Jack of Ravens(125)

There were other mysteries: what part was Spring-heeled Jack playing? What had happened to Jerzy? And what was the significance of Helena Blavatsky’s cryptic words?

Church was so lost to his thoughts that he did not notice a carriage pass the edge of the park. In the back seat sat a thirteen-year-old girl called Annie, desperate and apprehensive at what the future might hold, but also hopeful. She had bought herself a fresh start in a new life with a guinea that had been delivered to her, one single moment of grace and charity that had changed her entire existence.





Chapter Eight





SATYR DAY AND SUN DAY





1



Church stood at the window and looked out over the Court of the Soaring Spirit. When he had first arrived it had been a grim, labyrinthine prison of the mind and soul. Now it was a source of transcendental magic with lanterns gleaming in every window and torches ablaze in the streets and public places. Music rang out from the inns and drifting fragrances were caught on the breeze. The Far Lands altered continually, like life, like emotions. You could never see the same view from a window twice.

He tried to recall Ruth – not her face, which was as clear as ever, but the subtleties that were the foundation of any relationship: the looks, the touches, the shared words, the fleeting moments in between the big occasions. They were all lost. Even his trips to the Wish-Post didn’t help, for they only reminded him of the threat and what was missing, not the heart. He feared he was losing her.

He gently hummed ‘In the Wee Small Hours’, taking refuge in the familiar: old songs, old friends, old times. The past had always offered him great comfort, but now he couldn’t shake his troubled sense of foreboding. What had happened in London was so bizarre it betrayed any kind of understanding. The mysterious disappearance of Jerzy, the equally mysterious appearance of Helena Blavatsky telling him about Gnostic thought, the apparently coincidental arrival of the Seelie Court and the involvement of Spring-heeled Jack – Church was convinced they were linked in some way, but the connections eluded him. Patterns were forming all around him, then disappearing from view just as quickly. He felt as though he was being poked and prodded in a certain direction without any real understanding of why. The sensation was both creepy and infuriating.

At least his wounds had healed reasonably well. He was angry that he had not been able to prevent Veitch from escaping, but he had started to believe that nothing would be resolved until one of them was dead.

‘They’re ready.’ Tom leaned against the wall, casually rolling himself a smoke with some of the herbs he bought from one of the shadowy stores in the Gothic quarter.

Church reluctantly left the window and turned his mind to the struggle that lay ahead. As he passed Tom, he paused. ‘What Veitch said—’

‘Forget it. He’s a liar and a murderer. You don’t want to start believing the words of scum like that.’

In the moment of silence that passed between them, the lie in Tom’s words was evident and he looked away, inhaling a deep draught of the aromatic smoke.

‘All right,’ Church said. ‘I’m glad you were with me in the Crystal Palace and … I’m glad you’re still around.’

Tom nodded. ‘Don’t let them push you about. You’re the king, remember.’

‘I don’t feel like it.’

‘Does any king?’

Church entered the vast Hall of Whispers, where every sound was magnified into a susurration of invisible beings, travelling back and forth until they slowly faded. In the centre was an ancient, huge oak table, and all around, some sitting, some standing, were representatives of Niamh and Lugh’s courts. Church surveyed the faces, his perception swimming when his eyes fell on creatures he had never seen before until his disoriented mind settled on an image it found acceptable. Many were unfamiliar to him, but some echoed descriptions of gods from Celtic mythology. Math, the sorcerer with the four-faced mask, was there, as was Ceridwen, a nature goddess with flowing black hair and a sensitive face.

All eyes turned to him as he entered. Niamh rose from her chair at the head of the table and said, ‘The Brother of Dragons has arrived. Let the council begin.’

‘Do we recognise the authority of this Fragile Creature?’ Math said gruffly from behind a bear mask.

Lugh stood and said, ‘I recognise his authority, as does my sister, and so our two courts shall also recognise him.’

Math nodded but did not appear to concede the point. Church could see in some of the other faces the contempt in which Fragile Creatures were held; it would be a hard fight to overcome that prejudice.

‘We are gathered here to discuss the information we have collected,’ Niamh announced, ‘and to discuss our response to the Army of the Ten Billion Spiders.’