14
Axon drove Max and the gargoyle to the other side of Bath, and parked the car just up the road from the Holburne Museum. It was a bright autumn day in Mundanus, so the gargoyle was hunkered down in the back seat of the large estate car Axon used to run his mundane errands.
Max looked back at the gargoyle, trying to get used to the formulae carved all over it and the medieval-style bracers it was now wearing. They were decorated with an elaborate design that made Max’s head ache.
“These things are itchy.” The gargoyle held up its wrists. “But I have to keep ’em on, apparently. Extra protection.”
“What from?”
“I dunno. Bad breath? Who cares? Everyone we ever knew is either dead or missing, there’s all kinds of dodgy stuff going on in London and the Sorcerer doesn’t give a rat’s arse, and you’re asking about these stupid itchy armbands?”
Max faced front again. “I haven’t forgotten about London, or the Chapter. But the Sorcerer is right; we do need to look into this.”
The gargoyle muttered something he couldn’t hear. Its grumpiness was like a bad smell filling the car and just as hard to ignore.
“Stay here,” he told it once the car’s engine was switched off.
“How long will you be, sir?” Axon asked.
“Less than half an hour.” Max struggled out of the car and onto his crutches.
He wanted to take a look at the mundane perimeter first, knowing that someone had broken into Lavandula’s Nether house after going through the museum grounds in Mundanus. The main gates were locked and a notice hung over the handles:
Closed – Apologies for Any Inconvenience.
He made his way round the railings until he reached the large wooden gates he knew were set into the wall. They had a new hasp-and-staple lock, fitted with a shiny padlock that he picked with little effort.
He went through and pushed the gates closed behind him, already tired from the effort of moving with crutches. He crossed the drive up to the anchor property, which was the usual Georgian affair the puppets liked. He went to the side door. The front entrance was too exposed for his liking.
He propped one of the crutches against the wall and slipped his right hand into his pocket. His fingers found the knuckle-duster and he wriggled them into place. Quickly checking to make sure no innocents were looking through the railings, he adjusted the metal until it sat comfortably at the base of his fingers. The sorcerous markings glinted in the sunlight. He made a fist and inspected the band of thick metal running across it. Pristine.
He knocked three times, slowly, and listened for the tell-tale echo reverberating into the Nether house anchored to the mundane property. There was a pause, but there always was. If an Arbiter was expected, there would be careful preparations to ensure that everything was in order. If the knock was an unpleasant surprise, there would be arguments about who would open the door and what would be said.
The door opened, a tell-tale shimmering over the threshold indicating that it was the Nether house he was seeing into rather than the museum. Miss Lavandula had answered the door herself, opening a Way into Aquae Sulis as she did so. He hadn’t expected that.
Her dress was the same dark blue as her eyes, high-necked and close-fitting in the Victorian style, hair worn up, jewels at her ears. She had the skin of a woman in her late twenties yet her file at the cloister listed her age as over three hundred years old. She was composed, inclining her head at him. As Censor of Aquae Sulis she’d had a lot of practice receiving unwanted guests and remaining polite.
The Censor was one of the many titles the puppets had picked and twisted from Roman times; she had the power to deny people access to Aquae Sulis, for whatever reason she liked, and, if she permitted them to enter, she effectively determined their social standing within their Society. As Master of Ceremonies, her brother created social events that could make or break a family in one night. Between them they had the residents of the city terrified of what they could do to them with nothing more than a comment, a look or even just a strategic omission from a guest list.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” the Censor said, gesturing for him to come in.
He held his breath as he crossed the threshold, a habit they all had. His ears popped and there was a feathery touch on his face as he left Mundanus and crossed over into the Nether. Through a nearby window he caught a glimpse of the reflected Great Pulteney Street of Aquae Sulis but he didn’t linger over it. The Nether had lost its novelty a long time ago.
The door was closed behind him. “Good afternoon, Miss Lavandula. Thank you.”
It was so much easier when they invited him in. Forcing entry made everyone less reasonable to deal with.
“I knew it would reach an Arbiter’s ears soon enough. Though I would have thought this a matter for Society, rather than your kind.”
“Any unusual events in Aquae Sulis are our business, ma’am, especially those that may have long-term consequences. Do you know where your brother is? If so, I won’t trouble you.”
She took a breath; he knew she was weighing up whether to lie to him or not. It was in their nature, instinctive to one as old and powerful as she. “No,” she finally said. “I do not.”
“Would you mind if I asked you some questions?” It was a courtesy; he had the right to pursue an investigation and she was obligated to cooperate. It was one of the oldest laws.
“Not at all,” she replied with a cold smile.
“When was the last time you saw Mr Lavandula?”
“Monday afternoon.”
“Did he seem worried about anything?”
“My brother never worried, Mr…”
“Call me Max.”
Her nostrils flared slightly. “My brother never worried about anything, Max.”
“Even in the last days before the new season?”
“I assure you those are the most relaxed for him. The events are arranged, invitations sent and everything set into motion. I am the one most in demand the week before the season begins.”
“About that,” he said, slipping the knuckle-duster off in his pocket and retrieving his notebook. “Have you had any requests from unsavoury individuals to enter Aquae Sulis?”
“One always does at this time of year,” she sighed. “But no one that made me concerned for my family’s safety.”
“So you are concerned for your brother?”
She stiffened. “Of course. I know my brother would not leave Aquae Sulis voluntarily at this time of year, and, if something had called him away, he would have told me immediately.”
“That’s why you closed the museum.”
She nodded. “I didn’t want any unscrupulous individuals to send in staff to snoop around once they realised he was gone.”
He stared at her as she spoke, examining every movement, every flicker across her features. He believed her, and he could see she was genuinely worried. “Have you been contacted by anyone regarding your brother’s disappearance?”
“No. You’re the first.” She looked at his leg cast. “And it seems you’ve been delayed.”
“Unrelated,” he said. “No ransom demands?”
“Nothing.”
“When did you first realise he was missing?”
“We were supposed to breakfast together on Tuesday morning and discuss the last-minute entrants to the city. He never arrived.”
“And when did you last see him on Monday?”
“He left my residence at about 6pm and I believe he was intending to come home.”
“Did he have any guests?”
“No, but the staff would have been here.”
“I’ll need to speak to them too.”
“Of course. They don’t seem to know any more than I do though.”
“Are they here now?”
“No. I didn’t want anyone here except myself when your enquiries were made. One does all one can to avoid gossip at a time like this. You’ll be able to interview them at my residence.”
That explained why she opened the door. “Did your brother have any engagements on the Monday night?”
“He dined with the Irises. I know he came home, the footman and the maid told me.”
Max thought back to the data from the Sorcerer’s machine. It placed the break-in at close to midnight. It fitted so far.
“I’d like to take a look around.”
Her lips pressed together; it was the last thing she wanted. “If you wish.”
He went from room to room, no sound but the click of his crutches on the wooden floor. He couldn’t do as thorough a search as he would have if he’d been mobile and free of supervision, but he wanted to see if anything leapt out, to follow up later.
“No signs of a struggle anywhere?” he asked and she shook her head. “Nothing taken?”
“No.”
He couldn’t manage the stairs; he was starting to sweat and the fatigue was becoming hard to hide. “Thank you for your cooperation,” he said, heading for the door.
“I’d appreciate it if you could be discreet,” she said, fingertips on the door handle. “I’m sure you can imagine how delicate a situation this is.”
“I’m not exactly on speaking terms with your people,” Max said. “And we’re not known for socialising.”
She just nodded and opened the door.
“I’ll let you know if I find anything,” he said and left.
He emerged into Mundanus. The pain was making him less observant, but it made sense; she’d be worried that people would be watching the house in Aquae Sulis.
He looked through the gates and down the hill. The whole of Great Pulteney Street leading up to the house was mirrored in the Nether, forming one of the main thoroughfares in Aquae Sulis and watched at all times by their servants. That was why the mundane property had been broken into. Whatever the assailant did inside, be it knock him out or kill him, it was done with the door held open providing a quick and uncomplicated escape into Mundanus. The body could have been carried out of the garden gate, put in a car and driven anywhere.
But why? No ransom, no demands of any kind if the sister was to be believed. It made no sense.
Then he remembered that it was one of the Fae Court who’d broken in, not some screwed-up puppet. They didn’t think like people. But they weren’t murderers, and certainly not of one of Lady Lavender’s favourites. She’d be kicking up a storm in Exilium, no doubt.
It was just as possible he’d decided to cut and run, tired of being the most important man in Aquae Sulis. It was unlikely, but possible. Did the puppets have nervous breakdowns too? Then he remembered what the machine had told them. If life had got too complicated for Mr Lavandula, he wouldn’t have needed to break out of his own house.
He scanned the trees between the drive and the gate, doing his best to ignore the sweat rolling between his shoulder blades. The long grass and bushes could have snagged something. He got a few steps closer and a surge of pain stopped him.
There was a scratching sound on the other side of the wall and then two clawed stone paws appeared at the top. The gargoyle swung itself over and landed in the garden with a decent thud. Max waited for any shouts, but thankfully there were none. “I told you to stay hidden.”
The gargoyle checked no one else was there and then scampered over on all four legs. “Will you just rest, for goodness’ sake? You’re hurting us.”
“I just wanted to check over there.” Max nodded towards the trees. “Anywhere between the door and the gate, something might have been dropped, it’s been closed to Mun–”
“I know. Wait and don’t move,” the gargoyle ordered and went searching.
Max swayed, wondering if Axon had a syringe in the car. Was he becoming addicted? Did he care? Was he anything more than sore hands, bruised armpits, a throbbing temple and a leg that was so painful it made him want to pull it off and hop home?
“Hey!” The gargoyle was waving something at him near one of the trees. Max made his way unsteadily, and they met halfway. “I found something.”
Max put his weight on his good leg, tucked the crutches tighter under his armpits and took the wallet as the gargoyle headed back to the tree. Its black leather was worn, stuffed with receipts, old tickets and a five-pound note. There were credit cards, a driving licence, a swipe card for one of the local business centres. Jackpot.
He pulled out the licence. “Samuel James Westonville” was printed below a picture with an address in Bath that would come in handy. He sifted through the receipts, the breakthrough distracting him from the pain. Pizza, beer, toiletries, DVDs: this was an innocent’s wallet, and the last receipt was dated on the Monday night at 10.55pm.
“Over here,” the gargoyle called, and he tucked the wallet inside his jacket. The gargoyle was halfway up a tree trunk, its thick arms and legs wrapped around it like a koala bear. It pointed out a bit of bark with a claw.
Max leaned closer and saw the dark stain and the lone brown hair snagged on a knot, waving in the breeze. He plucked it free and dropped it into an evidence bag he had folded in his back pocket. He broke off the stained piece of bark too and nodded at the gargoyle.
“Good work. We’ve got a lead.”
15
Cathy stared at the Holburne Art Museum as Tom parked the car in Great Pulteney Street. It was dusk and a few tourists were strolling down the road admiring the architecture. It was strange seeing the anchor property as a public building when Cathy knew it better in the Nether as the home of the Aquae Sulis Lavandulas, her uncle and aunt who were the Master of Ceremonies and Censor, respectively. In the Nether version of the same street in Aquae Sulis their house dominated the social structure of the area. Her mother, who was a Lavandula before being married into the Rhoeas-Papavers, gave her father the social boost enabling the family to acquire the terrace closest to the residence of the most powerful people in the city. Tom, as their eldest son, had the privilege of living in the same street, but further away.
She looked at the house she’d grown up in, remembering the nursery wing at the back, safely tucked away from any curious mundane eyes. The servants would be in the anchor property, working hard to maintain the luxurious lifestyle of the Nether house. Her parents were in there, just on the other side of the veil that separated Mundanus from their pocket reality. So close and still, thankfully, so far.
“Come on,” he said when she didn’t move. “Let’s get you sorted out here before you face them.”
Cathy unclipped the seatbelt and with leaden legs got out of the car. Her mouth was dry and her neck ached. Somehow she’d fallen asleep on the way back and now everything felt slightly unreal.
The fact that he took her right up to the mundane anchor property of his own house said a great deal. Those in Society rarely went into Mundanus but, when they did, they generally went in and out at the edge of Aquae Sulis, thereby minimising opportunities for the residents of Bath to notice people seeming to walk into a house and never coming out again, or at least approaching a garden gate and appearing to go through but never reaching the front door of the house. Tom evidently didn’t want the residents of Aquae Sulis to see her return, and in her dishevelled state it made sense.
Tom muttered the Charm of Openings at the gate, put his arm around her and steered her ahead of him and into the Nether. It had been a long time since she’d seen the silver sky of Aquae Sulis and she hadn’t missed it. The air was unnaturally still. She felt her chest tighten and her heart race. Instinctively she stepped back but Tom was in the way. He squeezed her briefly and the panic subsided.
Inside, the house was warm and bright. It smelt of freshly baked bread and cinnamon. She could hear a piano playing.
“Lucy?” Tom called. “I’m back.”
The music stopped and his wife called from a room towards the back of the house. Cathy fidgeted. She just couldn’t imagine Tom married. She couldn’t quite believe this was his house and that he was living apart from their parents. Whenever she’d thought of him he was still gangling and affable, still living under their father’s oppressive glare. It was hard to reconcile that with how everything had changed.
A petite woman came into the hallway, dressed in a long green gown that accentuated her tiny waist. She had the straight shining blonde hair that her little sister would have done despicable things to have, large blue eyes and fair skin. She seemed kind as she smiled and hurried over with her hands outstretched towards Cathy.
“You must be Catherine!” she said. Her voice had the tiniest hint of an American accent. “I’m delighted to meet you at last!”
Cathy clasped Lucy’s hands even though it felt bizarre to do so. She didn’t want to cut her dead in her own home. Lucy’s hands were delicate and soft and she looked like a child next to Tom.
“Thanks,” Cathy said awkwardly.
“Lucy, do you have a dress Cat could borrow?”
They both looked up at him. “Not any that would reach her ankles,” Lucy replied, appraising Cathy’s height. “Don’t worry about fashion, dear, your parents know you’ve been on the Continent.” She stood back, still holding Cathy’s hands, and looked at her clothes. “I’m glad you’re sensible enough to dress in the mundane style for travel, it’s the only way to do it as far as I’m concerned. I’ll ring for the footman, he can bring in your cases and we’ll press a dress in no time. Your parents must be dying to see you!”
“Cat’s baggage was lost,” Tom said. “We’re in a bit of a fix, aren’t we, Cat?”
Cathy refused to reinforce the lie, not wanting to play Lucy for a fool.
“It’s no problem,” Lucy said, pulling her towards the stairs. “We’ll get Catherine bathed whilst you go home and pick up one of her dresses. You did leave some there, I imagine?”
“I’m not sure I’d fit…”
“I’ll be back soon,” Tom said. “I want to tell them you’re here safe and sound anyway.” He gave her one last worried look. “You won’t…”
“Go!” Lucy laughed. “She’ll be fine and we’ll have a chance to get to know each other.”
Tom left and initially Cathy wondered whether to make a bid for freedom. But then Lucy would be left to take the blame and, whilst Cathy didn’t know her, Lucy seemed so harmless she couldn’t bring herself to get her into trouble. And there was still nowhere to run where they couldn’t find her.
“You must be exhausted,” Lucy said, leading her up the stairs after calling for the lady’s maid. “You’ll feel so much better after a soak and a light supper. By the time you’re done Tom will be back and you can dress and go to see your parents.”
Lucy’s voice was soft and warm, but the accent bizarre. Cathy wondered if she was trying to hide her American roots. Perhaps Tom had asked her to try and fit in. That was the main expectation placed upon young brides: to blend into Society just enough to avoid malicious gossip, but stand out just enough to receive admiration, all of which would be directed at the husband, of course, for having impressed the families enough to secure a prize calf. Both Tom and their sister Elizabeth had been born with an innate sense of how much to stand out and how to blend in at the right time but Cathy never had a clue. She couldn’t understand how they could be related.
“I have a robe you can borrow,” Lucy said. “You can change in the guest bedroom and bathe in my bedchamber. The fire is lit already. Had I known you were coming here first I’d have made other arrangements.”
Cathy had forgotten about how they lived. How would she forget the convenience of hot running water? Showers? Flushing toilets? The Great Families called the mundanes “savages” but there was better sanitation in Mundanus.
Before they’d even reached the bedroom a small army of servants had been put to work and Cathy realised that she’d tuned out of the conversation.
“Perhaps they’ll find them,” Lucy was saying as she opened a door.
“Find what?”
“Your bags. Were they misplaced at the port? I remember the delays I had when I moved here. It seemed to take just as long to get out of the port as it did to cross the Atlantic.”
“Umm…” Cathy couldn’t settle on a reply. She’d got used to big lies, ones that explained away her entire childhood, not stupid things like turning up waif-like in the most inappropriate clothes ever seen in Aquae Sulis.
“I’ll send for tea,” Lucy said, letting go of Cathy’s hand at last to go over to the bell-pull.
“I don’t want tea,” Cathy blurted. She wanted a Leffe blonde beer in a tall, sweating pint glass. She wanted a kebab. And a cuddle with Josh.
“Look, something is obviously wrong here.” Lucy moved away from the bell-pull. “You don’t seem like a girl coming home. You seem like someone dragged off the street and wondering where the hell she is.” Lucy was sounding very American all of a sudden.
“It’s that obvious?”
“Honey, you’re no actress.”
Her new sister-in-law sounded more like a mundane than a daughter of a wealthy Society family but Cathy didn’t have the mental space to fathom that puzzle. She sat on the bed and put her head in her hands. It was as heavy as a bowling ball and felt just as thick. “What has Tom told you?”
“That you’ve been away in Switzerland and that your travel arrangements were disrupted.” Lucy sat next to her, strangely close. Perhaps it was an American thing. “He’s been so tense. All he said was that he was waiting for a message to come and pick you up. He raced out of the house first thing this morning before we’d even had breakfast.”
“Oh.”
“He lied to me, didn’t he?”
Cathy reddened. “Well…”
“It’s OK, I knew something was up.”
Cathy twisted to face her. “I didn’t mean to dump him in it.”
“I know he doesn’t trust me yet. It’s OK, really.”
“How long have you been married?”
Lucy frowned. “Where have you been?”
“Oh, bollocks to all of this,” Cathy said, throwing her hands up in the air. “I wasn’t in Switzerland, I was in Mundanus. I was at Cambridge for a year and then I ran away about eighteen months ago. I look like I’ve been dragged off the street because I practically was. I didn’t want to come back.”
Lucy’s eyes were as round as chocolate buttons. “You ran away and hid in Mundanus?”
“Yeah.”
“And lived there, all that time, without any help?”
Cathy regretted her honesty. “Yeah.”
“Awesome!”
She twitched. “You don’t think I’m some horrible, selfish cow?”
“No,” Lucy said with a laugh. “I figure you’ve got guts to live in Mundanus. It’s not an easy place to go if you’re brought up in Nether Society. And I’ve met your parents. I’m impressed you stood up for what you wanted, they’re pretty intimidating. So I think you’re awesome.”
Cathy scratched her head. “I didn’t stand up for myself, I ran away like a bloody coward. I avoided all of the messy stuff back then, so it’s even worse now. I don’t know what I’m going to say to them. It’s all got a bit complicated.”
Lucy grinned. “You Brits, you worry too much about what other people think.” She cleared her throat. “Sorry,” she said, the vowel sounding closer to the Queen’s English. “Listen, I can’t imagine what you’ve been through with Tom but I can see you’re upset and I can see you’re exhausted. Take a bath, have something to eat – when Tom gets back I’ll ask him how things are at your place and, if your parents are angry, well, maybe it’d be better for you to stay here and see them in the morning after you've rested.”
Cathy felt herself welling up. “Sorry,” she said, sniffing, horribly embarrassed. “My eyes are scratchy, you know, because I’m tired.”
“I know.” Lucy smiled. “I’ll get you that robe.”
Cathy looked down at her battered trainers and grubby jeans. This was potentially the last time she’d wear trousers and comfortable footwear. “What is wrong with you?” she muttered to herself as the sniffing threatened to become snivelling. “You’re thinking about that now? Focus!”
But she couldn’t. Somewhere deep down, beneath the extraordinary fatigue, the hollow hunger, the anxiety, impotent rage and hatred of her return to the Nether, there was the knowledge that she’d have to think up a fantastic third wish and faster than she could bleat “But it’s all so unfair.”
The room was decorated like an Edwardian hotel; impersonally luxurious, floral and full of chintz. She lay back on the bed and looked up at the glass bowl of the light fitting, thinking about the tiny sprite trapped inside. Her whole life before she’d ran away she’d never even thought of them, now she found herself relating. Apart from the shining part. She’d never do that, literally or figuratively.
The robe was brought in by a silent maid who curtsied without making eye-contact. It was thick cotton, dark blue and long enough to make Cathy suspect it belonged to Tom rather than Lucy. She could hear the patter of feet up and down the stairs as the servants carried buckets of hot water to the neighbouring room to fill the bath.
Reluctantly, she took off her clothes and shrugged on the robe, waiting for the invitation to bathe. She caught a glimpse of herself in the cheval mirror and saw how wrecked she looked. Her hair was just a tangled lump held in place by an elastic band she’d found when packing. It looked like someone had stapled a dead hamster to the back of her head. Stray wisps and her reddened eyes made her look slightly crazy. She was so pale and the skin around her eyes was so black she looked unwell. She certainly felt it.
She flopped back onto the bed, feet dangling over the edge and closed her eyes, knowing the maid would collect her when the bath was ready, and drifted towards a restless sleep.
“Miss Plain? Miss Mundane? Wake up!”
Waking was like climbing out of a well. A sharp pinprick on the tip of her nose made her eyes half open but, when she saw the faerie hovering just a few centimetres above her face, she was wide awake and scrabbling up the bed away from it.
“Time’s up!” the faerie chimed with delight.
“It’s not – there’s still nearly twenty-four hours till the ball!”
The faerie sighed. “Lord Poppy has been so patient, considering how dreadfully boring you’ve been.” It flew over to the mirror. “He doesn’t want to wait a moment longer.” It tapped the glass and it rippled like the surface of a lake. When it settled again, the room was no longer reflected. Instead Cathy could see a beautiful meadow under a blue sky.
Exilium.
“He’s waiting,” the faerie said with a clap of her hands. “Come on!”
“But I’m not even dressed, I can’t go there in a bath robe!”
The faerie blew a raspberry. “Wearing clothes won’t make any difference to how ugly you are or make you more interesting. Stop wasting time.”
Cathy got off the bed, tightened and double-knotted the robe’s belt and approached the mirror. Of course he wanted the final wish to be made in Exilium, it would make it so much easier to enslave her, or reduce her to an automaton as he’d threatened. She’d never been in the other world, but she’d had countless lessons about how dangerous it was. On the other side of the mirror a careless word or even just a simple lapse in etiquette could lead a mortal into slavery as quickly as an insect dropped in a specimen jar.