by ‘Drystan!’ I hissed, putting my lips close to the nearest wall. I was in the entrance hall of Millie’s farmhouse. I did not know if proximity to the wall would help him to hear me any better, but it seemed worth a try. I had to repeat his name several times before I could get his attention, so intent was he upon his argument with Millie.
What is it? he snapped at last.
‘We are missing one of our number, and the most dangerous one at that. We cannot begin until she’s found.’
Describe her.
I did that, painting as vivid a picture of Fenella as I had last seen her as I could.
Drystan went quiet for a while, to Millie’s delight, who began another song.
She is found, Drystan whispered to me. Dulcina of Moondance Cottage has sighted her traversing the cliff’s edge. It is thought that she is attempting to reach my brother’s spire.
Had she somehow guessed our intentions and fled from the farmhouse, or did she have some other purpose in mind for the spire? Either way, I wondered how she had managed to evade the allure of the many houses and cottages along the way. Not even I had accomplished that, despite being forewarned.
I bundled my precious pup into the Baron’s arms and left the farmhouse at a run.
Melmidoc had parked his spire at the other end of the cliff road from Millie’s farmhouse. It was not difficult to spot, for the sun was sinking fast and the Starstone Spire blazed with eerie, beautiful blue light. I suppose it proved a natural beacon for Fenella to aim for. Who wouldn’t be intrigued by such a display?
I tore after her. My bare feet objected strenuously to this treatment, for the ground was stony and I had not time to take care where I placed my steps. But I gained steadily upon Fenella, ignoring the stinging of my lacerated feet and the heaviness in my limbs that tiredness had wrought.
It was only once I had almost caught her that I realised I, once again, had no plan. What was I going to do, haul her bodily back to the farmhouse? Hah. She was several inches taller than me, and I had no idea what her magickal capabilities were. For all I knew, she was a better practitioner than me, too.
‘Fenella!’ I shouted. ‘This won’t do.’
She glanced over her shoulder at me, but rather than stop and talk, as I had hoped, she only ran faster towards Melmidoc’s spire. Once she knew herself pursued, she picked up speed and soon began to outpace me. Damn her and her long legs. It didn’t help that I was winded and slowing down. I’m a walker more than a runner. It’s not my talent.
Melmidoc, though, was awake. Fenella never reached the door, for when she got within ten feet of it, running at full tilt, she bounced off… something, and ended flat on her back on the ground, staring dazed at the darkening sky.
I am afraid I am invitation only, remarked Melmidoc.
Fenella snarled with chagrin, and stared up at me with blazing hatred. ‘Bloody Society,’ she spat. ‘Must you destroy everything?’
‘Actually,’ I panted, my burning lungs drawing great gulps of air. ‘I think it’s you bidding fair to destroy everything.’
‘I don’t want to cause any harm.’ She picked herself up slowly, touching a hand to her bloodied nose. ‘I just want…’
‘What?’ I prompted. ‘Everything you want will cause untold damage to this place, Fenella, and to our Britain as well. It doesn’t matter whether that’s the goal or not.’
She gave me a look of intense dislike and, without warning, began to run again.
I watched her go. I knew I didn’t have it in me to catch her a second time.
My dismay was short-lived, however, for I found that I was not the only one who had come running after Fenella.
Millie had, too.
What can I say about what happened next? If you haven’t seen an eighteenth-century farmhouse, front door agape, cackling in song as it chases down a fleeing woman, you truly haven’t lived. I stood clutching my side, breathing painfully around the stitch in my insides and breathless with mirth as Millie-the-farmhouse bore down relentlessly upon poor Fenella Beaumont. She did not stand a chance. She almost made it to the top of the cliff path before the house snapped her up like a dog gobbling down a choice biscuit, and the door slammed shut upon her.
Trapping not quite everyone inside, for on the porch stood Rob and Jay and Baron Alban, maintaining a white-knuckled grip upon the pillars. Val’s chair was slammed up against the low, white-painted railing that surrounded it. Fortunately, Val was still in it.
Whether they had come out with a view to joining the hunt for Fenella, or to avoiding Drystan’s forgetting spell, was more or less moot, for it solved the latter problem either way. I limped up to the porch and sat down with my back against the door, wincing at the pain in my feet.
Drystan’s voice came through the wall.
Interlopers all! he boomed. I regret to inform you that you are not welcome here.
‘Let’s just wait here for a bit, shall we?’ I said, smiling up at my friends. From my recumbent posture upon the floor, they loomed over me even more than usual. Baron Alban stooped down and put the puppy back into my arms. She was sound asleep.
Jay was sceptical. ‘You think he won’t notice us out here?’
‘He’s got a lot of people in there to keep track of.’ But for good measure I put up a shield around us, imbued with my best defences against magickal interference.
Jay’s expression turned both withering and apprehensive, which cost me a pang.
But Alban relaxed against the wall, arms folded, a picture of serenity. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, grinning at me. ‘Ves’s shields are legendary.’
‘We’ll be fine,’ I said confidently — wondering in private whether Alban was teasing me, or speaking the truth. Legendary? Really?
‘Famous last words,’ muttered Jay.
‘Officially,’ I said a few hours later, ‘None of us remembers anything.’
‘I imagine that is wise, yes,’ said Milady. ‘Just how far from the truth is it?’
‘That… varies.’ We had escaped most of Drystan’s spell, but not all of it. Bits of it had hit the five of us in different ways; I, for example, had forgotten half of Fenella’s original speech until Alban had reminded me. Jay had had to be filled in again on the whole topic of Drystan’s forgetting spells. We’d had to piece everything back together between us, which had taken some time. ‘But I think we have more or less all of it straight again.’
We had already relayed much of it to Milady, but it had come out as a garbled mess, and it had taken contributions from all four of us (Rob, Val, Jay and me — Alban had already departed for Their Majesties’ Court) to get through the tale. Whether we had been so incoherent due to the after-effects of Drystan’s spell and the journey home, or merely due to exhaustion, I was too tired to say.
Millie Makepeace had whisked the lot of us back to our own, dear Britain, singing like a drunken lark all the way. She had dumped us not far from the erstwhile site of Ashdown Castle, and from there she could not be persuaded to move. So, we had been obliged to get ourselves back to our own House the long, tiring way. There had been more hitchhiking involved than I am ever happy about.
We’d left Ancestria Magicka and guests milling in confusion around the devastated lawns that had once hosted the proud pile of their castle. They would be fine. Their cars were still there, and most of them were even functional. What they would make of the absence of Ashdown, or how they would account for the gap of some hours between the high point of the party and their arrival back in the grounds, we did not wait to find out.
Milady had been shocked by our revelations. The Troll Court may have known about three of the Britains, but (if she was to be believed) Milady had known nothing about any of it. I knew she would need some time to think it over.
Our report concluded, I found I had sunk to the floor and sat with my back against the wall. An undignified posture, especially before Milady, but I was too wrecked to help it. ‘Can we come Home?’ I heard myself say.
I don’t know what I had been planning to utter just then, but that wasn’t it.
Milady was silent for longer than I liked. We, I should perhaps say, for I am pretty sure Jay was holding his breath, too.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Milady at length. ‘I don’t know that it is wise just at present. For one thing, two representatives from the Ministry were here yesterday, asking questions about the two of you. They want to talk to you. And for another, these Britains must be investigated. We cannot leave things as they are. I may need a few among you to go back to this fifth Britain, but this cannot now be done openly.’
I looked at Jay. I thought he might be pleased at this last reflection, having expressed a clear desire to stay behind with Melmidoc. But he sat looking at his hands, and said nothing.
I could understand the conflict. I, too, wanted very much to return to the fifth Britain. But I also wanted very much to return to the fold. I missed my Home.
‘I will have decided by this afternoon,’ said Milady. ‘For now I urge you all to get some rest. You may use your old rooms for tonight, Ves, Jay, though I encourage you to avoid notice as much as possible. There’s chocolate in all the pots.’
The word all had a promising ring to it, for we had left our pot behind at the Scarlet Courtyard. I put the problem of our immediate future out of my mind for the moment — trying not to dwell upon how little I’d liked roguedom, when it came to it — and went to bed.
On the desk in my room, an enormous chocolate pot stood waiting, steam wisping from its spout. It was made from solid gold.
When I surfaced later that day, it was an insistent rapping on my door that roused me. I hauled myself out of bed with a groan, wrapped a blanket around myself, and answered the door with a bleary, ‘Yes?’
Jay stood there, clad in jeans and a clean white shirt and looking far more bright-eyed than he had any right to be. Wordlessly, he handed me an envelope.
I carried it back to bed with me.
‘Open it,’ Jay urged, hovering awkwardly in the doorway.
‘Oh, come in. I’m decent.’
He drifted exactly two steps farther into the room.
Thick, creamy paper made up the beautiful envelope, and another sheaf of the same fell out when I tore it open. The most perfect calligraphy I had ever seen covered the paper, complete with gilded flourishes.
I read quickly.
‘Well?’ said Jay, when I did not speak.
I dropped the pretty thing onto the bed, unable to muster a single word in reply. Maybe I was not yet awake.
I picked it up and read it all over again. Still the same. The pup, emerging sleepily from somewhere under the blankets, gave it a desultory sniff and sneezed.
‘The Baron said he would call you when—’ began Jay, just as my phone rang.
I answered it with a croak.
‘Did you get the invitations?’ said Baron Alban’s deep voice.
Invitations? I glanced again at Jay, and saw that he had another such page in his hands. ‘Are you sure invitations is the right word?’ I said. ‘I think such missives are typically termed royal summons.’
‘Their Majesties can’t issue you a royal summons, Ves. You and Jay are not among their subjects.’
‘The nearest thing to it, then.’
‘Mm. So, are you going to answer it?’
‘Do we have a choice?’
‘Technically.’
‘What does that mean.’
‘It means those two reps from the Ministry that were sniffing around after you have been invited to desist, and if you would like to avoid those kinds of complications recurring it might not hurt to have Their Majesties’ Court at your backs for a while longer.’
I tried to decide whether there was an implied threat somewhere in there, and decided probably not. It wasn’t Alban’s style. He did, however, have a point.
‘What are we supposed to do for Their Majesties, Alban?’
‘You’ll find out when you get here.’
‘Nefarious or not?’
‘Depends on who you ask.’
I met Jay’s eye and mouthed the words, yes or no?
He held out his closed fist, thumb extended, and slowly turned it upwards.
‘All right, we’re in,’ I said to the Baron.
‘Fantastic. I’ll pick you up at five.’
He rang off.
‘So,’ I said, staring with bemused eyes at the summons. ‘What does one wear to be presented to royalty?’
‘Shit,’ said Jay, and glanced, dismayed, at his highly informal attire. ‘No idea. What, the great Ves hasn’t been presented to royalty before?’
‘Not like this, and not these royals. It’s the most powerful of the fae courts, and rarely open to outsiders.’
Jay looked impressed, and perhaps just a little terrified.
I probably looked much the same.
He swallowed. ‘What do you suppose they want us to do for them?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, mustering my courage and my blanket both and heading for my wardrobe. ‘But come hell or high water, I’m going to be well-dressed when we find out.’
***
We’re about to take a trip to the Royal Court, so I hope you’re looking your best? Meantime, while I’ve run out of paperback editions for the present (sorry – coming up!), The Fifth Britain is still available in ebook. Plus, the Patreon party is in full swing right here with more stories and advance book releases.
Right, best dress/suit on? Off we go… Turn page ->
