“If we’re stopped in this thing it’ll be five years apiece,” Michael said, exaggerating a genuine concern.
“No one’s going to stop us in this thing,” Streak said with real enthusiasm. “Drek, I hate these speed-trap camera systems. Putting the foot down in this monster is more fun than you can have with your clothes off, I tell ya.”
“I just hope no one’s decking into the camera downloads,” Michael said.
“The ECM should slot that up just fine,” Streak said. “But we can’t be a hundred per, which is why I ain’t burning up the rubber. Rakk it, can we take a detour through some wild land on the way back?”
“Just get us to Glastonbury, James,” Serrin said, “and hold the horses.”
“The hardest thing was finding somewhere safe to park Susan,” Streak said when they reached their destination, not long after noon. “I don’t want to park her out in the open.”
Kristen wasn’t listening. Glastonbury had impressed her from the first sight of the place; the dominating, imposing mound of the Tor, the small stone houses, old and weatherworn, which had mercifully resisted the temptation to become tourist attractions, the quietness of the place. The number of visitors to the area was strictly limited, and even Geraint had needed to pull strings to get them in. There were no police roadblocks, or anything so heavy-handed. It was just that no accommodation would be found for a visitor without the relevant documents, no shops would serve him, that sort of thing. Glastonbury valued its peacefulness. Power hung about the place like mist on a spring-morning river, and Serrin began to sense it even while they were still kilometers away.
They stood in front of the pub as Streak drove off to stash the car, their travel bags left dumped on the ground by the curb. The place was picture-perfect with its thatched roof, and yet it didn’t have the look, so common in some parts of England, of having been deliberately crafted in that image to deceive gullible visitors. It had always looked this way. Michael signed them in and paid in full, in advance, with a service fee just a little above what might have been expected but below what would have been ostentatious. Flaunting excessive wealth would not have been in keeping with the town.
Their rooms were low-ceilinged, small but comfortable, and welcoming with the scent of fresh linen sheets and towels and a faint trace of lavender, which, for once, didn’t seem like the scent of maiden aunts. By the time Streak returned they were already in the restaurant-bar, having ordered pub food and sinking the first of their pints of warm, malty beer.
Michael broke the dark brown crust on the steaming pie with an eagerness quite unjustified after his mammoth breakfast-but since that had, after all, been the only meal he’d had in a day and a half, the steak and kidney was exactly what he needed. He thought of ordering a second one, and guessed that at least some of the others might be of the same mind, but not wanting to draw undue attention, he settled for a pudding instead.
Kristen was wriggling in her chair, trying to stifle her giggles behind her hands. He looked uncomprehendingly at her.
“That’s rude,” she said, and even on her brown face a blush was apparent.
“What?” He was still perplexed until he realized what was happening. “Ah, spotted dick. Yes, well, it’s a suet pudding with currants in it. Hopefully accompanied by a large amount of custard with satisfying lumps in it. Traditional English pudding.”
She looked doubtful and slightly embarrassed until the dish arrived, and lived up to Michael’s description of it, right down to the thick skin settling on the surface of the custard, which did, indeed, appear to act as a camouflage blanket for floury lumps lurking underneath.
“I had better go alone,” Serrin said eventually, having dispensed with such temptations. He had no liking for sweet foods, and was impatient to be away. “Will you be all right?”
“I think we might be,” Streak said, settling into a third pint. Serrin looked askance. “Don’t worry, term,” the other elf said pleasantly. “I can handle this stuff. Not something that can dull wired reflexes.”
“Very well,” Serrin said, getting up from the slightly uncomfortable wooden chair.
“When will you be back?” Kristen asked, fixing her eyes on his.
“I have no idea, Serrin said truthfully, checking that his small bag held the leather volume and the paperwork he’d done his best to assimilate during the journey.
“Look, let me come with you as far as the foot of the hill,” Streak said. “Sure you want to go on alone, but let’s not take any chances, right?”
“It’s not a bad idea,” Michael said.
Serrin thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Come on, let’s go. See you later, darling. Enjoy your, er, pudding, Michael”
“Sgreat,” Michael managed to say through a mouthful of custard-lubricated heavy pudding. Kristen threatened to laugh again as the elves made for the low doorway, ducking their heads down to get outside.
Streak left him at the approach road. The cottage was plainly visible, with only a few trees around it, and Serrin was almost surprised at the plainness of the place. He half-expected a small mansion shrouded in some form of mist, with spirits all over the place. Assensing the place, he found nothing around, not even a watcher. Nor even any obvious ward or barrier, but that might testify only to the old elf’s ability to disguise power.
Serrin paused along the short driveway. The obvious thing was to walk right up and tap with the brass door-knocker, but somehow it seemed wrong to do so. He was a little unnerved. He had the feeling of being naked, as if the old mage would see right through him even though Serrin had nothing to hide. Summoning his will, he covered the last few paces and knocked politely at the door with two short raps of the knocker.
It opened immediately, revealing a young, fresh-faced man with dark curly hair standing in the doorway. Behind him, the small hall showed simple carpets, a few brass and pottery ornaments, and an old grandfather clock ticking away sonorously, its giant pendulum swinging in its slow, steady rhythm.
“I hoped to make an appointment to see Herr Hessler.” Serrin said. “Forgive me, but the matter is pressing. I have what I hope may be a gift in return for some of his time.”
He had thought out the speech carefully. In response, the young man rubbed his chin and looked him over sharply.
“You’re trouble,” he announced.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well, not you so much as your woman. Someone’s got it in for her,” the young man said, folding his arms across his chest.
“Oh, drek,” Serrin said, his prepared polite introduction abandoned in the face of such an unexpected revelation. What could this youth mean?
“I think my master might be interested in you,” the youth said. “But go back and bring your woman with you. She’s going to need more help then you do. Oh dear, there’s someone else too, isn’t there? Sorry, the emotional bond isn’t so strong between you and I couldn’t see him straight away. Someone’s got a sign on two people around you.
“Well, bring your woman anyway,” the youth said at length. “One should be enough.”
He’d been assensed already, Serrin realized, and it didn’t much surprise or annoy him, it being only what he’d expected. But it was disconcerting to be so vulnerable to someone so young. Then he realized that this wasn’t, of course, a youth at all.
“You are Merlin, I presume?” he said politely.
“You can call me that if you wish. He does.” The spirit grinned. “And I’ll call you Serrin. So I know your real name, but you don’t know mine.” The grin grew a little wider.
Serrin smiled in return. To know a spirit’s true name was power over it, and only Hessler would know that information.
“I’ll be back,” he said.
“Make it swift,” Merlin said, for the first time a truly serious expression settling over his face.
Serrin was halfway down the driveway, the door to the cottage closed behind him, when his senses dulled soddenly and he felt almost faint. A humming Sound came from behind him, and he turned slowly-unsure whether he really wanted to do so-to see a black cat sitting by a bush, purring gently.