All is Fair (35 page)

Sam rubbed the back of his neck, feeling like an impostor. “Right. Thanks.” After a beat he returned the bow, as embarrassed and hesitant as the Prince’s was elegant.

“May I ask why you have chosen to grace us with your visit?”

“I want to speak to Poppy.”

“I will see that he is brought to you immediately.” The Prince pulled one of the leaves from his cloak and blew it off the palm of his hand. It fluttered away and was swiftly out of sight. “Has he caused offence?”

“Oh, yes,” said Sam, nodding. “I’m going to give him the chance to put it right.”

“That is most generous of you. I’m sorry we have to wait. I’m sure you understand it isn’t possible to bring him so close to your presence in the usual way.”

Sam nodded, even though he didn’t understand, being ignorant of how the usual way worked.

The Prince stared at him but remained silent. Sam was about to ask how long it would take when he saw Poppy hurrying towards them.

“Your Royal Highness,” he said when he reached them, bowing so low his black hair brushed the blades of grass. He looked at Sam, his expression mutating into one of absolute horror. “…Lord… Iron?”

“Lord Iron wishes to speak with you,” the Prince said and then turned to Sam. “I will be close by, should you need anything else.”

Sam thanked him and then looked at Poppy. The Fae was leaning back, as if trying to stay as far away from him as possible without looking like he was trying to do so. “I’ve come to put things right.”

“Oh, of course.” Poppy smiled and clicked his fingers. The faerie appeared behind him, peeping from behind his shoulder. It managed one look in Sam’s direction before squealing and diving out of sight. “The hourglass!” Poppy hissed at it as the Prince backed off, still watching.

The faerie fluttered to a spot on the grass further behind Poppy and gave Sam another nervous look before waving its tiny hands to make the dreaded hourglass appear. The pile of sand in the bottom half of the glass was so small it was noticeable by its sparkling rather than its size.

Poppy hurried over and tapped the top three times. The sand poured into the bottom half so fast it had all run through by the time Poppy straightened up again. He grinned and held it out towards Sam. “Ah, it seems there was a little blockage at the neck. Oh, look! Now I’ve cleared it, it seems the debt has been paid already. How quickly those minutes seemed to pass!”

“That’s a start. Where are they?”

“Who?”

“The slaves, the ones I tried to save. I want you to bring them here.”

“Oh,
those
slaves!” He tittered. “I’ve grown so tired of them. I don’t suppose you’d like to take them off my hands? I’d be so delighted if you could.”

“Stop stalling.”

Poppy twisted to look for the faerie. It had gathered a clump of grass together to hide behind. “See to it!” He smiled at Sam again. “It seems you’ve… risen in the Worlds. Of course, I always suspected there was something special about you. My favourite wouldn’t care about just any mundane.”

“Bullshit,” Sam said. “You had no idea and don’t try to say otherwise.”

Poppy’s laugh was weak and unconvincing. He flung the hourglass up into the air and it turned into a cluster of poppy petals that settled at his feet. He twisted his cane and attempted another smile. “Not long now.”

The slaves soon came into sight and Sam went towards them, closing the distance as fast as he could. They were dressed in poppy petals clinging to their bodies, leaving no curve undescribed. They looked healthier than the last time he saw them, but far from happy.

“I really am going to rescue you this time,” he said to them, but none of them looked convinced.

He knelt in front of Clare and pulled at a poppy petal clinging to her ankle, covering the sparkling band he knew was there. As soon as his fingers touched the petal’s softness all of the others fell. It revealed the band marking her slavery, but also every other inch of her body. Sam kept his eyes fixed on her ankle, muttering an apology, but she seemed unconcerned. None of the others seemed to react either. Perhaps they were too beautiful to be bashful.

He worked the fingers of both hands under the band and it lost its diamond sheen. When he pulled outwards it snapped like it was made of baked clay. Clare shuddered, took a deep breath and looked around her as if she’d just woken up. Then she blushed and accepted the blacksmith’s apron Sam offered, giving him a grateful smile. Sam didn’t have enough items of clothing for all of them, so he called to the Prince and asked for something to protect their modesty before he broke the spell on them too. He didn’t want anything belonging to Poppy to touch them again.

Soon they were all free and wrapped in green blankets made of the softest moss imaginable. Sam faced Poppy again. “Why couldn’t they eat or drink in Mundanus before?”

Poppy twisted the cane as if he were trying to screw it into wood. “Well… I suppose there could have been a teeny tiny curse put on them – I hear it happens to mortals when they visit here. But now you’ve touched them they’ll be free to eat and drink whatever horrors are in Mundanus.”

Sam grinned at Clare as they all thanked him. She went to embrace him but he stepped back. “Let’s wait until you’re not wearing a magic blanket, eh?” He called the Prince over again. “Could you get them all back home in Mundanus and guarantee that no one does anything to them on the way?”

“It would be my pleasure,” the Prince said. “They will be given into the care of one of the most trustworthy mortals I know, and conveyed to wherever they wish in Mundanus without any Charms cast upon them.”

“Because I’ll hear of it, if anything does happen to them.”

“You have my word that it will be done as you wish.”

Poppy was watching the Prince’s deference with great interest, but said nothing. Sam told the group to make sure they had each other’s contact details before they parted ways and that he’d be in touch as soon as he was home. No doubt his army of staff would be able to track Clare down and from her he could find the others. “Don’t mention me to anyone,” he added.

The Prince led them away and Sam breathed in deeply, newly aware – by virtue of its absence – of the weight he’d been carrying since he’d failed to rescue them the first time. Not only were they going to be reunited with their families, he was never going to be summoned and messed about by Poppy again. He was no longer afraid.

“Well, if that’s everything…” Poppy took a step away.

“There’s just one more thing, Poppy,” Sam said, enjoying the fear that crossed the Fae’s face in response.

Poppy clasped his hands together, dropping the cane as his face twisted with anguish. “I had no idea what she would wish for, truly – how could I? And I did all I could to divert her energies. I told her to paint! It isn’t my fault the wish will come true now!”

Sam frowned. “You’re talking about Cathy?”

“Yes, my favourite! I had no idea what potential lay beneath the damage and layers of insecurities and self-doubt and misery caused by her–” he stopped. “That is what you meant by ‘one more thing’, isn’t it?”

“What will happen now the wish is going to come true?” When Poppy hesitated Sam took a step towards him.

Poppy shrank back. “She’ll destroy everything!”

“She made a wish to do that?”

“She wished to reach her true potential and that’s what it is! But don’t tell anyone, especially her husband! He’ll only tell–” he lowered his voice to a whisper “–her new patron, and he wouldn’t have to wait for their child, he’d be able to take what he needs from
her
. He knows what potential she has, but he doesn’t think her capable of bringing it to fruition. But I’ve made that possible.” He covered his mouth with his hands and spoke through his fingers. “It’s exquisitely terrifying. I haven’t been so excited in such a long time.”

“Is she in any danger?”

“No, she made a very clever wish. It really wasn’t my fault.”

Sam decided he would ask Cathy; he was planning to see her anyway. “The last thing I want from you is the memory you took from me the first time I came here.”

“That little thing?” Poppy pulled his cane from the ground and took another step back. The faerie, which had been hidden behind him, zinged off into the distance. “It’s not worth your trouble to–”

“Poppy, give it back to me, or I’ll take it from you.”

“I have no idea how to give it back to you, now that you break–”

Sam launched himself at Poppy’s throat, unable to stomach being messed about a moment longer. They both crashed to the ground, Poppy screeching for help and flailing ineffectually as the urge to push Sam away warred with the one to avoid any contact.

Sam could feel the skin of Poppy’s neck beneath his hands. It was cold and didn’t feel like the throat of a man, being disturbingly free of the feel of an Adam’s apple and muscles beneath the skin. Instead, it felt more like holding a pillow stuffed full of down; too soft and with too much give. He could crush it, he realised, but wasn’t convinced it would choke the Fae like it would choke a man.

“Give it back to me, or I’ll drag you to the Prince and tell him you’ve been uncooperative.”

“You’re burning me!” Poppy wailed and then coughed so hard his entire body shook.

A wisp of smoke with hints of gold and green in its tendrils escaped with the next cough and before he could move away, Sam breathed it in. Appalled by the thought of it, he released Poppy’s neck and clambered off him, leaving the Fae to moan quietly.

Then he was with Leanne, laughing so hard they were holding each other up as Pete kept asking what a douchebag was, over and over again. They were drunk but not too much, and Leanne’s hair was flowing back in the breeze.

Then Sam was on his knees in Exilium, and he drew in a harsh breath to stop the grief from flooding out of him. Poppy hadn’t just taken a memory of a perfect afternoon, he’d stolen the meaning of the photo in the hall of their house, the reminder to fight for the marriage even when Leanne was moving on.

But he couldn’t let it overwhelm him then and there. Sam forced himself onto his feet and went back to where Poppy lay with his fingers gingerly exploring the skin on his neck. “If you ever come near me again, or try to fuck up my life ever again, I’ll make a cage of the purest iron and lock you in it and then… I’ll eat the key. The same goes for Cathy. Don’t you ever do anything to her again. Understand?”

“She isn’t mine any more,” Poppy whispered. “You’re threatening the wrong Lord.” When Sam leaned towards him, he whimpered. “But I do understand your desire.”

Sam walked away, free of the Fae yet burdened by grief. He had to see Cathy safe before he could rest. He couldn’t save his wife but he could save his friend and that would have to be enough.

24

Max and the gargoyle looked down at the Chapter Master’s body, watching the thin trickle of blood run from the wound on the back of his head. They were in his office, having followed him back into the Nether from the mundane park. Max didn’t realise the gargoyle would hit him that hard.

“Is he dead?” the gargoyle asked.

Max felt for a pulse, found it. “No.”

The gargoyle’s shoulders dropped a couple of inches. “We’ve crossed a line, haven’t we?”

Max nodded. “Now we’re here, we need to make it count for something. Every Master has a means to get to their Sorcerer’s house in the case of an emergency. We need to find it.”

“Will it be an Opener?”

“Probably,” Max replied. He wasn’t sure how else a Way could be opened by anyone other than a Sorcerer, using legal magic at least.

They both began to rifle through drawers in the desk and then in the cabinets behind them. It was a modest office, decorated with a few paintings of seascapes. The desk was free of personal effects. A tidy man.

“Nothing.” The gargoyle abandoned searching the drawers and instead began to sniff about the room. It lifted the corner of the rug with a claw, then pulled the whole thing aside with an excited flourish, revealing nothing but floorboards. With a disappointed snort it moved back towards the desk as Max completed his search of the last filing cabinet.

“It might be something hidden in one of the walls, or even the door.” Max checked the doorknob but it was only what it appeared to be. There was nothing but wall behind the paintings and thick curtains.

“Hang on,” the gargoyle said. It was sniffing the desk.

“I checked the drawers,” Max said.

“Did you check the hidden one?”

The gargoyle reached underneath and there was a quiet click. The top centre panel of the desk slid back, explaining why the desk was so free of the usual objects people filled them with.

“Rookie error.” The gargoyle grinned at him. “Fancy missing the old hidden-desk-compartment trick.”

Max ignored the teasing and reached inside, closing his fingers around a standard doorknob-shaped Opener. It had the usual pin that would be easy to stick into any surface and enough formulae to convince him it was the one they were looking for.

He went to the wall next to the window and lined the pin up ready to push in. “Ready?”

The gargoyle came to his side. “Wait a sec. What if we go through and the evil apprentice is there, ready to kill us?”

“If it is one of Dante’s apprentices, he’ll think only the Chapter Master can come through this way, and he wouldn’t without sending word ahead. He’ll be caught off guard.”

“So I just go for him, knock him out and we drag him to Ekstrand? No, hang on, that won’t work, will it?”

Max shook his head. “No. If he’s involved in something as dodgy as all this, he’ll be protected. Most Sorcerers are anyway. The best scenario is that we get into his house and find some evidence to prove to Ekstrand that the Sorcerer of Mercia is innocent. If the apprentice is there, we should leave straightaway and get Ekstrand.” He paused. “Maybe we should just do that anyway.”

“No way!” the gargoyle said. “First, we’d have to explain how we got this Opener and second, there’s no guarantee he’d do anything. I mean, he doubted us before, what’s to say he wouldn’t do it again? And anyway, it’s Sunday, and he’s batshit on Sundays. Well, more batshit than usual. We’ve got to do this now.”