Between Two Thorns (7 page)

“That’s not funny,” she said to the tiny creature. “How did you get into my flat?” As far as Cathy knew, the Fae and their minions could only get into Mundanus from the Nether, and her flat had no reflection there.

The faerie ignored her question. “You were about to make your first wish,” it said in its melodic voice. “I want to know what it is.”

“Because you’re the one who grants it on Lord Poppy’s behalf?”

“I want to watch you make your first mistake.” She glanced around the kitchen, wrinkling her tiny nose. “Mundanus smells horrid. Why would anyone ever want to live here? There must be something very wrong with you.”

“Do you want me to make this wish or not?”

The faerie clapped its hands. “Yes, I do!”

“I wish I knew how to impress Lord Poppy,” Cathy said boldly, pleased with her choice.

A pulse of magic swept out from the faerie as she cast the wish into the world. It looked like a ripple of sparkling water rushing out from her, making Cathy’s skin tingle as it passed through her. She held her breath for the answer.

“See you soon,” the faerie chirruped.

“What?” Cathy gasped. “My wish first! Tell me how to impress him!”

“Oh, that.” The faerie shrugged. “The wish is cast. My work is done.”

“But!” Cathy fought not to stammer. “But you haven’t told me.”

“You never wished for
that.
” The faerie stuck out its tiny tongue. “You mortals never learn. You only wished to
know
. You didn’t specify
when
.”

 

8

 

Max slept for over an hour after the police officers left and when he woke his mouth tasted as if something had crawled in there and died.

The police were frustrated but he’d argued that whilst he might have been trespassing on the roof of the hotel, he was still a victim of a gunshot wound rather than a perpetrator. There wasn’t much else to go on until various reports arrived, and he suspected they’d want to bury it rather than have to admit the perpetrator’s body had gone missing. He noted they neglected to mention that when they interviewed him.

He waited for a nurse and asked if there was a telephone he could use nearby. When she offered to wheel one in he accepted, adding a request for a local telephone directory and a pair of crutches.

“It’s a little soon to be using those,” she said.

“I’ve used them before,” he lied. “I want to see if I can remember how to do it.”

She eventually relented, probably so she didn’t have to keep talking to him.

He had to leave before the other Arbiters came for him, and, without support from the Chapter, the only choice was to go directly to Mr Ekstrand, the Sorcerer of Wessex. Max was fortunate that he’d been picked to run the field tests on the glasses (now missing and potentially in an evidence bag somewhere); he was the only Arbiter apart from the Chapter Master who knew where to enter the Nether to find the Sorcerer’s house.

Two hours later he was sitting in a white van listening to an innocent talk about the last removals job he’d had. The gargoyle, masquerading as an eccentric garden ornament, was safely loaded in the back and they were heading down the M4 motorway towards Bath.

The conversation was one-sided and that suited Max perfectly. All he’d had to do was explain how he’d had an accident trying to move the gargoyle for a friend, pay the man all the money he had and they were on the road, no more questions asked.

Sweating from the pain, he drifted in and out, his thumb twitching for the morphine button left behind. He had a sense of his coat being too light and patted his pockets. They were empty. Occasionally he thought he could hear scuffs and knocks in the back of the van as the gargoyle fidgeted, but nothing made the driver break his monologue.

The city of Bath was mercifully quiet by the time they arrived. He directed the driver to a street as close as he dared, explaining that a friend would pick him and the statue up. Gargoyle unloaded onto the pavement, hands shaken, wishes of the best offered and Max found himself on a dark road at the edge of Bath.

He looked at the gargoyle. There were two of them briefly. “I can’t bear this pain much longer,” it said. “Let’s find Ekstrand’s house. Wait a second.” It reached into one of Max’s coat pockets and its muzzle wrinkled as it pulled its paw back out again. “Our stuff, what happened to our stuff?” It was rubbing its claws together. “And where did all this powder come from?”

“Ekstrand’s first,” Max said and limped along on his crutches, heading towards the end of the street. Expecting trouble, he sent the gargoyle off into the shadows when he heard a car pull up where the van had been but moments before.

The click of his crutches on the pavement was much slower than the brisk clip of shoes behind him. He focused on making it to the anchor property as quickly as he could without passing out. There was a scrape of stone on tarmac, a loud thud and then the gargoyle was at his side, taking a crutch and half holding him up.

“Was it an Arbiter?”

“Yeah,” it replied. “Ex Arbiter.”

“You killed him?”

“I dunno. I think so. He was crooked anyway. He was pulling a silenced gun on you, would’ve shot you in the back.”

“We could have questioned him.”

“Oh. Sorry about that. Distracted.” It pointed at the leg in the velcro support. “I’ll clean up after you’re somewhere safe. Get painkillers. Lots of them, OK? Any flavour.”

Max nodded. He saw familiar gates up ahead and the gargoyle didn’t need to be told what to do. It went ahead, bounding down the street and sounding like a stonemason’s hammer.

The gargoyle held up the soul chain, brandishing the Sorcerer’s seal and speaking the words to open the Way. There was a faint shimmer; the gates looked as if they were reflected in water. Max doggedly made the final metres, his shirt soaking wet beneath his suit, his hands blistering on the wooden crutch handles.

The gargoyle helped him step through into the Nether. Max was in so much pain he barely noticed the change in air.

The Sorcerer’s house looked exactly the same as the anchor property; a large Georgian mansion in extensive grounds. But the stars were gone, as was the moon, the sky above them the pale misty silver of the Nether.

The door to the house opened and Max expected the butler to step out but the librarian hurried out onto the drive instead.

She was blonde too. What’s with all the blondes? he thought, now aware of a ringing in his ears.

“It’s Max, isn’t it?” she said. “From the Bath Chapter?”

He managed a nod.

“Oh, you look terrible. Let me help you.” She came closer.

Her hair was the colour of sunlight. He wanted to touch it. That didn’t seem right. He’d never wanted to touch a woman’s hair. She was slender as cigar smoke in a still room, her curves in the right places and very pleasant to the eye. She wore kitten heels and a suit straight out of the best of the Forties’ movies. He wanted popcorn and to stand there watching her all day.

“What are you doing with that statue?”

The gargoyle moved and she yelped.

“Hello, beautiful.” Its grin made her shudder.

“Slight problem,” Max said as she gawped at it. “Need to see the Sorcerer.”

“I… I see. It’s not one of his better days,” she said, keeping an eye on the leering gargoyle. “Come in so Axon can give you some help. You look very ill.”

“It’s urgent,” he added as one of the crutches clattered to the ground and the gargoyle shifted to take most of his weight.

“Come inside,” she said and ran ahead calling for the butler.

The gargoyle helped him towards the house. “She’s hot.”

“She’s the librarian,” Max replied, struggling to manage the worry about his injuries and the first waves of lust he’d experienced since his soul’s dislocation. Both seemed to be seeping into him through his physical contact with the gargoyle.

“A librarian? Even better. She could improve my mind at the same time.”

He recognised the butler, Axon, as he came out and supported his other arm.

“Good evening sir,” he said, as if a man on crutches being half carried by an animated statue were a normal arrival.

“Sorry about the gargoyle, Axon.” Max remembered he was a nice guy, for a butler.

“It’s no trouble sir,” Axon replied and Max believed him. This was probably quite dull for a Sorcerer’s butler.

“If you two can manage, I need to clean that…” The gargoyle’s stone eyebrows twitched back in the direction of the gates.

Max nodded. “Bring the body here.”

“A body too, sir?” Axon enquired. Max nodded. “Very good, sir.”

Max made it into the house and was steered towards a large, familiar sitting room. It was cluttered with several lifetimes’ worth of objects. On his previous visit, a collection of tiny ivory figurines had caught his eye. This time it was a clock lying partially dismantled on the writing desk in the corner of the room. The room smelt of camphor, a hint of engine oil and wood smoke from the fire.

Two overstuffed sofas dominated the centre and he was eased onto one of them. Axon excused himself, promising to return swiftly, then the librarian reappeared, carrying a bowl and some muslin cloths.

“It’s Petra, isn’t it?” he asked as she rearranged cushions and then helped him to take off his coat and jacket, and eased him down to lie flat.

“That’s right.” She smiled. “What happened to you?”

“Got shot and fell off a clock tower.”

“Oh dear.”

She rinsed out the cloth and wiped his forehead. The cloth was cool, and for the first time since waking up in that hospital Max felt unlikely to die any time soon. With the gargoyle elsewhere he was free of emotional distractions once more.

Axon returned with a large leather doctor’s bag and Petra left the damp cloth on his forehead, promising to look for the Sorcerer. Something happened involving a syringe and the blissfully fuzzy feeling returned as he floated away from the pain.

“Is the gargoyle back?” he asked.

“It’s in the parlour,” Axon replied. “I thought it better to warn Mr Ekstrand first, rather than an animated statue be happened upon unprepared in the receiving room.”

“And the body?”

“All taken care of, sir. May I suggest a restorative cup of tea and some light refreshments?”

Max nodded.

“I will prepare a room for you too, sir. I imagine you will be staying here tonight.”

“No, I’ll go back to the cloister when I’m done.”

Axon conveyed concern, impending bad news and slight embarrassment at having to contradict a guest, all with just a minor adjustment of his eyebrows, in that way only butlers can. “I will leave that discussion to Mr Ekstrand.” He turned to go and then paused. “I assume the gargoyle does not require refreshments?”

“I don’t think so. Should it?”

“I imagine not, sir, being of a stone constitution, but I find it best to never assume anything when it comes to matters of unnatural animation.”

Max watched him go, feeling exhaustion lapping at his edges in little waves. He almost drifted off to sleep, but the arrival of the promised tea perked him up.

“I really do think you should speak to him, Mr Ekstrand. He may have important information.” Petra’s voice drifted in from the hall as he stuffed a sandwich into his mouth.

There was a low mumble, then Axon’s voice adding to the mix. Max struggled into a seated position, breaking into a sweat again. He wondered if he’d ever be able to do anything without soaking his shirt.

“He needs rest, sir. I think it advisable to have a brief conversation with him now so that he may be taken to his room to recuperate.”

“Very well.” Mr Ekstrand came to the doorway. He looked very different compared to the last time Max had visited. Instead of an elegantly cut Edwardian suit, the Sorcerer was wearing loose cotton trousers made from un-dyed linen and a loose smock-style shirt. Both looked handmade, the design favouring comfort over style. He was barefoot, and around his neck hung close to three dozen pendants of different shapes and colours, each of them a magical artefact.

Ekstrand’s long face was in keeping with his tall and thin frame, his black hair was in disarray and he hadn’t shaved that day. This was not the image that Sorcerers tended to offer of themselves. Max had the distinct impression he’d arrived at a bad time.

“I recognise you.” The Sorcerer pointed a long index finger at him from the doorway. “You’re the one I gave the glasses to.”

“Yes, sir,” Max replied. “Please excuse me for not getting up, I–”

“Did they work?”

“What?”

“The glasses, fool!”

“Yes, they did. But I need to tell you–”

“Where are they?” Ekstrand came into the room, but stayed some distance away from Max’s sofa. “Are they in your pocket?”

“No, sir, I was shot and fell from a clock tower and when I woke in the hospital they were gone.”

“Gone!” Ekstrand shrieked. “They were with you yesterday, in Mundanus?”

Max nodded.

Ekstrand groaned. “They were unique!”

“Tea, sir?” Axon picked up the teapot. Ekstrand peered at it suspiciously.

“It is Assam, isn’t it, Axon?”

“Indeed, sir.”

“All right,” he muttered and started to pace. “It’s all happening at the same time. I never did trust Sundays and this only adds weight to my theory.”

Petra followed him in and sat down with a notepad and pen. “Mr Ekstrand, I understand how troublesome Sundays can be, but I really do think you ought to sit down, have a cup of tea and listen to what Max has to say. It’s very important.”

Ekstrand scowled at Petra for a moment and then relented, sitting down stiffly on the opposite sofa. Axon poured the tea as the Sorcerer peered over the tray at Max.

“Are you here to apologise for losing my glasses?”

“No, sir. I’m here because I think something has happened to the Chapter.”

Ekstrand’s eyes narrowed. “You do, eh?” He accepted the cup and saucer presented to him by the butler and sipped at the tea. He visibly relaxed. “I’ll listen to you. It goes against all my rules, but when Petra and Axon agree on something being an emergency on a Sunday evening I’d be foolish not to listen. Battenberg?”

Max nodded. He started at the beginning, explaining how Montgomery had got in touch, how he’d got permission from the Chapter Master to go and investigate purely off the record. He described the connections he’d made with the Judd Street agency, how the Arbiter had sat back as the kidnapping took place, the gunshot on the roof of the hotel.

Ekstrand listened attentively as he chewed on the pink and yellow cake, Petra taking notes all the while. As he’d agreed with the gargoyle, Max didn’t mention the titanium pins in his leg. Seeing the Sorcerer dressed so strangely made him suspect he’d made the right decision. Then he told him about the gargoyle.

“And that’s why I came straight to you,” he said as Axon took his plate and refilled his teacup. “I think the gargoyle… situation is an indication of something happening to the Chapter, as well as the lack of support and clean-up in London.”

Ekstrand handed his cake plate to Axon, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Where is this gargoyle, Axon?”

“In the parlour, sir.”

“Bring it in here. And be careful.”

Ekstrand stared at Max as they waited for the gargoyle to be brought in. Max stared back, wondering why the Sorcerer seemed so different from the capable and brilliant man who’d given him the glasses just days before. Had something happened to him too?