Clockwork Princess (The Infernal Devices, #3 )

chapter 6 Let Darkness

Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drown'd,

Let darkness keep her raven gloss:

Ah, sweeter to be drunk with loss,

To dance with death, to beat the ground.

-Alfred, Lord Tennyson, "In Memoriam A.H.H."

To: Inquisitor Victor Whitelaw

From: Consul Josiah Wayland

It is with some trepidation that I pen this letter to you, Victor, for all that we have known each other for some years now. I feel a bit like the prophetess Cassandra, doomed to know the truth and to have no one believe her. Perhaps it is my sin of hubris, which put Charlotte Branwell in the place she now occupies and from which she devils me.

Her undermining of my authority is constant, the instability which I fear it will cause in the Clave severe. What should have been a disaster for her-the revelation that she harbored spies under her roof, the Lovelace girl's complicity in the Magister's schemes-has been recast as a triumph. The Enclave hails the inhabitants of the Institute as those who uncovered the Magister and have harried him from London. That he has not been seen or heard from in the past months has been put down to Charlotte's good judgment and is not seen, as I suspect it is, as a tactical retreat and regrouping on his part. Though I am the Consul and lead the Clave, it seems very much to me that this will go down as the time of Charlotte Branwell, and that my legacy will be lost-

To: Inquisitor Victor Whitelaw

From: Consul Josiah Wayland

Victor,

While your concern is much appreciated, I have no anxiety regarding Charlotte Branwell that I did not touch on in my letter to the Council.

May you take heart in the strength of the Angel in these troubled times,

Josiah Wayland

Breakfast was at first a quiet affair. Gideon and Gabriel came down together, both subdued, Gabriel barely saying a word, aside from asking Henry to pass the butter. Cecily had placed herself at the far end of the table and was reading a book as she ate; Tessa longed to see the title, but Cecily had placed the book at such an angle that it was not visible. Will, across from Tessa, had the dark shadows of sleeplessness below his eyes, a memory of their eventful night; Tessa herself poked unenthusiastically at her kedgeree, silent until the door opened and Jem came in.

She looked up with surprise and a lurch of delight. He did not look unusually ill, only tired and pale. He slid gracefully into the seat beside her. "Good morning."

"You look much better, Jemmy," Charlotte observed with delight.

Jemmy? Tessa looked at Jem with amusement; he shrugged and gave her a self-deprecating grin.

She looked across the table and found Will watching them. Her gaze brushed his, just for a moment, a question in her eyes. Was there any chance that somehow Will had found some replacement yin fen in the time between returning home and this morning? But no, he looked as surprised as she felt.

"I am, quite," Jem said. "The Silent Brothers were of great assistance." He reached to pour himself a cup of tea, and Tessa watched the bones and tendons move in his thin wrist, distressingly visible. When he set the pot down, she reached for his hand beneath the table, and he clasped it. His slim fingers wound about hers reassuringly.

Bridget's voice floated out from the kitchen.

"Cold blows the wind tonight, sweetheart,

Cold are the drops of rain;

The very first love that ever I had

In greenwood he was slain.

I'll do as much for my sweetheart

As any young woman may;

I'll sit and mourn at his graveside

A twelve-month and a day."

"By the Angel, she's depressing," said Henry, setting down his newspaper directly on his plate and causing the edge to soak through with egg yolk. Charlotte opened her mouth as if to object, and closed it again. "It's all heartbreak, death, and unrequited love."

"Well, that is what most songs are about," said Will. "Requited love is ideal but doesn't make much of a ballad."

Jem looked up, but before he could say anything, a great reverberation sounded through the Institute. Tessa was familiar enough with her London home now to know it as the sound of the doorbell. They all looked down the table at the same time at Charlotte, as if their heads were mounted on springs.

Charlotte, looking startled, put down her fork. "Oh, dear," she said. "There is something I had meant to tell you all, but-"

"Ma'am?" It was Sophie, drifting into the room with a salver in one hand. Tessa could not help but notice that though Gideon was staring at her, she seemed to be deliberately avoiding his gaze, her cheeks pinking slightly. "Consul Wayland is downstairs requesting to speak with you."

Charlotte took the folded paper off the salver, gazed at it, sighed, and said, "Very well. Send him up."

Sophie vanished in a swirl of skirts.

"Charlotte?" Henry sounded puzzled. "What is going on?"

"Indeed." Will let his cutlery clatter onto his plate. "The Consul? Breaking up our breakfast time? Whatever next? The Inquisitor over for tea? Picnics with the Silent Brothers?"

"Duck pies in the park," said Jem under his breath, and he and Will smiled at each other, just a flash, before the door opened and the Consul swept it.

Consul Wayland was a big man, broad-chested and thick-armed, and the robes of the Consul's status always seemed to hang a bit awkwardly from his wide shoulders. He was blond bearded like a Viking, and at the moment his expression was stormy. "Charlotte," he said without preamble. "I am here to talk to you about Benedict Lightwood."

There was a faint rustling; Gabriel's fingers had clenched on the tablecloth. Gideon put a hand lightly over his brother's wrist, stilling him, but the Consul was already looking at them. "Gabriel," he said. "I had rather thought you might go to the Blackthorns' with your sister."

Gabriel's fingers tightened on the handle of his teacup. "They are quite overset in their grief for Rupert," he said. "I did not think now was the time to intrude."

"Well, you are grieving your father, are you not?" said the Consul. "Grief shared is grief lessened, they say."

"Consul-," Gideon began, shooting a worried look at his brother.

"Though perhaps it might be rather awkward to lodge with your sister, considering that she has brought a complaint against you for murder."

Gabriel made a noise as if someone had spilled boiling water over him. Gideon threw his napkin down and stood up.

"Tatiana did what?" he demanded.

"You heard me," the Consul said.

"It was not murder," said Jem.

"As you say," said the Consul. "I was informed that it was."

"Were you also informed that Benedict had turned into a gigantic worm?" Will inquired, and Gabriel looked at him in surprise, as if he had not expected to be defended by Will.

"Will, please," Charlotte said. "Consul, I notified you yesterday that Benedict Lightwood had been discovered to be in the last stages of astriola-"

"You told me there was a battle, and he was killed," the Consul replied. "But what I am hearing reported is that he was ill with the pox, and that as a result he was hunted down and killed despite offering no resistance."

Will, his eyes suspiciously bright, opened his mouth. Jem reached out and clapped a hand over it. "I cannot understand," Jem said, talking over Will's muffled protests, "how you could know that Benedict Lightwood is dead but not the manner of his death. If there was no body to find, it was because he had become more demon than human, and had vanished when slain, as demons do. But the missing servants-the death of Tatiana's own husband-"

The Consul looked weary. "Tatiana Blackthorn says that a group of Shadowhunters from the Institute murdered her father and that Rupert was killed in the brawl."

"Did she mention that her father had eaten her husband?" Henry inquired, finally looking up from his newspaper. "Oh, yes. Ate him. Left his bloody boot in the garden for us to find. There were teeth marks. Love to know how that could have been an accident."

"I would think that counted as offering resistance," Will said. "Eating one's son-in-law, that is. Though I suppose everyone has their family altercations."

"You are not seriously suggesting," Charlotte said, "that the worm-that Benedict should have been subdued and restrained, are you, Josiah? He was in the last stages of the pox! He had gone mad and become a worm!"

"He could have become a worm and then gone mad," Will said diplomatically. "We cannot be entirely sure."

"Tatiana is greatly upset," the Consul said. "She is considering demanding reparations-"

"Then I will pay them." It was Gabriel, having pushed his chair back from the table and risen to his feet. "I will give my ridiculous sister my salary for the rest of my life if she desires it, but I will not admit to wrongdoing-not for myself, not for any of us. Yes, I put an arrow through his eye. Its eye. And I would do it again. Whatever that thing was, it was not my father anymore."

There was a silence. Even the Consul did not seem to have a ready word to hand. Cecily had put her book down and was looking intently from Gabriel to the Consul and back again.

"I beg your pardon, Consul, but whatever Tatiana is telling you, she does not know the truth of the situation," said Gabriel. "Only I was there in the house with my father as he sickened. I was alone with him as he was going mad for the past fortnight. Finally I came here; I begged for my brother's help," Gabriel said. "Charlotte kindly lent me the assistance of her Shadowhunters. By the time we had arrived back at the house, the thing that had been my father had torn my sister's husband apart. I assure you, Consul, there was no manner in which my father could have been saved. We were in a fight for our lives."

"Then why would Tatiana-"

"Because she is humiliated," Tessa said. It was the first words she had spoken since the Consul had entered the room. "She said as much to me. She believed it would be a blight on the family name if the demon pox was known of; I assume she is trying to present some kind of alternate narrative in the hopes you will repeat it to the Council. But she is not telling the truth."

"Really, Consul," said Gideon. "What makes more sense? That we all ran mad and killed my father, and his sons are covering it up, or that Tatiana is lying? She never thinks things through; you know that."

Gabriel stood with his hand on the back of his brother's chair. "If you believe I would have so lightly committed patricide, feel free to bring me to the Silent City to be questioned."

"That would probably be the most sensible course of action," the Consul said.

Cecily set her teacup down with a sharp bang that made everyone at the table jump. "That is not fair," she said. "He is telling the truth. We all are. You must know that."

The Consul gave her a long, measuring look, then turned back to Charlotte. "You expect my trust?" he said. "And yet you conceal your actions from me. Actions have consequences, Charlotte."

"Josiah, I informed you about what happened at Lightwood House the moment everyone returned and I was assured they were all right-"

"You should have told me before," the Consul said flatly. "The moment Gabriel arrived. This was no routine mission. As it is, you have left yourself in a position in which I must defend you, despite the fact that you disobeyed protocol and set out upon this mission without Council approval."

"There wasn't time-"

"Enough," said the Consul, in a voice that implied it was anything but enough. "Gideon and Gabriel, you will come with me to the Silent City to be questioned." Charlotte began to protest, but the Consul held up a hand. "To have Gabriel and Gideon cleared by the Brothers is expedient; it will avoid any mess and allow me to have Tatiana's request for reparations dismissed swiftly. The two of you." Consul Wayland turned to the Lightwood brothers. "Go downstairs to my carriage and wait for me. We will all three adjourn to the Silent City; when the Brothers are done with you, if they find nothing of interest, we will return you here."

"If they find nothing," Gideon said in a disgusted tone. He took his brother by the shoulders and guided him out of the room. As Gideon closed the door behind them, Tessa noticed something spark on his hand. He was wearing his Lightwood ring again.

"All right," said the Consul, rounding on Charlotte. "Why did you not tell me the very moment your Shadowhunters returned and told you Benedict was dead?"

Charlotte fixed her eyes on her tea. Her mouth was pressed into a firm line. "I wanted to protect the boys," she said. "I wanted them to have some moments of peace and quiet. Some respite, after seeing their father die before their eyes, before you started asking questions, Josiah!"

"That is hardly all," the Consul went on, ignoring her expression. "Benedict's books and papers. Tatiana told us of them. We searched his house, but his journals are gone, his desk is empty. This is not your investigation, Charlotte; those papers belong to the Clave."

"What are you searching for in them?" Henry asked, moving his newspaper off his plate. He sounded deceptively uninterested in the answer, but there was a hard glint in his eyes that belied his apparent disinterest.

"Information about his connection to Mortmain. Information about any other Clave members that might have had a connection to Mortmain. Clues as to Mortmain's whereabouts-"

"And his devices?" Henry said.

The Consul paused midsentence. "His devices?"

"The Infernal Devices. His army of automatons. It is an army created for the purpose of destroying Shadowhunters, and he means to bend it against us," Charlotte, seemingly recovered, said as she set her napkin down. "In fact, if Benedict's increasingly incomprehensible notes are believed, that time will come sooner rather than later."

"So you did take his notes and journals. The Inquisitor was convinced of it." The Consul rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes.

"Of course I took them. And of course I will give them to you. I always planned to do so." Eminently composed, Charlotte picked up the small silver bell by her plate and rang it; when Sophie appeared, she whispered to the girl for a moment, and Sophie, with a curtsy to the Consul, slipped out of the room.

"You should have left the papers where they were, Charlotte. It is procedure," said the Consul.

"There was no reason for me not to look at them-"

"You must trust my judgment, and the Law's. Protecting the Lightwood boys is not a higher priority than discovering Mortmain's whereabouts, Charlotte. You are not running the Clave. You are part of the Enclave, and you will report to me. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Consul," Charlotte said as Sophie reentered the room with a packet of papers, which she silently offered to the Consul. "The next time one of our esteemed members turns into a worm and eats another esteemed member, we will inform you immediately."

The Consul's jaw set. "Your father was my friend," he said. "I trusted him, and because of that I have trusted you. Do not make me sorry I appointed you, or supported you against Benedict Lightwood when he challenged your position."

"You went along with Benedict!" Charlotte cried. "When he suggested I be given a fortnight only to complete an impossible task, you agreed to it! You spoke not a word in my defense! If I were not a woman, you would not have behaved in such a way."

"If you were not a woman," said the Consul, "I would not have had to."

And with that, he was gone, in a swirl of dark robes and dully sparking runes. No sooner had the door closed behind him than Will hissed: "How could you give him those papers? We need those-"

Charlotte, who had sagged back in her chair, her eyes half-closed, said, "Will, I have already been up all night copying down the relevant parts. Much of it was-"

"Gibberish?" Jem suggested.

"Pornographic?" said Will at the same time.

"Could be both," said Will. "Haven't you ever heard of pornographic gibberish before?"

Jem grinned, and Charlotte put her face in her hands. "It was more the former than the latter, if you must know," she said. "I copied down all I could, with Sophie's invaluable assistance." She looked up then. "Will-you need to remember. This is no longer our charge. Mortmain is the Clave's problem, or at least that is how they see it. There was a time when we were singularly responsible for Mortmain, but-"

"We are responsible for protecting Tessa!" Will said with a sharpness that startled even Tessa. Will paled slightly when he realized everyone had looked at him with surprise, but he went on anyway: "Mortmain wants Tessa, still. We cannot imagine he has given up. He may come with automatons, he may come with witchcraft and fire and betrayal, but he will come."

"Of course we will protect her," Charlotte said. "We need no reminders, Will. She is one of our own. And speaking of our own ..." She glanced down at her plate. "Jessamine returns to us tomorrow."

"What?" Will upset his teacup, soaking the tablecloth with the dregs. There was a buzz around the table, though Cecily only stared in puzzlement, and Tessa, after a sharp intake of breath, stayed silent. She was remembering the last time she had seen Jessamine, in the Silent City, pale and red-eyed, weeping and terrified.... "She tried to betray us, Charlotte. And you are simply allowing her back?"

"She has no other family, her wealth has been confiscated by the Clave, and she is besides in no fit state to live on her own. Two months of questioning in the Bone City has left her nearly mad. I do not think she will be a danger to any of us."

"Neither did we think she would be a danger before," said Jem, in a harder voice than Tessa would have expected of him, "and yet the course of action she took nearly placed Tessa in Mortmain's hands, and the rest of us in disgrace."

Charlotte shook her head. "There is a need here for mercy and pity. Jessamine is not what she once was-as any of you would know if you had visited her in the Silent City."

"I have no wish to visit with traitors," said Will coldly. "Was she still gibbering about Mortmain being in Idris?"

"Yes-that is why the Silent Brothers finally gave up; they could get no sense out of her. She has no secrets, nothing of worth that she knows. And she understands that. She feels worthless. If you could but put yourself in her shoes-"

"Oh, I don't doubt she's putting on a show for you, Charlotte, weeping and rending her garments-"

"Well, if she's rending her garments," said Jem, with a flick of a smile toward his parabatai. "You know how much Jessamine likes her garments."

Will's smile back was grudging but real. Charlotte saw her opening and pressed the advantage. "You will not even know her when you see her, I promise you that," she said. "Give it a week, a week only, and if none of you can bear to have her here, I will arrange for her transport to Idris." She pushed her plate away. "And now to go through my copies of Benedict's papers. Who will assist me?"

To: Consul Josiah Wayland

From: The Council

Dear Sir,

Until our receipt of your last letter, we had thought our difference in thought on the topic of Charlotte Branwell to be a matter of simple opinion. Though you may not have given express permission for the removal of Jessamine Lovelace to the Institute, the approval was granted by the Brotherhood, who are in charge of such things. It seemed to us the action of a generous heart to allow the girl back into the only home she has known, despite her wrongdoing. As for Woolsey Scott, he leads the Praetor Lupus, an organization we have long considered allies.

Your suggestion that Mrs. Branwell may have given her ear to those who do not have the Clave's best interests at heart is deeply troubling. Without proof, however, we are reluctant to move forward with this as a basis of information.

In Raziel's name,

The Members of the Nephilim Council

The Consul's carriage was a shining red five-glass landau with the four Cs of the Clave on the side, drawn by a pair of impeccable gray stallions. It was a wet day, drizzling faintly; his driver sat slumped in the seat up front, almost entirely hidden by an oilskin hat and cloak. With a frown the Consul, who had said not a word since they had left the breakfast room of the Institute, ushered Gideon and Gabriel into the carriage, climbed up after, and latched the door behind them.

As the carriage lurched away from the church, Gabriel turned to stare out the window. There was a faint burning pressure behind his eyes and in his stomach. It had come and gone since the previous day, sometimes rolling over him so strongly that he thought he might be sick.

A gigantic worm ... the last stages of astriola ... the demon pox.

When Charlotte and the rest of them had first made their accusations against his father, he hadn't wanted to believe it. Gideon's defection had seemed like madness, a betrayal so monstrous it could be explained only by insanity. His father had promised that Gideon would rethink his actions, that he would return to help with the running of the house and the business of being a Lightwood. But he had not come back, and as the days had grown shorter and darker, and Gabriel had seen less and less of his father, he had first begun to wonder and then to be afraid.

Benedict was hunted down and killed.

Hunted and killed. Gabriel rolled the words around in his mind, but they made no sense. He had killed a monster, as he had grown up being trained to do, but that monster had not been his father. His father was still alive somewhere, and any moment Gabriel would look out the window of the house and see him striding up the walk, his long gray coat flapping in the wind, the clean sharp lines of his profile outlined against the sky.

"Gabriel." It was his brother's voice, cutting through the fog of memory and daydream. "Gabriel, the Consul asked you a question."

Gabriel looked up. The Consul was regarding him, his dark eyes expectant. The carriage was rolling through Fleet Street, journalists and barristers and costermongers all hurrying to and fro in the traffic.

"I asked you," the Consul said, "how you were enjoying the hospitality of the Institute."

Gabriel blinked at him. Little stood out for him among the fog of the past few days. Charlotte, putting her arms around him. Gideon, washing the blood off his hands. Cecily's face, like a bright, angry flower. "It is all right, I suppose," he said in a rusty voice. "It is not my home."

"Well, Lightwood House is magnificent," said the Consul. "Built on blood and spoils, of course."

Gabriel stared at him, uncomprehending. Gideon was looking out the window, his expression faintly sick. "I thought you wished to speak to us about Tatiana," he said.

"I know Tatiana," said the Consul. "None of your father's sense and none of your mother's kindness. Rather a bad bargain for her, I'm afraid. Her request for reparations will be dismissed, of course."

Gideon twisted about in his seat and looked at the Consul incredulously. "If you credit her account so little, why are we here?"

"So I could speak with you alone," the Consul said. "You understand, when I first turned over the Institute to Charlotte, I had some thought that a woman's touch would be good for the place. Granville Fairchild was one of the strictest men I've known, and though he ran the Institute according to the Law, it was a cold, unwelcoming place. Here, in London, the greatest city in the world, and a Shadowhunter could not feel at home." He shrugged fluidly. "I thought giving over administration of the place to Charlotte might help."

"Charlotte and Henry," Gideon corrected.

"Henry was a cipher," said the Consul. "We all know, as the saying goes, that the gray mare is the better horse in that marriage. Henry was never meant to interfere, and indeed he does not. But neither was Charlotte. She was meant to be docile and obey my wishes. In that she has disappointed me deeply."

"You backed her against our father," Gabriel blurted, and was immediately sorry he had. Gideon shot him a quelling glare, and Gabriel folded his gloved hands tightly in his lap, pressing his lips together.

The Consul's eyebrows went up. "Because your father would have been docile?" he said. "There were two bad ends, and I chose the best of them. I still had hopes of controlling her. But now ..."

"Sir," Gideon cut in, in his best polite voice. "Why are you telling us this?"

"Ah," said the Consul, glancing out the rain-streaked window. "Here we are." He rapped on the carriage window. "Richard! Stop the carriage at the Argent Rooms."

Gabriel flicked his eyes toward his brother, who shrugged in bafflement. The Argent Rooms were a notorious music hall and gentleman's club in Piccadilly Circus. Ladies of ill repute frequented the place, and there were rumors that the business was owned by Downworlders, and that on some evenings the "magic shows" featured real magic.

"I used to come here with your father," said the Consul, once all three of them were on the pavement. Gideon and Gabriel were staring up through the drizzle at the rather tasteless Italianate theater front that had clearly been grafted onto the more modest buildings that had stood there before. It featured a triple loggia and some rather loud blue paint. "Once the police revoked the Alhambra's license because the management had allowed the cancan to be danced upon their premises. But then, the Alhambra is run by mundanes. This is much more satisfactory. Shall we go in?"

His tone left no room for disagreement. Gabriel followed the Consul through the arcaded entrance, where money changed hands and a ticket was purchased for each of them. Gabriel looked at his ticket with some puzzlement. It was in the form of an advertisement, promising the best entertainment in london!

"Feats of strength," he read off to Gideon as they made their way down a long corridor. "Trained animals, strongwomen, acrobats, circus acts, and comic singers."

Gideon was muttering under his breath.

"And contortionists," Gabriel added brightly. "It looks like there's a woman here who can put her foot on top of her-"

"By the Angel, this place is barely better than a penny gaff," Gideon said. "Gabriel, don't look at anything unless I tell you it's all right."

Gabriel rolled his eyes as his brother took firm hold of his elbow and propelled him into what was clearly the grand salon-a massive room whose ceiling was painted with reproductions of the Italian Great Masters, including Botticelli's Birth of Venus, now rather smoke-stained and the worse for wear. Gasoliers hung from gilded mounds of plaster, filling the room with a yellowish light.

The walls were lined with velvet benches, on which dark figures huddled-gentlemen, surrounded by ladies whose dresses were too bright and whose laughter was too loud. Music poured from the stage at the front of the room. The Consul moved toward it, grinning. A woman in a top hat and tails was slinking up and down the stage, singing a song entitled "It's Naughty, but It's Nice." As she turned, her eyes flashed out green beneath the light of the gasolier.

Werewolf, Gabriel thought.

"Wait here for me a moment, boys," said the Consul, and he disappeared into the crowd.

"Lovely," Gideon muttered, and pulled Gabriel closer toward him as a woman in a tight-bodiced satin dress swayed by them. She smelled of gin and something else beneath it, something dark and sweet, a bit like James Carstairs's scent of burned sugar.

"Who knew the Consul was such a ramper?" Gabriel said. "Couldn't this have waited until after he took us to the Silent City?"

"He's not taking us to the Silent City." Gideon's mouth was tight.

"He's not?"

"Don't be a half-wit, Gabriel. Of course not. He wants something else from us. I don't know what yet. He took us here to unsettle us-and he wouldn't have done it if he weren't fairly sure he has something over us that will prevent us from telling Charlotte or anyone else where we've been."

"Maybe he did used to come here with Father."

"Maybe, but that's not why we're here now," Gideon said with finality. He tightened his grip on his brother's arm as the Consul reappeared, carrying with him a small bottle of what looked like soda water but what Gabriel guessed likely had at least a tuppence worth of spirit in it.

"What, nothing for us?" Gabriel inquired, and was met with a glare from his brother and a sour smile from the Consul. Gabriel realized he had no idea if the Consul himself had a family, or children. He was just the Consul. "Do you boys have any idea," he said, "what kind of peril you're in?"

"Peril? From who, Charlotte?" Gideon sounded incredulous.

"Not from Charlotte." The Consul returned his gaze to them. "Your father did not just break the Law; he blasphemed it. He did not just deal with demons; he lay down among them. You are the Lightwoods-you are all that is left of the Lightwoods. You have no cousins, no aunts and uncles. I could have your whole family stricken off the registers of the Nephilim and turn you and your sister out into the street to starve or beg a living amid the mundanes, and I would be within the rights of Clave and Council to do it. And who do you think would stand up for you? Who would speak in your defense?"

Gideon had gone very pale, and his knuckles, where he gripped Gabriel's arm, were white. "That is not fair," he said. "We did not know. My brother trusted my father. He cannot be held responsible-"

"Trusted him? He delivered the deathblow, didn't he?" said the Consul. "Oh, you all contributed, but his was the coup de grace that slew your father-which rather indicates that he knew exactly what your father was."

Gabriel was aware of Gideon looking at him with concern. The air in the Argent Rooms was hot and close, stealing his breath. The woman onstage was now singing a song called "All Through Obliging a Lady" and striding up and down, hitting the stage over and over with the end of a walking stick, which made the floor shudder.

"The sins of the fathers, children. You can and will be punished for his crimes if I desire it. What will you do, Gideon, while your brother and Tatiana have their runes burned off? Will you stand and watch?"

Gabriel's right hand twitched; he felt sure he would have reached out and seized the Consul by the throat if Gideon hadn't caught hold of him first and held his wrist. "What do you want from us?" Gideon asked, his voice controlled. "You didn't bring us here just to threaten us, not unless you want something in return. And if it was something you could ask easily or legally, you would have done it in the Silent City."

"Clever boy," the Consul said. "I want you to do something for me. Do it, and I will see to it that, though Lightwood House may be confiscated, you retain your honor and your name, your lands in Idris, and your place as Shadowhunters."

"What do you want us to do?"

"I wish you to observe Charlotte. Most specifically her correspondence. Tell me what letters she receives and sends, especially to and from Idris."

"You want us to spy on her." Gideon's voice was flat.

"I don't want any more surprises like the one about your father," said Consul. "She should never have kept his disease a secret from me."

"She had to," Gideon said. "It was a condition of the agreement they made-"

The Consul's lips tightened. "Charlotte Branwell has no right to make agreements of such scope without consulting me. I am her superior. She should not and cannot go over my head in that manner. She and that group in the Institute behave as if they are their own country that exists under its own laws. Look what happened with Jessamine Lovelace. She betrayed us all, nearly to our destruction. James Carstairs is a dying drug addict. That Gray girl is a changeling or a warlock and has no place in an Institute, ridiculous engagement be damned. And Will Herondale-Will Herondale is a liar and a spoiled brat who will grow up to be a criminal, if he grows up at all." The Consul paused, breathing hard. "Charlotte may run that place like a fiefdom, but it is not. It is an Institute and reports to the Consul. And so will you."

"Charlotte has done nothing to deserve such a betrayal from me," Gideon said.

The Consul jabbed a finger toward him. "That is exactly what I speak of. Your loyalty is not to her; it cannot be to her. It is to me. It must be to me. Do you understand that?"

"And if I say no?"

"Then you lose everything. House, lands, name, lineage, purpose."

"We'll do it," said Gabriel, before Gideon could speak again. "We will watch her for you."

"Gabriel-," Gideon began.

Gabriel turned on his brother. "No," he said. "It's too much. You don't want to be a liar, I understand that. But our first loyalty is to family. The Blackthorns would throw Tati out on the streets, and she wouldn't last a moment there, her and the child-"

Gideon whitened. "Tatiana is going to have a child?"

Despite the horror of the situation, Gabriel felt a flash of satisfaction at knowing something his brother hadn't known. "Yes," he said. "You would have known it, if you were still part of our family."

Gideon glanced around the room as if searching for a familiar face, then looked helplessly back at his brother and the Consul. "I ..."

Consul Wayland smiled coldly at Gabriel, and then his brother. "Have we an agreement, gentlemen?"

After a long moment Gideon nodded. "We will do it."

Gabriel would not soon forget the look that spread over the Consul's face at that. There was satisfaction in it, but there was little surprise. It was clear he had expected nothing else, and nothing better, from the Lightwood boys.

"Scones?" Tessa said incredulously.

Sophie's mouth twitched into a smile. She was down on her knees before the grate with a rag and a bucket of soapy water. "You could have knocked me into a cocked hat, I was that startled," she confirmed. "Dozens of scones. Under his bed, all gone hard as rocks."

"My goodness," Tessa said, sliding to the edge of the bed and leaning back on her hands. Whenever Sophie was in her room cleaning, Tessa always had to hold herself back from rushing over to help the other girl with the tinderbox or the dusting. She had tried it on a few occasions, but after Sophie had set Tessa down gently but firmly for the fourth time, she had given it up.

"And you were angry?" Tessa said.

"Of course I was! Making all that extra work for me, carrying the scones up and down stairs, and then hiding them like that-I shouldn't be surprised if we end the autumn with mice."

Tessa nodded, gravely acknowledging the potential rodent issue. "But isn't it a bit flattering that he went to such lengths just to see you?"

Sophie sat up straight. "It's not flattering. He is not thinking. He is a Shadowhunter, and I am a mundane. I can expect nothing from him. In the best of all possible worlds, he might offer to take me as a mistress while he marries a Shadowhunter girl."

Tessa's throat tightened, remembering Will on the roof, offering her just that, offering her shame and disgrace, and how small she had felt, how worthless. It had been a lie, but the memory still held pain.

"No," Sophie said, looking back down at her red, work-roughened hands. "It is better that I never entertain the idea. That way there will be no disappointment."

"I think the Lightwoods are better men than that," Tessa offered.

Sophie brushed her hair back from her face, her fingers lightly touching the scar that bisected her cheek. "Sometimes I think there are no better men than that."

Neither Gideon nor Gabriel spoke as their carriage rattled back through the streets of the West End to the Institute. The rain was pouring down now, rattling the carriage so noisily that Gabriel doubted anyone would have heard him if he had spoken.

Gideon was studying his shoes, and did not look up as they rolled back to the Institute. As it loomed up out of the rain, the Consul reached across Gabriel and opened the door for them to exit.

"I trust you boys," he said. "Now go make Charlotte trust you too. And tell no one of our discussion. As far as this afternoon is concerned, you spent it with the Brothers."

Gideon climbed down out of the carriage without another word, and Gabriel followed him. The landau swung around and rattled off into the gray London afternoon. The sky was black and yellow, the drizzle as heavy as lead pellets, the fog so thick that Gabriel could barely see the Institute gates as they swung shut behind the carriage. He certainly didn't see his brother's hands as they darted forward, seized him by the collar of his jacket, and dragged him halfway around the side of the Institute.

He nearly fell as Gideon pushed him up against the stone wall of the old church. They were near the stables, half-hidden from view by one of the buttresses, but not protected from the rain. Cold drops assaulted Gabriel's head and neck and slid into his shirt. "Gideon-," he protested, slipping on the muddy flagstones.

"Be quiet." Gideon's eyes were huge and gray in the dull light, barely tinged with green.

"You're right." Gabriel dropped his voice. "We should organize our story. When they ask us what we did this afternoon, we must be in perfect accord in our answer, or it will not be believable-"

"I said be quiet." Gideon slammed his brother's shoulders back against the wall, hard enough for Gabriel to let out a gasp of pain. "We are not going to tell Charlotte of our conversation with the Consul. But neither are we going to spy on her. Gabriel, you are my brother, and I love you. I would do anything to protect you. But I will not sell out your soul and mine."

Gabriel looked at his brother. Rain soaked Gideon's hair and dripped into the collar of his coat. "We could die on the street if we refuse to do what the Consul says."

"I am not going to lie to Charlotte," said Gideon.

"Gideon-"

"Did you see the look on the Consul's face?" Gideon interrupted. "When we agreed to spy for him, to betray the generosity of the house that hosts us? He was not in the least surprised. He never had a moment's doubt about us. He expects nothing but treachery from Lightwoods. That is our birthright." His hands tightened on Gabriel's arms. "There is more to life than surviving," he said. "We have honor, we are Nephilim. If he takes that, we truly have nothing."

"Why?" Gabriel asked. "Why are you so sure that Charlotte's side is the right one?"

"Because our father's was not," said Gideon. "Because I know Charlotte. Because I have lived among these people for months and they are good people. Because Charlotte Branwell has been nothing but kind to me. And Sophie loves her."

"And you love Sophie."

Gideon's mouth tensed.

"She's a mundane and a servant," said Gabriel. "I don't know what you expect to come of it, Gideon."

"Nothing," Gideon said roughly. "I expect nothing. But the fact that you believe I should shows that our father brought us up to believe that we should do right only if some reward was the result. I will not betray the word I have given Charlotte; that is the situation, Gabriel. If you do not want a part of it, I will send you to live with Tatiana and the Blackthorns. I am sure they will take you in. But I will not lie to Charlotte."

"Yes, you will," said Gabriel. "We are both going to lie to Charlotte. But we are going to lie to the Consul, too."

Gideon narrowed his eyes. Rainwater dripped off his eyelashes. "What do you mean?"

"We will do as the Consul says and read Charlotte's correspondence. Then we will report to him, but the reports will be false."

"If we are going to give him false reports anyway, why read her correspondence?"

"To know what not to say," Gabriel said, tasting dampness in his mouth. It tasted as if it had dripped from the Institute roof, bitter and dirty. "To avoid accidentally telling him the truth."

"If we are discovered, we could face consequences of the utmost severity."

Gabriel spit rainwater. "Then you tell me. Would you risk severe consequences for the inhabitants of the Institute, or not? Because I-I am doing this for you, and because ..."

"Because?"

"Because I made a mistake. I was wrong about our father. I believed in him, and I should not have." Gabriel took a deep breath. "I was wrong, and I seek to undo that, and if there is a price to be paid, then I will pay it."

Gideon looked at him for a long time. "Was this your plan all along? When you agreed to the Consul's demands, in the Argent Rooms, was this your plan?"

Gabriel looked away from his brother, toward the rain-wet courtyard. In his mind he could see the two of them, much younger, standing where the Thames cut through the edge of the house's property, and Gideon showing him the safe paths through the swampy ground. His brother had always been the one to show him the safe paths. There had been a time when they had trusted each other implicitly, and he did not know when it had ended, but his heart ached for it more than it ached at the loss of his father.

"Would you believe me," he said bitterly, "if I told you it was? Because it is the truth."

Gideon was still for a long moment. Then Gabriel found himself hauled forward, his face mashed into the wet wool of Gideon's overcoat while his brother held him tightly, murmuring, "All right, little brother. It's going to be all right," as he rocked them both back and forth in the rain.

To: Members of the Council

From: Consul Josiah Wayland

Very well, gentlemen. In that case I ask only for your patience and that you not act in haste. If it is proof you want, I will furnish proof.

I shall write again on this subject soon.

In Raziel's name and in defense of his honor,

Consul Josiah Wayland