The Honours (37 page)

CHAPTER 42

THE FIRST BLAST OF THE TRUMPET

M
r Cox released her.

As he stood, he kicked away the Mauser and it skidded to the foot of a vesperi statue. Now she had time to examine the figure, it looked like Mr Loosley – stocky shoulders, small, bunched wings. A white streak of lime bisected its left eye and ran down over its chin, where water had dripped from the ceiling.

Mr Cox slipped his hand inside his tawny waistcoat and poked a finger through the hole in the stomach. The finger wriggled, like a white worm breaking the surface of a molehill. He removed the waistcoat. Underneath, leather straps held a black metal cuirass plate to his sternum. He pressed his thumb into a shining dent at its centre, gasped with pain.

When he had got his breath back, he slipped his waistcoat back on. He glanced at Delphine.

‘Get up.'

Perhaps the sedative had finally worn off, because Delphine found it hard to breathe. She looked around the chamber. She saw vesperi corpses, a fallen harka at the foot of the stairs, her sawn-off beside the mound of its corpse. Attached to the south wall, obscured by shadow, was a cluster of aluminium washing-up bowls. So Mr Garforth
had
been here.

‘You've lost,' she said, trying to ignore the catch in her throat.

Mr Cox tilted his head back and looked at her. He and Stokeham made a swatting gesture.

‘Yes, all right, then,' said Cox, the trace of a smile playing on his lips, ‘stare at the herald. I suppose you've earned the privilege.'

He plucked at a loose thread trailing from the hole in his waistcoat. Delphine glanced at Stokeham. They seemed in no hurry to kill her. She could not understand it, and that made her heart race because it meant they knew something she didn't.

‘How
did
you find us, by the way?' said Cox, without looking up.

Delphine shot a glance at Stokeham. Cracks radiated out from the beakmask's shattered lens. The eye beneath was in shadow.

‘Your son brought me here.'

‘Really?' Cox began dabbing at the tacky blood with a handkerchief. ‘What happened to him?'

‘I . . . I pushed him into the lake.'

Cox and Stokeham exchanged a glance. It was the first time Delphine had seen them acknowledge one another's existence directly, and she felt the frisson of a weird taboo snapping.

Mr Cox looked back down at his stomach. He sniffed, nodded. He began to chuckle. He patted his belly, threw his head back and laughed.

‘It's not funny. He might be dead.'

‘No, Delphine, no.' Cox wagged a bloody finger at her head. ‘That is
precisely
why it is funny. The father dies in a fire, and his son, some eighty-one years later,
drowns
on the same estate! The Stokeham Curse strikes again.'

‘But you didn't die, did you?'

Again, Cox shot a glance at Stokeham, who appeared to return it.

‘No,' said Cox. ‘I did not. Do you know you're an incredibly re
source
ful young lady, getting this far? How old are you, fifteen?'

‘Thirteen,' said Delphine, a little proudly.

‘Thirteen.' Cox whistled. He supported his elbow with one hand and tapped his chin with another.

She gritted her teeth against the cold weight in her chest. ‘Are you going to kill me, then?'

Cox rolled his eyes. ‘No. I am not going to kill you.'

She looked at Stokeham, whose arms were folded. To Stokeham, she said: ‘But I helped Mr Propp escape.'

‘Is that what you think you did?' Cox strode to the pool in the centre of the chamber. He ran his fingers along the low, flat wall surrounding it. ‘What, you think that waiting for him on the other threshold is a lovely party with plum cake and macaroons and a dancing bear? The soldiers you saw tonight were just a bridgehead, a forlorn hope, uh . . .
les enfants perdus
. Back in Avalonia, I command an army. The false prophet has merely handed himself – and my daughter – into their custody.'

‘What do you mean, your daughter?'

‘I mean the child who was here but minutes ago.' Stokeham gestured at the pool.

‘She wasn't a
child
.'

The beakmask tilted. ‘You don't understand a thing, do you?'

Delphine made herself focus on Stokeham, struggling to formulate a plan while she kept her expression meek and engaged. She mustn't give up now. Mother said there was always a way.

‘Teach me,' she said.

‘Very well.' Cox appeared shocked at the words leaving his mouth. He turned to Stokeham, aghast. ‘But, Endlessness, you can't . . . ' At this, Stokeham's body stiffened. Cox dropped to one knee and bowed, colouring. ‘Forgive me, Endlessness. I forget myself. Naturally, you can do anything.' A long auburn forelock swung before his eyes. ‘If my words implied disrespect, I am
mort
ified, Endlessness, I only intended to advise, ah . . . that is, to
clar
ify . . . ' He took a deep breath. His eyes rose slyly. ‘Endlessness – are you sure?'

Stokeham did not answer. A gloved hand signalled for Delphine to rise. This time, she did not resist. If she got the opportunity to run, it would be easier from a standing start. Her whole body ached and stung.

Still bowing, Cox said: ‘We are of one mind, you and I.'

Delphine glanced towards the exit.

‘By all means, run. I shall not stop you. Unlike my enemies, I would not murder a child in cold blood. I have achieved my aims
for the time being. You can cause no more mischief. Go, if you wish.' Stokeham held up a palm. ‘Or, if you prefer, you may hear me out.'

Delphine breathed through clenched teeth. ‘What do you want?'

‘You have impressed me, young lady, with your insolence and enterprise. Therefore, I propose an experiment: I shall tell you the truth. Then, you must make a choice.'

The leather gauntlets rose behind Stokeham's head. Delphine heard the click of a buckle being unfastened. The great curved beak sagged. In one smart movement, the gloves gripped the sides of the mask and tossed it to the floor, where it lay, rocking.

‘Hello,' said its owner.

She was beautiful.

CHAPTER 43

OUR POISON'D CHALICE

F
rom behind one of the statues Mr Cox produced a satchel containing a gemmed flask and four ivory cups. The flask was a stylised turret constructed from hundreds of tiny silver bricks, its battlements lined with cannon. Cox unscrewed a crenelated lid studded with sapphires and poured a treacly, bruise-coloured substance into three of the cups. He grimaced as he handed a cup to the woman, and touched two fingers to his stomach. He offered a cup to Delphine.

She took it. Incised around the sides of the cup were hanging cadavers, all harka.

‘Drink.'

The woman's voice was dry and quavering but her face was young and supple, her skin the soft pink of rose quartz. Her large eyes gleamed. She sat on the ridge surrounding the pool, lifting the skirts of her overcoat so they did not drag on the damp ground. She looked Delphine up and down. Her yellow-white hair was swept from left to right and fastened behind her ear with an ivory clasp. A sheen of perspiration stood out on her brow. She smiled.

Delphine looked at the cup uncertainly. The liquid had a heavy, nettley musk. She tilted the cup; its contents oozed towards the rim.

‘I don't like speaking,' said the woman. ‘Mr Cox helps me. He, uh . . . ' She screwed her eyes shut. ‘
Interprets
.' Mr Cox bowed
modestly. ‘But he adds things. I want to speak to you. Just me. My name is Anwen.' She raised her cup.

‘Where's Sir Peter?' Delphine said.

‘Dead.'

Delphine stared down into her drink.

‘Why did you pretend to be Lord Alderberen's father?'

‘I didn't.'

‘But you said he was your son.'

‘He is.'

Delphine frowned. ‘Then . . . you're Peter Stokeham's wife?'

‘Widow.'

‘You died in a fire. He went mad with grief.'

The corner's of Anwen's mouth creased. ‘Not quite.'

Delphine could not tell if she was smiling.

Mr Cox stepped forward. Anwen held up a hand. ‘No, thank you.' She waved him away. ‘I would like to explain myself.'

Cox nodded, a taut smile on his face as he stepped back. Delphine heard the hiss of air leaving his nostrils. From his pocket he took a clay pipe and tobacco pouch.

‘When I married Peter,' said Anwen, ‘I didn't know about the family secret.' Her voice was almost inaudible. Between each sentence, she took a sharp breath. ‘He told me on our wedding night. The Stokehams had found a way to live for ever.

‘For generations, when people in his family got old, they did not die. Instead they travelled to the new world, where they could live, with their servants, and their servants' families, for all time.

‘I thought he was mocking me. Then I thought he was mad. I asked for proof. So he brought me here.'

She lifted her arms and gestured at the chamber. ‘He showed me the threshold. We couldn't use it ourselves, of course, but when the first visitor emerged I knew he had been telling me the truth.'

‘What about the fire?' said Delphine.

‘I was very young. I didn't realise at first that my husband was . . . misguided.'

‘He was weak and naïve,' said Mr Cox.

‘Yes, thank you, Cox,' said Anwen, sharply.

‘Apologies, Endlessness.' He returned to filling his pipe.

‘He . . . ' Anwen sighed. She rubbed her eyes with thumb and forefinger. ‘He wanted to break the covenant. He wanted to open up our paradise to everybody. He hadn't thought of how he would protect Avalonia from people who might destroy it. He was ready to expose the new world to all the villains and thieves who spoilt the old one. I thought he was wrong. But I was young and with child, and I said nothing.

‘Conscience is not so easily denied. I was troubled. This did not go unnoticed.' With a slight inclination of her head, she indicated Mr Cox. ‘I confided in him. He shared my concerns.'

‘We were
of a mind
, Endlessness.'

Anwen rolled her eyes. ‘He was only the first footman, but I was alone in the Hall. For the first time, I felt I had met someone who
understands
. Together, we came up with a plan to save the new world.'

Cox straightened up, wearing a broad smile. He produced a matchbook, lit his pipe, and performed a few leisurely puffs until the shag took. He slipped the matchbook back into the fob pocket of his waistcoat.

‘One night,' Anwen said, ‘the under-butler was off-duty, so Mr Cox took supper to his master. After this meal, my husband fell ill and died. He often stayed in his chambers for days. The servants knew never to disturb him. To hide his death for a short time was not so very hard. Two days later, an ambassador arrived from across the channel. I explained what I had done, and why. I explained my husband's plans to break the centuries-old covenant and reveal Avalonia's existence to the rest of the world.'

‘But you
killed
him,' said Delphine. ‘They ought to have hanged you.'

‘The covenant was Avalonia's most sacred law,' said Cox. ‘It kept the new world safe from plunderers. He would have blackened the Stokeham name. His ancestors would have been excommunicated. We spared him that.'

‘The ambassador was impressed. I received the honours in my husband's place.'

‘Her Ladyship and I,' said Mr Cox, almost sighing the honorific,
‘embarked on a little
folie à deux
, as I believe they call it these days.'

‘I'm sure you can guess the rest,' said Anwen. ‘We started a fire, then pretended I had died and grief had turned my husband into a recluse. I had builders construct tunnels and secret passages so I could come and go as I pleased. Whenever I left the house, my face was covered. Servants knew better than to speak to me. We let senior staff go, of course – hired people who had not known the Earl before his, ah . . . hibernation. On the rare occasion someone absolutely had to talk to “Sir Peter”, Mr Cox accepted the role with aplomb.' Cox acknowledged this with a nod. ‘We would insist they spoke to him through a door, or, in the final years, over the telephone.'

‘You're idiots,' said Delphine. ‘You should have just said your husband died in the fire. Then you could have been yourself.'

‘That would have been easier, certainly, but there were a number of political and legal obstacles that only the 3rd Earl of Alderberen could surmount. My husband's failure to enter the perpetuum would have caused . . . unrest. The ambassador proposed that, in the interests of stability, we delay news of Peter Stokeham's passing until we had cemented some alliances.

‘I still remember the moment I announced the truth. Bechstein looked like he'd swallowed a cricket ball. But he couldn't stop me. None of them could. It was too late.' She let out a laugh that was more like a sneeze. ‘Some of them still can't accept it. But that's the thing about, uh . . . ' She snapped her fingers.

‘Vacillating, hidebound cowards, Endlessness?'

‘Mmm. They'll do anything to avoid admitting that the worlds are changing. We can use that. To this day, some of them refuse to believe I'm not Peter. They think all
this
,' she indicated her face and torso, ‘is just a product of my arising.'

‘The honours manifest in different ways,' said Cox.

‘What about your son?' said Delphine.

Anwen's smile withered. ‘What about him?'

‘Didn't he notice you weren't his father?'

‘He was six weeks old. He didn't notice anything. I sent him off
to India, out of the way. Later, after we had decided it was time for the Silent Earl to, ah . . . '

‘To pass beyond the veil,' said Cox, with a sweep of his palm.

‘To die,' said Anwen, ‘and Lazarus inherited the Hall, we made contact, and revealed to him the truth.'

‘The revelation is a test in itself,' said Cox. ‘He did not pass.'

Delphine transferred the cup to her left hand. She looked up, squinting into the shadows behind the two human statues at the back of the chamber.

‘Did you have these made?' she said, pointing.

Anwen and Cox turned to look.

‘No,' said Anwen. ‘Before my time.' She turned back to Delphine. ‘Why are you interested in statues all of a sudden?'

Delphine shrugged.

‘Well, then.' Anwen lifted her cup to her lips. ‘Let us drink.'

‘Wait,' said Delphine. ‘How do I know it isn't poisoned?'

‘Why use poison when I could have you bludgeoned to death?'

‘Aesthetics?' said Cox.

‘Enough,' said Anwen. She glanced at Delphine, who made a show of peering into her drink doubtfully. ‘Oh, very well. Mr Cox, swap cups with her.'

‘As you wish. In the interests of diplomacy.' He held his cup out for Delphine to take. Trying to hide her shaking hand, Delphine accepted it and gave him hers.

‘Now,' said Anwen, ‘this is nectar. Our national drink.' She raised her cup. ‘To new alliances.'

‘And the death of old ones,' said Cox.

Delphine drank. Nectar coated her tongue. She felt it filling the gaps between her teeth and cheeks, thick and cool and intensely bitter. It tasted like engine oil. Her jaw clenched. She swallowed.

When she opened her eyes, Anwen was wiping her lips with the back of her sleeve. Mr Cox dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a fresh handkerchief.

‘I know you must think badly of me,' said Anwen. ‘I did not want this violence. Ivan Propp kidnapped my daughter. She's just a baby. So you see, I had to act.'

‘Why does everyone keep calling her that? Baby. Girl. “The child.” She's an old lady.'

Anwen laughed and touched two fingers to her mouth. Her smile melted into a look of astonishment.

‘You really don't know, do you? All this time and no one explained to you how it works.'

Delphine smeared a palm across her cheeks. The nectar had left a slimy film that she could not wipe away.

‘Delphine, I want you to join me.'

Delphine's hand halted in its passage across her mouth.

‘It's not without precedent. When I first met Mr Loosley he tried to rob me,' said Anwen, setting her cup down on the edge of the pool. ‘He had a, uh . . . '

‘A certain
contempt
for death,' said Cox.

‘Exactly. He was brave. I could've had him tortured and executed. Instead, I recruited him.' She smiled at Delphine – a hard smile, full of threat. ‘I'm not intimidated by strength. If we punish rebellion and kill our most powerful, what are we left with?'

‘An island of sheep,' said Cox.

‘I no longer feel the weight of Mr Loosley. He may be unconscious, he may be dead. Either way, he has failed me.' Anwen stood. ‘Of course, you are far too young to cross the channel as a human. I shall have to anoint you here.'

She reached up and peeled back her stiff high collar, exposing a fist-sized tumour.

‘This is another reason why living unmasked after the fire would have been . . . problematic.' The tumour flexed as she spoke. ‘You will live eternally. You will hear my thoughts. You will feel my pain as if it were your own.'

‘Together,' said Mr Cox, ‘we will unite continents: Mr Cox as the Tongue of God, you as Her Fist.' He spread his arms. ‘This –
announces her Ladyship stirringly
– is your final test. Will you serve House Dellapeste, and bring civilisation to the worlds?'

Delphine took a step back. ‘What if I say no?'

‘Then you may go,' said Anwen. ‘I make you the same offer I made Loosley. If you join me out of fear, your choice means nothing.
Walk out, if that is your will.' She swung a palm towards the stairs. ‘But know this. I will not fail in my quest to rescue this once great nation from the hands of scoundrels.'

‘Great Britain?' said Mr Cox. ‘Not any more –
her Ladyship exclaims ruefully
– my agents have brought me the papers. Soldiers begging on the streets. Spies in every hamlet.' His voice grew full and lusty. ‘Honest farmers robbed by bailiffs. Knighthoods sold to the highest bidder. Politicians frittering away the Empire. Landless financiers fomenting war to line their pockets. Bolsheviks,' he spat the word, ‘plotting high treason.'

‘In Avalonia we have something better,' said Anwen.

‘Something pure,' said Cox.

‘What are you going to do?' said Delphine.

‘What else? I will set Britain free.'

‘But you said Avalonia had to be kept secret! You said it's your most sacred law.'

‘
Was
our most sacred law,' said Anwen. ‘And its purpose is to protect us. It is no longer sufficient. War is coming. We must move first.'

Delphine straightened her chin, hoping to disguise the tremble in her jaw. ‘The army will stop you. We have the greatest army in the world.'

Anwen and Cox shared a special, confidential look.

‘Many – such as yourself – will see the wisdom in following me,' said Anwen. ‘For those that remain . . . I have a weapon that will prove their equal.'

‘Avalonia is one of many countries beyond the threshold. It is a land of great opportunity, but also great danger,' said Cox. ‘If Britain does not make itself strong, there are . . . factions far less interested in justice than us.'

‘A good heart is useless without power,' said Anwen. ‘If you cannot protect those who deserve your protection, your love is no better to them than callous disregard.'

Delphine nodded slowly. Her mouth was dry. The nectar had left a metallic aftertaste.

‘May I have a moment to think?' she said.

‘Please.' Anwen popped her collar back up over the growth on her neck. ‘You may consider my offer for as long as you wish.'

‘Ah.' Cox held up an index finger. Delphine watched as he walked across the chamber, kneeling at the corpse of the harka to retrieve the sawn-off shotgun. He walked back to the pool and tossed the gun into the churning depths. ‘Just in case you haven't learned your lesson. Not that I fear pain, you understand . . . but I should like to return to Avalonia with at least some of my garments intact.' He flicked at the hole in his waistcoat, smiling sardonically.