The Conquering Dark: Crown (6 page)

“So, Mrs. North,” Simon caught Grace's gaze with false simplicity, “you recommended us to His Majesty?”

“I did, Mr. Archer.” Grace took a position under a portrait of George III. “I perceive you are shocked to see me here, and I believe I know why. There are no secrets in this room. You are no doubt curious about my advocacy of Rowan Barnes and the disaster that resulted in the destruction of St. Mary Woolnoth.”

“As well as a series of murders. You recall the Sacred Heart Murders?”

Grace gave Simon a cold glare that swiftly vanished. “His Majesty has been fully advised of that regrettable situation. I was supportive of Mr. Barnes because my magical advisors recommended him to me as the best solution to the Gaios problem. In hindsight, it was likely a mistake.”

“Likely.” Simon stared at the powerful and beautiful Mrs. North. At the very least this nationally beloved woman had supported a dangerous lunatic, Rowan Barnes, who had murdered several women for ritual purposes. She had championed his cause as patriotic and threatened Simon with destruction if he moved to stop Barnes. At worst, Grace North also knew Barnes had actually been the cat's-paw of the vile necromancer, Ash. And perhaps that wasn't the worst of it at all. Kate had observed Mrs. North at Westminster doing something that seemed to be magical, withering one of the apes and restoring the prime minister to health. In Grace North's eyes there was something deep and hidden, a cold blue secret. Or perhaps Simon was imagining it.

“Those advisors have been removed from service.”

Kate said, “May we ask who those advisors were?”

Grace gave her an indulgent smile. “It was Lord Argyle.”

Simon laughed harshly. “Are you serious?”

“I am,” Grace replied coolly.

Kate looked nonplussed. “The Archdruid of the Mercury Club? That sherry-sotted reprobate was the Crown's magical expert?”

“Yes,” King William said with embarrassment. “We are aware that he is not exactly Merlin. He has been cached, and I believe has since left England.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Grace said softly.

William continued to Kate, persisting with his opinion that she was the leader of the team. “That is why you are here today. As Mrs. North said, mistakes were made with this Barnes fellow. I regret I was not as active as I should have been, but that has changed. From this point forward, the Crown's magical agents will receive their orders from the Crown. No magical decisions will be made without royal approval. The only people who know about your existence are in this room today. And that is all who will ever know.” He cast an eye on Grace.

She bowed in supplication.

“And so let's move on,” said the king to Kate. “What are our options for running these frightful brigands to ground?”

“Miss Anstruther.” Simon raised a finger. “I have an idea, if I may.”

Kate looked at him evenly, pausing as if unsure she would deign to allow him to speak. Then, fighting her amusement, she gave him an excellent imperious silent nod for him to proceed.

Simon stretched out his legs, feeling suddenly quite comfortable with the highest of the high. “We need to draw them out, force them to fight on our terms. And they want one thing.”

William scowled. “That would be me, sir.”

“No, Your Majesty. What they wanted, I believe, is the Stone of Scone.”

“Oh.” The king looked a bit disappointed.

“Your coronation was their opportunity since the true Stone is rarely removed from the vault's protection. I assume the Stone has been returned to its place of safety.”

King William rubbed his hands together, staring at the floor. He seemed hesitant to reply.

Simon sat forward. “Is there some problem with the Stone of Scone, sir?”

King William leaned against a table. He took a deep, contemplative breath. “Mr. Archer, I regret to tell you that we no longer have the true Stone.”

“They succeeded in stealing it!” Kate exclaimed. “We should have been watching it, no matter the vault.”

“No, Miss Anstruther.” William calmed her. “We haven't had the true Stone for some years now.”

“What?” Simon exclaimed loudly, then cleared his throat. “I mean, what do you mean, sir?”

The king exhaled. “The last time we were sure of the true Stone was my brother's coronation ten years ago. Then it was returned to the vault. When we went to retrieve it for my coronation last year upon my brother's death, our experts proclaimed the Stone in the vault to be a fake. Despite our best efforts to track it down, it has vanished.”

Malcolm chuckled from the corner. “Maybe it's gone back to Scotland where it belongs.”

The king laughed at the irony. “Which is why we postponed my coronation for so long. It's said that there is power in the Stone that preserves the monarchy. But political pressures were such that we had to hold the ceremony. The Stone of Scone that I sat upon in Westminster was a fake we fashioned.”

Simon looked at Kate. “Clearly, wherever the true Stone may be, Gaios doesn't have it. He doesn't know the Stone in Westminster is a fake. That may work to our advantage.” He turned to the king. “Sir, what I propose is that you allow us to take your makeshift Stone. We can create a false story that the vault was damaged in their attack, and the Stone is being taken to another hiding spot. This will bring our miscreants out to seize it.”

“It's our best option,” Kate said.

“Well and good,” King William replied. “You may have our Stone as bait. And when you encounter the monsters, deal with them.” He stressed the final phrase.

“We need them,” Simon said pointedly. “They may have useful information to uncover a greater threat to Britain.”

William's brow knitted with concern. “I'd prefer a permanent solution, for the safety of the monarchy, you understand.”

“Then you've come to the wrong people, sir.” Simon rose from his seat.

“I beg your pardon?” King William's voice was cold with sudden anger.

“I can assure you, Your Majesty, we are not timid in dealing with threats. We have eliminated many in the past, as Mrs. North will vouch. But in this matter you must trust my judgment. The powers we wield are too dangerous to be driven by mere political concerns. Forgive my bluntness, but we are not a cannon that you may aim as you will. We dare not become assassins for the Crown.”

“Damn you, Archer, but you forget yourself. I am your king. You presume to stroll in off the dance floor and appreciate the welfare of this land better than I who have served it my entire life? You would dare tell
me
when the danger is sufficient for you to act?”

“That is the sum of it, sir.”

The king was red-faced, nearly sputtering. “Are you mad? These monsters who struck at Westminster would kill you or anyone without a pause for breath.”

Imogen's strange voice seeped out from behind her veil. “But we're not like them. We're not monsters.”

A silence fell on the room. Simon watched the stern face of William as the king regarded Imogen with angry curiosity. Kate took Imogen's hand and smiled. Malcolm seemed relaxed now, and he nodded at Imogen with a look of respect. Charlotte was the only one nervous.

Finally the king shook his head and cleared his throat quietly. “Well said, miss. I am content for now to leave the … details of the situation in your very capable hands.” He indicated Grace North and Kate. “And I will leave you to it.”

“Oh!” came the alarmed cry from Charlotte. “Are you leaving? Is the princess here today? Victoria? I had hoped to see her.”

King William smiled and bent at the waist to be closer to Charlotte's worried face. “She is not, I fear. But I know that she would enjoy having you to tea at some point.”

“Oh yes!” Charlotte cried. “Today?”

“No, dear.” Kate pressed down on the hopping girl's shoulder. “Not today. We are grateful to wait on an invitation from the princess.”

The king said, “Your monarch thanks you all. Even you, Mr. MacFarlane. Needless to say, once you have dealt with these troublemakers, we would very much like for you to find the true Stone and return it to us.”

Malcolm crossed his arms in silence.

William laughed nervously. “Mrs. North, I'll expect a full report later today.”

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.” He 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 surprise. “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. 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 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 pawed 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.”