Chapter seven

Kinspit – John Ismay’s Study

 

The meeting with Ridgeway had gnawed gently at John’s mind over dinner and well into the next day. As far as he knew this all meant very little, just a party of scholars lost in the wilderness somewhere.  (They’d find their way home eventually, he was sure). However, he realised that he knew very little about East Visneoria, and that was annoying. He prided himself on covering every angle.  In addition, something was going on, something political that he, and apparently the consul, knew nothing about.  The Visneorians must have some reason for encouraging a party of Ethian scholars, and he wanted to know what it was.  So far there was no gossip worth having on the subject, so it looked like he might have to conduct a deeper search. That meant talking to Stephen, the most knowledgeable in the Council concerning elven things. The only problem with that was that his colleague knew too much and he didn’t have an afternoon to spare. It also meant the twins, which was fine, but they had their own agenda, and Gwyneth had a habit of disapproving of most of his decisions.  Bronwyn’s way was, when she disapproved at all, to do it indirectly, which sometimes hurt even more. He would have to talk to them, though, and soon.

Just after lunch he went down to his study, chalked out the symbols carefully on the floorboards, and waited.  After about ten minutes the chalk outline started to glow dark red, and he began the invocation spell. Five minutes after that, images of two tall, almost identical red haired, middle-aged, women appeared within the circle. One was dressed in green robes and the other in brown ones. Around them he could see the faint images of oak trees, in the fresh green of spring’s new leaf.

‘Is that you John?’ asked Gwyneth[1], the woman in brown robes, squinting to see him.

John stood up and came closer. Now they could all see each other more clearly.

‘Are you in Kinspit, John?’ asked the other woman.

‘Yes, Bronwyn[2], greetings – and love. Gwyneth, to you too’

Gwyneth half-frowned at this.

‘Well, at least we know where you are’

The women exchanged a glance and smiled.

‘How are you, John?’ Bronwyn asked.

‘I’m well, Bron, thank you. How are things in Neman?’

‘Looking lovely – everything is growing!’ 

Gwyneth interrupted this with a wave of her hand. She snapped out her words.

‘Focus, both of you! John, what do you want? You know that we don’t have all day. These always work out as expensive conversations, on way or another…’

‘I had Consul Ridgeway visit me yesterday’

Gwyneth made a sour face.

‘Old fool’

‘Yes, quite true, but he gave me some useful information’

‘What was that?’ asked Bronwyn

‘About an Ethian expedition to Melloreis’

Gwyneth started.

‘What?’

‘Melloreis’ said Bronwyn, slightly dreamily, ‘now that’s a name I haven’t heard for a long time. Very interesting place…’

‘How will that work, John?’ asked Gwyneth, ‘Eth to Melloreis is a long, long, way, over some huge mountains’

‘They’re going through West Visneoria and they have the Emperor’s blessing’

‘Well, that’s odd’

‘Yes’, responded John, tersely, ‘that’s why we’re having this conversation’

Bronwyn tutted.

‘It’s Gwyneth’s job to be impatient with you, John, it surely won’t work if we try it the other way round’

Gwyneth smiled.

‘Well, Melloreis would certainly be worth a look around’ she said.

‘Why’s that?’ asked John.

 ‘It is said that it was made by Quiena[3]’s dwarven engineers, under her direction’ explained Bronwyn

‘What, the whole city was made by her?’

‘Parts of it, undoubtedly. Certainly the parts that might survive’

‘And our evidence for that is?’

Gwyneth snorted.

‘Evidence? John Ismay, you really are an exasperating man’

‘Name one man that you don’t find exasperating’

‘A point well made. I mean that you are more exasperating than most’ 

‘Do I have to take your word on trust then?’

‘Of course’ insisted Gwyneth.

‘Anyway’ said Bronwyn ‘this is probably something that we should look into’

John made a face.

‘Really? That’s not the answer I was looking for’

‘We should definitely send someone’ said Bronwyn. ‘Who’s nearest?’

‘Well no-one’ said John ‘and we’re fully stretched’.

Bronwyn looked thoughtful

‘Well, your decision, as always, but there must be someone nearby’

‘What about in Ortia. Do we have an agent there?’ asked Gwyneth

‘In Ortia. Why would we have someone there?’ 

‘Another interesting place’ murmured Bronwyn.

‘Well, send someone there, then,’ said Gwyneth, ‘someone clever, sophisticated and diplomatic. Someone who’s very good with elves’

John shrugged, not wanting to respond to that.

‘John’, said Bronwyn, ‘I’m not sure that we have a choice. It’ll have to be Laurence – you know he’s our most reliable diplomat. At least get him to go there, make contact and see what’s going on’

John frowned.

‘He’s not going to like it’

Bronwyn pursed her lips and shook her head gently.

‘I know that we ask a lot of him, but I think he’ll be fine. He’s used to it. Don’t let him make you feel guilty’

‘I suppose so, but it does seem a little unfair. However, you are right; we have no-one else quite as well qualified’

‘Not for this sort of work’ insisted Bronwyn

‘Well then, he’s your man – Just tell him we need him to go’ said Gwyneth.

‘Fine’ sighed John, ‘I think that we’re agreed’

‘Your decision, of course’ said Bronwyn, ‘we obviously don’t want to push him too far…’

‘But make up your mind quickly’ added Gwyneth, ‘and if not him then you’ll have to find someone else very rapidly’.

There was a pause. John sighed.

‘I’ll tell him tonight. I’ll let him cook me dinner. That always puts him in a good mood’

‘That’s all sorted out then.’ said Gwyneth, ‘no reason to extend the conversation any further’

Bronwyn looked slightly disappointed.

The images in the circle became weaker and vaguer.

‘Goodbye John. Hopefully we can meet in person soon…’ said Bronwyn, ‘tell Laurence that I hope it goes well’. She waved. He waved back, squinting through the gathering mist that was enveloping the circle.

Gwyneth didn’t wave, but she smiled very slightly, and then the image was gone.

John sat at his desk for a while, writing some notes and thinking things through.  Then he summoned up the energy to rise. He bent down and carefully wiped the chalk marks off the floor. ‘One job fewer for Laurence’ he thought.

---

[1] Deputy leader of the Hybitor

[2] A council member of the Hybitor

[3] The Visneorian name for Ophia

Chapter eight

The Great Wall – Quienimon Gate

 

They walked on as two separate parties:  Lucius on one side of the guards, the Ethian scholars on the other. Bitter words had been exchanged and they were taking Lucius’s route only because they had no other choice. Kath and Fred had already decided, between themselves, that once they had got through the Wall, that they would go no further with Lucius. Exactly how that would work, though, neither of them knew.

They had been walking alongside the Wall northwards for about four hours when its shape changed slightly; it began to bend inwards as if to form a mouth.  At the end of that mouth was a huge iron gate, taking up more than half of the height of the wall, but wide enough only to allow at most five elves abreast to march through, it wouldn’t have sufficed for a proper army. There was no keyhole or any other obvious method of opening it. They stopped a few yards in front of it.

Lucius removed the gate key from his pocket with a flourish; Kath saw it for just a second, but she’d have liked to have had a better look. Lucius gestured to Maxilius and the Lieutenant organised his troops into a protective shield around their self-appointed leader. In this rather unwieldy formation, Lucius and the guards shuffled up to the gate. When they were in touching distance of the entrance the guards stood to one side.  Lucius unwrapped the key and held it up to the wall. The scholars looked on with an equal mixture of contempt and fascination. The key was indistinguishable from a small, dark green, pebble.

‘Gather round me, ignorant human scholars’ Lucius shouted, ‘you will finally learn something of real value! I shall make a way for us!’

As he spoke the key began to glow bright red, and then it flashed. A low hum now came from the wall. Lucius’s face was flushed with excitement.

‘Now you will see something of the might of the Empire!’ he declaimed, ‘behold the mysteries of the Wall of Juvian!’

The Gate shimmered and then abruptly disappeared. There was a faint plopping noise, and Lucius was quite suddenly sucked inside, his cloak streaming out behind him. He gave a short loud gasp, and then he was gone. The others briefly saw a floating dark green globe behind the gate and then the gate surface reformed. On the ground lay the gate key, where Lucius had dropped it.

 

***

No-one moved for a long time. The first to approach the key was Kath, as curiosity was stronger in her than fear. She took a wooden spoon out her backpack and prodded the key. It did nothing. She did nothing. It was a stand-off. She stared at the key for several minutes and then considered the end of the spoon.

Maxilius came up behind her and picked the key up.

‘What on earth was that?’ he asked, ‘what happened?’ He looked stony faced. Sweat glistened on his brow.  

Kath went up to examine the gate. She shook her head.

‘I have no idea what happened – some sort of force pulled him in, I think’ she said, her voice full of awe, ‘this gate is very strange indeed. It seems to be made of some astonishingly thin metal’

‘We need to get inside as quickly as possible’ said Maxilius, ‘Lucius may be in grave danger’

No-one moved very fast.

‘Probably a goner’ muttered Fred.

‘Well, perhaps that’s meant to happen? Perhaps that’s how you get inside?’ suggested Potentilla. ‘I don’t mind having a go’. Her eyes were bright with excitement.

Kath considered this for no more than a second and then shook her head.

‘It didn’t look like that should have happened. Lucius’s trajectory looked worryingly like something being dragged into the cogs of a machine…’

‘Too much talk’ said Maxilius ‘I have to rescue Lucius, and we know how to get in…’

He held the key up and carried it to the gate. It began to glow again.

‘No!’ shouted Kath. Fred, and most of the guards, descended rapidly upon Maxilius, trying to pull him backwards. As they formed a scrum the gate began to melt again. There was another plop, and a force, which felt like a huge hand plucking up a small bird, dragged them in towards the Wall.

‘Hold on! shouted Kath, and those at the back of the chain, whose feet were still on the ground, dug their heels in. For a moment the forces were balanced, and as if in response to their immobility, a green sphere floated out from the wall towards them. It was about ten feet in diameter and was clearly the origin of the strange pulling force. The sphere was entirely featureless, but Kath still thought that it looked rather angry. 

The sphere hovered a few feet away from them, and began to rotate slowly. It started to emit a hum, just as they had heard before. The force pulling them in became stronger. As a group they began to rise into the air, as if suspended on an invisible rope extending from the sphere.

Potentilla, some way back and not part of the struggling group, picked up her bow. She readied it and then sent an arrow flying into the centre of the sphere. This seemed to distract it momentarily and for a split second the force stopped. Everyone in the big pile dropped to the floor. They scattered and ran as fast as they could in all directions away from the wall. Potentilla ducked and ran too. No-one looked back for several seconds. When they did, the sphere was gone and the gate was closed again.

Kath forced herself to stop running. She turned, panting very hard, and stared despondently at the gate.

‘I think we need another plan’ she said.

Chapter nine

Kinspit – Hardacre’s room

                

Hardacre was packing and John was hovering.

‘Sir, I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you’re very distracting’

John smiled vaguely.

‘Sorry – I thought I was being helpful’

Hardacre considered this.

‘How exactly, sir? Or is this an “informal briefing”?’

Hardacre was packing clothes into a small bag. This had been going on for about twenty minutes, but the bag still didn’t appear to be full.

‘I’m just checking that you’re happy… ‘ John shook his head, ‘…no, I mean, confident… about what you need to do’

Hardacre picked some formal black shoes from his shoe rack. The shoes on the rack were of all possible styles, and they were all neatly arranged, but only some of them were expertly polished.  He dropped the chosen shoes into the bag.  It produced a small, neat, magical click.

‘It’s a diplomatic mission, sir.  I have done them before’.

John nodded and smiled.

‘Yes, of course. It’s just that…’

Hardacre peered up at John.

‘What sir?’

‘Well…’ John’s voice trailed off.

‘That… you promised me no more missions for the foreseeable future. Is that it, sir?’

John stared at a point in the wall, and frowned.

‘I did. But this is different’.

‘It always is, sir’.

Hardacre walked over to an elegant wooden desk and began to sort through papers. He picked up a big red book and placed it on the desk. The conversation was lapsing.

‘Well…’ said John, ‘this wasn’t what I intended’.

Hardacre opened the book and slipped a sheet of white, almost pristine, paper on to the front page. He leant over and picked up a small bottle of green ink. Unscrewing it, he peered inside it and sniffed at it.  Satisfied, he took a quill pen and dipped the tip in it. Only then did he look up again at John.

‘Have I complained, sir?’

John leant against the bedroom wall and sighed.

‘Of course you haven’t Laurence. But, as usual, I’m resorting to mind reading’

‘Literal or metaphorical, sir?’

‘The harder of the two, of course – whichever that is’

Hardacre took the pen and began to write on the loose page in his book. His handwriting was compact, elegant and economical. As always, John was very impressed.

‘Can I speak openly, sir?’ asked Hardacre.

John’s brow furrowed.

‘Laurence, please stop asking that question. What do you think?’

‘I think that the answer is not a straightforward as you pretend to yourself that it is, sir’

John was sensible enough to abandon this line of conversation.

‘Yes, speak openly,’ he commanded.

‘I’m not too concerned about my mission, sir. It’s unusual, but not unprecedented. I’m more concerned about what might happen here’

‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t trust Ridgeway, and because Captain Eistedd may become a distraction’

‘Who – Glynn?’

‘Yes, as I said – Captain Eistedd of the Ethian secret service’

Hardacre paused for a beat.

‘I’m guessing, sir, that the Captain is already a member of the Old Ethian Club, yes?’

‘Of course. Ridegway vouched for him. He’ll crave the company, of his compatriots, I’d imagine’

‘And that you have already agreed to have dinner with him, sometime this week?’

John grinned.

‘I have no idea what could be wrong with that. He is the liaison officer…’

‘And he is charming, very beautiful and has deep blue eyes’

‘Has he? I must look a bit more closely next time I’m with him’

Hardacre frowned deeply.

‘If you can’t see that you’re being set up, then there’s not much more that I can say, sir’

John bristled.

‘You’re so cynical – such a typical diplomat.’

‘I’m only saying, sir – with all due respect, that you’re not always good at keeping secrets to yourself. A few nights drinking with the lovely captain and you may well have fed Ridgeway some extremely useful information.’

Hardacre paused and dipped his pen in the ink again.  John assumed an expression of hurt pride.

‘I suggest that, however sceptical you feel now, sir, you know that what I say is true’

‘If you’re so certain then perhaps we should have a little bet …’

‘A bet, sir?’

Hardacre arched  his eyebrows very slightly.

‘A wager. If you can ever prove that I’ve told Glynn something that I shouldn’t then… umm… you can have my best morning jacket – you’ve always coveted it avariciously’.

Hardacre waited for a moment and made the familiar face that indicated to John that he was being very vulgar.

‘If that is your wish, sir…’

John scowled.

‘It is a little loose on me, of course’ Hardacre added, as an afterthought, glancing up at John.

‘I’ll have it altered for you’ promised John wearily.

‘Thank you, sir. I very much look forward to wearing it at the winter ball’

‘You have so little faith in me. I’d find it worrying, if you knew what you were talking about’.

‘Whatever you say, sir’ murmured Hardacre, turning back to his writing.

‘It’s a deal, then’ said John.

‘That’s not a deal, sir’ said Hardacre, ‘it’s a gift’ 

Hardacre looked up, but John had gone. He sat there, immersed in his thoughts for a few moments, and then bent down to write on the magic paper in his steady, utterly reliable, hand.