Druids Sword (25 page)

“I would have expected more of a spring in your step,” Malcolm commented as Jack sat down at the table.

“Last night was none of your business, Malcolm.”

Oh, but it surely was,
Malcolm thought. “You’re very irritable this morning.”

“It is
none
of your business, Malcolm!”

Unperturbed, Malcolm set down some toast and tea. “Great marriages,” he said, “need not necessarily be made in Faerie places.”

Jack had no idea what Malcolm meant, but he knew the man well enough to know that if he responded it would only encourage Malcolm further.

He began to butter his toast with hard, jerky movements of his knife.

Behind him, Malcolm arched one eyebrow as the toast finally crumbled into disarray.

For him, the Great Marriage had gone better than he could have hoped.

S
pring more than made up for the terrible winter. Once May arrived then, almost overnight, or so it seemed to the bemused inhabitants of England, the skies cleared, what was left of snow and ice immediately evaporated, floods receded, and mud and slush turned to newly sprung turf and emerging meadow flowers. Even in the concrete and tarmac City, flowers pushed their heads out of cracks in walls and butterfly bushes sprang out of gutters and old tiled roofs, producing their gorgeously scented purple flowers a full six weeks early.

No one had ever seen a spring like it. The newspapers were full of reports of the bounty: the surge in crops, the record weights of vegetables, and the wonderfully clear and warm weather. Old-timers shook their heads and said they’d not heard of the like, even in their grandparents’ time. Many were seen to grin, and remark on how winter still lingered in the German Fatherland.

The results in the Faerie were as spectacular as those in the mortal world. All signs of frost damage vanished, and the hills and forests seemed somehow to “lift”; foliage became thicker, flowers more beautifully scented, shrubbery denser, the very air itself almost decadently sweeter.

The only troubling note was that the Idyll
remained distant. It had not retreated further, but neither did it bond itself to the Faerie’s borders any more.

Nonetheless, the lines fell from Harry’s face, and as each day passed his mortal appearance more closely mirrored that of the Lord of the Faerie. Those mortals around him, the people he worked with in military intelligence and some of the more obscure government departments, remarked on it, and he said only that the spring had provided him with a tonic so good it had soothed away all his cares and aches.

Stella laughed more often, and the Sidlesaghes took to wandering the bridle paths of Epping Forest, coming close to playing tag through the dappled shadows.

But the most extraordinary change resulting from the Great Marriage was in Noah.

The day after the Great Marriage she left the Savoy to visit with Matilda and Ecub. The instant she walked out into the street to catch a cab, she stopped, her eyes widening.

“My gods, Jack,” she whispered, “I can feel it, too!”

On the evening of Friday the tenth of May, Jack, Noah, Weyland and Grace met with Harry and Stella at Faerie Hill Manor. It was the first time they had all gathered together since the Great Marriage. Overall it was a happy get-together—after all, the Great Marriage had apparently done what it was supposed to—and all were relaxed.

All save Grace, who was very quiet. This, however, was so much her usual state that no one save Jack, who had seen her far more animated, paid it much attention.

Once everyone was gathered, Harry asked if anyone had listened to the radio since lunchtime.

Noah shook her head, looking to Weyland, who also shook his. “We’ve spent the day in our apartment, reading,” she said. “Grace?”

Grace just gave a shake of her head.

“Copt Hall didn’t come equipped with a radio,” said Jack with a grin, “and I doubt that Malcolm would allow me one if I desired it. What is it, Harry? Bad news, or good?”

“Good. Neville Chamberlain has resigned.”

Chamberlain had been Britain’s Prime Minister all through the lead-up to the war and during its initial months. He was a likeable enough chap, and a good Prime Minister during peace, but most people thought he was out of his depth when confronted with the sheer enormity of Hitler.

“And?” said Jack softly. “Who has replaced him?”

“Winston Churchill,” said Harry.

“This is good?” said Jack. “I’m sorry, I don’t know him, although I’ve heard of him.”

“Yes, it is good,” said Harry. “I’ve met Churchill on several occasions, and know him well through other acquaintances. George,” he said, referring to the king, “does not like him particularly, but I think Churchill will be of much benefit for the land. He has a touch of the Faerie about him—there must be ancient blood in there somewhere—and he has pluck, and those combined will, I think, do us all much good.”

“And surely,” said Stella, “we cannot fail to miss the significance of his rise to power so soon after the Great Marriage. He is the
land’s
choice.”

“I’ve called you together tonight,” said Harry, “to work out where we go from here. I think that Jack needs to get the arm-bands, and then—”

“Harry,” said Noah, leaning forward in her chair, her eyes shining, and looking at Jack even though she addressed Harry, “before we talk about that, there is something else I need to tell you.”

“And it is…?” said Harry, who had a sudden horrible premonition that she was about to announce she was pregnant to Jack. Babies were all very well, but this, now, would be disastrous. He flickered a glance Weyland’s way, trying to see if Weyland had any inkling of what it was Noah was about to reveal.

But Weyland had his face blank of all expression, and was no help to Harry.

“I can sense the shadow, Jack!” she said. “I walked outside the day after the Great Marriage, and suddenly,
I felt it
!”

Everyone in the room reacted, some far more than others.

Stella looked at Noah with some curiosity, but did not seem overly excited at the news. Grace stared at her mother as if she had announced an imminent Martian invasion. Harry just looked stunned, incapable of speech.

Weyland’s face tensed, and he looked away from his wife.

Jack made a soft sound and sat forward. “
You felt it?
Thank gods! Tell me, what? What did you feel? Do you understand it? Can you recognise if—”

“Jack!” said Noah, laughing and holding out her hands as if to fend him off. “Be still a moment, and let me tell it. Yes, I can now feel what you do. A shadow—I don’t know what else to call it either—hovering over London, its tentacles reaching deep within the city, and something distinctly labyrinthine. I have not explored as you and Grace have done,” she finally glanced at her daughter to include her in the conversation, “but I have used every sense I have, as Mistress of the Labyrinth, as Eaving, and as Darkwitch, to scry it out.”

“And?” said Jack. His sense of excitement had faded now, and instead he appeared palpably tense.

“I think it is a weakness in the Troy Game,” Noah said.

“No,” said Grace. “Not a weakness.”

“Grace,” said Noah, “I know that you think—”

“Can’t you see that it is a trap?” Grace said angrily. “Catling is too cunning for you! I
know
! She sits beside my bed at night, and what I feel in this shadow over London is what I feel emanating from her. It is a trap.” She brushed tears away from her eyes, muttering an inaudible curse, more at the tears than at what her mother had just said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted. I just don’t think this is any weakness. I wish…”

She drifted to a close, looked about, then hunched in her chair miserably.

Jack watched her, his eyes narrowed in thought.
Was she so miserable at what she thought was his and Noah’s misinterpretation of the shadow
…
or at the fact that her mother could feel it as well?

“Weyland,” Jack said, “can you feel it yet?”

Weyland gave a terse shake of his head. “Obviously Noah’s new-found ability is tied to the success of your wedding night.”

Jack chose to ignore that remark—there wasn’t much he could say to it anyway—and instead changed the subject.

“Harry, I hear you about the kingship bands,” he said, “but once I retrieve them, Catling will expect Noah and me to complete her immediately. Not having them buys us more time—I can give Catling some excuse or other. But now that Noah can feel this weakness as well—”

To one side, Grace looked away as Jack used the word “weakness” as if it was fact.

“—I am more convinced than ever that we need to get to the bottom of this particular mystery before anything else. If we can exploit this weakness, then
perhaps we have the means to unwind the Troy Game.”

Harry nodded. “All right, I agree. You are sure you can placate Catling?”

Jack gave a small shrug. “I will do my best.” He looked at Noah. “Secreting those final two bands in the Otherworld was a masterstroke, Noah. Unlike the other four bands, Catling will have no idea what needs to be done to retrieve those two, and must needs believe whatever I tell her.”

Noah smiled at him, warmed by his compliment, then she looked at Grace, and her smile died a little. She stood up. “Grace, what say you and I go to the kitchen and make some coffee. I think we need clear heads now more than whisky-fuddled wits.”

“Grace,” Noah said as soon as she and her daughter were alone in the kitchen, “I should have mentioned this to you beforehand. I apologise. That was not the way for you to hear.”

Grace clattered around in the sink, filling the kettle. “But what good points you scored with Jack.”

“Grace—”

“I’m sorry,” Grace said, now banging the kettle down on the stovetop so heavily water slopped out of its spout. “It is just that I don’t believe it is a weakness. I am afraid that…”

“I know.” Noah came to stand behind her daughter, who was staring at the kettle and making no effort to light the gas burner. She put her hands on Grace’s shoulders, and pulled her back into her body, holding her gently. “I know you are scared, and I know you are scared about what Jack and I think. My darling,” she turned Grace about, “I can only promise you that I will keep an open mind, and Jack and I will explore every possible avenue of explanation. Neither of us wants to make a mistake.”

“I can help.”

“Yes, of course.” Noah was not sure what help Grace could be—mainly because she was worried that Grace was the one with the shuttered mind when it came to deciphering this particular puzzle—but Noah also knew very well that she could not say that. “Grace, I
promise
that I will keep an open mind on this.”

Grace and Noah seemed to be taking an inordinately long time to be making a simple pot of coffee, and as Harry and Stella wandered off to converse in low tones by the fire, Jack slipped over to sit next to Weyland.

“Weyland,” Jack said.

Weyland gave a soft grunt.

“Weyland. For your sake, I am sorry that Noah and I had to make the Great Marriage.”

Weyland shot him a look full of cynicism.

“Believe it or not,” Jack said, “I
am
sorry for it. Weyland…” He hesitated, wondering how to put what he wanted to say into words, and wondering just
what
it was he wanted to say, in the first instance.

“Jack, just leave it.”

“Weyland—”

“
Leave it
.”

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.

Finally Jack cleared his throat. “May I ask you something? It isn’t about Noah.”

“If you must.”

“Weyland…you spent thousands of years trying to kill me and steal the kingship bands so that you could control the Troy Game. Can I assume that you have Kingman powers? That you have Kingman knowledge? That if you
did
have the kingship bands, and Noah, that you could step fully into the shoes of the Kingman?”

“Oh, my, what a loaded question. How should I answer?”

“Honestly, if you please.”

“Then I will. Yes, I could do it. I do not have precise Kingman training, but on the other hand I lived so long in the heart of the labyrinth that I have absorbed many of its secrets. I could not do it prettily—perhaps you might offer me further training—but do it I could. Remember also that I would bring my Darkcraft behind whatever I could do as Kingman. I could be a very, very effective—and somewhat bleak—Kingman. Jack, why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have any precise reason. I guess I’m just doing what all good generals do and working out precisely what my weapons are.” He paused, drawing on his cigarette. “But think…here we are, surrounded by so many Mistresses of the Labyrinth. It just helps, I guess, to know that there are two Kingmen. Three, actually, with my father.”

J
ack was walking home through the forest, so completely absorbed in the exciting news that Noah could sense the weakness that he was completely shocked when the figure of a tall, slim, dark-haired woman appeared before him on the forest path.

“Grace?”

As soon as the word left his mouth, Jack knew it wasn’t Grace. Her hair was too long, and he’d never seen Grace wear a long black dress.

“Of course not,” said Catling. “How could you possibly confuse us?”

“How indeed,” said Jack.
Had Catling witnessed everything that had happened within Faerie Hill Manor?

“You’ve been visiting with Harry,” said Catling. “Noah was there, too.”

“Yes,” said Jack, watching Catling with careful eyes.

“You’ve made the Great Marriage with her.”

“Yes.” Jack was trying hard to retain his composure. Catling must want to know why they didn’t move to complete her, and he started to formulate excuses in his mind.

Catling moved forward,
scurried
forward, and Jack took an involuntary step backwards. “Was the sex good, Jack? Was the fuck worth the wait?”

“Yes,” Jack said, his voice quiet, his eyes still. “It was.”

Catling studied him keenly, her eyes narrowed. “Then you must be in a very good mood.”

“I was until but a moment ago.”

“What’s up, Jack?”

“In what sense?”

“What are you planning?”

“Can I be honest?”

“Please do.”

“I’d like to find a way to destroy you, but it is proving damnably elusive.”

“Then complete me instead.”

“I’ll need to fetch the bands of Troy to do that.”

“Then fetch them, Jack.”

“They’re in the Faerie, and—”

“I know full well where they are. Four are in the Faerie and two are in the Otherworld. What I don’t want to hear are your excuses for not fetching them. Jack, I am going to be honest with you here. I know you and Noah wish to destroy me, so you’re desperately grubbing about, trying to find a means. Ah, let me rephrase that. I am sure you
have
a means—a Kingman and a Mistress of the Labyrinth can always unwind what they have created—but you can’t figure out a way past the hex I’ve put on Grace. So you’re trying to find the means to destroy me that won’t also result in Grace’s death, as well as that of the Faerie, and everything else she has touched, and so on and so forth. Am I right thus far?”

Jack didn’t respond.

“Yes,” said Catling. “I
am
right. Now, I am a reasonable person, and I know I’ve put you and Noah in a spot—poor Grace, pitiful Grace—but reasonableness can only go so far before it is quite overtaken by impatience. After all, I have waited an
awfully long time for completion…I don’t want to have to wait too much longer. So here’s the deal, Jack. You take all the time you want, but know that the longer you take, the more people will suffer—”

“The murders. You’ve set the imps to murdering—”

“And that will stop once I am completed, Jack. I’ll be in such a good mood I’ll corral those imps once and for all. But it will get a great deal worse if you don’t complete me. It is up to you, Jack, and your conscience.”

Catling gave a small, terrible smile. “Just think…every death that results from your pitiful, fruitless hunt for a means to destroy me and save Grace shall rest on your conscience. If you think it is okay for a few more women to die terribly as either Bill or Jim rips their bellies apart…” Catling shrugged, “then you will have to live with it. And if your conscience can deal with those murders, then maybe I’ll escalate it a little further. Take the horror into new fields, so to speak. I can’t force you to complete me, Jack, but I can make this land suffer terribly for your tardiness.”

She paused, letting her words sink in.

“I’m sure Grace is worth all those lives, right? All the terror and suffering the innocent will endure?”

Then she vanished, and Jack was left staring, his stomach churning.

Catling seethed through the spaces under London, finally giving her anger full rein.

Jack was looking for a way to destroy her.

Oh, she knew he would, had been certain from the moment that Noah turned bad that Jack would eventually turn as well, but she
hated
it that he was trying to find a means to undo her.

Where would he be without her? A shifting pile of cold grey bone dust by now, that’s where. Everything he was was due to her intervention.

And he’d become too strong. Too strong.

Catling
was
vulnerable. She needed to feed, needed to grow strong. Needed to be
sure
that she could outmanoeuvre whatever he threw at her and, knowing Jack, it would be the unexpected.

She needed to know what he was doing.

Catling found the imps loitering in Covent Garden, shadowing a young woman carrying a basket of vegetables.

“Well?” she said, so startling Bill and Jim they almost stumbled from the footpath into the way of a passing lorry.

Its horn blaring, the lorry thundered past as Catling pulled them both to the relative safety of the footpath.

“Leave the girl for the moment,” Catling said. “You can always find another later. Victims are a dime a dozen in this city. I want to know what you’ve discovered. What is Jack doing, wandering all about London?”

Jim and Bill exchanged a glance, then looked back to Catling.

“He’s looking for a weakness,” said Bill. “Something to pry open and make you bleed to death.”

“And has he found it?”

Bill smiled. “No. All he has found is strength, but he is too foolish to see that.”

Catling visibly relaxed. “I am too strong for him.”

“Aye,” said Jim, “that you are.”

“
He
is weak,” said Catling. “He has a conscience.”

“Very foolish,” said Jim.

“His conscience will drive him into my arms eventually,” said Catling.

“Absolutely,” said Bill.

“You still enjoying the murders?” said Catling. “No doubt about it,” said the imps simultaneously, their faces splitting in wide grins. “Good,” said Catling.