The Conquering Dark Page 6

  When the door closed, Grace showed a much colder visage, assuming control of the room. She turned to Simon. “Shall we get down to business?”

  “Nick Barker!” Rebecca shouted when Nick entered the Devil’s Loom with a strange companion. The barmaid hardly spared a glance to Nick’s tall hunched friend as she bustled toward him with arms outstretched and gathered the stocky man into a sweaty embrace. “First Simon and now you. I wish you two lads would come back together.”

  Nick accepted her wet kiss on his cheek. “Simon is so jealous of me and how you love me.”

  “Oh, I’ve bosom enough for both of you, should you care to try.”

  Nick nodded approvingly in confirmation of her statement. “For now, two ales will do.”

  The two men found a back bench. The crowd was thin because it was early. The ambient conversation had finally turned back to parish gossip and turf racing. What happened in far-off Westminster was nearly as distant to these folk as news from India or China.

  Nick studied the crowd for a familiar face as he drank. He spoke to his companion out of the corner of his mouth. “Mind you keep near me, old boy. I can’t keep the glamour spell on you if you move too far away. In fact, don’t move about much at all. More chance for people to see the blur in the glamour. It’s hard enough casting it on someone else to begin with.”

  Simon sat back with the peculiar feeling of looking exactly like himself as far as he was concerned. “Would it help to drink more of that potion of yours?”

  “No. The potion’s only part of it.”

  “Good. It’s terrible.” Simon rose slightly and caught sight of himself in the mirror behind the bar. He was a huge man with a jowly ruddy face and a very noticeable mole square on his nose. He was peculiarly long and hunched like a gargoyle. He waved to himself, laughing at the experience of the strange arm in the glass moving with his own muscular forearm.

  “Sit down,” Nick hissed. “And stop waving at yourself, you great horse. Have you forgotten everything I taught you?”

  “I didn’t forget how to avoid getting savagely beaten by a group of undead.”

  Nick grunted in mild annoyance. “There was a brick involved. Let me hit you with a brick and see how it works for you.”

  Simon continued to look at himself in the reflection. “Could you have made me any uglier? Was a leper beyond your ability?”

  “Just shut it.” Nick continued to study the shifting crowd. “You get to be Satanically handsome all your days. A bit of plainness won’t kill you. Lets you know how the other half lives.”

  “I don’t see Tommy.” Simon took unobtrusive glances about the room. Then he found himself staring again in the mirror. “I hear he used to have a talking monkey.”

  “He did. Nice enough. Utterly filthy. Just remember, keep quiet. I’ll do the talking. Me and Tommy were mates once. And it’s very important this be handled with subtlety and grace.” Nick suddenly sprang to his feet and waved his arm. “Oy! Tommy! Over here, mate!”

  A heavyset man at the far end of the bar turned to peer through the crowd. He looked to be about sixty years old and wore a very old-fashioned summer suit from a generation ago. Old magicians, among their greater failings, had difficulty keeping up with fashion. He narrowed his eyes in the dim room, then pulled back his head in surprised recognition. He grabbed his glass of beer and came over.

  “Tommy!” Nick stood and shook the man’s hand vigorously. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  “I’m always here. I used to see you here all the time.”

  “I know.” Nick pointed at Simon. “This is my best mate, Sim…uh…Mac…Clydesdale.”

  “MacClydesdale?” Tommy repeated.

  “Um. Aye.” Simon pushed out a chair with his foot, trying to cover his mix of anger and amusement that they had forgotten to craft a name for his new persona. “It’s Scottish.”

  “Sounds fake.” Tommy creaked into the seat.

  Simon stayed quiet and regarded Nick cheerfully for the timely clever response.

  Nick leaned close to Tommy with a finger over his lips. “Shhh. You know how it is with names.”

  “Oh right.” Tommy winked. “Where’s the bloke you used to come in with? That dandy.”

  Nick made an annoyed growl in his throat. “You mean Archer?”

  “Yes. That’s the name.” Tommy noted the scowl on Nick’s face. “What became of him? He seemed a right poser.”

  Simon shifted grumpily in his chair.

  “I gave him the boot,” Nick snarled. “He was so full of himself. Got intolerable.” He tapped his glass against Tommy’s with a refreshed smile. “So what’s new with you, mate?”

  “Nothing much.”

  The table went silent. A minute passed. The fat man drank and wiped his mouth. Simon raised smug eyebrows, enjoying Nick’s perturbed face as the man drummed his fingers on the table and took a long breath. Simon crossed his arms like a spectator.

  “So,” Nick began again, “that was some coronation the other day, eh?”

  Tommy shrugged and drank his beer.

  Nick rested on his elbow and exhaled. “I remember you being a bit more chatty.”

  Tommy gave a direct stare. “I remember you not being marked for death by Ash.”

  Nick tilted his head in surprise. “You know about that, do you?”

  “Of course. I could make a lot of money if I let certain people know where you are.”

  Nick grew cold and hard. His voice was quiet. “You needing money that bad, mate?”

  “No.” The fat man turned, his voice quavering a bit.

  “Good. Let’s get to it. I’m looking for Ferghus O’Malley.”

  “Are you?” Tommy’s eyes shot to Simon, then back to Nick. “What’ve I to do with that?”

  “I need cover from the other side. But I haven’t seen Ferghus in years. Not since the Fire. I’m not sure how he’d take to me. I’d appreciate a word to him. You two were always close.”

  Tommy chuckled without mirth. “Oh yes, the Fire. He went away after that. And you walked.”

  “I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Sure, Nick. You never have nothing to do with anything. Not sure he sees it that way.”

  “Look, I’m not coming empty-handed. I’m bearing a gift.” Nick leaned close and lowered his voice. “Tell him they’re moving the Stone of Scone.”

  Tommy paused midsip. He swallowed nervously. “What’s that to me?”

  “I don’t care what it is to you. It’s something to Ferghus. Trust me. In two days, they’re taking the Stone from the vault in Westminster and hiding it in an old storage pit under one of the piers of old London Bridge.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  “Yeah, it is, and it’s free to Ferghus. I just hope he’ll see his way clear to help out an old mate in these times of trouble.”

  Tommy asked quietly, “How did you come by this information?”

  Nick took a breath. “Tell the truth, it was from Archer. I still see him around and he still thinks we’re mates. He told me all about it. He was involved in that row at Westminster. Working for the Crown now like a proper little soldier. Makes me sick.”

  Tommy slugged back the last of the ale and slammed down his glass. He gave Nick a collegial nod. “Thanks for the drink, Nick, and the chat. Pleasure, Mr. MacClydesdale.”

  Simon sat quietly until he felt a kick in the shins. “Oh! Yes. Pleasure was mine.”

  The fat man shoved his bulk up with a suspicious glance at Simon. He shook Nick’s hand again and waddled out.

  “Right.” Nick watched the door until it shut. “That’s well done.”

  Simon leaned on the table with an exasperated glare. “Proper little soldier, eh? So you were mates with Ferghus O’Malley too? You were with him the night of the Great Fire? How did you neglect to mention that?”

  Nick motioned for more beer. “Must you always dwell on the past, MacClydesdale? I knew a lot of people. I’m old and social.” He straightened with surp
rise. “Oy. It’s the missus.”

  Simon turned to see Kate weaving through the crowd with a determined look. He shot to his feet. “What’s wrong?”

  “This came to Hartley Hall this morning.” She held out a piece of paper to Simon.

  He took the sheet. “How do you do that? How do you see through Nick’s spell?”

  Kate sat in the chair vacated by Tommy, looking Simon up and down curiously. “I’ve always been able to see through Barker’s glamour; he uses cheap potions. Nice mole.”

  Nick sputtered angrily. “That’s a load of rubbish. My magic is solid. You’re the only one who ever saw through it.”

  Kate rolled her eyes as she intercepted Simon’s fresh beer and started drinking it.

  Simon’s eyes scanned the paper and he let it drop to his side. “Well, that’s unexpected. A note from Ash.”

  Nick spun in alarm. “What?”

  “Easy, old man. It’s not about you. Ash wants to see me.” Simon pulled his half-empty glass from Kate as she wiped foam from her mouth. He picked up his hat and took her arm. “I suppose we should go. How did you know where to find me?”

  Kate rolled her eyes at the question. “Since I’ve known you, you’re only ever three places. My house. Your house. Or this pub.”

  Simon stared deep into her eyes. “Not exactly a man of mystery, am I?”

  “No. You’re like an old married man.”

  He moved close to her and whispered, “That won’t do.”

  Kate gave an expectant smile and they started for the door.

  —

  The stars pulsed overhead. A warm breeze rustled the leaves with scents of the blooms, the last thick fragrances before the sharp bite of autumn. Simon and Kate posted along a wagon trail. Kate’s wolfhound, Aethelred, raced ahead of them, enjoying his freedom. Beyond a distant copse of trees, they heard muffled chatter and laughter. A small village enjoyed a soft night, delaying their bedtimes for a few moments of pleasure.

  Kate’s red stallion moved like a ship before the wind, tall and strong, unmindful of any around him. Simon wrestled with his fitful grey Arabian mare, which Kate delighted to saddle him with. He found the horse spirited, game to be sure, but angry and likely to bite. Kate glanced back from her perch some four hands above him. She hid a smile.

  “I’m still here,” Simon called cheerfully. “Don’t fret. Your hellish mare hasn’t eaten me yet.”

  “Good to see you haven’t lost your touch with the ladies then.”

  A lascivious eyebrow rose at her. “Only one lady matters to me.”

  Her smile flashed brilliantly at him in the moonlight. She turned forward and her good mood faded with what lay ahead of them. “You should have worn your armor, Galahad. We don’t know what we’re walking into.”

  Simon patted the side of the saddle where his walking stick was wedged. “I didn’t come unarmed. And besides, I’m not afraid of Ash. Clearly she still wants me for her Galahad.”

  “You’re already taken. You’d think she’d have figured that out by now.”

  Kate’s claiming tone started a warming heat inside Simon. He stared at her ramrod-straight back and curvaceous hips. “Yes, it seems unlike her to beat a dead horse. No pun intended. Why would she have sent a note to meet with us otherwise?”

  “I don’t know. I could live happily never talking to Ash again. She makes my skin crawl. Just thinking how she groped me when she was animating Rowan Barnes.” Kate shuddered.

  “I understand. You need not have come. But it’s important to speak to her tonight while we have a moment. Tomorrow, we should have our equipment from the Crown and we’ll move.”

  They rounded a corner to see a figure before them twisting in the wind. The body of a man hung from a roadside gallows, hands tied behind his back. His head drooped on a broken neck. His eyes were open and staring at the dark ground below his bare feet. As he turned slowly about, a note was revealed pinned to his shirt: Housebreaker.

  Aethelred dropped to a crouch and growled, his hackles rising along his spine. Simon rode closer and the stench of death ruined the late-summer sweetness. He could tell from the color and taut dryness of the face that the man had been hanging several days at least.

  Kate reined in, listening to the sound of merriment beyond the trees. “Will they not cut him down at least?”

  “Doubtful. I’m surprised resurrectionists didn’t take him; we’re not so far from London. But he’s no good to the surgeon now.”

  “Barbaric.” Kate scowled. “Executing men and women and leaving them hanging like worthless meat.”

  “I was a housebreaker,” came a dry voice from the gibbet.

  Kate started and her horse reacted to her, neighing and clattering his hooves on the rocky path. The dog lunged at the cadaver’s dangling heels.

  Simon looked up at the hanged man. “I beg your pardon?”

  The dead countenance slowly revolved toward them with the creaking of the rope. As starlight hit the grey features, milky eyes moved. The lips quivered. “I said, I was a housebreaker. I struck a man with a maul, nearly killing him. And I stole silver from him.” The corpse continued to rotate. “I deserve to be here.”

  Kate narrowed her eyes. “It isn’t a matter of your character; it’s a matter of ours.”

  “You’re arguing with a dead man,” Simon interrupted. “That’s pointless enough, but there’s even less point in arguing with Ash.”

  Kate grunted in annoyance at being drawn out by the reanimated presence of the vile necromancer.

  The hanging cadaver seemed to chuckle though it came out more of a strangled gurgle. “I’m glad you found me, Archer.”

  Simon took a deep breath and clenched his teeth. He tried not to think of his poor mother. Finally, he said, “The note you sent to Hartley Hall was fairly specific, Ash. Couldn’t you simply come by and speak as yourself?”

  “I haven’t survived for centuries by letting others know my true identity. I called you out here because London is full of spies. I trust no one.”

  “Even me?” Simon asked, coolly covering any reaction.

  The cadaver moved quietly in the breeze. “We need to work together to bring Gaios down.”

  “Why?”

  “You know his agents are seeking the Stone of Scone. He wants its power.”

  Simon feigned surprised interest. “For what purpose?”

  “I don’t know, but it must serve his goal to destroy me. Don’t delude yourself, however. He won’t be satisfied with my death. Once I’m gone, he will mow through the magicians of this world like a thresher. He’ll come for you and your people eventually because he fears power. And he’s quite insane. You have no idea the carnage he is capable of wreaking.”

  “I do actually. He’s reputed to have caused the eruption of Vesuvius.”

  “Which is true, and he did it in a mere fit of pique. A temper tantrum that doomed thousands. His insanity is why Pendragon imprisoned him in the Bastille. Unfortunately the dim-witted mob freed him and his vile allies. That terrible moment cost Pendragon his life.”

  “Gaios killed Pendragon?”

  “He did.” The cadaver tried to nod for emphasis. “In Paris. He killed Pendragon, and tried to kill me. With one stroke he shattered the old Order of the Oak, which the three of us had founded centuries before. But it cost him. Gaios went into hiding, sending his Bastille Bastards around the world to do his bidding, waiting for the time when he would unleash his vengeance on me.”

  “Why you?” Kate asked sharply. “If Pendragon was his gaoler, and he had settled that debt, what’s his quarrel with you?”

  The hanged man was caught in the wind and began to swing faster. “I was Pendragon’s lover. Our great love threatened Gaios. He always feared we would join forces against him and take the Order of the Oak as our own.”

  Simon spun the mare, trying to bring the restless horse under control. “Where is your Order now? Where are all the great magicians to help you?”

  “Gone.” The
corpse’s laugh was like dust from a tomb. “All of them cowards. Or dead. Gaios winnowed them in the years after Pendragon’s fall and drove others into hiding. He hated many, including your father, Miss Anstruther. If Sir Roland had cooperated with me, we might have exterminated Gaios, but your father refused my proffered hand.”

  Kate smiled with satisfaction.

  “You Anstruthers never change,” the cadaver said. “Proud and ultimately pointless. How is dear Imogen? There is an example of Gaios’s handiwork that your father could have prevented.”

  “Shut up!” Kate twisted her riding crop in her hands. “Don’t ever mention my sister’s name.”

  “Dr. White abused her, broke her, mutilated her into an inhuman thing. The doctor was under Gaios’s command. Gaios has no respect for humanity.”

  Kate pressured her horse with her knee and faced him away from the groaning cadaver, back toward the way they had come.

  Simon said, “That’s odd talk coming from the mouth of a reanimated murderer.”

  “Archer, you know we are different. We’re magicians. We aren’t truly human. Most magicians choose to hide, but some, like Gaios, prey on the weak. And some, like us, protect the weak from such predators.”

  “Like us?” Simon laughed.

  “We may be allies of convenience,” the dead man said, “but we are allies nonetheless. We must band together or we will be obliterated separately.”

  “You surely know that I have been banished from the aether. I have no power for you to exploit. Do you have a scheme to stop Gaios that doesn’t require magic?”

  “There are ways to make you what you were, Archer. There are ways to reconnect to the aether. I have spent these last few months since our encounter with Ra studying the possibilities. You see, when I was reanimating Rowan Barnes, I lost some of my powers when the filthy magic-eater touched him. However, I found a way back, and I can bring you along that same path too. Look closer at my condemnation.”

  Kate looked at Simon, confused. Then she heard the note pinned to the cadaver’s chest fluttering in the breeze. Housebreaker. Kate nudged her horse closer to the dead man as Simon’s hand slipped to his cane’s handle. She took the paper carefully, pulling out the heavy needle that fastened it to the shirt. She flipped the paper over and gasped.