"No. It's Stringer. If he was telling the truth, we're all right, of course. If he was just protecting the Old School Tie, you see. But if he was trying to trap me and calls in the law ... He knows who I am."
Now it was Jones who hid a yawn. “I tracked you down in one afternoon, Miss Prescott. The police should be faster."
Edward nodded and rubbed his eyes. “And if Stringer is on the side of the Blighters, then I've put you all in mortal danger."
The kettle began singing a warning.
"The who?” Alice said.
"The Blighters.” He glanced around bleakly, as if expecting to see doubt in the weary faces. “They're the Chamber's allies in this world. They contrived the massacre at Nyagatha. They're a damned sight more dangerous than the law, although they can warp the law to their own ends if they want to. They have powers you can't imagine. They killed Bagpipe."
Alice caught Ginger's eye, and his expression frightened her. He believed. Timothy Blodgley, she recalled, had been nailed to a draining board with a butcher knife. In a locked room.
"How could they know you were in Staffles in the first place?” she demanded. “And if they're so clever, why not kill you on the spot? Why ever let you reach England alive?"
He shrugged.
"Well?” she demanded. “You can't just issue cataclysmic warnings and then not explain them!"
"The man who tricked me into landing in Flanders expected me to die,” Edward said. “But he knows I'm extremely hard to kill, because of the prophecy. So it would make sense for him to have put a mark on me, like a ring on a pigeon. Then the Chamber passes word:
"Dear Messrs. Blighters,
"The indicated subject has just returned to your manor. If he is alive, would you please stop him breathing at your earliest convenience. If you will do same, you will oblige,
"Your humble servants, etc.
"The car broke down exactly where the bombs were going to fall! Or vice versa. I really oughtn't involve you lot anymore, but I'm frightened that the Blighters may decide to take you off as witnesses or even just for spite. In that case, my luck may help shield you also."
Ginger said, “Good Lord!"
"They're not infallible,” Julian said sleepily. “The bombs missed. You are heading back to Nextdoor, aren't you? To pass a message, you said."
"No."
Alice rose and stepped over Edward's feet to reach the kettle. She poured some water into the pot to warm it. She wondered why Smedley was so eager to cross over to this other world of Edward's. Running around with spears did not sound like his cup of tea, especially since he would have to throw with his left hand and carry the shield on his stump. Did he seriously believe that magic could give him back his hand?
After a moment, Julian said, “Why not? Why aren't you going back?"
"Lordie!” Edward said. “You should know! Because I came back here to fight in the war I'm supposed to fight in, that's why! How much identification will I need to enlist?"
"If you can breathe you're in,” Jones growled.
It would not be that easy, Alice thought. And how long could he stay in? Her indestructible cousin was trailing a remarkable history behind him now. Too many people knew of him and knew him by sight. The thought of another loved one at the Front was a horror, and yet that confession made her feel guilty and unpatriotic. He would have to enlist under a false name, so she could no more be listed as his next of kin than she could be D'Arcy's. She would have two names to look for in the casualty lists.
"What about this prophecy?” she asked. “Did you kill the Zath character?"
"No. And I never will."
She made the tea and covered the pot with the cozy. “So that's all? You walk out of here at daylight and enlist?” The night's efforts seemed strangely futile if all they had achieved was to deliver another living body to the abattoir.
"There's one thing I must do first,” Edward said through a yawn. “And that's get word to Head Office about the traitor back in Olympus. I hope they can tell me if the Blighters are still after me."
"I thought only people could cross over?” Julian said. “Letters won't? So how do you get word back to the Service?"
"I've got three leads. Yes, one of them might require a trip back, but if I do have to go, it won't be for long. They all require heading down to the West Country. You going back to Fallow, Ginger?"
"I must. First thing."
"Then I'll come with you. Soon as I have something to wear. Can you think of anywhere I can lay low for a couple of days?"
Jones fingered the bridge of his nose and jerked his hand away angrily. “I do have one idea. If we can't trust Stringer, then the school itself's too obvious."
Edward nodded, yawning again. “Smedley?"
They all looked at Julian.
"I'll tag along,” he said quietly.
"Tea, anyone?” Alice said, but it turned out nobody wanted tea. Probably, like her, they wanted only to close their eyes and disappear. “Well, if you men are sure you'll be all right in here..."
Today was Thursday. She would likely be sacked if she missed a second day's work, but she knew she could not just walk out of this affair now.
IV
Queen's Gambit
17
DAYLIGHT AROUND THE CURTAINS WAKENED HER. SHE FUMBLED FOR her watch. Ten o'clock! Now she could hear the rumble of traffic to tell her that business swirled as usual through the city. She reeled out of bed, buttoned up her housecoat, disciplined her hair viciously, and then hurried through to the sitting room.
A man in a bottle-green dressing gown was reading yesterday's Times. The sight was a stake through her heart, but of course it was only Edward. He lurched to his feet as she entered. He smiled, all blue eyes and white teeth.
No one else around—damn! She was not awake enough yet for the bleeding-hearts scene. “They can't both be in the bathroom. Is there a cup left in that pot?"
"Yes. It's fresh. Ginger went out shopping."
She moved to the counter, turning her back on him. She laid out cup and saucer, bracing for the inevitable questions. She heard a floorboard squeak as he moved to the fireplace, a rustle of paper.
"Tell me about him,” Edward said.
"No.” Perhaps when she was properly awake.
Or perhaps not.
She poured the tea. It looked well stewed.
Edward said, “He's rich, but his wife controls the money. He smokes cigars. He's a barrister and probably in the army."
The teapot clattered on the counter. She spun around, heart pounding madly.
Edward's smirk changed to alarm. “I say! Didn't mean to startle you!"
"Is this some of your witchcraft?"
He blushed like a child caught in wickedness. “Of course not! Not in this world!"
"Then how do you know all that?"
He shrugged, smiling thinly. “The cigars I can smell on this dressing gown. You don't wear a ring, so he's probably married. He buys his clothes at Harrods and drives a cathedral-size car, so he's rich. But you live in a slum, so he can't afford to give you money. Reasonable guess that he's in the Army, living on the King's shilling."
"And a barrister?"
Edward hesitated. Looking thoroughly ashamed now, he pulled a paper from his pocket. “Envelope addressed to Sir D'Arcy Devers, QC, at Gray's Inn."
She took up her tea with shaking hands and went to the sofa. “Elementary, my dear Watson!"
"Bloody cheap trick,” he muttered. “I'm sorry. Soldier by choice or conscription?"
"By choice."