“And?” Jack said.
Boudicca looked steadily at Grace. “A druid’s sword was always double-bladed. Twin-edged. On the cusp of the old year and the new, I am here to deliver to you a warning. Be careful. Look out for the return swing of the sword, because it may take your head.”
Part Seven
LONDINA ILLUSTRATA
London, Christmas 1739
London had set itself to rights after the great storm of thirty years earlier, although it had taken several years to find enough tiles to reclad all the roofs and enough bricks to rebuild the chimneys. Now, it was Christmastime, and the city was in full festive mode, even though it was in the grip of one of the coldest winters in living memory.
The Thames had frozen over, and Londoners took the opportunity to hold a Frost Fair. Colourful canvas tents were pitched on the ice selling food and drink, bowling alleys were established in the middle of the river, daring youths tied dogs to carts and held races from the bridge to Blackfriars, and fiddlers and pipers wandered among the crowds, playing popular tunes for a penny a time.
It seemed that the entire population of the city was having fun on the ice. Nevertheless, once dark fell and the revellers returned to their homes and warm fires, two lost urchins were left to huddle together, desperate for warmth and comfort, under the eaves of St Thomas’ Chapel on London Bridge. The youths were thin and poorly clad, their hair black and curly, their complexions swarthy, as if they were coalminer’s children who had made their way down to London to find their fortunes—and failed dismally.
There was no one else about. Everyone was at home and at cheer, and bundled up before warm hearths. Just after midnight, one of the shivering youths opened his eyes, then gasped. “You said you didn’t want us!” he exclaimed.
His brother woke with a start, then trembled as he saw the little black-haired girl standing before them.
“I said no such thing,” said the little girl.
“You did! You did!” said the first.
“Never,” said the girl. “I wouldn’t throw away such as you.”
The second imp looked carefully at the little girl. “Hang on,” he said. “You’re not—”
“No need to speak names,” said the girl. “After all, none of us have them.”
The two imps looked at each other, then simultaneously shrugged their shoulders. True enough.
“Nonetheless,” said the first imp, “you are little Mistress Surprise, aren’t you?”
Now it was the girl’s turn to shrug. “I’ve lived under this bridge for years. Can’t think why no one seems to know I’m here.”
The imps giggled. “Do you want us then? She has grown tired of us.”
The girl pouted as if she wrestled with heavy thoughts. “Well now, I’d hate to have you tell on me. I wouldn’t be Mistress Surprise, would I, if she knew about me?”
The imps giggled some more. “We won’t tell.”
Suddenly the little girl vanished, replaced by a sense of such terrifying oppression that the imps shrieked and huddled down on the ground, their spindly arms over their heads.
“Don’t! Don’t!” they cried. “We won’t tell! We won’t!”
“Good,” said the little girl, now returned to her less threatening aspect. “Be sure you don’t. I can be just as nasty as my sister when the inclination takes me.”
The imps sulked silently for a while, and the little girl let them think about it.
“On the other hand,” she said, “I can be a great deal nicer, too.”
“Why would you want to be nice to us?” said one of the imps.
“Because I am engaged in a project,” said the girl, “and it is getting too big for me to manage by myself. I am in grave need of assistance.”
“And you’d trust us?”
“Trust is not quite the word I’d use…but I do need you, and you can be a help.”
The imps thought about it for several heartbeats.
“Do you have a nice warm room to keep us?” one of them asked hopefully.
“Of course,” said the little girl, “and not far from here, actually.”
She held out her hands and, after a fractional hesitation, the imps rose and each took one of her hands.
ONE
Copt Hall
Wednesday, 1st January 1941
Noah sat, wan and trembling, in the drawing room of Copt Hall, staring first at Jack, then at Grace, then at Weyland, who sat next to her holding one of her hands. Jack had asked her and Weyland to the hall first thing—Ariadne, Silvius, the Lord of the Faerie and Stella were due later—but Jack and Grace had needed to speak to Noah beforehand. They didn’t want to break the news of the White Queen, her daughter, in the presence of a roomful of people.
Noah and Weyland had arrived almost breathless with excitement at the prospect of seeing Grace. Having discovered from Harry that Grace was at Copt Hall, they had been ringing several times a day since the morning of the thirtieth trying to talk to their daughter. Either Jack or Malcolm had put them off, saying that Grace needed to rest, but that they could come visit soon.
Their joy at seeing Grace, at being able to hug her and exclaim over her and ensure for themselves that she was back whole and in fair (if thin and exhausted) condition, was quickly dampened by the news of the White Queen.
“She’s alive?” Noah whispered.
Jack glanced at Grace. “Alive” wasn’t quite the word he’d use to describe her. “She can use a glamour to take form,” he said, “but she’s not back in the flesh, Noah.”
“My daughter,” Noah said, dashing away some tears with a trembling hand. “I thought…”
Everyone knew what Noah had thought. Almost four thousand years ago she’d lost the baby girl when she was seven months pregnant with her, and the baby had not survived the birth. Then Noah had seen what she’d believed to be her daughter in her vision of the stone hall, but which had turned out to be Catling. Then, in the seventeenth century, when Noah had become pregnant to Louis, now Jack, she’d believed that pregnancy had been a rebirth of the daughter she’d lost.
But that girl had been the Troy Game, growing into flesh incarnate as Catling.
Noah had resigned herself to believing she’d never have the baby girl, lost so many thousands of years ago, returned to her. Now, to hear that the girl had life in spirit if not in flesh, and had been communicating to Grace and Jack, was almost too much for Noah.
“Why not me?” she whispered. “Why talk to you and not me?”
There was no answer for that, and Jack dropped his eyes, unable to look at Noah. He felt guilt and anger in equal degree: guilt that he’d conversed with the White Queen, and not Noah; and anger that the White Queen had not once thought to communicate with the mother who had so wanted and loved her.
It was one more reason for him to distrust the White Queen.
He looked over to Grace, who was watching her mother with worried eyes. Look out for the return swing of the sword, because it may take your head. Oh, Christ. Jack felt a terrible premonition of losing Grace. Would you die for Jack, Grace? Would you?
“What the hell is she here for?” said Weyland, angry not so much at Jack, but at Noah’s misery. “What does she want?”
“The others should be here in a moment,” said Jack, glancing at Weyland sympathetically. Grace’s long illness had brought Noah and Weyland much closer, healing the rift between them. For this, at least, Jack was grateful. “When they’re here,” he continued, “Grace and I will go through what we know. I don’t want to tire Grace out by going through it twice.”
Ariadne and Silvius arrived in a few minutes, closely followed by Stella and Harry. They were all delighted to see Grace, although Jack noted Harry looked a little awkward with her (likely regretting his harsh words to her when he’d discovered Grace at the side of the road to Epping Forest), while Stella warmed to the point of almost-effusiveness.
Ariadne had brought with her a large suitcase which she put by the side of Grace’s chair.
“Your clothes, my dear,” Ariadne said, handing her coat to Malcolm (and giving him a broad smile as she did so), then sitting down on the sofa alongside Silvius. “I packed everything. Well, most things. I admit to handing over to the Red Cross the worst of your fashion disasters. I’ve taken the liberty of replacing them with a few items of a more colourful nature.” Her smile widened until it was positively lascivious. “Now that you’re with Jack, of course.”
“Ariadne…” Grace murmured, then gave up and grinned. “But thank you.”
Malcolm served tea and coffee, then withdrew to the hall door to stand leaning against the jamb.