A Little Knowledge Read online

“Now, if you’ll excuse us, ladies,” Will said, “we have a court to prepare for.”

  Cathy kissed them each on the cheek. “Be careful,” Natasha whispered in her ear.

  Sod being careful, Cathy thought as she left. Since when did that achieve anything?

  • • •

  Max looked out onto the city of Bath as he waited for Rupert, the former Sorcerer of Mercia. The gargoyle was next to him, its paws on the windowsill, the soul chain around its neck clunking against the wood. Max scanned the rooftops and streets, his eyes drawn to the various statues he knew so well and the buildings reflected in the Nether. The trees were swaying in the cold January wind and innocents had their scarves wrapped tight as they hurried from place to place. They had been without protection for over a fortnight now—longer if he included the time since the Bath Chapter had been destroyed—and it wouldn’t be long before the Fae-touched of Aquae Sulis began to suspect that they weren’t being policed as tightly as usual.

  “Not sure about this,” the gargoyle’s gravelly voice echoed in the empty room. “A Chapter should be in the Nether. Not Mundanus.”

  They were on the top floor of Cambridge House, in the centre of the city. There was a lift, which helped, as it was six stories up, and lots of windows. Aside from an old desk lamp and a waste-paper basket, the huge room was empty. It was a long way from the large building reflected into the Nether with a portcullis, towers, and cloisters that he’d been trained in. That was a bizarre building, created from anchors in several mundane properties, and used to be filled with people. He’d never heard of a Chapter in Mundanus, but everything was different now.

  Max leaned against the window frame to take the weight off his aching leg. The damp winter weather seemed to make the old wounds grumble as much as the gargoyle. “The Sorcerer of Albion thinks this is the way forwards. ‘Evolution,’ he called it.”

  “Evolution? My stone arse. He hasn’t got a clue about what he’s doing. Hang on. ‘Sorcerer of Albion’? When did Rupert start calling himself that?”

  “Three days ago.”

  “Not true, though, is it?” The gargoyle fixed its stone eyes on Max. “He’s the last official Sorcerer of the Heptarchy, but there’s another sorcerer in Albion.”

  The “other sorcerer” was more than that; she was a woman capable of wielding a hybrid magic, somehow merging Fae and sorcerous arts. Rupert still doubted that such a combination was even possible. There was no doubting that she had murdered six Sorcerers, all of the staff in their Chapters, and dozens of Arbiters across the country. As far as Max knew, the only Arbiters left were the most corrupt in England: the Camden Chapter, Kingdom of Essex. He’d watched one of their Arbiters, Faulkner, drink tea whilst an innocent was being Charmed and kidnapped mere metres away. They were a Chapter in name only.

  Max thought it likely that the mysterious Sorceress had another Chapter in her pocket somewhere, or some Arbiters left over from another, ready to do her bidding and kill anyone close to springing her plans early. Surely by now her plan had almost reached fruition; she had succeeded in destroying the Chapters that protected innocents across the country, and had murdered the Sorcerers that presided over them, too.

  They didn’t even know what the ultimate plan was; they had a theory that the Sorceress was the sister of the former Sorcerer of Essex and that was all. Why she had killed so many was beyond him. The gargoyle had suggested it was for power. The power to do what?

  All was not lost, Max reminded himself. Despite the Sorceress’s best efforts, he and the gargoyle had managed to save Rupert, but not his home or the Arbiters and staff in the Chapters under his control throughout Mercia. There had been three, the largest one in Oxford, with minor Chapters in Cirencester and Cheltenham. The Sorceress thought Rupert was dead, which was the only advantage they had. As the gargoyle had pointed out several times over the past two weeks, it wasn’t much of an advantage at all.

  The gargoyle made a noise somewhere between a groan and despondent whine, resting its head on the windowsill. With Max’s soul housed inside it, he assumed it was feeling the weight of their situation. The only survivor from Ekstrand’s household was his librarian, Petra. While she was an incredibly capable woman, she still wasn’t over the Sorcerer’s death. There was Rupert—a homeless Sorcerer in hiding—himself, and the gargoyle.

  Max was the only Arbiter left with any sense of duty, the only one who still wanted to protect the innocents from the Fae and their puppets.

  “And we’re not exactly a shining example,” the gargoyle said, sharing his thoughts. “Corrupted by Titanium, soul walking around in an animated gargoyle, walks with a limp. This country is going to the dogs, no doubt about it.” When Max didn’t reply, it waved its muzzle at his bad leg. “We’re not going to tell the Sorcerer about the Titanium in that gammy leg of yours, are we?”

  Max shook his head. “He has enough to work on at the moment. And it hasn’t been a problem so far.”

  “So far,” the gargoyle muttered. “Let’s face it. We’re screwed.”

  Max didn’t disagree. He’d had plans to establish a new chapter, but never having been involved with the running of his home Chapter, he had very little idea of what was involved. He knew fieldwork, nothing more. Dozens of people used to support his work, giving him briefings on changes in Mundanus, tracking criminal activity so trends could be observed over hundreds of years, and keeping meticulous records on breaches of the Split Worlds Treaty. How could he train someone to do all that?

  And there was the simple issue of staff recruitment. The researchers he’d known had been people exposed to Fae magic or rescued from Exilium, those who could no longer be called innocents. They were taken in, debriefed, and trained, he knew that much. But the gulf between knowing the broad strokes of how it worked and the details of finding, caring for, and training such people was beyond him. Even if someone else cared for them in a practical way, Max had no idea what skills the training would need to cover. Only now did he appreciate just how complex a machine the previous Bath Chapter had been. But by the time he had arrived there, the Bath Chapter had existed for a thousand years or so. Surely the beginning had been just as difficult for them?

  The lift bell dinged in the hallway just off the office. The gargoyle scampered off to the bathroom as Max went into the hallway, the click of his walking stick echoing with each step.

  The doors slid open and Rupert stepped out, a young woman following him. She was in her early twenties, with dark brown hair and eyes. She wore her hair in a messy ponytail and was dressed in jeans, walking boots, and a thick padded jacket. As soon as she stepped out of the lift she dumped her huge rucksack with audible relief.

  “Max, you’re here, awesome,” Rupert said, pulling off his gloves and woolly hat. “Bloody cold out there.” He turned to the girl. “Kay, this is Max. He sort of works for me. Max, this is Kay Hyde, from Oxford. She’s our first recruit.”

  Kay hung back for a moment, staring at Max, probably trying to work out why he seemed wrong. He was used to this reaction from strangers. Living without a soul tended to make an Arbiter unpleasant to look at and to be around. She lurched forward after a few seconds, as if remembering her manners, and extended her hand to him. He shook it quickly and let go, noting her shudder.

  “First recruit? Which family took her? How long ago?”

  “Eh?” Rupert looked momentarily confused and then realised what Max was talking about. “Oh! She hasn’t been taken by anyone. I knew her at Oxford. Best brain in the city if you ask me. Got a first at Trinity in English Lit, but let’s face it, any sod can do that.” He smirked at her and she jabbed him in the ribs.

  “Piss off! I worked bloody hard for that.”

  “And she is the fucking bomb when it comes to riddles, wordplay, and linguistic sneaky sneakster stuff. Near eidetic memory and descended from Edward Hyde, no less.” When Max failed to give any response to that, he added, “Grandfather of Queen Anne and bloody clever bloke to boot.”

&nbs
p; Max frowned. “Queen Anne was a puppet of the Tulipas.”

  “That’s ancient history,” Rupert said, shrugging off his coat. “No worries on that front.”

  Kay went to the doorway into the office space. “Nice. Oh wow, what a great view!”

  Max went to Rupert’s side as she went across the room to the window. Max moved round to the other side of the partition separating the area containing the lifts from the main office space, lowering his voice after Rupert had followed him. “Sir, am I to understand she is still innocent?”

  “I can’t speak for her universal innocence; we’re just friends, but assuming you mean the Fae or their puppets, yes, she’s never been entangled with them. Oh, tell a lie, she met one visiting Oxford—Freddy Persificola-Viola. What an arsehole he was. She gave him a tour of the city at my request. But nothing dodgy happened. Trust me, I watched every minute she was with him and tested her afterwards too.”

  “This is…I don’t understand.”

  “I’ve given her a job. She’s fresh out of uni, bright as a button, and quick to learn. We’ve just got to get her up to speed on all the Fae shit and we’re golden.”

  “When were you planning to do that?”

  “After we’ve got a kettle and mugs. Brain-breaking should only happen over tea, Max, we’re not fucking savages.”

  “Should I keep the gargoyle in the bathroom until then?”

  Rupert nodded. “Probably a good idea. Just make sure he isn’t in the ladies’ loo. Don’t want her to die of a heart attack when she goes for a slash.” He clapped Max on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Max m’boy. This is a good thing! Kay’s awesome. We’ll be up and running in no time.”

  “I’m not worried,” Max said as Rupert went back into the main office space. He was incapable of any emotion.

  “You can see so much from here,” Kay said to Rupert. “Office is a bit on the empty side, though.”

  “That’s one of the first things I need your help with,” Rupert said, going to stand next to her. “We don’t need much to start off with—a few desks, chairs…computers….A kettle, tea, and coffee are priority.”

  “Okay, give me a company card and I’ll get it sorted.”

  “Oh. Yeah…” Rupert patted his pockets. “Only got cash.”

  “I saw something in the paper on the way here, actually,” Kay said and jogged back to her backpack. She returned with a local paper. “Crap crossword. I did it in less than five minutes. But it’s only the local rag, I suppose.”

  She sat on the floor and began thumbing through the pages as images of a toilet brush appeared in Max’s mind. The gargoyle was getting bored. That was never a good thing.

  “Here we go. A local office is closing down and auctioning off all their stuff this afternoon. We could probably get most of what we need in one go.”

  Rupert shrugged. “Whatever you think is best. You’re office manager.”

  “I am? You realise we haven’t had the interview yet?”

  “Interview? Oh, no need for that. You’re hired.”

  “For what, exactly?”

  Rupert grinned. “Kitting out the office first. Then I’ll tell you about the rest once we can make a cuppa.”

  “Kettles are on sale at the shop down the road,” Kay said, flipping over a page to point to an advert. “What do you think, Max? Like the look of that one?”

  He looked at the picture she was pointing at and nodded, even though he felt nothing about the kettles at all. Then a picture above the advert caught his eye, one of a collection of workers standing in front of a large brick chimney in the courtyard of a foundry that Max recognised, taken at the turn of the century. The chimney looked dark grey in the photograph, but Max knew the bricks had been a deep red, and he could even recall the smell of the smoke which used to sink down into the courtyard on cold, still days. The men were dressed in their working clothes, with grubby shirts and neckerchiefs worn to soak up the grime and sweat. All were smiling for the camera, all faded into the background save one.

  Max looked into the eyes of his father, standing in the middle of the group, thumbs tucked into his belt loops and looking very happy. There were the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that used to gather the dirt from the foundry over his shift, until it looked like they’d been drawn on with a pencil by the time he returned home. He’d disappeared, along with several of his co-workers, when Max was ten years old.

  All Max could recall about the disappearance was looking for his father near the foundry, hoping to find him and bring him home. Max knew that an Arbiter had found him as he searched for his dad and took him to the Chapter but he couldn’t remember why. Nor could he recall whether the reason his father went missing was the same reason why the Arbiter thought he—an innocent ten-year-old boy—should be taken. Why could he remember the smell of the smoke from that chimney, but not the night his mundane life ended and his journey to becoming an Arbiter began?

  A crash from the bathroom made Kay yelp. “Is someone else here?”

  “Just a cleaner,” Rupert said. “Let’s get some food and then go to the auction. They’ll be gone by the time we get back. Right, Max?”

  Max pulled his gaze from the photograph. “Yes, sir.” He scanned the article’s title. Bath’s Troubled History and the Missing Rebels of Yesteryear. “I may not be here when you get back. I need to look into something.” He picked up the newspaper. “May I keep this, Miss Hyde?” When she nodded he folded it up and tucked it into the inside pocket of his overcoat. Max had never discovered what happened to his father, nor why the Arbiter was there that night. Before seeing that photo it hadn’t even occurred to him that there were questions he wanted to ask. Now that there were, it was time to find some answers.

  2

  Will couldn’t help thinking that his life would have been so much easier if he’d been married to someone as politically astute as Margritte. What he had thought would be a short briefing on how Cathy should present the idea of the Ladies’ Court had turned into an argument, when all he was trying to do was help her avoid conflict.

  When he’d discussed the idea with Margritte, a Ladies’ Court had seemed an obvious way forward, something progressive enough to channel Cathy’s energy and keep her more strident behaviour away from the attention of the gentlemen of the court. The way Cathy talked about it now, anyone would think it was some patriarchal conspiracy to undermine…something or other. He’d lost track.

  Amazingly, he was starting to see Margritte as a valued friend—even though less than a month before she’d sought his destruction. Will didn’t mind helping her to stay safe—far from it. He felt it was his duty now and part of his penance for killing her husband. Though he still lived with the guilt, he couldn’t dwell on the past. The strange, infuriating, and spirited woman he’d fallen in love with was making more than enough trouble to keep him occupied.

  Cathy wanted too much too soon and refused to be patient. Will tried to remember that she was under the influence of Poppy’s magic, that damned third wish that she’d made before they’d married. It was supposedly a wish for her to reach her true potential, but ever since he’d learned Poppy was convinced it would be destructive, the thought of it had haunted Will. Surely Poppy’s magic was driving her to this recklessness? He was of a mind to mention it to Lord Iris should it worsen. Perhaps he could lift it from her. Not that she’d want that. And even if he could bring himself to ask that Lord Iron for help, he knew the magic in their wedding ring and the curse his family had put on her would be broken too. Unacceptable. He needed a more subtle solution than that blundering fool.

  “Darling,” Will said, leaning forwards to take her hands as she paused for breath. “I understand that you have doubts. But surely you agree that a Ladies’ Court would at least be a step towards more significant change?” He didn’t say it was the only step he was willing to allow for now.

  By the time they arrived, she seemed to be ready to make the announcement in the way he’d recommended.
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br />   Will stroked the back of Cathy’s gloved hand as the carriage passed through the outer gates of the Tower. She was always more highly strung before any meeting of the Londinium Court, behaving more like a prisoner heading for the gallows.

  For him, every visit to the Tower was invigorating. His ancestor—his namesake—had ruled over the mundanes from the anchor property, the first reflected into the Nether by Lord Iris, from which the rest of Londinium grew. The Irises were in ascendance, memories of the Rosa rule that had lasted for hundreds of years were fading fast, and the name of William Reticulata-Iris meant something at last.

  To think, only a few months ago he’d been drinking cocktails on a Mediterranean beach, dreading his return home. The Grand Tour had given him a taste of freedom and life without his father breathing down his neck, watching for imperfection. In Mundanus he’d been a wealthy playboy, dawdling from place to place with his best friend, enjoying everything life under that gloriously blue sky had to offer. He’d made the most of it, knowing that he would have to fight for every scrap of pleasure once he was back in the Nether. As a mere second son, nothing would be handed to him on a plate. He was nothing but a spare to the heir of the Aquae Sulis Irises. A handsome boy who hadn’t drawn anyone’s attention before he’d left for his Grand Tour.

  All his life, his brother Nathaniel had told him he’d never amount to anything, and his sister Imogen had seen him as nothing more than a child to torment. Will couldn’t help but smile to himself. Everyone had underestimated him, from the Rosas to the Tulipas, and now he was Duke of Londinium. He was never going to let anyone take this from him.

  The way the guards outside the entrance to the Tower straightened as the carriage pulled up, how the page ran to lower the step and open the door, how they all bowed when he emerged—all the tiny things drove home the fact that he was more than anyone had ever thought he would be. Will loved the way his arrival cast a ripple ahead of him, from the way the pages announced his presence with loud voices up each level of the Tower, to the sound of the residents of Londinium hurrying into the main chamber to ready themselves for his and Cathy’s entrance.