At midnight
Hardacre locked the front door and began to put out the main house lights.
Outside the city was dripping from the first thunderstorm of the season – it
had been a sweltering few days and Hardacre was glad of the sudden break in the
weather. The smell of damp earth filled
the paths and gardens, and he had enjoyed his evening walk very much. The
clematis on a neighbour’s wall had delicate flowers of the deepest pink and he
had briefly considered knocking on the door and asking for a cutting, but he
didn’t have the time. There was so
little time to do anything in the garden these days.
He was pleased to be able to put the house to sleep so early. For once
John was in his rooms and, if he wasn’t asleep, then at least he wasn’t out on
the tiles somewhere. Hardacre was satisfied by nights like this, when all was
quiet by midnight and there was no fuss. In the morning he would have to pack
again and make his way back to Ortia, a prospect that he really didn’t relish;
beautiful and interesting though that city was.
And this time he would be away for longer, with all that entailed in
accumulated chaos at home. If this pattern continued then they might have to
advertise for another pair of hands to assist Simkins. He really didn’t want to
have to manage any more staff: a general help, a cleaner and a part-time
gardener were enough.
He walked into the kitchen and began to boil some milk in a saucepan.
The little domestic tasks always soothed him, particularly cooking, which was
why he had persuaded John not to employ a permanent cook. However, if he was
never going to be there then maybe they’d have to have one. He considered this
and concluded that, in fact, if there was no cook there then John would simply
eat all of his meals out. This slightly saddened him, so he returned to coaxing
the milk to the boil.
He was reaching up into the cupboard for his special supply of Babalian
cocoa when he heard a sharp knock on the door. His heart sank.
He removed the saucepan from the heat and made his way back to the
front door, shouting ‘I’m on my way’. Then he unlocked the door and opened it
far enough to see who the visitor was. It was Ridgeway.
‘Good evening, your honour’
Ridgeway stood at the door looking slightly damp and very hot. He’d
clearly been running.
‘Is John here?’ he asked.
Hardacre wondered what was wrong – he’d never seen the consul quite
this out of breath, and it surprised him to find that he could apparently move
faster than an amble. Hardacre knew, however, that it was his duty to protect his master
from unwanted intrusions.
‘I believe that Mr Ismay is sleeping, sir’ Hardacre said, enunciating
his words very clearly and carefully,‘It is very late’, he added.
Ridgeway held his sides while he got his breath back. Hardacre observed
him with a faint hint of distaste.
‘Would you like me to give him a message, or perhaps you would care to
leave him a note?’
‘Well, Laurence’ Ridgeway said, puffing, the red slowly draining from
his cheeks, ‘maybe you can help me’
Ridgeway smiled, his normal affable composure returned.
‘I’m looking for Captain Eistedd’ he said, ‘he’s not here is he?’
Hardacre detected a hint of worry in Ridgeway’s voice, which intrigued
him. Should he go and get Mr Ismay? On
the one hand something interesting was going on, while on the other, here was
an opportunity to discombobulate this rather pompous and scheming man.
‘I don’t think so sir, although if he’s been here from before seven pm
Simpkins might have let him in’ he answered, after a longish pause of
pretending to think about the answer.
‘No,’ said Ridgeway, ‘I’ve seen him since then, but only in passing’.
The two men stood facing each other in the doorway. Ridgeway apparently
didn’t know how to proceed. It was clear to Hardacre that Ridgeway really
wanted to speak to John. It was also clear that if the consul pressed the point
he would have to reveal why he was looking so enthusiastically for the Captain.
Hardacre was enjoying this, although, of course, he was keeping his
professional duties uppermost in his mind. He also calculated that whatever was
happening would reveal itself soon enough.
Hardacre let the conversation die and ostentatiously waited, with a
look of great patience on his face.
‘Well, Laurence… if John’s in bed…’
Hardacre smiled slightly, nodded, and was still silent. Ridgeway
hesitated and then retreated.
‘…I’ll leave you to it. Filthy
night, eh?’
A light drizzle was now falling from the sky, cooling the air to a
pleasant warmth. Hardacre could smell blossom everywhere.
‘Yes, sir, most discomfiting’ he murmured.
‘Goodnight Laurence’ said Ridgeway, taking a slow step back from the
threshold.
‘Goodnight your honour, I’ll let Mr Ismay know that you called when I
wake him in the morning’
Hardacre shut the door, ensuring that it didn’t make too much noise.
He made his way back into the kitchen and added a little more milk to
the saucepan. Then he returned it to the heat. He reached up for the cocoa and
then found two medium sized mugs. After another few minutes the mugs were full
of cocoa, sugar and warmed milk. He placed them on the kitchen table and
stirred them absentmindedly for a few seconds.
There was another sharp rap on the door.
Hardacre went back to the door and swung it open, welcomingly.
‘Come in Captain, I’ll get Mr Ismay for you’, he said without looking
up.
Glynn looked astonished.
‘How did you..?’ he started to say.
‘Come in and hang up your coat,’ said Hardacre, interrupting him.
Glynn smiled and walked in. He began to take off his coat.
‘Oh… and there’s a mug of cocoa for you in the kitchen, if you’d like
it’
Hardacre shut the door and went to alert his master.
John hadn’t
been asleep, of course, and Hardacre was able to usher Glynn through to his
study, grasping his drink.
‘Why has he got a mug of
cocoa?’ asked John
‘Just circumstance, sir’ explained Hardacre. He turned and left them.
John wondered whether he detected a slight flourish in Hardacre’s step.
‘How are you, Glynn?’ asked John, settling down into his armchair
‘I’m fine’ replied Glynn, ‘and I have some news’.
He smiled, inviting praise, ‘look how useful I am’
John peered at him.
‘And decorative. An excellent combination’
‘Flatterer’ said Glynn, grinning.
Glynn walked over to the table. He gestured towards a wine bottle.
‘May I?’
John nodded. Glynn poured two glasses of wine. He carried the wine
glasses back to the armchairs and then returned for the cocoa. Then he sat,
alternatively sipping the cocoa and gulping the wine.
‘Back to you being useful…’ said John after a rather long delay.
‘Right’, slurred Glynn, his mouth half-full of liquid ‘I’ve found some
things out. And I’ve avoided telling
Ridgeway anything’
‘Well, that’s very pleasing, indeed’
‘He’s been chasing after me all evening, trying to find out what I
know’
‘Even better… so, what have you
found out?’
‘The rod was in Eth City. I found that out from the military attaché
there.’
John listened intently. He didn’t believe that for a minute.
‘It was there until about four months ago, and then it was taken by one
of the Eth City scholars, a young woman named Dr Katherine Fielding. She took
it, along with some other lesser artefacts, with her on her expedition.’
‘Right, of course, she’s one of the Melloreis scholars’
‘Yes. She went with another scholar, Dr Fred Eccles – he’s some sort of
architecture nut’
‘Yes, he’s a scholar, Glynn, they’re all a little bit nuts’
‘Anyway, this Fielding woman is meant to be very sharp, and seems to
know an awful lot about Dwarven Magic’
John sipped his wine. Glynn had already drunk both of his drinks, ‘greedy
boy’ he thought.
‘So, does anyone know where they are?’ he asked
‘They left Visnea about two weeks ago,’ replied Glynn, ‘No-one really
knows their position now’
John wondered whether anyone else except the Hybitor really cared where
they were. Maybe that was for the best –
neither Eth nor Visnea had a particularly uncomplicated attitude to East
Visneoria.
‘Did you find out anything else?’ asked John
‘I did find out one other thing. It’s said that the rod is useful on
its own, that it has its own intrinsic power, but there was a scroll too,
apparently’
‘A scroll?’ responded John, blandly.
‘Yes. It’s said that the scroll and the rod can act together and
trigger powerful Dwarven Magic effects’
John considered this.
‘Sounds unlikely,’ he mused, ‘scrolls tend to have one off magic
effects. Also, the rod obviously works independently of any scroll.’
‘Oh right’ said Glynn, seeming slightly disappointed.
‘I can’t see any justification for a scroll-rod hybrid system. Not
without serious HFP’
Glynn looked blank.
‘HFP?’
‘Hypercritical failure problems’ John smoothly replied, deadpan, but
grinning broadly inside.
‘I don’t know…’
‘Putting it more simply – I just don’t think that it would work’
‘I see’
John nodded very wisely as if debating with the most sagacious council
member.
‘I thought you would’
Glynn looked bewildered but also rather pleased with himself.
John allowed his intense nodding to die away.
‘But if you do hear anything about the scroll – let me know. We should
keep half and eye on it, I guess’
‘I will’ promised Glynn eagerly.
Glynn finished his second glass of wine.
‘I must go’ he announced, standing up
‘You’ll have to talk to Ridgeway at some point’ indicated John
Glynn nodded.
‘But not quite yet’
‘What will you tell him?’ asked John
‘What he wants to hear – just like I do with everyone’. He flashed his
beautiful smile, and made his way out of the room.
‘I’ll get Hardacre to see me out’ he said
John didn’t move - he just waved as Glynn passed through the door
A minute or
two later John rose slowly from the chair and made his way towards the hall. He
met Hardacre coming the other way.
‘Perhaps I can shut up the house now, sir?’
‘Not quite yet, Laurence’
Hardacre paused, and sighed imperceptibly.
‘Very well, sir’
‘You know what so useful about beautiful people, Laurence?’
‘No, sir’
‘They spend so much time being lovely that they don’t have much time
left over to be clever’
‘Sorry sir, you’ve lost me. Are you talking about the Captain?’
John tried to ignore this, but then a sudden burst of irritation made
him blurt out.
‘I haven’t told him anything, you know. In fact, he’s been a lot of
help’
‘I’m sure sir, that you have everything under control. As always’
John had another internal struggle. He knew that he shouldn’t respond
to this, but was so tempted. This
time common sense won. He returned to his original purpose.
‘Anyway… I need you to go down into the deep vault’
‘Of course, sir. What do you need from there?’
‘I need the Quiena Scroll’
Hardacre nodded his approval.
‘That seems very sensible, sir, given the sudden interest in Dwarven
Magic’
Hardacre thought for a moment.
‘Could it wait until I return, sir? I’m back in Ortia tomorrow
morning’.
John paused to consider this.
‘Yes, of course – it’s really not fair that I always expect you to do
everything! It’s fine; I’ll get it
myself tomorrow.’
Hardacre was relieved. He had too many things to do as it was.
‘Can I ask you, sir – why exactly do you need the scroll?’
‘I need to examine it – it may have some power over the Dwarven Magic
rod. I need to study it again’
‘What did you conclude last time you examined it, sir?’
‘It’s powerful and it seems to have been fashioned by Quiena. And it
has a very fine illustration of an elephant on it’
‘Not so much then, sir’ said Hardacre, will a faint smile.
‘Almost nothing. But that was then…’
‘And now you have a lead, sir. I’m sure that will help’
‘I need to make sense of that scroll quickly, before the scholars get
to Melloreis. And, as importantly, I need you to find the scholars – before
they do anything stupid’
‘I’ll do my best, sir – although
it may take some time’
‘Take whatever time it takes. You know how important it might be. We
don’t want anyone messing with Melloreis – it’s potentially a very dangerous
place…’
Hardacre nodded.
‘First, though, I’ll have to work on the proconsul. Without her
support, we’ll not get very far.’
John’s mind was already on the scroll. He was about to go off to bed
when Hardacre insisted on starting a new topic.
‘Sir, I’ll communicate by mail paper while I’m away’
‘That sounds sensible. How much do you have?’
‘Only a few sheets. Perhaps six: Five white and one grey’
John laughed.
‘Why bother with the grey paper? It’s experimental and I can see no use
for it’
Hardacre blinked, usually a sign of irritation.
‘It has been shown to have a much greater range than white paper, and
has the potential to work across dimensional barriers’
John shook his head. They had had this rather odd conversation before.
How could he bring it to a conclusion as quickly as possible?
‘Dimensional barriers? Which particular ones do you think we need to
communicate across?’
Hardacre didn’t hesitate.
‘Well, in particular, the one you’ll enter tomorrow when you step
inside the Deep Vault. I believe that that is set up specifically to provide a
dimensional barrier’
John was infuriated that he’d walked straight into the trap. He tried
to wriggle his way out.
‘Well, I suppose so’ he said, ‘but that’s a safe space that we’re never
inside for more than a few hours. It’s a waste of resources to use grey paper
in there just because we can. If I need to communicate with you then I’ll step
outside and use some white paper’
Hardacre’s eyes widened very slightly.
‘You won’t take a sheet then,
sir? I have a spare one in my desk’
John sighed and began to retreat.
He really needed to sleep.
‘No, Laurence, I really don’t think it’s necessary. You really are the
most cautious person I have ever met’
‘Thank you, sir. I am very grateful for the compliment’
John was completely exasperated, but knew from long experience that
this conversation was best abandoned.
‘I hope that your trip goes well, Laurence’ he said, with a note of
finality.
‘I’m sure it will, sir’
They nodded politely at each other and then John went upstairs to
bed.
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