The Iscariot Sanction (23 page)

‘Are you honestly suggesting that we send the Queen of England into a vipers’ nest full of your degenerate monsters?’ Hardwick asked.

‘You wound me, sir, with your insults. But I shall forgive you, for they are born not of true enmity, but of superstition and ignorance.’

Hardwick’s eyes flared at the slight. ‘It is impossible. It will not be done.’

‘The treaty shall be signed by one of the royal line, Lord Hardwick,’ said Shah, confidently.

‘Or else?’ glowered Lord Hardwick.

‘Or those assurances I spoke of shall come into force, immediately. Do you have any idea how many of our loyal servants live and work in London? Do you have any notion of how tirelessly they have worked these last years? What if I were to tell you that almost a third of the etherium harvested outside the capital has passed through our hands? That a tenth of London’s supply is directly controlled by subsidiary companies owned by the Knights Iscariot? Do you have any idea what we might do with that etherium… what we have already done? I am sure Lord Cherleten can guess. I am likewise sure that your new pet, Tesla, could think of all manner of destructive uses for the wrong type of etherium thrust into the vein of the wrong arm.’ Shah threw a quick glance at Arthur.

‘You would not dare…’ Lord Hardwick did not sound so sure of himself any more.

‘Have I not already explained, Lord Hardwick, that we do not fear the Riftborn? I offer a great opportunity for you to share power with the Knights Iscariot, and heal this world together. The alternative, of course, is for us to rule alone.’

‘Alone with no food source,’ Cherleten said.

Shah shrugged his narrow shoulders. ‘None near the epicentre of the catastrophe that would ensue,’ he said. ‘Believe me when I tell you that we have no desire to rule a world of ash and brimstone, where we are forced to be masters to a slave-race that used to call itself humanity. That is a vision I know has been visited upon many Majestics since the Awakening. It is the undeniable truth of what will happen should the Rifts expand and the Other walk abroad freely. It is an outcome that can be prevented by accepting our offer. I doubt very much any of you noble lords would knowingly allow such a terrible thing to befall your beloved country.’

‘We would barely have a country left,’ said Sir Toby. ‘You would hold us to ransom.’

‘No. I would persuade you to see reason. And now that my cards are on the table, as you Englishmen say, I must have your answer. I am sure you understand that I cannot wait for ever—dawn approaches, and the journey ahead is a long one.’

There was a moment’s silence. Then Prince Leopold spoke, his firmness somehow reassuring.

‘My mother will not sign your treaty, nor will she set foot in Scarrowfall.’

Someone at the back of the room gasped. Sir Toby and Lord Hardwick looked askance at the prince as though they had already decided that compliance was the best way forward. That surprised Lillian, and she liked the prince more by the second.

‘Dear prince,’ said Shah, ‘I pray that you reconsider—’

‘There is nothing to reconsider. My mother the Queen shall not treat with your masters. But I will. I will speak in her stead, and have no doubt that my words will be her words, and as binding as any that she would speak.’

‘Your Royal Highness, I urge you—’ Cross protested, but the prince raised a hand, and the Home Secretary was at once silenced. Shah studied the prince’s resolute face. Lillian held her breath. She had thought the prince at first stubborn and rash, and had admired him for it. Now, it seemed he was instead brave, and noble—though Lillian had thought that a fight was inevitable, perhaps the Knights Iscariot’s threat was too grave. Leopold would shoulder the burden of ignominy rather than put his mother in harm’s way. Would she do the same for her father? She was ashamed when she realised, truthfully, that she likely would not.

‘It seems the prince has made up his mind,’ Shah said.

‘Wait!’ The command was imperious, gruff and rumbling. Lillian’s father got to his feet. ‘His Royal Highness speaks for the Queen, but it was Her Majesty who requested that I be made Minister for Defence of this nation, and protector of her interests—and of her family. I would offer a counter proposal.’

‘Do go on, my lord,’ said Shah.

‘His Royal Highness the prince shall meet your people on neutral ground. Aboard the royal train—while it is in motion. You shall come aboard when the train reaches Yorkshire and say your piece, and have until it reaches the Scottish border to come to an accord. If your talks are not concluded within that time, then we will all see what happens next, will we not?’

There was moment’s silence. Shah cocked his head like a nanny bemused by a precocious charge. Leopold raised a thin eyebrow, and Lillian fancied she saw him stifle a smile.

‘Do you find this satisfactory?’ Prince Leopold asked, breaking the awkward silence.

Shah seemed to consider for a moment, before finally bowing lower than ever. ‘More than satisfactory,’ he said. He straightened. ‘We have an accord, gentleman—the bargain is struck. I shall take my leave of you immediately, with your permission, and with God’s speed, I shall inform my master Lord de Montfort of your decision before morning.’

‘But there are still details to discuss, a great many details,’ the Home Secretary spluttered.

‘I will send a messenger to you tomorrow to discuss the formalities,’ said Shah. ‘I have only two stipulations, mere trifles, which Lord de Montfort has bade me communicate to you all. The first is that a certain agent of Apollo Lycea, one Lillian Hardwick, is to accompany the royal delegation. Lord de Montfort is eager to make her acquaintance. The second is that the good lady’s brother, one Lieutenant Hardwick, for transgressions made personally against my lord, is not to set foot in the north, on pain of death.’

Lord Hardwick began to turn the colour of an angry bruise, and his large hands clenched into fists. Lillian was uncertain whether he was angry about her, or John, or both. More likely it was neither, and that he was apoplectic only because his family name had been drawn into this affair. Sir Toby, on the other hand, nodded grimly.

‘When do you expect you will be ready to greet His Royal Highness’s delegation?’ he asked.

‘Soon—three days hence.’

‘Three days… That gives us no time!’

‘Time? What time do you require, when the outcome is already assured? Gentleman—and lady,’ he said, glancing once more at Lillian, ‘I bid you good night. When next we meet, I trust it shall be as friends.’

Lillian only scowled, an expression as etched upon her face as the vampire’s grin. With that, and with objections still being vocalised within the room, Shah took the hand of his strange companion, and turned away from the stunned dignitaries. Only when the doors had closed behind him did the true discussions begin. The formulation of a plan to topple the Knights Iscariot.

The royal train was seldom used, and when it was its movements were a closely guarded state secret. It was nine carriages long, each one gleaming black and adorned with discreet painted livery, appointed with fitting finery for the British monarchy. It was armed and armoured, from the indomitable war-engine to the triple-layered glass windows of the sleeping cars. The rearmost carriage held a garrison of ten soldiers drawn from the prince’s household guard, who made the total crew complement of the train—sans royalty—thirty-nine.

From her private booth in the guest car, Lillian gazed through the reinforced window at the sky beyond, which was already paling to a hazy orange as they neared the Midlands. They were far from the largest conurbations, which attracted the baleful energies of the Rift. She mused on the fact that her father had kept her assignments largely domestic, especially since her ill-fated mission in Paris. She had spent more hours travelling these last few days than she had for the whole of the previous six months, confined as she had been to the Home Counties. Still, there were worse ways to travel—this was a world apart from the bumpy ride of Selby’s coach. The royal train was both mobile fortress and luxury hotel on rolling stock, forging through the blasted expanse of the countryside on rails cleared in advance of humble passenger and freight cars. It did not stop except by royal decree, and so they would rumble on for nearly two more hours until Hull, where the enemy delegation would come aboard. From there, the train would take the less-used lines along the east coast and across the North York Moors, travelling on to Edinburgh uninterrupted. This would give the Knights Iscariot more than four hours to make their case, by which time, Prince Leopold had ordered, the negotiations would be concluded for good or ill.

The thought of it made Lillian’s skin crawl; these creatures, these murderers, were to treat with the prince. She scowled, and checked her weapons. A pistol was concealed within her dress, along with a belt of ammunition, both standard and etheric. A derringer was hidden up her right sleeve, a slender knife within her left boot. Only one gun was on show—a snub-nosed Webley at her breast holster, which she was not usually permitted to carry openly. ‘Unladylike, and liable to provoke trouble,’ her father had said. She checked herself in the mirror of her compartment once more, and tied up her hair into a chignon of sorts, slipping an eight-inch, razor-sharp hairpin into position to complete her arsenal. She had been commanded—more than once—to avoid confrontation with the northern delegates. But Lillian never went unprepared for any eventuality. Moreover, she never went unprepared for a fight.

She looked at herself carefully in the mirror. Though she was weary, and troubled, she had managed to conceal it well—the rings beneath her eyes and the tired complexion were hidden at least as well as the weaponry she carried. But there was something more, something that all the powders and lotions in the world could not disguise. There was a shadow about her—she could almost see it coalescing around her reflection. Every mile the train travelled was accompanied by swelling fear in her breast and, more than that, a tingling sense of anticipation. She would meet de Montfort today. She felt she knew him intimately; that she would recognise him instantly. What she could not say, what she had not said, was that she was not wholly anxious about the meeting, but curious, and even a little thrilled. Lillian buried these feelings deep, for she thought they were not born of her own psyche, but of some residual suggestion placed within her mind by the Majestic.

There came a soft knock at her door.

‘Enter.’ Lillian turned away from the mirror, confident that her array of deadly weapons was masterfully concealed. She almost looked the lady her mother wanted her to be.

Arthur entered the carriage, took one look at her and said, ‘Really Lillian, we’re on a diplomatic mission. Must you really carry the weight of London’s ordnance on your person?’

Lillian tried to stifle a laugh, and put her hand over her mouth.

‘You shouldn’t use your powers on your friends, Arthur,’ she said. ‘That is not very gentlemanly.’

‘Nonsense,’ Arthur said. ‘I require no second sight to know your ways, Agent Hardwick—merely simple deduction. The only time you ever wear a bustle is to conceal a gun belt.’

Lillian smiled, and stood to face him. ‘Then it’s for the good that our guests do not know me half so well as you.’ She reached out and straightened his cravat. ‘You really must learn to dress yourself without the aid of Jenkins.’

In the confines of the compartment, they stood close. Lillian fancied Sir Arthur reddened a little around the collar.

‘I, um… I came to say that they’re serving tea in five minutes. I believe the prince will be joining us—be rude not to show.’

Lillian held Arthur’s gaze for a second longer than was proper, before turning away. ‘I will be there shortly, thank you,’ she said.

Sir Arthur nodded, hesitated, and then left.

Lillian sighed. She chided herself for playing games—whatever was between her and Sir Arthur was in the past. A missed opportunity; a forgotten moment. If it were not for her father’s unwarranted rebuke, and her brother’s patronising warnings, then the past was where these feelings would remain. But as in all things, Lillian could not help but rebel. She often disliked herself for it. But she did it regardless.

* * *

‘Not long now, chaps, and we’ll be in the north,’ the prince said, as the train clattered between the ironworks of the Erewash. ‘“The north”,’ he added. ‘Honestly, people talk about the bit of the kingdom north of the Humber as though it’s another country. It’s not like anyone’s thrown up a bally great wall or anything, eh?’

Lillian sat taking tea with a group of gentlemen, who all seemed as comfortable in the train carriage as they would have been at Clarence House. The train was furnished with plush carpets, settees, mahogany tables and crystal chandeliers. It was warm, having none of the customary draughts that characterised normal passenger coaches. It smelled now of brewing tea, Turkish tobacco and warm buttered teacakes. Comforts of home that were singularly out of place given the nature of the mission.