“OK, I’ll do my best. Take care, Sam, OK?”
Axon gently took her hand and invited her to stand. “You too,” Sam said, wishing he could go with her. Preferably to a pub.
Once they’d left the house, Ekstrand called Petra back downstairs to the living room and, much to Sam’s surprise, she embraced him.
“I was so worried about you! What was it like?”
“Awful,” he said, and she responded with another longer embrace and back rubbing, like she’d known him for years. He tensed, unused to intimate contact from any woman other than his wife. Petra pulled away without any of the embarrassment he was feeling and retrieved a notepad from one of the chairs.
Ekstrand filled her in and she made detailed notes as Sam paced in front of the fire, thinking about what Cathy had told him. Life in the Nether sounded like Victorian England, and he worried that Cathy was going to be hurt again before anyone helped her. Sam had no idea how to find her again, not that he felt he could really help. If he was completely honest with himself he didn’t really want to get any more involved than he already was. He needed to get home and make sure his wife wasn’t going crazy with worry. Their marriage had enough pressures upon it without all of this too.
“The Master of Ceremonies told me about every single property in Aquae Sulis and all of the houses there are accounted for, that’s what I don’t understand,” Ekstrand was saying when Sam tuned back in. “None of them belong to the Rosas.”
“Perhaps it’s one he didn’t know about,” Petra suggested.
“Impossible.”
“Perhaps he was lying to you,” Sam said and was about to say his goodbyes when Ekstrand replied.
“Eminently possible, in fact, probable.”
“If we can find a link between that property and the Master of Ceremonies, we have a motive for murder,” Petra said, tapping her pen against her chin. “The Rosas would kill for a permanent ticket into Aquae Sulis.”
“You mean they’d kill a bloke just to nick his house?” Sam asked. “Couldn’t they just buy it from him instead?”
“You don’t understand,” Ekstrand sighed. “Nether properties can only be established by Fae or Sorcerers and the puppets can’t do it. It requires ownership of a mundane property too, as the Nether version is simply a… reflection of what exists in Mundanus. It can’t be conjured up out of thin air.”
“The Fae-touched of Aquae Sulis control ownership of desirable properties in Bath, and ones in the Nether, very strictly,” Petra added.
“Really?” Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’ve never heard anything about people stopping others buying houses. Surely that would come out in the press?”
“They own the press,” Petra said, smiling.
“This is one of those giant conspiracy theories, isn’t it?” Sam shook his head. “I don’t believe any of that stuff.”
“Do you think we would lie about this?” Ekstrand asked with a scowl.
Sam preferred him when he was being a teacher. The stage magician version of Mr Ekstrand was the wrong side of intense. “No, course not,” he said hurriedly. “It’s just a lot to take in.”
“Are you sure he’s worth the trouble?” Ekstrand directed the question at Petra.
“Yes, sir, but let’s keep focused on the house, shall we? Perhaps there’s something from the monitoring data that could give us something useful?”
“It would take months to review it,” the Sorcerer sighed. “Even if I set all of the apprentices to work.”
“Depends on what kind of data it is,” Sam said without thinking. When they both looked at him, he shrugged. “If it’s something that can be reduced to numerical values then a pretty basic script could analyse it. Most computers could handle something like that if there wasn’t too much d–”
“You mean you can actually do something useful with them?” Ekstrand looked shocked.
Sam smirked, at first thinking he was being sarcastic, but then he realised Ekstrand genuinely didn’t have a clue. “Have you ever seen a computer?”
Ekstrand wrinkled his nose, as if Sam had just asked him if he ate puppies for breakfast. “Goodness no, why in the worlds would I want to do that?”
“So you don’t know what Mundanus is like these days then?”
“I know enough.”
“You realise computers do everything there now, don’t you?”
Ekstrand blinked at him, then shot a nervous glance at Petra. “Is he trying to unsettle me?”
“Let’s talk about Mundanus another time, Mr Ekstrand. I believe Sam was offering to help with the data problem.”
Sam patted the air. “I was just theorising. I need to go home. To my wife, and my job.”
“Do you have a computer at home?” Ekstrand asked. After Sam’s nod he said; “Excellent, then you can go home and write us this ‘basic script’, yes?”
“I don’t want to be rude, but I don’t work for you. I just took a leak behind the wrong tree at the wrong time, none of this is anything I want to be involved in.”
“But you are involved now,” Ekstrand said. “That can’t be undone.”
Petra stepped forward after she brushed the Sorcerer’s arm. “Sam, we don’t want to frighten you, but you’ve seen things that most people aren’t supposed to know about.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” Sam said with a nervous laugh. “No one would believe me.”
“There are rules, old rules outlined in a treaty that mean we have to be very careful here. I’d like to think we could make the best of the situation by… finding a way to move forward that doesn’t involve compromising your freedom.”
Sam’s heart raced. “I’d like that too. How about I sign a non-disclosure agreement? I signed one for work, I’m trustworthy.”
“Petra, this is wasting time.” The Sorcerer glared at Sam.
“If we reimbursed you for your time, and drew up an agreement, would you write a script for your computer to help us?” Petra asked, unfazed by the Sorcerer’s menace.
Sam nodded, happy to agree just to make it out of the house. “What kind of data is it?”
“Lines on large rolls of paper,” Ekstrand replied.
“Like data from a seismograph,” Petra clarified.
“So we’d be looking for anomalies, right? I could write a script for that. If you want the results quickly I’d need someone to input the data for me because that’s what will take the time. I’d tell them how to translate the readings. I could get that part set up whilst I work on the script. We could start today if you let me go home.” He hoped he didn’t sound too desperate. He was ready to promise a lot more if it meant they would let him go.
Ekstrand looked uncomfortable. “Petra, can you deal with this?”
“Of course, sir, but I doubt you want me to accompany Sam back to Mundanus?”
“Absolutely not, I’ll send one of the apprentices with him.”
“I’ll take care of the details, sir,” Petra reassured him, and the Sorcerer left with a flourish of his cape. Sam imagined dramatic old-fashioned film score music to accompany it.
“He’s certainly eccentric,” he said.
“He’s a brilliant man,” Petra replied. “Now, let me get that data for you and we’ll make a plan.”
27
Sam was not in the best mood when he finally got home. He’d been dropped off by Axon with several boxes of paper and Eagerboy, who was positively fizzing with excitement at his new assignment.
Axon assured him he’d delivered his note two days before, but there was no doubt that Leanne would be frantically worried by now. His returning home with a strange bloke on top of disappearing without warning wasn’t going to help either. He’d spent the journey cooking up an explanation for the apprentice’s strange manner and clothing, readying himself for the challenge, only to find the house was empty with a pile of post on the mat. Sitting on top was the note Axon had delivered.
“Lee?” he called up the stairs. Nothing.
He pointed the living room out to Eagerboy, whose name was actually Gordon, but he didn’t suit it. “Go and take a seat, I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“Thank you,” he said, eyes wide, darting from one thing to another so quickly he looked like he was about to have some sort of fit.
Sam went up the stairs, peered into the bedroom. The bed was made. He checked the wardrobes, imagining them filled with empty coat hangers, but all of her clothes were there. He breathed out, some of the tension easing. The memory of their last argument was still fresh.
He wanted to shower, eat, drink a beer and catch up on the football, but Eagerboy needed to be put to work before he started asking annoying questions. Sam padded back down the stairs into the kitchen where he could smell something mouldy.
He flicked on the light and saw the saucepan from their aborted meal still on the stove, something green and fuzzy growing a new skin over the remains of the sauce. He opened the oven and saw the large dish, still full, where it had been left.
Leanne hadn’t been home either.
Jaw clenching, he went to the hallway and saw the little red light flashing on the answering machine he always forgot to check. The display told him there were ten messages.
She’d left him? He pressed the play button and sat on the bottom stair, chewing a thumbnail.
“Sam, are you there? Look, I have to go to Brussels, something’s come up and we need to fly there right now. I should be back late tomorrow, OK? We’ll talk when I get home.”
The date stamp was late that Saturday night. That was three days ago. The noise in the background suggested she was calling from her mobile somewhere noisy, like the party she was at perhaps.
Something came up? If it was Marcus he would–
The beep announced the next message. “Sam, did you get my message? We’re at Heathrow. Are you sulking? Call me.”
He fast forwarded to the last message. “It’s Monday evening and we’re on our way to the airport, I’ll be back late tonight.”
No “goodbye” or “love you” and no apologies. She would be home later and pissed off at him for not calling.
He was feeling pretty angry himself. He’d spent the weekend worrying about whether she was going crazy wondering where he was and the whole time she’d been swanning around Brussels with Marcus.
But he needed to think. There was a guy sitting in his living room who’d last seen Bath at the end of the First World War and it looked like Sam wasn’t going to be able to extricate himself from it all as easily as he wanted. Petra had hinted that they might want to employ him but what did that actually mean? Would he have to go back to that asylum-like house and learn about stuff that sounded like it should be on kids’ TV? As he sat at the bottom of the stairs in his average suburban house, the weekend felt more than unreal; it felt like the beginning of madness. Was that what this all was? He rubbed his scalp as the fear of going mad filled him. He’d been working hard, he was worrying about his marriage, he drank too much one night, banged his head and then maybe he’d just lost the plot. Maybe he’d spent the last few days in some random woman’s house having the beginning of a nervous breakdown.
“Fuck,” he whispered. He couldn’t go to pieces now. Eagerboy wasn’t a figment of a crazed imagination. He needed to be trained up and his wife would soon be home with questions.
He noticed his mobile on the shelf next the phone, abandoned after their argument. It had half a pip of power left and the voicemail symbol was flashing. He called her mobile and to his relief it went straight to answerphone.
“Lee, sorry I didn’t call. Stuff came up at work for me too, and… well, I’m glad you’ll be home soon. Love you.”
He ended the call, looking at a photo of the two of them laughing hung on the wall next to him, wondering where that had been taken. Had they ever been like that? He couldn’t remember the last time they laughed together. He couldn’t remember the last time they did something other than the banal oiling of domestic life.
“You hungry, Gordon?” he called.
“Oh, yes, rather.”
“I’ll introduce you to pizza and beer,” he said. “I’ve got a couple of things to do first, OK?”
When he and the kitchen were cleaned up, pizza delivered and beers cracked open, Sam felt more ready to tackle Leanne when she arrived. In between bites of pepperoni, he fielded endless questions from Eagerboy, ranging from how they made the wireless send pictures as well as music (that was the television) and what the dipping-sauce tubs were made out of. There was effectively a whole time-travel-esque adventure happening for the guy sitting on his sofa, but Sam’s chief worry was what to tell work about being AWOL. He texted Dave to let him know he was still alive, and received a message back that he’d reported him sick to bail him out, thinking he was recovering from another bender. Sam smiled for the first time since he’d got home. At least someone was looking out for him.
Too tired to train Eagerboy in how to use a computer, he changed the channel for him and left him gawping at the latest Attenborough documentary. He was glad he only had an HD television; a 3D one could have given the guy an aneurysm.
As he was clearing the pizza boxes away, he heard Leanne’s key in the lock.
“Hello?”
“Lee.” He came and took two large bags from her and gave her a hug. She looked exhausted. “I’m sorry about Saturday.”
“OK,” she said, closing the front door. “I got your message – thanks. I was worried, you know.”
“Yeah… about that…”
“I have the most amazing news though,” she said, heading for the kitchen. “I’ve been given a promotion and we’re moving to London!”
“Eh?”
“We were at the party on Saturday and Marcus got a call from the Brussels office, all hell was breaking loose, and anyway, he asked if I would go and I said yes–”
“Like you always do,” Sam muttered but she didn’t hear him.
“–and before I knew it we were at Heathrow and I just haven’t stopped since.”
Sam tried to drive away the image of Marcus shagging his wife non-stop for two days in a distant hotel room.
She poured herself a glass of orange juice and gulped it down. “Planes always make me thirsty. So anyway, he was so impressed by how I handled it all he gave me the promotion on the spot. He’s starting a new department based out of the Canary Wharf HQ and he wants me to be a director! The salary is amazing. I’ll have a huge office and minions!”
“So… how long have you got before you need to accept or decline?”
She put the glass down. “What do you mean? I already accepted. I start next month. They’ll pay for our relocation and there are company-owned apartments that we can rent really cheaply. And not just any old crappy flats, they’re really swish, he showed me some pictures. This is it, Sam! We’re finally going to get the life we want!”
“
We
want?”
“Oh, crap, here we go. Can’t you just be pleased?”
“You didn’t think you should discuss it with me first?”
“We’ve always talked about moving to London.”
“Just talked about it. This is completely different.”
“How can I turn that kind of an offer down? We’ll live in–”
“Excuse me, but–” Eagerboy was at the doorway. Leanne yelped in fright.
“Leanne, this is Gordon. From work. I was about to tell you, he might be with us for a few days… see, this project has come up and needs extra hours so Gordon will be staying with us, OK?”
“Hello,” Leanne said to him uncertainly.
“Good evening,” he replied. “May I commend you upon a most impressive home.”
Leanne gave him the suspicious look Sam had been expecting.
“Is something wrong?” Sam asked.
“The gentleman speaking out of the televisual device has changed and started urging me to buy ‘car insurance’ but I have no car… I’m most confused.”
“Oh, OK, I’ll be there in a minute.”
Eagerboy went back to the living room. Leanne looked at Sam. “Where does he come from?”
“It’s a sad story actually. He grew up with his grandparents who were a bit weird, and they died and it turns out he’s this genius but he doesn’t know anything about the modern world.”
“And your boss sent this naïve genius home with you?”
Sam shrugged. “We’ve got a spare room and we’ll be pulling all-nighters.”
She closed her eyes and held her hands up. “You know what? I’m too tired to care. I need a bath and an early night.”
“What about this London business?”
“Can we talk about it tomorrow?” she said and yawned.
“Whatever.” She left him in the kitchen. He grabbed his machine and went to find Eagerboy. “Wanna see something cool?” He sat next to him and opened up the laptop. “This, my friend, is a computer. Before we get to work, let me introduce you to the internet, which is mostly funny pictures of cats with captions and every flavour of porn the human mind can invent. Which would you like to see first?” He didn’t mind which one Eagerboy chose; both were better than thinking about the state of his marriage.
Elizabeth pushed at the edge of Cathy’s ball gown with a groan. “Mama, this is absolutely unbearable! My dress is being crushed by Catherine’s monstrosity!”
“It’s not my fault,” Cathy said, reddening, trying to occupy as little of the carriage seat as possible.
“Elizabeth, stop fussing and be grateful that your sister finally took an interest in what she wears,” their mother said.
“Typical that she chose the most inconvenient, most unfashionable shape there is!”
“The Censor wore a crinoline not three days ago,” Mother said sharply. “And she made the most excellent point that, as the privileged, we should be able to pick and choose from amongst the best of the fashions. Crinolines may be less convenient, but they do give the impression of a tiny waist, and I think it’s wise of Catherine to choose a style that draws one’s eyes away from her face.”
Cathy shook her head at her mother. She couldn’t give a compliment without kicking the legs out from under it. She felt like a fool in the vast amount of burgundy satin, but it was the only way she could smuggle in the device the Sorcerer had given her to send a message. The tube was tied in a stocking and strapped to one leg, the capsule strapped to the other in its own stocking, using bandages she’d managed to trick the maid into giving her for a fake twisted ankle. The stockings gave the smooth surfaces enough grip to be held in place but she’d tied them so tight, for fear they would slide down whilst she was dancing, that she had pins and needles in her legs. She just hoped she could remember how to use them; the Arbiter’s hurried instruction had been given almost a week before.
Then she started to giggle. It was the nerves, and the simple absurdity of the situation; she was crammed into a carriage wearing a ridiculous gown with her hateful family, an illegal sorcerous artefact strapped underneath her hooped petticoat less than a metre away from her father.
“Stop that,” he said and she chewed the inside of her cheek to drive away the urge.
“Papa, is it true that Lady Rose made the new Nether road to the Gallicas’ house?”
“Her patronage was involved,” he replied gruffly. Cathy had never seen her father in a good mood; it never coincided with her presence, but he was particularly sour this evening.
“And is it true that Horatio Gallica-Rosa will become a citizen of Aquae Sulis now?”
“That’s for the Council to debate, not girls to gossip about.”
“But it’s important! I have to know whether to worry about Imogen catching his eye.”
“The Albas are much more pleasant, if you must seek the attentions of a Rosa,” Mother said.
“Oh, yes, William Iris seems very taken with them,” Elizabeth said, aiming an acidic smile at Cathy. “Why, I’ve heard that he’s been seen with them every day this week.”
Cathy ignored her. She couldn’t care less about what William Iris had been doing and who he’d been doing it with. She wondered whether Sam had managed to talk his way out of the Sorcerer’s clutches yet. He seemed like a nice guy and he probably had a lovely wife. She imagined them going to the cinema together and sharing the popcorn like she and Josh used to. She forced herself to focus on the conversation in the carriage.
“I wouldn’t trust any of the Rosas,” she said, thinking about what Sam had seen.
“Have you heard something?” It was the first interest Elizabeth had shown in what Cathy had to say.
Cathy tried her best to give the kind of enigmatic smile that Elizabeth would use in this situation.
“Are you feeling unwell?” her mother asked and Cathy gave up.
“I thought you liked Nathaniel Iris anyway.”
“Of course I do, I just need to be strategic,” Elizabeth said with all seriousness.
“Do you even know what that means?” Cathy asked, but Elizabeth was no longer paying attention.
“A new road, just to travel to your house, fancy,” Elizabeth breathed, looking out of the carriage window like an excited toddler. “Papa, if he becomes a citizen and Imogen marries him, I’ll never forgive you.” She was ignored for a comment that would have earned Cathy a stern word. “We’re there!” Elizabeth clapped, then grasped Cathy’s hand. “Don’t you dare do anything embarrassing tonight. Especially with that dress on.”