Chapter sixty

Ortia

 

Perclivius smiled across his desk at Aurelian, who was very uncomfortable. Aurelian refused the proffered sherry and cigar. Perclivius had set up his ‘seat of government’ in the old imperial trade hall, a grand building that hadn’t been used for anything much for centuries, given that there was now no imperial trade.  He’d found an upstairs meeting room and converted it into an executive suite – He was very happy with it.

‘I’m so pleased you have agreed to come, General’ he purred, ‘we have a lot to talk about’

‘You lied to me’ spat Aurelian, ‘you said that you’d give us time to think about your demands. I assumed that you meant that you wouldn’t provoke us with any actions during that time’

Earlier that day Perclivius’s faction had moved swiftly against the barracks and had taken them in a couple of hours. The loyalists had either been killed or captured. Bit by bit control of the city was being lost.

‘That wasn’t my doing’ said Perclivius, ‘that’s overzealous lieutenants. These things happen in conflicts… you know that’

Aurelian sat stone-faced and silent.

‘Anyway, that’s just an indication of how weak you are’ said Perclivius

Aurelian shook his head emphatically.

‘I don’t believe that that is true’

Perclivius raised his eyebrows.

‘Oh really…. I think that’s just something you say, to keep your spirits up’

‘What do you want?’ demanded Aurelian

‘I want you to persuade Marthian to step down, voluntarily, and to go back into normal civilian life’

‘And if I can’t?’

‘Then I will crush you both, for the good of the city’

‘She won’t stand down. If she is forced out then she will go into exile’      

Perclivius thought about this for only a second or two.

‘I can’t have that’ he said very quietly, ‘no-one wants a leader-in-exile stirring things up. We need a clean break’

‘What do you mean by a ‘clean break’?’ Aurelian asked, with rising anxiety and anger. 

‘You know what I mean. Sometimes amputation is only answer if the limb has gangrene’

‘That’s not what you said to me before’ blurted out Aurelian, stumbling over the words.

‘Really?’ said Perclivius, ‘to be honest with you, I’m not sure that I really care about I said to you before. Sometimes action is more vital than promises’

‘You’re nothing more than a malicious liar’  

Perclivius smiled his habitual reasonable smile but this time it was only a reflex.

‘And you are a rank idiot who believes that everyone acts in good faith’

‘Marthian was absolutely right about you’ shouted Aurelian.

 ‘And what good has her prescience done you? This is what happens if you hide under an elf maiden’s petticoats’

Aurelian was too angry to speak. He clenched his fists under the table.

‘Poodles love to nestle under there you know…’ Perclivius sneered

Aurelian banged his fist on the table, stood up, roared, and punched Perclivius very hard full in the face. The old elf fell with a crunch and a groan. Aurelian felt a moment of extreme satisfaction before the guards, who were with their leader at all times, surrounded him and bundled him to the floor. 

‘Take him away’ ordered Perclivius, looking across from where had fallen, ‘lock him up somewhere very dark’.

‘And’, he said, slurring through his cut lip, ‘make sure that his mistress finds out what I’ve done’.

 

***

Earlier that day the letter had appeared on Marthian’s desk without warning, so when she finally noticed it she had no idea how long it had been there. She began to read it eagerly but was less eager the further Hardacre’s narrative unfolded. The human had told the story of Quiena’s vault quite truthfully, without apportioning any blame, but with a very clear warning about how he interpreted the consequences. However, the Flavia incident was carefully described as an accident and Hardacre had been at pains to explain how there appeared to be some confusion about what Flavia had been doing in Melloreis. Hardacre asked for clarification.

‘If only I knew’ thought Marthian. 

Marthian wrote back immediately, confessing her predicament and explaining that Perclivius, not she, had sent Flavia. She also wrote that they shouldn’t worry about any ‘accident’, Flavia was officially an enemy. She wrote the address ‘Armoury Vault, Melloreis’ as instructed, tapped the paper three times, and watched it disappear again.

The letter left her full of apprehension and disbelief.  She considered her two probable fates – to be killed either by Perclivius’s faction or by the Tlaxacans. On balance she thought that she might prefer the second – at least it was a proper enemy.  She also knew that however painful it might be, she had to warn Perclivius of the danger. But first, she would go to see Julia.

 

***

‘Your disguise becomes you, cousin’ said the High Priestess.  Marthian was wearing the traditional white toga of a priestess of the Lady. In it she had been able to hurry across town without a second glance.

‘Perhaps you see something unexpected in my future, Julia?’ Marthian commented with a sigh. They sat, once more, beside the network of pools and streams that led out of the temple complex and into the city.

‘Everyone comes to the Lady eventually, Proconsul’ said Julia

Marthian considered this. She really wasn’t ready for that yet. 

‘So, I’m still Proconsul am I?’ she asked quietly.

‘That is not up to me to decide’ said Julia, frowning, her expression suggesting that she thought Marthian had asked a rather odd and unseemly question.

‘If I am, why has the Lady not intervened on my behalf?’

Julia gave her a look halfway between distaste and disapproval.

‘The politics of the City are of no interest to her – as you know’

Marthian nodded.

‘However, the defence of the City presumably is…’

‘Yes, in so far as the peace of the temple might be compromised’

 Marthian controlled her desire to say something caustic in response and continued to talk as evenly as she was able. She was keen to find out what Julia knew.

 ‘Do you sense an invasion coming, High Priestess?’

‘Things are not clear, but you know that I have felt that we are on a cusp for some time, and it seems that that time may be upon us’

‘Yes, I have intelligence reports that suggest strongly that the Tlaxacans will be with us in a matter of days’

‘The Lady will be ready’ said Julia, throwing her hands out so that Marthian could see her open palms.

‘So, she will protect the city, will she?’ asked Marthian carefully.

‘I cannot tell – she has not made that clear – her intentions are uncertain’

Marthian’s mouth set into a thin horizontal line.

‘Is that your way of saying that she doesn’t care if we live or die?’

Julia face clouded.

‘No, that is not what I meant’

‘And – you’re certain that the Lady could withstand a million Tlaxacans and the powers of Whitecloak?’

 ‘That is also unclear...’ admitted Julia nodding.

‘But didn’t she do it before? During the last invasion’

Julia looked for a moment as if she found this question impertinent, but she answered it anyway.

‘Yes, but that exertion weakened her and she has not had long enough to rest’ sighed Julia, ‘although, of course, she still has considerable resources…’

The conversation briefly tailed off. Marthian stared into the clear still water in the pool in front of them and imagined it tainted with elven blood. She shivered.

‘If this civil war isn’t resolved then I am certain that the City must fall. We don’t have enough trained soldiers to guard the walls.’ She said, her voice icy cold 

‘I am greatly sorrowed to hear that, but there is little that I can do’ responded Julia, ‘my role is a spiritual one – temporal matters must be resolved by the temporal powers’

‘Even if they are resolved by force and to the Lady’s extreme detriment?’  

‘My role is clear’ Julia said emphatically.

Marthian stood up and began to walk away.

‘In which case we should all go and find a suitable way to die’ 

Julia stood up and gestured for her to sit down again.

‘You are talking foolishly cousin’

‘Am I?’ spat out Marthian, ‘as far as I can see you and the Lady are our last chance’

‘How?’ exclaimed Julia, ‘how can that be?’

Marthian did not sit back down, but she didn’t continue to walk away either.

‘For exactly the reasons that you just indicated; I really need you to mediate between the two factions, as an unimpeachably disinterested party’

Julia looked shocked. She stared at Marthian as if she’d just asked her to strip naked.

‘That is way beyond my remit…’ she began

‘Nonsense!’ barked Marthian, ‘your remit is to protect the Lady and look after the spiritual needs of the City. At this moment the spiritual needs of the City are for reconciliation. If you can’t manage that then I don’t know who can or what you are actually useful for’

‘I am not useful to the City’ said Julia, her lips thinned to a line, ‘I am the City!’

She stopped for a moment, rage building up behind her eyes.

 ‘How dare you ask me to do this thing!’ she continued, staring witheringly into Marthian’s eyes, ‘you know that what you are asking is not right. You should be ashamed.’

Marthian felt her stomach churn. She had had conversations like this with Julia so many times, as both an adult and a child and she could never withstand this sort of assault – one that was on her sense of propriety and hierarchy. This was too much like her many memories of being a little child on a visit to the temple – on her best behaviour while her father discussed the affairs of the city with the High Priestess. It seemed like she would have to be on her best behaviour again.  

‘I am sorry, dear cousin’ said Marthian very softly, bowing her head and refusing to meet Julia’s gaze ‘I felt that I had no choice but to discuss these things’

‘The answer is no’ scowled Julia, ‘you do your job and I will do mine. You are impudent and naive’

Marthian had nothing else left to say.

‘I will pray to the lady for you’ Julia said and withdrew rapidly into the temple.

Marthian felt like weeping, openly, in the grounds of the temple, and waiting until her father came to comfort her. But he was dead. Anyway, she was of the proconsular line and he would have wanted her carry on, with as little fuss as she could manage. She swallowed her tears and tried to summon up anger towards someone – the Tlaxacans, Perclivius, Julia; but she just felt numb. She began to wonder whether she was strong enough and worthy of her father’s name. She began to wonder if she would fail.

Chapter sixty-one

Stephen Blackwood’s House (“Semprelysia”), Hinter, Southern Eth

 

‘Are you listening to me, Huw?’ asked Stephen[1]. They were sitting in deckchairs in Stephen’s gazebo overlooking his beautiful rhododendron garden. It was magnificent with blooms.  Huw’s only other garden experience was sitting outside on his mam’s rickety wooden chairs in their pocket handkerchief in Llanmad: so long ago. 

Huw had drifted into a day mare – one that he had had repeatedly since the terrifying nocturnal visitation. In his day dreams there was always that voice in his head. He forced himself to look up at Stephen. He appeared older than when he’d seen him last, more than a year before, but he was still upright, trim and dapper. He looked more like a retired colonel than a witch. Huw realised his mind was wandering.

‘What did you say?’ he asked

Stephen frowned at him. His moustache tremored. 

‘I was trying to give you some advice… which is what I thought you were here for…’

Too late for that old man thought Huw, but then felt ashamed. This man had never been anything to him except exceptionally kind and endlessly patient. Whatever was stirring in the dark places of Huw’s mind, his old mentor did not deserve disdain.

‘I’m sorry’ he said, ‘I’m rather tired. It was a long journey…’

Stephen nodded.

‘So, true – the coast road is always dreadful; it’s no excuse that the seaways are so good. Of course, you could have just blinked here…’

This was said without criticism or suspicion, but it made Huw’s stomach churn. He had cast no spells since Kratos had invaded his mind – fearful to leave any magical trace.  He had no intention of casting a spell as powerful as a teleport – it might as well be a beacon saying here I am – come and get me. 

‘I had business on the road…’ he mumbled, ‘people to see…’

Stephen nodded sympathetically.

‘…Anyway… I was just saying that John Ismay is a rum chap but not to be underestimated. I didn’t vote for him, of course, I marginally favoured Elizabeth, despite our differences; at least she’s well organised… steady hand… you know where you are with her… But he has done a good job at keeping everyone together.  Things were looking a bit sticky back then’

Huw wondered about this. Elizabeth herself had told him that it was John’s man servant, Laurence Hardacre, who organised everything in his household and in the council, but he had no idea: he’d never met Hardacre and his experience of President Ismay had been mostly formal. He’d seemed sharp enough at his interviews, although at the last one, at least, he had begun to look a bit bored. It had been a struggle for everyone for him to have to meet all twelve of his prospective fellow councillors before he could be appointed.

‘You said you were giving me advice…  ‘

‘Sorry – I got a bit distracted by your distraction’ Stephen stopped for a moment. ‘What was I saying?’ 

‘Something about our glorious leader and how he was the only sensible choice’

Stephen frowned at him.

‘I think that we call that the “consensus candidate”’

‘Or the “lowest common denominator”, perhaps?’

Stephen laughed, a croaky sound, as if it were an organ that had been used so much that it was beginning to wear out.

‘You’re a cynic, my boy – it’s a shame but it should serve you well’

Huw acknowledged the half-compliment with half a nod.

‘So…’

‘So… while Gwyneth keeps loyal to John they are unstoppable: no-one else could force a vote without looking churlish. So, best to keep quiet in your first few council meetings and listen to what John and Gwyn are saying. Myfanwy’s lost all interest in leading; only Lizzy really cares, and she really does care, I’d say, but she bet on Gwyneth and that really didn’t come off…’

Huw was only half-listening. The other half of his attention was fixed on The Voice from that night, silent now but still insistently tunnelling in his mind.  He knew who the voice belonged to. What worried him most was that he had clearly been chosen as the most likely to be seduced. It was all because of those stupid experiments, wasn’t it; he’d never meant any harm by them. Wasn’t it good to explore all possible sources of power? Now he’d do anything to go back and leave that pigeon carcass on the ground where he’d found it. Instead he had used it to distil extraordinary dark power and that was with just a dead thing. What if…? Despite everything he regretted the consequences, not the actions.  

‘…the others mostly adhere to John, particularly the younger ones. Celia and Owen are inseparable friends, despite Owen’s Rhylic background and Celia’s posh-shabby Ethian family. Opposites attract, perhaps? Katy’s… well… eccentric would be the kindest description…’

I should tell him thought Huw, before I go mad and do something horrible. But how can I? When would be the right time to speak of such things? It was forbidden.

‘…I’ve never really got the hang of her. Alchemy was always my worst subject – not that I had a good one, to be honest. We don’t see much of Angharad – beavering away in her workshop. I’m not sure she’s much of a witch, but very good with mechanical stuff, I’m told. Then there’s Bronwyn. She’s is a lovely person but she had her heart broken years ago, I don’t think she’s ever got over it…’

Stephen paused, finally realising that his protégé wasn’t listening to him again. He sighed.

‘What is wrong with you today, Huw?’

Huw looked up with imploring eyes.

‘I’m having bad dreams…’ he blurted out, which was the best that he could do.

Stephen considered this.

‘Well, we all have those from time to time’

Huw shook his head.

‘Not normal, standard, bad dreams…’

‘What sort of dreams are they then?’  

Huw breathed in deeply. He promised himself to be as honest as he could stand.

‘A demon comes to me and offers me power… if I’ll agree to support him’

‘What sort of demon? One with horns and big teeth? Was he huge and red? Or was it a female one? What do they call them… oh yes… succubuses? I’ve seen some interesting paintings of them…’

Huw realised, his heart sinking, that Stephen knew everything about the history of the world and about the politics of every state, extinct and extant, but that it might be impossible to make him understand this. 

‘I can’t remember what he looked like…’ he said, his words drooping with every advancing letter, ‘…it was more like a… umm… voice?’

Stephen didn’t seem to have noticed this last remark – he ploughed on with remedies.

‘Have you tried warm milk and rum just before you go to bed? Avoid blue cheese and coffee. Not mixed together, obviously…Well, in fact, avoid them separately and combined, if you get my meaning…’

‘Have you ever had… dreams… like that?’

‘Succubus dreams? Well, not exactly, but there is a little elven waitress at Valerian’s who seems to appear quite commonly in my dreams…’

‘No, not that – I meant dreams where you were seduced by offers of personal power that it would be dangerous to accept?’

Stephen looked over at him. The stare was intense for a moment but then he looked away. He got up from his chair. He sounded impatient.

‘Are you trying to tell me something? If so, hurry up and spit it out – I’m exceptionally hungry’

This was a half-chance to tell his closest colleague about Kratos; this could be useful to the coven. It might even be a way of finding him. But then he thought of the personal consequences. Would Stephen end up thinking about him as Huw’s mother did: as a dangerous risk, a man on the edge of treachery?

‘No, nothing specific. I just wondered if you sometimes craved something bigger, something more incisive…’

Stephen was looking out over the horizon. The sun was getting very low.

‘Best to hold on to what you’ve got’ he lectured, mildly, ‘it’s easy to lose everything’

Huw was briefly confused by this platitude and after that it was too late. Stephen had other things on his mind; there was no way he could say anything now. His confession would have to wait for a better time.

Stephen smiled and put his hand up to his lips. 

‘Forgot about your irritating dream and concentrate on dinner. Where do you want to eat?’

Huw shrugged. He’d had a long journey, but he felt more like sleeping than eating.

‘You choose; I know nothing about restaurants in Hinter’

Stephen pretended to think for a moment. He gestured for Owen to get up.

‘There are some very good ones, but let’s try Valerian’s – their steak’s quite scrumptious’

‘I’ll go and change’ announced Stephen. He turned and walked surprisingly rapidly back to the house.

Huw sat for a moment in the fading light, shivering in the breeze. He felt miserable and despicable. His only consolation was that a Visneorian restaurant would have a good supply of wine. Four large glasses might just help.

---

[1] A Council member of the Hybitor

Chapter sixty-two

The Basileus’s Palace                                                                                  

 

John was standing in a beautifully furnished but surprisingly bare room. It was oak panelled but with the minimum of embellishment. The main furnishings were three small, but comfortable, arm chairs and one larger, throne-like chair upholstered in purple cloth.

John sat down in one of the smaller chairs and waited for the Basileus to speak.

‘I have been finding out about you, Mr Ismay’ he said as soon as he had sat in the plushest chair.

John nodded noncommittally.

‘That’s interesting –what have you found out?’

The Basileus picked up some papers from his desk. He scanned them intently.

‘It seems that you’re someone really quite important in Skiophos’

‘Am I’ said John, smiling, ‘well that’s a relief to know’

The Basileus smiled back indulgently.

‘If I’d known this before then I might have found a space to see you sooner’

John began to wonder if this was going to be a diplomatic conversation or an interrogation. Was he an envoy or a prisoner? He wondered how many laws he’d just broken.

‘Well, I’m glad that you have agreed to talk to me, however unorthodox the meeting has turned out to be’

Where were the Basileus’s guards? They seemed to have left him entirely alone. He would have liked to have asked but he worried that that would sound provocative, perhaps even threatening.

‘Well, it seems like you were trying to treat us to a display of your occultist arts…’ said the Basileus, narrowing his eyes, ‘…we were, of course, suitably impressed’

John’s heart sank. He got the strong impression that the old elf saw all this as showing off.

‘I really am sorry. I am in a terrible hurry’

‘Just three score years and ten’ quoted the Basileus, ‘I can see why…’

 ‘No’ insisted John, ‘I’m in an extreme hurry exactly now’

The Basileus smiled and reached for a decanter of red wine.

‘I have heard that barb… humans are always in a hurry’

‘Not always. But this human needs to get home as soon as possible’

The Basileus offered some wine to John, whose innate good breeding required that he accepted it. It was very good.

‘Vino de Combrial?’ he asked automatically.

The old elf smiled and refilled his glass.

‘Oenos Octophilon’ he said, ‘but essentially the same thing’

‘So, Elven wine making is just as spectacularly good in Helios as in Skiophos’

‘So it appears’ said the Basileus sipping the wine very slowly.

‘One culture, part sundered’ the elf muttered, as if that was an explanation.

‘Sundered?’ asked John.

‘Sorry?’ replied the Basileus.

John didn’t pursue this statement for the time being.

‘Anyway – why are you in such a hurry?’

 ‘An elven city is in grave danger and so is my dearest friend’

‘Do you mean Ortia, where the Lady dwells?’ 

John nodded.

‘Yes, it is the only remaining true Elven city in East Visneoria and it’s being invaded by the hordes of Tlaxaca’

The Basileus nodded thoughtfully. He emptied the decanter and turned back to John.

 ‘More wine, Mr Ismay?’

Again, it would have been impolite to refuse.  

For some strange reason the Basileus gestured towards the ceiling. Before John had a chance to look up a furry yet reptilian arm unfolded from above and its claw carefully placed another decanter on to the table. John did all his shocked flinching inside (Laurence would be proud of me, he thought).

Up above was a winged creature, hanging from a bar on the domed centre of the ceiling. The central part had been invisible from the door as there was a false ceiling around the edge of the room and John hadn’t thought to look up before now. The thing was about the size of a tall human and had a wingspan about twice its length. Its long snout held four rows of innumerable very sharp teeth. It clearly wasn’t a pet and explained completely the lack of elven guards. John had never seen anything like it before – it was halfway between a dragon and a bat and looked exquisitely dangerous.

The Basileus looked vaguely at John.

‘Convenient way to keep the wine at room temperature’

John frowned and smiled at the same time, which left the Basileus looking puzzled.

 ‘Do you have a name for it too?’ asked John

‘She…’ said the elf, ‘…her name is Acantha, She is very well trained’

‘I can see that’ said John, looking up again.

John attempted to bring the conversation back on track.

‘I need to get to Ortia to help the city and my friend’

‘I see, and understand completely’ said the Basileus, ‘but that is in no way our concern’

‘Why not?’ asked John, somewhat taken aback.

‘Skiophos is for the Uchbenoi’ replied the elf.

It was that name again. John had never heard it outside Helios.

‘Your gods?’ he asked, already knowing, from earlier conversations that it must be true.

‘No, your gods, our deos’ the Basileus explained.

‘I’m sorry’ said John, ‘My Archaic Elven isn’t good enough to understand the distinction’

The Basileus looked surprised.

‘The gods are active in your world, but they are not in our world. I am frankly astonished that you do not know that’

‘I do not, and I doubt that many do at all in Skiophos’

‘You obviously haven’t asked the right people’ said the Basileus, smiling.

‘Perhaps not’ acknowledged John.

‘Maybe you should find some more informed friends’

 ‘What do you mean by “active”?’ John asked, picking the original thread back up.

‘They live with you and interact with you, of course’ said the Basileus, as if stating the obvious.

 John was baffled.

‘Who are they, then?’

‘You really don’t know! That’s delightful. Well, let me show you something’

He got up, walked to the door and opened it. The automaton was standing guard outside, just as before.

‘Come in Boris’ he said. Boris walked stiffly in and stood in the middle of the room.

John examined the mechanical man. It was a work of art. Each silver articulated element seemed to be held together by flowing green ligaments, which rippled in the gaps between the plates. 

‘Do you know who made this?’ asked the Basileus.

‘No…’ John began and then he realised

‘Quiena! Of course’ he said, briefly delighted with his deduction.

The Basileus nodded.

‘The theos that we call Ophia – yes’ he said

‘Qiuena is a god?’ said John. He stopped to consider this for a moment.

 ‘Well, you thought she was an elf…’

The Basileus smiled indulgently

‘But you might also call her a god’

John thought about this as he examined Boris. Was this the handiwork of a deity?

‘I’m still not sure that I believe in gods…’ he said obstinately.

‘Well, it makes no difference to them if you do or if you don’t…’

‘So, why do you have no gods here?’

‘Because we have come to an arrangement with them…’

There was a knock on the door. In walked a tall, graceful female elf.

‘My Lord’ she said, slightly taken aback by the unexpected visitor, ‘it is nearly time’

‘Time for what?’ wondered John

The Basileus dismissed his servant and sighed.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Ismay, but this audience must come to an end’

John’s mind was frantic with unasked and unanswered questions.

‘Before you go’ he said nervously, ‘please answer me one more question’

‘One more, yes, I suppose’ the Basileus said, a sudden tone of impatience. 

 ‘Can I get back to Skiophos?’

‘Not magically, if that’s what you mean’ said the Basileus who was now gently ushering John out of the door. There were some guards standing outside, clearly intended to escort him from the palace.

‘How, then?’ pleaded John.

‘Find the Archon’ said the Basileus, ‘he knows the way through The Folds’

The old elf had delivered the human to his guards.

‘Good luck, John Ismay of the Hybitor – perhaps we will meet again!’

The Basileus shut the heavy door in John’s face. The image of the winged serpent on the door stared back at him.

Chapter sixty-three

Inside Quiena’s Vault

 

Viola saw them first, attempting to sneak into the vault – they were clearly human spies, presumably part of an advanced guard from Tlaxaca. They were dressed in black, and were moving almost silently, but they weren’t as good as she was. Potentilla saw them a split second later.

‘Enemies! Enemies!’ Potentilla shouted as she bounded up the stairs, short sword unsheathed and with her bow strung across her shoulders. As soon as she moved forward the spies slid back into the darkness.  They were carrying bows too, and they already had them readied.

‘Arrows! Beware of arrows!’ she yelled, throwing herself down on the floor.

A rain of arrows came through the entrance and bounced off the middle part of the stairs, just below where Potentilla was sprawled. None of the spies were able to get a good field of view for shooting. The elf lifted her bow off her shoulders.

Hardacre pushed Kath back into the vault.

‘Stay there!’ he commanded. He bent down low and peered up the stairs. ‘Time for a bit of light’

‘Chyneua’ he whispered.

 The entire stairwell was illuminated in a bright white light. At the top of the stairs he could see four figures. Potentilla fired into the group. One of the figures crumpled and yelled. The spies all cowered away from the light.

Potentilla ran up the stairs towards them, clanging her sword on the wall and shouting out Visneorian curses. Hardacre looked on astonished. This wasn’t the most subtle close combat fighting tactic he’d ever seen. However, by the time she’d reached the surface, the spies were gone.  However, they could see numerous lights beyond the city walls: an army was on its way.

Hardacre and Rem climbed the stairs cautiously – Viola was still stranded at the bottom on her limping foot. Fred and Kath were standing at the entrance to the vault.

Hardacre looked down at them.

‘You three – get into the vault and wait’ he commanded, ‘if necessary close it. We’re going to have a very brief look around’

Rem sniffed the air.

‘Only Humans’ he said, ‘They come to look’

Potentilla peered into the night. It was dark and moonless – there was no sign of the intruders. The magical light began to dwindle around them.

‘What do you want us to do?’ asked Potentilla.

Hardacre sighed – why did everyone assume that he was in charge.

‘I’m just a valet you know’ he muttered almost inaudibly.

‘What?’ said Potentilla, looking confused.

Hardacre focused again. This wasn’t a good time to be trying to explain anything.

‘Do you think we’ll get back to the Armoury Vault?’ he asked Rem.

Rem shrugged and then shook his head.

‘Too risky’ he said

‘This’ll be swarming with gremlins in the morning’ said Potentilla, ‘the spies were just seeing if there’s any substantial opposition, I imagine’ 

 Hardacre stared round at the rapidly diminishing circle of light.

‘We’re probably better off in the Quiena Vault, anyway’ he said without much conviction.

‘If we can get out once in’ said Rem

There was a brief moment of gloomy silence.

‘Let’s go back then’ said Potentilla, ‘before we run out of light’

They backed down the stairs until they arrived at the door. Viola was standing in front of it, making sure that it didn’t close prematurely.

‘What’s the plan’ she said, looking at Hardacre.

‘We shut ourselves in’ said Hardacre, ‘and then we make a plan’

‘One like those dead dwarves had?’ said Fred from the other side of the door.

‘No, no!’ said Potentilla, ‘of course not – we clearly need a much better plan than that!’

Hardacre’s rolled his eyes   – at least metaphorically, and he ushered them all into the vault. Then, with general trepidation, they shut the vault door behind them.

‘You know how to get out, do you Kath?’ said Fred, about ten seconds after the door had shut. Fortunately Kath could find nothing nearby that was worth throwing at him.    

 

***

 

While the others huddled bleakly at one side of the vault, Kath and Hardacre went to have a good look at the corpses and the elephant.  They were the only ones with anything useful to do and that energised them.

The dead bodies were unmistakably dwarves. They seem to have died at some sort of task – one had a wrench still resting in its dead hand. There was no sign of a struggle – they just appeared to have stopped working and died.  Hardacre picked up the papers that were strewn round the dead dwarves and began to study them.

‘Perhaps it’s time for you to have a look at the elephant, Dr Fielding…’ he said.

Kath knelt next to the back foot of the elephant and laid her tools out on the floor. She looked up at the enormous bulk of the massive mechanical beast. It was articulated almost exactly like a real elephant (or so she imagined) and each section was beautifully finished in a white metal. Was it silver? She scraped the foot closest to her – if it was silver then it had very different properties from any type of silver that she’s seen before.   She began her ritual of tapping and listening, her face a mask of concentration.

Hardacre leafed through the papers one at a time. There were lots of strange diagrams and scrawled notes, in several hands and probably two languages.

‘It’s an automaton’ he said to Kath, ‘I think…’

Kath turned from her investigations and nodded.

‘Yes, I’m sure it is’ she said, ‘but it’s not working at present. There’s no power running through it and no obvious way to power it up. Look up there…’

Hardacre looked up to a platform on the back of the elephant. On it was a green seat and what looked like a flat glass table in front of it.

‘Shall I climb up?’ asked Kath

Hardacre frowned and shook his head.

‘Not yet’ he said, ‘let’s look at the papers first’

‘What do they say?’ asked Kath 

‘They say that it’s called the Autelephas and it’s clearly some sort of offensive weapon – a seek and destroy weapon, perhaps’ said Hardacre, ‘but the rest of this is seems very technical. I think that these dwarves must have been engineers’

Kath came over and looked at the papers.

‘Yes, these are technical engineer’s drawings – I can probably decipher them given time’ 

 ‘I can see that it is in Archaic Elven, mostly’ said Hardacre, ‘is the other language some form of Dwarven?’

‘Yes’, answered Kath, frowning, ‘I was never very good at it though – it’s a difficult language’

While they pored over the papers the others sat together miserably; they had nothing to do but wait and stare at the strange stark elephant in the room – there was nothing else except the dead dwarves. They all hoped, above all, that they would be able to get out again. No-one had said anything, but Rem had been glancing at Potentilla from time to time, not particularly obviously, but obviously enough for Potentilla to notice eventually.

‘Oh no - Have I got food on my face?’ she asked

‘No’ mumbled Rem, ‘No food’

Potentilla stopped brushing her face hopefully and smiled.

‘Where are you from, Rem?’ she asked

‘From the Southern Plains’ he replied

‘I don’t really know where that is’ admitted Potentilla quite happily, ‘but then my knowledge of Geography isn’t too good at all, to be honest’

‘You are from West?’ asked Rem

‘Yes – stationed in Visnea’ explained Potentilla, ‘Imperial guard…’

‘You help Kath a lot’ he said.

Potentilla just grinned.

‘Of course I do’ she said.

Rem looked at Potentilla and then at Viola, and then back again. He shifted his position uncomfortably – sitting for too long at one angle was always a trial for him.

‘I’m glad that you help us’ he muttered, ‘even though you elf and Rem not usually like elf...’

He paused for a second, looking even more thoughtful than usual.

‘...at all’ he finally concluded

Rem said all of this in such a way that neither of the two elves knew which of them he was talking to and so they just both nodded vaguely. Viola went back to rubbing her foot. There was no other conversation for a while.  

 

***

Once they’d rested and eaten some food from Hardacre’s special bag, Potentilla volunteered for the exciting job of listening at the door. No-one else seemed to want to do it.

She stuck her ear against the door, listened, and then looked puzzled. She pulled away and repeated the process.  She looked even more puzzled and then stepped back towards the rest of the group.

‘Sire’ she said.

Hardacre looked round to see who she was talking to. He realised rapidly that, sadly, it appeared to be him.

‘Sire?’ he queried.

Potentilla looked slightly embarrassed.

‘Isn’t that what humans call their masters?’

Hardacre shook his head, partly to say ‘no’ and partly to check that his brain was working properly.

‘No – it’s not. Well, not unless you’re in an acting troupe…’ he said

‘Oh’ said Potentilla, blushing ‘I’m really sorry. What should I call you then?’

Hardacre was at a loss.

‘I mean you are in charge aren’t you?’ said Potentilla rather loudly

Everyone murmured their enthusiastic agreement. 

‘Apparently…’ said Hardacre with no enthusiasm at all. He had a lovely brief vision of a pile of ironing, but then it faded.

Potentilla, who was now completely distracted from what she had originally meant to say, thought for a few seconds.

‘What do you call someone who’s in charge?’ she asked the humans, ‘…a civilian, I mean’

Kath laughed and said, not really thinking properly.

‘Boss’

She immediately regretted saying it, but not as much as Hardacre.  He grimaced.

Potentilla smiled.

‘Ooh – that’s good!’ she said. 

She returned to where she’d been several seconds earlier.

‘Boss – ‘she exclaimed eagerly, ‘I don’t think that I’ll be able to hear anything through the door’

‘Sorry Tillie,‘ said Kath, holding a hand up to her,  ‘I should have thought. All you can hear through the door is the Dwarven Magic code-noise’

Hardacre walked up to the door and tried listening himself. He found, just like Kath and Potentilla before, that from inside the door there was a continuous, not unpleasant, buzz of noise. The buzz prevented any sound from permeating through.  

‘I don’t think anyone will get in, anyway’ he said, ‘well, not for a while, anyway’

Potentilla sat down next Kath, but facing the opposite way to the human, and looking towards the door. She had her bow on her lap. Rem sat nearby facing the same way and nursing his club. Viola had been persuaded to take some of Rem’s sleeping draught and was dozing off. Fred sat a little way away from all of them chewing some bread. They all felt calmer and safer in the vault and Kath sensed that this might be because the pink noise of the door seemed to diffuse through the whole room.  She knew that they couldn’t stay here for long though, not without working out what the Autelephas was for. She stared at the elephant and then back at her papers, desperately trying to remember her Dwarven vocabulary.  This would take some time.

Hardacre got his quill and paper out of his bag and returned to writing his letter to John, which had been interrupted several times.  Every now and then he stared up at the door and then over to the Autelephas. Then he would go back to the grey mail paper.

Eventually the letter was finished. He placed in on the floor and signed in the air above it with his witch mark. The grey paper sat for a little while unchanged. Then it began to pulse with a blue light, of a kind that Hardacre had never seen before. He arched his eyebrows – this was really interesting, but also profoundly worrying. It could only mean that Mr Ismay was outside the normal world. There was a flash of bright white light and then the mail paper finally disappeared. Hardacre smelt the air for the familiar stench of brimstone, but there was none. Instead there was a sweet-sour smell, very like rotting apples.