Her voice rang with power.
The dog leaped up like a hound and bounded down the corridor outside.
Derkensun was shaken. ‘It was dead.’
‘Still is, more’s the pity, as it was my daughter’s,’ Mag said. ‘Needs must as the devil drives,’ she added.
The dog had only one purpose, and that was to follow the scent. It followed the working, and after running some way the scent of it grew stronger. And stronger still.
The source! It towered over him, and kicked at him.
He became – light.
She felt her sending subsume. She narrowed her eyes and just for a moment, the Nordikan thought he saw one of the vicious old witches of the myths of his people – feral crones who guarded an icy hell.
‘Got him,’ she said. And sagged into her chair.
Dawn brought the doctor.
He was old – so old that his moustache and beard had the wispy quality of bad wool. He wore a small cap on his head and carried a tall staff. He arrived with Derkensun, Ser Michael and a young man who was not introduced. Four more Nordikans came, placed the dead guard on a shield and carried him away.
The Yahadut leaned over the bed and put a hand on the Captain’s head – then snatched it back.
‘God of my fathers,’ he said. ‘What blasphemy is this?’
He started to turn, stumbled, and froze.
Ser Michael ignored the old man’s antics. ‘A man was killed in the kitchens, Mag. Killed hermetically – he had burns inside his skin.’
‘He killed the guard – he tried to kill us all,’ Mag said wearily.
‘Bad Tom caught a pair of them too,’ Michael said. ‘This place is riddled with treason.’
Harmodius made a fresh, desperate effort.
Yahadut scholar!
The man halted.
We need your help!
It is blasphemy for two souls to occupy one body, the old man said. But the sheer rarity of the thing caught his interest. I see. Ahh – I see. Your body is dead?
It is, Harmodius said. I need to leave my host. I’m killing him.
So I see, said the scholar, now fully intrigued. Ah! You are Harmodius?
I am.
Yosef ben Mar Chiyya, at your service. You know Al-Rashidi . . .
I do. I was his student. And you?
We correspond. Your host is not so badly wounded. I regret to confirm you are the source of the problem. You must leave him.
I felt it. I seized control-
This is evil! You must not!
– to save him. And myself, of course. Yosef – I am powerless in here. Can I be moved to an artefact?
Never. The soul is too complex. Only to another host. Surely you know this?
If Harmodius had had a corporeal body, he would have shrugged and sighed, too. I have such reasons to live!
Yosef ben Mar Chiyya’s eyes opened, and he turned back to the Red Knight’s body. In the comfortable, slightly shabby sitting room of his great library-palace, he fell into an armchair. I am well armoured against you, daemon. Come and sit.
I am no daemon.
Anything that seeks to seize control of a man’s body is a daemon. But you will not tempt me. I’m too old for temptation. Who is the woman who burns like the sun?
Mag. A seamstress. She has a natural talent.
By the horns and drums of Judea, she is like an angel of fire. Unlike you, daemon. You must die.
If I must, so be it. Wait – wait. What if you drugged him? Can drugs help?
They can help – but you will still be there.
Damn it! Rashidi would find a solution!
Rashidi is ten times as powerful as I, and would yet say that the solution is easy – you will simply not accept it. Let go. Die!
I will not.
The Yahudat took a deep shuddering breath and muttered an invocation, hand on the amulet at his chest. There was a flare of pure white light.
The Captain’s eyes opened.
He met the eyes of the old scholar. Took a deep breath as his friends crowded around the bed.
‘He’s gone,’ whispered the Red Knight.
The scholar shook his hand. ‘Not hardly, the wicked old thing.’ He put a hand on the Red Knight’s brow. ‘I simply forced him down for a while. Listen – I will make you a drink. A posset. It will help for now.’ He frowned. ‘But in truth, you must rid yourself of this troublesome guest.’
Mag leaned forward. ‘What is he talking about?’
The Captain’s eyes fluttered. ‘He’s babbling, Mag,’ he said.
The doctor met the seamstress’s eyes – in an eternity of no time, they both knew.
‘Ah, I see,’ Mag said.
An hour after the Captain drank off the posset, he was up, and possessed of ferocious energy.
He reviewed their arrangements, heard about the various attacks in the night, and paced his room until Nell brought him fresh clothes and a basin in which to wash.
Nell drew the water herself, brought it to the room, and Mag heated the water hermetically.
He sent Ser Michael – who was barely able to stand from fatigue – to inform the Captain of Ordinaries that he could meet the princess at her convenience. He exchanged a handclasp with Harald Derkensun.
‘Mag says I owe you for the excellent doctor and the warning, too. I’m sorry for your man.’ He met the Nordikan’s eyes.
The other man nodded. ‘There is much you should know,’ he said. ‘You are the Megas Ducas of the Emperor. I have eaten the Emperor’s salt and owe fealty to no other. No matter what their blood tie.’
The Captain heard the Nordikan out, and at the end, said, ‘You have given me much to think on.’
‘Blackhair knows,’ Derkensun said. ‘And Giorgios Comnena of the Scholae.’
The new Megas Ducas leaned against a wall. ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘Thanks. Forewarned is forearmed, they say in Westwall.’ He seemed far away, then rallied. ‘What can you tell us of this Aeskepiles? The Emperor’s magister?’
Derkensun shrugged. ‘Little. Some men call him Vulcan. He was a smith, or a jeweller, before he came to power. Or so I have heard.’ He shrugged. ‘In truth, we Nordikans hate witches.’ He smiled a little. ‘We hate what we fear.’
‘You seem well informed to me,’ the Megas Ducas said.
‘I have a friend who is a warlock,’ Derkensun volunteered. ‘He would be rid of the smith. That is, Aeskepiles. We try not to say his name.’
An hour later, all of the night watch were abed. He’d left the apartments in the palace – the former Duke of Thrake’s apartments, of course.
He followed Toby and Nell all the way out of the labyrinthine corridors to the Athanatos barracks, where he found that Mag – prescient, as always – had kept him an officer’s suite of three rooms – sitting room, bedroom, orderly room. She already had it furnished with his camp furniture. And she was yet awake.
He took her hands and kissed both cheeks. ‘You are-’
She laughed. ‘I try to think ahead. Someone has to.’ She leaned over and
Entered his palace. Harmodius is alive! she said.
Yes, he admitted.
She smiled. Oh good – I liked him.
He makes a restless companion – like a bad housemate, except inside my skull. The Yahadut’s drugs are to suppress him.
Oh! she said. Tell me if I can help.
Her paramour, John le Bailli, handed his Captain a pair of wax tablets. ‘Here’s the billeting arrangements as best I understand them. Things got chaotic at the end, and this place is incredible – there’s a legionary eagle over the mess hall. The building must be more than a thousand years old.’ He held out a scroll. ‘We caught a pair of spies, and Tom killed ’em.’