A huge smile crossed Peacock’s face. ‘Well, sir, I – ’ He stopped. There was an immediate change of atmosphere in the temple and a sudden silence. Peacock was looking at something over Henry’s shoulder. Henry turned.
Blue was standing in the doorway. There was a tall, slim, very handsome young man by her side.
Henry couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was… she was… He took a deep breath. Blue had grown a little, unless it was his imagination, perhaps lost a few pounds. And she’d let her hair grow. It was no longer the short, boyish cut he remembered. Now it cascaded to her shoulders. She was utterly, totally gorgeous!
He wondered who the man was with her.
She walked differently as well. Not affected, but confident, very upright, sort of… regal. As she moved into the room, the priests bowed deeply to her, like a wave. Henry watched her, mouth open, as she approached, wondering if he should bow too, but unwilling to stop looking at her. He had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.
She’d seen him, but she wasn’t smiling.
‘Hello, Blue,’ said Henry, his heart pounding.
‘Oh, Henry, I’m so sorry!’ Blue said, and threw her arms around his neck.
Sixteen
She smelled of musk and jasmine and for a moment he was lost to everything but the scent of her skin and the scent of her hair. His heart was thumping so wildly now he was certain she must hear it. He wanted to hold her and kiss her on the mouth. He wanted to -
She was crying! He could feel her tears on his cheek and suddenly the world came rushing in and he relaxed his arms and stepped away. He raised his head and was looking into the eyes of the handsome young man, who looked back at him without expression.
Henry’s mind began to function again. So sorry? So sorry about what? What had Blue got to be sorry about? He was the one who…
Still looking into the eyes of the young man, Henry suddenly knew, beyond doubt, that this was Blue’s new love. Oh, Henry, I’m so sorry. So sorry I took you at your word. So sorry I didn’t wait. So sorry I found somebody else. So sorry we’re to be married?
‘Blue…’ Henry croaked, then stopped. What was he going to say? You should never have listened when I turned you down?
‘I know you came as soon as you could,’ Blue said.
The young man, his eyes still on Henry’s, said inconsequentially, ‘You don’t know who I am, do you?’
Henry said, ‘No.’ His voice was small.
The young man gave a brief, bleak smile. ‘Comma,’ he said shortly.
‘Comma,’ Henry echoed. Comma? Blue’s peculiar, sneaky, chubby little brother? ‘Comma?’ It couldn’t be Comma. Nobody could change that much, even in two years. But now the name had been spoken Henry realised the young man had Comma’s eyes and the turn of Comma’s jaw. It was incredible.
Comma nodded. His face was sober. He had a well-modulated voice and an air of sophistication Henry couldn’t match. ‘I’m sorry we meet again in such dreadful circumstances,’ he said.
But really Henry couldn’t take his eyes off Blue. Why had he ever let her go? What was there in his life now that came even close to…? He gazed at her adoringly, vaguely aware he must look like a puppy, and felt a rising excitement that came out of nowhere. Maybe it isn’t too late!
Blue said, ‘What will you do now?’
Henry stared at her, not really knowing what she was talking about, not really caring. He allowed himself to smile a little. ‘What?’ he asked.
Then he watched it happen in a sort of ghastly slow motion. Blue’s tears dried and a look of horror crawled across her face. Her eyes grew wide. ‘No one’s told you!’ she said. She glanced around with growing anger. But the faces that looked back were just as puzzled as Henry’s own. ‘No one’s told you,’ she said again, not angrily this time, but quietly, with shock. She looked him in the eye, her face a wooden mask.
‘Henry, Mr Fogarty is dead,’ she said.
Seventeen
‘My guess is they plan to kill you once the money is paid over,’ Madame Cardui said calmly.
They were in a standard Security Chamber, a purposeful confusion of hanging drapes and full-length mirrors that reflected her cloaked and hooded figure scores of times. Chalkhill shivered. He had a feeling she might be right, but that didn’t mean he wanted to face up to it. ‘I’m sure my old partner will protect me,’ he said without much conviction. And if he doesn’t, you will, you old hag, he thought. You’re the one who got me into this.
Madame Cardui snorted. ‘Silas Brimstone? He would sell his own mother for sixpence. No, I’m afraid your only hope is to expose the Brotherhood before they move against you.’
The trouble with a Security Chamber was you never knew where to look. Which was the whole point, of course. All the reflections duplicated the person you were talking to and the curtains deflected their voice so you couldn’t even follow the sound. It meant assassins didn’t quite know what to attack, but it was hael trying to carry out a sensible conversation. He selected a reflection of Madame Cardui at random and wailed at it, ‘But that only gives me to the end of the week!’
‘Can’t you ask your bank to slow the transfer?’
‘I’ve already done that,’ Chalkhill told her. ‘Standard clearance is seventy-two hours. They’ve pushed it back to six days – a working week. But they won’t go any further. They say more delay would ruin their reputation.’
‘Such a shame,’ said Madame Cardui.
The deep hood meant he couldn’t see her face, but he sensed she was smiling and felt a sudden chill. She’d sounded so plausible when she first approached him and frankly her proposition had appealed hugely. But there’d been no talk of killing then and especially no talk of killing him. He began to suspect the old witch had a hidden agenda. All the same, he felt compelled to venture, ‘Can’t you do anything?’
‘My deeah, I would if I could – you know that. But I can’t. My hands are tied. We’re all supposed to be friends with those ghastly Faeries of the Night these days.’
Chalkhill was a ghastly Faerie of the Night himself, but he let it go. For better or worse, Madame Cardui was his paymaster now. However tricky she proved, she couldn’t be more dangerous than Hairstreak and he’d survived for years as Hairstreak’s spy. Besides, he knew that whatever she said, she wasn’t likely to let him be murdered while he remained a valuable asset. At the moment, he was the only asset she had. No one else had managed to infiltrate the Brotherhood.
He decided the talk of death was just meant to put pressure on him, hurry him up a little, as if he hadn’t enough motivation already. Darkness knew Hairstreak had played the same game often enough. To move things along – perhaps even take control of the situation – he asked, ‘Any new intelligence?’
A hundred hooded heads shook negatively. ‘Only confirmation of what we already know. The Brotherhood is up to something.’ There was just the barest hesitation before she asked, ‘Did you find out anything else, Mr Chalkhill?’
For a moment he debated keeping it to himself, then decided against it. This early in the game he needed to ingratiate himself with Madame Cardui, reassure her he was loyal. Besides, what he had learned was little enough and of doubtful importance. ‘Hairstreak looked taken aback when I asked to speak to God,’ he said.
‘Ah,’ said Madame Cardui, as if he’d told her something interesting. ‘How did he respond?’
‘Brushed it off as a joke. "I’m the only God you’ll find round here" or some such. But I’m sure I rattled him.’
‘And your analysis?’
Chalkhill opened his mouth and closed it again. Hairstreak had never asked for his analysis of anything in the old days. Madame Cardui was obviously a very different sort of spymaster. His eyes flickered from one reflection to another. The fact was he didn’t have much of an analysis. Everything he’d done so far had been prompted by greed and gut instinct. Plus some loose tavern talk. He doubted the Painted Lady would be impressed by that. ‘Well, it’s obviously a code-name…’