Chapter Twenty-Four #2
He handed over the little piece of folded cloth.
She shook it out, held it up to the light—oh, look at that, Kenmare needlepoint, very nice, won’t have been cheap, this—buried her nose in it, snuffled at its folds, shook it out again, muttered what he thought might be some kind of incantation, refolded it, stuck out her tongue and tasted a little wadded-up corner of the cloth.
More muttering under her breath. He began to wonder if she was laughing at him…
“All right,” she said. “There are some things I can do. I’ll need to keep this. No promises, mind.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know. Call me tomorrow. Not early.”
“And the Sword and Orbsters? You think I can trust this Ewart?”
She shrugged. “He sounds harmless. Most of them are; they don’t really grasp the deep magic.
Too chaotic for them. They’re all about trying to discipline the power.
Sword and Orb, Rose and Cross, the Ankh—it’s all just cock and cunt for people too stuck up to name the parts.
And you ever notice anything about all those symbols? ”
Duncan hadn’t even noticed the symbolism she’d just named. He shook his head.
“In all those configurations, the prick is never actually in the cunt”—a lewd grin—“where it belongs. No, it’s outside, hard and straight and dominant, like some…
rod, some king’s scepter. That’s what all those overgrown boys are about in the end.
Mastery. Ruling over. And that’s why they’ll never get it.
The ebb and flow, the reach of the storm, the enveloping. ”
Duncan shifted uncomfortably. “If you say so.”
“I do say so. Magic is an ocean, Duncan. You can’t bottle and label and limit it—then it’s not the ocean anymore.
It’s just salt water under glass. You have to immerse yourself in an ocean, you have to dive in and swim and drift, give yourself to its power.
You have to let it carry you toward your desires, not try to extract your desires from it like lobster potting. ”
“Any idea why they’d be spying on Irene Rush and her daughter?”
The witch rolled her eyes. “Have you been listening to me at all? They are seeking power. And obviously this woman, or her daughter, or both, are powerful. Or symbolic, maybe. Queen Meb clearly thinks the daughter is, at least—she’d hardly have come all the way up from her usual range just to take one more poppet for a thrall. Something’s happening, obviously.”
And Svalenkari, down from the north.
“You think there’s an incursion coming?” he asked.
“No, I do not.”
Incursion—the new muttered terror by firelight across the nation.
Worse than Zeppelin raids, or a European seaboard under the Prussian boot, or the next and ever more deadly strain of the flu.
Bad enough that the Unbinding had brought the Fae back from the brink of myth and extinction, wiped out smaller human settlements, cut off roads and railways.
What if the Huldu’s ultimate aim was to march on the cities of Britain one night, make them their own, haunt the night streets and alleys the way they now haunted the Forest? What then?
“But if Hardy’s got the child, and Meb wants her back badly enough?”
“Hardy can surround Mimi Rush with more iron and steel than a Sheffield foundry, and Meb will know that. The Fae know their limits, and they’re patient. They’ll wait.”
“And the Orbsters? What’s their angle?”
“For Hecate’s sake, Duncan! How would I know? Why don’t you ask them yourself? They want to talk to you anyway. It’s the perfect opportunity. Oh, and here comes your little pal, right on time.”
Duncan blinked at her. “What?”
The doorbell buzzed. He shot a glance at the Mappin & Webb—ten to two.
“How did you…?”
“Oh, Duncan, how many times?”
“Aye. Right. You’re a witch.” He made a pacifying gesture. Hurriedly drained his tea, reached for the cloth to wipe his pie-stained fingers once more. “I’d better go down.”
Sal put a carmine-taloned hand on his arm.
“No. Let him come up. It sets the terms. Fucking phallic orders. I’d like to take a look at him anyway.”
—
They went out on the landing to meet Ewart, heard his hesitant steps on the stairs below. He trudged into view with a visible lack of enthusiasm. But when he saw Wolfbane Sal, he took off his hat politely enough.
“Pan’s ball sack!” she chortled. “I know you!”
Ewart bobbed his head in what Duncan later realized was an awkward obeisance. “Yes, it is I, Mistress Bethune. Jeremy Ewart. May I hope you’re keeping well?”
“Well, mustn’t grumble. Wouldn’t help, anyway. Just wait till I tell Nimble Shanks Annie I saw you.”
“Yes,” said Ewart tepidly. “Please give her my regards.”
“She still speaks fondly of you, you know. Says you showed a lot of promise, before Bainbridge’s boys stole you away. So is service to the Orb all you’d hoped it would be?”
“I cannot grumble either, Mistress Bethune. It is taxing, but with each effort I ascend and learn.”
“Glad to hear it.” Sal moved in, reached out.
For a moment, Duncan thought she was going to shake the other man’s hand, and maybe he did, too.
Instead, she placed a motherly hand on Ewart’s shoulder, then cupped the side of his head gently but firmly, and turned it in the light from the landing bulbs. “What happened to your face, though?”
Ewart’s hand twitched upward, either to touch his bruised mouth or maybe push the witch’s hold away. “A misunderstanding. I…did a poor job of explaining myself to Mr. Silver, the first time I attempted contact with him.”
They both looked at Duncan.
“You caught me at a bad time,” he growled. “I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”
Wolfbane Sally pursed her lips. “You should let me put some salve on that, dear. It looks nasty. I’ve got some in the kitchen.”
Jeremy Ewart tried to pull his head politely away. “That won’t be necessary, mistress.”
“Oh fiddlesticks! Annie would never forgive me if I let a former apprentice of hers walk out of here without so much as a care spell. Look, I’ll just…
” Taking back her hand, deftly licking thumb and forefinger, like some tightly abbreviated sketch of a Catholic crossing herself.
She pressed thumb and finger onto the bruised jawline, cupped the side of Ewart’s face again, muttered a jumble of hiss-click syllables under her breath.
“There! All done! You really must try to be less violent around strangers, Duncan.”
“He was following me!”
“Yes, but not with any harmful intent. And, I mean, look at him. He’s half your size.”
“I already said I was sorry!”
Ewart cleared his throat awkwardly.
“There is a car waiting for us below,” he said. “We should go.”
Duncan looked at him. “I told you to come alone.”
“Uhm, yes, but—Mr. Silver—we must go some distance. A little way out of town. I do not drive. And I would not want to trust to finding a taxi in this, uhm…area.”
The witch gurgled laughter like a drain. “This, uhm, area? Moving up in the world, are we, Master Ewart? House in the country. Chauffeur driven. No wonder Annie couldn’t compete for your affections. Go on, get out of here, before I take back that healing!”
“I did not mean to offend, Mistress Beth—”
“You didn’t say anything about out of town,” Duncan interrupted. “I’m a busy man, Jerry. I do have other things to do today.”
“Oh, we would be very happy to drop you somewhere afterward,” said the young acolyte eagerly. “Anywhere you like, really. Our driver would be at your disposal.”
Duncan glanced at the witch. She shrugged, nodded.
“All right, then. But just so we’re clear—” He pulled the sgian dubh from his back, showed it to the other man.
Glint of steel in the low light from the landing bulbs.
“I’ve still got this. You, or any of your Sword and Orb pals, try to put anything over on me, magic or not, I’ll make what happened to your face last time look like a playground tiff. I will fucking cut you up.”
“Duncan!”
“Are we clear?”
Ewart bobbed his head nervously. “Of course, of course. Quite clear. I would expect no less from you, Mr. Silver. Rest assured, you are safe with me. With us. We only want to talk.”
“They only want to talk, Duncan.”
Duncan shot the witch a disbelieving you-shut-up look. She ignored it, insisted on kissing them both goodbye on both cheeks, continental style, despite Ewart’s fairly clear discomfort.
“Nice to see you, Jerry. I’ll pass your best wishes on to Annie, shall I?”
“Please do,” said Ewart stiffly. “Now, we really should—”
“Aye.”
As Duncan followed the failed apprentice warlock down the stairs, he looked up and saw the witch leaned over the banister, watching them go with a curious smile.