The Witch Watch (21 page)

Gilbert shook it. “Agreed.”

“Alice, you’re a sunrise to behold!” beamed Lord Moxley. “What brings such a beautiful sight to so dreary a place?”

They were in the ministry building on King Charles Street. It was not at all a dreary place, but an elaborate construction of Italianate architecture. It was a place of stratospheric ceilings with intricate red and gold ornament and stencil work. Great arching windows welcomed the cold, colorless morning sun.

“I’m afraid I have bad news,” she stammered weakly. She felt so out of place here, and wished she could just return to the library and bury herself in her work.

“I cannot imagine a better way to receive bad news than to have it delivered by a messenger such as yourself,” he cooed. “Where did you get that dress? Is it French?”

“Indeed. A gift from my mother, sent to me the last time she was in France,” Alice replied.

“Extraordinary beauty in that country. Clothes. Climate. Food. Exquisite, all of it. A shame about the people.” Lord Moxley led her up a grand staircase and into one of the many offices upstairs.

It was strange to think that if the Ministry of Ethereal Affairs was a more conventional sort of place, they would be headquartered here instead of Grayhouse. Alice wondered to herself how the royal palace must look, because she couldn’t imagine what anyone could do to make a place grander than this, short of making everything out of solid gold.

“I’m very sorry you have bad news for me,” he continued, “But I’m afraid I must repay you with bad news of my own. You’d best be sitting down when you hear it.” He motioned her into a nearby chair. She took it only reluctantly. The chairs here looked too lavish to be sat upon. He took a seat facing her. There was also a desk in the room, although it was hard for her to imagine that Moxley ever used it.

“Perhaps you should go first,” she suggested, “My news is likely the worst.”

“I sincerely doubt it, but if that’s the case then you should go first. I’d rather get the worst of it over with. And besides, now that I think of it, Captain Turpin should be present for my news. It concerns him and his men as well.”

“That’s part of why I’m here,” Alice said, her voice shaking. “Captain Turpin has... he’s dead. He was killed two nights ago, along with all of his men, save for Private Archer.”

Moxley placed his hand on his heart in an exaggerated expression. “My dear, twice in one week you have utterly shocked me. This is going to be a terrible bother to sort out. I concede that your news was indeed the worst by far, but it has the unexpected benefit of rendering my ill news of no value.” Moxley was using roughly the same tone of voice he used to decry the rain a few days earlier.

Alice was strangely comforted by his reaction. If Lord Moxley had wept or grieved, it would have cut her to the heart and she would have begun crying. King Charles Street was not a place for common tears. Mastering herself, she tried to reply with a similar level of detachment. “So your news concerned the Captain?”

“Yes. Well, all of the men. I’m afraid the arrest of Sir Edward Brooks and his accomplices has had political repercussions.”

“Who?”

Moxley sighed. “The Four Horsemen, I believe you called them?”

“Oh! I am so silly. I thought that business was dealt with.”

“Not in the slightest. These men - Brooks, in particular - are making the case that Ethereal Affairs is reckless and ill-managed. They are saying that the ministry has been less successful since the loss of your father, and that reform is needed. Specifically, more oversight.”

Alice hung her head, “Lord Moxley, a week ago this would have been devastating news, but now the world of political maneuvering seems so tiresome and silly in the face of so many deaths. What’s the worst Parliament can do to us?”

“They have done it. Our funding is cut. The men are recalled to the service of Her Majesty. The ministry is to halt all activities until an investigation can be conducted. I called on you two days ago to give you the news, but rumors told that you had recently departed.”

“I can’t believe they would do that. Close the Ministry, I mean. It is popular and successful.”

“But not as successful as it was in the past. And common success can sometimes be mistaken for failure when compared to triumph.”

“So people are unhappy that we’re catching fewer malefactors?”

“Not unhappy. Simply less impressed. Your organization has risen to the point where it has been taken for granted. Few endeavors attain such honor.”

“I suppose it was inevitable that we would falter. I can’t hope to fill my father’s shoes.”

“Nobody suggested that you should take his place alone. Besides, you are undervaluing yourself. The ministry has done well enough in the last few years. And don’t forget that the reason you have fewer witches to catch today is because your father caught so many in the past.”

“I suppose. But it doesn’t matter if we’re to be closed.”

“Not closed. I did not say closed. Not even our foes, as powerful as they are, can accomplish that. They have taken the wind out of our sails, not sunk our ship. Remember that the Queen’s husband is exceptionally fond of us. Albert Prince-Consort has little legal power, but he has a large number of allies as well as the hearts of the people. He hasn’t gotten involved yet. I’m curious to see what he will do.”

“Couldn’t you go to him?” Alice asked.

“Bless you, Alice. Your naïveté is often invigorating. But no, that is the last thing I should do. If I go to see him, it will be known. It would only make him appear weak. Imagine, him making an appearance and defending the Ministry at the request of a distant subordinate! No, the trick with his power is that he is strongest when he appears most aloof. Rest assured that he knows what is happening, and will move when the time is right. It would do no good for me to go and tell him what he already knows.”

“Well, he might be in more of a hurry if he knew what we’d found in Ravenstead,” Alice said.

“You have proof of witchcraft?” Moxley asked with surprise.

Alice nodded, “We found evidence of ongoing necromancy in the family crypt. The residents cannot possibly hope to feign ignorance this time. Also, we were assaulted.” Alice then explained the ambush as she’d been able to unravel it, and the battle in front of the manor.

“Well, that’s some comfort,” Moxley replied once she’d told her tale. “That should leave more than enough evidence to move against Edward Brooks. Remember that he is the legal owner of the Ravenstead estate. If we can show that Captain Turpin and his men were slaughtered on the grounds, it would unmask Brooks. His allies in Parliament would abandon him, and our ministry would be restored. Now, what of the Princess?”

Alice shrugged, “I can’t say. We didn’t find her at the estate.”

“I see there’s something you’re not telling me,” Moxley said slyly. “You haven’t said why you left Private Archer to recover the bodies on his own. You also haven’t mentioned what became of the abomination. It has been said that the Witch Watch buried someone in Tyburn. And I read in the papers that you left two days ago with a large man in black, and that he did not return with you. There are a great many pieces missing from your tale.”

Alice opened her mouth to speak, but he silenced her with a dismissive a wave of the hand, “I don’t care about the messy details.” Then he leaned in and lowered his voice to a whisper, “Be careful what secrets you speak here. Our foes would be fools not to attempt some sort of divination in a place like this.”

Alice nodded. She understood that she shouldn’t speak of Gilbert, but she wasn’t sure what other secrets would be dangerous. Hadn’t they already divulged a number of dangerous items in their conversation? She sighed. She simply had no head or patience for this business of subterfuge.

Moxley looked her in the eye. His gaze was probing, almost to the point of interrogation. He spoke in a firm, quiet voice, “I just want to know what you’re trying to accomplish.”

Alice was suddenly offended, “I want to restore the princess, and put her abductors behind bars, of course!”

Moxley nodded and smiled brightly. “Good girl! Most people would want to clear their own name. Or reclaim their job. Or avenge their fallen friends. But you are not thinking about yourself at all. Even when your own life is in turmoil, you are focused on helping and protecting others. You are very much your father’s daughter. This is the answer I was looking for.”

“You speak as if you have some sort of plan,” she said suspiciously.

“A plan? No. But I can offer some help.”

“More help would be welcome. Private Archer and I are hardly a match for our foes.”

“I am sorry to say that even Private Archer is of no help to you. He will be returned to regular military duty the next time he reports in.”

“So I’m alone?” Alice asked mournfully.

“I could put in a request to replace the Captain and his men, if I wanted to have a large number of people laugh at me to my face. But I do not think you are alone. If I am reading things correctly, you have at least one ally left. The one of whom we do not speak. The one you omitted from your tale of two nights ago?”

“Yes. I guess that is an ally of sorts,” she said thoughtfully.

“Well here is another ally,” Moxley said as he handed her a purse. “But don’t open it here!” he scolded as she tried to peek inside. “Virtue, strength. Idealists always have these in excess. But they always forget the third thing you need for victory. Then they march off to ruin and defeat.”

“So what is the third thing?” Alice asked with amusement.

“Money, you silly girl!”

Alice weighed the purse in her hand.

Lord Moxley spoke before she could offer gratitude, “The Ministry has never been as thorough about spending all of its funds as it could be, and that purse is the reservoir that has captured the excess. My advice is for you to do whatever you can to save Sophie. Her disappearance is now becoming generally known around Buckingham. Even the daftest of the chambermaids is observant enough to notice a missing princess. Gossip spreads much like a disease, and before long it will spill over to us here at King Charles Street. Once that happens, the story will take to the papers, and the real chaos will begin. If we are very lucky, you will rescue her after this happens. Don’t look at me like that. I’ll be happy with her rescue whenever it takes place, and I know you would not delay it for personal gain. That’s one of the reasons I’m entrusting you with the purse. But our recovery will be much more expedient if we can resolve a public crisis.”

Mr. Brooks,

You asked for guidance on where you might learn more about the language of sorcery, which is commonly called Black Latin. I would urge you to be careful in this line of study. Some parties in the church consider the study of the profane language to be itself an act of witchcraft, even if done purely for academic purposes. I do think this study is important, but I do not wish to send you unaware into danger. We are ever starved for educated allies, and practitioners of witchcraft have benefited greatly over the centuries by having their own, secret language with which they might communicate.

You asked if the book by Friedrich Kappel might be a good starting place. I would say that in your case, it is not. The book is primarily linguistic in nature, and can often become quite dense and tedious. Moreover, the subject of Black Latin occupies only a small part of its pages. This is, I’m sure, the only reason the book has escaped the notice of the church. I have a copy of the book myself, but I turn to it only at great need, when all other resources have failed.