Chapter 40

Once the king had vacated the room, I had my excuse to head over to see Major Smythe and Sergeant Lakhdar.

“Distract Kiyo,” I whispered in Mariko’s ear. “I don’t need a tail.”

She nodded, smiling at our squad mate. “Kiyo, let’s see if we can’t get that sauce off your uniform. Spot Clean!”

“Aw c’mon, stop mothering me,” replied Kiyo.

I didn’t wait to see how the spell worked. Our officers hadn’t risen to see what happened to the king after his episode. That itself struck me as odd. Not so much for the sergeant; an Algerian Frenchwoman wouldn’t have much use for a British king, after all. However, Major Smythe also hadn’t shown much care, either.

The answer was clear as I closed. Amanda Smythe had looked worn out before, but now her skin had a grey pallor.

I snapped a smart salute to the pair. “The king is being tended to.”

Sergeant Lakhdar raised an eyebrow. “I don’t recall asking for a report.”

“You’re always telling us to show initiative, ma’am,” I replied.

“At ease, Marlowe,” she said. “I’m glad you’ve been listening.”

“Might I join you?” I asked. Our plates were largely cleared by then, and whoever had been at the major’s side had joined the standing crowd.

Major Smythe nodded. “What can I do for you, Private?”

“No need to be so formal, Mrs. Smythe,” I said. “You can call me Soren.”

“And you can call me Major Smythe,” she said, her tone turning sour. “There’s no reason to be so familiar!”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, sitting straighter and wondering what had happened to the gregarious woman in the video chat.

“Amanda?” asked the sergeant, leaning in and grabbing her arm.

She let out a sigh. “There wasn’t any call for that; I haven’t been feeling like myself lately.”

“Apology accepted,” I said. “After all, we Merlin-ites have to stick together.”

After a long delay, she nodded. “Of course.”

I was taken aback; I should have been fabricating lies and dodging verbal parries, not carrying the conversation. What was going on here?

“Alright, I’m pulling rank,” said Sergeant Lakhdar. “Amanda, you’re leaving and getting bed rest immediately.”

“What are you talking about, Carine?” asked the major. “What rank?’

“I joined the service a year ahead of you,” said Carine. “That gives me seniority, no matter what the bars on your chest say.”

Major Smythe smirked and rose to her feet. “That sounds like a wonderful idea. We’ll have to reminisce another time, Ma…” She stopped to yawn. “Marlowe.”

“Of course, ma’am,” I said, hiding my disappointment.

***************

Belfast, North Ireland

Sunday, February 12^th, 2051

‘Another time’ took longer than I’d have liked. If I was going to have to deal with another Maggie Edwards, I’d prefer to have known sooner than later. I wasn’t sure how to destroy a body in such a way as to foil human forensic sciences. I’d have to figure it out, though, because I wasn’t going to be under anybody’s thumb again.

I had our actual assignment to keep me occupied, at least. Wizards were a rare commodity, so we were always in high demand around Stormont. That was the biggest difference with my time in the Horde. I’d gone through my phase as a toady and aide de camp, but my noble birth had given me certain advantages. After all, there were also lower-rank devils to cast a spell or charge a fabricata. The only reason an officer would need to actually do that sort of magical grunt work was to keep valuable spells out of the hands of our lessers.

Not so, here; there were twenty-two wizards on hand, counting Sergeant Lakhdar. We were the only Wizard Corpsmen assigned to Stormont. The rest were embedded with combat units closer to the shore and ready to deploy in case of a landing.

This had created a bit of a problem. The Anti-Demonic League had passed an emergency order that until the current ‘state of emergency’ was over, all packages bound for national legislatures and other sensitive legislations needed to be scanned for demonic fabricata. This was sensible enough, since unless you were a reverse engineer like Moulham Lahlou, there really wasn’t a reason to own demonic artifacts, and especially no reason to ship them to your legislator (no matter how much they might deserve it).

Maggie Edwards’ had certainly made her mark on League policy, even if it wasn’t the way she intended.

Unfortunately, mundane electronics and sensors had no way to detect demonic residuum. Up until then, they’d had to take wizards out of their postings and drain them dry to keep up with demand.

That’s where we raw recruits came in, and I had to spend a large chunk of each day charging the wands so the British soldiers manning the gates could do their jobs. When it was our squad’s turn, Gabriella and I had to do the most charging, since Mariko and Kiyo lacked our sheer reserves.

Outside of that, there was an awful lot of standing around, or occasionally walking around. Garrison duty is always its own special Hell; you have to stay on high alert at all times, even after days, weeks, or months or nothing.

We quickly learned that the best assignment was Stormont itself, which was the Parliament building. It got you out of the cold, for one thing; when we guarded the King or members of parliaments’ residences, we were always posted outside.

Besides, the building had a charm that reminded me of occupied Europe, with its tall marble columns and an interior designed in the prior century. It wasn’t exactly like occupied Europe; the outside was as pristine as the inside. Back in Pandemonium, they tended to let exteriors stay covered in graffiti and filth, since any serious care would make thieves and vandals think it was a valuable target.

The building was a tad crowded, though; the MPs from Great Britain hadn’t been fired yet, even though most of them represented occupied districts, and the regional North Ireland Parliament was still housed there. There was talk of consolidation, but of course nobody was willing to vote themselves out of office. That was a one-way trip to the refugee slums.

At least the members of parliament were always happy to see us. Now, was it because my squad had three lovely ladies? It couldn’t have hurt, but I’ll say that I got my share of attention, too. It was a co-ed body, after all.

I probably shouldn’t have said anything, but there wasn’t much else to talk about as we made our rounds.

“I was wondering why that bald guy kept giving me candies,” said Kiyo, looking at the box in her hand like it was tainted.

“Soren, you have a dirty mind!” said Mariko in an elevated whisper. “Most of these people are old enough to be our parents. There is no way they are thinking that about us.”

“I dunno, Mariko,” said Kiyo. “When it’s just the two of us, they always talk to you first. And I can think of two reasons why.”

Mariko’s hands unconsciously went up to cover her chest. “Now you’re being ridiculous.”

“I wonder…” Gabriella said as we walked past a group of MPs talking about tax rates. She subtly pulled out a makeup mirror. “Yup, they’re checking out my ass.”

“No harm as long as they’re only looking,” I said. “I think the Prime Minister fancies me, though.”

“She’s old enough to be your grandmother!” said Mariko, the carpeted hallway swallowing her voice.

“She isn’t blind yet,” I said. “Don’t worry; so far, all she’s asked me to do is sign a box of Wizard Puffs.”

“She had better keep it that way,” groused Mariko. “Maybe I don’t want to know about every little thing, after all…”

Of course, politicians attract reporters the way excrement draws flies. The League had tried to keep me away from the fourth estate, likely on headmaster Tachibana’s suggestions, but there was nothing between us, now. On another occasion, one caught sight of me and Gabriella on patrol as he left an MP’s office.

“Sir Marlowe, we’d love to do a profile on you,” said a blond. “Ronnie Scott, Daily Dispatch.” When I didn’t stop to shake his offered hand, he jogged to catch up with us. “The people already know so much about you, but we’d love to get it straight from the source.”

“Sorry, I’m on duty,” I said, picking up my pace.

“Surely you can spare an hour!”

“Surely I can’t,” I replied, putting on my solemnest face. “I’m a simple soldier, no matter what else people might say, and I have a job to do. Come along, Private Hernandez.”

We picked up the pace, but he kept following us.

“Perhaps later? You can’t be on duty all day and night, after all!”

“You’ll have to run that by my superior officer,” I said.

“And that would be?” he asked, raising his microphone towards my face.

I shoved the offending piece out of my way. “You’re a reporter; I’m sure you can suss it out.”

“Sir Marlowe…”

“Spectral Web,” whispered Gabriella. The energy filament formed a golf ball sized sphere in her hand, which she dropped behind us. The lightshow from the spell was too small to be seen from behind, so he was none the wiser as he stepped right on it.

It was hard to keep my face stoic when he fell out of his stuck shoe and tripped. I’d have loved to escape, but there were too many MPs and orderlies around, their eyes drawn to the commotion. It would have looked suspicious if we hadn’t helped him. Plus, it gave me a chance to look good and destroy the evidence of Gabby’s trick when I returned his shoe. Spectral Web has a short shelf life, and the more of the threads’ ends are exposed, the faster they vanish. She hadn’t put much force into the spell to start with, so a quick scrape with my pocketknife did the trick.

“There’s no manners these days,” I said when I stood. Gabriella had already helped him to his feet. “Who leaves gum in the middle of the floor in Stormont?”

“No manners at all,” said Gabriella in a passable impression of my voice.

“There seems to be a lot of that going around,” said Ronnie, raising his microphone again. “How about a few quick questions? The people want to hear from you.”

I groaned internally. “Very well. How can I be of service?”

“How are you dealing with the death of your fiancée?”

Damn vultures! They didn’t know what that sickly girl had been. I wasn’t going to reward him with a juicy soundbite, though. “It’s been hard.”

He waited. “And?”

“That’s all I have to say. Next question?”

He bit his lip, thrown by my brevity. “How do you feel about the Republic of Ireland’s recent proposal to reunite with the north?”

“That’s a heck of a question for a private!” I said, unable to suppress a laugh. I’d thought the Mail was a proper news organization, but he was acting like a tabloid journalist.

“Surely you must have an opinion,” he said.

“I just gave it,” I said. “I’ll give you one more question.”

“I think that will be plenty,” he said. “Thank you.”

I loved the sour look on his face as he retreated.

“I appreciate the attempt to get us out of it,” I said to Gabriella. “That interview turned out to be fun, though.”

“As much fun as watching him eat it?” she asked, miming his pratfall with her hands.

“Hm… a bit more,” I replied. “Physical comedy is so lowbrow, after all.”

“Sure, you’re so above it, Sir Knight,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Well, one does have to present a certain image,” I said.

Chapter 41

Belfast, North Ireland

Tuesday, February 14^th, 2051

I didn’t give the incident any more thought until I was summoned to Sergeant Lakhdar’s office. I didn’t think it was possible for the Algerian woman’s office to grow more spartan; the only decorations now were miniature Algerian and French flags resting in an empty coffee cup and a picture of her family.

There were more pressing concerns, of course. I took it as a very poor sign that Major Smythe was waiting there with her.

“Reporting for duty,” I said, my hand snapping into a smart salue.

“Take a seat, Private Marlowe,” said the major in a creaky voice.

By the Dark Lord, what had happened to her? I was shaken out of my self-concern by her ghastly state. Her eyes were ringed by dark circles and her cheeks were sunken.

“My word,” I blurted out, “did you even see that doctor?”

“I’d worry about your own health,” said the brunette, though that description was becoming less accurate all the time as the shoots of grey advanced. “But if you’re feeling so superior, you can stay at attention instead.”

“Of course, ma’am,” I said. “My apologies.”

“Let’s get on to business.” Sergeant Lakhdar cast a worried glance at her friend before shoving a tablet across the table to me. I reached out for it, but she held up a hand. “Private, are you aware of the Wizard Corps’ policies about talking with the press?”

“I can’t say I am,” I said, my heart sinking. “I imagine I violated them?”

“Big time!” snapped the major. “Unless you’re an officer, you need authorization from your commander. Even then, all questions need to be run past the Corps’ Office of Public Relations. Is that clear, private?”

“Crystal, ma’am,” I said. “What’s the damage?”

“See for yourself,” said Sergeant Lakhdar, gesturing for me to take the tablet.

I reluctantly picked up the slab of glass and metal, tapping the power button. Funny, this time last year, I wouldn’t have known how to turn the accursed thing on. Now I could effortlessly see my own doom.

Apathetic Knight Turns Traitor! No Objection to National Annexation!

By Our Father Below, I wished I’d been holding a printed newspaper; the sergeant wouldn’t appreciate me crumpling up her tablet, so I had to restrain myself. “That isn’t remotely what I—”

“I’m sure it isn’t,” said the sergeant. “Thankfully, the League’s Ministry of Misinformation quashed the story before it saw publication.”

What a relief! The Mail had been lucky; back home, the news would have still gone to print, and then their blood would have been the ink for the retraction. Our censors didn’t have the advantage of digital snooping and distribution, after all.

“Still, we’re going to have to toss them a bone at some point,” said the sergeant. “I hadn’t realized you’d gone all this time without an actual interview. No wonder they keep asking me.”

“The Corps has been satisfied to hide me away since the Tower Attack,” I said.

“Not surprising, after what you did,” said the major. After her initial burst of anger, she’d settled back in her chair, satisfied to let Carine handle things.

My blood ran cold, and there was just a flash of worry on her face. “That is, what happened to you,” she said.

“Of course, ma’am.” Oh, it was much too late to cover up that admission. If it had just been the major and I, I’d have taken advantage of her sickly state to force the truth from her. She knew more than she ought to; I doubted just any random major had the whole tale of Holy Brother Mockingbird. If she didn’t, she had no reason to blame me for the attack.

However, the sergeant was right there, so I had to be careful.

Amanda got up to flee, only confirming her guilt. “Carine, I’ll leave his punishment up to you. I have other business to attend to.”

“I’m not sure an actual punishment is…” Before Sergeant Lakhdar could finish, Major Smythe was already out the door. “Does she seem off to you, too?”

“Absolutely,” I said. There was no time to be sneaky, since in her state, she’d surely driven to Stormont Estate. I hadn’t seen any sign of her since the welcome party, so who knew when I’d get another chance to figure out what her game was. “Ma’am, this might not be the best time to ask this, but do you trust me?”

“That’s an odd question,” said the sergeant. “In my experience, you don’t have the best judgement.”

Fair. “Then I’ll have to ask for the benefit of the doubt. I need to talk with Major Smythe before she gets too far, and you shouldn’t be there for it.”

She raised her eyebrow. “About what?”

“It will all make sense in the end,” I said. “I think I know what’s ailing her, though.”

“How can you—”

“That’s where I’ll have to beg for your trust, ma’am,” I said. “Time is running out.”

There was a long, pregnant silence as she considered my request. Most officers would have brushed off a troublesome private like me. However, this sergeant had always valued our independence and creativity. That was my only hope.

I exhaled when she nodded. “We’ll talk later. Go.”

I bolted out the door so she didn’t have a chance to reconsider. A quick scan with Mimic Sight showed me that the three of us were alone in the building. Seemed the others were out on their patrols; good, I needed the privacy.

It also showed that I’d been right to connect Major Smythe with Wendy. Her aura extended outside of her body, constantly flickering like a candle buffeted in the wind. It looked healthier than Wendy’s had, though that was no accomplishment.

As I’d predicted, she was just getting into a small, electric sedan. I darted over before she had a chance to hop in.

“Private Marlowe? What are you doing here?”

“Well, you said before that we’d have to reminisce about the good old Merlin Academy another time,” I said. “This is certainly another time.”

“You’re on duty,” she protested.

“I got permission from the sergeant.”

She waved me off. “What, is she punishing me? Go away. My head’s killing me; I’m not fit company.”

“If you insist,” I said, turning away. “Maybe if the Smythe isn’t interested in hearing what I have to say, I should reach out to the Smiths? They’d find your situations fascinating.”

“What the hell would intel possibly find interesting about me?” she snapped, letting loose a rather taboo curse that only confirmed my suspicions.

I looked over my shoulder, shooting her a smarmy grin. “The fact that you’re dying of the same ailment as that demonkin girl, Wendy.” I turned and walked slowly back towards the barracks. I called Wendy a demonkin advisedly; if I was wrong and got questioned on it later, I’d tell her the same line I’d given King George about her so-called childhood. However, if the major didn’t object to that…

“Stop! Fine, we’ll talk.”

I so loved having military intelligence on my side. Well, as much as it was ever on anybody’s side. It made a fine threat.

I obeyed and turned back around. “I’m glad you could fit me into your busy schedule.”

She gestured towards the car. “Get in. We’re not talking about this in public.”

Slightly worrisome, but not unexpected. I complied, wishing that we were allowed our personal cell phones while on active duty. Loose lips sink ships, so carrying around little GPS enabled spy cameras was even more dangerous. I had to let the others know where I was going somehow. We did have fabricata communicators issued by the Wizard Corps, designed to keep us in touch even if the Horde was jamming our technology. Did I want to turn it on and let Mariko or somebody else listen in on the whole conversation?

No, because I had no way of knowing who else might be with them, and I suspected some juicy details about my own past were about to come out.

I settled on an indirect method of letting people know where I’d been. I always kept a short backup knife strapped to my ankle, hidden by my pant leg. It wasn’t standard Wizard Corps issue, and two of the three members of my squad had seen me disrobe often enough to know my habit. I pretended to stumble with the car between her and I, using the cover to leave the blade in the middle of the small parking lot.

“Are we going or not, Marlowe?”

“Coming,” I said, hopping into the passenger seat. I inhaled deeply. Unless Major Smythe had the worst taste in perfume ever, her magical signature had the same garlic and sulfur stench as the departed Ms. Bailey.

The doors were closed and locked in a moment, and she pulled away before I could wrangle the seatbelt. The light whir of the electric motor belied our speed as she peeled away. It meant we didn’t draw any attention; the way she strained the engine, I imagined an internal combustion car’s roar would have been audible from the city proper.

“What’s the hurry?” I demanded.

Amanda Smythe cast a glare at me, but she pulled off the narrow road that connected Stormont to the outside world. “Tell me what you know.”

“No time for small talk, eh?” I said. While I tried to sound nonchalant, I kept my hands limber and ready to start slinging spells. I was dealing with a hostile wizard with an unknown affinity, after all. The fact that I could smell it all meant she was ‘leaking’ magical residuum. The only question was if it was on purpose, or a sign of her failing health.

“You’re the one who asked me here,” she said.

“My dear…” Sorry, Mariko. I was saying it with derision, not flirtation. “You misunderstand the balance of power here. Your neck is in the noose right now.”

“I don’t think so, Malthus,” she said, sounding triumphant. “If you don’t leave well enough alone, you’re sunk. I’ll be fine.”

If she expected me to react to my true name, I let her down. All it did confirm she was another demonkin. “Are you one of Fera or Girdan’s creatures?”

She gave me a curious look. “There are more devils than just them.”

“Maybe, but the only threat to Girdan’s authority was General Beez of the Eastern Horde, and my intervention helped with that problem. He’s riding high as the conqueror of Great Britain; nobody except his spawn is going to dare make moves on Ireland without his say-so. So, it’s one or the other.”

“You sound so sure.”

“Because I lived in that school of sharks since I could walk, even if I stumbled into their teeth occasionally,” I said. “So, I ask again: are you one of Girdan’s or one of Fera’s?”

“Fera’s,” she said.

“Good, then you aren’t out to kill me,” I said. “Do you happen to know why your mistress is feeling more merciful? Mr. Dante wasn’t clear on that.”

“When did you figure me out?” she asked.

“Tell Fera that she’s far too fond of shots across my bow,” I said. “It’s a small world, but the odds of running into another teacher from Merlin are damned low. Claiming it on our first meeting gives the game away.”

“Soren Marlowe had more than one teacher, and they all escaped,” she said.

“True,” I said. “Coincidence or not, I almost took you at face value,” I said. “Then I realized your aura was in the same sorry shape as Wendy’s.”

“My what?”

It occurred to me that I’d carefully left my improved talents with Mimic out of my reports to the home office. A smart devil leaves everybody guessing about what his affinity could do. Hell, I barely knew the affinity of half the devils I’d served alongside in Spain or England. It also meant she hadn’t looked too carefully about my school records.

“It isn’t part of Our Father Below’s philosophy, but there is something to the Eastern arts,” I said. “Your ki is a bit ragged, though not as bad off as Wendy’s. You should look into getting your chakras balanced.”

Major Smythe gave me a quizzical look. “Nonsense. What do you really mean?”

“Again, you misunderstand who is interviewing who; you’re almost as bad as that reporter!”

“You’re talking to me like I’m Dante,” she said. “He’s just a peon. You owe me more respect than that.”

“Please! You might have officer’s bars on your chest, but all demonkin are equal in the Dark Lord’s service,” I said. “Equally low and subservient.”

Rage burned in her eyes. “You gave up any rank you once had.”

“As if I care at this point. What’s Fera’s game?” I asked. “Tell her that if she tries anything, to stay well and clear of me; I’m not in a position to look the other way.”

“What if I told you that you can either help her or be exposed for what you are, halfbreed?”

I shrugged. “Then that would be a declaration of war. She has more resources than me, but she’d come to regret picking a fight. I’m enjoying my time with the humans.”

“Especially the short, mixed Japanese girl,” she said. “No, you moved on to the tall one with the glasses, didn’t you?”

“I…” My voice trailed off.

She let out a triumphant laugh. “You almost sounded so cold and detached. You’re still the scared little boy who found his cat in pieces when he annoyed the wrong devil.”

A chill ran down my spine. “How do you know about that?”

“Oh, Fera shared everything with me,” she said, cackling with a positively devilish glee. “And that’s what I thought. If it was just you, I might believe we couldn’t manipulate you. But we have two lovely levers to control you.”

I saw red. “If you pull them, it’s your head. Then, Fera will meet Our Father Below screaming.”

“Well, nobody wants that,” she said in a dismissive tone. “That means that when you get the word, stand down. Tell anybody else you value to do the same. It took a lot of effort to get you here; do your duty to your friends, if you won’t do it for the sake of your homeland.”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” I said. “I am under an oath to serve that human king, and devils do take pacts somewhat seriously.”

She’d been gripping the steering wheel like she was strangling a throat, staring straight ahead. She turned to face me, and her yellow, bloodshot eyes bored straight into me. Those were the eyes of a madwoman, like Medea on her last nerve in the old legend. Grey crept further through her hair, and the stench of sulfur doubled and redoubled in the air.

“Then it’s time to take away that choice,” she growled.

---

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