The Book of Beasts (13 page)

Edinburgh
Present Day

The setting sun dodged in and out of the clouds, raking light across Edinburgh Castle and the historic buildings of the city's Old Town. Henrietta de Court was enjoying high tea in the Balmoral Hotel on Princes Street, at a table with a clear view across the Royal Gardens to the National Gallery of Scotland where, according to her man on the inside, the handsome and enigmatic Orion agent, Vaughn Grant, had sprinted from the gallery three hours ago, torn up a stack of parking tickets stuck to his motorcycle and roared west towards the motorway.

Henrietta expected Vaughn had gone directly to the Abbey before beginning to track her and the tapestry, which at the moment was securely stored in an old cottage she had taken on Auchinmurn.

The morning's euphoria had left her feeling dangerously giddy. Henrietta was not a woman to laugh lightly, but she smiled now, affording herself the luxury of humour. Although not quite as she had intended, this would be the catalyst for her coup; her seizure of full authority in the Council of Guardians, first in Europe and then across the rest of the world. She had more than enough confidants and collaborators in place, ready to move with speed and aggression at her command, the moment she gave it.

She signalled for the waiter with a sharp snap of her fingers.

‘More tea,' she instructed. ‘And two additional place settings. I am expecting company.'

The waiter hurried away to do her bidding. Nibbling on a ladyfinger, Henrietta recalled how she had first doubted her son when he suggested his plan to her years ago at an exhibition at the Uffizi Gallery in Florence. Malcolm's vision for the Councils was brilliant and with her contacts and abilities she knew they would be unstoppable. It was almost unforgivable that she had let Renard's weak character influence her view of her son's and for that she was truly sorry. As a child, Henrietta had worried that Malcolm would grow up to be like his father, lacking any ambition beyond the world of the islands and the limits of the Rules. Certainly Renard never had any indication that Sandie was a mere pawn in their plan for power. She doubted that he was aware of her part in all of this, even today.

Henrietta sighed and sipped her tea. Renard had been a handsome suitor, and such a delight to seduce.

The waiter set two places opposite Henrietta before exchanging her tea for a fresh pot. Once the man left, Henrietta spread strawberry jam on a warm scone, added a dollop of fresh cream and bit into its sweet softness, catching a drop of jam oozing on to her chin with her little finger. Outside, the evening traffic was clogging Princes Street. Her guests were late.

‘
Seul le coeur sait ce que le coeur veut
.' It was a favourite expression of Henrietta's mother. ‘The heart knows what the heart wants.' Despite the competition from the brooding Vaughn, Sandie had fallen deeply in love with Malcolm. It had made their plan for a union between an Animare and a Guardian almost too easy. And for that union to result in twins, and such powerful ones at that –
ça c'était la cerise sur le gâteau!
The cherry on the cake.

Of course there had been setbacks over the years – Malcolm's sudden disappearance the worst one of all. It was a betrayal Henrietta had finally coaxed out of Sir Charles, the conniving mercenary fool. Binding Malcolm was a treachery Renard and Sandie would pay for.

The waiter led her guests to the table. Henrietta licked cream from her fingers, and carefully wiped her hands on her napkin before standing and greeting her fellow conspirators.

‘It is not the way we had planned for our coup to begin,' she said, picking up the silver teapot and filling her guests' cups. ‘But the time has finally come.'

‘A toast?' inquired the handsome, green-eyed man.

‘How delicious,' said his beautiful dark-haired friend.

‘To our sons and daughters,' said the man, nodding at Henrietta as he raised his cup.

‘May you never forget imagination is the real and the eternal,' purred the woman, pushing her long ink-black hair away from her face.

Henrietta smiled at Mara and Tanan and added the final line with flair.

‘This is Hollow Earth.'

Auchinmurn Isle
The Middle Ages

‘In your time, Matt, are our kind worshipped?' asked Carik, stretching her legs out in front of the flames.

‘The opposite,' replied Matt. ‘We must keep ourselves hidden.'

‘Then things have not changed much at all,' she said, pulling off her calfskin boots and drying her feet at the fire.

Carik was right, Matt realized. For all the progress and the developments that human beings had managed to achieve, they still hadn't worked out how to handle people who were different.

There was an odd rumbling sound.

‘I'm hungry,' Matt said defensively as Solon and Carik looked at him. ‘It's been a while since I ate anything decent.'

Carik pulled her boots back on and lifted her bow from a nearby rock to look for more food. Solon followed her to the mouth of the cave. Matt concentrated on stabbing at the fire while doing his best to eavesdrop on their conversation.

‘Go to the north from here, Carik. You'll be safer away from the monastery and the monks. Matt's father is growing more powerful every minute. I can feel it.'

‘Will you be safe, Solon?'

Matt sensed Solon glancing back at him. He concentrated on tossing another log on the fire.

‘I will be fine.'

Carik ducked out into the forest, leaving Matt and Solon alone at the fire.

‘We probably could have animated a meal,' said Matt into the silence.

Solon looked at him in horror. ‘We don't use our skills for the mundane and the ordinary.'

‘But it's who we are,' said Matt, surprised at Solon's reaction.

‘Our powers are a gift from nature, from the islands themselves.' It was clear that Solon was offended. ‘To violate that gift would be dishonourable. A sin.'

Matt rolled his eyes. ‘Sometimes, you have to break rules in order to make things better for people.'

‘But what if, by breaking the rules, you cause more damage than leaving things the way they were?'

Matt thought about this. ‘I suppose that's the chance you take. When you break rules you have to be prepared to live with the consequences.'

Solon prodded the fire. ‘And are you?'

‘Am I what?'

‘Prepared to live with the consequences of your actions? Of bringing your father to this time and place and the threat he represents to your future?'

Matt concentrated on the other Animare's emotions, teasing them out from the hunger and the exhaustion. The fire spat and crackled between them. He sensed concern and anxiety. No judgement. Solon had no quarrel with Matt or his choices – poor though many of them had been.

‘I'm prepared,' said Matt.

Solon pulled his dagger from his sheath, offering it to Matt. ‘Then I will help you destroy him,' he said simply. ‘I will help you defeat your father. Take this as a gesture of my allegiance.'

The bronze hilt of Solon's dagger was etched like the wings of the white peryton. Turning the dagger over in his hands, Matt appreciated its weight. Then everything changed.

As if he was holding a tuning fork, Matt felt the dagger's reverberations ripple up his arm and across his shoulders as a cacophony of images exploded in his mind.

At first he couldn't distinguish or separate them from the conflagration of light and colour. It was as if someone had edited a bunch of film clips together, and was running them all at once at super speed in Matt's head.

One image stood out. Matt being dragged through a labyrinth of passageways and dark caves… and blood. Lots of it, leaving a trail behind him.

‘It's… it's stunning… and, uh, heavy,' he said quickly, unwilling to reveal to Solon the images he'd just seen.

‘It belongs to my master, Brother Renard. He told me it was forged from the dark deposits of Hollow Earth, and it belonged to Albion himself.'

Matt had no idea how the ancient dagger had shown what it had, but he knew it was displaying something of his future. Pressing the dagger back into Solon's hands, he looked directly at him.

‘I need to talk to your master. Right now.'

‘I'm afraid,' said Solon sadly, ‘that's not going to be easy.'

Auchinmurn Isle
Present Day

Two days after Vaughn's return from London, things began to go missing from the Abbey. Two cup-sized clay bowls from Simon's prehistoric Beaker collection. An altar triptych, kept in the sitting room, depicting the Old Testament story of Daniel in the lion's den. Two framed maps of the island and an assortment of old books.

Worried that the Abbey's perimeters had been breached by burglars, Vaughn had taken the boat out to check the islands were secure. Simon planned to walk the perimeter of the compound, to be sure that no one had broken through the animation shield.

‘I can't understand it,' said Renard in irritation, striding into the kitchen, his glasses on top of his head and holding his long white hair from his face. ‘I've lost that folder with the medieval maps I was examining in the library this morning. The one I found in the vault belonging to Duncan Fox. A bit tattered, black, ties with a leather strap?'

‘Where did you have it last?' asked Em, sitting comfortably at the kitchen table, layering chutney on to her thick toasted-cheese sandwich.

She smiled across the table at Zach, who she knew was keeping a watchful eye on her. She'd have to explain soon to Zach what she was doing, but she needed to work a few things out on her own first. She owed that much to Matt… and to Jeannie.

‘That folder was on my desk in the library this morning when I went down the driveway to fetch the post,' Renard said. ‘I swear it was.'

He marched out through the French doors and on to the patio, where he met Simon coming out of the gate from Jeannie's garden. Em watched them chat with some intensity for a few minutes. Simon shook his head and followed Renard back inside, ruffling Zach's hair as he walked past the table.

I hate it when he does that.

Aw, I think it's sweet. You're still his wee bairn.

Zach scowled at Em, who laughed and wolfed down her lunch.

'We
need
those papers,' said Renard, banging his hand down on the kitchen table emphatically. ‘Duncan Fox is the only Animare in recent history to have witnessed the opening of Hollow Earth. He is the only person who can offer us any insights about what to expect if Malcolm succeeds in his insane plan to do the same.'

‘Wouldn't it be easier to go back to 1848 and ask him ourselves?' said Em. ‘I know,' she added hurriedly as Renard reddened with anger. ‘No time travel until we have a plan, but—'

‘Emily Calder,
no buts
! We don't know enough about what time travel does to your mind, or to your body for that matter. We do it my way, or we don't do it at all!'