‘Why are you here, daemon? What is the bloody point of your attendance in this matter? Don’t pretend you give a shit about what they do to him. I would wager you’d be glad to hear they’ve torn him apart. You’d be satisfied then, wouldn’t you? For it’s what you’d truly like, to be rid of Pitch altogether. Your need for revenge would be sated.’
‘Silas Mercer, enough!’
The command caused even the Lady Satine’s fishmonger to startle, one of the runes slipping from their fingers and clinking in the sudden silence. The fire snapped and crackled, punctuating the command. Mr Ahari stood in the doorway, clad in a navy smoking jacket, the thick shawl collar a black satin that gleamed despite the overcast day making the room dim with lack of candles. His face was contorted by strange shadows, ones that made his rotund features suddenly sharp and angled. Silas had the sense of facing down not just a fox, but a wolf.
‘There’s a good man.’ Mr Ahari nodded, and the sense of something dangerous left him, shifting to nothingness like the smoke Lucifer continued to blow. ‘Would you mind pouring me a sherry, Mr Mercer? A decent-sized one, if you will. I know you are a generous fellow.’
Pour him a bloody drink?
Silas stared at the old man as he leaned heavily on his walking cane to make his way to the table. Ahari was thinner than Silas recalled, no longer the well-fed and full-cheeked man of The Atlas, and there could be no mistaking the shadows beneath his eyes. Mr Ahari sighed and sat heavily alongside where the Lady worked the fishmonger’s hands over the runes. He set his fox-head cane on the seat beside him, the animal’s sharp snout pointed to the roof.
‘Mr Ahari, what have you learned from–’ Silas began.
‘Nothing at all, I’m afraid.’ His glance was so filled with gentle sorrow, with dreadful apology, that it was intolerable. Silas looked away, choking on a swell of dismay.
‘You could learn nothing at all?’ the Lady asked.
‘Oh, I’ve learned many things, such as Ernest Weatherby’s appetite for toads and silverfish when he is in his true form, and how he hopes to have a litter of at least ten cubs one day. Trivial pieces of information, all stacked on top of one another, burying deep anything that might be of use to us. There’s an enchantment upon him, I’m certain, some spellwork that makes him as useful to us as a wet rag. And, as we’ve certainly gathered by now, the sorcerers’ abilities are not to be sniffled at.’ Mr Ahari turned his attention to his knees, grimacing as he rubbed at them. ‘Bloody chill down there does nothing for my arthritis.’ He glanced at Silas, who had not moved. ‘Having trouble finding the drinks, dear chap? Over there, in that cabinet.’ He pointed to the ornate mahogany cabinet, whose twin glass doors put the vast array of bottles on display. ‘Would you like anything while our ankou friend is pouring, your majesty?’
Silas frowned. ‘His Majesty can serve himself.’
Turning to open the cabinet, he was quite sure he saw the fishmonger smirk, and even Lucifer did not seem half as insulted as Silas had intended to make him.
‘I would rather a coffee, actually. If that can be arranged.’ Lucifer spoke as though ordering at the Cafe Royal. ‘Too early in the day for a gin for me, we’ve barely done with breakfast.’
Which reminded Silas that he actually had no clue what the exact time was, only that it was well past time he should be leaving. He poured the sherry with little care into a small etched glass, spilling a few drops onto the silver tray beneath it.
The hush of wooden legs upon thick carpeting announced someone getting to their feet. Silas glanced over his shoulder. Lucifer was standing, resettling the drape of his cutaway coat and fiddling with the bulge of the white satin cravat at his neck. Silas had forgotten how tall the man was, how lean. ‘Shall I finally get a turn with your fox, then?’
‘Go ahead.’ The Lady did not hesitate, but Mr Ahari looked pained, rubbing his fingers over an unseen stain on the tabletop as Silas approached with the overly-full glass dribbling over his fingers.
‘If I might make a request,’ Mr Ahari said, ‘that you don’t let him suffer too long.’
Lucifer paced away from the table. It seemed the elegance that imbued Pitch’s movements had not been inherited from his sire. Lucifer’s strides were charged and pointed, bullish, unlike the prince, who tended to move like unravelling ribbon.
‘I make no promises, Mr Ahari. Gentleness is not what I’m here for. If there is anything to be gained from the kitsune’s mind, we will know for certain once I’m done with him. I dare say you’ve not been as forceful as you could be.’
Mr Ahari sat with his sherry glass half-raised to his lips. ‘But I dare say no one will suggest that of you.’ He whispered it, and it seemed only Silas heard, for Lucifer did not pause on his way to the door. Louder, Mr Ahari said, ‘I know him guilty of siding with our enemies, but that is not to say he did so with true malevolence. He is manipulated by the strong, as those who are weaker so often are, and hypnotised by the promise of golden things.’
‘I don’t care what motivates him,’ Lucifer declared, dropping his still-glowing cigar, now down to a short nub, into a cut-glass ashtray on the sideboard. ‘Only what he knows. I’ll not be long. Perhaps some smoked trout and coddled eggs might be arranged for my return? See to it, if you will, ankou. After lunch I shall turn my attention to the fae.’
The King of Daemonkind left the room, taking the heaviness on the air with him.
Silas stared at the empty doorway. ‘He means to interrogate the Dullahan?’
‘Yes, yes.’ The Lady Satine touched a fingertip to one of the runes, closing the fishmonger’s eyes. ‘We are finding no clues from any of those of the Order who search, Silas, and none of us share your conviction of the creature’s change of side.’
‘He is not a prisoner here, Satine.’ Silas wasn’t certain of his own feelings towards the headless horseman. But he did trust the creatures of Sherwood who had told him of the Dullahan’s destruction of the Wild Hunt. And Silas certainly did understand being compelled to serve a purpose, and wishing to be free of that compunction.
‘He is certainly not a free citizen either.’ The fishmonger stared at him, the djinn evident behind his eyes. ‘Even if he truly desires to unshackle himself from the UnSeelie Court, that is not to say he can actually do so. Did you think I would allow him here with total freedom? He has been the Erlking’s servant for a long, long while. Do not underestimate how deeply those shackles may be buried, Silas. You might have taken his whip, that is not to say you freed his mind entirely.’ The fishmonger shrugged wide, muscular shoulders. ‘Besides, the fae are known for many things, but honesty is not amongst them.’
With that said the Lady turned her attentions back to her strange map and assorted stones. Mr Ahari leaned in to point at a rune with two oval circles carved into its surface and coiled markings at each of their centres.
‘Marcus has reached Pendle Hill?’
‘He and the tawny, Cyril. They were there for several hours, conducted a very thorough search, but have moved on now.’
‘Moved on?’ Silas said. ‘There was nothing to discover there?’
