ELEVEN
September to November 1939
Jack had committed to destroying the Troy Game—and if he was honest with himself, he had committed to it a long time ago—but he wouldn’t be pushed by anyone into moving precipitously. Catling was too powerful (Jack’s mind shied away from “invulnerable”) and whatever chink she had in her armour (if it existed) would be so tiny, so transient, that Jack knew he not only needed to be very, very sure of it, but that he would only ever get one chance at it.
In Jack’s mind there were two puzzles which needed to be solved. Firstly, he needed to discover what manner of strange labyrinthine shadow it was that hung over London. Every day that Jack rose from his bed he became more convinced that it concerned the Troy Game, even if it wasn’t a direct part of it. Secondly, Jack needed to plumb the equally strange labyrinthine shadow that was Grace. She was so important, yet so unfathomable. That could be due to cunning, or, as he’d thought earlier, it could just be defensive.
Jack leaned more towards the defensive. Gods alone knew she had enough reason for it. More importantly, however, when he’d tested her on Ambersbury Banks the marks had seen no harm in her. There was no direct danger to himself from her.
Besides, Matilda liked her. She has isolated herself within a ring of fire and of suffering, and can’t escape, Matilda had said to him. Jack was not always certain of his own judgement, but he was sure of Matilda’s. If he had been Brutus, or William, or even Louis, Jack thought, he would have distrusted Grace on sight and would probably have blamed her for every dark cloud that scudded across the sun.
But now…no.
Grace was a puzzle, and she needed to be solved, but during September and October Jack spent almost every waking hour trying to discover as much as he could about the shadow over London. In this he had to be very circumspect. If whatever was so different could be used against Catling, then Jack couldn’t risk alerting her to its presence (and why was it Catling did not know of this? How could she not?).
What Jack wanted was to walk every street of London, plotting out carefully what he saw, felt and intuited along each of those streets, but this he could not do. Nothing would have alerted Catling faster. Certainly, Jack could take the occasional stroll down a street here, an alleyway there…but a systematic perambulation of all London (and beyond, if the difference stretched even further than the metropolis)? No. He was aware that Catling might be watching his every move.
It would be easier if Noah, Stella and Ariadne could sense the shadow as well, because then the four of them wandering here and there about their daily business would be able to assemble a good picture. But none of the women could sense the difference, and were useless to him.
But Grace could; Jack had absolutely no doubt of that. He meant to talk to her about it, and perhaps even enlist her aid, but for most of the two months following his meeting with Catling in St Paul’s crypt, Jack did it on his own. He wanted to learn as much as he could by himself, before he spoke to Grace.
So Jack crisscrossed the city, one journey every two or three days, finding an excuse whenever possible to travel as widely as possible. There was a maze in Greenwich Village he needed to view, and mazes in Peckham, Richmond and Clapham as well. Every one of the ancient Veiled Hills of Llangarlia had to be visited, as did the far newer docklands in east London.
Noah helped, handed an excuse by Queen Elizabeth who made a radio broadcast urging women everywhere to do their bit for the war effort. Noah used this broadcast as the perfect reason to establish, as her very own effort, a mobile canteen (rather aptly named “Noah’s Ark”). She purchased a van, had it fitted out as a canteen, and most nights she and Eaving’s Sisters drove about, taking refreshments—tea, hot chocolate, and sticky buns—to the various air raid shelters about London.
Her mobile canteen gave Jack the perfect pretext to visit. Two or three nights a week he would find a reason to track her down, and visit for five or ten minutes. Noah knew of the motive behind these visits, and cooperated by giving him a reason to visit: to talk about the arrangements for the Great Marriage; to discuss how and when they might do the Dance of the Flowers; and, in order not to make Catling too suspicious, to worry about what might happen after the completion of the Troy Game. Could they survive it? Was it worth risking the destruction of the land and Faerie to try to thwart Catling?
All this meant that Jack did, indeed, manage to visit a fair proportion of London, but there was a catch. The only way he could sense this “difference” hanging over the city was to walk the streets: to physically feel the city and what underpinned it throb up through the soles of his feet. Obviously Jack could not walk all these distances, because to do so would be to arouse Catling’s suspicions. If he needed to go somewhere then he necessarily had to drive his Austin convertible to get there, and thus the only time he managed to add to his store of understanding about the shadow was when he got out of the car.
Those few moments when he walked from car to building, or to Noah’s mobile canteen; the longer moment when he could stretch his legs walking around a hill, or a block or two of a suburb, but Jack had to have a reason for all these walks. He couldn’t just be walking, or at least not too much.
He was desperate that Catling should have no idea of his intentions.
Particularly after the night she tracked him down and asked him what he was doing.
Jack was in Peckham Rye, a suburb to the south of London, very late at night. His excuse for this excursion was that he wanted to visit the ancient site of Nunhead graveyard where, when he’d been William, two of his squires had been buried. The graveyard had been levelled (and the contents evacuated) during the nineteenth century when train lines had come through the area and terraced suburbia had spread either side of the twin rails like a black stain, but the faint memory of the squires’ souls still lingered, and Jack knew that the journey would be no waste of time, no matter what he discovered about the shadow.
He was walking quietly up Ferndale Road, a nondescript street of late Victorian brick terraces, when he heard steps behind him.
Jack stopped, and turned around.
Catling stood a few feet away.
Her white face floated like a rotting moon within all the blackness surrounding her, and Jack had to swallow, suddenly nauseated.
“Well, well, Jack,” she said, using a strange, sliding gait to move closer. “What do you here?”
“Visiting old friends,” he said.
She raised an eyebrow, and moved to the side of him, forcing Jack to turn in order to keep her in sight. “Old friends?” she said.
“I had two squires when I lived as William,” he said. “Henry and Raoul. They took wives after the invasion, and settled here, in this parish.” His shoe tapped against the tarmac. “They were buried here, a thousand years ago. I came to pay my respects.”
“How loyal. I am pleased. I like loyalty. I hope also that you will remember your loyalty to me.”
Jack inclined his head in an ambiguous gesture.
Her voice hardened. “You wouldn’t want to forget it, Jack.”
“No. Of course not.”
“Ah, you’re looking for a means by which to destroy me, aren’t you? Grubbing about the streets, hoping lost souls will whisper secrets into your ear?”
Jack went cold, but then realised that she knew or suspected nothing specific. She was goading him, hoping he’d let slip secrets himself.
He chose to change the subject. “Noah and I are going to make the Great Marriage.”
“Yes? What of it?”
“You should be pleased. The Great Marriage will unite your chosen Kingman and Mistress of the Labyrinth together in such strength that your final completion will be all the more powerful. After all, you did tie yourself in with the land. The Great Marriage will enrich you.”
Catling’s face went expressionless, then she smiled. “Then I am pleased.” She resumed her peculiar sliding gait down the roadway, and Jack followed, keeping enough distance between them that they did not inadvertently touch.
“When?” she continued. “Perhaps I’d like to attend.”
Jack shuddered. “In May next year.”
Catling slid to a halt. “May? Next year?”
“The best possible day to conduct the marriage is on May Day, Catling. That date, spring resurgent, will bring the most power to the union. You’ve waited this long to be completed. Another six or so months won’t hurt.”