Lammas Night (50 page)

“What about William?” Alix asked after a moment. “David says you haven't even told him what's going on.”

Graham shook his head. “It was pointless to tell him anything before I left. Even we had no idea it would get this bad. Now that we know—well, I don't know if he could handle it or not, Alix. I certainly don't know if
I
can be unbiased where he's concerned. That's one of the reasons I stayed at sea with David. I needed time to work out all the angles without worrying about him getting any odd notions. David, you told them about his Becket recall, didn't you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it goes a littte farther than I told even you,” he said, letting his chair down on all four legs with a thump. “Alix, I'm terrified that no matter
what
I do, I'm going to kill him! I even dream about it! I'm FitzUrse to his Becket—or I'm
myself
, which is far worse. When I wake up, I have to look to be sure I don't really have his blood on my hands!”

“Don't let your fears get out of hand,” Alix answered sharply. “You're dwelling too much on the past. Just because you fear, it doesn't make you his slayer in
this
life.”

“You haven't had to live with my nightmares the past week, Alix. How else can you read it? The Drake and Hatton lives were certainly a direct parallel, and the cards—you yourself said that the Hanged Man was a literal card of sacrifice. Why else are both of us remembering FitzUrse and Becket now if they don't have also some bearing on the present? FitzUrse isn't the only slayer I've been, you know. I've been Walter Tyrrel and a monk named John. Who else has
he
been?”

“I'm not sure we've yet proven that he's been
anyone
besides himself,” Ellis replied, aromatic smoke wreathing his head as he puffed calmly on his pipe. “It's entirely possible—probable, in fact—that both you and William have simply been projecting your own fears for one another on your various regressions. You know it happens, Gray. You even told him so, when you gave him a reason he saw your face on his killer. It was a perfectly logical explanation, too. But he's not the only one who's been afraid of the unknown. You've been anxious about involving him in the old ways—as well you should have been—and your anxiety has started to color your own fears. That's only natural, but you mustn't let it interfere with your functioning.”

“Don't you think I've tried to tell myself that?” Graham whispered.

“I'm sure you have,” said Ellis. “But let's look more closely at an example which you yourself mentioned. The Drake-Hatton relationship certainly was not one of slayer and slain—if it ever even existed outside of William's wishful thinking, which is not at all certain. You did tell him quite a lot about the background of that situation before you did the regression and he ‘remembered' being Hatton—perhaps more than you recall. He also could have read a lot and simply neglected to mention it. He wanted very badly to be of help, after all. Remember how moved he was after being acclaimed at the meeting?”

“Yes, and at least a few of them acclaimed him as a royal substitute,” Graham pointed out. “That's only one step away from a substitute victim.”

“It is if that's what was
meant
,” Ellis said softly, “but we don't know that.”

Graham sighed heavily and tried to tell himself he believed it, much preferring Ellis's explanation to his own, but the dull dread was still there.

“I suppose you could be right,” he said after a moment. “Maybe I
have
been blowing things all out of proportion. I
want
to believe you. However, that still doesn't remove the threat from Sturm. You must admit,
that
isn't a figment of my imagination.”

“No, it isn't,” Alix said, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. “Where is William now, by the way?”

Despite an earlier resolution not to take out his own frustration on the others, Graham found himself glancing at Selwyn resentfully.

“That's a good question. Since someone allowed me to sleep too late this morning, he'd already gone off with your son by the time I could ring him to check in. I'm sorry, David. It just really started the day out badly.”

“I don't think we have time to start blaming one another for anything, Gray,” Alix replied sharply, glancing at her husband to cut off any argument on his part. “They knew how important tonight was even without Dieter's complication. Where do you suppose they might have gone?”

“I haven't the foggiest notion.”

“No official function?” the brigadier asked.

“Not that his secretary knew about.”

“Well, he was supposed to end up at the Garter Chapel for this evening,” Selwyn said. “Maybe Michael's driven him—though Michael should have been here by now,” he added, glancing at his watch.

“Maybe Michael ought to stay there with him, then,” Graham said wistfully, folding his hands and leaning his chin on them. “The more I think about it, now that we
do
have the Dieter complication, the less I like the idea of him being alone tonight. And I
certainly
don't want him here.”

“Well, I don't see how Michael can be both places at once,” Alix said, “and we're already short a full complement at this end. Don't you think William would be safe enough by himself at Windsor?”

As Graham waggled one palm in a yea-nay gesture, the brigadier disengaged from his pipe and blew a smoke ring ceilingward.

“Oh, it's probably as safe a place as any, as far as places go, Alix. Anywhere that's been used for six centuries by an order as powerful as the Garter has to have built up a certain amount of protective energy for its members. However, I think I have to agree with Gray that I'd feel better if I knew there were someone there with him who knew what they were doing.”

Selwyn was called to the phone while they continued the debate, but he reappeared almost immediately with a shocked, incredulous expression on his face.

“You'd better take it, Gray,” he said in an oddly strained voice. “Everyone is all right, but that's Michael on the line. Someone tried to kill the prince earlier this afternoon.”

Graham never remembered how he got to the phone, One decision, at least, had been made for him. When he heard William's guarded account of his and Michael's close call, he got Michael back on the line and told him to go with the prince to Windsor and stay there. It had not been necessary for either of the younger men to mention who they thought responsible. As soon as the two rang off, Graham rang Denton to order the roundup of all four of their Thulist suspects for overnight detention and questioning.

It did not occur to him until he was back in the library telling the others what he knew that while it was almost certainly a Thulist attempt to kill William, it was not necessarily a mere retaliation for Wells's death. Even then, it took the brigadier's comment to trigger another possible motive.

“You know, it's a trifle odd that William should have picked today to go to Canterbury,” Ellis said, sucking thoughtfully at his pipe. “Whatever else it may be, Canterbury is and has long been a place of sacrifice. Christian sacrifice continues there daily, as symbolized by the Eucharist—and regardless of our previous discussion about parallels; we all do know what happened to Thomas Becket there, don't we, Gray?”

Graham, who still had not unwound from the initial shock of Selwyn's summons to the phone, felt a hard lump of dread congeal in his chest.

“Are you saying William went there because of the Becket-FritzUrse connection?” he asked. “Do you think he
knows
?”

“Hmmm, I'm not sure I'm ready to speculate about
why
he went there,” Ellis replied. “It was very convenient for
someone
, however. In case anyone has forgotten, Lammas is one of the four traditional days of sacrifice in many traditions. Some would say it was one of the two.”

“What are you driving at?” Selwyn muttered.

“Well, we have a very important working scheduled for tonight. We know that others across the Channel have similar plans—and they think William is behind ours. What if today's little episode with the car wasn't a Thulist revenge on Wells at all but an attempted sacrifice to seal the success of
their
night's venture? We know that human sacrifice is part of their stock in trade—and they don't care whether the victim is willing or not.”

With a groan, Graham buried his face in his hands, only dimly aware of Alix slipping an arm around his shoulder in comfort. If Ellis were right, there remained only one thing for Graham to do, but the actual recognition of that fact left him cold and desolate.

“You've presented a very frightening theory,” he heard Selwyn say. “Would you care to elaborate?”

“No, but I will. If the Thulists
did
believe a sacrifice necessary to ensure the success of their working against us, who better than the leader of the opposition? It would also eliminate his supposed strength from our complement.”

“I'll agree with that last,” Alix spoke up beside him, “but why do you think it was an attempt at a sacrifice?”

“Aside from the day, the method was right.”

“Carbon monoxide poisoning?” Selwyn asked with a note of disbelief.

“No, asphyxiation. It was the next most acceptable manner of slaying after bloodshed and burning. Hanging was the usual form, but we know that sacrificial victims were also smothered with pillows, strangled, and drowned. It's the effect that's important, ritually speaking. The end result is all the same.”

“Well, the end result they're going to get isn't going to be the one they were after,” Graham said, raising his head to look at them, “because William isn't going to be the sacrifice—I am. And it will be on
my
terms, for
our
purposes—not theirs.”

As they stared back at him, no one apparently willing to be the first to try to dissuade him, Graham drew himself up and let out a heavy sigh.

“Look. We've been avoiding this question for weeks even though we've talked from the beginning about the possibliity of a sacrifice. The past-life parallels have nothing to do with that. I accepted the possibility when I took over from you, David. I did
not
accept the possibility that William might somehow get substituted in my place.”

“No one's saying that he should be,” Selwyn objected.

“The Thulists are. It also seems to me that the potential has been building all along, whether we were thinking about it or not—perhaps because we
weren't
thinking seriously about the possibility that
I
might have to rise to the occasion.

“Well, we can't avoid addressing the question any longer. It's clear that
someone
is being set up to be a sacrifice—William, if the Thulists have anything to say about it. I don't accept that. Nor will I be FitzUrse to his Becket this time around. I've been the slayer before, but I've also been the slain—and that's the way it's going to be tonight if anyone's going to take that role.”

Alix drew back to stare at him. “Do you honestly see that as the only option?”

“I do. I'm going to work with Dieter, Alix. I've already told you how I see my chances in that regard, so the rest of you are free to join me or not, as you choose. If he's lying, I intend to rebound every ounce of power I can muster back onto him. I don't expect I'll survive—but he won't, either. If he's telling the truth, then one or both of us
may
live through it. If we're lucky, we may even take out Sturm. In either case, it's the best chance I can give William—and the best chance for the grand coven to get through to Hitler, which is what tonight was all about in the first place, in case anyone had forgotten.”

Stunned and sobered by Graham's cold recounting, they had no argument to offer. Nor would they even consider leaving him to fight his battle alone. After discussing specifics of the link Graham would make with Dieter, they called in the three younger members of the group, and Alix told them of the change in focus for the night's work. She did not dwell on the particular danger to Graham or even mention that William was a consideration.

Richard seemed to sense something left unsaid even though Geoffrey and Audrey took the news in stride. When Alix suggested that everyone retire for an hour before supper, he lingered until only his father and grandfather were left in the room. Ellis, seeing the look on Richard's face, wisely bowed out, closing the heavy door behind him.

“We haven't been told the whole story, have we?” Richard said softly, searching his father's eyes.

Graham sighed. He had not realized that this would be one of the hardest tasks of all.

“It isn't really anything I should talk about, Richard,” he finally said. “If it works—”

“But you're not sure it will, are you?” Richard breathed. “And it isn't just you.” He paused. “Is the prince in danger?”

Graham bowed his head, unable to lie to his son any more than he would have been able to lie to William.

“Terrible danger, Richard,” he whispered, “and it's partially my fault.”

As he looked up again, Richard was staring at him in disbelief, the hazel eyes stunned. His son's lips parted several times as if starting to speak but deciding against it. Then Richard came close enough to gently lay his hand on his father's forearm.

“Let me help.”

Graham's tight-leashed control broke at that. With a stifled groan, he caught the boy to him in a fierce embrace, burying his face against the blue-uniformed shoulder as his body shook with dry, soundless sobs. Richard held him tightly in return, not saying anything, his hands making awkward little patting motions, touching his father's hair and stroking it uncertainly as Graham had done for him so often in years long past, waiting until the emotion spent itself.