by And there he was, in all his gorgeous glory. He had chosen a red leather duster coat that day, worn with dark combat trousers, boots to match, and an ivory shirt. No hat; instead, his golden-bronze locks had been brushed into an attractively wind-swept arrangement, and a jewelled pin winked at this throat.
I was suddenly wide awake.
‘Hello, the Baron,’ I said lightly, wishing I had taken a minute or two longer over my hair before I’d come downstairs. It probably resembled a hedge more nearly than I would like.
The Baron, though, did not seem displeased, for he looked me over with a twinkle and a smile, and made me a bow. ‘It is early. I apologise.’
‘The pot would like to offer you some tea,’ I observed, for the delicate glass teapot I favoured was bobbing lightly up and down, its spout emitting enthusiastic puffs of steam.
‘Thank you, pot. I shall be delighted.’ He took a seat, and his cup shortly after, and sat looking thoughtfully at me. ‘How are you getting along with the matter of the Enclaves?’ he said.
I sat up a little more. ‘Well, I have a theory, though it has some holes in it. But maybe you can help fill them in.’
He smiled faintly. ‘Perhaps I might.’
‘I think there is some kind of wasting sickness. They eat and eat and still starve; clearly they are ill. But there has to be more to it than that, because there are too many questions. It seems to be affecting only trolls, but why only a few of the Enclaves? And there is no discernible link between those communities that are sick. They are situated far apart from one another, so how is the disease spreading? And they aren’t just starving, they are… it’s almost like their minds are starving, too. They have no energy for anything but eating, and barely that. They don’t speak; it’s as if they have forgotten how to form words, or simply lack the energy or the will to make the effort.’
‘All good points.’
‘And they are eating magickal creatures, almost exclusively. Why? That suggests it is about something more than mere physical sustenance. Any kind of food would suffice there, but they are going for meat, and the meat of magickal beasts in particular. What’s that about?’
Alban’s green, green eyes twinkled with amusement. ‘So many questions. You have some theories to advance, too?’
‘Of course I do. But I did not share them with Milady, yet, for I have no evidence.’
‘Let’s hear them.’
‘Right.’ I set down my empty tea cup. ‘The disease spreads, but if it were contagious in any conventional way, surely we would be seeing either a wider problem — or a more confined one. Some of the affected Enclaves have been at least partially Reclusive for years, with little or no traffic going in or out of their towns. How did they catch it? And since they did, why hasn’t it spread farther? I don’t think it is a contagion.
‘Meanwhile, their desperate need to eat, eat and eat is telling, but the fact that they are starving anyway tells me that whatever they are feeding, it isn’t themselves. I think there is some kind of infecting body — a parasite, if you will. And it is taking so much from each host that it’s killing them. But it does not need meat to survive.
‘We know that many magickal beings feed as much off magickal energies as from more conventional foods. Trolls are an example. You need meat, grain, vegetables to survive, but you need a replenishing diet of magickal energies in order to flourish. This is why Troll Enclaves tend to be located inside Dells; those structures as a whole are built around sources of strong magickal energy. It’s perfect. At a place like Glenfinnan, you eat, sleep and breathe magick, literally.
‘These parasites, then. I think they feed off magickal energy. If we go back to Glenfinnan, say, track down what is, or more probably was, their source of magick, I imagine we will find it drained. And that is what happened to its citizens, too. Whatever parasite they were carrying sucked them dry.’
Alban just watched me, his face unreadable, and I began to feel a flicker of doubt. The idea made sense to me, but he did not seem to be impressed. ‘Is all of this based purely upon logic and deduction?’ he asked.
‘Is that not good enough?’
To my relief, he grinned. ‘I suspect your theory of such a high level of accuracy, I wondered if you had access to some secret source of information after all.’
‘Some secret source of information I ought not to be going anywhere near?’ I tried to look coy, as though I might have just such a source.
‘Exactly.’ The grin faded and a frown appeared, the unsettling kind.
So much for making of myself a woman of mystery. ‘Alas, no,’ I sighed. ‘You do, of course, but the likes of a Vesper can only dream.’
The grin flashed again, wry this time. ‘You are occasionally talked of in my circles, you know. Your track record is impressive — so much so, I think there are those who suspect you of harbouring secret resources. But I begin to think it is merely an astuteness of mind that’s hard to hide from.’
‘So you do have a secret library!’
He laughed. ‘Point ably proven.’
‘May I see it?’
‘Of course not.’
Curses. ‘So why are you visiting me this morning?’
‘Take a guess.’
‘There is something you want me to do.’
‘You and your partner, yes. Jay, was it?’
‘It is.’
Baron Alban paused, and looked around. The common room was mostly empty at that hour of the morning, but not quite: Miranda sat wearily nursing a coffee on the other side of the room, and another chair was occupied by somebody from the Restoration department whose name I could never remember. ‘Is there somewhere more private we can talk?’
‘It’s never promising, when they say that in films.’
His lips twitched. ‘I have nothing nefarious in mind, I assure you.’
‘I don’t object to a little villainy, mind. I only draw the line at a lot.’
This he acknowledged with a gracious salute, and stood up. ‘The matter is somewhat urgent.’
‘Ohh.’ How interesting. I led him out of the common room at once, down to the ground floor and around to the south side. One of my favourite retreats is the expansive conservatory that occupies about half of the south wall. It belongs to the Botany department, and they do a fine job of keeping it filled with all the most interesting magickal herbs and plants, many of which bloom gloriously and smell delicious. I cannot understand why it isn’t constantly swarming with people, but I seem to be one of very few who visit if they don’t have to.
As I’d hoped, we arrived to find damp stone floors and the scent of wet earth in the air: the watering had already been done for the morning, and we could expect to have a quiet corner of the greenhouse to ourselves for a few minutes. I chose a sunny nook beneath an arching trellis heavy with something blue-blossoming and fragrant, and adopted a posture of intent interest.
The baron was uncharacteristically hesitant. He looked at the flowers, and at me, and at the clear glass ceiling, and appeared to be struggling to discover what to say.
‘I need your help,’ he finally ventured.
‘So you said.’
‘On an errand of a… slightly questionable nature.’
‘I was getting that feeling, too.’
His eyes smiled at me. ‘There is somewhere I urgently need to get into. It relates to the Enclaves, you see, so it is an emergency. But the place in question is locked. Extremely locked. And there are one or two other obstacles…’ He trailed off.
‘If Jay told you I have a taste for breaking and entering, he is quite wrong, and I deny all charges,’ I said serenely.
Alban lifted a brow in my general direction. ‘He’s said nothing of the kind, in fact. Do you indeed?’
‘As I said, all charges denied.’
‘That might not be a bad thing, at all.’
‘I grow ever more intrigued.’
Alban sighed. ‘Right, the fact is… there are three keys to the place in question. I have secured two of them, at some risk and cost to myself, but they are useless if I can’t get all three.’
Uh huh. ‘Where is the third one?’
He smiled at me, hope and mischief and sheepishness mixed up into one rather adorable, hard-to-resist package. ‘It’s, um. It’s here.’
‘Let me guess: you absolutely are not supposed to have it.’
‘Let’s just say Milady refused.’
It was my turn to raise a questioning brow.
‘She threatened to throw me off the tower top,’ he admitted.
‘Just how locked is this place?’
‘Extremely, thoroughly, completely and forever locked.’
‘I might guess that it is dangerous.’
‘Probably. Maybe. Who knows, anymore?’
I folded my arms. ‘So. Milady held the prospect of your swift and inescapable death over your head if you pursue this venture and you still want to find the key?’
‘No.’ His smile broadened, turned achingly hopeful. ‘I want you to find the key.’
‘That is spectacularly unflattering.’
‘Depends how you look at it.’ He leaned closer to me, so close that I could smell the fresh, cologne scent of him. ‘Do I consider you expendable? In no way whatsoever. Do I think you are a match for Milady? Why, yes. I absolutely do.’
My eyes narrowed. ‘You cannot flirt me into it, Lord Baron.’
That smile turned wickedly mischievous, and the twinkle reappeared in his eyes. ‘Can’t I?’
Damn him, he was far too good.
Though, he did not know me perfectly if he thought he needed to flirt me into it. I would have done it just for the sake of curiosity alone. A super-locked, mysterious somewhere, filled to the brim with who-knew-what manner of juicy secrets? Yes please. You can sign me up for that, zero questions asked.
‘What is it that you needed Jay for? I possibly don’t need to tell you that he will be firmly opposed to this proposition.’
‘Quite,’ agreed the baron. ‘We do not need to tell him about this particular part of it, perhaps, if you think he will disapprove. I will need his Waymastery skills later on, once we have secured the final key.’
‘One last question, then.’
He made a show of bracing himself. ‘Let’s hear it.’
‘What, or where, are you trying to get into?’
‘I can’t tell you that.’
‘No good! Try again.’
‘Vesper. I can’t tell you that.’
‘Right. And you were planning to waltz off there with Jay and leave me languishing at Home alone, I suppose?’
He did not answer that in words, but his face told me everything I needed to know.
‘You’ll tell me, and you’ll take me with you.’
‘I can’t.’
‘No deal.’
‘Ves… you don’t understand.’
‘And I never will, if you keep me in the dark.’
He sighed, ran a hand over his hair — unwise, for those wavy locks were so perfectly ordered before, and what a shame — and eyed me with strong disfavour. ‘I could find someone else to get hold of the key.’
‘If there is a better choice, why are you talking to me?’
‘Fine.’ He made a don’t-blame-me-when-you’re-dead gesture and said, with strong reluctance: ‘Where we are going, if you really want to know—’
‘I do.’
‘—Is… is Farringale.’
