Bones and Ashes (17 page)

He rose. “Follow me.”

He pulled away a black cloth to reveal another full length mirror which hung on the wall. He stepped aside. “After you.”

“You’re not very trusting,” Raiden said.

“We like to take precautions.”

Raiden wondered where this mirror led. She stepped through. Her feet sank into thick carpet. Bookcases and a large desk said she was in a study. The heavy curtains were half drawn. Through the window, Raiden could see landscaped gardens that had fallen into ruin. She appeared to be at a stately house. It looked like she was back in England, although she couldn’t be sure. Aren stepped through the mirror behind her, followed by the young man.

“You should have told me you were bringing guests,” came a raspy voice. A gentleman sat in a leather armchair, his face half concealed by shadows. He was dressed smartly in a black frock coat. His skin had a yellow tinge to it and his thinning white hair was neatly combed. Oozing sores covered his cheeks and bony hands. His parchment thin lips were cracked and bleeding. Every breath seemed a great effort. A milky film covered his eyes, making him look blind.

From his appearance, Raiden knew he was the necromancer responsible for raising the zombies. All necromancers were sickly. They had their feet too far in the world of the dead. 

“They require our assistance,” the young man who had brought them said.

Aren cleared his throat. “My name is Aren Feralis. This is my cousin, Lady Raiden Feralis.”

“Feralis.” Coughing racked the old man’s frail body. He held a lace handkerchief to his lips; it came away spotted with blood. “You’re related to the Grey Lady?” 

“The Grey Lady?” Raiden asked.

“It’s an old title. It’s what the dead call the Duchess of Northumberland.”

She had never heard her grandmother referred to in that way before. “The Duchess is my grandmother and Aren’s great aunt.”

He waved a skeletal hand toward two chairs. “Please sit down.” Raiden sat down next to Aren. “They call me the Marquess. I used to be one, before the Inquisition seized my lands and abolished my title. The boy is my son, Lord Blackwood. He should have been an earl.” He turned to his son. “Fetch us some tea.”

Lord Blackwood left the room to do as his father commanded.

“Are you related to the Grimwoods?” Raiden asked.

The Marquess snorted. “They’re no relation of mine. Lady Grimwood was crazy. She murdered her own children. The Grimwoods always considered themselves to be the most powerful necromancers in the country. Yet my family still remains while they are gone.”

Lord Blackwood returned, trailed by a maid bearing a tea service. She set it down and placed a teacup and saucer in front of each of them. Lord Blackwood remained standing; his father hadn’t invited him to sit.

“Lady Feralis, will you pour the tea?” the Marquess asked.

Raiden stripped off her gloves. Remembering her lessons on etiquette, she carefully poured tea for each of them. There were only three cups. She rose from her chair and took the third one to Lord Blackwood. She offered him the cup and saucer. He hesitated before he took it from her. He nodded to her in thanks.

The Marquess sipped his tea. “It’s been so long since I enjoyed the company of others from my social class.” He set his teacup down, his hand trembling. It seemed too heavy for him to hold it for long. “We used to be wealthy. We were one of the richest families in the country. Then the Inquisition seized all our wealth and assets and we had to turn to other means to survive.” There was a deep bitterness in his voice. “We’re kin in a way. Two halves of a coin. The living dead need both of us to exist. You summon back the spirit; we give the body life again. And yet while necromancers are persecuted and feared, they leave the evokers alone. You never lost your lands, you were never hunted. There’s no mirror for us. We don’t get that luxury.”

“They came here to ask for your help, father,” Lord Blackwood said, interrupting his tirade.

“I haven’t forgotten. How can I help you?”

Aren drew out a card from his breast pocket and offered it to the Marquess. “I work for Smallpeace, Dawes and Pumprey, the solicitors. A man died last week in a fire. He’s now a ghost. I had his body exhumed to get a piece of his bone so I could make him cross over, but when we opened the coffin it was empty; his body was gone. It had been stolen, although the protections were still intact. We need to find the body. Without it I can’t get rid of the ghost. You’re the only ones who could remove a body without destroying the protections.”

“It wasn’t us,” the Marquess said, squinting at the card. “If he died in a fire, the body would be too badly damaged to be of value to us. We can sew wounds back together, but we can’t repair burns. We only take those who died cleanly. He could have been taken for the medical schools for dissection. They pay quite well for a corpse.”

Raiden spoke up. “But the protections on the coffin were still intact. No one else could remove a body without destroying the protections except you.”

“You’re sure the protections were still intact?” the Marquess asked.

“I was there when the body was exhumed,” Aren said. “The mortsafe hadn’t been broken.”

“It’s not impossible to get through a mortsafe, but it’s difficult and time consuming. We wouldn’t bother. It would be quicker to find another body. We could take three for the time it took to get your friend out of his coffin. Which cemetery was he stolen from?”

“Brompton,” Aren said.

“Have we done any jobs up there recently?” The question was directed to his son.

“Not that I know of.” Lord Blackwood opened a drawer in the desk and took out a ledger. Lists of graveyards with dates and numbers filled the pages. He scanned it quickly, flicking through the pages. He slammed the ledger shut and strode over to the mirror and stepped through. He returned holding the collar of a thin man, who struggled in his grasp. The man’s face was narrow, like a rat’s, with a mop of untidy brown hair. Pockmarks scarred his cheeks and hands. Lord Blackwood dumped him in the centre of the room.

“Come here, Ludvig.” The Marquess beckoned him over with a bony finger. Ludvig approached, his eyes darting about. “Did you do a job at Brompton recently?” the Marquess asked.

Ludvig hesitated before answering. “No.”

“So, if I asked Gomerey, he would say you haven’t been up there this week?”

Ludvig shifted from foot to foot. “There was one job. It was small. I didn’t want to bother you, so I took care of it.”

“Who was the job for?” Lord Blackwood asked.

Ludvig didn’t answer. “I deserved it. I do all the work. I dig them up. I choose which ones to take. I dress them and comb their hair and make them look nice.”

“You decided to have that zombie raised yesterday,” Lord Blackwood said. “I told you to wait before you sold him, but you didn’t listen and then someone recognised him and traced him back here.”

“Who did you do the job at Brompton for?” the Marquess asked.

“He will kill me if I tell you.”

“And I will kill you if you don’t.”

Ludvig twisted his hands together. “It was the Duke. He didn’t come himself. He sent his manservant to arrange it, but he was there when we dug the corpse up. He wanted to check we got the right body.”

“Which duke?” Raiden asked, although she already knew what his answer would be.

“The Duke of Exeter.”

A sick feeling filled her stomach. The Duke had red hair. He had been at the boarding house. He had threatened the landlady. He had also been there the night her mother had died, but he hadn’t been trying to save her. As a fire witch he wouldn’t need to be in the room to start a fire. He was responsible for her mother’s death. But why did he kill her? And how was he connected to the lady in the mirror?

“What did you do with the body?” Aren asked.

“I threw it in the river. The creatures ate it.”

They would never be able to get rid of Matherson’s ghost now, not without his body.

“We can forget about this,” Ludvig said. “It will never happen again.”

“I don’t think I can,” the Marquess said.

Ludvig backed away. “I was going to tell you about it. I swear.”

“Of course you were.” The Marquess smiled, causing his thin lips to crack and bleed.

“I’ll make it up to you. I’ll work for free.”

The Marquess turned to his son. “Take him away. I will deal with his treachery later.”

Lord Blackwood seized his arm and dragged him from the room. He didn’t take him through the mirror; instead he took him through a door into the manor

“I suspected he was cheating us, but I could never find any proof,” the Marquess said when they had gone.

“What are you going to do to him?” Raiden asked.

“I give life to the dead. I can also take it away from the living.” He chuckled. His laughter turned into coughing.

Lord Blackwood returned. He put his arm around his father to support him as coughing raked his frail body. “You should leave now. He needs to rest.”

“We’re grateful for your assistance,” Aren said, rising from the table.

“Wait,” the Marquess said, struggling to get his breath. “There’s a war coming between the living and the dead. My children are whispering. There was a time when the Inquisition feared us. They feared our power. We must stand together against them.” He would have said more, but the coughing overtook him.

Lord Blackwood placed a hand on his father’s shoulder. “Rest, father. I will see them out.”

The Marquess’s head lolled back against the chair. He looked dead.

They followed Lord Blackwood back through the two mirrors, into the office of the warehouse.

“Thank you for your assistance,” Aren said, as Lord Blackwood showed them to the door.

Lord Blackwood nodded. “I’m sorry we couldn’t help you more. Just in case you decide to come back, the mirror will be relocated. I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course,” Aren said. 

Once they were outside, Raiden breathed in the air, relieved to be away from the stale smell of the warehouse.

“I should report them to the Inquisition,” Aren said, as they made their way to the carriage.

“But they helped us.”

“They’re not just zombies, Raiden, in the wrong hands they could be an army. They need to be destroyed. Even if they relocate the mirror, the Inquisition might still be able to trace them.”

“What would happen to the zombies if the Inquisition find them?” she asked.

“With that many zombies the Inquisition won’t bother having a necromancer lay them to rest,” Aren said, his voice grim. “They’ll simply lock them in the warehouse and burn them.”

Aren helped her into the carriage. The zombie sat there, unmoving. Aren took the seat next to him.

“What are we going to do about Matherson?” Raiden asked. 

“There’s no way to get rid of him now, not without a link. Unless he chooses to cross over, he’s trapped here forever,” Aren said.

“And the Duke?”

Aren shook his head. “We have no proof he did anything.”

“He’s responsible for my mother’s death. He must be. He was there the night she died and he was there at the boarding house.”  

“All we know for certain is he had a corpse dug up and disposed of. That doesn’t prove anything.”

“What if Matherson testified against him?” Raiden suggested.

“He’s too unstable,” Aren said. “A court would never accept his testimony; that’s even if he decided to talk to us.” He sighed. “I have to go to the Inquisition and tell them about the Resurrection Men.”

“What about my zombie?” Raiden asked. “I can’t take him back to school.”

“Leave the zombie with me.”

“You won’t turn him over to the Inquisition?”

“No. I’ll find somewhere to put him until I can get a necromancer to lay him to rest. He can stay in my office for the moment. We keep some spare coffins for our clients.”

Raiden looked back at the warehouse as the carriage pulled away. She could imagine the zombies, their eyes staring blankly ahead as they burned. She wondered if they could feel pain.

Chapter Thirteen

Raiden trudged up the stairs to her room, pulling the pins from her hair as she went. Her head ached. She didn’t know if Aren had done the right thing by going to the Inquisition about the Resurrection Men. It was wrong they were stealing corpses from their graves, but it wasn’t right to simply burn them. The zombies hadn’t asked to be brought back.

She opened the door to her bedroom and stopped. Spiders covered the walls and swarmed over the floor. Their black bodies formed a writhing carpet. The spiders were part of the school’s inner defences. Someone or something had tried to break into her room. The curtains fluttered, stirred by a breeze. When she had left that morning, the window had been closed. The spiders parted for her as she went to the window and pulled it shut. A faint trail of fine powder covered the windowsill. She ran her gloved finger over the residue. It came away with dust that glittered. A fairy had been in her room.

She had seen the same residue on the windowsill at the boarding house. The Duke had been at the boarding house as well. What had they been looking for? 

With the intruder gone, the spiders began to leave. They disappeared back into the cracks in the stones and up into the fireplace. She was careful not to step on those that still remained.

She brushed a spider from the chair and sat down at her dressing table. She unhooked the pouches of bones and ashes from her waist. Unlacing the strings from Marielle’s pouch, she lifted the amulet out. She held the dull gem up to the light. It had to be what they were looking for, but why? She turned it over. Years of dirt and grime had tarnished the setting. She rubbed her thumb over it. The edges were jagged and sharp as though it had been broken from something before it had been fixed to the back of the amulet. She rubbed the surface with a corner of her sleeve. Gradually, her reflection appeared in the broken fragment. She held it up to her face. An eye peered back at her.

Raiden slammed the amulet down on the dressing table, covering it with her hand. Her heart pounded. The eye had been dark brown, fringed with lashes. Attached to the back of the amulet was a piece of a mirror. She knew what it was. She recognised the shape. It was the last missing piece of the broken mirror that had been in Matherson’s house. Someone had attached it to the back of the amulet. Had the lady in the mirror seen her? She needed the mirror to be whole to escape. And now Raiden had the last missing piece.

She opened the pouch and tipped the amulet inside. She pulled the strings tight and knotted them. She stared at the pouch, afraid in case the lady could somehow see her through the leather. 

Suddenly, a scream came from outside her bedroom. Raiden tied the pouch to her waist and ran from the room. Heather stood on a chair in the sitting room, screaming. Glacia leaned against the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, unimpressed with the earth witch’s hysterics. 

“What happened?” Raiden asked.

For a moment, she didn’t think Glacia would answer her. “She says she saw an imp.” The ice witch didn’t look at Raiden as she spoke.

“It was right there by the fireplace,” Heather said.

Glacia sighed. “I’ll get Mrs Lynch.” She left to find the teacher before Raiden could stop her.

Raiden slipped back into her bedroom. “Deg,” she said softly. A small green head peeked out from beneath her bed. She knelt down by him.

“Deg baad,” he said.

“You should have stayed hidden.” He hung his head. “I’m sorry, Deg, but you have to go.” She should have set him free days ago, but she had become fond of him.

He looked up at her. “Go?” he said in his little croaky voice, tilting his head to one side.

Was he just repeating the word or did he know what it meant? “Yes, go. You have to go away, but this time you mustn’t come back.”

He shook his head. “Deg stay wiv Raadin.”

“Not anymore. You don’t belong here. You belong with other demons. I would get into trouble if one of the teachers saw you. Tomorrow, I’ll take you into the city and you can find somewhere else to live.”

He looked down at his lap. Raiden turned her back to him, before she gave in. Across the hall, Mrs Lynch was searching the sitting room, a broom in her hand. The spiders hadn’t appeared; in fact they hadn’t reacted to Deg at all. He was somehow immune to the school’s protections. 

Raiden took her reading book from the shelf. She opened the book, but she couldn’t focus on the words. Her hand was drawn to the pouch at her waist. She felt the outline of the amulet through the soft leather. The lady in the mirror was going to want the last piece of her mirror back.

****

“What are you going to do about the imp?” Cassade asked as they headed down the stairs to class the next day.

Deg had been so quiet since last night. He hadn’t moved from the dressing table. He was trying so hard to be good, but he couldn’t stay. It was only a matter of time before one of the teachers saw him and reported him to Miss Grimble. “I’ll get rid of him this afternoon. I thought I would go and see Xan. I can do it on the way.”

In the classroom, Miss Rudge was setting up the apparatus for the lesson. “Are you all here?” she asked. No one answered. She was the youngest teacher at the school at only five and twenty years. Her top two teeth jutted out giving her the appearance of a rabbit, and she had a tendency to nibble her lower lip when she was nervous, which was most of the time. Her hands were stained with ink and her frazzled brown hair was tied back in a braid.

They all gathered round the benches. “This morning we’re going to look at electricity,” Miss Rudge said. “It’s important to know how electricity works. Electric lights are becoming more and more common. Already some houses in London are being lit by it.”

“We don’t need to know about electricity,” Blaize said. “Only people without magic would be interested in it. Like Raiden.” Blaize smiled at her.

Miss Rudge cleared her throat to get their attention. “The electrical current passes through the filament inside the bulb. The glass is very important. If the oxygen were to get to the filament, it could cause combustion.”

Raiden struggled to pay attention as Miss Rudge explained to them how electricity worked. She hadn’t slept well the night before. Her dreams had been filled with zombies and broken mirrors. Her reflection was reflected back to her over and over again in the broken fragments. In every one her reflection had black eyes. She had dreamed of arms reaching out of the mirrors, trying to lock around her throat as zombies chased her.    

“I’ve heard it’s possible to use electricity to raise a corpse,” Cassade said.

Miss Rudge chewed her bottom lip. “There have been a number of experiments carried out. They’ve succeeded in stimulating the corpse of a frog to move, but the effect is only temporary. As soon as the electrical current stops, the corpse stops moving.”

“Could you create a zombie if you had a continuous supply of electricity?” Cassade asked.

“The effect is very different from necromancy. It’s not so much raising a zombie from the dead as it is simply stimulating the corpse to move. Unlike necromancy, the decomposition doesn’t stop and the corpse is unable to talk. The Inquisition has been experimenting with the effect of electricity on the dead. It’s been shown to have a negative effect on ghosts; they don’t seem to like it. It could be a way to deal with the huge number of ghosts that we have in the city.”

“We could get one of Raiden’s ghosts and see what effect it has on them,” Blaize suggested.

Raiden tensed. Blaize could torment her as much as she liked, but Raiden would never let her touch one of her ghosts.

“The Inquisition are here,” Gale suddenly said. She stood at the window, looking out. They all left the benches and crowded round. A line of black carriages stretched down the street outside the school. Elderly men in black capes and top hats were getting out. Mr Crandell hurried out to greet them. He wore his interrogator black robes over his suit. They flapped in the wind like the wings of a great bird.

“They must be here about Miss Radbone,” Cassade said. 

The Inquisition came occasionally to do what they called an evaluation of Miss Radbone’s situation. The Inquisition didn’t like her teaching at the school; they wanted her mirror to be somewhere where they could watch her all of the time.

“Girls, we haven’t finished,” Miss Rudge said. “The lesson isn’t over.” No one moved. Miss Rudge sighed and came to watch at the window with them.

Raiden turned to find Blaize watching her. Blaize had used her magic to try and push her down the stairs. Was she afraid Raiden would tell the Inquisition what she had done?

The bell began to ring. “You should go to your next class,” Miss Rudge said. She stayed at the window, anxiously looking out.

No one spoke as they went to their next class. They sat in silence, conscious of the interrogators somewhere in the school. Deegle entered the room, his thick tail sweeping the floor as he walked to the front of the classroom. He had a small step to stand on so he could reach the board. He clutched the chalk awkwardly in his hand. She didn’t know how he managed to write; his thick, black claws were long and curled.

“Good morning, ladies,” he said. “Demons as you know fall into two categories; the lesser demons and the greater demons, who are also called archdemons. The archdemons, the pure blooded demons who rule Hell, can appear human. They were the first demons, the fallen ones. The lesser demons like myself sprang up when their blood fell upon the ground. The lesser demons are not of pure demon blood. We appear monstrous and we cannot breed, unlike the demon races such as the fairies and the pixies.”

“Sir, why are the Inquisition here?” Marigold asked. “Are they going to take Miss Radbone away?”

Deegle stopped writing. “It’s nothing for you to be concerned about. They won’t be here long and I’m sure Miss Radbone will be staying with us.” He turned back to the board to continue the lesson. “Where was I? Ah, yes. Archdemons can appear human, but they cannot pass for them. They cast no shadow. They were not born of this world so they do not have to follow the laws of this world.”

He continued to list the differences between the greater and the lesser demons, but no one was listening. Raiden was conscious of the amulet in the pouch at her waist. Should she give the amulet to the Inquisition and tell them about the lady in the mirror? 

On their way to their next class, Raiden came to a decision. “I need to check on Deg,” she said to Cassade.

She slipped through the corridors. At the far end of the hall, Miss Radbone’s mirror had been hung on the wall. A group of interrogators in their black robes were gathered before it. Miss Radbone sat at her desk, answering their questions. Raiden was too far away to hear what she said. Grub stood next to the mirror, anxiously wiping his hands on his trousers and rocking on his feet while he waited to hear the outcome of the inspection. 

“Can I help you?”

Raiden spun around. An interrogator stood behind her. The elderly man had feathery white hair. Glasses perched on the end of a large nose, with tufts of white hairs growing out of it. Liver spots covered his hands.

“Shouldn’t you be in class?” he asked. 

“Yes, I-I should be,” Raiden stammered. “I was just going there now, but I was worried about Miss Radbone. Do you think she will be taken away?”

The interrogator moved to stand beside her. “I think it’s unlikely. She’s not regarded as dangerous.”

“Can those imprisoned in mirrors be dangerous? Surely if they’re in the mirror they can’t use their magic.”

He smiled at her. “You have nothing to fear. Once they’re in the mirror they’re completely powerless. But there is the worry that she might influence you and lead you astray. Young girls are very impressionable. You’re at a vulnerable age. You’re away from the influence of your fathers and you don’t yet have the guidance of a husband.”

Raiden somehow managed to smile back. She had never talked to an interrogator before; she hadn’t realised how little they thought of women.

“Do you know what Miss Radbone did to be imprisoned inside a mirror?”

“I don’t know. I only look after them. The records of their crimes are kept in the archives at St James’s Palace.”

“Are there no other copies?” If she could get access to those records, she could find out who the lady in the mirror was.

“I believe there’s a copy of the records at the British Museum. We like to keep a second copy elsewhere in case anything ever happened to the original.”

Her godfather Xan was the director of the wrong museum. She would need written permission from the Inquisition to get access to the reading rooms at the British Museum.

“You seem very interested in magic mirrors,” he said.

“I’m just curious,” Raiden replied.

“Was there something you wanted to tell me?” the interrogator asked. 

“I --” She was about to tell him about the amulet when an invisible hand clamped over her mouth.

“Perhaps there was someone you wanted to draw to our attention. Maybe one of your classmates or a teacher.” His eyes gleamed with eagerness.

She found herself forced to shake her head.