Not one of my relatives, Ariadne said with a dismissive air, but competent enough.
Note the young man, said Silvius, ignoring Ariadne. He is a Kingman, but his father died before he could hand over his kingship bands.
Ariadne and Silvius paused, sensing what Grace was understanding.
A father usually hands on kingship bands? said Grace.
Yes, said Silvius, although in my case Brutus simply snatched them from my dying limbs. He chuckled. No wonder he was to lose them so easily.
Who, other than a father, can hand over the bands? said Grace.
It can be done by anyone who wields the power of the labyrinth, said Silvius. Look here, and see.
The Mistress of the Labyrinth, a woman of some thirty or thirty-five years of age with a face made striking because of her power and experience rather than through physical beauty, moved forward to lay a hand on the young man’s naked chest.
He trembled, and for an instant looked as if he might move away.
The Mistress’ mouth curled, and her eyes narrowed as she waited.
The man relaxed, and as he did so her hand caressed his skin.
“You are very beautiful,” she said, and he smiled.
“Give them to me,” he said, and Silvius, watching, gave a guffaw which only Ariadne and Grace heard.
He is as impatient as was Brutus! Silvius said.
Both Grace and Ariadne smiled.
“Take them from me,” the Mistress of the Labyrinth whispered, and the young Kingman shuddered, although whether from desire for the woman before him or from desire for the bands the watchers could not tell.
He raised his right hand and took the Mistress’ hand which lay on his chest, moving it away, then running his hand slowly up her still-outstretched arm.
Now she was the one who shuddered, and her lips parted fractionally.
The young man’s hand moved, so slowly, so caressingly, up her arm to her biceps, his eyes holding hers in an unblinking stare. Then, just as his hand reached the very top of her arm, the pressure of his fingers changed. They dug down into her flesh, and the woman winced.
Then, stunningly, gold gleamed between the young man’s fingers.
Do you see? said Silvius. Do you understand?
Yes, said Grace. The Kingman takes the bands from the Mistress, but she must allow him to do so.
Good, said Ariadne. Why, do you think, might this be difficult?
Grace thought several minutes before responding, keeping her eyes on the vision before her as the young Kingman took band after band from the flesh of the Mistress of the Labyrinth.
“It is the ultimate intimacy,” Grace whispered in her physical voice rather than her mental, “to allow a Kingman, any man, to draw something from your flesh. It is far more intimate than a sexual coupling. To allow someone to draw something so powerful from you…that would take such trust, such confidence.”
“Such love,” Silvius said, very softly.
“That would help, yes,” said Grace, and both Ariadne and Silvius laughed.
“This is the first time I’ve seen my blood in you, my dear,” said Ariadne.
Before them, as the Mistress cried out (with loss rather than with pain), the young Kingman drew forth from the flesh of her biceps a magnificent golden armband. It rose into his touch, as if it had been waiting, all this time, just below the surface of her skin.
Waiting for the touch of the Kingman.
SEVEN
Marble Arch Underground Station
Tuesday, 17th September to Friday, 20th September 1940
Ariadne opened the door of her apartment, and saw Jack standing there. She arched an eyebrow.
“Is Grace here?” Jack said.
“No.” Ariadne let Jack in and showed him through to the drawing room. “Matilda dropped by earlier this evening, and Grace went with her, to help her mother in her little van.”
There was deep, rich amusement in Ariadne’s voice at this, and Jack thought that running a mobile canteen would be the very last thing Ariadne would allow herself to be caught dead doing.
“Grace will be fine,” Ariadne added.
Jack wasn’t so sure. He was worried about Grace being out when the imps were undoubtedly prowling, but realised that he couldn’t wrap Grace in cotton wool. Grace needed to take risks, and Jack needed to accept that.
Ariadne sat herself down on a sofa, but Jack continued standing, turning his cap over and over in his hand. “Well?”
That damned eyebrow of Ariadne’s arched even further than normal, and Jack realised she was looking at the cap turning over and over in his hand rather than at him.
Irritated, he tossed it onto a chair.
“I know it has only been a few days,” he said, “and you will have had little chance to do much with Grace, but—”
“She’s superb, Jack.”
He stared at Ariadne, unable to say anything.
“As good as Noah, although using a different combination of powers.” Ariadne paused, her face assuming a thoughtful look. “Well, when I say superb, her talent is superb, but of course she needs much experience, which she hasn’t had.”
“And can she—”
“Hand over the bands? She is capable of it, yes.”
Jack let out a long breath of relief. “Thank you, Ariadne.”
“Jack, Catling attacked Grace the instant I first took her into the Great Founding Labyrinth.”
Jack narrowed his eyes.
“Catling is worried, Jack. Watch out for her.”
“Did she continue to attack? Grace has been with you four or five days, Ariadne. You must have taken her into the Great Founding Labyrinth more than that once.”
“True,” said Ariadne, “but Catling only attacked the first time. Maybe it was just…a reminder. But I still caution you to be careful.”
“And Grace, of course.”
Ariadne looked at Jack carefully. “You have far more potential to harm Grace than she does to harm herself, Jack. You are the one who can save her, or damn her, whichever way your hand swings. Be careful.”
Jack knew the usual route of Noah’s mobile canteen, and he finally found her van outside Marble Arch underground station by Hyde Park. He parked his Austin convertible a block or so away, then started to walk towards the van. He could see Matilda, Ecub and Grace lifting trays out of the back and he raised his hand, intending to call out to them.
But hardly had the hand left his side when it was snatched in an icy grip.
He tried to step back, but Catling’s hold was vicelike, and he found he couldn’t move.
She leaned close, and snarled in Jack’s face. “I didn’t like that bomb, Jack.”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
She hissed, her face contorting into such ugliness that Jack flinched.
“The little present that you and Noah dropped on me a week ago. It didn’t go off, Jack. The will was there, but not the skill, eh?”
“Catling—”
“Don’t do it again, Jack.”
“I—”
“Do it again, Jack, and I will retaliate in kind.”
“There are bombs dropping all over the place, damn it! Is it so unlikely that one would fall close to St Paul’s?”
Something changed in Catling’s face. It became much harder, and, if possible, much colder. “I can see you need to be taught a lesson, Jack.”
“Don’t you—”
“Can you hear it, Jack?” Catling whispered, and then she was gone, and Jack was left standing staring at the van, seeing Grace and Matilda moving towards the entrance to the underground station with trays of food in their hands.
All he could hear was the whistle of the bomb falling through the sky.
He tried to move, tried to get his legs and arms and body moving forward, but it seemed to him that they only responded sluggishly.
“Grace!” he screamed.
Londoners had been using the underground train stations as makeshift shelters for weeks. Despite their being underground, and despite the popular belief that the stations were better than official shelters, the government had been trying to discourage their use: engineers worried that a bomb might broach a tunnel wall causing the Thames to flood the entire system; health officials worried because in most of the stations there were no toilets as they were too deep to connect to the sewer lines; train authorities worried about sleeping people rolling off platforms and onto tracks (most of the people who sheltered there were usually in their bedrolls four or five hours before the station shut down for the night, and platforms were becoming so crowded with the sleeping that an accident could easily occur). The police worried about crime and security risks.
But Londoners were increasingly settling in the stations at night, and Marble Arch, right in the heart of London, was one of the more popular.
This night it was crowded, the platforms packed with the sleeping and many who were still awake: neighbours gossiping, parents trying to settle tired children, and men playing cards. Noah, Ecub, Erith and Matilda, with Grace helping, were ferrying trays filled with food and cups of tea down the stairs towards the platforms.