The Four Realms (9 page)

She looked up to a portrait on the wall, of a man with dashing good looks, sideburns and a quiff of brown hair.
 
There was a plaque on the frame but it was too dark and small to read.
 
Rofen followed her gaze.

"Ah, David Turnpike," he said.

"Turnpike?"
 
Maureen asked.
 
She recognised the name from somewhere but her thoughts were elsewhere.

"The man who brought magic to man.
 
Surely you know the story?"

Maureen shook her head, worried that if she admitted that she did, Rofen might question what else she knew that she shouldn't.

"Really?
 
That surprises me.
 
Well he was the person who started all this."
 
He waved his hand around the room.
 
"He was a Catholic missionary, one of the first to venture through from the Realm of Men."

Maureen sipped her tea and tried to look attentive.
 
At least it would take her mind off Ernest.

"He ended up the guest of the elves, where...
 
well one thing lead to another - it's not important right now - and they discovered Human males could do magic.
 
Up until then, Elves had been the only race able to do this. So... yadda yadda yadda time goes by, the elves teach him magic because they are interested in knowing what limitations, if any, man has.
 
Not everything mind, just the basics.
 
Oh, did I mention there was a war going on?"

Maureen shook her head.

"Well there was, that's important.
 
The elves and dwarves were at war, and the elves were wondering if they could drag man into the war on their side.
 
But Turnpike was just there to spread God's word - would speak to whoever was willing to listen - so when the dwarves offered to meet with him, he agreed."

"Wasn't that dangerous?" Maureen asked, a question she'd actually wondered about since first hearing the tale.

"Probably," admitted Rofen.
 
"But he was religious.
 
Probably believed in the protection of the power of God or some nonsense.
 
That's not important, the fact that he met King Larstromer is though."

Rofen stopped and took a big noisy slurp of his tea.

"So much better when it's tepid don't you think?"
 
Maureen nodded before Rofen asked, “where was I?"

"Larstromer."

"Ah, Larstromer.
 
Clever old dwarf, Larstromer.
 
You see he wanted to get man to fight for him but knew Turnpike wanted no part of the war.
 
So do you know what he did, what clever old Larstromer did?"

Before Maureen could react, he continued.
 
"He offered to convert.
 
Said his people would renounce their old gods, would embrace man's God.
 
Would give man the captured elven city Turnpike renamed New Salisbury."

"This city?" Maureen asked.

"Yes, the very same.
 
The dwarves had taken it in the war and the library was partially destroyed but enough remained so Turnpike and his men could study magic freely."

"Sounds like an offer too good to refuse."

"It was, Maureen, it was.
 
But Turnpike was a man of peace, so went back to the elves and told them all Larstromer had offered him.
 
Of course the elves were none too pleased and made their biggest mistake.
 
Do you know what their biggest mistake was?"

"No..."

"Pride.
 
They denounced man's God, insulted him in front of Turnpike, before casting him out of the city.
 
Some say there was a battle, but I think this is just fanciful storytelling.
 
Mankind didn't have a fraction of the abilities the elves have.
 
Either way, with the elves effectively proving to be heathens, and the dwarves now catholic, it brought man into the war and tipped the scales in favour of the dwarves.
 
They've never forgotten it, either."

"I thought relations with the elves had improved?"

"Oh the Friary might have broken away from the Catholic Church little over a hundred years ago, but the elves still view it as that religious organisation that stole magic from them."

"But Ernest told me...” she caught herself, stopped and carefully phrased her words.
 
"I mean, Ernest gave me the impression that there were elves in New Salisbury."
 
He had specifically been moaning about his elven neighbour and his constant habit for late night parties.

"Yes, there are elves, but they're either political or social exiles from the elven lands or spies pretending to be."

"Spies?"

"Most certainly.
 
Diplomatic relations have never been worse.
 
Probably some elf behind Ernest's death."

"But you said he was murdered in London?"

"Don't think the elves don't have human agents in your Realm, just like we have you."

Maureen certainly didn't feel like anyone's agent, but the revelation that the elves could be behind this troubled her.

"You really think so?" she asked.

"It's entirely possible.
 
We might no longer be a religious organisation, although I'll admit we do still retain the names, but the elves have a hatred of human wizards that can only be described as zealotry.
 
If you only knew half the things they're currently up to..."

He stopped mid-sentence and coughed, aware that he was maybe indulging Maureen with information he really shouldn't be imparting.

"Well anyway, the Inquisitor will be with you in the morning," he said, his tone less excited and animated.

Maureen finished her tea in silence and then stood up.

"Thank you Abbott," she said.
 
"It's late.
 
I ought to..."

"Oh yes, yes, certainly," Rofen said, slightly flustered.
 
"I always forget the time difference.
 
Stupid of me."

He stood and edged round his desk, knocking a big pile of papers off his desk in the process.
 

"Oh, one last thing."

"Yes?"

"Ernest used to carry a notebook with him."

Maureen nodded, she remembered the tatty thing well, had even offered to buy him a new one.
 
He'd refused, of course, saying that it was the notes not the condition of the notebook that was important.

"You wouldn't happen to know if he had it with him on his,” Rofen chose his words carefully, "last trip?"

Maureen thought about it for a second.
 
It bothered her that she couldn't really remember anything special about that last time she'd seen him.
 
All she could remember was that she'd told him not to stay late due to the impending snow shower but couldn't picture his reaction.
 
How terrible, she thought.
 
Her last time with Ernest and she couldn't remember it.

"I honestly don't know," she said fighting back her emotions again.
 
"He didn't always bring it with him."

"It's alright," said Rofen.
 
"I didn't mean to upset you.
 
We'll check in his home, see if we can find it there."

Maureen dabbed at her eyes.
 
Stay strong
, she told herself.
 
You can fall to pieces once you're back home, but don't do it here.
 
This isn't the proper place to grieve
.

"It's all just been a bit sudden," she said.

"Understandable," Rofen replied.
 
"I'll get Joseph to escort you back home."

Rofen opened the door to his office looked up and down the corridor outside.
 
"Joseph!
 
Joseph?" he shouted.
 
"The size of a house and he can never be found."

#

Joseph escorted Maureen back to the doorway in silence.
 
Whether he had been told, she couldn't be sure but she was too busy trying not to break down to explain things to him.
 
She hoped he would not think her rude.

However, when she got back into her cellar and closed the door, the tears were not forthcoming; almost as if her grief had remained behind in Venefasia.
 
No, that wasn't true, she told herself as she locked the door and hung up the iron key with a sigh.
 
Her grief was still there, it just wasn't ready to manifest itself yet.
 
It would hatch when it was good and ready.

She took herself off to bed, the house seeming even colder now that she'd returned. The cats greeted her at the top of the stairs.
 
They were probably hungry, she thought, but she wasn't going back downstairs to feed them.
 
She overfed them as it was, one night wouldn't kill them.

Maureen couldn't sleep that night.
 
The moonlight reflected the snow and lit up her bedroom in a strange blue glow.
 
She was paranoid, especially given how cold the house now was, that her pipes might freeze. She'd turned a tap on in the bathroom, which now splashed and gurgled, whilst the water tank refilling above tried its best to drown it out.
 
She could feel the draft coming in from her old rotting windows.
 
Wrapped up in several layers of clothes and under several blankets and quilts, she still felt frozen.
 
What kind of life was it when you had to wear a woolly hat to bed?

The thought that Ernest was gone played heavily on her mind.
 
Life somehow seemed more boring without him.
 
Today should have been a memorable day - her first day in Venefasia - but it was memorable for all the wrong reasons.
 
What use were memorable things when there was no-one to share those experiences with?
 
And who did she have now?
 
All her friends were dead.
 
She just felt she was cheating time.
 
Perhaps if the cold took her in the night it wouldn't be a bad thing.
 
No
, she flashed those thoughts out of her mind.
 
She never had been, and never would be a quitter.

She tried to focus on the Inquisitor's visit tomorrow, but found herself just getting herself all worked up that she had no milk.
 
Perhaps she could ask Sally, she thought to herself, and then quickly flushed the idiocy of that idea out of her mind.

So instead she thought of Ernest, trying to remember what the last thing they'd said to each other, and trying desperately to remember whether he had his notebook on him or not.

CHAPTER EIGHT - Homecoming

"Go on," Darwin said to Cassidy.

"What?"

"Say it."

"Say what?"

"That I'm looking a lot healthier now I've fed."

"No."

Last night's snow was already starting to melt, the traffic having turned the roads to grey sludge.
 
The rising sun cast everything in a weak golden hue.
 
Most of the pavements they now walked along had been churned enough for there to be a clear path through, but occasionally they'd come across pristine snow which Cassidy would jump in and kick around, venting her frustration.

Darwin knew he was being particularly annoying this morning, but he just couldn't help himself.
 
For the first time in ages he felt alive, his whole body bristling with an energy he didn't know how to control.
 
He could still taste the boy's blood in his mouth, a most welcome morning-after taste.
 
Why had he punished himself for so long?

He was a vampire, and no matter how much Cassidy tried to convince him he was more human, this morning's evidence proved otherwise.
 
To be fair to Cassidy, he understood her reasons why and blamed himself, and not her, for allowing himself to get in such a state.
 
But still, he couldn't help trying to wind her up.

"So are you saying I'm not looking healthier because I've fed?" he quizzed her.

"No."
 

"Ah!" he exclaimed with the finesse of a school playground.   "See!"

"You're such a dick," she huffed in retaliation.

"Am not."

"Are too."

"You just don't like being wrong," he said quite smugly.

"Darwin, he had a family!"

She's just feeling guilty
, Darwin thought.
 
She knows there was nothing she could have done to stop me, yet she still feels bad for not trying.
 
Like it would have made any difference.
 
Try as she might to be whiter than white, she was still tainted by grey like everyone else.
 
She wasn't even a proper vegetarian.

"Did you even know his name?" she asked quietly

"Gareth," Darwin said with conviction.
 
"Or Gary.
 
Or David."

Cassidy looked at him with disgust.

"OK.
 
So I don't know.
 
I was starving, Cass, he was food.
 
I'm sorry if you don't like that, but that's who I am."

Cass said nothing, standing her ground.

"I'm a vampire, Cassidy," Darwin said remorsefully.
 
"Look, I know you want me to be more, and I love that you have such faith in me... but I'm not that person.
 
I tried, I really did.
 
But look at how I was.
 
I was dying Cass.
 
You knew that.
 
That's why you didn't stop me."

That last comment looked like it particularly stung and he almost regretted it as soon as he said it.
 
Almost, but not quite.