Between Two Thorns (29 page)

“I couldn’t agree more,” Will said. “Although I do beg to differ on one point. A well-tied cravat says more about a man’s valet than about his personal worth.”

Horatio smirked. “A good point. I find it fascinating that your cravat is so expertly tied when your fiancée is such a poor choice. What a shame your family has the ability to find good staff, and yet not find a good wife for you, sir.”

“I beg your pardon?” Will said, setting the cup down.

“I was simply commenting on the curious situation you find yourself in. An excellent valet, a wayward, rebellious woman of dubious moral character as a fiancée. Seems rather backwards to me.”

“How dare you speak of my fiancée in such a way,” Will said. Even though he’d been expecting it, having heard the words he was amazed by how furious he felt. “I demand you apologise immediately.”

The guests within earshot had fallen silent. Out of the corner of his eye, Will could see Thomas Papaver paling, and Nathaniel’s eyes wide with shock.

“I never apologise for speaking the truth sir,” Horatio said. “If you are foolish enough to stand by a girl who simply isn’t fit for Society, I fear the problem lies with your poor judgement, not with my plain speaking.”

“For the sake of good manners, sir,” Will spoke in a calm, steady voice, projecting it as far as he could, “I ask you again to apologise for the insult you speak against my fiancée and my family, otherwise I will be forced to seek satisfaction.”

“And I say again, sir, that I will not. Even my patron supports my views of Catherine Papaver as a loose woman with far too much affection for Mundanus. And its menfolk.”

Surrounded by gasps and murmurs, Will straightened up. “Not only do you insult the honour of my fiancée and my family, you disgust me, sir. If you will not apologise, I am left with no choice but to defend their honour in the only language I suspect you will understand.”

“A conversation with our swords, perchance?” Horatio sneered.

“Indeed, sir. Name your second and I will name mine.”

Horatio cast his eye about the room, drawing out the moment, leaning casually against the table as he did so. “I name… Oliver Peonia as mine.”

“I beg your pardon!” Oliver spluttered.

Horatio abandoned his theatrical ease, giving the Peonia a hard stare. “That isn’t going to be a problem, is it, Oliver?”

He tugged at his cravat, gave a frantic, fearful look at Will. “I’m dreadfully sorry, old bean. It seems I must.”

“And I will be seconded by my brother, Nathaniel Iris,” Will said, eliciting a firm nod from his brother who came to his side.

“Afraid to pick a fight with me, Rosa?” Nathaniel said. “I find it laughable you choose to insult my younger brother. It seems you haven’t the stomach to face me after all.”

“If you had been betrothed to a whore, I would have been delighted to speak the truth to you and answer for it,” Horatio replied and Nathaniel took a step towards him in fury.

“May I suggest we withdraw to discuss terms,” said Oliver, stepping between them, “before this gets any worse?”

“An excellent suggestion,” Nathaniel said through clenched teeth.

He steered Will out of the room, through the ballroom and into a corner of the lobby. “You did the right thing,” he said.

“I did the only thing I could,” Will replied, irritated by the way Nathaniel patronised him even when he was trying to be supportive.

“Now, I want you to agree that I should fight in your stead.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Will, I’m the superior swordsman and I’ve been told the Gallica always fights to the death. He’s never lost a duel.”

“Then I’m surprised at your eagerness, brother,” Will lied.

“There’s no doubt I would beat him. His reputation was forged in Londinium, and everyone knows there isn’t a decent swordsman within a fifty mile radius of Buckingham Palace. He thinks he’s a big fish; he just doesn’t realise it’s by virtue of growing up in a tiny pond.”

Thomas Papaver signalled his approach with a clearing of the throat. “I beg your pardons,” he said, bowing slightly to them both. “I wanted to thank you for your response to the Rosa’s insults. If there is anything I can do to assist, please, do not hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you,” Will said, seeing Thomas’ wife hurrying down the corridor, presumably sent to find Catherine. He hoped that whatever the Arbiter needed to do had been completed. “Actually, I’d be very grateful if you could ask Oliver to come and speak to me as soon as he can.”

“As your second I should negotiate the time and place, not you,” Nathaniel said.

“I don’t want to talk to him about that,” Will replied and looked back at Thomas. “If it’s not too much trouble? I’d like things to settle down in there before I go back.”

“Of course,” Thomas said, and took his leave.

“I’ll push for it to be the day after tomorrow,” Nathaniel said. “Then you can sleep in and I’ll give you a refresher in the rapier and sabre. I hear he favours the rapier, but he may try to catch you out as everyone knows his preference. He’ll suspect you’re a poor enough swordsman for him to risk fighting with the weapon he uses less.”

Will nodded, not really paying attention to the details. If all went to plan, Horatio wouldn’t be around to see the duel, his reputation so thoroughly destroyed that the things he’d said about Catherine would be discredited by association.

“Are you listening to me?”

He blinked at Nathaniel. “I do apologise, I was thinking about what he said.”

Nathaniel nodded, rested a hand on his shoulder. “It’s best to put that to the back of your mind and focus on how to put him down.”

Will smiled at that, heartened by Nathaniel’s support. Then Oliver arrived, red-faced and sweaty. “I’m dreadfully sorry,” he said, unable to look at Nathaniel and barely able to make eye contact with Will.

“Nathaniel, could you leave us for a moment?” Will gave him as reassuring a smile as he could and watched him go. “Would you believe he’s actually being quite decent about this?”

“More than could be said for me,” Oliver mumbled.

“Now, Oli, I suspect we don’t have a great deal of time, and I need you to be frank with me. What does Horatio and his family hold over you and yours?”

Oliver winced. “Please don’t ask me that, old chum.”

“I wouldn’t unless it was absolutely imperative I know. It’s been clear from the moment we got back home that something is awry and, from the way you caved into his demand to be his second, I can only assume it’s something very serious indeed.”

“It is,” he said, lowering his voice even though they were alone. “So much so that I can’t tell you without breaking a solemn promise to my family.”

“It’s for the very sake of your family that I ask.”

Oliver studied his face, then shook his head. “I hope I don’t regret this. I wouldn’t tell another soul, Will, but you and I, we’ve been through some scrapes, I know I can trust you. It seems my parents didn’t have all of the funds necessary to finance my Grand Tour. They borrowed. Heavily. I’m sure you can guess who offered them the loan?”

“The Gallicas.”

“They really are as bad as the rumours suggest. My father agreed terms and shook on it, as a gentleman. But Horatio’s father demanded repayment before the agreed time, knowing full well my family couldn’t afford it. Then he offered Father the opportunity to repay the debt in an alternative manner: Horatio being sponsored in for the season.”

“And holding you over a barrel in the process.” Will rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m dreadfully sorry, old chap. Must be miserable at home.”

“It is rather,” Oliver admitted. “I was so furious with them for borrowing above their means. I have no idea how the Gallicas got involved in the first place, but my parents certainly regret it now.”

“They wanted to give you the best experience they could.”

“They wanted me to have a chance to break into higher Society, Will, let’s be honest. I’m sure they saw my friendship with you as a ticket to improving the family’s profile. I just had no idea the lengths they were prepared to go to.” His brow creased. “I hasten to add that’s not the reason I’m your friend, Will. In fact, one of the reasons I find it so easy to be a chum of yours is that we can forget these things and simply get into scrapes and laugh about it later. I often forget how important your family is.”

“Don’t you fear, I know you’re not a climber, Oli. Now, I need to speak to the Censor. And don’t worry, old chum, I think this sorry state of affairs is going to improve sooner than you might think.”

“Is this when I should express my doubt and you tell me to trust you?”

Will grinned.

“I see,” Oliver nodded. “Well, then, I’ll just leave you to it.”

 

30

 

Cathy watched the wood panelling slide into place and any hint of there having been a door disappear. Moments later she heard someone knocking gently, nearby.

“Cathy? Are you in there?”

It was Lucy. Tom had probably sent her to avert parental wrath.

She went to the door, wondering what was happening to the Arbiter and the gargoyle, whether her uncle was still alive. Then she took a deep breath and opened it.

“I’m in here.” She did her best to smile as she waved Lucy to join her.

“Are you OK?”

“Just felt a bit faint. What’s happened?”

“William just challenged Horatio Gallica-Rosa to a duel.”

“Whoa. I mean, goodness!” She listened to Lucy’s account, trying to decide whether she was impressed by William’s diversionary tactic or not. Was that really what he’d planned? “And William didn’t bait him?”

“Not at all, in fact, he did all he could to defuse it. But the Rosa said some terrible things about you, Cathy. Thomas is really very upset.”

“I’m sure it’ll be all right,” Cathy said, satisfied that Will had successfully done as he’d promised.

Lucy was aghast. “Don’t you understand? Horatio accused you of sleeping with men in Mundanus, I’m certain everyone in that ballroom is talking about it right now. Your parents are going to be beside themselves.”

“My father knows it’s a lie,” Cathy said, sobered, but still confident that if the Arbiter succeeded, whatever the Rosa had said would soon be forgotten.

“Even so, it’s going to be tough in there when–”

A bang from the room above interrupted her. “A window being shut?” Cathy asked her and Lucy shrugged. Then there was another, this time from the opposite side of the corridor, an accompanying squeak of wood confirming her suspicion. The window of the room they were in opened by itself, just a few inches, then slammed shut. The clasp at the top of the lower sash flipped over and locked itself. There was the sound of others slamming shut, getting progressively quieter as the closing of windows seemed to run down the length of the house.

Speechless, the two of them rushed into the hallway to see servants and guests screaming as they ran down the stairs and out of various rooms, a few of the guests looking rather dishevelled, with several cravats being hurriedly tied.

Lucy caught hold of her hand and seemed genuinely frightened. Cathy suspected it was something to do with the Arbiter, which was just enough to keep her calmer than most of the people around them. They gravitated towards the lobby, the same direction everyone else was heading, the instinct to herd together strong. The large front doors, which had been still open for any late arrivals, slammed shut with a terrific bang. Everyone, Cathy and Lucy included, screamed and ran into the ballroom.

The music stopped as the windows running along the room all opened, shut again and locked in sequence. Last, the double doors into the ballroom itself slammed shut, eliciting screams from those nearest to them. The head of the Gallica-Rosas appealed for calm, but his voice was drowned out. His son Horatio was silent and white-lipped.

Tom rushed over and put his arms around both of them as a loud booming knock made the ballroom shake and the chandeliers tinkle as they quivered. A second knock followed as women whimpered and servants cowered in corners. Tom’s arm crushed Cathy to his side and he kissed the top of Lucy’s head.

“It’ll be all right,” he whispered.

Cathy searched the crowd and her eyes locked with William’s. He gave her a smile and raised crossed fingers. She smiled back, noticing Amelia on his right and the Censor on his left, looking remarkably composed.

The third knock was the loudest, echoing throughout the house. A glass shattered on the other side of the room and a woman fainted as a haze formed in the air at the centre of the ballroom, like the shimmering above a road in the heat of a Mundanus summer. Everyone pressed back to the edges of the room, then, with a terrifying thunder-like crack, the very air itself seemed to tear open, rapidly forming a doorway through which stepped the Arbiter. Then Sam came through, carrying her uncle’s body, and following him a tall, thin man dressed in a dark suit and cape. He was just how she imagined a Sorcerer to look, even down to the top hat and white gloves. He turned slowly, staring at the assembled crowd, but when he looked in her direction she could see his face was obscured by a thin scarf that looked more like mist than fabric. His eyes were nothing more than two bright white dots shining through it, making her shudder as his gaze fell across her and lingered a moment. He held a black cane with inscriptions twisting around it, its striking silver top clasped by his gloved hand and glowing slightly.

More screams when the Way closed and the light from the chandeliers flickered as the sprites inside panicked. The Censor pushed her way through the crowd, desperate to reach her brother as Sam gently laid him on the floor.

“Is he alive?” she asked, and a hush descended as everyone listened for the answer.

“Yes,” Sam said. “But he’s not been treated well.”

Cathy glanced at the Gallica-Rosas. Horatio looked like he was about to pass out, while his mother and father were doing their best to look as shocked as anyone else.

The Sorcerer completed his sweep of the room, leaving cowering guests in the wake of his alien stare. Then he turned to face the Gallica-Rosas and pointed the silver tip of his cane towards them.

“I, Sorcerer Guardian of the Kingdom of Wessex, condemn you, bearers of the Gallica-Rosa blood, for the kidnapping of Richard Angustifolia Lavandula, Master of Ceremonies of Aquae Sulis, within the boundary and jurisdiction of the Kingdom of Wessex, for the theft of his property, for the fraudulent declaration of ownership of his property and for seeking citizenship of Aquae Sulis under false pretences.”

Every head in the room turned to watch the Gallica-Rosas react to the judgement. Horatio’s eyes shut and he swayed slightly as his father clutched his weeping wife tightly.

“Know this!” the Sorcerer boomed, turning slowly, pointing the cane at the stunned crowd as he did so. “This crime originated with Lady Rose herself.”

The crowd’s collective gasp was almost comic. Cathy watched William shoot a look at Amelia as she closed her eyes, as pale as Horatio. Her brother pushed past the people next to her to wrap his arms around her, as if he could protect her from the repercussions of the Sorcerer’s words.

The Sorcerer struck the wooden floor with his cane, sending splinters of wood into the air and starting a crack that snaked across the floor and then darted upwards, another tear in the air appearing, this time several feet away from him.

The crowd surged away from that side of the room, crushing people against walls, and Cathy almost lost her footing as the press of people forced her and Tom and Lucy back.

She could see sunshine through the rent in the air. The scent of roses filled the ballroom as the tear widened and revealed a part of Exilium familiar to her. She recognised the wooden table, though there was less food than when she and Sam had stumbled upon it. The statues were now dancing, their faces wearing masks of false frozen happiness as they twirled and spun. All were either oblivious of, or incapable of reacting to, the slow turn of the Fae lords and ladies towards the Way into the Nether house and the Sorcerer’s glare. Cathy saw Lord Poppy and one she assumed was Lord Iris standing next to him, his long hair as white as Poppy’s was black, both calm whilst the other lords and ladies shrieked in horror at the sight of the Sorcerer.

“Rose!” he roared, pointing the cane at her now. “Your crimes have been uncovered, your puppets identified as kidnappers and common thieves.”

“What is this?” Lady Rose gasped as the other Fae lords and ladies drew back, reacting to her as if she were emitting an awful smell. The faerie Cathy had hit with the platter dived behind Lady Rose’s back with a squeal. “How dare you accuse me, Sorcerer! What evidence do you have?” She looked just as she had in the painting: auburn-haired, youthful and impossibly beautiful.

“The Master of Ceremonies of Aquae Sulis, an eyewitness to his kidnapping and the very room I stand in, O foul creature of lies and manipulation. And do not think that your brothers will escape punishment; they are just as guilty and will meet with justice too.” Cathy felt the Sorcerer’s booming voice in her stomach, every word accompanied by the chandelier crystals tinkling above him.

Lady Rose saw the Master of Ceremonies lying on the floor, starting to regain consciousness, and lost her desire to protest innocence. “You dare to judge me, Sorcerer?”

“I am simply setting things to rights in the worlds I am bound to protect, Rose. I will leave it to your King and Queen to punish you as they see fit.” Another gasp rushed around the room. “They have been informed of you and your brothers’ actions, and will be with you very soon. Until then,” he nodded to the Arbiter, “this Arbiter will see to it that you stay and face your monarchs.”

“That’s not necessary,” Lady Rose’s voice trembled.

At the Sorcerer’s nod, the Arbiter pulled out a pair of gloves from his coat pocket and, tucking his walking stick under an arm, pulled them on. They looked bulky, like heavy-duty leather gloves used for gardening, but with small copper plates riveted to the palms and inner fingers.

“He doesn’t need to come through.” Lady Rose was shaking her head at the sight of him walking slowly towards the tear, the tap of his walking stick the only sound in the ballroom. She twisted round to address her peers, now in a tight semi-circle a few metres back as the dancers spun on. “Won’t one of you stand with me? Won’t one of you support my efforts to redress the balance in Aquae Sulis?”

They remained silent as the Arbiter stepped through, all of them flinching – except Lord Iris – as he drew closer to Lady Rose. He hooked the curved handle of the walking stick over his forearm and gripped her at the elbows. She winced as the gloves made contact and the healthy glow faded from her face. The Arbiter gave a brief nod to the Sorcerer, who turned his back on the tear to look at the Censor. The view into Exilium faded and the Way closed rapidly.

“Lady Censor, do you require any assistance in administering justice here in the Nether?”

She was still crouched next to her brother, who was now forming a few croaky words that Cathy couldn’t make out. She stood and smoothed down her dress. “I most certainly do not, Mr Sorcerer. Whilst I thank you most deeply for your assistance in recovering my brother, I can deal with the Rosas myself.”

“Then I will leave you to your business,” he said, giving the assembled one last glare.

It had the desired effect: the vast majority looked either grave or terrified. Sam sought her out amongst the drained faces and mouthed, “You OK?” to her but she didn’t dare respond in front of so many witnesses.

The Sorcerer opened a Way, less dramatically than before, simply scoring a line into the floor with his cane that rippled the air above it, revealing the dark room and single lantern that she’d caught a glimpse of before. Even though the Sorcerer terrified her, she desperately wanted to go through and talk to Sam. Just the chance of a normal conversation with a normal person was more than enough incentive to bear the awful presence of the Sorcerer. Though why he’d blindfolded her before, when he could evidently disguise his face, was a mystery. Then she realised it was all part of frightening her into submission and forcing her to take Sam into Exilium. Bloody Sorcerer, she thought. You’d better help me escape the Nether after all this.

Once Sam and the Sorcerer had left and the Way closed behind them, the room erupted into a furious din of shouting and speculation. The Gallica-Rosas were forced forwards, pushed into the centre of the room mere metres away from the Censor. The Alba-Rosas were also pulled from the crowd. Cathy watched Amelia’s distress at being wrenched from William’s side with an awful sickness in her stomach. Even if they weren’t involved, it was clear that Lady Rose’s high social status in Exilium was about to tumble and they would suffer for it.

“What will happen to the Albas?” she asked Tom.

“Well, even though they don’t seem to be involved with hurting our uncle, I think this is the end of Lady Rose,” Tom whispered back. “If the King and Queen are involved, nothing good is going to come of it, and likely she’ll be punished harshly for embarrassing the Court so terribly. So the best outcome for the Albas is to be taken in by the Agency.”

“What’s the Agency?” Lucy asked.

“They supply indentured servants. They give people who’ve fallen from grace a means to survive, and a future for their children. I imagine the Albas will end up as servants to one of the Great Families.”

“What if they don’t want that?” Lucy asked.

“The only other option is slavery in Exilium,” Tom replied.

“Or death,” Cathy added.

“But no one has ever chosen to die instead of enter the Agency,” Tom said. “That would be absurd.”

“Would it?” Cathy muttered to herself. It sounded too close to slavery for her liking. She’d rather die than serve these vultures.

“Surely the Agency has problems keeping them in check?” Lucy seemed to have a grim fascination with the institution.

“They have many powerful Charms,” Tom whispered back. “They’re very wealthy, and rather ruthless people run it, my dear. Best you don’t think of them.”

“Do our staff come from this Agency?” she asked, but Tom didn’t seem to hear that question.

Cathy’s mother had wrestled her way through the crowd to tend to her brother and had taken over his care from the Censor, who held up her hands and called for silence. Eventually, she got what she wanted.

“Ladies and gentlemen. As this sorry affair has been exposed so publicly, it seems only right that it be dealt with publicly. Before I pronounce my judgement, the condemned will be given the opportunity to speak, and what they say may affect the severity of their punishment. I’m aware that this may be unorthodox, but there is nothing commonplace about these events, and no precedent, therefore this will be dealt with as
I
see fit. Before the condemned speak, I need to be certain that every nook of this filthy enterprise has been exposed. Are there any amongst you who have information to offer?”