Chapter thirty-four

The Old North Road

 

It took a little time but between themselves the parrots managed to find and disable the dragonfly. The biggest problem was to persuade them that none of them should try to eat it. Barysomos squawked instructions and finally it was dropped gently into Viola’s hand. It was about three inches long and clearly wasn’t a standard insect.

‘It’s ridiculously heavy’ she said, weighing it in her palm. She turned it on to its back and examined it carefully.

‘It’s made of metal, and…’ she fiddled with something at the base of the dragonfly. A small compartment opened and then something rolled out and fell on to the floor. Potentilla went down on to her knees, scrabbled around for a few moments and then let out a little squeak of disgust.

‘What is it?’ asked Viola. Potentilla looked up at her.

‘I think it’s an eye, ma’am’ She said, holding up something very squishy. All of the humanoids repeated Potentilla’s squeak. The eye was about two-thirds the size of a human’s and it had a green iris. Its pupil was a vertical slit. They all knew that it had once belonged in a head with whiskers and pointed ears.  

‘Can it still see?’ asked Viola, turning to Kath

‘How am I meant to know?’ said Kath, her face screwed up in revulsion.

Potentilla dropped the eye on the floor and stamped on it with all her might. There was a popping sound as it burst. Viola shook her head and sighed.

‘Well, we won’t be able to find out any more about it now, will we, lieutenant?’

Potentilla bowed her head, briefly contrite. The others looked down at the flat streak of tissue and fluid that was all that was left of the eye. Dom shivered and whispered something that no-one else could hear.

‘What did you say?’ asked Viola

‘Necromancy’ said Dom, only slightly more audibly.

‘What’s that?’ asked Potentilla

‘Magic that employs death or dead things’ said Dom, obviously reciting something from memory, ‘it is one of the forbidden types of magic…’

‘Well’ said Viola, ‘looking at that, I’m not surprised’.

Potentilla looked puzzled.

‘If it’s forbidden then who did this?’

Viola, Dom and Kath all looked at each other simultaneously. Kath was satisfied to see how quickly Dom had got the hang of things.

‘Umm’ she said, ‘Tillie- you know just because something is forbidden doesn’t mean that nobody ever does it – for example, like, well… you know, stealing’

Potentilla nodded wisely.

‘So, bad people have sent this thing to track us?’

 ‘I’m sure of that’ Kath said softly.

‘But who would want to track us?’ asked Viola.

‘Someone who wonders what the Deputy Governor of Gorodnikov is doing heading towards the middle of nowhere, perhaps?’ suggested Dom

‘Good point’ muttered Viola, ‘and I’m wondering that too’

‘Perhaps it’s that group of witches that Laurence and John are struggling against?’ said Kath

Dom was very interested to hear this - he had heard all about the Ethian witches from Potentilla and was keen to learn more.

‘Who are they?’ he asked . 

‘I’m not entirely sure’ said Viola, lying. She shot a glance at Kath, who knew as much about the CRS as she did but fortunately she showed no inclination to say anything either. 

‘Well, whoever it is’ said Dom, ‘perhaps we should move on as soon as possible. I’m guessing that that they’ll soon be wondering what happened to their flying eye’

Viola realised that Dom was right – they’d been standing in this one place discussing things for far too long.

Kath picked up the remains of the dragonfly where it had dropped from Potentilla’s hand. She dug around inside the metal insect.

‘I’ll have a better look at this later’ she said, slipping it into her bag, ‘I can’t make out much in this light’

Without another word they picked up their packs and struggled further up the densely wooded slope, until they could no longer see the curve of the shoreline. As they moved Viola instructed the parrots to fan out and try to find some sign of the road – they had clearly had had little interest in it for a very long time. They squawked and chattered very loudly; if anyone really was tracking them in a conventional way then they would be easy to find.

‘Let’s find the road and then see if we can get the parrots to quieten down’ whispered Viola to the others.

‘How are we going to do that?’ asked Kath

‘I’ll think of something…’

‘They are very nice, though’ said Potentilla, ‘I like the noises that they make’

Everyone ignored her.

 

***

The only clear things that seemed to remain of the road were milestones. They discovered two in the first hour or so of searching. They were half buried in the soil, after so many centuries of busy earthworms turning over the ground. They were also covered in moss and lichens that they had to scrape off carefully. Beneath the encrusted flora however were clear markings of the old road:

Klethropolis 157 miles

Tamarix 2 miles

‘So’ said Viola, after she’d examined the milestone carefully, ‘we’re trying to find a two thousand year old road?’

Barysomos, who was hopping about next to her, tweeted and nodded his agreement.

‘How can we do that?’ she asked.

‘Thou now hast eyes in the trees’ said the fat parrot

Viola shivered, after their recent discovery this didn’t seem to her to be the best way to put it.

She stood up and Barysomos jumped into her palm.

‘You are very useful indeed’ she said, ‘but I fear that your suggestion might put all of us at risk’

‘Why is that?’

‘Because we are being pursued – probably by very dangerous people and because you are numerous and noisy and will make us easy to find’

The little bird puffed up his feathers and, probably quite inadvertently, dug his claws into Viola’s hand. The elf winced slightly.

‘Thou thinkest that we are forever clamorous and indiscreet? It is not always and inevitably true for all of my cousins’

 Viola realised that she had sounded excessively critical. It was just that she didn’t want to have to take responsibility for the care of who-knew-how-many parrots – she had neither the resource nor the time. She backtracked rapidly.

‘No – of course it isn’t’

‘I will send Akenopteryx, Hapalonyx and Psithuros with thee. They are the best spies among us – they can fly through the canopy without being easily seen. They are rather drab, as thou canst see, and they will go wherever thou goest. They will surely find a way along the road’

On cue, three rather scrawny, exceptionally pale green, parrots appeared on a branch above them.

‘At thy service, my lady’ they all twittered at one. Their voices were low and sweet.

 ‘You are very welcome – but we may not need you – I’m not yet convinced that we should carry on… I must talk to my colleagues’

 

***

They found two walls of an old building next to the ancient road in which to shelter while they discussed their predicament. As it was, any excitement that they had felt when leaving the boat and making dry land had now disappeared.  Even Potentilla seemed a little edgy, staring up every now and then into the boughs of the trees as if looking for another enchanted dragonfly.

‘We should go home’ said Dom, ‘This is surely far beyond our capabilities, isn’t it? Whoever made that automaton must be very powerful’

Viola nodded vaguely. She had really wanted to continue but this now did seem like suicidal folly. No-one said anything for a long while. Whatever sunlight that had managed to penetrate through the tree canopy was now becoming feeble. It cast long finger-like shadows.  Viola started to remove the items from her pack, re-organising them in groups in front of her. There was no real sense to what she was doing, but she sometimes found that she just needed to do something with her hands.

‘How though’ said Kath, ‘how will we get back home?’  

They all stared at Kath as if she had revealed a horrible family secret.

‘There’s no boat waiting for us’ she continued, ‘except perhaps for a big black enemy one. And I don’t really like the idea of walking home across country from here…’

Dom waited for Viola to speak, to reassert common sense, to devise a clear way back home. She seemed, however, intent on something other than what was being said; she had laid out her pack and was now staring up the hill through the ranks of oak trees to where they had uncovered one of the milestones. She tipped her head as if she heard something calling to her.

‘Can you not hear them?’ she said, very softly, in archaic elven, ‘Can you not hear the serpents’ cry?’ The others heard nothing but the birds and the rustle of mice. They said no words, all dreading the sound that none of them could hope to hear.   

‘We could find a way home’ said Dom, rallying, but finding that he was strangely reluctant to break Viola’s reverie, ‘there must be other roads that we can find, roads that lead south and west’

‘There’s only one road from here’ Viola whispered, ‘and we’re on it’

‘Viola’s right’ said Kath, ‘it is the only way to get away from anyone who is still following’

‘We can’t go on’ said Dom, ‘that would be crazy – who knows what’s beyond here?’

Viola whispered, ‘exactly’ and began to load her stuff back into her pack.

 ‘So, what is this?’ asked Dom, ‘Are we stuck here until someone captures us? Is this some sort of trap?’

‘Well, it may be that’ said Viola standing and putting on her pack, ‘but that’s not all it is’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Dom

‘I think that this is my destiny’ she said

She stood up and bid them follow. No-one refused. Kath was just behind her with Potentilla running to catch them up. Dom came behind them steadfast but shaking his head.  The three pale parrots leapt up into the trees above them and were soon invisible.

 Viola trudged off along the tangled road. They started on their long walk north.  

Chapter thirty-five

The Anchor, Fanemouth

 

The pub was decked with bunting and everyone was various shades of drunk. The party had begun at midday and had, so far, consisted of every customer who had ever visited the pub coming to drink the free beer, and, sometimes as an afterthought, pass on their congratulations to their genial host.  Kathleen shook a very large number of hands, but as she could think of very little to say she mostly smiled. She wondered what sort of impression she would be making, a tiny eccentric woman with a dubious reputation beaming happily at the local drunks.

Tom was in his element and he seemed to have an infinite supply of friends, which, Kathleen concluded, is probably the usual way with innkeepers.  After a while it all became a bit too noisy and so she retreated into the pub kitchen where the bar staff were preparing food. They all knew her well and they gave her somewhere to hide for a while; they sat her on a stool and gave her cake.  They all found the whole thing extremely funny but they were very fond of their boss and were delighted that he was so happy.

None of Kathleen’s friends attended the daytime part of the party; they had decided that the two groups really wouldn’t mix. Kathleen had hoped that Celia and Owen might be there as they had been invited to the earlier do and had been to the pub several times before, but she knew that it was now very unlikely that Celia would attend at all. This was something that had been worrying her all day, but she was trying to put it to the back of her mind. It was hard for her to imagine celebrating without her closest friend.

Eventually she was dragged back in for the toasts and some sandwiches. This was fine as it only involved listening – Tom had made it clear that she was rather shy and that she wouldn’t be giving a speech. No-one seemed to mind. After that there was dancing, which was lovely and fun.

                                                                    ***

Two hours later the day guests has all gone home and Tom was coming down from his convivial high. He sat in the lounge bar nursing a mug of tea and looking unusually pale. Kathleen realised, with some shock, that it was his turn to feel overawed.  She wondered if he would ever properly get to know any of her friends.  They sat in silence with her hand resting in his – she couldn’t think of anything very helpful to say.

‘What are they like?’ he finally asked.

Kathleen tried very hard to put his mind at rest.

‘Well, you’ve met Celia…’

Tom nodded.

‘She’s very nice,’ he said, warily, ‘but things were a bit difficult when she was here’

Kathleen blushed – she realised that she shouldn’t have brought all of that up again. She really hadn’t been herself.

‘She might not be able to come anyway…’ she said, ‘…sadly. She’s been unwell…’

‘The others are also very nice…’ she continued, ‘they’re all my closest friends’

‘And they’re all witches’ mumbled Tom, clutching his large mug of tea even closer to his chest.

‘Yes, but then so am I…’

This was a conversation that they had had many times in the last few weeks. They had established that they definitely loved each other and that they would definitely get married, but everything else had been left a bit up in the air.

Around them Tom’s staff were making preparations for the meal. They pulled in a large oak table, covered it in a dark green table cloth, and then laid it. The cutlery and crockery and the wine glasses were all Tom’s finest. Most of the stuff had been hidden away in drawers and cupboards for a long time; this was not the kind of do that he was normally asked to host.   

After much efficient to-and-froing and a lot of busy bustling the table was ready, with seven chairs for the guests. It was time. Kathleen stood up and pulled a small round device out of her jacket pocket. It was a penny polished to an extraordinary brightness.  This was a teleport beacon, enchanted with a unique trace signature – all she had to do now was to switch it on.  She held it up next to her face.

‘Rhusio!’

She placed the penny on the table and went back to her wine. The others would be there as soon as they picked up the trace.

 

George arrived first, dressed in a comfortable brown smoking jacket covered in black cat hairs.  He appeared momentarily confused about where he was but then settled down to talk to Tom, whom he had never met before. This was one encounter that Kathleen was quite happy about – George put everyone at their ease.  His method was to appear mildly befuddled, ask lots of subtle but apparently vague questions, and learn a large amount very painlessly.  Tom was soon telling him the trials and joys of being a publican and both of them were quite content. 

Bronwyn arrived next, breathless, and Celia was so close behind her that they collided, toppling over the table with the beacon penny. There was a brief scramble to get it back into position but no harm was done.  It was quite clear to Kathleen that the outfits they were wearing both belonged to Bronwyn – Celia’s green dress was, for her, unusually short and tight; but Kathleen thought that it really rather suited her. She wondered mischievously whether Owen would like it and she guessed that he definitely would. Anyway, however they were dressed, she was delighted to see them. She stood up and gave them an unusually fulsome hug but asked no questions – she sensed that something was going on well beyond her knowledge of people.

Stephen was close behind Bronwyn, less vague than George, but a little short of breath. He embraced Kathleen slightly stiffly and shook Tom’s hand enthusiastically. Kathleen had always liked his almost elven old-fashioned politeness and was very pleased to see him. He settled down to talk to Bronwyn, eagerly accepting a glass of dark red West Visneorian wine.  

John appeared ten minutes later: despite any efforts that he might have made he looked just like a rather louche gardener, with a bright purple shirt under a mildly moth-ridden holey jacket. This, thought Kathleen, might well be how he would dress without Laurence’s influence.  She really didn’t mind it – at least it wasn’t quite so controlled as usual, but she allowed herself a moment of disappointment that Laurence hadn’t felt able to come to the party.

Owen appeared close to the teleport trace beacon. He looked a little bedraggled but had managed to spruce himself up well enough in a dark suit and tie. Kathleen suspected that this was the same suit that he’d wear to any formal occasion be it a birth blessing, a wedding or a funeral. He certainly looked better in a Rhylic smock.     

Celia stood up as soon as Owen appeared – she looked like a woman being pursued by a bear. He seemed only very slightly less tense. They approached each other stealthily.  

‘We need to talk’ she said, just before he could say the same thing. The room was full of other people but they might as well have been stones.

 ‘What is it?’ asked Owen. Celia looked at him with wild eyes.

‘I’m sorry about this, I really am, O’ she whispered, ‘I’m so sorry’

‘What?’ he asked, ‘what do you mean?’

‘I’ve done something really stupid’ she moaned, tears streaking her cheeks

‘What have you done? It can’t be all that bad, can it?’

She couldn’t say the words – they were too blunt, too terrifying. There was only one other possible approach. She walked forward and put the palms of her hands either side of his head. Then she kissed him, as passionately as her inexperienced lips could manage, and hoped for the best.  There was a lot of stored energy in the kiss and Owen was overwhelmed, but he really didn’t mind. They both felt like they were going over a high waterfall in a barrel; it was very scary and so very wonderful. They held each other very tightly. But then they heard a strange noise, as if from another universe. It was clapping. John whispered, ‘at last’ and this embarrassed them out of their clinch. They untangled themselves but their hands remained entwined; they had no intention of letting go of each for a very long time. 

Owen was just smiling – he seemed to be incapable of talk or thought for a while, but Celia suddenly realised where they were and her good manners resurfaced.

 ‘Katy’ she said, looking down at the floor, ‘we’re being so rude… This is your day’

 ‘Not at all’ said Kathleen, jumping up in delight, ‘it seems now that everything really is all right with the world!’

‘And all manner of things are well’ murmured George.

There was more clapping and cheering, followed by good-natured shouts of ‘sit down!’ The new couple shuffled around, discovering the awkwardness of holding hands. Eventually they found their seats and drinks were poured. Tom and Kathleen took their places at the head of the table and then the supper was served.

They ate the battalions of food that came on to the table, fish, game and fowl, and everyone soon agreed to what was self-evidently true – that to marry a kind innkeeper was a sort of heaven. And Kathleen realised that this really was the end of loneliness and she found it quite baffling; why should such good luck fall on her?   As they ate the witches competed to tell Tom stories that he could hardly believe, but as he was three-quarters drunk with wine and love, it mattered very little. 

For a moment everyone was happy as was possible and the shadows seemed to retreat back into the distant night. But the wisest of them knew that all celebrations must come to an end, and that dawns may not break as fair. But for that long moment, no-one cared.  

Chapter thirty-six

Milestones towards Klethropolis

 

They made slow progress to begin with, picking their way through the forest from milestone to milestone, knowing that if they strayed too far from the path that they risked becoming totally lost. After a while, however, the parrots learned the best way to find the stones, by flying in the rough direction shown by Dom’s compass and swooping down to locate the lichen encrusted markers. Humanoid eyes, even Viola’s, would have been deceived by every other rock and boulder, but the drab green birds were experts at distinguishing the subtleties of dappled light.

They could only travel during the brightest part of the day, as before about eight in the morning and after four in the afternoon the contrast between sky and ground became too faint to find the milestones.  In places, as well, the oaks gave way to expanses of tall ash woodland, where the wild garlic, just turning, covered the ground with a white splash of flowers, also making searching difficult.

On the first night of their hike up country they had had to decide how they would sleep in the two tents that they had brought with them. Viola knew that Potentilla would do almost anything to share a tent with Dom, but she also knew that this was clearly out of the question. When Viola took her to one side to explain what she was going to do, Potentilla went very quiet and said nothing for several hours, but she made no fuss, so Dom shared the first tent with Viola and Kath shared the second with Potentilla. It irritated Viola intensely that she had to worry about the Potentilla’s infatuation as well as everything else. She wanted to keep them apart, but she couldn’t really stop them if they really wanted to be together.

The parrots slept in the branches above them, but would fly down to bring them nuts and berries at breakfast time.  They also kept an eye on everything within about a half-a mile radius, soundlessly patrolling the branches around each camp. Parrots are entirely diurnal birds, however, and so they were no use at all at night – in fact they would settle on a branch and fall asleep almost immediately after dark, which was understandable as three dimensional movements among tree branches is not at all prudent at night. However, they had been trained to wake at the smallest hint of light on the ground, so they were still effective guards, assuming that anything that was approaching needed illumination.    

The forest was generally quiet enough during the day but full of noises at night. Most of what they heard were small rustlings, the sound of little insect-eating mammals searching for their prey, but also, every now and then, they heard larger animals. There were endless debates in both tents as to what the animals might be – Panthers? Bears? Wolves? – but as they never saw any animals bigger than a small deer during the day, they were left uncertain and apprehensive. This made the nights long and they were delighted to get up every morning into the bright spring sunshine.

 

They saw no signs of pursuit for the first few days of their hike. In fact, they saw nothing expect the endless forest, the milestones and a few remains of buildings that had originally stood at the side of the road.  They sat by one at lunchtime to eat their rations, augmented with sticky wild figs flown in by the parrots. Kath laid out the modern map that they had brought with them on a flat mossy rock and examined it carefully. They had had a copy printed by the archive at considerable expense. They hadn’t dared to get a copy of the old map printed as they feared this would draw attention to themselves.  

‘Are we going the right way, Kath?’ asked Potentilla

‘Yes – I think we are’ Kath replied, pointing at a faint dotted line on the map. Her finger slid down to the sea.

‘We landed here at Tamaranti and now were making our way up on to the plateau above us. As long as we follow the milestones we should be fine’

 ‘Can you see the city on the map?’ asked Dom

‘No – the road just peters out…’

‘Thank the gods for the milestones, then’ said Viola

‘I hope it’s not like this all the way’ said Potentilla, shivering slightly, ‘I much prefer the open spaces’

‘I think that we all do’ said Viola, ‘but at the moment it looks like the trees go on forever’

‘Hopefully we’ll be very hard to track in here…’ said Dom

‘Yes, hopefully…’ said Viola, ‘but don’t rely on it’

Kath folded the map back up and slipped it into its case. She sat back against the wall of the building and joined in with the others in eating. She stared up at the wall, examining it half-heartedly.

‘I wonder what this was?’

‘Perhaps it was a restaurant’ suggested Potentilla, ‘it would be lovely to have some fresh bread’

‘Or an inn with soft beds’ said Dom, grinning.

 ‘Or a bath house’ said Kath.

Viola scowled at them. ‘It’s only been four days’ she said, ‘and we have enough food, and the moss isn’t too bad to sleep on, and there’s springs and pools to wash in…’

Her companions sniggered. Viola shook her head, intensely irritated. Kath decided to contribute something more positive.

‘Perhaps I can work out what it was. I’m no archaeologist, but Fred taught me a bit about old elven buildings…’

Viola shrugged, unconvinced. ‘We need to get on very soon…’

Kath pulled her tool bag out of her backpack and stood up. She walked round the husk of the building, stopping from time to time to examine the structure. She finally found a part of the wall that seemed more interesting and began to scrape the encrusted moss off very carefully with a knife. The others, even Viola, gathered round her, squinting at what was being uncovered.  There was a slightly embossed oval seal about five feet across and on it, very worn but very clear, was a stylised alder leaf. Below the leaf was a faint inscription, impossible to read even with a rubbing. Kath took out a sheet of translucent paper, which had been neatly folded into her bag. She unfolded it, cut out a piece the size of the marks, and placed it against the inscription. The paper began to glow with a reddish light, as if there were a scarlet liquid pressed between the two skins of the paper. The liquid shifted in the paper and finally coalesced over the faint marks.

Hekēkontaetia Basilieus Petros Ϝ . Arch Hesp. Enneos Ith. Katabolaion λα

 ‘What does that mean?’ asked Potentilla

Viola said nothing – Kath struggled to make sense of it. After a few minutes of silence a quiet voice came from above them, speaking in Archaic Elven.

‘In the sixtieth year of the reign of Emperor Peter the sixth, built by the western architects, Prime Nineteen, the thirty first storeroom’

They all looked up. The little parrot above them looked very pleased with herself.

‘Which one are you, scout?’ asked Viola.

‘I am Akenopteryx, at thy service’

 ‘What does it mean, the inscription?’ Kath asked Akenopteryx, ‘we don’t understand most of it’

 ‘That this is a storeroom and that it was built by the Architects who made and maintained this part of the world, and that it was made during the reign of a particular Basilieus – that is the old elven name for Emperor’

‘I’ve never heard of an Emperor Peter’ said Viola, carefully,’ and most certainly there haven’t been six of them…’

‘And what about “prime nineteen” – what does that mean?’ asked Kath

‘I am not sure, my lady’ said Akenopteryx, ‘but it is found on many inscriptions in this area’

‘The alder leaf is a promising sign, though’ said Kath, searching for good news. 

‘Well, we’re definitely on the right road’ said Viola, glumly, ‘but I think that we knew that already. However, we still don’t know what we’re heading towards’

They thanked Akenopteryx and packed up. They had a couple more hours of daylight and they had to make the best use of it. They sent the birds out and made for milestone forty-seven.

 

***

 

The things that slunk into their tents that night were definitely shaped like panthers, but they didn’t smell like them, and no rustling preceded them. Four of them were enough to overpower the three humanoids who were in the tents. Dom, who was outside damping down the fire, took a little longer to catch. He was overpowered by the humans, who came behind with bright torches. He had had time to run off with Viola’s bag, but he had nowhere to go, so eventually he had had to give in. They found him crouched over the bag slipping some paper back into it. None of his captors, fortunately, detected the smell of sulphur that hung briefly in the air.

They dragged him back to join the others, trussed up on the floor of Viola’s tent. There were seven humans along with the beasts that they had sent to capture them. Viola had tried to talk to them but they were clearly under instructions to say nothing. The panther shapes guarded them, but it was very hard in the half-light to see what they were – they seemed to shimmer and shift a little too much to be real mammals. It was almost as if a blue liquid was shifting under their skin.

Eventually an eighth human, dressed in shabby black robes, appeared at the entrance to the tent. He held a torch up and inspected them. He said nothing to them directly, but then he turned to his companions and spoke to them in Rhylic, a language which presumably they thought no Imperial subjects would comprehend. Fortunately, Kath was no imperial citizen and she could speak Rhylic well enough to understand them.

‘Keep them here until our mistress can arrive. She is attending to other business but will be here my noon tomorrow. She will be very pleased with all of you and I am sure that she will reward you handsomely’

There was laughter from the other humans.

‘How did you find them?’ asked the newcomer. A voice shouted back, but it was barely audible from inside the little tent.

‘They had disabled the dragonfly, but not thrown it away. One of the idiots had put in a bag. It was so easy to sniff it out!’

The laughter erupted again, as if in a tidal wave that engulfed the tent. Then the newcomer moved away and there was silence and darkness.   

Everything was starkly clear to Kath as she lay trembling in the dark. They had been pursued and captured by enemies, and, it was all her fault.

Chapter thirty-seven

Visnea

 

Antonius had been uncontrollably angry for three days, and the anger had made him bold. The Lady had sent him back to Visnea and dropped him, quite gently, on the steps of the Curia (the senatorial parliament building). Once he had worked out exactly where he was he had gone straight to the Imperial Palace and demanded an audience with the Emperor.

Pallatian was just east of the Wall, examining the plans for a new city, Transmuralis, set to be a major transport centre for his new cross-continental road. He had to cut short his visit and return to the Capital. On the way he got muddled messages about what had happened and his fears grew.

He returned to an exasperated senate and an over-excited populace. Protestors had congregated round the palace waving banners daubed in red paint – ‘Down with Ortians’ and ‘Crush the Easterners’ were among the more popular slogans. The Emperor hurried into the city and instantly summoned his chief-of-staff, General Titanius. At that point he got the full story, but could hardly believe it. After that there was little choice but to talk to Senator Antonius, the illegally-ousted proconsul.

 

They met in a council room in the depths of the palace – The Emperor, Titanius and Antonius. There wasn’t even time to find a higher chair for Pallatian so they sat almost as if equals. Then Antonius told his story.  Pallatian waited until he had recounted everything before he spoke, trying to keep any edge out of his voice. He did not intend to act precipitously. 

‘Are you certain that this crime of removal was committed by the Lady?’

‘Who else would have the power?’ asked Antonius, sitting bolt upright on the very edge of his chair.   

‘A witch?’ suggested Titanius

‘There were no witches, General, and Aurelian was passing on a direct threat from her’

‘But why would she do it?’ asked Pallatian, ‘she’s never interfered with a proconsular appointment before’

‘It was because of the old proconsul – she’s demanding her back’

‘Back?’ said Titanius, ‘she has no right to make those sorts of threats’

‘Exactly – I have been removed without permission and I have been physically assaulted. I must be reinstated and I will be seeking considerable damages’

Pallatian failed to supress his grin completely, although he tried very hard.

‘You’re going to sue a goddess? Is that your plan?’

Antonius’s anger, which was volatile enough to be directed at anyone, turned on his liege lord.

‘No-one is above the law, my lord. I demand my senatorial and proconsular rights!’

Pallatian knew that this was a bad moment but he was always convinced that there was some way out of every problem. He leant over and grasped Antonius’s shoulder, perhaps a little too tightly.

‘Of course, my dear friend, you will have all the recompense that you deserve. However, the Lady of Ortia is one of the Uchbenoi, an immortal being of great power. I don’t think, therefore, that the legal route will be very successful. But feel free to try – my lawyers are at your disposal… ’

Pallatian caught a look in Titanius’s eye. He had seen it many times before – it said ‘act like an emperor’. He tried again, struggling to drive the sneer out of his voice.

‘However, the question of compensation can be readily answered. Would ten thousand imperial sovereigns cover it?’

Greed and hurt pride fought inside Antonius, but pride and anger won.

‘The question of money is only secondary – I am a rich man and any recompense will simply recognise my loss of earnings and respect…’

‘We are still paying your stipend, I am sure…’

Antonius glared at this interruption. The Emperor realised with a shock that this elf, his choice for proconsul, really was, at times, rather petty and irritating. It was such a shame that so few of his citizens could see the big picture.  

‘Nonetheless, what I want from you, my lord, is action. You must send an expedition to conquer Ortia’

 ‘Conquer?’ murmured Titanius, ‘really?’

‘Of course – this is a clear breach of Imperial order. Such things cannot be allowed to happen’

Pallatian framed his response to this as slowly and as clearly as he could.

‘I have no intention of sending an expeditionary force against an Imperial city. However upset you may be it cannot justify some sort of retributive strike against our own kin. I need to know for certain what has happened before I make any decision’

He turned to Titanius.

‘Have we heard anything from General Aurelian?’

Titanius passed Aurelian’s letter to him. He spent some time opening it, as it was a good excuse to find some thinking space. He then read it just as slowly. He handed it back to Titanius without offering to show it to the senator. Titanius knew better than to read it just then, either.

‘And?’ asked Antonius

‘He says that the Lady has asked him to be Dictator of the city until Marthian returns. He then says that he has decided to accept the post in lieu of any other effective government. He awaits my instructions and promises to follow them to the letter’

‘Then write to him to tell him to stand down. And tell him that he will be court martialled’

Titanius, who had been sitting with his head slightly down jerked up suddenly. It took all of his reserve of patience and judgment not to speak, but somehow he remained silent.

‘And what is your charge, senator? Have you any proof that the general is in league with the Lady? From what you have said he served you well enough, even if he wasn’t pleased about it, and that he was simply passing on a threat. His behaviour appears to have been exemplary’

‘Maybe, but those two are lovers you know…’ said Antonius, only to realise that this was a bit of a blunder in the present company. The relationship between the imperial commander-in-chief and his chief military officer was an open secret, tolerated by most but excoriated by a few.

‘Meaning what?’ asked the Emperor.  Antonius shook his head vaguely but didn’t reply.  Instead he forged on with his main point.

 ‘The main point is that you need to send some sort of force to sort everything out – I insist on it’

Pallatian’s eyes blazed with irritation, but he resisted the temptation to throw this annoying creature into the dungeons below the sewers, those dank prisons specifically designed for those who dared to insult the Emperor. He knew that politics sometimes demanded forbearance.

‘Thank you for your advice, Antonius, but I think a more careful approach is needed here. Let me think about our options for a little longer and consult more widely’

Antonius’s anger remained his strongest impulse and it drove him to insolence.

‘No’ he said, ‘that’s not acceptable. As I said, I insist’

‘Senator’ said Titanius, getting up from his chair, ‘show some respect!’

Antonius stood up to face the general; he was a short, round elf, at least four inches shorter than Titanius, but just for that moment it looked like an equal match.

‘My family is already scandalised by my treatment, as are my fellow senators – I demand satisfaction!’

Titanius’s hand went to the hilt of his sword – it was a dress sword and it would have taken him about twenty minutes to extract its blunt edge from its scabbard, but the intent was clearly there. Pallatian realised that this was escalating into something very worrying.

 ‘And you will have it, old friend – but this is not the elven way, as you know. We should not hurry things that cannot bear the hurrying’

Antonius laughed.

‘Well, that will make a change for you…’

Titanius was still fumbling with his sword. Pallatian nodded savagely at him to stop.

‘I’m sorry, senator, I cannot authorise any action against Ortia at present. You will be reinstated as proconsul in time, of course, but I cannot afford to risk the integrity of Ortia – it is central to my strategic plans’

Antonius smiled.

‘I know’ he said, ‘and that is why you will do exactly as I ask…’

Pallatian wasn’t sure of the nature of the trap but it was clear that the jaws of one were opening.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked 

‘Well, let me see. For a start, I can muster the conservative votes in the senate to block funding for your beloved ‘big road’. You won’t be able to afford it unless the patrician families pay up for it. I know that a lot of the ‘strict moralists’ would be only too happy to put obstacles in your way’

  Pallatian smiled a cold smile of recognition – here was the political beast at bay.

‘Go on, proconsul, I’m fascinated…’

‘In addition, can I remind you that the principle of adoption pioneered by your illustrious, but not consanguineous, father has never been ratified  by the senate and that opening up the question to a debate and a vote might prove embarrassing, particularly as at least three of the senators are in the direct line of imperial succession.’

The Emperor stood up and lifted his hand. It was time for this to stop.

‘That is enough’ he said, ‘I will give you what you want. I will send you back to Ortia with a military force led by General Titanius’

Antonius looked as if he was going to say something else, but his anger had finally transformed into caution. He knew that he had gone far too far.

‘Thank you, my lord’ he mumbled, retreating rapidly. Pallatian’s gaze followed him all the way out and then lingered on the door as if wishing it were see-through.  He was as angry as he had even been, but knew that he couldn’t afford to show it.

 

They waited until they were sure that the senator was long gone, and then Titanius came over and squeezed Pallatian’s hand. He looked worried. Pallatian absentmindedly kissed him on the forehead.

‘Really?’ said Titanius, ‘You’re sending me to Ortia?’

‘Yes, my love, I’m afraid that I am’

‘But what will you have me do when I get there?’

‘Nothing at all – I want you take as long as possible to get there and then do nothing. Surround the city if you must, but no bloodshed. Spend as long as possible parleying with Aurelian and wait. Don’t talk to the Lady unless you really have to…’

Titanius looked concerned.

‘Will you write all this down?’

‘Of course, I will spell it all out in my orders – but don’t show any of them to Antonius – keep him in the dark as much as possible’

‘Understood– but what are you going to do?’

 ‘I’m going to find out what all the fuss is about’

Chapter thirty-eight

The Anchor

 

George, who had drunk the least of all of them, was dressed and downstairs first. The bar staff were all gone but they had left a wide selection of food for breakfast. He pottered around smiling quietly to himself, found the largest teapot in the pub kitchen and made a huge pot of tea.  He then began to fry up some bacon and eggs.

‘You still have the stamina then, John’ he said without turning round. John laughed as he walked into the kitchen. The purple shirt had gone to be replaced by a rather short white dressing gown.

‘That’s a good trick, Papa George’

The older witch turned towards him.

‘How to attract a greedy witch – fry some bacon’

John sat down at the wide kitchen table. He savoured the smell. 

‘It’s true – although ‘greedy’ seems a bit harsh’   

‘Would you prefer ‘voracious’?’

‘Not really – that sounds rather risqué…’

George grinned. ‘Well, you always were that too, of course…’

George flipped a rasher of bacon. John poured two mugs of tea and then cut some slices of bread. Outside, the sun had been up for a long time.

‘I don’t suppose we’ll see the two couples this side of lunch, will we?’ said John

‘I hope not’ murmured George, ‘in fact we might well not see Owen and Celia for several weeks…’

‘Thank the gods for that – them, I mean. Things looked very bad for a while, but it looks like it’s worked out very well. They belong together’

George nodded. There were now two cooked breakfasts on plates and he took them to the table, passed one to John and then sat down himself.

‘If you’re so romantic, my president, why haven’t you found anyone yet?’

John frowned. The shape of his breakfast had suddenly become very interesting indeed.

‘For the same reason that you live on an island with thirteen cats… lack of candidates and circumstance. Do we have to have this conversation every time that we meet?’

George was patient but insistent.

‘I thought we agreed that you should try to do things differently’

A brief flurry of irritation blew across John’s face. 

‘Well, I will, but no-one has turned up yet, and so the opportunity hasn’t arisen’

‘You live in Kinspit – surely your amatory preferences are no problem there…’.

‘Of course they’re not, but I haven’t met anyone. When I do I shall have a banner made with his name on it and I will parade through the streets waving it, but until then the point is moot’

George smiled sadly. He touched John’s arm for a moment.

‘Just don’t make the mistakes that I made. Thirty years is a long time to have to hide the fact that you loved someone’

‘I know… And I sympathise, of course I do… But at least you had someone for all that time even if you had to pretend that you didn’t…’

Bronwyn tottered into the room. She seemed to find each step forward rather painful and was holding on to her head. The two men looked at each other and sniggered. George reproached her.

‘Miss Preece, do you have a hangover?’

‘Well that’s a first’ laughed John

Bronwyn looked mildly affronted.

‘No it’s not – I have been tipsy before, I’m sure of it… And I’m not really hung over now… I’m sure… well, I think ’

‘Shall we make you some bacon and eggs then?’ asked John, ‘I can fry them in a big lump of lard…’

Bronwyn made a face. ‘Actually, I’m not really very hungry’ 

‘Have some tea, then’ suggested George, gently steering her into a seat.

‘It’s the first time I’ve seen you sing folk songs so loudly, too, Bron’ said John, ‘while dancing...’

Bronwyn glared at him. She wasn’t certain if that was meant as a joke and she didn’t want to find out.

They sat eating and drinking, and talking about the coven.  George made another pot of tea; Bronwyn sat nursing her headache. They began to emerge from the afterglow of the party.

‘So, is Celia quite well now?’ asked George

‘I’m not sure’ said Bronwyn, ‘but she must at least be feeling a lot better today’

John was sure that this must be so, but the urgency of the threat that Celia had articulated was beginning to prey on his mind. One more slice of toast and he’d have to go and whisk them back to Neman and safety. He could explain the details to everyone later.

‘She’s a very strong witch’ murmured George, ‘I’ve never seen a stronger one. To confront Kratos and come out on top – absolutely extraordinary…’

‘I know’ said John, feeling the need to act growing. Sometimes after something wonderful had happened it was best to get away and start on something else, just in case.

Stephen strode through the kitchen doorway dressed in an old tweed jacket and trousers and a scarf.

‘It’s still a little chilly out there’ he said, ‘but a bracing walk around the harbour is always a good start to the day’

The others, who had been tucking into their fried breakfast and who were all dressed in their night clothes, murmured their support for sea air and exercise. George laughed, but it was a friendly laugh.

‘You’ll have worked up an appetite then, old warhorse?’

Stephen looked down at the sad yellow stains of fried eggs and long worms of bacon rind sitting on the plates.  He shook his head.

‘I’ll have some tea and toast’

George found an extra seat and placed it next to his by the long kitchen table. He gestured for Stephen to sit down and then began slicing the bread. Stephen made noises that might have been implying that George shouldn’t put himself out, but he didn’t actually move to help him. Soon Stephen was buttering some thick toast and he and George were chatting. They had not always got on so well, but shared adversity had made them grow closer over the long years.

Tom and Kathleen appeared in the doorway; Tom was dressed and Kathleen was engulfed in one of Tom’s dressing gowns, it would have been easy enough to fit two of her inside it. She looked happy and sleepy, but he looked a little concerned.

‘I’m really sorry’ he said, ‘I should have been up to prepare the breakfast’

‘That’s my fault,’ grinned Kathleen, her pale face reddening slightly, ‘we were… talking’

‘Katy!’ hissed Tom

‘Have some tea’ said George, pretending not to have heard anything, ‘I love your teapot’

Tom bustled around, flustered by his shortcomings as a host. He walked over to the larder, opened the door and stepped inside.

‘I have some Crumbling Rydale here somewhere, John. Katy told me that it was one of the things you miss in Kinspit’

John’s face lit up. ‘It really doesn’t travel at all well’ he said. He turned to Kathleen, ‘you are so kind and thoughtful’

Tom brought out a huge slab of cheese on a rough wooden board and placed it carefully on the table. It was a white cheese that looked like it would crumble if you blew on it. Every other thought faded away – John had to crush some of the delicacy on to a hunk of bread and devour it.

‘I’ll have some of that too, if I may’ murmured Stephen.

They sat and ate (and drank) a second breakfast. It was a long one, as every time they thought the food had been finished Tom would bring out something even more delicious.  Finally, it was all over and John felt able to get up from the table.    

He had only gone three steps when there was a brilliant flash of blue light and a massive tremor. Everyone and everything was thrown from the table and all of the pots and pans hanging above them fell among them like metal hail.  John was the first to struggle to his feet. He made for the door and ran up the stairs, shouting for Celia and Owen as he went.  Where were they?

There were shouts and yells from below and above but no more tremors. However, John could now see clearly a blue flickering light coming from one of the rooms on the fourth floor. He ran towards it and burst through the door.

Owen was sitting on the floor, staring at a space just in front of him.  Faint blue clouds were curling around themselves and dissolving.

‘It’s taken her’ he said. John could see nothing where Owen was looking but there was a strong smell of rotting apples.

 ‘Who? Celia?’

‘Yes… she said it was coming for me’

‘What was?’

‘Something from the Outer Void’

‘What happened?’

Owen looked up at him with wild eyes.

‘She killed it but she fell through the hole it had made in normal space. I couldn’t reach her’

‘Where was it?’

‘Just there’

‘Can you see her trace?’ shouted John, his hands grasping in empty air.

‘I don’t know’ said Owen, beginning to sob, ‘I can’t tell where she is… she saved me and now I can’t see where she’s gone’

John had no time to comfort him.   

‘Concentrate. She knows the drill – if she’s still alive she’ll cast an alwa spell and you’re the most likely one to pick it up’  

‘Why?’

‘Because you love her the most, why else? ’

‘Does it work like that?’

‘Probably…I don’t know – just keep concentrating’

Owen looked at him as if he were trying to deceive him.

‘Look for the trace, Owen, focus!’

‘She must be dead’ he moaned, ‘no-one can survive in there’

John summoned all his reserves of courage and bravado. Sometimes when things looked terrible all that was left was bluff.

‘Of course she’s not – you can’t kill Celia that easily. Stay here and look for her trace’

‘But what are you going to do?’

‘Call the coven – there is no way that we’re going to lose her without a fight’ 

John was already off, running down the corridor towards the stairs. He was devastated. Celia had fallen out of the world, and he knew that it was all his fault.