Lammas Night (56 page)

He could not sleep again, and the ache changed not at all with the passage of half an hour spent staring at the ceiling. When his stomach began reminding him of its long emptiness, he steeled himself to the inevitable, weakly pulled on his bathrobe again, and went downstairs. He found Alix and the brigadier in the library, obviously discussing him. The brigadier settled him in the overstuffed chair with his feet up and a lap robe tucked around him while Alix fed him tea and sandwiches, explaining that William had returned to London. Graham's appetite seemed to have returned in healthy measure, but he ate cautiously, also hoping to postpone their questions.

When he had finished half a sandwich more than he really wanted and sipped halfheartedly at a third cup of tea, he gave the cup and saucer back to Alix with a weary sigh and laid his head against the chair back. He supposed he could not put it off any longer.

“I assume he told you,” he murmured, idly studying the plastered cornices around the ceiling edges.

“Yes,” Alix said carefully. “It's a hard logic, but unfortunately a valid one, so far as I can see. What's more important, William truly believes he is called to do this. If so, then you are equally committed.”

Graham closed his eyes and sighed dejectedly. “I
tried
to take his place, Alix. It isn't fair. I was ready to die for him.”

“Yes, but the sacrifice was not accepted,” Alix said quietly. “You survived. There's a reason for that. There's something else you ought to know. Old Gerald came by a little while ago. Dame Emma sent him. Apparently, they had almost as interesting a night as we did.”

Graham turned his head to look at her sharply. “What happened?”

“Well, they lost two of their people—one during the ritual and one from aftereffects this morning.”

“In backlash from me?”

“I don't think so. Both of them were quite old. They may just have overextended and burned themselves out. That happens sometimes, as you know.”

“But you don't think that's what happened,” Graham murmured, a sick dread rising in his chest.

“Wesley, why don't you tell him?”

The brigadier sat back in his chair and crossed his legs, his face unreadable as he removed his pipe from his mouth.

“Emma has been out on the Second Road off and on all day, trying to estimate the effect of what was done last night.”

“And?”

“And she says last night's working was only partially successful.”

“What does that mean?” Graham whispered dully.

“Well, you eliminated Sturm, of course—you and Dieter—but the working against Hitler only set up a potential. It still needs to be triggered. Emma says a final effort is going to be needed to push him over the edge. Her two who died last night—well, she says they intended to die.”

Graham's breath caught in his throat.

“Are you saying they—sacrificed themselves?” he managed to get out.

The brigadier nodded. “That's what Gerald implied. It seems we haven't been the only ones to talk about the need for a sacrifice. I shouldn't be surprised if there were others as well elsewhere in the country. In any case, it apparently wasn't enough. Emma said you should be told.”

“No. She can't ask that,” Graham whispered.

“She isn't asking anything, Gray,” the brigadier said after puffing once neutrally on his pipe. “It isn't the place of any of us to ask that kind of thing. But she was there when William put himself in the place of the sacred king. And now he's offered. What comes next is between you and William.”

“This can't be happening,” Graham murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. “It can't be. It just can't be.”

“There's more,” Alix said, reaching behind her to retrieve a thin stack of tarot cards. “I did another reading while you were asleep. I think you should see what the cards were. Wesley can assure you that this is exactly how they came up.”

As she turned the top card and laid it on the table beside Graham's chair, Graham drew in his breath with a start. It was the familiar King of Wands—the card that had become William's. He shook his head in denial as Alix laid her fingertips gently along the bottom edge.

“The King of Wands covers the situation and influences all else,” she said softly. “It is William, as we have seen before, but we must never forget that it is also the King. The possibility of substitution is quite clear. It was there before, when the same King crossed the Knight of Wands, but we simply didn't see it.”

“Maybe we didn't see it because it isn't really there,” Graham ventured, grasping at any chance of reprieve. “The connection, I mean. Isn't it possible that you're mistaken?”

“Do
you
think I'm mistaken?”

He could say nothing as she turned up the next card.

“Crossing the situation is the Three of Coins,” she said. “It is a card of nobility, of skilled workmanship—perhaps even a Masonic card in its literal interpretation—which is certainly apt in this case. The structure of the situation is being worked out by experts—karmic experts, one might even say.”

Graham started to sit back in pained resignation at the reference, for he was all too aware of karma just now, but as Alix placed the third card, he raised an eyebrow and leaned forward with more hope. The Ace of Swords was a very potent card of triumph.

“Yes, it's a good card,” Alix said, answering his unvoiced question. “It is the most that can be hoped for—and in this case, that is a great deal, indeed. Force and victory are indicated, but you must remember that this may refer to factors far greater than any one individual—even William. It may mean the outcome of the war itself. Also, look at the literal symbolism of the crown pierced by the sword. Keep that in mind as the rest of the cards come up.”

Graham set his jaw as he got a look at the fourth card she turned.

“At the root of the situation is the Wheel of Fortune,” Alix continued, avoiding his eyes and nervously flexing the remaining cards in her hands. “It is certainly an apt card to describe karma and the working out of intended destinies. Frankly, I would have been surprised if it
hadn't
turned up somewhere in the reading.” She sighed. “By now, I don't think there can be any question what we're talking about, though, do you?”

He gave a distracted shake of his head as she turned the next card and dropped it into place.

“In the immediate past, the Eight of Coins—another card of craftsmanship, though this one is more of apprenticeship, of learning—which the past few months certainly have been for William, I should think, as well as for the rest of us. Wesley, how did you phrase your original question when we first did the reading?”

The brigadier puffed on his pipe and gestured toward the cards with his chin. “Basically, it was oriented toward William and his role. Go ahead. I'll comment more when you're finished. I think Gray needs to see the rest of the cards.”

With an apologetic shrug, Alix turned the next card and laid it to the right of the others. Graham closed his eyes tightly and slowly shook his head, not wanting to see.

“The Hanged Man, this time in the position of the immediate future,” Alix said tonelessly. “The sacrifice moves closer to the King. Insight will be gained and esoteric knowledge revealed in full measure, but he fears—” She turned the seventh card and snapped it down at the top of the scepter. “The Devil Reversed: indecision and weakness—fear that he may lack the courage to carry through with what he feels must be done.”

Graham's eyes popped open to confirm the identity of the newest card, and for just an instant, his vision blurred as he fought down the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had not stopped to think before this very instant just what William must be going through.

“The Magician—your card, Gray,” Alix said as she turned the next one. “Also, because this position represents his environment in general, I think we must assume that at least some of the rest of us are also bound up in what is to be, if you are.

“And for his positive feelings, we have the Six of Wands,” she said, placing the ninth card. “The victor shall overcome adversity despite opposition—and William
is
Victor, isn't he?” she added, smiling a little despite herself.

“But even if William
is
to be
the
victor, the opposition could be read in many ways.
We
are part of the opposition if we do not support him in what he believes must be done.” She tapped the card with a fingernail. “The wreath on the wand can be read as hope, at least in the general sense, but it has something of the martyr's crown as well.”

When she did not move to lay down the final card, Graham reached hesitantly across and took it from her hand, breathing out with a sigh as he turned it face up with the others.

“The World,” Alix said softly, her voice quite unsteady as she folded her hands primly in her lap. “It is the ultimate success card, but on all planes—
all
planes. In the literal sense, it may mean the real world and, hence, the outcome of the war, but it is also William's own card—and we have already seen the directions in which his personal destiny in this life is being guided.” She drew a deep breath. “Unfortunately, I fear that success on a global scale may depend upon William finding his own destiny—and you, yours, Gray. I can't put it any plainer than that.”

Graham looked away, all too aware of the finality of what the cards had said. The brigadier cleared his throat and began poking at his pipe with a pipe tool.

“I don't want to raise false hopes, but there
is
a chance—granted, a very
small
chance—that matters might take a turn for the better despite all the signs,” he murmured, not looking directly at Graham or Alix. “We can hope and pray that they will, but in the meantime, I think we have no other choice but to go ahead and plan on the assumption that we
will
have to act. Based on the current progress of the war, I should think we have at least a month before irreversible action must be taken.”

“I agree,” Alix said quietly, turning her attention to Graham. “Gray, I know this is not an easy conversation for you. I hope you realize we neither seek nor desire what is coming into being. If William himself were one whit less adamant, I assure you we would not even be considering it.”

“I know that,” Graham said dully.

“I'm sure you do,” she breathed. “Sometimes it helps, though, to have it verbalized by someone else.”

“I suppose.”

“You know, then, that we have to mention some other unpleasant things,” she went on after a glance at Ellis. “I realize that this is going to sound cold—and that you know it isn't meant that way—but some thought will have to be given to ways and means, and soon, so that things can be properly planned. It will—have to look like an accident or a war casualty to the uninitiated. I know you're aware of the ritual requirements.”

As Graham dropped his forehead into one hand and tried to shut out the images her words conjured up, the sound of Ellis tapping out his pipe against an ash tray brought him back to focus.

“Speaking of the uninitiated reminds me of something positive we can do to get us through these difficult times, Alix,” Ellis said quietly. “Technically, William is already one of us by birth, since he's of the old line, but I think it might make things easier on all of us, himself included, if he went through a formal initiation and recognition as the sacred king. It would help to cement in all of our minds just why we're even contemplating such an awful measure—and I use awful in its original sense of awe-full, as it most surely is.”

As Graham raised his head to stare at both of them in shock, disposing so casually of his and William's lives, Alix rose and brought back a desk calendar, riffling through the pages as she sat again.

“That occurred to me as well,” she agreed. “It should be done at a full moon—that's the eighteenth, this month—two weeks from Sunday. We'll delay the other as long as we can, of course, even if we're technically out of one of the sacrificial months, but I suspect it's all going to come to a head before too long. Shall we make it the eighteenth?—provided William concurs, of course.”

“I think that's reasonable,” Ellis replied.

“Fine. Given William's lack of formal background, I think it best that we keep it very low-key and simple as well, with as few people involved as possible—just the three of us plus him. The others of our immediate group can be told what will be happening, but no one else. Do you agree?”

As the brigadier nodded, sucking shrilly at his empty pipe, Graham finally found voice to protest.

“But what about David?” he whispered, trying to push back the dread suspicion that he knew what was coming next. “Surely you'll want him as high priest.”

“He isn't as close to William as either of you,” Alix replied. “Besides, he'll be at sea by then—and we don't want to strain our contacts in high places by trying to get him back again so soon. No, one of you can take his place for this.”

“Gray?” the brigadier asked, raising an eyebrow.

Aware that he was on the brink of losing control, Graham shook his head and looked away, blinking back stinging tears and covering his face with one hand.

How could they even suggest it, knowing the terrible price already being asked of him? Could they not see that serving as high priest for William's initiation and sacring almost gave sanction for that other act? If he refused to acknowledge it, perhaps it would not happen. There might still be hope if he did not allow himself to think about it.

As he began to shake, aware that part of his physical reaction was spillover from the previous night, the brigadier rose and laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

“Alix, why don't you see about some fresh tea? I'd like to talk with Gray alone for a while. I'll call you when we're done.”