The Witch Watch (36 page)

“Were you put out? Was Ethereal Affairs closed forever?” Alice asked in alarm.

“No. I’m shrewd enough to lie still and listen when my betters are at odds.
 
I watched and waited, and drew no attention to myself.
 
I heard rumors. Some of the men who were dismissed complained loudly, and I was able to gain intelligence from their downfall. All paths led to Sir Edward James Brooks.”

“The Member of Parliament?”

“The Member of Parliament you threw into prison, yes. One of the ‘Four Horsemen’, I believe you called them? Dangerously charming fellow. I saw that much of the money and influence being exerted was flowing from him.”

“And this drove you into hiding?” Alice asked doubtfully.
 

“Well, if Brooks were a more conventional man I would have done the smart thing and begun polishing his boots, as it were.
 
I would have ingratiated myself to him, or to his supporters.
 

“That’s very unseemly!” Alice said.

Moxley shrugged. “Not particularly. Not in this line of work, at any rate. I’ve done so before. The power structure has changed many times over the years.
 
The key to survival is to fit oneself into the new order before things settle. It happens every ten or fifteen years, by my reckoning. And I’m sure the cycle itself is older than Buckingham Palace.
 
No, what drove me into hiding was the connection between Brooks and the late Viscount of Ravenstead.”

“You think this is some scheme of Mordaunt’s?”

“I don’t know that His Lordship is
instigatin
g it from beyond the grave.
 
I will leave that sort of conjecture to your expertise.
 
But we know Brooks is a powerful man with powerful friends, and the large and sudden following tells us this is a stroke long planned.”

“I suppose you see the danger more clearly than I do, or you wouldn’t have come to this dreary place to hide.”

Moxley gasped and placed his hand on his chest in feigned offense. “You wound me, madam!”

Alice folded her arms and looked at him seriously.

Resigned, he abandoned the pretense. “It
i
s a baleful hovel, isn’t it? But don’t say so if Byron returns. This is his place. Not his
proper
residence, mind you.
 
He keeps this room in London for when he needs a bit of privacy.
 
I am only staying here out of necessity. I could have remained at home, or gone to visit one of my many colleagues, but I wanted to disappear for a time.
 
I wanted to watch from a distance, where I would not myself be watched. I would be looked for in the other places, but my dealings with Byron are secret, even to my peers. Unless I have been very reckless, I will not be found here.
 
Of course, this is all a dreadful bore to Byron, who has no patience for this sort of thing.”

“But how can you spy on the dealings at King Charles Street from this place? And why hide? Do you think you are in danger?” Alice asked impatiently.

Moxley drained his glass.
 
Again he proffered the bottle.
 
When she refused again, he shrugged and poured himself the last of the wine.
 
“I did not say my spying was limited to King Charles Street.
 
As for being in danger? I’m not sure.”
 
He sat back and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “A man like myself is usually seen as reliably unreliable. That is, I can be trusted to follow whoever has the most power. We’re generally overlooked in power struggles. Each side will see me not as a threat, but as a prize to be won.
 
The players will generally focus their attention on the loyalists. But! I’m the head of Ethereal Affairs. If this new power is aligned with witchcraft, they will have no use for my friendship. As for how I observe from here, I do not intend to reveal all of my secrets to you. Not out of lack of trust, of course. But there is nothing to be gained by telling that long tale. Suffice to say, I have others acting as my eyes and ears.”

“Like the gentleman who passed along this note?” Alice said, holding up the paper she’d been given.

“Exactly so,” he nodded, “Although you should not have carried the note with you.” Quickly, he snatched the paper away and tossed it into the stove. “So, now you know what has occupied me in your absence. Now it is your turn.
 
How fared your journey?”

So Alice told him of their voyage on Callisto, their dealings with the headmaster, the sinking of the ship, the events at the Hiltman home, and recounted a bit of their journey home.

“I had heard about lost Callisto. It wasn’t until you arrived at Grayhouse earlier today that I knew you’d survived.”

“You saw us this afternoon?” she asked incredulously.

The question clearly pained him, “Of course not.
 
Not
personally
. But I have my spies and my rumor hunters.
 
They are only as loyal as the coin I give them, but I trust them to tell enough of the truth that I may re-create the whole. Grayhouse is watched.”

“So you know the house has been emptied?”

“I knew it was invaded by the church. I did not know that it was emptied. Once I saw that the protection of Prince Albert had vanished, I knew that a visit from the church was unavoidable.
 
I had hoped that you were perhaps more cunning than you seem, and had hidden the most scandalous and valuable items out of sight.”

“No.
 
Although, if we had used a secret compartment it would not have helped.
 
Their search was very thorough.”

“Nonsense! If we get through this with our positions intact, I will instruct you in the art of keeping your treasures secret. It’s a delightful endeavor.”

“It sounds tedious to me, but I will be glad to hear your instruction if we make it through.” Alice stood and walked over to the window.
 
The sun was lost below the rooftops and the room had fallen into darkness. The stove was now the brightest spot in the room.
 
Moxley still didn’t seem inclined to light a candle. Alice wondered if he owned any.
 
She looked out over the city, watching the black soot waft into the sky as London struggled to keep warm.
 

“I suppose your next question will be regarding Archer,” Moxley said casually.

“Oh! Archer! I am awful.
 
I had forgotten about him.” Alice was glad for the darkness to hide her blushing.

Moxley seemed to take no notice of this. “He reported to me two days after you departed. I gathered you left him to recover the bodies of his fellow soldiers and return to London with them.
 
He had a strange story to tell when I saw him. Apparently, a few hours after your assault on Ravenstead, more soldiers arrived. He ran off before he was discovered, and watched until dawn as the men cleared away the bodies and cleaned away the blood.”

“Lord Mordaunt seems to employ an alarming number of men.”

“He may,” nodded Moxley, “But these were not his men.
 
These were proper British Soldiers.”

“But how?” demanded Alice.

“As I said, Brooks has more supporters than any of us had guessed. They cleared away the bodies, and did not return them to us.
 
The bodies vanished. They made off with the carts, the horses, everything. Archer was obliged to return to me on foot. Poor lad was half-starved by the time he found me. It wounded me to tell him that after all his hardship, he was simply being folded back into regular service.
 
I gave him a few coins and my thanks. I hope he didn’t take offense, but I had nothing else to offer.”

She left the window and stormed back across the room. “This is worse than I would have thought possible! Our own soldiers, working for a cult.
 
My father never allowed a crisis to get this bad.”

“He never had to face one this broad,” Moxley countered. “Now please don’t stomp your feet so.
 
Byron rents this room from the neighbors downstairs.
 
They are old, temperamental, and very particular about noise.”

Alice sat down at the table, and wished she’d taken the wine when it was offered. Exasperated, she said, “Now I know what has happened while we were absent, but I’m no closer to knowing what to do next. Our enemies are suddenly and inexplicably legion, Grayhouse is plundered, our forces are slain, and our ministry is without support.”

“I don’t know,” admitted Moxley.
 
“But we need to move soon. Our foes grow in power. In service of Mordaunt or not, Brooks controls a great deal more of the government than I had guessed.
 
Possibly more than the Queen understands. I might go to Prince Albert, but my instincts are telling me that is an unwise move. Albert is a card we can only play once, and I fear that my rumors and guesses - as all of this will sound to his ears - will not be enough to rouse him into action. He has other business on his mind.”

Alice slumped in her chair, defeated. “You have no advice at all? Is there nowhere we might look for allies? Is there perhaps someone we might watch, or question?”

“Well, there is one thing,” Moxley said, digging through his pockets and producing an envelope. “This invitation was delivered to my office, and another one to my normal residence. I don’t know who it’s from, but I’m told it was delivered by one of the new faces on King Charles Street. The invitation asks me to visit an address near London.
 
Tomorrow night. Likely as not our foes are hoping I’ll appear and save them the trouble of hunting me down.”

“Do you plan to go?” Alice asked in surprise.

Moxley laughed in response.

“What does the invitation say?”

“It’s a dinner party, hosted by Brooks himself, if the invitation is to be believed. According to the papers, many people from King Charles Street have been invited. None of those invited are people I count among Brook’s loyalists.”

“So this is an invitation to a dinner-party for all of Brooks’ foes, hosted by Brooks himself?” Alice asked.

“I wouldn’t say foes. Independents. Holdouts. Rivals.”

Alice nodded. “Well, perhaps I might go in your stead.”

“Don’t do that!” he scolded. “I was only offering it as a lead, something to investigate. If you walk in the front door, they will be able to stab your back as easily as mine.”

“Not as easily, I think, unless you’ve developed a talent for fireballs while I was gone.”

“Don’t go
alone
, at least. I wish Archer was still available to us.”

Alice laughed. “I do not think he would be able to offer me much in the way of assistance.”

“What do you mean? Was he unsatisfactory as a soldier?”

“Sometimes,” Alice said reluctantly. She had often been exasperated by his shortcomings, but he was a decent fellow and she didn’t enjoy giving an ill report of him. “Perhaps not as attentive as he should have been. He was given to complaining. The captain always said he ‘lacked backbone’. He did seem to linger behind the other men when it was time for manual labor.”

Moxley looked at the ceiling and gave an exasperated sigh. “Well, if Captain Turpin had wanted brawn he should have said so, and I would have sent him a mule. But on many occasions he expressed his frustrations with getting his men to hit their targets. As he explained, you often needed the men to be able to shoot with precision. Previously, I had selected men based on bravery, as I assumed it would take a good deal of courage to face all of the unnatural things you find. When Turpin expressed a need for marksmanship, I spared no effort in obtaining him the best possible man.”

“Private Archer is the best marksman in the British army?” Alice asked skeptically.

“I did not say that. But he was the best I was able to find. The army is always testing new rifle designs, and he was apparently an important part of that process. Apparently, he was one of a small handful of men who had both the skill and knowledge to really compare the various rifles being produced and… I don’t know, to be honest. Whatever it was they needed to know about new rifles, he was able to tell them after just a few shots. He was the son of a gunsmith of some renown, as I understand. In any event, the army was slow to release him to me, and I had to bully them a bit to secure Private Archer for you.”

“But, if he was such a remarkable marksman, why didn’t you say so when you sent him to us?”

Moxley shrugged, “I assumed the captain would know what to do with him. I must admit to feeling rather unappreciated when he never expressed any gratitude for Archer.”

“No. The captain had no idea. Archer had said something about being good with a rifle, but the captain assumed he was boasting as soldiers do. Or simply trying to avoid strenuous work. I suppose, looking back, it’s clear that ‘boasting’ was never one of his faults. Oh, foolishness. I can’t believe we made such a blunder. My father would never have made that mistake.”