But I didn’t worry about any of it. All I felt was a growing excitement.
And all I saw, as I sat there in the warm water, running my hands slowly up and down my arms, was Jack’s face as he said to me, You are…so…damn…beautiful.
FIVE
Copt Hall
Friday, 13th September 1940
Jack had leapt far out into the dark unknown that afternoon and evening, risking much of himself and all he hoped to achieve. Despite this, all he could feel on his return to Copt Hall that night was relief and a growing kernel of excitement deep within his being. What he was doing was a massive risk, affecting not merely himself, but the entire land and all who lived in it, but at least he had a direction and, for once, it felt as if he’d made a good decision.
And so much of it depended on Grace.
Jack sat in the kitchen of Copt Hall finishing a plateful of food. He couldn’t get the image of the temple bell on the dark snowy night out of his head. It was an image which combined terrible fragility and stunning strength, and Jack thought it probably described Grace as well as anything.
But which would dominate? The fragility, or the strength?
“Major?”
Jack looked up. Malcolm was standing before the table, holding a delicate plate filled with sponge cakes.
“No, thank you,” Jack said, and stood up. “I’ll turn in for the night, I think.”
He left the room, Malcolm grinning at his departing back.
That night Jack dreamed. He dreamed he stood in the middle of London Bridge, Catling standing before him.
The Great Marriage was well done, said Catling, but you need to know that the greatest marriage you can ever make is in my dark heart.
And then she was gone.
When Jack woke the next morning it was to find himself in a state of painful arousal coupled with a deep, bitter anger that Catling should have so spoiled his memory of the previous day.
That day Grace moved out of her parents’ apartment in the Savoy.
“Ariadne has asked me to come live with her for a little while,” she explained to her dumbfounded parents.
“I’m sorry,” she added.
Noah and Weyland exchanged a glance, and Grace could see a world of anxiety in that look.
Noah looked back at her daughter. “Why?” she asked.
“Ariadne has offered to teach me a little more of what she knows about the art and craft of the labyrinth,” Grace said.
“I could teach you that,” said Noah.
Grace looked deeply uncomfortable. “I know. It’s just that Ariadne asked me last night, and I—”
“Don’t apologise,” said Noah. “I could have offered myself and didn’t.” She smiled. “Ariadne is a taxing teacher, Grace, but she will teach you well.”
Weyland grunted. “All the art and craft she knows is that of murder,” he said. Then he sighed, and apologised. “I just don’t understand why you’d want to leave us.”
Grace gave a quirky smile. “It is time I left home. Three hundred years is too long.”
Noah laughed. “Aye, that it is,” she said. “Will we still see you on the canteen run, Grace?”
“I don’t see why not. Some nights, anyway.”
“Then from where shall we pick you up? Does Ariadne still reside in the Tower?”
“No. She has a flat in Kensington, off Cromwell Road.” Grace gave Noah the address. “Mother—”
Suddenly Noah wanted to stop whatever Grace might be about to say. She leaned forward and hugged Grace to her. “And when you tire of Ariadne’s archness, my darling, remember there’s a home for you here.”
“What’s happening, Noah?” Weyland asked as Grace retired to her room to pack.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “I don’t know.” She shivered, and wrapped her arms about herself.
Weyland drove Grace to Ariadne’s apartment later that afternoon. He felt he had to face Ariadne, to impress on her that Grace was everything to him and that if she harmed her, or allowed harm to touch her…
He’d also been ruminating on what Silvius had said: that he needed to put his animosity to Ariadne aside. Until recently, Weyland had not set eyes on Ariadne for over three and a half thousand years, not since that day she’d inveigled his return from the halls of the dead in order to bargain for her share of the Darkcraft. In his mind she’d assumed almost mythical proportions—the black witch committed always, totally, to his destruction.
And now she was taking his daughter.
“Grace,” he muttered as they rang the doorbell to her apartment, “be careful.”
Grace turned to him, tears in her eyes, and gave him a brief hug. She started to speak, but just then the door opened.
Ariadne stood there, dressed in her usual scarlet, a cigarette in one hand, and an expression of, unusually for her, some trepidation on her face.
She and Weyland stared at each other for a moment.
“It’s been a long time,” she said.
“It’s been a hellish time,” Weyland said, and Ariadne’s mouth twitched.
“I’ll take care of her, Asterion.”
“Be sure that you do.”
Silence. They didn’t look away from each other, nor did they blink.
Then Weyland gave a funny little laugh. “I can’t believe I’m allowing you to take my daughter,” he said, then he turned and walked back down the stairs to the building’s foyer.
“So much wasted,” Ariadne said softly, watching him.
“What do you mean?” Grace said.
“He and I…everything. So much hatred, so much ambition. So much wasted time when we could have had…” She broke off, then shrugged. “I’m getting maudlin in my old age, my dear. Now, come in why don’t you.”
As Ariadne stepped back, Grace lifted her suitcase and walked in the door.
Straight into the swirling maelstrom of the Great Founding Labyrinth.
SIX
Kensington
Friday, 13th September to Monday, 16th September 1940
Ariadne realised she had made two gigantic errors of judgement the instant the front door closed behind them.
The first error of judgement was her assumption that, even though Stella may not have been the most powerful person to teach Grace the intricacies of the labyrinth, she had at least done a competent job.
The second error was her assumption that the very worst mistake she’d ever made was when she’d pledged Asterion her soul, and that of her daughter-heirs, if ever she tried to restart the Game.
In fact, Ariadne realised very suddenly, and horrifically, by far the worst mistake of her life was propelling Grace directly into the Great Founding Labyrinth when, in fact, she wasn’t able to cope with it.
Damn Stella to all hells for not training the girl properly!
As the door closed behind them, Grace crumpled over, dropping her suitcase, a low moan of agony escaping her mouth.
For one sickening, heart-stopping moment, Ariadne thought the Great Founding Labyrinth was going to kill Grace.
But Grace should have endured this when she went through her Great Ordeal! She should be able to cope.
Ariadne cried out, one hand reaching for Grace, the other fumbling for the door as if she thought she could drag Grace out into the hallway.
But the Great Founding Labyrinth would not allow Grace to leave now, not when it had her in its maw.
Oh why, why hadn’t she thought it possible that Grace might not be able to cope?
Because she’d assumed—big, big mistake, the worst of her life—that Stella had trained Grace well, if not brilliantly.
But then Grace twisted about, and Ariadne saw that her wrists were crossed before her, and that wires of glowing red encircled them.
Catling had attacked the instant she felt Grace walk into the Great Founding Labyrinth.
Ariadne abandoned her attempt to open the door, and instead grabbed at Grace’s shoulder. “Use the pain, Grace. Use it to concentrate your mind and power!”
It was a struggle, but Ariadne felt both intense relief and admiration for Grace sweep over her as the girl’s eyes hardened with determination and power.
“The pain is a harmony as any other,” said Ariadne. “Dominate it, don’t allow it to dominate you, and then use it.”
Grace drew in a deep breath, straightening her body, her eyes locked into those of Ariadne, drawing strength from her foremother.
“Use the pain,” Ariadne said one more time.
Another deep breath, then Grace’s body relaxed a little, and she gave a single nod. The red lines still glowed about her wrists, and Ariadne understood that they still caused Grace agony, but now the girl was using the agony—using the harmonies spun out by the agony—as an accelerant to her own power.
Ariadne took a deep breath of her own. Dear gods, what a fright! “You have control now?” she said.
Grace nodded, although Ariadne could see that such control was taking considerable effort.
“Did Catling never attack you when Stella trained you? When Stella took you into the Great Founding Labyrinth? When you underwent your Great Ordeal?”