‘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.
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