"Where is she?” Miss Pimm demanded harshly. “Where is Alice Prescott? Is she with him?” She glared at Smedley.
He had nodded before he realized.
"Who?” Ginger said loudly.
She did not look at him, as if his effort to deceive was beneath contempt. “The Opposition has a mark on Alice Prescott, has had for the last three years. She went to Harrow Hill with him?"
Mrs. Bodgley made a choking noise and sank back in her chair.
"Where?” Ginger said.
"Oh, don't be childish!” Miss Pimm snapped. “I can tell that Exeter is a few miles southwest of us. We have a mark on him! I assume he went to Harrow Hill to consult the presence again. If his cousin is with him, then he is in deadly danger."
"How do we know,” Smedley's voice said from where he was sitting, “that you are not the Opposition?"
"You don't. But it makes no difference. You will cooperate anyway."
"Mana!” Ginger said, and sat down hurriedly. “You have this mana he talks about!"
She looked at him seriously for the first time. She was the only one standing; the others sat and stared like children in a classroom.
"Yes, I am with Head Office, although you will have to take my word for that."
"I don't think I understand,” Mrs. Bodgley muttered faintly. Had her self-possession ever failed her before? “Will you sit down and have a cup of tea, Miss Pimm?"
"No. There is no time. Mr. Stringer, we must hurry."
The famous surgeon sighed and drained his cup. He muttered, “You're sacked!” half under his breath.
Smedley and Ginger exchanged glances of panic.
"Perhaps you could explain?” Mrs. Bodgley said with an effort.
Miss Pimm slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “I repeat, there is no time. Nine years ago, I promised Cameron Exeter that I would guard his son. I almost failed. The boy is back again, and I still have some residual obligations to fulfil. I don't believe the rest of you are in any danger now. I shall intercept Exeter before he returns here. Even if the agent the Opposition has sent is a vindictive type, he will have no reason to vent his spite on you. Come, Stringer!"
"Wait!” Smedley barked. “What exactly are you planning to do?"
She stopped in the doorway and turned as if to give battle. “I am going to do what I was planning to do at Staffles before you stuck your oar in and disrupted everything, Captain Smedley. It was your blundering intervention that alerted the Opposition."
"The Blighters, you mean?"
"We sometimes call them that. Stringer?"
"Exeter says he will never go back!” Smedley shouted.
"I fail to see that it is any business of yours."
"I do. I want to go."
He had said it. He was shocked to hear it.
But he had said it, so he must mean it.
With the reluctance of a frozen pond melting, the formidable Miss Pimm's pale lips thinned into a faint hint of a smile. “After all the trouble you have caused me, you demand favors? Talk about brass! I know you are a man of initiative and fast decisions, Captain Smedley, but do you know what is involved? Do you understand that it means considerable danger and to all intents and purposes is irrevocable? It means loss of family and home and friends. It is a leap beyond the bounds of imagination."
He nodded. His heart was beating a mad tattoo. Damn Chichester and the old man! Damn the aunts! Sunday was his birthday—twenty-one, key of the door. He smiled, to see if he still could. “Just show me."
"You are ready to come now? Immediately?"
"Yes."
"Then you impress. Very well. Come along and we'll see if it is possible. I make no promises.” Miss Pimm summoned Stringer with a flick of her head and stalked from the room.
Everyone stood up again.
"La Belle Dame Sans Merci!” the surgeon growled, following her. “Thanks awfully for the tea, dear lady. I have so much enjoyed our long chat this afternoon. Don't bother to see us out. We really must do this more often. Get the lead out, Captain! She won't wait for you.” He disappeared into the hallway.
Smedley was shivering like a dog in the starting gate. He looked to the others. “Anyone else feeling suicidal this afternoon?"
Neither had any close family. They were both aging. Ginger at least believed the tales of Elfenland—Smedley wasn't sure if Mrs. Bodgley did. Get away from the war! Live forever! Be restored to youth and health! How could anyone refuse the chance, no matter how long the odds?
Ginger removed his pince-nez and rubbed it vigorously on his sleeve. Then he replaced it and sighed. “No. I think not. Not me."
Outside, the car engine rumbled into life.
"Mrs. Bodgley?"
The lady was pale. She bit her lip. Her hesitation was longer, but then she shook her head. “No. At my age ... no. My memories are here."
"Then I must run. Thank you, Mrs. B. Thank you both for ... everything.” Oh, God! His eyes were flooding. He grabbed her and kissed her cheek. He clutched Ginger's outstretched hand awkwardly and pumped it, thumping the man's shoulder with his stump.
"Bye!” he shouted, and ran out of the room. He blundered into the umbrella stand, ricocheted off it, raced along the hall and out the front door. The great silver Rolls was just starting to move along the driveway. He sprinted after it, and a door swung open for him.
48
THE ROAD WAS NARROW BETWEEN TALL HEDGES. IT WAS CANOPIED by branches of great trees and full of fragrant green coolness. But it was steep. Alice gasped a final, “Whoof!” and gave up. She put her foot down and wiped her forehead.
"From here I walk!” she said. “How much farther?"
Edward halted at her side. “Just around this corner, I think."
She dismounted, pulled her skirts clear, and began to push the bike.
He took it from her, pushing both. “Look on the bright side. We can freewheel on the way back!” He was grinning, quite unwinded. He was in much better shape than she was.
"Mmph! Well, you can do the talking on the way up. You have never told me how you found Olympus."
"There isn't much to tell. You've heard all the exciting bits. How far had I got? Karzon? Well, he dumped us on a band of Tinkerfolk—"
"Why? I mean, I thought he was the Man, and Zath was one of his."
"Ah! Zath's supposed to be, but he hasn't been for quite a while. There had never been an actual god of death before him. Who would want to be? There are several fictitious deities like that, just a temple or shrine with no stranger behind them. People worship there just the same. In every case, a member of the Pentatheon will claim suzerainty, so not all the mana is lost. I think Death was merely an abstract notion until some minion of Karzon's asked for the title and Karzon let him take it. What his real name was, I don't know and it doesn't matter.
"Anyway, Karzon had made a bad mistake. Zath founded his own cult, bestowed the Black Scriptures on it, sent out the reapers. Human sacrifice is an enormously potent source of mana. Even though the murders were not committed on his node, he gained power from every death. By the time the Pentatheon realized what he was up to—and that probably took half a century or so—none of them dared challenge him."
"They couldn't combine against him?"
Edward guffawed. “Combine? After thousands of years of playing the Great Game? No, they can't think like that. They let Zath continue on his jolly way, all trying to get on his team. About fifty years ago, he arranged for a new temple in Tharg, with himself as co-deity. The Five, in effect, have become six."
"I think I get the gist. So Karzon supports the Liberator and the Filoby Testament!"