I saw her notice the few visible scars that peeked out of his sleeve at the wrist. Today, they were red and inflamed.
“Maria Templeton,” she said curtly. “Beg your pardon.” She made her way around Rook and out the door. Damn. I followed and closed the door behind us, ready to beg—
“I’ll help him.” She folded her arms tight across her chest.
“You will?” My voice rose in excitement, and she shushed me.
“There are things we might try, if the hobgoblin allows it.”
“He will,” I said quickly.
“One more thing. I’d like a cot up here. I wouldn’t feel comfortable in one of your grand rooms downstairs.”
“Of course.” I’d give her half my own blood if it would make her stay. “Why did you change your mind?” Apart from my brilliant reasoning, obviously.
“You love him.” She said it boldly, without question. My face flushed. “There are few who love the Unclean in this world. Makes me feel I can trust you.” She extended her hand. “Congratulations. You’ve the services of a very skilled witch.”
—
WHITECHURCH REPLIED TO BLACKWOOD WITHIN HOURS. The ink on the letter was spattered, the words smeared—evidently, he’d written it hastily and shoved it into a messenger’s hand without bothering to blot it. Even though it was afternoon, bordering on evening, Her Majesty had invited us all to meet at Buckingham Palace immediately. Blackwood and I pulled up to the palace to find Magnus already there, pacing outside the entrance with his hat in his hand.
Fae warriors and a unit of sorcerers guarded Her Majesty’s door. The faeries were of the same rank as the Goodfellow, moss and lichen covering their wooden faces, carrying wooden shields and clubs studded with wicked-looking thorns. They said nothing as we passed them by.
The queen’s private sitting room had an ornately carved wooden ceiling and shuttered windows to keep out the now-waning afternoon light. Lamps had already been lit, and in the corner, beneath a painting of the old king, a bell-shaped brass cage sheltered a pair of singing yellow canaries.
The queen was seated on a velvet sofa; Whitechurch stood behind her. I couldn’t find a clue to his mood in his blank expression. His eyes, however, regarded each of us keenly.
Blackwood, Magnus, and I stood side by side and waited on the queen’s command.
“Show us,” she said at last.
Together, we laid Strangewayes’s weapons out on a long, polished table. Her Majesty got up and drew nearer, staring at the weapons in astonishment. The lantern especially interested her. She picked it up before putting it down again quickly, as though it would bite. Finally, I placed Strangewayes’s book.
Now what would she do? What would she say? It was one thing to discover these oddities, and quite another to be allowed to use them. Anticipation welled up inside me.
Whitechurch frowned as he studied our strange wares, but the queen looked excited. She touched a finger to one of the orange-gold daggers, her mouth forming a soft O of surprise. In a lavender gown, with her hair pulled back in a simple style, she looked less like a sovereign at the head of a terrible war and more like a young woman admiring a carnival trick.
“Tell us about these,” Whitechurch said, sweeping his hand over the assorted objects. Magnus and Blackwood allowed me to answer for all of us. It was no secret that the queen seemed to favor me. I tried not to let that go to my head.
“This is Ralph Strangewayes, and his otherworldly assistant,” I said, unrolling the painting delicately. The queen gasped at the sight of the monster. On the back, elegant handwriting declared this was Ralph (“R.S.”) and his servant Azureus, the Latin for “blue.” Aptly named, as the creature was the color of a high summer sky.
“And this book details the Ancients?” Queen Victoria flipped through the journal, using only the tip of her finger to turn the pages.
“How could Strangewayes have had such knowledge?” Whitechurch didn’t sound pleased. Damn. He wouldn’t love what I was about to suggest.
“I believe magician craft comes from the Ancients’ world,” I said. The queen dropped the bone whistle. “We know that Strangewayes was trying to give King Henry a son, and discovered a source of unnatural magic.” I crossed my fingers. “He must have found a path into the Ancients’ domain. These weapons are specifically designed for creatures not of this earth.”
“What are you proposing?” Whitechurch asked, though I could tell he knew and did not like it.
“We must learn how to use these weapons,” Blackwood said, though he did not sound enthused.
Already, Whitechurch was shaking his head. “This is how it begins,” he warned. Her Majesty remained silent. “This is how magicians gain a foothold in our society.”
Was that so terribly wrong? I had to bite my tongue.
“Sir, we’ve battled these creatures for over a decade,” Blackwood continued. “What if these weapons do contain the key to R’hlem’s destruction?”
Whitechurch frowned deeper than ever. Here it was, our potential salvation, and he didn’t want it because magicians could not be trusted? I had to stifle the urge to start shouting.
“Howel,” the queen said, her voice soft. “Do you know how to use these?”
“Not yet, Majesty,” I replied. Please, let her see how important this was. Let her agree. “Your Majesty said that I was a sorcerer.” I decided to blunder ahead; it was time to be bold. “I am. But I used sorcerer and magician magic the night we defeated Korozoth, and Your Majesty said that I must control both sides of my power.”
“I believe I said control, not use.” The queen wasn’t smiling.
“This could be our best chance,” I said. Standing before the queen, I recalled once more the servant dead at the foot of her bed. His blood had been used as a message to me; I had to answer it. I had to strike at R’hlem, chosen one or not.
Whitechurch’s power stirred. I could feel it on my skin, and it made me light-headed. “This is not our way,” he thundered.
“But it might be the best way,” the queen said. That stopped the Imperator. “This is dangerous, Howel.” For one moment, I held my breath. Finally, she sighed. “Who would assist you in this?”
Oh, thank God and Strangewayes and even bloody Mickelmas.
“I would, Your Majesty,” Magnus said. “Captain Ambrose doesn’t want me back on board until my arm is fully recovered. Allow me to be of service.”
“And I, Majesty,” Blackwood said, though he sounded far more reluctant.
“There might be others who would agree,” I said. I’d write to the boys, Dee and Wolff and Lambe. There was a small, selfish part of me that wanted us all together again.
“Very well,” the queen said. Whitechurch kept silent, though I could read his disapproving thoughts. “But these weapons must work. If they don’t, you will put them aside.” She closed the book’s cover. “Or you will face dire consequences.”
“Yes, Majesty,” I breathed.
Once again, I was playing with fire.
The next day, Blackwood and I arrived at the Camden Town barracks with the weaponry and the few scratchings of a plan. The barracks themselves were two stables remodeled into sleeping quarters, with a wide, oval-shaped training yard for practice. Apart from a select few—Blackwood and myself included, since I couldn’t well sleep in bunks with men all about—this was where the younger, unmarried sorcerers lived, trained, and waited to be called for battle.
Men ran drills as we entered, lunging forward seven, eight, ten times on command. Squadron leaders blew whistles, sending their men into different formations: the diamond patterns best suited for weaving nets of flame, the circles that anchored sorcerers as they made the earth tremble and shake. I blushed watching; it was a humid day at the end of summer, and some of them had their coats off. Even after all the weeks of living in Agrippa’s house, I’d not got used to men without proper dress. If Agrippa were here, he’d say…