The Serpent's Shadow (33 page)

“Do you know what this is about?” he asked Reggie Fenyx, holding open the door for the younger man.

“Not a clue, I'm afraid,” the latter replied, with a shake of his head. “I'd only just got to our town house, down from Oxford on the train, when the lad rang the bell. The card was for Pater as well, but he's down in Devon, and pretty well out of range for something that's urgent.”

“Whatever it is, they've called in every member that's in London,” put in one of the men who had just arrived by cab. “I'm not certain how the Old Man knew that
I
was back in town.”

“I think he's just sending boys around with cards and a list of addresses,” opined the fourth, as they all passed the guests' dining room, the Club Room, the public dining room, and headed for the stairs that would take them to the second-floor War Room.

The War Room took up half of the second floor, which shared the floor with the private rooms of Lord Alderscroft and Lord Owlswick. Both peers were already in the War Room, along with more members of the Council of the White Lodge than Peter had ever seen before together at once. There was a table here, at which about half of those assembled were seated, with the rest standing behind them. As yet, no one had donned the robes that hung on pegs along one wall, but every member wore whatever mystic jewels he deemed necessary in an emergency situation. In the case of Lord Alderscroft, that was nothing more than his signet ring; in the case of the weedy squire John Pagnell-Croyton, it was two rings, a massive gold necklace with a garnet pendant, and a pair of garnet cufflinks that might once have been earrings. The thin peer looked as if the weight of all that gold would crush him to the floor in a moment.

Peter had never bothered with focus stones or enchanted ornaments; he never felt comfortable wearing even a ring. As a ship's captain, he had not worn one because it was a hazard he did not need; all too often he had seen fingers torn off or hands mutilated because a ring got caught in machinery that could not be stopped in time. Now that he was a landlubber, he frankly could not afford the only gems that truly called to him—emeralds—and that, combined with his disinclination for anything ostentatious, meant he eschewed jewelry altogether.

That lack made him stand out yet again among the rest of the Elemental Masters. Even Almsley had a ring—though his was far simpler than most of the rest of the members of the Council. Almsley's ring was a cabochon emerald set in a wide silver band; it had belonged to his grandfather, and had been passed down to the first male who demonstrated Water Magery in each generation since the Roman-British times, for the Almsleys were a
very
old family. There were similar rings for Fire, Air, and Earth Masters, kept in a locked casket by Almsley's grandmother. What the female Elemental Masters of the Almsley line received was something Almsley had never disclosed to his “Twin,” but since Grandmama was a Water Master in her own right, there were, presumably, provisions made for them as well. The Almsleys were not only an old family, they were perforce unusually egalitarian.

“Is this the last?” Alderscroft rumbled to Owlswick, who was ticking off names on a list as they all came in.

“Yes, my lord,” Owlswick replied, setting pen and list down on the table before him. “The others are all too far away to be of any service for tonight, and I have seen to it that they shall be informed of the details of the current situation. God forbid—but it may creep beyond London.”

“What situation, my lord?” asked Reggie Fenyx, somehow managing to combine a deferential manner with a bold and unshrinking gaze. Peter had the feeling that Reggie was destined, not for the role of a scholar, but for the military.
No matter what his father thinks, that one isn't going to stay at Oxford past attaining his degree.

“Death!” replied a sepulchral voice, in tones of uttermost gloom, startling Peter, and many others as well. “Death Invisible stalks the streets of London!”

It was not Lord Alderscroft who answered, but Harold Fotheringay, who was, on occasion, given to over-dramatization. Alderscroft shot him a look of annoyance, but he did not contradict the younger man. Instead, he merely added, “Something of the sort, at any rate. Please take your seats, gentlemen, and I will tell you all we know.”

“I found the first one,” Fotheringay moaned to no one in particular, as they took their seats. “My man of business. Horrible! Horrible!” Not to belittle Fotheringay's distress, he really did look deeply shaken; beneath the heavy mustache, his lips were pale, as was his complexion, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his hands trembled as he clasped them together on the table.
Whatever he's done in the past, he's not overdramatizing now. What he saw has him paralyzed with fear.

“And it is to Lord Fotheringay's credit that he recognized at once the signs of a magical attack,” Alderscroft rumbled. “If he had not, we would not yet be aware that there was anything amiss at all, for there has been no sign of movement among our enemies, and none of the victims are themselves mages.”

What? Peter was as much taken by surprise as most of the rest of the Council.
Mages don't kill ordinary people by magic!

The details came quickly. “Fotheringay went to pay a call on his man of business today, very early. The man was not yet down for breakfast, which was something of a surprise—” Alderscroft began.

“It was impossible,” Fotheringay interrupted. “Man was always up at dawn.” He shook his head, and Peter saw drops of perspiration on his forehead. “Sent the maid up. Knew there was something wrong. Man was
always
up at dawn.” He grew paler as he continued the story. “Demned fool woman let out a shriek; I went running up. Demned fool useless woman—standing there screaming—ran off for the police before I could stop her.”

He put his head down on the table, unable to go on for the moment.

“Fotheringay sent for me, of course,” Lord Alderscroft continued. “I've managed the situation, which could have been very badly mishandled. What Fotheringay uncovered was the corpse of his man, with all the marks of asphyxiation on him. I think I need not go into details.”

“Man looked like he'd been squeezed to death!” Fotheringay blurted, raising his head again, his blank eyes looking, not over the table, but into the recent past. “Never seen anything like it—demme if I have!” He shuddered violently. “Didn't have to check; the stink of power was all over him, but
nothing
like ours!” He squeezed his eyes shut again, much to Peter's relief. That blank stare was nothing less than unnerving.

“Indeed. And, might I add, nothing at all like that Hindu woman you investigated for us, Scott, though it definitely is Indian,” Alderscroft continued, unaware that his words had sent a chill down Peter's back. “This was my analysis, and it was confirmed by the one thing that linked all the other victims—and we have identified four, who all perished in the same way last night. All of the victims had served in India. The first victim we found had done so in a purely civilian capacity, two of the others in the Army, the last was born and raised to adulthood in the Raj and only recently returned home when his father died. Quite a young man, actually,” Alderscroft added, meditatively. “It was that which confirmed to us that we were dealing with an extraordinary force. One old man, even three old men. could perish in the night of—say— magically induced apoplexy. That requires precision, but not a great deal of power. This, however—”

“Squeezed
to death!” Fotheringay repeated, thoroughly unnerved.
He's going to be good for nothing for a while,
Peter decided.

Peter was just as unnerved as Fotheringay, though for different reasons than the others of the Council. Maya had not yet told him what it was she had been protecting herself
from
with those cobbled-together shields. Indeed, she had not even admitted to him that she
was
hiding herself.

This could not be coincidence. Whatever, or whoever, had killed those men was probably Maya's enemy, or at least, was the person (or persons) Maya was trying to hide from. And that only led to more questions, entirely different questions from the ones the rest of the Council now pondered.

There must be a clue in the fact that it had taken only those who had
been
in India. Many spells required something of the target in order to be launched; had these men left articles behind that were now being used against them?

The only problem was that assumption implied that whoever had murdered them had brought those objects with him. That seemed unnecessarily complicated. Surely,
surely,
this thing was not operating from India itself?

“We must assume that it is possible this deadly force is operating from India itself,” Alderscroft rumbled. “You all know how the natives have been foolishly agitating of late for the end to British guidance. The continent teems with their numbers, and they can easily fill temples to overflowing with worshipers lending their crude force to the focused power of an Adept. Why they have chosen to murder these men, I do not pretend to know. We must, however, assume that this is but the opening salvo to a war of the Unseen.”

“Then we must seal the country!” someone blurted. “We must create a shield over England at once!”

“That is my conclusion,” Alderscroft agreed, and a buzz of talk erupted, aimed at planning just how to create such a shield.

Peter could only watch and listen, helplessly.
That
—
I can't believe that, he
thought.
First of all, how would anyone, even an Eastern Adept, be able to focus power over that great a distance?
Oh, of course, there were legends of such things, but not ever in Peter's experience—and he had a great deal when it came to India and the East—had such a thing ever been accomplished.
And why would anyone bother with such small fry? To kill at such a distance would require
enormous
power. Why waste it on four nonentities? If these four had done anything
that
heinous, certainly they would not have been such—nobodies. And if this was meant as a strike against British rule, why strike at nobodies in the first place? Why not go after someone in a position of power in India—the
Viceroy, or the Colonial
Government?

Alderscroft had jumped to his own conclusion, however, and from the look of things, he wasn't going to budge from it.

“Simple shields, made large enough, should disrupt power operating at such an extreme distance,” Alderscroft said, loud enough for his voice to carry over the general babble, pulling Peter's attention back to the matter at hand. “I think we have enough Masters on hand to make such a shield, and as soon as we can gather all the members of the Exeter Club and White Lodge together at Stonehenge, we will have enough to make such a shield impervious.”

Stonehenge? We're all supposed to make an excursion out to Stonehenge?
Peter thought incredulously.
This is insane!

But what he said aloud was, “Lord Alderscroft—what if the menace isn't coming from outside England?”

He pitched his voice strongly enough to also carry over all the rest, and his words created a sudden silence. Alderscroft raised his eyes and stared at him. “What was that?” the Head of the Council demanded.

Peter cleared his throat nervously and repeated himself. “What if the menace
isn't
coming from outside England? What if it's right here? Won't we be sealing it in here
with
us? Essentially cutting
us
off from—oh—outside help?”

Some of the members snorted at that; the rest looked contemptuous. Only Almsley regarded him thoughtfully, as if giving his suggestions the full weight of being taken seriously.

“If there had been anyone with that sort of power among us in London, or even in England, Scott, we
would
have detected them before this,” Alderscroft said, with a hint of warning in his tone. “The closest we came was that little doctor of yours, and she didn't have enough power or expertise to create a horror like the one we face.”

Would you have detected it, can you be sure? What about those shields of Maya‘s, the ones that essentially made you look elsewhere? If those had been formed correctly, would you ever have noticed her?
He wanted to ask those questions, but glanced first at Almsley, who shook his head very slightly and pursed his lips a little in warning. The Head of the Council was not going to listen to one of the most junior members of the White Lodge; he had already made up his mind. To force a confrontation at this point would accomplish nothing, and leave him unable to talk to Alderscroft later when events either proved or disproved the Head's conclusion.

Unsatisfied, he held his peace, as Alderscroft finished the design of the magic ritual they would all perform to create the initial shield.

“Don robes, and we will assemble in the second chamber,” Alderscroft ordered, standing up and shoving his chair away from the table in a single decisive movement. Peter hung back a little, delaying the moment that he joined the others; there was a brief scramble for the robes, then those nearest the pegs began passing the common robes back to those behind them.

Some few of the members had special embroidered, personalized robes of various antique cuts and quaint designs. There was no uniformity to these robes; they ranged from something the most austere monk would feel comfortable wearing, to an elaborately embroidered creation that the Pope himself would have felt excessive for High Mass at Easter. Some were designed along the lines of those a Member of Parliament or a University don wore, others seemed to be recreations of a medieval burgher's festive attire. Alderscroft's hooded robe, of brilliant scarlet velvet, was somewhere between the two extremes.