She smiled. “In a manner of speaking.” She touched his arm and he thought of her stockings again. Sometimes he hated his brain. “If you could just bear with us for a few minutes. Mr Ekstrand is going to see if something has been done to you, to stop you talking about what happened the other night.”

“I don’t give a rat’s arse about what happened.”

“But a man is missing, Sam. He might have been murdered and you’re the only one who might’ve seen something.” Her voice was so soft, so soothing he almost forgot about the boss and the other crazies. “It won’t take long, we need you to be brave. Can you do that for us? For me?”

Somewhere at the back of his mind he knew she was playing him, but he found himself capitulating all the same.

She nodded to her boss who came closer and inspected him with the magnifying glass, slowly and methodically looking at every square inch of his head and shoulders and then down his arms. He paused over the wedding ring. “Very interesting,” he muttered, and then carried on. When he was finished, he stood back and peered at Sam in the same way a man might peer at an exotic insect kept in a glass tank. “Tell me about the night you lost your wallet.”

Sam looked over at the detective, expecting him to chip in, but the ugly man just nodded to him.

“I went to the pub on the way home from work and half a pound of tuppenny rice, half a pound of treacle.” He squeezed his eyes shut, certain that wasn’t what he meant to say. “No, hang on, he had ten thousand men. He marched them up to the top of the – oh, sod it!”

The boss turned and looked at the group that had followed the detective in, all of whom had pencils poised and were shuffling closer. “What could cause that sort of behaviour?”

“A Charm, sir!” a young and gangling lad said eagerly.

“Of course, which one?”

“A Fool’s Charm sir!”

“Good, good. What else?”

“But that’s the most likely, sir,” said another, who was sweating profusely.

“A good sorcer–”

Petra coughed loudly, distracting him. He glanced at Sam and frowned, nodding to himself.

“Err, it’s always better to be thorough. Other lines of enquiry could be…?”

The first shoved his hand in the air. “May I ask the subject a question, sir?”

“Subject?” Sam said, offended, but none of them seemed to notice.

“By all means, yes, you may ask,” the boss replied.

“Did you sustain any injuries on the night in question?”

“I had a bump on my head when I woke up the next morning.”

“Ooh!” The eager one bounced on his toes. “It could just be a head injury, sir!”

“Interesting point, good. How do we rule that out?”

They stood chewing the ends of their pencils for a few moments. “Ask him how many fingers you’re holding up?” one at the back said hopefully, earning an irritated groan from their teacher.

“Perhaps I can offer a suggestion?” Petra said, and they all looked at her. “We need to know where the bump is.”

“It’s here,” Sam said, brushing the back of his head. He wondered whether to make a dash for the window.

“That disproves the head injury theory,” she said. “The visual cortex is at the back of the brain so none of the language centres would be affected, and besides, his symptom only presents when he tries to recall the event. It’s not Tourette’s either,” she added as the sweaty one took another breath. “That’s completely different.”

“You are just a librarian, right?” Sam asked.

“I do actually read some of the books too.”

“Any other possibilities?” the boss said. “I can think of one and whoever names it may read a book in my library. As long as you don’t remove it. And you can’t touch any on the shelves down the lefthand wall. And not any books that begin with P, S or W.” When no one said anything he sighed. “Are we certain he is actually speaking gibberish?”

“Oh!” Eagerboy, as Sam now thought of him, leapt in the air. “It could be a variant of an Apollo’s Curse sir! He might be speaking the truth in his mind, but the curse may be acting on everyone around him so he can’t be believed.”

The suggestion was met with a nod from his teacher and then a variety of congratulatory grunts and pats on the back from his bizarre peers.

“Yes, that’s the only other possibility. But there is an obvious way to disprove this. What is it?” He didn’t give them as long that time. “Because the Arbiter heard the gobbledegook too, and as you all know, Arbiters are immune to–”

Petra coughed again.

“…immune to coughs and colds,” the man said, eliciting a number of confused expressions.

“Is this some kind of school?” Sam asked. “Will someone just please tell me what the arse is going on here?”

“You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, I think,” Petra said, rubbing his arm gently. “Weren’t you at all worried that you couldn’t remember that night?”

“Well, I was, but then my mate had just about convinced me it was cause I’d been on a bender.”

“Do they all talk like him in Mundanus?” the boss asked the detective, who nodded. “Well, I’m confident it’s a Fool’s Charm, though with the way he talks it’s hard to tell when he’s talking about that night or just spouting rubbish.”

“Oi!”

“So, putting this hypothesis together with the fact that he was in the vicinity of a serious incident involving foul play, I’m happy to press on with treating him as a victim of the Fool’s Charm. Now, we also have reason to believe that the individuals involved are actually…” He glanced at Petra who was shaking her head at him. “Ah. Yes, that they are of the highest status amongst the criminal fraternity who live on the other side of the… divide, so to speak.” He winked at his students theatrically.

“Do you mean one of the Fae lords, sir?” Eagerboy asked and Petra tutted.

“Did he just say–”

“Shush,” Petra said to Sam, patting his arm again.

“That being said, I think there’s only one option. We need to dislocate his soul and then interrogate him whilst we can. As you all know, their Charms only work on the soul and–”

“Now wait just a cocking moment!” Sam interjected. “Look, Mr… Ekhart?”

“Ekstrand. Mr Ekstrand.”

“Look, Mr Ekstrand, I haven’t got a scooby what you lot are on about, but when people start talking about dislocating souls, it puts the shits up me. That just doesn’t sound natural.”

Ekstrand took a moment to reply, as if he was still working out what he’d said. “Some very naughty people,” he began, in his talking-to-a-child voice, “have done something very bad to your head. They are very powerful naughty people, so we have to do something very serious to you to get the information we need.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m some sort of chimp, what exactly do you want to do?”

“It would kill him,” Max said. “He’s too old, the body would die after dislocation.”

“What the–”

Petra put a finger to his lips. “Sir, there’s also the wedding ring. You made a remark when you saw it through your glass.”

“Oh, fiddlesticks and flapdoodles!” Ekstrand pounded his temples with the palms of his hands. “He’s protected by Lord Iron. Damnation.”

“Lord who?”

“Just be quiet,” Ekstrand snapped, now pacing. “This is disastrous. Options.”

“We… we could try hypnosis,” one of the students called out.

“Rubbish. Next!”

“We could brainwash him into thinking it’s a different day of the week,” Eagerboy said, “so that when he tries to remember, the Charm is tricked into disguising the wrong day.”

Ekstrand paused with one foot still in the air. “Interesting, but no, it assumes the Charm is only tied to time, and not context. Rubbish, you can’t go in my library now, you’re clearly not intelligent enough.”

“There’s only one option sir,” Max said. “One of
them
has to unravel the Charm.”

“And how on earth could we make that happen?”

“I think it’s possible,” Max said, as the gargoyle nodded in the doorway.

“Oh, now wait a minute, I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” Sam said, reaching the only conclusion that made sense. “How do I wake myself up?”

“You’re not dreaming, Sam,” Petra whispered.

“Lady Lavender will be very motivated to have the Master of Ceremonies found, otherwise she’ll lose a huge amount of influence in Aquae Sulis,” Max said. “We could approach the Censor, ask her to help.”