London/Yorkshire
November 1887
Business in London had brought me back to England from France in the late Summer of 1887, and seeing as Andrew was the Duke of Worcester at that time, while I was merely his bastard heir from Scotland and latterly the Continent, I had been living at the townhouse for the duration of my visit. While there, I had made myself available to Scotland Yard, should they need my services as an investigative and forensic mage, to alleviate the boredom of the run of the mill errands I was having to get done during my visit.
All Hallows Eve had been one of those tiring days when I did not stop, and yet somehow failed to get anything done. A frustrating day all around. I had dined at the Dorchester Club, and then turned in comparatively early, and as things turned out, it was probably a fortunate chance that I did.
The hammering on the door dragged me out of my slumbers about five-thirty the following morning. Somewhat sleepy, I threw on a robe and headed downstairs, pretty sure that Thomson would not be woken by the noise, given that his rooms were towards the top of the house. Once in the hall, I crossed to the front door and opened it cautiously, a defensive spell prepped just in case, wondering who was up and about in such a panic at that hour.
On the doorstep, I was somewhat surprised to come face to face with Inspector Banks, one of the detectives I had worked with over the years. On the street behind him, lit by the gas lights and the bright, full moon, I could see a hansom cab waiting, its horse stamping in the frosty air.
"I assume there's a good reason for this?" I asked, a little annoyed at having been awakened at that hour.
"I am very sorry to trouble you, my lord..." Even unofficial noble blood elicited some degree of respect. "...but there has been some unpleasantness across the way in Hyde Park, and we were hoping you might be agreeable to offering us your assistance."
Feeling the cold from the night air, I opened the door and gestured for him to come inside, then we headed for the drawing room to sit.
"Would you like to be a little more specific?"
"A body, sir," he answered.
I looked at him, waiting for him to continue.
"The man was found in a state of undress by the side of the Serpentine about half an hour to forty minutes ago, and the constable who found him said something about the whole thing felt wrong. As if there is something dark involved."
"Which constable?"
"Jack Johnson," came the answer. The name was familiar to me as being one of the more interesting members of the Force. He had a trace of the Talent - not enough to be trained, but enough for him to get occasional hunches that were often borne out. While currently still young, he was likely to get promoted rapidly as he got older.
"Some kind of black ritual?" I asked, mentally taking note of the date and the full moon.
"We were rather hoping you might be able to tell us that."
"Wait here."
I headed upstairs and dressed quickly, before rejoining Banks. "Shall we go?"
"Thank you, sir," he answered. I grabbed a warm cloak, hat and gloves from the cloakroom, put them on, and then we headed outside. I paused only to lock the door behind me as we went.
While it wasn't very far to our destination, the night was cold enough that the walk would have been unpleasant. Therefore, we crossed to the waiting cab and climbed in, and the driver whipped up the horses and we set off. We drove down Park Lane toward Hyde Park corner, then cut across to the gates leading to the Serpentine Road, and proceeded up the road. The driver eventually called a halt near the bridge over the lake, and Banks indicated for us to disembark.
Down beside the bridge I could see a group of about half a dozen men with lanterns, standing around what was obviously the body. Off to one side was a solitary figure, tall and thin, with a hawk-like profile, observing proceedings with interest. He seemed half familiar, but I couldn't immediately place him
As Banks and I headed for the group, one of the men detached himself from them and came towards us.
"My lord, thank you for coming," he said as he approached, and I recognised Inspector Young.
"Inspector Banks led me to believe that this could be serious."
"It looks as if it could be," came the reply, "but we were hoping you might be able to confirm it. Come, let me show you."
The body was lying just beside the bridge, and the clutch of police officers stepped back as I approached. Among them I recognised PC Johnson, a dark haired man in his very early twenties, and nodded to him as I got close.
"When did you find him?" I asked.
"At around four fifty, my lord," came the answer, "I was heading home, having gone off duty at four thirty, and decided to cut through the park. The moon was bright enough that as I approached the bridge I saw him lying here."
"Is this your normal route?"
"No, my lord. But the night was so clear, and the moon so full, that it seemed like a good idea at the time."
I smiled. "In a way it was, if not for the reasons you originally thought. It means that any traces I can pick up will be fresher than they would be three hours down the road."
I dropped to one knee beside the victim, to try and get a decent look at him. He was lying face down, and had been stripped completely naked by his murderers. I could see that he had been fit and healthy in life, from the tone of his muscles, etc. His hair was short, and probably a dirty blond colour, although it was hard to tell for sure in the light of the lanterns. On touching the body and trying to get some idea of time of death, I reckoned he had met his end between four and six hours before, although the coldness of the night had chilled the body and affected the onset of rigor mortis too much to get a better guess than that on first impressions.
I rolled him partly over, and quickly saw the deep cut across his jugular...and yet looking at the ground around him there was no sign of blood, which strongly indicated he had died elsewhere and had been dumped under the bridge later. I took a glance at his face, and could see that he had been a young man, probably in his early twenties, with features that looked vaguely Continental. Maybe of Scandinavian or Germanic descent. His eyes were still open, and appeared to be light in colour, probably either a pale grey or blue. I reached out the thumb and forefinger of my left hand towards them, and gently closed them.
"Well, he wasn't killed here," I commented as I stood up.
"I had a bad feeling that you were going to say that," Banks answered, "any idea how he got here?"
"Hopefully, I should have some idea shortly."
I concentrated for a moment, bringing my magical senses to bear. However, as I focused them in, I suddenly found it hard to breathe. There was an aura of evil about the body that was almost palpable, although whether from the victim himself, or from some other cause I could not immediately guess.
"My lord, are you alright?" Young asked, concern in his tone.
"I will be. Give me a minute," I answered, ".
I took a number of deep breaths, to centre, and then tried to penetrate the shield of darkness around him. It took some very fine work, but eventually I could get enough from the body to know that he had been killed elsewhere and teleported to this spot...within the last hour judging from the strength of the residual magic. I did not recognise the signature of the mage who had cast the spell, but mentally made note of it for the future. Then I tried to tune in further, to get images of the man's death, but all I could see was veiled, shadowy figures around this man on some kind of table or altar, and a knife with a long, black, leaf shaped blade. I could feel fear and horror in the residual images, enough to get the impression that the unfortunate man on the ground by my feet had not been a voluntary part of what had happened to him.
I dropped my magical senses, and when I came back to myself I realised that I was shaking slightly.
"Sir, you look pale. Is everything alright?" asked Young, concerned.
I shook my head to clear it and looked at him, pulling my cloak further around me to shield me from a cold that wasn't wholly from the frosty night, and I found that in the back of my mind I could sense a rising feeling of ill-ease. There was something about this particular case...
"This is bad," I answered, quietly, "we are looking at the victim of a ritual killing. Unfortunately, his murderers were too well shielded for me to get a clear picture of them."
Banks's expression was grim. "I don't recall hearing of such a case for two or three years."
"December 21st 1885, to be exact," came an unfamiliar voice, and I saw the hawk-nosed man I had seen earlier approach us. I looked at the new arrival, a little surprised at the precision of his knowledge.
"And you are, sir?" I asked, curious.
In answer, the man looked at me, his expression almost offended that I had to ask his identity. Whoever he was, he had an overdeveloped sense of his own importance.
"This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes," Young answered, surprised, "of Baker Street."
The name was vaguely familiar to me. A consulting detective of some kind, rumoured to have some strange variant of the Talent - or at least those people who had mentioned the name to me seemed to attribute some kind of magic to him. However, I had not had reason to cross paths with him before, given my recent absence from England.
"Mr. Holmes, may I introduce..."
"Robert du Harcouët," Holmes interrupted, "mage, scholar, most recently residing in Paris. Reputed to be the only living offspring of Andrew de Lacy, Duke of Worcester."
I looked him up and down as he spoke, unsure whether to be angry or impressed. At the back of my mind, though, I had a nagging feeling that the fact that he had said "reputed" was significant. I wondered if, and how, he could have known otherwise, realising that if he did, he could be very dangerous to Andrew and myself.
"You have me at a disadvantage, sir," I said, finally, my tone neutral.
"I make a study of criminal matters," came the answer, "and also like to keep myself informed about those involved in criminal investigations in a number of countries. The monograph you published last year on the magical methods of matching fibres was quite illuminating."
I paused a moment, trying to decide how to respond to the comment, but then shrugged. "I understand that a number of investigative mages have found it useful."
He just nodded, then turned his attention to Banks and Young.
"I have seen what I needed to see. I will keep you informed about the process of my enquiries."
And without waiting for confirmation, he strode off at a brisk pace up the West Carriage Drive, towards the north. I watched him for a short while, then looked back at the two inspectors.
"Might I ask Mr. Holmes's involvement in this matter?"
"Chief Inspector Morris has left standing instructions that in unusual cases, Mr. Holmes should be contacted," Young explained, "he has had some success in discovering information that has led to the apprehension of a number of suspects in a number of crimes. For an amateur detective, he is quite good."
"Forgive my curiosity, but I am surprised that he could have reached here from Baker Street in less time than it takes to travel from Park Lane."
Banks looked puzzled for a moment, glanced at Young, and then shrugged. "He has a habit of turning up," he answered, finally. Then he looked down at the body. "Can we move that poor man yet?"
"A few more minutes for me to familiarise myself with the area immediately around the body, then yes. However, I suggest that a priest is called to minister to him at the first possible opportunity. Given that he was the victim of a black ritual it may be too late. However, if we were not to try at least try to free him of any spiritual restraints the manner of his passing has placed upon him, then we would be failing him. I suggest Reverend Giles Hanrahan, of the Church of Saint Martin in the Fields. He has some experience in these matters."
"I'll send a messenger to him," came Young's answer, and he crossed to talk to one of the group of policemen still standing around staring, who had now been joined by two men from the police mortuary.
I spent a few minutes trying to get any impressions, either physical or psychic from the area around the body, but my work was hindered by the black aura still surrounding the corpse. From the little I could find, it seemed as if the person who had dumped the body at this location had been male, probably in his late twenties, fairly solidly built and a little taller than myself. Anything more specific, however, was obscured from my sight - he was either warding himself, or the interference from the after effects of the ceremony on the body was too strong. Trying to make much more sense of it would take some time.
Finally, I was satisfied that I had got everything I was going to get at this point in time. I looked at the men from the mortuary and nodded, then stepped away from the body. Quickly they had wrapped the poor unfortunate, and carried him over to their waiting wagon.
"There is nothing more that can be done here and now," I said to the inspectors.
"Will you be informing the Council?" Young asked.
"I will do so later this morning," I replied, "and in the meantime, I trust that you will keep me informed of any progress made either by yourselves or Mr. Holmes, and will co-ordinate with the MID."
"Yes, my lord," Banks confirmed, then added, "can I drive you back to your lodgings?" Banks asked.
"No. I'll make my own way. I shall talk to you later in the day."
With that, I took the few steps back up onto the road, and then concentrated for a moment and triggered the teleport that would take me back to the townhouse. Once I was home, I looked at the grandfather clock. Six thirty. Given that it would be impossible to contact most of the Council before nine, I decided to catch a couple of extra hours sleep, so that I could pursue the matter with a clearer head later. That decided, I headed back upstairs, shedding my cloak, gloves and hat on the newel post.
I woke once more at about half eight, feeling slightly less frozen and rather more refreshed, although I still had a nagging feeling at the back of my mind that there was something to this case that might touch me personally. I informed Thomson that I would be wanting breakfast shortly, then bathed and dressed before heading downstairs to a welcoming plate of bacon and eggs, a jug of black coffee, and a neatly folded copy of The Times.
"Will there be anything else, sir?" my valet asked as he poured the strong, black liquid into my cup.
"I will be out most of the morning, and am not sure if I'll be back for lunch. I will let you know when my plans are clearer."
"Very good, sir," he said, with a slight nod, then added "I assume you have heard about the unpleasantness in the park last night?"
"Yes. I was involved in the initial investigation. Looks like a bad business."
"Do you think they'll be able to catch the men who did it?" he asked, a trifle concerned.
"Between the resident mages at Scotland Yard, and the Council, I very much hope so."
He looked a little relieved as he put down the coffee pot, and then he headed out of the door and I heard his footsteps receding towards the kitchen. I took a sip of my coffee, then opened the paper. The body had been found too late to make the front pages, although there was a small reference to it in the stop press on the back. At least it meant that when I contacted the others I would be able to give them an unbiased briefing, and not have their initial reactions coloured by the usual sensationalism that accompanies a murder.
I ate my breakfast and drank my coffee, then got to my feet. Contacting Andrew first would mean that we could split the business of summoning the others, so that seemed like the best initial plan. I went out into the hall, retrieved my cloak once more, and then stepped out of the house, before triggering a teleport to Millbank.
I arrived in the carriage porch outside the main entrance, walked up the steps and rang the bell. Barnes opened the door and immediately recognised me.
"Is His Grace at home this morning?" I asked.
"I believe he is in the paddock beside the stables, sir, exercising the new horses he purchased last week," came the reply.
"I'll go and find him. Thank you."
I made my way around the house to the stable block, and actually bumped into Andrew in the yard.
"Robert," he said as he saw me, obviously surprised to see me, "business or pleasure?"
"Business I'm afraid," I answered, "I was hoping you would give me a hand in calling a Council meeting."
"For when?"
"As soon as possible. It looks like a new black lodge might be rearing its ugly head."
"Great," he muttered, "any idea who and where?"
"Not yet. I was hoping that some of the others might have some ideas, though."
"I'll see what I can do. Who do you want me to get in touch with, and where do we meet?"
"I was wondering about King's Cambridge. Unless you want to host here at Millbank. This time around, I'm too junior to offer the townhouse."
"I'll see what people think. Do you have a crystal with you, so I can let you know?"
"As always," I answered, with a slight smile, "I'll deal with the London and South East crew, and I'll also contact Francesco. Do you want to take the others?"
He shrugged. "Could do. Say set the meeting for eleven..."
"Sounds good."
"I'll talk to you later, then," he said, and headed into the house. I briefly watched him go, then triggered a 'port back to my own residence.
I headed into the library, took the comms crystal out of my pocket, and on the off chance concentrated on it to see if Francesco was listening, but there was no reply. My best bet was probably going to be to go and visit him in Provence. I headed outside once more, then visualised the house where he was staying there in my head, and cast the teleport that would get me there. I found myself outside the gates to the house, in watery sunshine, pushed them open and headed down the drive.
It was obviously a day for my friends to exercise horses. As I approached the house, I could see Francesco in the paddock, standing beside a silver grey mare. He noticed me almost immediately, and came over, after removing the bridle from the grey.
"I thought you were trying to call me," he commented, in his slightly accented English, "but I was unable to answer at the time. Good morning, Robert."
"Francesco," I replied, smiling and offering my hand. He took it with controlled grace, before releasing it.
"What brings you all this distance?"
"Trouble, I'm afraid," I answered.
He gave a slight smile. "I should have realised," he said, his tone rueful, "it is far too long since our paths crossed except on business."
"My fault, I'm afraid," I replied, "I'll do my best to fix it, and soon."
"Good," came his reply, as he swung himself neatly over the fence to join me, "shall we..." And he gestured towards the house.
We walked down the remainder of the drive in companionable silence, and then entered the side door of the house and headed for the library. Once there, he poured me a drink, and then indicated for me to sit.
"What has happened?" he asked, once I was comfortable.
"A black lodge," I replied, and filled him in on the details, much as I had Andrew a short while before. As I spoke, his expression became more serious.
"Do you have any ideas?" I asked, finally.
"This reminds me of something I heard of last time I was in Germany," he replied, "there are rumours of black lodges linked to some of the more nationalist secret societies, although nothing is ever confirmed, of course."
"Then why would they be operating in England?"
"As I understand it, you have no guarantee that they are," came his answer, "just that they left the body in London. You reached here easily enough, and while your talents are, in their way, as unusual as my own, it is not impossible for a mortal to travel that distance."
"No," I had to concede, "however, it seems like a lot of effort."
"There is rarely a limit to how much effort a fanatic will take to ensure the success of his venture," Francesco replied, and on his face I briefly saw a trace of old, old pain.
"Probably the best thing to do is leave such speculations until the Council meeting...we should at least check our jurisdiction, to make sure there is no sign of such a working, before spreading our net further afield."
"Oh, I agree," he answered, "however, it seemed fair to raise the possibility. I have been mistaken before."
"Will you return with me to London, and attend the Council?"
"Of course," he replied, with a slight smile, "when do you wish to return?"
"Soon. There are still a number of people I need to contact."
"Then we had better depart," came his answer, and he got to his feet, "let me inform Roger that I will may be away over the next few days. I will meet you by the front door shortly."
With that, he left the room in search of his manservant. I finished my drink, and then stood and went out to the drive. He rejoined me a short while later, a travelling cloak over his arm. I concentrated briefly, and then teleported us back to the townhouse on Deanery Street. We went inside, and I was about to start making some more calls, when the crystal I was carrying became active.
"Robert," came Andrew's voice, "Millbank is fine. I'll see you at eleven?"
"Yes."
I relayed the information to Francesco, and together we started contacting the other members of the Council.
The Magical Oversight Council, as you may or may not know, is the body which oversees the activities of all licensed mages within England and France: punishing any who turn bad, investigating any possible instances of black magic being used in the two countries, and possibly most importantly, making sure that no mage does anything to upset the delicate balance between the Talented and the non-Talented.
It was originally set up by Andrew, myself and a few like-minded fellow mages in 1795, the motivation behind it not unrelated to our own experiences in Paris the year before, and a spate of black magic killings in Britain over the preceding few years. Originally, it only claimed jurisdiction in England, although later, after the last fires of the Revolution in France had been extinguished, and Napoleon had been defeated, the leading French mages of the day were asked if they wished to join the enterprise, and agreed wholeheartedly. Similar councils were set up elsewhere on Terra Magica over the next few years, although the Anglo-French one was the model they followed.
Since 1817, it has comprised thirteen people. These include the Chancellors of King's London, King's Cambridge and the Sorbonne in Paris; the Duke of Worcester, who chairs the Council, and his heir; the incumbent Earl of Richmond, that family having inherited the Talent from the wife of Simon Blake, with whom I had been a willing co-conspirator after May 1794; and Francesco Ragoczy, mainly due to his long experience - admittedly just how long is not common knowledge, although he certainly has nothing to fear from his fellow Councillors. Then, in addition to those permanent places, two other mages are chosen from among the leading practitioners of the time in England, one from Scotland, and three from France. Within the Council, each member keeps an eye on a certain area, for example the Earl of Richmond looks after London and the Home Counties, with Francesco and either myself or Andrew - depending on which of us is not the Duke at the time keeping a more general eye on matters.
Francesco and I departed for Millbank at about ten minutes to eleven, and arrived to find that we had been beaten there by Matthew Blake, the current Earl of Richmond, Simon's grandson. A short time later, we were joined by Malcolm Muir, Chancellor of King's College Cambridge, and Edward Burridge, Chancellor of King's London. The others arrived over the next few minutes, and by just after the hour we were all assembled.
"Thank you for coming," Andrew began, once we had made ourselves comfortable in the drawing room, "I know some of you were dealing with other business, however, I would not have gathered the Council without good reason."
"You said something about a black lodge...?" said Jeanette Laporte, whose purview encompassed Northern France, and who at that time was the only woman on the Council .
"Yes," Andrew answered, "I'll let Robert fill you in on the details, as he was the mage consulted about the body." And he indicated for me to continue.
I gave the Council as much information as I had about the events of that morning, and my initial investigations at the scene, and by the time I had finished, the faces around the table were looking grim.
"So you are pretty sure that there is a lodge active," Malcolm said, "but as yet we have no idea where they are operating from."
"That's about the sum of it," I answered, "however, the working was not much more than twelve hours ago, from my estimates of the time of death of the man who was dumped in the park, so I think it is just possible that if we each checked our relevant areas, we might possibly get some kind of trace."
"It's something of a long shot," commented Alex McGregor.
"Yes, but just now it is the only shot we have," Andrew answered, backing me up, "the body was teleported to the site where it was dumped, so getting any further traces from there is going to be next to impossible."
Possibly a little reluctantly, Alex nodded his agreement.
"We had best get to it, then," he said, "might I suggest a recess, and reassemble here in three hours? Hopefully that should give us enough time."
Around the room there were murmurs of agreement.
"Agreed. Until then," Andrew answered, and the Council temporarily adjourned. I left Andrew to deal with Wales and the South West, the Duke of Worcester's purview, and returned to Provence with Francesco to see if there was anything to his hunch of some kind of German involvement. Of all the Councillors, it was ourselves and Andrew who were best suited to covering the longer distances, and while Provence was to the south of France, it was a good point from which to initiate a search of that country's eastern border.
However, we came up empty.
We headed back to Millbank for the appointed time, and soon the others began to arrive once more. Nicholas Salterne, the young councillor responsible for northern England arrived last, and of us all, he looked the most worried.
"I may have found something," he said as we sat down.
"What and where?" Andrew asked.
"It's a resonance that feels wrong...although I can't specifically say if it is what we are looking for. It could be something heavily warded or masked, though. On the east coast near a village called Ravenscar, between Scarborough and Whitby. I can guide you in if you want to take a look. Maybe Robert might see if he recognises the handiwork."
"I'm willing to try," I answered, crossing to join him.
"We could need some extra oomph," Nick said, his expression slight worried, and Francesco and Malcolm stepped forward.
"I suggest we sit around the card table over there," Malcolm suggested, "it will make it easier for us to link up to make the rapport."
I nodded, and the four of us temporarily moved over to that location. We sat around the table, linked hands, and gently initiated the four-way rapport. Then Nick started scanning out in the direction where he had got the trace.
It took a few minutes to find the place again, but soon we were looking down on an area above the cliffs on that part of the coast. Below us we could see warded area, maybe a large house although the wards were strong and the "grey mist" they caused on a magical level meant that we could not see any detail of the house itself, set in significant grounds and very private. About two hundred yards from the house, the intervening ground lightly wooded, were the cliffs.
"It is remote enough," Francesco commented, "the nearest village appears to be at least a mile distant."
"Far enough to muffle screams," Malcolm interjected, only half joking, "careful now."
Very cautiously, Nick guided us in as close as we could get to the wards, however we bounced off the defences probably about thirty feet above the structure itself.
"Most probably we do not have long," Francesco commented, "Robert, does anything feel familiar?"
I concentrated harder, although as I did so I also made a conscious effort to mask traces of who I was and what I was doing, and tried to recognise anything that reminded me of what I had felt by the body in Hyde Park that morning. There was almost something. I pressed slightly harder, then found myself mentally flying backwards as I bounced off something distinctly black: either a defence that had been activated by my probing, or a reaction from someone who had realised I was there.
It took me a few minutes to re-centre, at which point I realised that the four-way link had broken. Then I realised that I was shaking, and that the feeling of unease I had felt in Hyde Park had become stronger.
"What did you see?" Nick asked, rather over-eagerly, to be met with a stern glance from Francesco.
"Give him a few minutes," my friend said, firmly, and I nodded gratefully. It would take a couple of those to stop shaking. Nick looked suitably chastened.
Once I had my faculties under control, I slowly and carefully started analysing what I had encountered.
"I hit a black ward," I said, finally, "I'm pretty sure it was a passive one, and I'd say I'm ninety percent certain that it was set up by the same person who dumped the body in the park. There was something else, though. Something vaguely familiar, like a half remembered memory. Almost a magical feel I should know, but I would swear that I've never seen the like of before."
"Could it have triggered any alarm?" Jeanette asked, as we crossed back towards the more comfortable chairs.
"I don't know for sure, but I wouldn't rule it out," I replied, and heard Matthew swearing quietly under his breath, "however, it will hopefully take them a while to work out what it was...I was being careful on that score."
"Do you think we have enough time to hand it over to Scotland Yard and the MID?" Max Bremner asked, the representative for the south, "at least for them to make a mundane confirmation that this is the site?"
"I certainly wouldn't want to leave it much longer than a day or so before going up there and seeing what's there," Andrew interjected, "however, we should at least try to get a confirmation. The fact that, from what Robert says, the wards are distinctly black does means we have jurisdiction to act. However, we would look like damned fools if we overreacted without some kind of proof beyond this scan."
"I can co-ordinate with the Yard if you want," I offered, "I'm already officially involved, anyway, and I can get some of their people up to the site if necessary."
I saw nods of agreement from around the room.
"How long do we give it before acting directly?" Alex asked.
"I'd say we hit at dusk tomorrow evening," Andrew suggested, "that gives us just over twenty-four hours. In the meantime, Nick and one other should head back north and keep a general eye on things. We should be able to observe the grounds at least, without them picking up on us, and while that won't help us see if they are teleporting their set-up directly away, my guess is that any serious moving out they intend to do should involve them being outside and observable at least some of the time."
Again, nods of agreement were apparent around the room.
"I do not mind returning to Yorkshire with Nicholas," Francesco said, and he looked over at the younger councillor. Nick paused a moment, then nodded.
"That's settled then," Edward said, "you will keep in close contact?"
"Of course," Francesco answered, obviously surprised that the question had had to be asked.
"Then I suggest we break for now," Andrew said, "and at noon tomorrow I suggest we reconvene to make progress reports."
There were no dissenters, so with that, the Council began to adjourn.
I returned to London, and made my way down to the Yard for about three thirty, to try to check in with Banks or Young. Of the two, it was Banks I ended up seeing.
"Any news, my lord?" he asked, as he came down to escort me up from reception.
"I have talked to the Council, as I said I would, and we have made a preliminary investigation. We think we have a possible location, and we would like to move on it as soon as possible. However, we thought you had best be informed so that an independent check can be made on the location concerned."
And I described the Yorkshire location to him.
"Do you know the name of the property?" he asked.
"No. However, it is not a new house, and it should be fairly easy to check through the land registry. It may even be listed on local maps for the area. I am happy to take one or more of your men up there, should you wish to have someone investigate on site. Also, for form's sake, we had best have some kind of official warrant...while the Council does have jurisdiction in these cases, it is always easier to go through the courts if there is time. It will need to be before tomorrow afternoon, though. We can't afford to wait much longer than that before hitting the place."
"What else do you need from us?" Banks asked.
"Possibly a few extra hands for when we hit at dusk tomorrow. We have no idea how many of them there are, but if it is the right place, then I can see them using mundane as well as magical means to try to prevent us."
"The men and the warrant will be ready at noon tomorrow. As for your offer to take some of our people up there, I think it might be wise. They can ask around a little...liaise with one of the local forces...get some feel for if anyone knows who these people are."
"Whitby I know better than Scarborough," I answered, "if you would contact them for me, that would be best."
"Are you free to wait for a few minutes?"
"Of course," I answered.
He stepped out for a few moments, to return with Constable Merrick of the MID, a young police mage who I had worked with before, and another man I did not recognise, but who was introduced as Constable Stenson.
"There is someone else I would like to bring in on this," Banks said, "however, he will take a little longer to contact. For now, though, I have contacted the Whitby force, and they are expecting you. Are you going to stay up in Yorkshire overnight, my lord?"
"The area is being observed by others," I answered, "too many of us, and whoever is in the house is going to get suspicious. I'll check in with them, but then I'm planning on coming back to town."
He nodded, and then I looked over at Merrick and Stenson.
"Has Inspector Banks filled you in on the details of what I am hoping you can help us with?"
"Not yet, sir. He suggested that you might wish to do so," Merrick answered. I looked over at Banks, then back at the others, and gave them a rundown of the details.
"So basically, you want us to find out what we can in the area," Stenson asked for confirmation, when I had finished.
"Yes. Who lives there. What kind of reputation do both people and place have. What can the locals tell us about them. That sort of thing."
"We'd better get to it, then," Merrick said, his tone businesslike. I nodded, and then we headed downstairs, before exiting the building. Once outside, I concentrated for a moment, and then teleported us to Whitby Abbey. From there, I left the officers accompanying me to make their way down into the town, and then used the crystal to contact Francesco, to see if there was any news. However, he and Nicholas had nothing further to report. That done, I concentrated once more, and returned to London myself, so that I was on hand if Banks needed to contact me.
As it turned out, apart from a message of confirmation from Banks that both men and warrant would be ready, and one from Francesco to tell me that the house was still quiet, no further progress was made that evening. My sleep that night, however, was uneasy, and the nightmare which had myself as the victim in a similar ceremony to the one that must have happened at Halloween did nothing to improve things. In the end I awoke far too early, around six-thirty, and found I could not get back to sleep.
I bathed and dressed, and then headed down to the library to see if I could find any clue to the possible identity of the black lodge in any of the reference books I kept out of the public eye. However, by the time Thomson brought me a jug of coffee at about eight-thirty, I had still got no more ideas than I had had the previous day: either on who these people were, or why this whole business was making me feel so on edge.
The Times was carrying the story on the front page, I noticed as I unfolded the paper and ate my breakfast, although thankfully their speculations, while there, were not as extreme as sometimes. Banks and Young were doing quite a good job of keeping the lid on this one.
As I finished my first cup of coffee, and was about to pour a second, I was a little surprised to hear the door. Moments later, Thomson answered it, and then a short while after that, came into the dining room.
"Sir, there are a pair of gentlemen to see you."
"Did they give you any names."
"A Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and his associate, a Doctor John Watson. I've shown them into the library."
What in Hell's name did Holmes want? I was beginning to get the idea that there was some kind of mystique about him that had Scotland Yard in thrall.
"Take them some refreshments, and inform them that I will be in to see them in a few minutes," I replied. Thomson nodded, and left once more, while I poured and drank that second cup of coffee.
I made my way into the library about five minutes later. The man I now recognised as Holmes was standing looking at the shelves with my medical and forensic reference books on them, while a slightly older man, presumably Watson, was sitting in one of the chairs, drinking coffee. He looked up as I entered, and then over at his associate. Holmes, on the other hand, turned towards me and regarded me with a gaze that a lot of people would probably have balked at.
Me? I had known Francesco too long to fall for that trick.
"What can I do for you gentlemen?" I asked, indicating for Holmes to sit. However, he remained standing, although he did cross to join us. I could tell he was planning on a game of one-upmanship, and resolved not to play along, "presumably it is to do with the case of the unfortunate gentleman who was found in Hyde Park."
"Yes and no," came Holmes's reply.
I looked at him, waiting for him to elaborate.
"As you are aware, I occasionally do some work for the police. I have different sources, and often I get results that they do not. I was asked to assist in this case, and I have found some very interesting connections."
"Connections."
"Between your family and this case."
I looked at him, surprised.
"I have no idea what you are talking about."
"Of course you would say that," commented Watson, however Holmes did not seem to hear the interruption.
"As I have said, I assist the police. That is not to say that I am incapable of being discreet if need be, and in the matter of you and your family, I find some very interesting riddles which make me think that discretion could be appropriate in this case."
"Such as?"
"The fact that the property which you have asked Inspector Banks to look into belonged in the past to one of your forbears - a Duke William, who died in 1740...his date of birth is particularly hard to chase down."
Father had owned the house where this lodge was meeting? As coincidences go, it was definitely noteworthy, I had to admit that.
"It certainly isn't de Lacy property now."
"No, the deed of title also passed in 1740, and was not part of the estate when your namesake of then inherited the Duchy of Worcester. From there the actual ownership of the property is very difficult to trace. It does keep linking back every 50-60 years, however, to a property company which was set up by the same Duke William many years before such firms were common. The firm is still extant, and was most recently headquartered in Germany."
"None of this has been in my family's papers over that time."
I saw him smile slightly.
"You know them well, do you? How fortunate that a family can keep such detailed records that the disposition of such things over one hundred and fifty years can be accurately pinpointed."
"What are you implying?"
"I imply nothing, Duke Robert. I am merely interested in the truth."
"I am not the Duke," I corrected, "my father is."
Again, a slight smile. "As you wish. After all, even mages do not usually live for close to two centuries."
This elicited a startled look from Watson. "Of course they don't, Holmes."
"Is this some clumsy attempt to blackmail me, Mr. Holmes?" I asked, "if so, I would advise you that I have some very good lawyers."
"No," came his irritatingly calm reply, "as I said, it is prompted by curiosity about your connection to this lodge, if there is one."
"There is not."
"And about yourself. When we first met, I mentioned that I like to keep myself informed about criminal matters: both from the point of view of the criminals, and of the enforcers. You have interested me for some time, and these connections prove that my instinct was correct. There is more to you and your...family... than meets the eye."
"Listen, Mr. Holmes. This is all very interesting, but it does not help us with the job in hand. To whit dealing with this menace before it goes too far. Combating a black lodge is more important than idle speculation on the heritage of Robert du Harcouët."
"Perhaps," he replied, "I will say, however, that you will discover that something or someone in this case does bear directly on this conversation."
"You add prescience to your list of talents?...or should that be Talents?"
"No. However, instincts often work just as well."
I looked at him and shrugged. "I think you are mistaken."
"We shall see," he answered, his expression strange. Then he was back to being businesslike.
"Inspector Banks has asked Watson and myself to accompany your party when you attack the house. I trust this is not a problem for you?"
"No. Quite frankly, I think we are going to need all the help we can get."
"Then we shall see you when you meet with the Inspector's party later."
He looked over towards Watson who stood.
"Thank you for the coffee, my lord," he said, before crossing to his associate.
"You're welcome," I replied, as I led them out into the hall and across to the door. As I opened it, my eyes met with Holmes's, and I could see the keen intelligence behind them. I found myself smiling.
"I think I will look forward to working with you both this evening," I commented.
"I think it will be interesting," was Holmes's reply, "and what is life without interest."
Then he stepped out of the door, followed by Watson, and I closed the door behind them, taken with the distinct feeling that the detective knew rather more about me and the de Lacys in general than I was comfortable with. He would bear watching, to see if he was friend or enemy.
About half an hour later, I set out myself, to meet up with Banks and to set plans for the mundane attack on the house, and spent the morning co-ordinating that side of things with the Council, who had repaired to Nicholas's house in Ripon.
Banks's people were ready as promised at midday, along with a warrant, signed by Judge MacDonald - a pro-Council Judge who was familiar with the threat that a lodge such as this posed. Its wording was as close to carte blanche as I had ever seen on a legal document. Young opted to stay in London, in case we needed a point of contact back at the Yard, however Messers Holmes and Watson arrived shortly after Banks's men.
Once we were ready - which included all of us arming ourselves with firearms - I again brought the image of Whitby Abbey to mind, and transported the group to that location. From there we headed down to into the town towards the police station, to meet up with Stenson and Merrick, and see what more they had to report.
Merrick had been the one to actually ask around the village, and had come up with surprisingly little.
"The property is called Greystones," he said, when asked, "and certainly parts of it date from the early seventeenth century. According to the residents of the nearest village - which is a mile or so away - the new owners moved in about six months ago. Since then, they have occasionally been seen around the village, but not particularly often. The owner is apparently a greying man in his fifties, who calls himself Doctor Jennings. He is unmarried, although he has two sons in their twenties. The only other person whom the villagers could describe is a blond man, a foreigner, who has visited a couple of times."
"Anything else at all?" Banks asked.
"'Fraid not. It looks like the Doctor's contact with the village is pretty slight."
"Anything concrete from your side?" Banks said, turning to Stenson.
"The local records confirm a sale to Doctor Jennings about six months ago. Beyond that, the only oddity is that it seems the doctor received the funds for the purchase from some concern abroad."
"In Germany," Holmes said, glancing towards me before looking at Stenson.
"I couldn't find out the source, sir," the constable replied.
"It does not matter," Holmes answered, "it will probably have come through a number of accounts anyway, at least one of them almost certainly in Switzerland."
"You seem very sure, Mr. Holmes," Banks commented.
"I make it my business to be sure," came his answer.
I looked at them both, then said "It sounds as if we have what information we are going to get. Let me relay it over to the Council. Then we can work out how we're going to do this, and whether we want to actually even try to deliver the warrant."
Banks nodded, and Holmes gave a slight shrug. I took both as a yes, got the crystal out of my pocket, and passed the information over to Andrew.
By three, both our forces were ready. We would make the initial attack, while the Councillors would be watching, throwing up magical interference against anyone who tried to use magic to escape, and if it became necessary some or all of them would come in all guns blazing. Andrew, Nicholas, Edward and Francesco offered to be in the first Council group.
Keeping in contact with them over the crystal link, we waited until a few minutes before dusk before beginning our attack. The Councillors started proceedings by throwing up external magical barriers, outside of the area of the wards directly around the house. Initially these would allow ingress, but not egress, but once my group was inside, they would be closed.
Once I received confirmation that the outer wards were in place, I collected our group and transported it into a site in the grounds of the house which I remembered from my first investigation of the place. We were in cover, although it would be a sprint to get to the house without being seen. Not ideal, but it was the best alternative.
Our first move would be for Stenson and Merrick to approach the house to at least go through the formality of trying to serve the warrant on Doctor Jennings and his associates, while the rest of us watched their backs to make sure that they survived the experience. On the assumption that Jennings would refuse to co-operate, we would then attack.
Banks took Holmes, Watson, and three of his men around to the back of the house, while two other groups of three made one for each side. I kept the remaining men with me so that we could pull Merrick and Stenson out if necessary.
As dusk fell, they walked up the drive towards the house, and knocked on the door. There was a delay of a few minutes, and then it was opened by a man answering the vague description of Doctor Jennings. From my vantage point, I could see at least one other man further behind him in the hall. I indicated for my people to move up slowly, signalling the other groups over the crystal as I did so, and Stenson spoke.
"Doctor Jennings?"
"Yes."
"I have a warrant here for the arrest of the occupants of this property, on suspicion of the practise of black magic. Will you come with us?"
The reaction was the expected one. Jennings tried to slam the door in their faces, but not before the man behind him brought up a weapon. Merrick noticed it, and when the shot came, he was between it and Stenson. He was knocked backwards into his companion.
We moved.
Guns drawn, we sprinted for the house. I paused by the fallen officers to make sure they were okay, while one of the other men applied a size 11 boot to the front door and opened it. Merrick was getting to his feet.
"Bruised. Nothing worse...the shield held," he said, "let's get that bastard."
Stenson's grim expression and nod of agreement echoed the sentiment.
By then, Banks's men were inside. We joined them, and began a systematic search of the house. I was in the drawing room when I felt the comms crystal become active.
"Robert," came Andrew's voice, "at least two groups have tried to 'port out. The barriers held them, but they are loose in the grounds. We're coming in to see what we can do to keep them off your backs."
"Understood," I replied, and broke that link, before again relaying on the message.
In the meantime, my group was having limited success...the people we saw invariably fired, rather than talked. By then two were dead and one injured. Not too heartbreaking, given that the penalty for what they were doing was death, but irritating inasmuch as it meant we were no closer to finding out what was happening.
Banks came back on the line a moment later.
"We've found a staircase in the kitchen, heading downwards. Maybe a cellar. Suggestions?"
"Keep guard there until the rest of the house is secure," I answered, "then a group of us should head down to take a look, while the others help our people outside. I'll send Merrick to you."
"Will do."
I broke the link and looked for the police mage. He was over by one of the bodies, so I headed in that direction.
"Could be one of the sons," he commented, "looks a lot like Jennings."
"That can wait," I replied, "can you go and join Inspector Banks in the kitchen? Give him some magical backup. He's found a route down."
"Yes, my lord," came the answer, and he made his way towards his superior officer.
I reassembled the other men, and along with one of the other groups we kept on searching. After about ten minutes, I was pretty certain that the above-ground areas of the house were secure, although outside we could still hear occasional shots. I informed Andrew, who in turn passed me over to Max Bremner, who was still watching from outside. Max agreed to lock the house down while we investigated the basement. Our quarries may have teleported out, but there was no way we were going to let them teleport back in behind us.
Holmes was with Banks and Merrick when I finally reached the kitchen, along with two of Banks's men. Watson had apparently taken the others outside to help the manhunt in the grounds. I kept three more of the men I had been with with us, and sent the rest to join them. Then I checked my weapon was fully loaded, and looked at the others.
"Let's do it."
Leaving two men on guard, we headed down the stairs...two of Banks's men at the front, then myself and Merrick, followed by the Inspector and Holmes, and the third officer bringing up the rear. I had my magical sense up and scanning ahead of us, and about half way down the stairs, I spotted the first of the magical booby traps. I alerted the men, and then Merrick and I combined to remotely dismantle it. Once we were satisfied that it was harmless, we carried on moving.
We had to repeat the procedure twice more, each trap exhibiting an increasing amount of lethality, before we finally entered a cellar well stocked with both bottles and barrels. I scanned the cellar for anything unusual, and bounced off some kind of warding in the back left hand corner. It felt to be of similar to the warding outside the house, but was degrees blacker in its feel. Enough to make me feel very uncomfortable.
Urging caution, I led us in that direction. A bullet whizzing past my head caused me to dive to the ground, and I heard an "oomph" behind me, as one of the men was hit.
"Can you see him?" I asked Merrick, but it was Holmes who answered.
"He is off to the right, over there..." he said, pointing across the room. Damned if I could see him, but I accepted Holmes's direction. We split into two groups: Merrick and myself plus illusions of the others to act as decoys to try to draw his fire, given that our shields meant that he shouldn't be able to kill us outright; while the others moved to try to outflank him.
Merrick and I set off once more towards the warded corner, and sure enough a shot rang out within moments of our beginning to move. I felt it bounce off my shield, around the area of my right shoulder. We dived for cover once more, while our quarry's shot was almost immediately followed by another, by the sound of it from a different gun.
"Clear," came Banks's voice, and Merrick and I stood up and crossed towards our companions, cancelling the illusions as we went. They were standing beside the fallen body of another of the lodge members. I dropped to my knee beside him to check him over. Dead. Single bullet to the head.
"Mr. Holmes managed to get a good line of sight," Banks supplied. I looked at Holmes as I stood, and nodded to him.
From there, we made our way over to the warded area, and I brought up my magical senses to take a good look at it. It was strong, strengthened I guessed with blood, but I could unpick it, given time and began to do so as the others watched my back. We were undisturbed.
I guess it took about fifteen minutes to disassemble the warding, and I have to say it was one of the more unpleasant quarter hours I have spent in my life. However, as I finished, a doorway opened up in front of me. We looked inside, carefully, and what we saw - and indeed felt emanating from the room - confirmed that we had been right to attack the house. It was a chapel, but from the look of the regalia and the black stone altar, dedicated to a decidedly anti-Christian cause. Not solely a chapel to Satan, as there were other elements including what looked like heraldic sun wheels with angled arms, not curved, but certainly nothing that was acceptable within Terra Magica society.
I looked at Merrick.
"We burn it," he said, with an almost startling vehemence, "then, once the dust has settled, we bring a priest to exorcise any remaining traces."
I nodded, and turned to Banks and Holmes.
"Do you bear witness that we have discovered a black chapel here?"
"Yes," Banks answered, and Holmes nodded.
"And you will swear this under oath?"
Again, agreement.
"Then under the powers vested in me as a Councillor, this ceases here."
I concentrated, bringing to mind a cleansing fire, and then let it loose inside the chapel. Beside me, Merrick did the same. We controlled the flames, to make sure they did not cause the room itself to catch, only the black elements within it, and soon nothing was left but ash, and a charred black stone, misshapen with the heat.
We extinguished the fire, its purpose served, and then looked back at our companions.
"Let's see how they're doing topside."
I called up Andrew, who answered after a slight pause.
"Status?"
"Best we can tell, there are two other confirmed mages loose up here, and another man, a big, blond guy...he isn't defending magically, although he feels as if he ought to be a mage also, and the impression we have is that the others are trying to protect him."
"Where are you?"
"Currently in the trees between the house and the cliffs."
"Be with you momentarily."
My companions and I headed rapidly back up towards the kitchen and then out. Once outside, I found somewhere that afforded at least limited cover, and started looking for Andrew magically. I spotted him beside Edward, and then, to my horror, I spotted another person concealed far too close to my son's position, who seemed to be bringing up a spell. I could feel the black taint in his working.
"Spread out," I ordered my companions, and then I teleported myself across, to land behind the enemy mage, and then struck out with the butt of my handgun to put him off his spell. The stroke could have been better, but it served the purpose. Andrew must have then heard the noise as he wheeled and fired. The enemy mage and myself dived in different directions.
I rolled and came up again, and in the best cover I could manage, prepped a null-field spell. As I did, though, I saw my quarry disappear. Invisible, I guessed. I worked as quickly and as quietly as I could, and then, once it was ready, I sent a probe out to try to find him. He had moved off into the trees, about seventy hundred feet distant.
I heard a motion behind me and whirled, to see Andrew and Edward coming towards me.
"Over there," I whispered.
"I don't see him," Edward said, and Andrew nodded in agreement.
"You will in a second," I replied
I fired off the null-field spell in the direction I had indicated, and the enemy mage became visible, framed against what was becoming bright moonlight. Andrew fired off a lightning bolt at him, and he fell.
"Two majors left," he said. I nodded, and we split up once more, to see who we could find. Over by the house, I heard a couple more shots, which indicated that we weren't the only ones still actively hunting.
Once again, I found myself secure cover, and then began a new magical search...on the theory that it would be easier to locate someone that way, than by hacking my way through the trees in the semi-dark. It took a few minutes, but I found someone. A tall, blond man, who felt...for want of a better description...wrong. He didn't seem to be overly tainted with the blackness in the way the mage Andrew had killed had been, but at the same time I was certain he wasn't on our side.
Very cautiously I moved towards him, trying to keep him in sight magically. However, as I closed he became aware of me and broke into a run. I dropped the spell, and then increased my pace to match him, and slowly began to gain. It was as if he didn't really know the layout of this area much better than I did.
I caught up with him far too close to the edge of the cliffs for my liking, in an area where the trees had given way to lighter undergrowth and rocks, and brought my gun up to bear.
"Stop right there," I commanded, and perhaps a little to my surprise, he did so. Presumably the idea of learning to high dive didn't appeal to him, either. Then, very slowly, he turned towards me, and I got my first proper, in person, look at him. Taller than me, well built, and strangely familiar. And yet I was sure I'd never seen him in my life before.
"Move any more, and I'll shoot," I ordered, levelling the gun at his heart.
"I thought it had to be you, Robert," he replied, his English heavily accented, "you or Andrew. I felt a magical signature that was stronger than anyone else's hereabouts as you were hunting me."
Then he gave an almost charming smile.
"Kill me, mein bruder, and I'll make sure my Blood Curse lands firmly on your head. Yes, Father would be angry, but I would no longer care."
"What in God's name are you talking about?" I asked, to which he looked at first surprised, and then more knowing. I noted with interest that invoking God's name didn't seem to have any effect, which implied that if he was connected to this lodge, which seemed likely given that he was here, he certainly wasn't one of its darker participants.
"Good try," he said, still smiling, "but it will not work."
However, before I could reply, I heard the crackle of lightning, and over it a voice saying in German "Karl, get away."
The realisation that I was being blown through the air by the force of the bolt hitting me dawned moments later, but by that time it was too late, and while my shield was holding it couldn't dissipate all the force and I could feel my heartbeat reacting badly to the shock. Then I felt to be falling, but before I could try to rectify the situation, I felt myself land hard on rock. My head hit the ground, and everything went dark.
When I awoke, every bone and every muscle in my body felt to be hurting, my pulse rate seemed to be somewhere in the low hundreds, and I had the worst headache I had had in a very long time. Gingerly, I opened my eyes, and saw that I was looking up at stars. Then Andrew's face came into view, his expression worried until he realised that I was looking at him.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Their last mage took you down with a lightning bolt, before that detective, Holmes, nailed him," Andrew answered, "it took you over the cliff. Thankfully, you hit a ledge about thirty feet down. Getting you back out was a trick, though...especially as we weren't altogether sure you were still breathing.
"How bad is it?" I asked weakly.
"You, or the situation?"
"Both."
"Four cracked ribs, two broken, a concussion, burn damage to your side; simple fractures of the left ankle and left arm, the latter in two places," came Francesco's voice from somewhere behind me, "if you had not had the shield up, and had not displayed your usual better than average hardiness, you would almost certainly have broken either your neck or your back, assuming the bolt did not kill you outright."
"Been there, done that, would rather not repeat the experience," I said, recalling the incident ninety-odd years ago when I'd been shot in the back and had feared I'd never walk again. Of course, shields hadn't been as strong or as reliable back then.
"Quite," my friend answered. He'd been there then, too.
"And the situation?" I asked, staying still rather than trying to look towards him.
"We got almost all of them. As far as I know the only one who got away was the blond man you were facing off against," Andrew answered, "the last mage died to cover his escape. Other than that, we have rounded up one or two heavies, and the rest are dead. On our side, Nicky took a bullet in the side - apparently his shield failed - and Edward has a broken shoulder from a heavy weight being launched at him. We also lost a couple of Banks's men. However, all in all it could be a lot worse"
"Any idea who the blond guy was?"
"I heard the name Karl mentioned," came Francesco's answer, as he came into my line of sight and squatted down beside me, "but I do not know him. The style of magic he used to depart was unfamiliar to me."
"I feel I should know him," I commented.
"He reminded me somewhat of yourself," Francesco answered, "from the brief glance I had of him, anyway. Perhaps a relative?"
"Not one I'm aware of," I replied. However Holmes's comments that morning about my family having a bearing on this case, found their way back into my mind. Could it be that in some irritatingly unavoidable way, he had been right?
"Enough of this," Andrew said, firmly, "we need to get you to a hospital. We can do the post mortem on this affair later."
I tried to nod, and instantly regretted it. A wave of nausea passed through me, and I closed my eyes. Moments later, I could feel magic being used close by, followed by the sensation of a teleport. After that, it just seemed easier to let go, and leave them to it.