Any Other Name (2 page)

They left the cool sterility of the healing room at the cloister and walked straight through into Ekstrand’s hallway. Petra excused herself, Axon promised tea and Ekstrand paced impatiently as Max hobbled to the sofa in the living room.

The gargoyle was upstairs and Max knew it was hiding from the gruesome task of discovering what had killed everyone in the Bath Chapter. Max assumed it was feeling unsettled, as his own emotional reaction to the autopsy was bound into the stone through the soul chain round the gargoyle’s neck.

Ekstrand poked at the fire. “How’s the leg?”

“Healing well, thank you, sir,” Max said.

“Splendid, splendid. I spoke with the Master of Ceremonies this morning, whilst you were at the cloister. He’s much better than when you first found him. He couldn’t speak for long. His niece is getting married today.”

“The puppet who helped us?”

“Was that her? I have no idea. Perhaps, although he has more than one niece. He’s very happy to have his house back, even though he won’t be able to use it in the same way again, of course.”

“And what exactly did he use it for?”

“Secret meetings with his lovers. It seems the sister gets jealous. Strange bunch, the Fae-touched.”

“Yes, sir.” Max tried to flex his foot, as having the broken leg resting on a footstool was giving him pins and needles. A dull ache where the titanium pins and plates had been secured felt like it had set in for the day.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, sir,” Petra said as she entered wearing different clothes. “Max, the gargoyle can read!”

“You didn’t give it any of my books did you?” Ekstrand was half out of the chair before she had a chance to reply.

“Of course not. I gave it one of mine.”

“
Wuthering Heights
,” Max said as a sudden image of the title page popped into his mind.

She blinked at him. “You know it’s creepy when you do that?”

“It houses his soul, of course he knows,” Ekstrand said. “Petra, once we’ve discussed your findings I want to practise what one should say on hearing that a niece has recently married.”

“All right.” She had her notebook and pen and sat on the nearest armchair as Axon arrived with the tea. As Ekstrand was distracted by the impending refreshments, she leaned towards Max. “The gargoyle liked the sound of it. It almost went for
The Count of Monte Cristo
.”

“It is Lapsang Souchong, isn’t it, Axon?” At the butler’s nod Ekstrand said, “I’ll pour.”

He handed a cup of tea to Max. “Lavandula told me that if we hadn’t intervened, the Roses would have broken him and returned him corrupted. Before we could say, ‘More Battenberg, please’ they’d have used him to wheedle their way onto the Aquae Sulis Council and shut me out. That reminds me, where’s the cake?”

“Here, sir,” Axon said, bringing in a large plate stand. “Lemon drizzle cake sir, as requested.”

“Did I really ask for that? Pop it down and give everyone a slice, there’s a good fellow. Now, let’s discuss the details from the autopsies.”

Petra flipped back a few pages. “The results are… unusual,” she said after a few moments, and then took a slice of cake from Axon gratefully. “They all died from the same cause: their hearts were turned to stone.”

Ekstrand’s cake didn’t reach his mouth. “I beg your pardon?”

“The hearts were literally turned to stone. We carried out ten autopsies including the two Arbiters, the Chapter Master and three of the people who had thorns growing out of them, plus four selected at random. Previous to the… incident all were in good health. They were taken from different parts of the cloister, so I think it’s a reasonable assumption that everyone died from the same… ailment.”

Ekstrand rested the fork and its morsel of cake back on his plate. “Maximilian thinks the mutual murders were staged. Would you agree with that?”

She nodded. “Yes. No one was strangled, and the angles of the knife wounds and the force applied don’t match up with the people who were supposed to look like the assailants. I’ll compile the details of those observations in my report. I believe they collapsed when their hearts were changed. They would have had a very short period of consciousness, whilst the blood in their brains was oxygenated, but then they would have died in a manner similar to a person having a heart attack. I can’t imagine how it must have felt.” Her voice wavered and she cleared her throat. “That’s speculation, of course.”

“This is most disturbing.” Ekstrand picked up the fork again. “Do you think they all died at the same time?”

“As far as I can tell, yes. It’s not possible to work out exactly when. It would explain why no one raised the alarm.”

“What in the Worlds could change their hearts to stone?” Ekstrand wondered aloud.

“It doesn’t sound like Fae magic,” Max said.

“This is unlike anything the Fae would be able to do, even if they wanted to,” Ekstrand replied. “I thought the Rose magic picked up by the Sniffer was a causal factor. Now I’m not sure. Perhaps it just grew the thorns.”

“It seems a seed was forced down their throats after death and then grown, rather than a stem being forced in to choke the individual,” Petra said.

“Hardly justifies the amount of Rose magic detected,” Ekstrand muttered.

“Could a Sorcerer do it?” Max asked the question, seeing it as another tick in the column under “Sorcerer of Essex corrupt”.

“No,” Ekstrand replied without hesitation. “It’s simply impossible.”

“Couldn’t a formula be written on the building and affect everything within it?”

“Maximillian,” Ekstrand said, “your skills, whilst admirable, do not extend to sorcery. Formulae require exact definition of variables and parameters. Each person’s heart would have subtle differences making it impossible to work one formula that could affect every single person’s heart at exactly the same time.”

“Even if it were defined by the common variables?” Petra asked. “Couldn’t all of the hearts be expressed as the organ that pumps blood with four chambers, four valves–”

Ekstrand shook his head. “Far too vague. This is simply an impossible thing to achieve with either Fae or sorcerous magic. It is truly inexplicable.”

“We’ll carry on investigating,” Petra said. “There must be a critical piece of information we’re missing.”

Ekstrand nodded. “We need to be thorough, that much is true. Every single body needs to be autopsied and tested for any other trace magic. I’d also like to have a go at one myself. It is Thursday after all.”

Petra fidgeted. “I’m not sure this is the best time, Mr Ekstrand. There’s so much to do. I can refer you to an excellent book on pathology.”

“Jolly good.” Ekstrand smiled and finally took a bite of the cake. “Excellent, Axon, excellent. Not too sweet, just enough tang to the lemon.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“The only clear lead we have is the Rose magic,” Ekstrand said. “No one could replicate that residue.”

“Perhaps a Sorcerer could,” Max said. “It all points to the Sorcerer Guardian of Essex. The corruption is in his territory, and when–”

“Remind me about what happened in London,” Ekstrand said, sliding a second slice of cake onto his plate.

“I was shot whilst collecting evidence sir. They were turning a blind eye to kidnapping an innocent in broad daylight.”

“Ah, that’s how your leg got broken and your soul ended up in the gargoyle, yes, I recall it now. And they knew you had a deep connection open and the Chapter Master could see what you were witnessing, am I right?”

“Yes, sir, which is why I think the Sorcerer of Essex is responsible. To cover it up.”

Ekstrand shook his head. “It makes no sense. Why make it look like the Roses are involved?”

“Maybe they were,” Petra said. “Just not in killing them.”

“We’re definitely missing something,” Max said. “They drop dead when someone or something turns their hearts to stone, someone arranges their bodies to make it look like they killed each other and then works some powerful Rose magic that only results in a few stems? It doesn’t add up.”

For a while, the only sounds were the crackling of the fire and Ekstrand’s chewing.

“Just because the corruption in London is in Dante’s territory, it doesn’t logically follow that he is behind the destruction of our Chapter,” Ekstrand said. “It may be that a third party has found a way to infiltrate the Chapters, thereby corrupting Dante’s and destroying mine. If that’s the case, no one is safe. And all indications are that the Roses are the infiltrators. Even if we don’t know how those hearts were turned to stone, we know there was Rose magic used in the cloister, and that they’re being given free rein in one of London’s wards.”

“They are the common element,” Max agreed.

“I suppose Lady Rose is difficult to speak to at the moment,” Petra said.

“I’ll have to petition the royal family to interrogate her and the Brothers Thorn, but given the circumstances it shouldn’t be too difficult,” Ekstrand replied. “I’ll do that tomorrow. Always better to deal with Fae royalty on a Friday, I find. And the wheels are in motion with regards to the moot with the other sorcerers. When I’m there I’ll be able to gauge if Dante is aware of the corruption in his Chapter or not.”

“Is there any way we can keep an eye on things in London?” Max asked.

“Too risky,” Ekstrand said. “We don’t have the resources to monitor things in any subtle manner, and we can’t risk Dante finding out you’re there, nor the Arbiters who tried to kill you.”

“And what about the Chapter?” Max asked. “Are you going to rebuild it?”

“When I know exactly what happened to the last one,” Ekstrand said, picking crumbs off his plate. “And not a moment before. Terribly tiring, I recall, building a Chapter and training a Master. Definitely not something for Tuesdays or Thursdays. Or Sundays for that matter. Now, Petra, I need to practise what to say to the Master of Ceremonies on his next visit when he mentions the wedding. I was planning on commiserating with him and offering a slice of something. I had thought a nice Victoria sponge, but now I think lemon drizzle cake, and perhaps a handkerchief. Dreadful business, weddings, dreadful. What do you think?”

Petra set down her notebook and picked up her cake plate. “I’ll think we’ll work on it, Mr Ekstrand.”

 

2

 

Will sipped his morning tea and thought of Amelia Alba-Rosa instead of the woman he was marrying in less than two hours. Not that Amelia was an Alba-Rosa anymore; now she and her brother would be known as Amelia and Cornelius White. He wondered how well she was recovering from the trauma of the Sorcerer’s revelations and the destruction of their place in Society. She and Cornelius would be back in Londinium by now, waiting at the house they’d always lived in. Now their home belonged to him.

“Another cup, Will?” Nathaniel asked as he poured his own tea. His brother was in better spirits than usual, which had surprised Will, seeing as he’d missed the opportunity to duel with Horatio Gallica-Rosa. Then he realised the good mood was for that very reason: Nathaniel was now seen as the best swordsman of his generation and he hadn’t even needed to lift a blade to achieve it.

“No, thank you,” Will replied.

“I wonder where Horatio is now,” Imogen said. The Gallica-Rosas were on the minds and lips of everyone in Aquae Sulis.

We were only obeying our Patroon. How can this be happening?
Horatio Gallica’s words had transformed him, from a hateful, arrogant man hell-bent on ruining his fiancée’s reputation, into a pawn on the losing side. If the Iris Patroon had ordered such behaviour Will knew he would have obeyed, just as Horatio had, and the thought haunted him.

“To think I actually danced with him,” Imogen said.

“To think you hoped to marry him,” Nathaniel said, stirring sugar into his tea.

“I did not,” Imogen replied. “I speculated about his potential as a spouse, nothing more.”

“I saw you huff and puff every time Elizabeth Papaver danced with him.”

“Dear brother, there is a world of difference between wanting to keep in the race and backing the wrong horse altogether. Surely you of all people understand that.”

Nathaniel dropped the spoon onto the saucer with a clatter and fired a dark glare at Imogen, promising retribution at a later date. The ignorance of yet another family secret filled Will once more, but by the end of the day he’d be married and moving out of the family house and none of it would matter. The thought both delighted him and killed his appetite. If only he were leaving to set up home with Amelia. He couldn’t imagine having breakfast with Catherine. What would they talk about?

At least his fiancée was more interesting than he’d thought. Catherine had successfully navigated a mundane through Exilium, carried out a secret spying mission for a Sorcerer and smuggled a sorcerous artefact into the most controversial party of the season. She was clearly capable in a crisis, so why was she so inept at the easiest aspects of life in Nether Society?

“Lost your appetite, Will dear?” Imogen was still glowing from having scored a point off Nathaniel. She reached across and patted his hand. “Perfectly understandable. I do hope they dress Catherine in something decent. Surely they could manage that for her wedding day. After all, it’s the only day of that girl’s life that everyone will be looking at her.”

“By the end of the day she’ll be your sister-in-law,” Will reminded her.

Imogen withdrew her hand, her sharp smile fading. “How perfectly awful.”

“Don’t worry, old chap, she’ll be veiled,” Nathaniel chipped in.

“Yes, just pretend there’s someone else under there when you’re in front of the Oak.” Imogen smirked. Will knew perfectly well who she meant.

Neither Nathaniel nor Imogen mentioned the Albas openly, probably some nod towards discretion on his wedding day. No doubt everyone in Aquae Sulis was speculating about why he’d saved Amelia and her brother from the Agency, and he knew what most of them were thinking of his motive. They were probably right.

“William,” his father called from the doorway, “a word with you in my study.”

His father was already dressed for the wedding. Will excused himself and followed him in.

“Good morning, Father.” Will smiled, trying to give the best impression of a man ready to face his fate goodnaturedly.

“Close the door and sit down. We don’t have much time and I need to talk to you about something important.”

“Wisdom for married life?”

The stern glare burnt the cocky smile from Will’s lips. “I’ve just spoken with the Patroon. Everything is ready at the Oak. I know you were pushing to marry Catherine Papaver sooner than planned. No doubt you were surprised when I told you the new date.”

“A little. I assumed it was because Horatio’s accusations against her went public.” Will felt the muscles in his neck knotting. He’d worried that the marriage was happening far faster than a polite request from him and the threat of scandal could explain. He hadn’t told his father the real reason behind his desire to marry sooner than the end of the season, because he didn’t want anyone else to know about the beating Catherine had suffered. It wouldn’t do anything except increase the chance of her being harmed again.

“Well, that’s true, and now his accusations have been made public I’m glad we moved quickly. Hopefully everyone will be too busy gossiping about the fall of the Roses to remember what he said about her.” He paused. “You’re certain the purity opal remained white?”

“Positive,” Will replied and wondered again whether it did change colour when he’d pressed it against her neck. Not that it would have changed the fact that he wanted to get her away from her father as soon as possible.

His father nodded, satisfied. “There’s something else, William. Once you’re married, the Patroon wants you to establish your residence in Londinium.”

“Londinium?”

“You’ve impressed him, and with the Rosas being rounded up by the Agency and their control of the city lost, this is the perfect time to further our interests there.”

“But surely this is something for one of your generation? Or Nathaniel, as the eldest?”

“The Patroon is not easily impressed, William, and neither am I. You handled the Rosa debacle with subtlety and quick wits, both of which will come in useful in Londinium. We want you to secure the Dukedom and bring the Court under our control.”

Will sat back, feeling the knots reach down his body and into his stomach. The Dukedom? It was beyond ridiculous. “I… It was a bit of a coup revealing the Gallica-Rosa treachery but it doesn’t exactly mark me out for Duke material. I couldn’t have done it without the help of the Alba-Rosas; they warned me about Horatio.”

“Horatio said the Albas were just as guilty as he. Tell me, did they really come clean with you? Or did you lie to save them?” When Will didn’t immediately respond, his mouth twitched. “You wouldn’t be the first man to lie for the sake of a woman.”

“In all honesty, Father, I don’t think it’s as simple as Horatio claimed. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some truth in it, but I think Amelia and Cornelius genuinely came to like me and didn’t wish me any harm. Amelia certainly did not do anything to jeopardise the engagement. On the contrary, she made an effort to be kind to Catherine.”

“Cornelius has cooperated with my staff but I don’t think you should ever trust him, or his sister. They could be useful to you, if you choose what you tell them with care and verify anything they tell you before acting upon it.”

“Surely it’s in their best interests to be trustworthy?”

Father raised an eyebrow. “It’s in their best interests to please you. That’s not the same thing in all situations. Never trust a Rose, William, you know that. And remember, a mistress can be very expensive.”

Will looked away, not wanting to discuss that with his father of all people. “I’m flattered, Father, but I can’t see how that one evening could qualify me for such a task.”

“You made excellent use of the information you uncovered, you kept calm and you managed the crowd magnificently. The Lavandulas have sent me letters expressing how impressed they are with you and have ensured there is a magnificent property waiting for you and Catherine. The Patroon’s staff are making it ready for your arrival after the honeymoon.”

“I had no idea the Lavandulas owned property in Londinium.”

“They’ve acquired several impressive houses as compensation for the crimes committed against them.”

“So the house once belonged to the Rosas?”

Father nodded. “Best not to think too much about that. Our people will make sure no traces of them are left behind.”

“But–”

“This isn’t a proposition, William. The decision has been made.”

Will put aside his doubts and irritation. They wouldn’t serve him now. “What support will I have to take the Dukedom?”

“A generous income, and the Patroon has assured me that should you need extra funds we will take care of that as a family. Do whatever it takes to impress the Great Families in Londinium. Lord Iris himself is behind this.”

“The Patroon said that?”

“He said enough. You know the Patroon was pushing for this marriage. He’s taking a greater interest in you. I don’t need to tell you how important it is that you succeed, do I?”

“No, Father.” Will said it in his most confident tone, but he knew the odds were more than stacked against him. “Do you think that Catherine is still the best choice, given this new remit?”

“Nothing has changed on that front,” his father replied, standing up. “I’m sorry, William, the agreement is too entrenched to change now. You’ll have to do all you can to bring her up to scratch, but Dame Iris will help too. She takes all new brides brought into the family under her wing to make sure they know what’s expected of them.”

“Good,” Will said, relieved. “I’m sure Catherine will be most grateful.” He stood, needing what little time he had alone to consider what he faced. “I need to dress for the wedding.”

His father stood too and reached across the table to shake his hand. “I’m proud of you, William. Don’t let me down.”

 

The faerie led Sam up a gentle hill, promising that the people he sought were very close. Just like before, exactly who he was looking for was on the other side. Four women and one man, all blonde, all looking dazed and horribly lost.

“Hey!” Sam waved from the top of the hill and they drew closer together fearfully. As he ran down the slope he could see the sparkling bands that had been around their ankles were gone.

“Who are you?” one of the women asked.

“Are you from home?”

“Can you help us?”

Sam grinned. “I’m here to rescue you.” He’d always wanted to say that. “I live in Bath. I’m going to take you home, to your families.” He scanned their faces, looking for relief and gratitude but seeing doubt and fear instead. “I’m like you, a mundane,” he added.

“Have you got anything to eat?”

“I’ve got a packet of crisps and half a doughnut.”

“We’re starving,” one of the women said.

He recognised her from the photo on the TV appeal. Her name was Clare and she was a model. They all were. It was probably why they were taken and why it hadn’t bothered him that they were rather gaunt. He pulled his rucksack off his back and found the crisps.

“I wouldn’t give those to them,” the faerie said, zipping in between him and the others, who cowered away from it.

“Why not?”

“Don’t believe anything they say!” the man said, snatching the bag of crisps from his hand and opening them. They closed around him like pigeons around crumbs.

In moments they were retching and spitting out lumps of chewed potato. The man threw the packet on the ground and the faerie dashed behind Sam. “You think that’s some sort of sick joke?”

“I told you,” the faerie whispered.

“Oh, no.” Clare pointed to something behind Sam. “It’s one of them.”

Sam turned to see Lord Poppy strolling down the hill, swinging his black cane back and forth. He was exactly the same as the last time Sam saw him – long black hair and black eyes with skin like a lily petal – bringing back unwelcome memories of being licked in the ear and held by poppies as the Fool’s Charm was broken. He wished Cathy was with him to step forward and handle it. He realised the models were hiding behind him instead.

“Ah! The little mundane my favourite brought to me! Did she send you back as a gift this time?”

“No, she did not!” Sam pressed against his wedding ring with his thumb. The last time they met he wasn’t wearing it. “And before you try anything dodgy –” he thrust his left hand towards Poppy’s face, fingers spread “– I’m protected by Lord Iron.”

“How terribly exciting for you. Could you explain why that’s relevant? Am I threatening your person?”

Sam lowered his hand, aware of the people cowering behind him as if he were the only thing protecting them from a rabid dog. “Um…”

“Irrelevant then, it seems. And it’s such an ugly ring. Wouldn’t you rather take it off and put it in your pocket so its ugliness isn’t inflicted on everyone around you?”

Sam nodded, pulled it from his finger and did as Poppy suggested. He wondered why the people behind him were groaning.

Poppy’s smile didn’t seem to cheer them up. “Now tell me, has my faerie been helpful?”

The faerie fluttered next to Lord Poppy, giving Sam a hopeful smile. “Yeah.”

“She brought you into Exilium, I understand.”

“Yeah.”

“And led you to these poor little waifs and strays.”

“Yeah.”

“And what do you plan to do with them? No one wants them. They’re soiled now. They smell of the Rose. Never has a scent been so unfashionable.”

“I’m going to take them home.”

Poppy tittered and watched Sam for a moment. “You’re telling the truth!” He flapped his free hand as the faerie accompanied his melodic laughter with its own soprano harmony.

“What’s so funny? They were kidnapped!”

“But,” Poppy said, dabbing at the corner of his eye with a slender finger, “they’ll die if you take them back to Mundanus.”

Sam glanced at the crisp packet at his feet. Would they be incapable of eating anything at home? Or was that something to do with being in Exilium? “We’re willing to take the risk.” He twisted to look at them. “Right?”