"Any directions for us, guv'nor?"
The man rested a hand on the lip of my open window: the back of the hand was crisscrossed with thin white scars. "Follow the drive until it splits, take the right fork to the rear of the house. Someone will meet you there. Carry out your business and return. Before you go, I shall give you a warning: you are now entering the private property of a great magician. Do not stray or trespass if you value your lives. The penalties are severe and would curdle your blood."
"Yes, sir." With a nod, he stepped back and signaled us to pass. I revved the engine and we passed slowly under the arch. Soon afterward we crossed beneath the protective domes; both made my essence tingle. Then we were through, and following a sandy, curving driveway between the trees.
I regarded the boy. His face was impassive, but a single bead of sweat trickled down his temple. "How did you know all the items?" I said. "You only had a couple of seconds looking in the back."
He gave a thin smile. "I've been trained. I read fast and remember accurately. So, what did you think of him?"
"Lovelace's little assassin? Intriguing. He's not a djinni, and I don't think he's a magician either—he doesn't quite have your scent of corruption.[98] But we know he was able to seize the Amulet, so he must have some power… And he exudes great confidence. Did you notice how the ghuls obeyed him?"
The boy runkled his forehead. "If he's not a magician or a demon, what sort of power can he have?"
"Don't deceive yourself," I said darkly; "there are other kinds." I was thinking of the Resistance girl and her companions.
I was spared further questioning, as the driveway suddenly straightened and we broke out of the belt of trees. And up ahead we saw Heddleham Hall.
The boy gasped.
It didn't have quite the same effect on me. When you've helped construct several of the world's most majestic buildings, and in some instances given pretty useful tips to the architects concerned,[99] a second—rate Victorian mansion in the Gothic style doesn't exactly wet your whistle. You know the kind of thing: lots of twiddly bits and turrets.[100] It was surrounded by a wide expanse of lawn, on which peacocks and wallabies were decoratively scattered.[101] A couple of striped tents had been erected on the lawns, to which sundry servants were already carting trays of bottles and wineglasses down from the terrace. In front of the house was a massive, ancient yew; under its spreading limbs the driveway split. The left—hand fork swooped elegantly round to the front of the house; the right—hand fork trundled meekly round the back. As per our orders, we took the tradesmen's route.
My master was still drinking the whole sight in with a lustful look.
"Forget your pathetic daydreams," I said. "If you want to end up with one of these, you've got to survive today first. So—now we're inside, we need to formulate our plan. What exactly is it?"
The boy was focused again in an instant. "From what Lovelace told us," he said, "we guess that he is going to attack the ministers in some way. How, we don't know. It'll happen once they've arrived, when they're most relaxed and unawares. The Amulet is vital to his scheme, whatever it is."
"Yes. Agreed." I tapped the steering wheel. "But what about our plan?"
"We've got two objectives: to find the Amulet and to work out what trap Lovelace is preparing. Lovelace will probably have the Amulet on his person. In any event, it'll be well guarded. It would be useful to locate it, but we don't want to take it from him until everyone's arrived. We've got to show them that he has it: prove he's a traitor. And if we can show them the trap too, so much the better. We'll have all the evidence we need."
"You make it sound so simple." I considered Faquarl, Jabor, and all the other slaves Lovelace was likely to have to hand, and sighed. "Well, first we need to ditch this van and these disguises."
The driveway came to a sudden end at a circular area of gravel at the back of the house. The florist's van was parked there. A set of white double doors was open nearby, with a man dressed in a dark uniform standing outside. He indicated for us to pull over.
"All right," the boy said. "We unload the van and seize the first chance we get. Wait for my orders."
"Hey, do I ever do anything else?" I managed to skid the van to a halt a few millimeters away from the ornamental shrubbery and got out. The flunky approached.
"Mr. Squalls?"
"That's me, guv'nor. This here's… my son."
"You're late. The cook has need of your items. Please bring them to the kitchen with all speed."
"Yes, guv'nor." An uneasy feeling ran through my essence and rippled the bristles on the back of my neck. The cook… No, it wouldn't be. He'd be elsewhere, surely. I opened the van door. "Son—snap to it, or you'll feel the back of my hand!"
I took a certain bleak pleasure in loading the boy up with as many jars of Syrian olives and giant land snails as I could, then propelled him on his way. He staggered off under his load, not unlike Simpkin in Pinn's shop.[102] I selected a small tub of larks' tongues and followed him through the doors and into a cool, whitewashed passage. Various servants of every shape, sex, and size were racing about like startled hares, engaged in a hundred tasks; everywhere there was a great clattering and hubbub. A scent of baked bread and roasting meats hung in the air, emanating from a wide arch that led on to the kitchen.
I peered through the arch. Dozens of white—clothed under—cooks, chopping, basting, rinsing, slicing… Something turned on the spit in the fireplace. Stacks of vegetables were piled high on tables beside open pastry cases being filled with jellied fruits. It was a hive of activity. Orchestrating it all was a sizeable head chef, who at that moment was shouting at a small boy wearing a blue uniform.
The chef's sleeves were rolled up. He had a thick white bandage wrapped round one arm.
I checked the seventh plane.
And ducked back out of sight. I knew those tentacles far too well for there to be any doubt.
My master had entered the kitchen, placed his precarious load on a nearby work surface and was coming out again, none the wiser. As he rounded the door I thrust the larks' tongues into his hand.
"Take those too," I hissed. "I can't go in."
"Why?"
"Just do it."
He had the sense to obey, and quickly, for the servant in the dark uniform had reappeared in the corridor, and was observing us intently. We headed back out again for the next load.
"The head cook," I whispered, as I pulled a crate of boar pate to the back of the van, "is the djinni Faquarl. Don't ask me why he likes that disguise, I've no idea. But I can't go in. He'll spot me instantly."
The boy's eyes narrowed. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"
"You'll just have to trust me on this one. There—you can manage another sack of ostrich steaks, can't you? Oops. Perhaps not." I helped him to his feet. "I'll unload the van; you take the stuff in. We'll both think what to do."
During the course of several round—trips for the boy, we thrashed out a plan of campaign. It took a fair bit of thrashing to reach agreement. He wanted us both to slip past the kitchen to explore the house, but I was extremely reluctant to go anywhere near Faquarl. My idea was to unload, ditch the van in the trees somewhere and creep back to start our investigations, but the kid would have none of this. "It's all right for you," he said. "You can cross the lawns like a gust of poisonous wind or something; I can't—they'll catch me before I'm halfway. Now that I'm at the house, I've got to go in."
98
I wasn't being rude here. Well, all right, I was, but it was accurate abuse nevertheless. I may not be a search sphere imp (all nostrils, remember), but I've got an acute sense of smell, and can nearly always identify a magician, even when they're going incognito. All those years of hanging out in smoky rooms summoning powerful entities gives their skin a distinctive odor, in which incense and the sharp pang of fear feature prominently. If after that you're still unsure, the clincher is to look 'em in the eyes: usually you can see their lenses.
100
Not a good enough description for you? Well, I was only trying to move the story on. Heddleham Hall was a great rectangular pile with stubby north—south wings, plenty of tall, arched windows, two stories, high sloping gables, a surfeit of brick chimneys, ornate tracery that amounted to the Baroque, faux—battlements above the main door, high vaulted ceilings (heavily groined), sundry gargoyles (likewise) and all constructed from a creamy—brown stone that looked attractive in moderation but en masse made everything blur like a big block of melting fudge.
102
Don't think I'd forgotten Simpkin. On the contrary. I have a long memory and a fertile imagination. I had plans for him.