The Iscariot Sanction (20 page)

‘It was delivered with the… package,’ he explained.

Sir Toby took it, a look of distaste on his face as he noted the spots of blood upon the envelope.

‘Who delivered it?’ he said, opening the envelope.

‘I did not see them, sir,’ Carrington said. ‘The porter said it was a rough-looking man, a labourer or some such, who barged his way in, deposited the box, and said nothing. His manner was threatening. When the porter saw…’ His words caught in his throat. ‘He summoned me, and I thought it best to inform you directly.’

Sir Toby scanned the letter, and looked up at Carrington. ‘You did the right thing, Carrington, though I would have preferred it if you had exercised more discretion. Please escort the ordinary members to the public rooms and ensure they receive the best hospitality. The hall is out of bounds until further notice.’

Carrington patted his oiled hair into place and, looking something more like his usual self, flitted down the stairs to relay Sir Toby’s wishes to his staff. Soon the ordinary members of the Apollonian, who amongst their number counted some of the great thinkers, writers, theologians and reformers of London society, were shepherded away to have their frayed nerves salved with brandy and tobacco, leaving only the clique upon the mezzanine balcony and a few junior agents of Apollo Lycea in the hall, along with a few trusted servants. The agents looked up expectantly.

Only when he was certain they had some privacy did Sir Toby pass the letter to Arthur.

‘Read it aloud,’ he instructed. ‘And… see what you make of it.’

Arthur removed his gloves, somewhat hesitantly, and took the letter. He at once frowned and squeezed his eyes shut. The vision was fleeting—suspiciously so for a Majestic of his power—but it was telling all the same.

‘This letter was written by a man in fear for his life,’ Arthur said. ‘He knew he would be executed after writing it, but he wrote it anyway, for his tormentor had some hold over him. The identity of that tormentor is hidden from me—that in itself suggests he was a Majestic, and a good one.’

‘I doubt there is anything good in this affair,’ muttered Sir Toby. And then, louder, ‘Read it.’

Arthur cleared his throat and began to read.

‘Honoured gentleman, lords and ladies of the vaunted Apollo Lycea, I offer greetings from an order more ancient even than your own—the order of the Knights Iscariot. It would seem that our paths have begun to cross, and we already appear to be adversaries, yet this need not be so. Our goals may appear at first to oppose your own, but in truth we seek only a greater peace for the British Empire, and believe that we may yet reach a resolution that is agreeable to both of us. However, for that to happen, we would treat with you in person, tonight.

‘At midnight, an emissary of the Knights Iscariot will arrive at the Apollonian Club. We request that all those in a position to hear his words, and to carry them to the highest authority, are present. We expect nothing less than the presence of representatives from the Cabinet of Whitehall, the royal family and household, the British Army, and, of course, Apollo Lycea. In return for your cooperation in this matter, we promise a full and frank exchange, so that our terms are not misunderstood. Our chosen emissary is but a humble diplomat, yet he speaks for the whole of our order. We presume that he will be afforded full diplomatic rights and protection.

‘Though it pains us to resort to petty threats, we understand fully that we are, rightly or wrongly, considered your enemy. That being so, we send to you a symbol of our utmost sincerity. In the box you will find what remains of one of your operatives—a spy—uncovered in our midst. If our terms are not taken seriously, or our emissary waylaid in any way, I can only promise you that a hundred more such boxes shall be delivered to the Apollonian, Horse Guards, and Buckingham Palace before the next day is through. And that will be but the start, for our influence is vast, and our supporters myriad.

‘But let us not dwell on such unpleasantness, for tonight, we shall parley, and put all of this behind us, for the good of all.

‘Yours, &c., Lord Lucien de Montfort, Master of the Knights Iscariot.’

Arthur rubbed his temple and handed the letter back to Sir Toby. ‘What… who… is in that box?’ he asked, weakly.

Almost as soon as he had voiced the question, Lillian Hardwick started down the stairs. She was halted at once by Sir Toby, who placed a hand on her arm.

‘Smythe?’ she asked. She had a look in her eye that was, Arthur thought, equal parts rage and sadness. That look usually preceded an act of folly or violence.

Sir Toby turned instead to her brother. ‘Lieutenant, if you would,’ he said.

With a nod, his complexion ashen, John Hardwick took the stairs to the marble hall. The junior agents and trusted staff gawped at him—for a young man, he had already made for himself a reputation for steadfastness and resourcefulness. But none of them had ever witnessed anything like this—the possibility that one of their own had been executed by an unseen foe.

John stepped gingerly around the tendrils of blood, until he was able to grab the box and drag it towards himself, smearing crimson trails behind it. As John opened the package, Arthur observed Lillian leaning forward expectantly and, to his shame, realised he was doing the same.

The view of matted hair and pallid flesh was unmistakeable. The box contained a severed head. Sir Arthur Furnival, never one for ghoulishness, stepped back.

He heard John’s heels on the marble floor once more and then, finally, his voice.

‘It is not an agent,’ John called up. ‘His name was Massey—an innkeeper. He managed the safe-house in Hyde. Without him I would not have escaped so easily.’

Sir Toby hung his head ruefully. ‘A humble servant. This will do more to sway the common man against us,’ he said. ‘It was calculated to show our supporters in the field that they are in mortal danger.’

‘But what of Agent Smythe?’ Arthur asked. ‘Do we know he is safe?’

‘We received vital intelligence from Agent Smythe only this morning,’ said Sir Toby. ‘It is no guarantee of his safety, but he is expected to return to London tonight, or tomorrow at the latest. Only then will we know for sure.’

‘Is he alone?’ Lillian asked.

‘No. We sent an apprentice with him—Hanlocke.’

‘The cracksman?’ Lillian said. ‘Forgive me, Sir Toby, but right now the north is no place for a novice.’

‘Indeed,’ said Sir Toby, his patience clearly wearing thin. ‘Which is precisely why you are here, and not there.’

Lillian turned away from Sir Toby sharply. It had not been an easy day for her. Arthur wanted to take her aside and offer some words of comfort, but now was not the time.

‘Come up, Lieutenant,’ Sir Toby called down to John. ‘Carrington—recall all of our agents from the field, no matter where in the Empire they may be. I want every one accounted for by morning. Find out if the late Mr. Massey had any family. They will need to be informed and well compensated. And arrange for this—for Massey’s remains, I mean, to be—I mean, with all due ceremony…’

‘Right away, sir.’ At a clap of the secretary’s hands, there came a flurry of activity as the club servants mobilised for duty.

‘What do you think, my lords?’ Sir Toby turned to Lord Hardwick and Cherleten.

‘I rather think I’d like to take this “emissary” by force of arms, and use Mr. Tesla’s inventions upon him until he tells us all we need to know,’ growled Marcus Hardwick.

‘Folly,’ said Cherleten, still utterly calm despite everything. ‘The insinuation was that the Knights Iscariot have a hundred more targets in mind for decapitation, and there is no telling who they are. Would you want to be responsible for the Queen waking up to find her maid’s head in a box?’

Lord Hardwick sighed. ‘Would that it were just a bloody maid.’ He looked about, his expression changing as perhaps he realised how callous he sounded. ‘Very well, we parley with these so-called “knights”, but we do so under strictest security. I’ll line the damned streets with soldiers: let them see what we can command at a moment’s notice.’

Sir Toby nodded. ‘I will talk to the Prime Minister and see who he can spare to represent the Cabinet at this meeting. Lord Hardwick, you can no doubt speak for the army. But what of the royal family?’

‘There are three princes in attendance at St. James’s,’ said Lord Hardwick, ‘I may be able to arrange a favour. I will certainly not risk Her Majesty’s life in this venture—for all we know we are inviting a suicidal assassin into our midst.’

‘Do not tell the Queen of the danger,’ said Sir Toby. ‘She would not put even one of her sons in harm’s way if she knew your doubts.’

‘Agreed. But there is no time for discussion, and we must set to work. I shall not receive these creatures in this sanctuary of Empire without thorough preparations. Cherleten, can I entrust upon you to see to our… esoteric defences?’

‘Oh, indeed, Hardwick,’ Lord Cherleten smiled. ‘And more besides. I think these events somewhat prove my earlier point, do they not? The Knights Iscariot are indeed the immediate threat; Mr. Tesla belongs with me.’

For a moment, Hardwick and Cherleten locked eyes like stags in rut, sizing each other up. Arthur was surprised when Lord Hardwick nodded, and turned away, looking back down to the scene below them.

‘Sir Arthur, might I request your assistance?’ Lord Cherleten said. Arthur grimaced inwardly; he knew what was coming.

‘Of course, my lord,’ Arthur replied. In truth, he wanted no part in assisting with the Nightwatch, which was almost certainly what would be required of him; but when called upon, he was a Majestic first and foremost, and his extended freedom came only through voluntary service.

* * *

There was not a chance that the Knights Iscariot, nor anyone without full and considered membership of the Apollonian, would be allowed to the upper floors. The building had five stories, and a sixth that was hidden from view beyond the balustered rooftop. But the gleaming façade of the club was a mere illusion as to its true size—several secret rooms and one entire wing protruded from the upper floors, interlocking seamlessly with the imposing Regency buildings either side and behind. Lord Cherleten’s armoury was another case in point; no mere field agent knew for sure how many levels of tunnels, laboratories, storerooms and workshops stretched beneath the clubhouse, but there were always more personnel down there than anyone ever saw admitted by the main entrance, and some said that, should one sit in the tranquillity of St. James’s Square after midnight and listen carefully, the distant, muffled sounds of industry could be heard rumbling and buzzing ceaselessly until the dawn.

Tonight, all of the civilian functions that were once the heart of the Apollonian were closed. The dining rooms and public bar, the ladies’ room and picture gallery, the billiards, music and drawing rooms, the famous library, the gymnasium and swimming pool, the snugs and bedrooms. Things felt very different; different from any time Lillian had ever known during her short association with the Apollonian.

The walk along Pall Mall had been eerie. No one, not one member of the various clubs from the Reform to the Athenaeum, was on the streets at half past ten when Lillian returned to the Apollonian. Outside every door was a soldier on sentry duty. Soldiers and policemen were stationed at intervals along both the parallel roads of Pall Mall and Piccadilly, all the way from Regent Street in the east to St. James’s Palace in the west. Inside the club, the armoury had equipped every available agent with weapons, and they made themselves very visible now; some pretended to be servants of the club, or casual members; others were very much playing their role as combatants, ready at a moment’s notice to take up arms against hostile intruders. Lillian was relieved to note that the blood of the Cheshire man, Massey, had been removed without a trace. Somewhere behind the scenes, connected to life-assisting machinery invented by Intuitionists like Nikola Tesla, were the Nightwatch. They, undoubtedly, would feel the resonance of the unfortunate Massey’s death for some time to come. Given the current state of emergency, Lillian had not submitted herself to their scrutiny, nor did she intend to.

Lillian marched unhindered through the marble hall, between the great classical pillars, past the sweeping staircase, and through to the banqueting hall, which was now transformed into an emergency meeting room. John and Sir Arthur gravitated to her at once, doubtless to shepherd her out of sight of the illustrious gathering at the far end of the room. No one seemed to notice her arrival, not even her father.

‘Are you quite sure you should be here, Lillian?’ asked Arthur, his voice low. She responded with her best withering look, which she had practised often on men who questioned her abilities or her right to do as she pleased. It had lost some of its efficacy on Arthur over the last couple of years, true enough, but it had the desired effect now.

‘Look here, sis,’ John said, ‘I for one think you’re as much a part of this as anyone—we both do, isn’t that right, Sir Arthur? I heard Old Toby say as much earlier, and that’s good enough. I’ve had a word with the Nightwatch’s handlers, to make sure there are no… ah… interferences with your faculties, you understand.’

Lillian turned her look to her brother, and intensified her withering glare somewhat. John fumbled. Lillian was pleased.

‘Oh come now, I was doing you a favour. If there is a risk, it’d be a deuced bad time for it to manifest, don’t you think, with the bloody prince here and all.’ The thought had not really occurred to her, but now Lillian peered over John’s shoulder and saw indeed that, at the end of the room, Prince Leopold stood with her father, Sir Toby, and several advisers and other men whom she did not recognise. She sighed and nodded acceptance. John looked relieved, and went on, ‘The Nightwatch can keep a lid on all of that, leaving us to focus on what’s important. When this diplomat fellow arrives, we are to meet him at the door and escort him in. We take positions near the prince and our people and make sure there’s no funny business. Just stick by us, and no one shall question your presence.’