The Conquering Dark: Crown (28 page)

“No … more.” Simon shut his eyes against the blossom of new pain. He gritted his teeth and drew a final burst of runic strength into his wracked form. His arm cracked through the remnants of the obsidian armor and crushed against Gaios's throat. The elemental gagged, but he still raised the knife to strike again. Simon tightened with all his might, nearly blacking out. Gaios's arm faltered at its apex and the old man stopped moving. He slumped. Simon kept up his death grip on the elemental's throat for another minute, until darkness swallowed his vision. Finally, they both collapsed unmoving into the dust.

Kate crawled to Simon. She struggled to unbend his arm from around Gaios's neck and roll the elemental's lifeless body aside. Simon was still breathing. He looked up at her with a tired, grateful expression. She should have had nothing left, but she still lifted him into her arms. Then she saw his red wounds and pulled him against her breast.

After a moment, she shifted him back slightly and looked down. “You are going to live, aren't you?”

“If you are, I will.” Simon put his head on her lap.

It was a month after the terrible disaster that became known, rather prosaically, as the Great London Earthquake. The city was just beginning to get its feet under it and move forward again. Bodies had been gathered and largely buried or disposed of. The number of dead was lower than might have been expected given the fires and collapsed buildings in crowded tenement blocks. Rubble was being cleared. The wreckage along the riverfront was being carted away. Most main streets were open to traffic and business had begun to revive. Goods could move freely and shops were struggling back to life to supplement the always thriving street vendors, provided the teamsters and lightermen and shopkeepers were still alive. The worst of the damage had struck the heart of the City eastward, with relatively less structural failure and loss of life west into Westminster and Kensington, or north to suburbs such as Islington, or south beyond the Thames.

It was a chilly day in early October when King William requested Grace North join him to make a tour of damaged buildings and dislocated people. The pair rode in a carriage viewing one of the remaining open fissures near Cannon Street. Grace seemed so overcome by her emotions that she couldn't bear to emerge from her carriage. So beloved was she that the crowd was soon comforting her, assuring her that they were well and would muddle through.
God bless you, ma'am,
they called after her as the coach rolled away with her covering her stricken face with a handkerchief.

In the northern part of the city, the tour moved on to inspect a prison that had been commandeered as temporary housing for refugees from shattered parishes to the south. They met the governor of the prison, now turned into a hotelier, who showed them the crowded courtyard and first-floor cells. Cooking fires were everywhere. Laundry was strung across the grounds. There was much bowing and curtsying from the surprised residents.

At the end of a hallway, King William extended his hand toward a short set of steps and the door at the bottom. “This room hosts a ward of injured children, orphans now. I should like to visit them. There is little we could do better on this day than raise the spirits of suffering children, don't you agree?”

“I do, Your Majesty.” Grace nodded pleasantly and they started down the steps.

The king looked back at the governor. “Sir, I would like to come upon these children alone, with Mrs. North. It would be a terrific treat for them if their king wandered in unannounced. Would you stay where you are?”

The governor looked confused but bowed and remained planted at the top of the steps. King William opened the heavy door himself and allowed Grace to enter first. She covered her nose with a handkerchief to fight the dank stench. The king paused to mop his brow before they proceeded along a narrow corridor lit only by a dim flickering light at the end.

They entered a large room with several other doors opening off it. With only a single gas jet on the wall, it was still quite dark. Through one of the open doors, Grace saw the back of a woman, with her head bandaged, bent over the form of a young girl. However, King William indicated another open door on their right and he went to it. He stepped aside and Grace went in without a thought.

The door slammed shut and a bright green glow flashed.

Grace North stood frozen. The walls pulsed with runes brought to life with the shutting of the door and the joining inscriptions around the perimeter of the room. She turned back to the door and grasped the handle, pulling violently on it. It was locked.

“What is this?” Grace hissed like a caged cat.

The king drifted back into the shadows where he intersected with a new shape who was barely visible. The two figures exchanged a few whispered words. The king moved quickly to depart the prison suite while the second form detached itself from the darkness and limped forward into the light of the gas jet, leaning heavily on a cane.

“Welcome back to London, Ash.” Simon Archer's voice quivered with restrained emotion. “By the way, you are my prisoner.”

Ash's eyes were wide with fury and she jabbed a hand toward him. She glared in anger and squeezed her fingers into a fist. Simon scoffed at her attempt to curse him. He shook his head. After a second of effort, Ash realized her magic was gone, and anger turned to fear.

“What have you done?” she cried.

“I have trapped you. Byron Pendragon had prepared a cell for you in the Bastille, which I suspect you knew. Well, I have re-created that cell here. And you will stay here until you die.”

“We had a deal, Archer!” Ash screamed. “You traitorous bastard! We had a deal!”

“Deal? I don't recall a deal. My people stopped Gaios from destroying Britain. Meanwhile, you abandoned the people you love so dear. For all your crimes, your life belongs to me now.”

From the open cell on the far side, Kate and Charlotte emerged. They wore shabby clothes that had allowed them to pass for displaced wretches in the dim light. Kate's mouth was a grim line, watching the captured necromancer. Charlotte hid behind her, still more fearful than normal since Imogen's death.

Kate put a comforting arm around the child. “Don't worry, dear. She can't hurt you.”

Malcolm and Penny entered slowly through the main door where they had hidden outside in case the scheme went wrong. Malcolm noted the sight of Ash behind bars with a sigh of relief. Penny leaned heavily on a crutch yet chuckled cheerfully. Deep bruises still covered her face. She slapped the Scotsman on the arm with satisfaction. Malcolm winced. She winced too.

Ash pressed against the door. “You must be insane. I am Grace North. I'm the wife of the prime minister of England. How long before everyone in this country starts to ask where I am? Did you even think about that? When the people find out what you've done, they will tear you apart.” She pointed at Kate. “Even your damned name won't protect you. They'll string you up in the streets! All of you! Even your dog!”

Kate pulled Charlotte close. Malcolm raised his bandaged hands with a snarl and stepped forward, looking for a fight. Penny tugged him back.

Simon grew uncannily quiet. “We prepared ample evidence to show that Grace North, tiring of her dull husband, has run off with a minor German count with a reputation as a lady's man. Unfortunately, the pleasure yacht carrying the two of them toward some lover's rendezvous on the sunny Mediterranean will be found off Majorca, or at least parts of it will be found. Grace North will be lost at sea. The terrible scandal will, no doubt, be covered up with stories protecting your reputation and that of the prime minister. I regret the honorable Mr. North's discomfort, but there is no answer for it. You are a tumor and must be cut out. There will be scarring. But when it is done, the nation and the world will be better for it.”

“How dare you!” Ash hissed. “You worthless scribe. You miserable little piece of filth! Who are you to do this to me?”

“I'm Simon Archer. Son of Catherine Archer, whom I believe you know.” He stopped talking, not trusting his voice to stay firm. He felt Kate press closer to him. His fists clenched, straightening from the cane and taking several deep breaths. “And I am the heir to Pendragon because I am the son of Edward Cavendish.”

Ash froze with her mouth open. She regarded Simon closely as if looking for physical signs of his father in him. Then she smiled with cold understanding.

Simon struggled to keep his emotions under the cover of his stern features. He feared he would crush Kate's hand in his fingers. She didn't react to the pressure.

“I underestimated you, Archer. Damn me but I did.” Ash slid her fingers gently up and down the bars in the small window. She grinned with a manic fervor that seemed out of place on Grace North's face. “I never thought you to be this sort of man. I thought you truly were a dilettante at heart. A gadfly who only cared for what magic could do for you. I never believed you had the ambition and the steel to become the
eminence grise
behind the throne. I'm impressed. However did you enchant the king to play the betrayer?”

Simon hesitated for a second and Ash narrowed her eyes with suspicion. “That wasn't the king who came with me, was it? Of course it wasn't. It was someone under an illusion. The true king doesn't know what you're doing here, does he? How long do you think you can keep this from him?”

Kate's eyes flicked with concern toward Simon. He gave her a calm smile, as if no secrets mattered now that Ash was contained. By locking the necromancer away, all could be free. Secrets he had been carrying for years now seemed to hold no danger for him. Even here in this dank prison cellar, there was a cleanliness to the air that was invigorating to him.

“I'll tell His Majesty once I've prepared him,” Simon said. “Eventually, he'll be ready to believe that the lovely Grace North was indeed the vile Ash. And His Majesty will be grateful that I already have you under lock and key. You're done, Ash. We've won.”

“I see.” Ash chuckled politely as if she were stuck in a brief conversation at a dinner party she'd rather not be attending but knew would end soon enough. All the panic, all the dismay, was gone from her assured gaze. Her voice was quiet and simple. “You have no chance against me, Archer. I've bested centuries of challengers. I finished off Pendragon when he rejected me. And now I've rid myself of Gaios when he dared come against me. Do you truly believe
you
stand a chance? I'll get out of this place eventually; and then I will visit such horrors on you and your companions that you will wish to God I did not exist.”

Simon's ferocity over Ash was spent. Despite what Ash had done to his mother with necromancy, the fact that his mother had been stronger and was now at peace thanks to Nick put that atrocity into the distant past. Simon felt that the terrible chaos created by the murder of Pendragon and the collapse of the Order of the Oak was soothed now. Of the three great demigods who founded that venerable old magic guild, two were dead and the last was here under Simon's control. The torch had passed. He faced a future of immense toil to rebuild the useful aspects of the old Order. For now, Simon just felt tired. He turned away with Kate and Charlotte. “Your threats are meaningless, Ash. You have nothing left.”

“I have the man who killed your father.”

Simon froze in his steps but didn't look back. Kate's hand tightened around his and he could sense her gaze boring into him, waiting for him to react. He exchanged a wondering glance with Malcolm. The Scotsman was tense, also eager for Simon's response.

“No.” The pain of Simon's wounds flared again. He started to limp toward the door.

“Would you like me to tell you?” Ash asked with a pleasant lilt. “You can have your revenge. That will make everything right, won't it?”

Kate whispered into Simon's ear, “Don't listen to her. Walk away now.”

Simon ushered everyone out into the corridor and started to push the heavy door closed. “You'll never get out, Ash. You'll grow old and eventually you will die. As you should.”

“Nick Barker,” came the voice of the necromancer.

A jolt surged through Simon and he felt dizzy for a second. He peered through the narrow space and met Ash's eyes to find she was staring intently at him. He took a breath and went to shove the door shut.

“Nick Barker murdered your father.”

Simon stopped, leaving a few inches of open space into the cells.

Ash called out, “I know Barker is with your little group. I know you saved him that night at St. Giles. He was King William today, wasn't he? He used that damned glamour spell of his.”

That was true. Nick had pretended to be the king to lure Ash to the prison, and he had slipped out, they hoped, before she could see through the disguise.

“I don't believe you,” Simon said, but the claim wasn't convincing.

“Ask him.” Ash stared into the narrow gap between the door and the jamb. “I ordered another man to do the job, but he failed. A miserable drunk.”

Malcolm turned away. He leaned on the wall with his head bowed.

“When I told Barker to kill Cavendish, he didn't ask why. He didn't care. He just did it. Barker smiled in his face and murdered your father.”

Kate tried to pull Simon away from the door and shut it, but he kept it open against her.

“It's true,” Ash said. “Ask Barker. If you can find him. He knows now that you have me, that I might find out who your father is, and that I might tell you the name of the killer to bargain my way out of prison. Or just because I know.”

Simon stood silently, shaking his head.

Ash attempted to catch Simon's gaze again. “Archer? Where's that miraculous key you carry?”

Simon's hand went to his waistcoat pocket in reflex. He felt the gold chain and ran his fingers down to the end to find it empty. He pulled the chain out and the fob hung alone. Simon knew he'd had it earlier. He knew it. He spun to Kate on the desperate chance that she had the key, as it sometimes changed hands. She shook her head.

Ash's laughter was melodious. “I don't know how your key works exactly, but if Barker does, you'll never see him again.”

Simon closed the door. He felt numb. “I have to go to Gaunt Lane, Kate. That's the closest portal.”

Kate touched his arm. “Nick is your friend. If he … why would he come back? Why would he stay with you all these years?”

Simon turned to find Malcolm standing in front of him. “You can't believe Ash, Simon. She's trying to have her revenge. Don't go down a path from which you can never return.”

“I must go to Gaunt Lane.” He stepped past them, increasing his stride down the corridor, whispering a rune to life. He vaulted up the steps, ignoring the searing pain in his chest, and sprinted across the crowded courtyard toward their waiting carriage. He didn't see the bloodstain that was spreading across his white shirt. His pounding steps couldn't outpace the beating of his heart or drown the sounds of Ash's laughter.