Between Two Thorns (28 page)

But there were other factors involved. He had to act quickly to minimise the damage to the others who could be dragged down with the Gallica-Rosas.

“I’ll do my best to cause a distraction,” he said, formulating the plan as he strode to the door. “Give me five minutes, then go round the back, grab the nearest servant you find and pretend to be distressed. Tell them something is happening in the ballroom and to get help. That should bring the Head Butler and the rest will want to watch. Then make sure the Arbiter gets in and isn’t disturbed.”

“What are you going to do?”

He sported his most wicked grin. “I’m going to get myself in the most appalling trouble. I’m counting on you to help the Arbiter destroy Horatio, Catherine, otherwise this may end up being my last ball.”

 

29

 

Max approached the mundane anchor property, reviewing the information he’d received from the Sorcerer. It seemed the mundane could be useful now the Fool’s Charm had been lifted; over the past week he’d managed to analyse all of the data and pinpoint the house he now stood in front of as the likeliest candidate for the secret Nether property. Its reflection was just within the city boundary, but far enough from the centre of Aquae Sulis to have gone unnoticed by the rest of the residents.

The data had revealed activity every Wednesday evening up until the night of Lavandula’s disappearance. Two hours after Sam’s encounter in the garden, someone had opened a Way into the secret property and spent three days there, then it had been silent until a frenzy of activity for the last two days. The movements in and out of the Nether suggested the house was being prepared for a grand event, one that was happening in the reflection of the property he was looking at.

The Sorcerer had passed on the puppet’s note. Max hoped she was right as he walked the outer perimeter of the mundane grounds considering the best way to approach the house. He decided upon entering the Nether through the garden wall and then sneaking to the window she mentioned. He’d only ever snuck into a Nether property a handful of times before; the direct approach was much easier.

He found a spot sheltered by large bushes and rummaged in his pockets for the Peeper. His remit was to find the Master of Ceremonies and bring him back, preferably alive. There was no way to predict what he’d have to deal with to achieve that, but at least he was off the crutches and on to a walking stick, which was much easier to manage. His leg still ached like hell though.

His fingers closed around the Peeper and he pulled it out. The lens took up most of the circular device, consisting of two soapstone circles that fitted around the lens, each with its own formulae engraved onto them. A quick polish with the end of his coat belt cleared away the pocket lint.

He pressed the Peeper against the brick closest to his eye level and twisted the two circles in opposite directions. It clicked gently until the formulae were aligned and then the silver grey light of the Nether shone through the wall, through the lens. He leaned in close, peering through, catching sight of several servants hurrying across the back garden, chattering and looking excited. None of them had noticed the little flap of white hanging from the window at the end of the wing. So the puppet had been telling the truth, about the bandage and the window at least. He couldn’t see if anyone was in the room as the curtains had been shut.

He whistled softly and the gargoyle came out from its hiding place nearby. “I’m not a bloody dog, you know,” it grumbled as it squeezed through the shrubs to sit on its haunches next to him.

“Something’s going on,” Max said, looking back into the Nether. “Looks like it’s distracting the staff. Could be an advantage. I can see the bandage. The window is about ten metres away on the other side of this wall. I’ll go across first, then you follow.”

“No, I’ll go across first, open the window and then help you in, stupid,” the gargoyle replied. “No point you faffing about with that stick when I can go faster and help you climb through.”

“Agreed,” Max said. “Why are you so bad-tempered?”

“
We
are bad-tempered because we have to tit about here when we need to go to the Cloister. There’s something about what happened there that doesn’t add up.”

Max twisted the circles in the opposite direction until mundane brick showed through the lens again and the Peeper detached. “We’ll go there soon. It has to be made safe.” He dropped it back in the bag and retrieved the Opener.

“That’s what comes of being dislocated from your soul,” the gargoyle said, looking at the small doorknob and its bolt. “None of our tools have interesting names. No imagination.”

“I have imagination,” Max said, inserting the bolt into the mortar, the formulae inscribed upon it changing its consistency to that of butter. “I can imagine just how wrong this will go if that puppet has lied to us.”

“What motivation would she have for doing that?”

“They don’t need to be motivated,” Max said, adjusting the brim of his hat and picking up his cane from where it rested against the wall. “They can’t help it. Lying is like going to the bathroom for them, regular and necessary.”

“Only someone with a dislocated soul would think that’s a good analogy. Are you going to open a Way or not?”

Max twisted the doorknob and the outline of a doorway formed, looking like a line of burnt brick for a moment, then like a door frame. In seconds a door had formed in the brickwork. He opened it a crack, checked for any straggling staff and then waved the gargoyle through. He watched it bound across the grass in seconds, open the window and climb in before Max had a chance to detach the Opener. When it beckoned to him he stepped through and let the temporary brick door shut behind him, then dropped the warm doorknob back into his pocket. He hobbled across to the window as quickly as he could and accepted the gargoyle’s help. He pulled up the bit of bandage and shut the window.

“Holy crap! I never knew Sorcerers could make walking gargoyles.”

He twisted around, seeing the puppet he’d packed into the boot a week ago.

“That doesn’t go further than this room,” Max said, tidying himself after the scrabble over the windowsill.

“Does it feel like stone? Can I touch it?”

The gargoyle grinned at Max. “I reckon I’ve scored here.”

She yelped and knocked an ornament off a table that smashed on the floor. “It can talk? Oh, my God, that’s amazing!”

The gargoyle moved towards her slowly, like a panther hunting its prey. “Your dress might look like a lampshade but you got better taste in gargoyles.”

“I had to wear this stupid thing to smuggle in the messaging tube.”

The gargoyle stopped when its paws brushed the hem of her dress. She reached out and touched the top of its head with her fingertips as something like a purr rumbled deep in its gullet. “You can do that all day if you like,” it said and she laughed, reaching behind its ear to tickle it. Stone eyebrows twitched with pleasure.

“When you’ve finished, we have work to do,” Max said.

The gargoyle rolled its eyes. “Sorry, babe, he’s a slave driver.”

Max put on the knuckle-duster and the puppet’s eyes flashed terror. “I did everything you asked!”

“This isn’t for you,” Max said. “This is to look for openings between the worlds or between residencies. The Rosas connect all their provincial properties with a London residence as standard, and my bet is that they’ve done that here too.”

“But I thought they took the Master of Ceremonies into Mundanus.”

“Only to transport him is our guess,” the gargoyle said. “It would have been easier to hide. But they’ll be hiding him in Londinium if he’s still alive.”

“You think he might be?”

It shrugged its stone shoulders. “Depends on how they want to use him. If all they wanted was this house, then no. If they wanted more, maybe. You worried about him?”

“He’s my uncle.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” The gargoyle stroked her arm with a claw. “We’ll find him.” It noticed Max. “What?”

“You talk too much.”

“I like her,” the gargoyle said, tilting the top of its head back towards the puppet, hopeful for another stroke. “She has a face I can trust. Not too pretty.”

“Thanks.”

The gargoyle responded to the sarcasm with another of its scary grins. “That’s a compliment from me, babe.”

Max knew the way through to the Londinium house was likely to be in one of the rooms furthest from the ballroom, and would be disguised. It would also be the first place a visitor from Londinium would see, so it would be decorated to impress.

“Have you seen many of the rooms in this wing of the house?” he asked the puppet, who was looking, too closely for his liking, at the formulae inscribed on the gargoyle.

“A few.”

“Any stand out?”

“In what way?”

“Was one more elaborately decorated than the others?”

“All of this place is like that,” she said. “Something’s missing but I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Do you think the same about this room?”

She looked around. “Yeah,” she said finally.

The gargoyle did the same. “She’s right. This is supposed to be a Rosa house, right?”

Max nodded. “It’s the lack of roses.”

The puppet snapped her fingers. “That’s it! There are a few vases of them, but in my house there are poppies in all kinds of obscure places, and really subtle things too, you know, like in the cornice designs, or at the corners of framed paintings. There’s nothing like that in this room.”

“They’ve stripped out the lavender motif, in fact…” He studied the cornice in the corner nearest to him, noticing the lavender sigil embedded in the design. “What does that look like to you?”

She examined where he was pointing. “Oh, I was wrong, there is a rose. Damn.”

“It’s actually a lavender sigil glamoured to look like a rose, but they haven’t had time to do a thorough job. They’ve covered the things they couldn’t replace quickly enough, or would have to remodel in a major way, and they’re still replacing the rest.”

“Oh!” The puppet jumped in the air, making the dress bounce. “It’s not just that! All of the paintings are landscapes. There aren’t any portraits!”

Max nodded. “Temporary generic pictures… to glamour every single one in this house would cost a fortune, much cheaper to simply ship out the Lavandulas and replace them with harmless landscapes. Good. Now, think carefully, have you seen a room with something very obviously Rosa-themed in it?”

She shook her head. “But I haven’t seen all of them.”

“Go and check them, quick.”

“I’ll help,” the gargoyle offered.

“No, if she’s caught going in and out of rooms, she could talk her way out of it. You couldn’t.”

The gargoyle looked back at her. “Wanna see if you could smuggle me under your dress?”

“No,” she said firmly and opened the door to peep down the hallway. “I’ll be as quick as I can,” she said and hurried out.

“You should be more careful around her.” Max flexed his fingers to ease the knuckle-duster into a more comfortable position.

“She’s OK, for one of them.”

“Just because she scratched behind your ears doesn’t mean she’s trustworthy.”

“She didn’t run away screaming or faint, she thought I was ‘amazing’. Doesn’t that prove she’s not like the rest of them?”

“It proves she’s easily impressed, nothing more.”

The door opened again and she beckoned them frantically. “I’ve found something!”

The puppet led them across the hallway and into the room opposite. As soon as he saw it, Max knew this would contain the Way to Londinium. Every detail of the décor featured a variety of rose motifs; the wallpaper and its rose design looked new and there were vases of dramatic floral arrangements featuring the red rose of the Gallicas. On the right hand wall there was a huge painting of Lady Rose, giving him the first place to focus: on the wall opposite.

“That will be the first thing they want people to see when they come through,” the gargoyle said, pointing at the painting.

“I know,” Max said, lifting up the rug and examining the wooden floorboards. He found the tell-tale scrapes in the varnish he was looking for. “This looks perfect to you, I assume?” he said to the puppet.

“What am I supposed to be looking for?”

“Glamoured again,” he muttered. “This is it.”

He knocked gently on the nearest bit of wood panelling with the knuckle-duster, listening closely for a tell-tale echo. It would be fainter than one caused by knocking on an anchor property’s door, but it would still be there.

“Keep watch,” he told the puppet. “Make sure no one comes in here.” A metre to the left of the scrape marks the echo came back. “I’ve found it,” he said and the gargoyle rubbed its paws together, making the sound of a pestle and mortar.

“Let’s go break some stems,” he said, grinning.

 

Once his father had been covertly warned that something ugly was likely to happen, and that he would have it under control, Will sought out Horatio Gallica-Rosa. He was in one of the rooms adjacent to the ballroom where refreshments were being served. As soon as he saw the Wisteria twins flanking him near the punchbowl, Will knew it was the perfect time and place, but he still had to take care to emerge from the evening socially unscathed. He hoped Horatio would leap at the chance to accuse Catherine publicly without any need for baiting.

“Glass of punch, old boy?” he said to Oliver, believing that if Horatio saw a friend with him he’d be all the more eager to cause a scene.

“Rather,” Oliver said. “I say, Amelia Alba-Rosa is quite delicious, isn’t she?”

“Mmm.” Will was more focused on the challenge ahead.

“Any chance you could put in a good word for me?”

Will looked at his friend. “Are you hoping to catch Amelia’s eye?”

“Is there a man in this room who wouldn’t want to?”

“We’ll talk about it another time,” Will said, and fixed a smile on his face as he approached the table.

“Ah, the very man himself!” Horatio cheered, handing the ladle to Will. “Good evening.”

“Good evening, Mr Gallica-Rosa,” Will said, accepting the ladle as he unhooked a dainty crystal cup from the edge of the punchbowl. “May I congratulate you on your property, sir. It’s a magnificent house.”

“Isn’t it? My parents have always said you can tell the worth of the man by the property he owns. Now I most definitely agree.”

The Wisteria twins chortled on cue. Will poured the punch into the cup.

“And I don’t think that’s restricted to one’s house,” Horatio continued, in a voice loud enough for the entire room to hear, as well as those around the punchbowl. “One’s cufflinks can speak a thousand words… a well-tied cravat speaks volumes… of course all of these pale in comparison to the worth one can infer from a man’s wife. Or fiancée.”