Rise of the Fey (39 page)

“Our turn should be next,” Hadrian says as the door to the audience room opens.

“You’ve obviously never been ‘ere before,” Percy says with a yawn. “It ain’t a first come, first serve kinda dealio, Sparky. We depend upon the Board’s good graces and how well-intentioned they are towards our cause.”

Hadrian’s face clouds over. Ever since he voiced his disapproval of Blanchefleur yesterday, Percy has made it a point to contradict him about everything.

“But that means we could be here for ages then!” I say, tired of waiting in the massive antechamber.

Percy casts Arthur a tentative look. “Could be,” he says. “Dependin’ on how successful some of us have been at gerrymanderin’
³⁴
.”

Keva gives me a look heavy with meaning and I know she’s thinking about Luther’s latest activities against the Board President.

“Lady Tanya,” the usher cries.

“Right here,” the woman from yesterday says.

She trots over to the usher as a pair of guards exits, half-carrying, half-dragging a man between them.

“I want my bodies back!” the man yells, trying to free himself from the burly men holding him.

The two guards toss the smaller man unceremoniously to the floor and he falls face-first before Lady Tanya. The woman clucks her tongue in obvious disapproval then waddles her way around him. Before the doors can close on her, however, the man springs back to his feet and tries to follow her inside the auditorium. But the guards, anticipating his move, block his way and the doors close shut.

“What do I tell their parents, then?” the man keeps yelling. “That some freak organization’s stolen their children’s bodies and won’t return them?”

I go still as the man finally turns around and reaches for a pack of cigarettes. As if sensing he’s being watched, his eyes lift to meet mine and his cigarette drops from his lips.

“You,” he whispers harshly.

I instinctively recoil from the man, shocked out of my wits. It’s the inspector who tried to convict me of Agnès’s murder, the one who vowed to put me behind bars no matter what.

The inspector crosses the carpeted room over to me, stomping on his unlit cigarette, his eyes never leaving my face.

But before he can reach me, Arthur cuts him off. “Sir, your hearing is over, you need to leave,” he says.

“I’ve got nothing to say to you, young man,” the inspector says, and even from around Arthur I can smell the insidious stench of stale tobacco coming from him. “It’s
her
I want.”

“I didn’t do it,” I say, the words I repeated so many times during my interrogation, what feels like oh-so-long-ago, automatically coming back to me.

The inspector barks out a laugh. “That’s what they all say,” he spits. “Yet they’re all guilty, and right enough, here you are.”

The inspector looks around the room, taking in the rich tapestries, the salamander-powered lamps hanging on the walls, the crowd of strangely dressed people.

“You’re some kind of secret organization, that much I can tell,” he says. “What is it? Freemasons? Illuminati? Opus Dei, perhaps? What?”

Arthur motions to someone by the exit and another guard hurries over to grab the inspector by the arm and steer him away from us.

“Come, Inspector Bossart,” the guard says. “Your appointment time is over.”

“They can try to protect you all they want,” the inspector shouts over his shoulder at me, “but I will find the missing link between your classmate’s murder and the latest killings. And then it won’t matter where you hide, I will get you!”

The antechamber’s door closes against the vociferating inspector, muffling his grating voice, and I let out a small sigh of relief.

“What was all the fuss about?” Percy asks at once.

“Nothing,” I mutter, playing with the tassels of the golden drapes that hang about one of the wall’s many half-columns.

“Don’t let that liar fool you,” a silvery voice says that makes every single hair on my body stand up.

“Not now, Jennifer,” Arthur says crossly.

“Not
what
now, Arthur dear?” Jennifer replies. “I’m just stating a fact. That tramp was accused of murder earlier this year, that is how Inspector Bossart and she are acquainted.”

“You forget she was acquitted,” Arthur replies.

“From lack of proper evidence,” Jennifer says, “not because she’d didn’t do it.”

“Heard it was another black-vein murder,” Percy says, cleaning his ear on his little finger, “an’ we all know who the perp is. So why dontcha stop blamin’ the innocent?”

“What are you doing here?” Arthur asks Jennifer before she can round on Percy. “I thought you were supposed to be… resting.”

Jennifer’s perfectly manicured eyebrows lower over her pale blue eyes, but she quickly breaks into a smile. “What better way to rest than by breathing in the Alps’ fresh air every day?”

“She’s not carrying a gun, is she?” I mouthe soundlessly to Keva.

Keva shrugs, but she does take a precautionary step away from me. A tall boy, who appears to be Jennifer’s new squire, smirks at me.

“She doesn’t need a gun to take you down, half-breed,” he says.

“Ya know,” Percy says, prowling around the young squire, “it’s better to keep your mouth shut an’ look stupid than to open it an’ prove it.”

The squire clenches his jaw shut as Percy stops in front of him, daring him to fight.

“Not now, Urien,” Jennifer says with a tender smile that makes the boy blush. “Let us try to remain civil. After all, I came here to show a unified front with Arthur so that his request might be better received.”

She slips her arm through Arthur’s, and his lips thin out in displeasure, but he doesn’t push her away.

I flex my fingers, feeling my powers awaken in the pit of my stomach like a lion stretching, ready in case Jennifer goes psycho killer on me again.

“Morgan?” a jovial voice calls out.

I see Jennifer’s features sour and I quickly turn around, eager to find out who can have that effect on her. I watch a stocky, nervous man draw near, so intent upon curtsying to us with every step that he nearly runs Jennifer down.

“I beg your pardon, Your Ladyship,” the man says, and at last I recognize Sir Neil, Bri’s father. His smile widens at my sight. “A pleasure to see you here, Your Grace,” he says to me, bowing so low that I can see the balding spot at the top of his cranium.

“You think he’s gonna break in two with all that genuflecting?” Keva whispers to me.

As Arthur and the others bow slightly to the newcomer, I realize that Sir Neil isn’t alone.

“Sir Pelles,” Bri’s father says, “I believe you are already acquainted with our little prodigy, Morgan?”

My mouth drops open as the High Judge nods in my direction, his arm wrapped in a sling from the latest attack on the school.

“I’ve been telling Sir Pelles about your prowess on the field,” Sir Neil says.

“Sir?” I ask, confused. The only accomplishment I can take credit for is bringing people to the brink of death.

“Yes, yes,” sir Neil insists, getting more excited. “I told him about how you’ve managed to repel several knights’ attacks during practice. Really magnificent, inspiring even!”

I blanch as I recall the incident he’s referring to. Somehow, the fact that I almost pulverized Agravain to bits has been completely overlooked.

“So I’ve heard,” Sir Pelles says, eyeing me carefully.

“It shows she’s inherited her father’s superior genes, don’t you think?” Sir Neil asks the High Judge. “Gorlois was quite the prodigy himself, you know. More so than, dare I say, young Pendragon here”—he laughs as if he’s just made a great joke—“although you, Sir Arthur, did get the KORT Presidency at a younger age. But you can’t deny that Gorlois had vision, and he knew not to let those with power and money sway his way of seeing things.”

Despite Arthur’s unhappy look, I feel myself blush with pleasure at the warm words directed towards my father—the first truly kind words I’ve ever heard.

The auditorium doors suddenly burst open again and Lady Tanya walks out.

“Sir Arthur!” the usher calls.

At last.

Arthur gives Sir Neil and Sir Pelles a tight smile. “Please excuse us,” he says.

“Of course, of course,” Sir Neil says boisterously. He then takes my hand and shakes it vigorously. “It was a pleasure, as always.”

As the two older men follow Lady Tanya outside, Jennifer tuts disparagingly. “It’s a shame to see how much some will grovel in a vain attempt to climb the ranks,” she says. “If only they knew how pitiful their pandering makes them.”

Arthur turns towards me, Jennifer still firmly latched onto him like a drowning man to a buoy.

“Watch yourself,” he says in a low voice.

I do my best to keep a straight face as Arthur finally lets Jennifer pull him away, then look down at the folded piece of paper Sir Neil’s left in my hand and pocket it away.

The auditorium is smaller than I’d expected, and certainly darker, with most of the lights focused on the center of the floor where the podium stands. I’d expected to see all a hundred and fifty Board members, but only a dozen of them seem to be present, sitting in a double row on a raised dais at the back of the room.

Front and center is Luther, his dark eyes unblinking over his hooked nose as he watches his son walk up to the podium.

When Arthur’s reached the central platform, the round-faced man seated right above Luther clears his throat. “We are ready to hear your petition,” he says, his loose jowls quivering with every word. “Please state your name and occupation.”

“Sir Arthur Pendragon, President of KORT at Lake High,” Arthur says.

“Very well,” the man says with a slow nod that makes his chin disappear into the folds of fat that have replaced his neck. “Proceed.”

“I am here to request several things, Your Honors,” Arthur starts. “You are all aware of the devastating results we’ve experienced from the latest attacks on Lake High, the last of which also saw the loss of the Sangraal to Carman’s forces. And though we have made a breakthrough in our research to rebuild our school’s defenses, we are still extremely vulnerable. I therefore humbly request for more troops to be sent to Lake High until such time as our wards are back up in full force.”

“Our armies are stretched thin as it is,” the man at the head of the hearing says. “Not only do we have to repair whatever damage Carman and her minions have wrought, but more and more Fey are joining her ranks, as evidenced by the increasing number of crop circles popping up around the world. So where do you expect I find these spare men?”

“There are many knights who went into retirement that could be called back,” Arthur replies.

“And how would we pay for them?” Luther asks in a clipped tone.

“We would have to draw from our personal funds,” Arthur says. “Isn’t that what we’ve been preparing for all these centuries?”

“Do you know how much troops cost?” Luther asks. “There are the knights, their families, their squires and pages, and all the laborers have to be added to the count as well: Blacksmiths, doctors, cooks, horses, stablemen…. These people also have to be fed and clothed, so you see, it’s not just troops you’re asking for, Arthur, it’s a whole town! We do not have unlimited funds. So the answer to that request is no.”

Arthur’s clear voice rings out in the auditorium again, “Then I would like you to consider training some laymen’s troops to fight against the Fey.”

“That is preposterous!” a woman’s voice exclaims.

My ears prick at the familiar rebuttal and I look more closely at the bench of judges. The shadow next to Luther leans forward and I gasp.

“We all know what happened the last time we tried to include laymen in our designs,” Sister Marie-Clémence says. “At first it may seem like a great idea, but what happens once the Fey are defeated? They turn against us, that’s what happens.”

I straighten up in my seat at the iron in her voice, as if I’m back in my old school getting scolded once again. I shake my
head, my brain unable to process the idea that the dry old nun has been a Board member all along.

“The alternative is much darker,” Arthur says. “Carman could lay waste to most of the human race before we find a way to neutralize her.” He pauses. “If we can even achieve such a task.”

“Of course we can,” the presiding judge says with a jovial laugh that makes my flesh break out in goose bumps, “we’ve done it before, haven’t we? And my daughter’s told me much of your young knights’ many accomplishments.”

My gaze slides over to Jennifer, seated on the opposite side of the doors from me. She seems to be radiating with pride. I look back at the jowly man then back at her again, and it hits me: That must be Sir Leo de Lyonesse, Jennifer’s father. Then another thought strikes me—wouldn’t it be great if she’d inherit her father’s flaccid cheeks when she grows older, maybe in another couple of years’ time?

“Only if we can replicate what was done before,” Arthur says. “But, as our research has uncovered, we weren’t alone in facing the witch the first time, which brings me to my second request: I hereby petition for the reestablishment of our alliance with the Fey.”

A heavy silence descends upon the assembly punctured only by Sister Marie-Clémence’s outburst, “Heresy! We will never ally ourselves with the very demons we’re trying to bring down!”