The Iscariot Sanction (19 page)

‘What shall we do with him?’ Lillian wondered aloud, half to herself. She had come to the wreckage with murder in mind, but she had not the stomach for that now.

‘Innocent or no,’ John said, ‘he is not our concern. The Knights Iscariot know where we are—we must at least get to the safe-house before any more come for us, and return to London at first light. If all these stories are to be believed, further travel by night would be folly.’

‘I’m not sure how safe this “safe-house” shall be, judging by their strength and tenacity.’

‘Then we’ll have to pray that there are no more to come. The Knights Iscariot are a power in the north, but not here. If they had more creatures to spare, perhaps they would have sent them already, but do you really want to take that chance?’

Lillian looked into the pleading eyes of the coach driver. ‘You are right,’ she said to John, the words sticking in her throat. ‘We leave him. Let’s go’.

When Lillian Hardwick entered the marble hall of the Apollonian, it was all Arthur could do not to rush to her, take her hand, and declare his relief that she was well. Yet above him, looking down from the upper balcony, was her father. And so even as Lillian made to greet him with utmost familiarity, and with a twinkle in her eye, Sir Arthur Furnival stepped towards her, cutting short her approach and bowing to her brother and their companion before greeting Lillian.

‘Lieutenant; Agent Hardwick. I am most pleased to see you returned safely.’

‘Really, Arthur, there’s no need to be—’ She stopped short. She peered over Arthur’s shoulder, up towards the balcony. The briefest scowl crossed her features, and she said only, ‘Your concern is appreciated, Sir Arthur. We suffered some minor inconvenience on the road, but nothing to worry about. May I introduce Mr. Tesla, of Serbia.’

Arthur was unsure how to respond—as was so often the case, he could not tell if Lillian was cross with him, with her father, both of them, or neither. If only his powers gave him more of an insight into the workings of the female mind. He extended a hand to the stranger and said, ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Tesla. I hope your journey was a pleasant one.’

‘It was not,’ replied Tesla, ignoring Arthur’s hand. The man’s mind was clearly elsewhere. He craned back his head and spun slowly on the spot, gazing in childlike wonder at the great domed skylight that cast the white marble hall in a pinkish hue. Tesla’s eyes flittered around the great hall briefly, before finally alighting upon the man before him. ‘But it could have been worse. You are a Majestic, no?’

‘I… yes…’ replied Arthur, puzzled.

‘I can always tell.’ Tesla smiled proudly. ‘You have the look of men from ghost stories,’ he explained. ‘Except you carry the ghosts with you always.’

‘Please, won’t you come this way,’ Arthur said, changing the subject hastily. He held out his hand in the direction of the stairs.

‘We are to meet Lord Cherleten,’ Lillian said. ‘I expect he will be in the armoury.’

‘I am afraid not, Agent Hardwick,’ Arthur replied, hiding his dismay at the coolness that had come between them masterfully, thanks to a lifetime in high society. ‘Lord Cherleten is waiting upstairs with Sir Toby… and Lord Hardwick.’

Lillian said nothing, but simply strode past Arthur, not even looking him in the eye, and Tesla followed. As John passed Arthur, he winked.

‘Don’t worry, old boy. I’m sure she won’t be cross with you for ever.’

With the little entourage shepherded towards the waiting Lord Hardwick, and the loud clicking of Lillian’s heels echoing through the hall, Arthur followed suit, not entirely sure why Lillian should be cross with him at all; a feeling he was somewhat accustomed to.

* * *

John was tired, and utterly famished. He sat as straight-backed as he could, and tried to look attentive whilst his father, Sir Toby and Cherleten took it in turns to question Tesla, but in truth he was exhausted. Lillian appeared fully engaged with the proceedings, despite their father’s rebarbative disposition towards them both, and he had no idea how she managed it.

They had spent a restless night in the safe-house at Liphook, which had become a veritable fortress when the landlord heard that agents of the Crown were in danger. Lillian’s sleep had been fitful, and John had elected not to wake her for a turn on watch duty, instead maintaining a vigil over her, terrified that the mysterious Knights Iscariot had managed to take some control over his sister. He had not seen her in such a feverish state since her bout of pneumonia many years prior, and it pained him to see her so again. Upon their return to London, John had insisted on looking after Tesla while Lillian went home to dress as propriety dictated for the debriefing. He had half expected her to slap his face at this suggestion, but instead she had acquiesced. The truth of it was she was not herself, and John only hoped that her thoughts could not really betray them to the enemy. More than that, he had already told her all he knew about their father’s secret work—it was not much, but it was more than anyone should know. He felt sick that, through his beloved sister, he might have inadvertently betrayed their father. But he had to believe Lillian; if she said she was over the worst of it, then he would trust her.

There had been no further attacks—if the monsters had come for them, they had decided against assailing the safe-house, with no easy ingress and armed men within. Or perhaps they had some other reason for allowing the agents to escape. It was now well past three in the afternoon; they had lost an entire night boarded up in a roadside inn far from their destination, sleeping in a single room like fugitives.

‘Lieutenant? Are you paying attention?’

John snapped to his senses when he realised that Sir Toby’s eyes were upon him. ‘Yes, Sir Toby. Sorry, sir.’

‘You have first-hand experience of Mr. Tesla’s weaponry—do you believe it to be effective against the… vampires?’

‘
Wampyr
,’ Tesla corrected, though no one paid him any heed.

‘Is it more effective, or can we afford to delay its development a while longer?’

‘I’m sure I’m not qualified to offer an opinion, Sir Toby,’ John said. Though he hadn’t been listening, he was sure that Sir Toby was playing peacemaker between his father and Lord Cherleten, as usual, and John would really rather not take sides in that particular spat.

‘Yes, the weapon is effective,’ Lillian said. She had not been asked directly, but since when had that ever stopped her speaking up?

‘Go on,’ Sir Toby prompted. The old man often encouraged Lillian; John was glad of it, most of the time. At other times he’d rather Lillian kept her head below the parapet rather than risk their father’s ire, which only ever added to their poor mother’s burden.

‘The creatures, be they vam—
wampyr
—or no, are strong and fast, though susceptible to mortal wounds to the head. Little else seems to hinder them—even the loss of a limb only slows them for a time. Mr. Tesla’s weapon not only killed one of the creatures outright, but caused sufficient collateral damage to bring their pursuit to a halt. In short, a single shot from such a weapon did more than a sustained assault by Lieutenant Hardwick and myself.’

Sir Toby looked thoughtful.

‘And this “collateral damage”,’ Lord Hardwick said, his voice lowering to a growl as he became more displeased. ‘Is it worth the risk of discharging the weapon in less favourable battlefield conditions? When innocent lives may be at stake?’

‘A simple modification is all that will be required,’ Tesla said, unaware of the glare he drew for his interruption. ‘I could not create a focusing array with the materials I had aboard ship. With your assistance I am sure the Mark II Tesla pistol shall be much more precise.’

‘There you have it, Hardwick,’ Lord Cherleten said, a self-satisfied smile accompanying his overly familiar address. ‘Your secret project will have to wait. The Riftborn increase in power daily, it is true, but the Knights Iscariot are the more immediate threat—and a global threat, too, if Mr. Tesla’s story is accurate. They are organised, powerful, and according to Smythe’s initial assessment, they have transformed the north of England into a lawless waste right under our noses. Do not fear, you can have Mr. Tesla back for your “great work” soon enough. A few weeks in the armoury should be sufficient for a man of his talents.’ He spoke as if the argument were already won. John could scarcely believe that his sister’s testimony had swung the argument in Cherleten’s favour. If it truly had, John made a mental note to steer well clear of his father for a while, as the old dragon would be like a bear with a sore head for the foreseeable future.

‘Of course, we are lucky indeed that Mr. Tesla brought his talents to London at all,’ Lord Hardwick said, throwing an accusatory look in the direction of his offspring. ‘It appears he saved himself, in the end, by virtue of his genius.’

‘Come now, Lord Hardwick,’ Sir Toby said, ‘they acquitted themselves as well as could be expected, given the circumstances.’

‘We almost lost Mr. Tesla, and it was not superior intelligence that alerted the enemy to their position.’ Lord Hardwick turned and fixed his daughter with an icy stare. ‘Within these walls, with the Nightwatch on hand, I would wager we are safe from the predations of the Knights Iscariot. But otherwise it would appear that you draw them like moths to a flame, and for how long this breach of security will be manifest is unknown.’

‘I… it is passed. I am certain. It is all to do with this blasted wound. But it heals by the day, and I have felt no further adverse effects.’ Lillian faltered, and reddened.

‘We have nothing but your intuition for that,’ he replied. ‘An advantage that you have over your male counterparts, perhaps, but not enough to stake the safety of our prized assets upon.’

‘If I may speak,’ Tesla interrupted again, helping himself to a biscuit from a nearby plate. ‘In my experience, the influence of a Majestic wanes over time. It is a battle of wills, which the lady seems well equipped to win.’ For a second, Tesla averted his eyes bashfully, and shoved the biscuit whole into his mouth.

What is it about my little sister that makes such asses of men?
John mused.

Sir Toby and the two lords looked first at Tesla, then at Lillian. Cherleten spoke first.

‘Agent Hardwick is likely correct in believing that her wound is the cause of her lapse in mental defences. From my studies, I would say it was possible, although I have never seen it in practice. But then, this de Montfort is a most unusual foe. That cabman—Dresden, was it? When my people delved into his thoughts, they found residual psychic controls in place that prevented the man from revealing de Montfort’s true designs. I have never seen anything quite like it. A truly remarkable—’

‘What do you suggest, Lord Cherleten?’ Lord Hardwick interrupted.

‘Get that wound healed. Have Agent Hardwick observed by the Nightwatch.’

Lord Hardwick nodded and spoke curtly. ‘This is what I think too. You are dismissed, Agent Hardwick. We may have made a grave mistake in admitting you to this meeting at all, and we shall not discuss concrete plans until we are certain you are free from the enemy’s influence. When you leave here you will submit yourself for examination by the Nightwatch before undertaking any further duties.’

‘Now, let’s not be hasty!’ Sir Arthur spoke up.

‘I hardly think—’ Lillian started.

‘Do I make myself clear?’ Lord Hardwick snapped, silencing them both.

Lillian ignored Arthur, and instead looked to John for support, but he could offer little; instead he nodded at her, urging her to comply.

‘Perfectly clear… Father,’ she said.

John wondered if their father had a point, although he had never known any Majestic to exert such power over another across great distance. And through a simple wound? The suggestion was ludicrous—that one creature could transmit some psychic force to another being through a scratch, as if it were some contagion?

Lillian stood. ‘Gentlemen,’ she said. With that, she turned and made for the door without another word.

Their father was unreadable, as ever. Sir Arthur cast his eyes downwards, jaw tensing and fists clenched by his sides. John watched his sister, wondering whether there was time to say something. He did not have to. Lillian barely made it through the great polished doors when she stepped back sharply. A man blocked her path, flustered and breathless. He stopped only to apologise, before darting into the room. It was Carrington, the club secretary. John had barely recognised the man, such was his unusually troubled demeanour.

‘Carrington?’ Sir Toby said, worry creeping into his tone.

‘Sir Toby, my lords, gentlemen… madam; please forgive this most improper intrusion,’ Carrington said, wringing his hands, ‘but this is a most improper occurrence. I must ask you all to come with me at once, for this is a matter for your most urgent attention.’

John looked past the forlorn figure of Carrington at his sister, who stood in the doorway, a look of grave anticipation etched on her face. They all rose, and followed Carrington out, past Lillian, who fell in behind like a soldier. Her banishment was, for the moment, forgotten; John had a grim feeling that every agent would be needed for whatever lay ahead.

* * *

Arthur did not need to see the scene with his own eyes. He sensed death; it was redolent in the air, in the motes of spirit-light that spiralled from the great glass dome above them and down between the elegant columns that lined the marble hall. He assembled with the others on the balcony all the same, and peered down.

In the centre of the hall was a box, a square parcel. Around it, in a wide circle, grey-haired clubmen gathered nervously, unsure what to make of this intrusion into their sanctuary. From the box, a dark pool of liquid seeped like oil, washing the polished marble floor a deep red-black as it ebbed outwards.

No one spoke—not the old clubmen below, nor the Apollonian luminaries assembled beside Arthur. Carrington mopped his brow with his handkerchief, before handing a letter to Sir Toby.