The Iscariot Sanction (24 page)

‘The Knights Iscariot are little more than degenerates, Your Royal Highness, and impudent ones at that,’ said Sir Robert Collins. The man was not much older than Sir Arthur, with prematurely greying hair, but he had already secured a position as comptroller of the prince’s household. He always seemed to know the right thing to say, except to Lillian, for whom he appeared to reserve only a casual sneer and disapproving glance. She had taken an instant dislike to the man, for it seemed that his quips and apparent wisdom were a thin veneer for the jingoism and conservatism within. There was nothing they could say about the Knights Iscariot that Collins would not dismiss with some jibe about the ‘whiff of the foreigner’ or the ‘half-witted scheme of the diseased imbecile’. Lillian hoped that, when the time arose, he would not so brazenly underestimate the enemy.

‘Quite,’ said the prince, reclining on a plush settee. ‘And yet, there’s already a strange feeling in the air, don’t you agree? It is like we have all been blind to the goings-on in the north, as though whatever strange spell the Valayar creature worked on us at the Apollonian has somehow been performed
en masse
, disguising the workings of the Knights Iscariot while they strengthened their position. What do you think, Sir Arthur? Could this be the work of a Majestic?’

Arthur had not been expecting the question, and set down his teacup quickly, dabbing his small moustache with a napkin to afford himself a little thinking time. Even a baronet could not speak entirely freely in the presence of a prince.

‘It cannot be ruled out, Your Royal Highness,’ he said. ‘Although I would grant that one Majestic would be incapable of such a feat. Even the whole of the Nightwatch combined could not befuddle half the nation.’

‘Or so you believe,’ said Collins. ‘I mean, how would any of us know?’ He let out a thin laugh at his own joke, which everyone was impelled to copy when the prince laughed out loud. ‘If it is not Majestics at work,’ Collins asked, addressing the whole carriage even though his question was clearly intended for Arthur, ‘then what? Some devilish power born of the Rift? The hypnotic gaze of the legendary “vampires”.’ He chuckled again. Arthur was about to answer, but Lillian stepped in first.

‘We have no evidence that they possess any such powers,’ she said. ‘In fact, I would say it is more likely that they have friends in high places, who have helped obfuscate their plot.’

Collins stared at Lillian as though a servant had just addressed him unbidden. ‘Friends in high places? You mean, in government?’

Lillian ignored Arthur’s imploring expression, and took the bait. ‘Who else could exert sufficient influence?’ she asked. ‘We have evidence that this Lord de Montfort has visited London on—’

‘My dear lady,’ said Collins, raising his voice to cut her short, ‘you venture dangerously into the realm of politics, a subject that no woman other than Her Majesty the Queen has ever sufficiently grasped. To have such self-destructive corruption within the hallowed chambers of Whitehall would be unthinkable, leaving it the least likely of the options we have discussed. Now, humour me… I understand that your father has given you a position within Apollo Lycea, but why would you feel qualified to make such assumptions about these Knights Iscariot?’

All eyes were on her now—the prince, Arthur, Collins, the two diplomats, the three guards at the door, even the servants.

‘Because,’ she said, allowing her indignation to grant her courage, ‘I have killed more of them than any man on this train.’

There was silence. A brief glower crossed Collins’ features, but he had no time for further witticisms at Lillian’s expense before the prince clapped his hands together slowly.

‘Bravo, madam, bravo!’ he said. ‘Killed more of ’em than any man here, you see, Collins? The lady is as fearless as she is pretty. If we indeed have a modern woman in our midst, then we must be modern men also, eh?’

Collins cleared his throat and nodded. ‘Quite so, sir,’ he said. ‘I would say that Agent Hardwick is a rose amongst thorns, but it appears she is thornier than any of us.’

Leopold laughed at that, too. Lillian forced a smile. The conversation had made her the centre of attention, for all the wrong reasons.

‘I am sure we will find out more than we need to about the Knights Iscariot shortly,’ said Arthur, gallantly intervening. ‘And should things turn sour, we should all be glad of Agent Hardwick’s particular expertise.’

‘Hear, hear,’ said the prince. ‘Although I should hope the guards will prove capable. Isn’t that right, Colonel Ewart?’

The large Scotsman, who had remained thus far silent, now set down his own tea, the bone china cup looking comically tiny in his broad hands. ‘My men are prepared for any eventually, sir, although if our job is done correctly there’ll be nae need of hostilities.’

‘Spoken like a true soldier,’ remarked Collins, shooting another glance at Lillian.

‘Allow me to be candid, Agent Hardwick,’ the prince said, the mirth draining from him instantly. Lillian nodded, for she was unaccustomed to dealing with royalty, and the company made her even more uncomfortable than the formal attire. ‘You said you have fought these creatures before, and you have my sympathies. It is with deep regret that any brute should lay hands—or claws, or teeth, or whatever they possess—upon a lady, and one so young.’ Lillian felt herself blushing. It was ridiculous—Prince Leopold was not far her senior. ‘Know this,’ he continued, ‘it would give me no greater pleasure than to see the Knights Iscariot hung for treason, to exact revenge on them for the wrongs they have done you, and have done to others under the Queen’s rule. Colonel Ewart has been fully briefed on effective combat measures against the Knights Iscariot and their pets, and I would dearly love to set him loose on them. However, I must advise caution. In less than an hour we will be joined by their representatives, and I am honour-bound to treat with them peacefully, and reach an accord if at all possible. Our personal feelings must be set aside for the good of the nation, don’t you agree?’

Lillian had the unpleasant feeling that word of her reputation, such as it was, had reached the prince’s ears. Or perhaps he was merely referencing her part in the unpleasantness with Shah. Was this a warning for her to keep a level head? If anyone else had said it, she would have fought her corner tooth and nail, but from Prince Leopold? It was a battle she would not take on. And so she nodded, and said merely, ‘Your Royal Highness is correct, of course. Sir Arthur and I are here as representatives of the Order, not as soldiers.’ She picked up her cup as casually as she could, and took a delicate sip of tea before presenting her comeliest smile to the prince, just as her old nanny had taught her many years previous, before being driven to her wits’ end by Lillian’s tomboyish ways. The prince returned her smile and nodded approvingly.

‘What I can’t stand,’ said Collins, changing the subject, ‘is all this skulking about in the dark. By the time we reach Hull, evening will be upon us. Is it true then, what they say about the bastards being vulnerable to sunlight?’

‘Please, Sir Robert,’ said the prince, ‘remember that there is a lady present.’

‘Of course, sir, I was… forgetting. Sir Arthur, you will know more of this I’m sure—can sunlight kill the creatures?’

‘I am afraid we don’t know for certain,’ Arthur said. ‘Lord Cherleten is the foremost expert on the Knights Iscariot, and his knowledge is limited to hearsay and snatches of old texts. The arrival of Tesla has increased our knowledge dramatically, but there are still unknowns. To answer directly, we believe that sunlight merely hurts their eyes—perhaps even blinds them—just as it would a nocturnal creature. Beyond that we do not know.’

‘It seems Apollo Lycea knows very little about the greatest threat that ever has been to our national security,’ Collins said.

‘Forgive me, Sir Robert, but we do have some knowledge of the vampires’ vulnerabilities,’ Lillian intervened, ‘as Colonel Ewart can attest.’

‘Ah, yes—fire and electricity, isn’t that so, Colonel?’

‘It is, sir, yes,’ replied the colonel, looking awkward in such estimable company. Lillian had spent much of the previous day in the company of Ewart, his men, Cherleten and Tesla, going over the known methods of killing the pale creatures that accompanied the Knights Iscariot—creatures that the Highlanders had dubbed ‘gaunts’ upon seeing one of the corpses laid out on a dead-room slab. ‘The surest way of killing them, though, is tae strike them in the heed, firm and sharp. Or stab them through the brain wi’ a long blade, as the lady has done herself.’ He nodded acknowledgement to Lillian. ‘There’s nae mistake then.’

Lillian had gained the impression yesterday that Ewart was embarrassed by his countrymen’s stance on the Knights Iscariot. Half of his regiment was still north of the border, where it seemed they would remain even if civil war broke out across England. Ewart and his battalion, however, were stationed in London, where they were assigned to ceremonial duties as guards of the Tower and royal residences. Ewart was not an officer born—he had risen through the ranks, and Lillian was touched by his humble attitude and his great shame that his regiment would not heed the Queen’s call to arms if required. Lillian had wondered what had become of the royalty who resided in Scotland; were they attempting to sway public opinion against the Knights Iscariot, or were they sheltering within their palace walls for fear of reprisal?

‘We may ever depend upon the colonel for a colourful description,’ said Collins.

‘Let us hope such action is not called for today,’ said the prince. ‘Although,’ he added with a wry smile, ‘I am certain there is no man more suited for the task of “striking heads” than Colonel Ewart.’

‘It all depends, one supposes, on whether all of the Knights Iscariot possess the hypnotic abilities that we witnessed at the Apollonian,’ said Collins. ‘I mean, are our defences sufficient to prevent them from toying with our minds?’

‘Cherleten assures me so,’ said the prince, ‘and I trust his expertise, as should you.’

‘Sir.’ Collins nodded.

‘Our man Tesla has worked wonders on the royal train,’ offered Arthur. ‘The etheric defences have had their efficacy increased tenfold. I have tested these defences myself—my own humble abilities have been dulled almost to mundanity. Within the confines of the train, we are protected from any psychic intrusion.’

‘As long as we remain in motion,’ the prince added.

‘Indeed, sir. Tesla’s modifications are powered by gyroscopic devices within the wheelset. When we stop to allow the Knights Iscariot to embark, we should all be on our guard, for that is when we will be most vulnerable to a Majestic attack.’

‘Then how fortunate we are to have you aboard, Sir Arthur,’ said the prince.

Lillian saw Arthur’s hand brush his left-hand jacket pocket, where she knew he often carried his etherium, and that made her tense. The use of the sinister drug could increase a Majestic’s powers tenfold, but the dangers—physical and otherwise—were myriad. Arthur had struggled with his dependence on etherium in the past, leaving him somewhat frail. Etherium provoked encounters with the Riftborn, and that could take a terrible toll on a Majestic’s sanity. She knew that Arthur would be cursing his failure to overcome Valayar Shah’s influence, and that might be enough to tempt him into injecting the fluid once again. She resolved to tackle him on the subject later, though those conversations had never previously gone well.

Lillian withdrew into herself, wanting no more part of the social sparring with Collins, allowing instead he and the prince to talk of matters between themselves. It appeared to her that the prince was not being entirely forthcoming, which was perhaps fitting, given Arthur’s idea that the Knights Iscariot had friends in high places. Leopold was difficult to warm to, but her respect for the prince only grew as she listened to him. He seemed to trust Collins’ advice, but had no truck with the man’s acerbic and often impolitic jibes. Though he had as much as admitted that he might sign away part of the kingdom—if indeed he truly had the authority to do such a thing—Lillian read in his eyes resoluteness and pride. She felt certain that, if the Knights Iscariot overstepped the mark, Prince Leopold would be willing to go to war rather than appease them. She realised that the look she saw in his eyes was not dissimilar to the ‘Hardwick look’. If that was not enough cause for concern, she mused, then nothing was.

* * *

The delegation had been given some time to prepare as the train rattled through Nottinghamshire. Arthur sank back into his seat, letting the needle fall from his arm, exhaling slowly as time seemed to slow around him. Every sound became muffled—the gentle, rhythmic clunk of the wheels faded away into a distorted bubbling, as though Arthur had submerged his head in deep water. Or, more accurately, as though he had climbed back into the womb, warm and safe, with nothing but the distant echoes of the world beyond his limited scope. The sensation lasted longer than usual. At least, he thought it did. Tesla’s psychic defences held at bay the onrush of Riftborn visions that always fleetingly, horrifically, flooded his senses after each administration of raw etherium.

Snip-crack; snip-crack; snip-crack your bones…

He almost missed it. The pain, the voices, the moments of utter madness. It was penance—the price he had to pay for absorbing the hateful fluid that so many of his kind suffered to produce. The process should not be without discomfort, but this time it was. He wondered if this was what the dragon-chasers experienced when they injected opium. The warm embrace of oblivion.

Still, it passed all too quickly. There was no euphoria, no nausea, nothing; Arthur Furnival felt only a thrumming inner strength, somewhere deep in his mind. He was prepared for the worst the world could throw at him now. Perhaps, when the train stopped and Tesla’s defences powered down, he would experience the terrors belatedly. Deep down, he hoped so.

Once he had recovered, he picked up his tiny syringe—another innovation of the Intuitionists—cleaned it, refilled it, and put it away carefully beside a row of tiny phials in its small leather case. He rolled down his sleeve, put on his jacket, and placed the case in his jacket pocket.