by ‘When you say “soon”, do you mean “before Crystobel Elvyng could conceivably do anything else to impede us”?’ I said.
‘Precisely. If the Elvyngs possess such knowledge yet have not chosen to make it public, we can always employ the defence of ignorance. But not if we engage in the kind of delay that might lead to intentions becoming known, and measures taken to prevent unauthorised explorations or inconvenient discoveries.’
‘The mines don’t belong to them, after all,’ I said. ‘Presumably they are still the property of the Yllanfalen.’
‘Whether they might have an agreement with Aylligranir, or are operating independently and without the queen’s knowledge, might prove an interesting point,’ agreed Milady. ‘But not yet a relevant one.’
‘Speaking of Aylligranir,’ I said. ‘Did they send the moonsilver that they promised?’
‘It arrived,’ said Milady. ‘I am not sure what her majesty intended by it.’
‘Why is that?’
‘In itself, it is insignificant. The sample is only an inch wide, and unworked.’
‘Unworked.’ I drummed my fingers on the arm of my chair, thinking. ‘Unworked. How much moonsilver, or argent, is left in the world, would you think?’
‘All of it, surely,’ said Jay. ‘It cannot be destroyed, that we know of.’
‘Yes — and the examples of it that we’ve seen or heard of have all been finished articles, or in other words, very much worked. How much unworked argent is likely to be left, hundreds of years after all the known mines ran empty?’
‘Not… much,’ said Jay.
‘Exactly. So how does Aylligranir have even a small piece of the raw stuff?’
‘Either they have a stash of the raw metal put by, and have somehow managed to preserve it into the twenty-first century,’ said Jay. ‘Or…’
‘Or they have a source,’ I finished. ‘Like the mines. We gave her majesty a fairly comprehensive account of our purpose in seeking argent, Milady. I thought at the time that she was peculiarly uninterested and unhelpful, but perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps this unworked piece is a hint.’
‘Why a hint?’ said Jay. ‘Why not just say, oh, we happen to have a renewable source of exactly what you’re looking for, why don’t I send you a catalogue?’
I shrugged. ‘Is that what you would have done, in her shoes? Not everyone can be trusted, even those employed by the Society. We could have been anybody, with any motive. A likely story is proof of nothing.’ I thought of Miranda as I spoke, and Ancestria Magicka. Her majesty of Aylligranir probably wasn’t unwise to work around the subject, considering the extraordinary value — and power — of the substance in question.
‘Take the argent with you,’ said Milady, wisely skipping over the question entirely. I swear, one of these days I will drive myself mad with my wacky theories. ‘House, if you would?’
The wall rippled. Something unspeakable oozed out of it and dribbled towards the floor, followed by a nugget of something pale silver and gleaming.
‘I feel like House isn’t a huge fan of summer,’ I murmured.
‘It is maintenance season,’ said Milady. ‘We’ve had builders in all week.’
‘That would suck,’ I agreed. Like a trip to a particularly aggressive beautician: unpleasant as a process, but the results would be worth it. Hopefully.
Val had scooped up the argent, and sat examining it, having cleaned the physical expression of House’s displeasure off it with a tissue. ‘It feels interesting,’ she said, and passed it to me. ‘I never saw it in its raw state before.’
The moment it touched my palm, I yelped, and dropped it. ‘Ouch,’ I hissed, shaking my hand to dislodge the pain. ‘It burns, but like… ice.’ The stuff had left a silvery, moon-coloured burn-mark on my skin, rather attractive if one forgot the pain that came with it. Which I wasn’t.
Val stared at me, and held up her own hands. Both were unmarked. ‘Sparking again, Ves?’
‘I don’t think so…’ I stared balefully at the innocuous lump, lying there on the carpet all innocent-looking. ‘Jay, you carry it.’
‘Thanks,’ he said dryly, but when he bent to pick it up, he emerged unscathed. The argent lay in his palm, meek and harmless.
‘I can’t tell if it passionately loves me or violently hates me,’ I muttered.
Jay looked at me. ‘Like the lyre.’
‘The lyre is something else again.’ I rose from my chair. ‘We’d best get going. It’s getting late.’
‘One thing,’ said Jay, following suit. ‘We had enough trouble getting into Aylligranir before. How are we going to reach Everynden?’
‘This is a problem I would be delighted to solve for you,’ said Milady. ‘Had I the means.’
In other words: good luck.
‘Right,’ said Jay, heading for the door. ‘Back later, then.’ He stopped. ‘Wait. Val, can I raid the maps?’
‘Don’t leave them out of order.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’
‘So,’ I said, shortly afterwards. ‘How do you even do this? Can you only travel to henges you’ve been to, or that you know the location of?’
For some reason, Jay laughed. ‘Sometimes I wish that was true, but no. It’s quite possible to end up in a henge that probably hasn’t been visited in living memory, and is marked on zero maps.’
I raised a brow in his general direction. ‘And you know that how?’
He coughed. ‘Let’s say I’ve had a mishap or two in my time.’
We were down in the cellar, stationed in the centre of House’s private henge, waiting while the Winds of the Ways curled their way up out of nothing. ‘So you… what?’ I prompted. ‘Aim? Cross your fingers and hope for the best?’
‘Something like that. If I know roughly where a henge is stationed, I can shoot for it. Doesn’t always work out as intended.’ His eyes had a faraway look, focused on whatever mysterious, arcane processes went on when Jay took to the Ways. ‘The most recent map Val’s got of Aylligranir is a couple of hundred years old, but henges and towns don’t move about much, so it should be good enough. We’re going back to the same henge we used before, that’ll get us back to the entrance. Then there’s a henge marked inside of Aylligranir, pretty close to Everynden.’
‘Still doesn’t get us past the border,’ I pointed out. Even I knew that Waymastery didn’t work into the Yllanfalen kingdoms. They’d blocked passage from outside henges long ago, whenever it was they decided they’d had about enough of the outside worlds.
‘One problem at a time.’
No time for more, as the Winds reached howling potency and swept us away. I kept my face down, clinging to Jay, as we soared in a rush through a thousand miles — might as well have been — and came down in a cool, moonlit glade somewhere in the Dales.
Back, then, through the hills, a whole new landscape at this hour, scarcely recognisable as the same countryside we had trekked through only a day or two ago. The moon, nearing full, bathed everything in a pale, soothing glamour, and cast stark shadows behind every bush and tree. I breathed the cool air, savouring the balmy night winds, though we were still clammy with perspiration by the time we arrived back at the hillside that divided us from Aylligranir. No sunbathing today, nor moonbathing either. I felt a sense of suppressed urgency, as though time raced against us; if we did not find a way to Everynden now, today, this instant, some window of opportunity would close, some door slam in our faces, and it would all be over.
‘Now what?’ I said, pacing through the bone-dry grass. I eyed the darkened slope balefully, as though it had personally arrayed itself in our way.
‘So,’ said Jay, and to my puzzlement he sat down in the grass, cross-legged, and facing the emphatically closed door into Aylligranir. ‘I told you my mother petitioned the Yllanfalen on my behalf, right?’
Giddy gods. For weeks I’d wished for storytime-with-Jay, to little avail, and now he wanted to get chatty? ‘Yes,’ I said dubiously. ‘I recall.’
‘Some of the kingdoms granted an audience, even if they didn’t grant her request. And one time, she told me an interesting story.’
‘The queen?’
‘My mother. While she was there, she saw someone appear, apparently out of thin air, upon a wave of faerie music. Nobody would tell her how it was done. She thought the Yllanfalen had developed a way of transportation via music itself, but I think it might have been a bit different from that.’
‘I hate to rush you, but could we skip to the relevant bit?’
‘This is the relevant bit. I think that person was a Waymaster, using a sunk henge my mother couldn’t see.’
‘Uh huh. And the music?’
‘Exactly. Was the music incidental, or was it an intrinsic part of the process?’
‘Still not really seeing your point.’
‘The henges inside the Yllanfalen kingdoms are only blocked to outsiders. Right? They have to be functional for the kingdom’s own citizens, supposing they have Waymasters left to use them. So how is that accomplished? What twist of magick is required by Yllanfalen Waymasters to use those henges?’
‘Musical?’ I said, light dawning.
‘Probably? Virtually everything they do involves music in some form or another. So, if we can find a way to blend Waymastery magick with Yllanfalen music-magick, maybe we can jump from here to the henge near Everynden.’
I released the hillside from my baleful scrutiny, and turned it upon Jay instead. ‘And you didn’t mention this two days ago because of why?’ We’d spent hours failing to get in, and Jay had left me to figure out a way inside. While he napped.
‘Did you know there’s a book about the ethics and legalities of Waymastery? It’s this thick.’ Jay made a space about three inches wide with his fingers. ‘One does not force one’s way into blocked henges, especially if they’re inside closed fae enclaves. It isn’t a thing to be done lightly.’
‘So why now, Mr. Play-by-the-rules?’
‘Well,’ said Jay. ‘If Milady thinks this is worth a gamble, so do I.’
‘I’ll get you your Team Rulebreaker cap and badge tomorrow,’ I promised.
‘And I shall wear them proudly, at least for the thirty seconds or so before the Ministry shows up to arrest me.’ He rose from his seat upon the grass, and advanced upon me. Considering enough of him was in shadow that I couldn’t see his face, I found this somewhat intimidating.
I stepped back. ‘So, um, what’s my role in this delightfully crazy venture? You’re the Waymaster, and the Yllanfalen musical talent.’
‘And you’re the one with the third ingredient that seems to be important in this context, that being moonsilver.’
‘You’ve got the moonsilver. Or, I hope you do.’
Jay opened his palm. The nugget of raw argent glimmered there, like a bubble of moonlight. ‘I meant your pipes.’
‘Those are skysilver pipes, thank you. Can we please get our fanciful fae terminology right?’
‘Whatever. Most of the Yllanfalen we met in your mother’s kingdom had a set of pipes, whether moonsilver or not. Coincidence? And you’ve got a headful of Yllanfalen pop songs, to boot.’
‘So you want me to play while you…’ I waved a hand vaguely. ‘Do whirly things?’
‘Please.’ He was still advancing.
I stepped back again. ‘Jay, what are you doing.’
‘I can’t spirit you away out of thin air.’
‘I thought that was exactly what you were going to do.’
‘I do need to hang onto you. And since your hands are going to be busy, I guess you get a hug.’
‘Oh.’ I stopped retreating. ‘Um, okay…’ I tried not to feel weird as Jay’s arm slid around my waist, and took a firm grip of my hip. In fairness, his thoughts were obviously far from the facts of physical me, for he was already calling up his whirly magicks; arcane winds stirred my hair.
I took out my pipes, and hesitated. What exactly was I meant to do? I wasn’t a musical magician, not like the Yllanfalen. Or Jay. Any potency my modest musical efforts possessed came from the pipes, not from me. Surely that couldn’t be enough, or any one of the incredibly few Waymasters left in Britain who happened to be in possession of a priceless set of ancient skysilver pipes could pop in and out whenever they liked…
Well, okay. This almost unthinkably rare confluence of circumstances did not constitute a grave security problem, now did it? No such person existed. Just me and Jay, Team Improbable.
I played. Not the lullaby. Was it one o’clock still, or two? Three? Fatigue plagued me but little yet, probably the effects of excitement and adrenalin. I felt it, though, weighing upon my limbs, slowing my thoughts. It wouldn’t take much to convince my brain — and Jay’s — that now would be a great time to fall asleep for eight hours or so. I skipped over the sprite-song, too, not wanting to attract Flow’s notice at this time.
‘Jay,’ I said, breaking off playing. ‘We’re breaking and entering!’
‘Keep playing,’ he muttered.
I played a bit more. ‘What, this isn’t the jail-worthy kind so it’s okay?’
‘Something like that. Keep playing.’
Something was happening. Winds swirled, ice-cold and smelling, incongruously, of wet earth. My feet came off the floor, and suddenly I was grateful for Jay’s grip on me, for I felt untethered otherwise, like I might have flown away into the ether, never to be seen again.
‘Nearly—’ Jay gasped.
A bell tolled somewhere, a mournful sound that sent a chill down my half-frozen spine.
Then the half-frozen feeling spread to my feet, for suddenly I was up to my ankles in sodden mud, and the shadowed hillside was gone.
‘I think,’ said Jay, looking down at his own begrimed feet. ‘I think we did it.’
I looked around, to no real effect. Tree-cover loomed over our heads, too night-darkened to determine details, and too thick to permit much more than an occasional beam of moonlight to filter down. I discerned the vague outline of a craggy block of stone somewhere near my left knee; a section of a henge?
‘And that,’ said Jay, releasing me and taking an experimental step, ‘has to be absolutely the only time we ever do that.’
I snorted. ‘Uh huh.’
‘I’m serious. What we just did was not okay. We broke one fixed magickal law and contravened a slew of ethical agreements.’
I patted his shoulder. ‘Milady won’t let us go to prison.’
‘I think you rely a bit too much on Milady’s influence.’
‘It’s been working for me for ten years. Right, which way?’
‘How should I know?’ said Jay.
Oh, boy.
