You have never made use of my services before now, but some of your followers have. When you decide to accept my offer, notify Bonecruncher; he knows how to contact me discreetly. During my conference with Lune, I will tell her how to rescue the Prince’s ghost. As I am sure you will have me guarded during this conference, if I fail to uphold my end of the bargain, you will have no difficulty in retaliating as you see fit.
Do not delay. I am sure you, of all men, know how little time you have.
Hodge stared. The words, crisply inked in an old-fashioned hand, didn’t go away.
A few seconds later, with no memory of having moved, he flung open the door and stormed into the outer room. Three fae shot to their feet in alarm, and Hodge held up the letter in one fist. “When did this get ’ere?”
Irrith and Segraine both looked to Tom Toggin, the hob who served as his valet. Tom peered up at the paper. “What is it?”
“It’s the bleeding letter you left for me to find. ’Ow long was it sitting there?”
His valet shook his head, wide-eyed. “I didn’t leave any letters for you.”
Hodge went very still. It was that or drop the letter—as if the paper held any threat. The threat was long gone, along with whatever faerie had sneaked past these three to leave a sealed note by his head. He knew better than to think they’d left him alone; everybody was far too afraid for his safety to let that happen.
“Who’s it from?” Irrith asked.
Of course she’d be the one to ask. Hodge made sure to pull the letter close before he answered, so she couldn’t snatch it out of his hand. “Valentin Aspell.”
Sure enough, her face immediately went pale with anger. Segraine tensed—possibly to grab Irrith, in case she did something stupid—and Tom, who never seemed to get angry at anything, looked curious. “What does he want?”
“To sell us information.” Hodge’s knees shook; the burst of energy that had carried him through the door was fading fast. Bloody ’ell. You’d think I was an old man. He didn’t like to do the math on how old he actually was. Or rather, how young. I’ve already survived longer than I expected to.
It was mention of his predecessor’s ghost that made him think that way—that, and the pain that had woken him. In blunt terms, Hodge told the others what Aspell wanted, and what he demanded in return.
“You can’t let him near Lune,” Segraine said immediately. “He’s a traitor, and can’t be trusted.”
Hodge watched Irrith. Her delicate face was going through an amazing series of expressions, one piling atop the other: suspicion, worry, anger, hope, disgust. When she noticed the Prince looking at her, she grimaced. “He wouldn’t try to kill her—I think. He knows the Hall would melt right out from around us if he did, and if he wanted to die he’d find some more elegant way to do it. Segraine’s right, though; I don’t trust him. On the other hand, it’s Galen. If Aspell’s telling the truth, and that bastard Nadrett has him…” She shuddered. “We can’t leave him there.”
No, they couldn’t. Hodge had only ever known two other Princes of the Stone: his predecessor, Alexander Messina, and Galen St. Clair. The latter haunted the Onyx Hall—or had, until recently—so as to help those who remained. He’d been a scholar in life, and over the years since his death had contributed far more to the repair efforts than Hodge ever would. They’d be better off with ’im than with me.
But Hodge was who they had, and he needed to know whether Aspell was telling the truth. His offer didn’t give any proof of that; he’d set up a good method for trading for his information, but the information itself could still be a swindle. “Does Nadrett ’ave ’im?”
Tom said uncomfortably, “We just assumed he was gone, after the Prince’s chambers vanished, because that’s where he’d always appeared. And if he’d returned to some other part of the Hall, wouldn’t he have come looking for us?”
“Maybe he couldn’t,” Segraine said. “The Hall has… changed a lot, since his time.”
Hodge snorted at her delicacy. But it wouldn’t do morale any good to suggest the phrase she wanted was, The Hall is falling down about our ears. Irrith said, “Aspell… wouldn’t lie. Not like this. He’s a manipulative bastard—I’m sure whatever he wants Lune for, we won’t like it—but if he says Nadrett has Galen, then he does.” Her mouth pinched, as if that idea caused her pain. Then she drew in a deep breath and went on. “I’d say offer him something else, but I doubt he would take it. So it’s your choice, Hodge: Are you going to let him see her?”
He felt the anticipation in all three of them. Nobody got in to see the Queen; that was common knowledge. Nobody except the Prince.
Hodge stood, crumpling Aspell’s letter in one hand. “It ain’t my choice,” he said, hearing the roughness in his own voice. “It’s Lune’s. I’ll talk to ’er.”
No one said anything, and he couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. For privacy’s sake, he turned and went back into the inner room, which held only his table, his bed, and a few faerie lights for company.
With the door shut behind him, he laid one hand on the black stone of the wall.
Reaching out hurt. It meant sinking his mind into the torn fabric of the Onyx Hall, feeling every spike of iron, every gap where the wall had been. It always made him think of the old tortures, thumbscrews and pincers and the rack: no wonder men said whatever their questioners wanted, after being put through such pain. But here he was, putting himself through it, and the only reason he could was because he reminded himself that Lune felt the same thing. Constantly. For years on end.
If she could survive that, he could share it for a little while.
Lune?
Her mind stirred, like a sleeper caught deep in a nightmare. Hodge reached out for her, tried to lend her what strength he had. Lune. I… ’ave to ask you something.
He phrased it as briefly as he could: Aspell’s offer, the price, their guesses as to his honesty. By the end of it, she was alert; he could feel her consideration. Do you have any hint as to why he wants to see me?
Hodge never knew if his body actually moved during these conversations, or if the shaking of his head was entirely a mental thing. None. I can try to find out.
If you succeed, I’ll be much surprised; Aspell was always good at keeping secrets, and I doubt he has lost the skill. Lune paused, and Hodge gritted his teeth—or at least thought the action of gritting them—as a train rumbled along the buried track, from Blackfriars to Mansion House. When they could both spare thought for something else again, she said, I will not see him, of course. But I will speak to him, through you; he must be content with that.
He wondered if he should tell her the rest of what they knew about Nadrett, the possibility that he might be creating a passage to Faerie. Would she go, if she could? If it meant bowing to Nadrett, not a chance… but what if it didn’t?
She loved this city. Had loved it for more ages than Hodge could really conceive. Lune had poured so much of herself into preserving the palace, and the court that inhabited it; he wasn’t sure she could abandon it, even if palace and court were gone.
No point in mentioning it, not until they knew if it was more than a dream born from some opium pipe. She would see it as hope, for her subjects if not for herself, and he didn’t want to take that away from her if it proved false. Hodge merely said, I’ll tell ’im. Thank you, Lune.