Druids Sword (31 page)

But, oh gods, as a Kingman he wanted her to partner him, so badly…

And as a man?

At that point Jack imagined he could hear Silvius’ lightly mocking laughter.

“Jesus
Christ!
” he muttered, grinding out the cigarette under the heel of his shoe.

Then he looked south once more, this time directing his attention towards Kensington, where he sensed the object of his interest.

Ariadne, breakfast with me, if you please.

A
riadne was flirting with Malcolm, who was responding in kind quite outrageously, and Jack felt his temper simmering so close to the surface that he thought that if Ariadne simpered
one single more time
in Malcolm’s direction he would pick one or both of them up and toss them outside.

“Jack,” Ariadne said from her seat on the sofa, smoothing her dress down over her knees and dragging her eyes away from Malcolm who hovered close by with a coffee pot in his hands, “I’m annoying you. I do apologise.”

Jack contented himself with a hard look at Malcolm, who took the hint and retreated into the kitchen.

“But,” Ariadne continued, her mouth curving in humour, “I find myself so thrilled at the idea of being wanted, of being
useful,
that I—”

“Cut it out, Ariadne.” Jack had been standing by the fire. Now he sat down in a chair, setting his empty coffee cup to one side, and looked Ariadne over.

As ever, she looked both stunningly beautiful and dangerously poisonous, and Jack had to admit a moment’s admiration for his father if he was actually engaged in a romance with this witch. The dress she wore was similar in cut and colour to the scarlet
dress she had worn when he’d seen her at Faerie Hill Manor: close-cut, hugging every curve, inviting and threatening all in one.

“I want to talk to you about Grace,” he said.

Ariadne inclined her head, her dark eyes showing the faintest touch of wariness. “A delightful girl,” she said. “Noah and Weyland must be so proud of her.”

“She has been trained as a Mistress of the Labyrinth.”

“Indeed.” Ariadne paused to light a cigarette. “Stella trained her.”

“A poor choice, given that either you or Noah could have done far better.”

Ariadne shrugged. “But she chose Stella.”

“You did not think to—”

“I was not asked.”

Jack lit a cigarette as well, using the action to think. “I have heard that during the Great Fire, when Catling had trapped Noah and Weyland in the heart of the labyrinth, you instructed Grace when she walked through the fire to rescue them.”

“I may have done.”

“Did you or did you not?”

“Yes, I did. For the gods’ sake, Jack, where is this inquisition leading?”

“How powerful was she, Ariadne? How much potential did Grace have?”

Ariadne smoked her cigarette, studying Jack through narrowed eyes.
Well, well.

“She had—
has
—enormous potential,” she eventually said.

“As much as you?”

Ariadne thought about it. “More. Grace has a very powerful mother—Noah is Mistress, goddess, and Darkwitch—
and
Grace was conceived and grew in Noah’s body during the time that Noah trained as a Mistress.” She paused. “Rather, Grace grew in Noah’s
womb during the time that Noah opened herself up to the arts of the labyrinth, and Grace was an aware child. What Noah absorbed, so also did Grace. And her father—who is also her forefather—was the monster at the dark heart of the labyrinth; as you well know, she is twice-bred with Darkcraft in her veins. All this means she has the potential to be,” she smiled, the expression that of a striking falcon, “a very dangerous Mistress of the Labyrinth indeed.”

“As powerful as Noah?” Jack said.

“Is that what you want, Jack?”

“Just answer my question, if you please.”

Temper, temper,
thought Ariadne. “Considering Grace’s heritage, her parents, and the influences which shaped her in the womb, she could probably be Noah’s equal, although she would not be able to bring in the powers that Noah controls as Eaving. More than that? I don’t know.”

“I tested her some time ago. She has potential, yes, but at the moment Grace is very weak.”

“She has potential,” Ariadne repeated. “That’s not quite what Silvius told me you’d said.”

Jack froze in the act of lifting his cigarette to his mouth.
Silvius had repeated his conversation to Ariadne?

“No need to be cross, Jack. It was pillow-talk only.” She grinned, and quoted the message emblazoned across countless posters on streets and in the Underground. “Loose lips…never know who’s listening…careless talk costs lives, and all that. Look, calm down. He has told no one else.”

Jack gave a short, humourless laugh. “No one else, but look who he
has
told.”

“And I have told no one. So get to the point, Jack. Whatever power Grace has, and whatever strength it may one day obtain, she is your flawless match. Good for you. So why am I here?”

“Can you train her?”

“She has been trained.”

“Then can you
deepen
that training, goddamn it! Can you give her experience? Can you take whatever shitty job Stella did and—”

Ariadne burst into laughter. “I like Grace. She intrigues me, and not many people manage that feat. Yes, I can do that for you, although she’ll have to agree.”

Jack tipped his head as if he thought that was a foregone conclusion.

“What do you want her trained for, Jack?”

Jack took a long draw on his cigarette, then slowly exhaled the smoke. “Can I assume Silvius passed on most of that conversation we had?”

“Probably, but you never know if he left something out.”

“Grace carries four of the kingship bands within her flesh.”

“Yes. He told me that. But I already suspected something of it, anyway.”

“Of course. Then you should know what I need Grace trained for.”

“She needs to know how to hand the bands over to you.”

“And you can be sure that was a piece of her training Stella left out. Damn it, Ariadne, why has neither Noah nor Stella, who took Grace through the Great Founding Labyrinth, not realised she has the bands within her flesh?”

“Because most people are blind when it comes to Grace. Tell me, Jack, have you told Noah about the bands?”

Jack shook his head, and put his cigarette out in an ashtray.

“My goodness,” said Ariadne. “Then she still assumes
she’s
going to be the one to ‘fetch’ the bands
for you? Yes?” Ariadne burst out laughing. “What will Noah do when she finds out, eh?”

He shrugged. “It won’t be the end of the world for her. Besides, she has no choice.”

“I always thought you would turn out okay, Jack.”

“We don’t have long. Can you get Grace ready?”

“Yes, I like a challenge. But we need to start soon.”

“Meet me at dusk tonight.” He named a place.

“I can be there. Jack, you need to tell Grace about the kingship bands, if not Noah. Grace
has
to know, if she doesn’t already.”

“I’ll do it tonight,” Jack said. “There’s one other thing.”

“Yes?”

“You’ve been hanging about London creating mischief and having a fine time of it for three hundred years now. You must know the place inside and out. Can you give me the name of a good jeweller?”

“Of course,” she said. “I have just the man for you.”

T
here was a bomb. Outside St Paul’s. A UXB. It fell in the early hours of the morning, blowing a huge crater just outside the west steps of the cathedral and then, happily, failed to detonate.

It created a nightmare for the authorities. How to get it out without blowing half of St Paul’s to smithereens? Eventually a Lieutenant Davies tied the tail fins of the bomb to the back of a lorry, dragged it fifteen feet out of the crater and into the tray of the lorry, and then drove it to a tip outside of London where it was safely detonated.

His courage and selflessness so impressed the king that shortly afterwards he announced the creation of the George Cross for acts of extreme bravery.

If only my worries could have been eased as efficiently as that bomb had eventually been disposed of. I’d spent the night worrying, sure that Jack and my mother were about to bring the shadow bearing down on us all. I kept remembering the feeling of the shadow rushing towards me, as if it were about to
eat
me, and knew that not only was it not a reflection of Catling’s weakness, it wasn’t the slightest bit a weakness of
anything.
My relief when we got through the night without the world ending
was immeasurable, but I wondered what consequences would flow on from that bomb hurled at Catling’s throat.

My mother came back from that night’s excursion eyes agleaming. She told me and my father what had happened, what it felt like, blending her powers with Jack’s, and their excitement as they managed to direct the bomb down to St Paul’s.

“Of course, it missed, but only barely, and it didn’t explode,” she said, “but we managed it…and we shouldn’t have been able to! Grace, I know that you’re afraid that this strange shadowy labyrinthine puzzle is Catling’s trap, but Jack and I are now convinced it is a reflection of some inherent weakness within the Game.”

I glanced at my father as she said this, wondering how he was taking all this Jack-inspired enthusiasm.

He had his face closed over, but this was so much a part of his normal wariness I simply couldn’t read him.

“Catling hasn’t done anything,” said my mother, still looking at me. “She hasn’t reacted.
Surely,
sweetheart, this indicates a weakness on her part?”

I thought back to last night. I’d spent it with Matilda, Ecub and Erith, doling out cups of tea and chocolate and ladles of sympathy for people crammed into shelters in the Southwark area.

I’d seen Catling. Just once, and that briefly, but enough to send a chill down my spine. We’d pulled into the lee of a building near the entrance to a shelter. Eaving’s Sisters had all hurried to the back of the van to unload their trolleys and trays, but I’d been distracted by a run in one of my stockings, and had paused by the open van door. Standing upright I’d slammed shut the door…and found myself looking directly into Catling’s face as she stood in front of the van.

I went cold. I wanted to run, but didn’t have either the will or the strength.

Jack is doing well tonight,
she’d whispered in my mind, her face a mixture of excitement and anticipation,
although both of you still have a way to
go.

Then she’d vanished.

What had she meant by that? I spent the rest of the night sorting through various interpretations, and liking none of them. If nothing else, it didn’t sound like a “weak” Catling.

Now, as my mother explained that she and Jack were
certain
this shadow was a weakness, I began to doubt myself. Maybe I had been wrong. Maybe I had misread Catling for all these years. Maybe…

“Grace,” my mother said, “surely you’re coming around to thinking it is a weakness? After Jack’s and my success last night?”

“Perhaps,” I said to my mother, mainly to stop her arguing with me, and she smiled, patently relieved.

She turned to my father then. “Soon I’ll fetch Jack’s kingship bands from the Faerie.”

“Well,” Weyland said, “Jack’s welcome to them. And the other two? The ones you sent into the Otherworld?”

Noah shrugged. “Either the Lord of the Faerie can take him through, or Jack, like as not, will be powerful enough with four in his possession to get them himself.” She smiled. “In a little while, we can start to make a move.”

She reached forward over the table, and took one of my hands in hers. She turned it over, and her thumb stroked very gently at the scars and welts on my wrist.

“Before too long, Grace, perhaps you will be free.”

I didn’t say anything, for the simple reason that I simply could not imagine freedom.

Later that day Jack telephoned.

“Grace,” he said, “can you meet me at five this afternoon?”

“Why?”

“I need your help. Can you meet me on the Surrey side of Westminster Bridge at five?”

“Yes, but—”

“Good, see you then.” He rang off.

I put the phone down and spent the rest of the afternoon wondering.

At five to five I walked across from the northern side of Westminster Bridge. I tried to slow my steps, tried to while away those five minutes so that at least I’d arrive on time and not too early, but by the time I had a clear view of the end of the bridge I could see that Jack was already there.

It was a cold, blustery day, skittering rain every five minutes, and he was well wrapped in a military greatcoat, its collar turned up, his cap pulled down over his brow, his hands thrust deep into the coat pockets. I guess I looked much the same, closely swathed in a calf-length camel coat, a scarf about my neck, but without a cap—the lack of which I’d been regretting ever since I left the Savoy as the wind snapped my curls back and forth over my face.

“Grace,” he said. His face and the collar and shoulders of his coat glistened with raindrops, but he smiled easily, and leaned forward to brush his lips against my cheek as I walked up to him.

“I’m glad to see you well,” I said, “after last night.”

“I know you were worried, Grace, but—”

“I saw Catling last night.”

Jack went very still. “And?”

“She seemed to know what you and my mother were doing, Jack, and she wasn’t worried. She said that you were doing very well, but that both of us had a way to go. She didn’t appear
weak,
Jack.”

Jack stood silently, looking at me.

As always, I responded to his silent scrutiny by talking too much. “I was so worried for you last night. On—”
Damn it, why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut?
“On the night the imps attacked me, I felt the shadow rushing towards me, as if it was going to snatch. It was so malevolent, so alive…and I thought that it might attack you and my mother.”

“Oh, Grace. Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

“You don’t want to hear anything save that the shadow is a weakness of the Troy Game, Jack.”

“Ouch. I suppose I deserved that. But, Grace, I wish you’d told me…”

He sighed then. “I’m sorry. I wish you could trust me more, and that’s not your fault, but mine.”

I was starting to feel very uncomfortable, and wished I’d never opened my mouth. “Why did you want to see me tonight?”

He gave a funny little smile. “I can see I am going to have to work hard to retrieve the situation. I want to talk to you about something, but not here, not on this bridge. Will you stroll with me a little way?”

He gave me no chance to answer, but slid an arm through mine and guided me down the steps which led to the pedestrian subway under the bridge and onto Lambeth Embankment.

We walked in silence for some time, my mind churning. I always felt guilty when someone said they wanted to “talk to me”, and at the same time hated that I did feel guilty. I wished I could be more confident, more like my mother, or Matilda, or even Ecub. Jack must find me so tiresome. I wished that I
had
told him earlier about my sense of the shadow rushing in towards me.

We were walking along that part of the Embankment directly opposite the Houses of Parliament, when the wind suddenly gusted. I had to pull my arm away from his to get my hair out of my eyes, and he stopped, turned to me, and slid both his hands about my face, holding my hair back for me.

I started to pull back, but his hands tightened.

“Don’t move,” he said. “Please…”

His face went very still, and his dark eyes became far keener than usual. I trembled, for I felt the marks over his shoulders start to move, sliding down his arms.

I shivered as they flowed over his fingers onto my face.

“There has been something troubling me about you ever since I first met you,” he said.

I tensed, and knew he could feel it under his hands.

“I’ve never been able to read you,” he said. “I’ve never been able to understand you.”

I tried to pull away, and again his hands tightened.

“Please don’t be afraid of me,” he whispered, and the touch of his hands became infinitely gentle.

“It took me a while to realise that this didn’t have anything to do with you, but with me,” he continued. “I thought you were the shuttered one, but
I
had been.” His voice became teasing. “I hate it when I realise I’ve been an idiot.”

He was being too kind, and I was sure it was because he was about to tell me that he and my mother had decided to abandon all caution and renew their love affair. “Jack—”

“Do you remember,” he said, “what I said to you atop Ambersbury Banks?”

“You said many things.”

“The night you watched me being marked. I said you were either the most shuttered person I’d ever met, or the most transparent. I’d almost got it with the transparent, but not quite. Grace, you’re the most extraordinary person. You have no artifice about you. Absolutely none. I’ve
never
met anyone,
no one,
in all my time on this earth like you. You have nothing to hide. You don’t even try.”

The marks were moving slowly about my face now, so soft, so caressing, and I think that I could not have moved had Hitler personally leaped up from behind the Embankment wall and thrown a hand grenade or two in our direction.

“I didn’t trust that at first,” Jack continued. “I couldn’t believe it. Surely everyone has something to hide. Some artifice needed to promote their own agenda. But you don’t.” His thumbs were stroking very slowly against my cheeks. “You don’t. You’re…” he paused, seemingly trying to find the right words. “You’re as clear and as pure as the peal of a temple bell through a snowy night.”

He stopped, giving a half-embarrassed laugh. “Now I’m getting as lyrical as my father.”

I didn’t understand that last (and, in truth, I was having some difficulty with the rest of it, as well) and he laughed again, more confidently this time.

“See?” he said. “Your confusion is written all over your face. Everything is written all over your face. You let it shine forth.”

“I thought you were angry at me,” I said.

“I’m not angry,” Jack said. “I know why you didn’t tell me about the shadow.”

He smiled a little then, his fingers moving very gently against my face. I didn’t know what he wanted, or where this was going, and, oh gods, if what he was saying was true, then surely he could read
this
all over my face.

His smile broadened, just very slightly, then I felt the touch of the marks withdraw, and a moment later that of Jack’s hands. He slid his arm back through mine, and we resumed walking along Lambeth Embankment towards Lambeth Palace, the ancient stronghold of the Archbishops of Canterbury.

My thoughts were so confused I felt numbed. For the past months Jack had been friendly, but somehow distant. Now all that distance had gone. In fact, Jack seemed hell bent on closing it as fast as he could.

“On the night of the parish dance,” he said, “I said that Noah was not my life. I meant it, Grace.”

I couldn’t understand what he was saying. Surely he really meant that—

“I’m tired of loving her, Grace. I can’t be bothered any more.”

I blinked. I had heard the words, but wasn’t sure I had actually understood them.

“That sounds pretty damned selfish and selfcentred, doesn’t it?” Jack went on. “During the night of the Great Marriage, Grace, I discovered that I’d been yearning for a dream…and it wasn’t your mother.” He paused again, while I concentrated very hard on my breathing. For some reason it didn’t seem to be coming and going as easily as it should.

“Can I tell you a home truth?” he continued. “It was a relief to leave Noah the morning after the Great Marriage. That night was an ending for us, Grace. It wasn’t a beginning or a promise or anything else. It was an ending. A completion.”

“I don’t think it was ‘an ending’ for my mother.”

“Ah.” We walked in silence a while. I wished I knew where Jack was going with this conversation.

“That sense of ending was underscored last night, Grace,” Jack said, neatly evading the implications of my statement. “Noah and I matched powers
beautifully…but it was as nothing to what I felt with you.”

“But…but…Jack. Stop. Please. I don’t understand why you’re telling me this.”

“Because you need, and deserve, to know how I feel about Noah. You also need to know how I feel about you.”

I stopped, staring at him.

“I am both fascinated and terrified by you, Grace.” He gave a small, lopsided grin. “Much as, I suspect, you feel about me.”

I couldn’t breathe. Not at all.

“Recently my father gave me a bit of advice.”

Finally, I managed to take a breath, but was somewhat dismayed to find I couldn’t look at Jack. I was instead sliding my eyes up and down the Thames as if I expected to see the first wave of German invaders at any moment.

Gods only knew what he must have thought.

“He said I should get to know you better,” Jack continued.

“Why should he say that?” My voice squeaked at the end of the sentence. I couldn’t believe it.

Jack reached out a hand and took one of mine, pulling it close to his chest.

“Because we dance together so well. Because we’re the only ones who can work out this shadow. And because you are…so…damn…beautiful.”