Modern Magick

The Fifth Britain: 10

It said: Rage aside, Mir, those books prove you want to help us. So help. Find out anything you can about a secret isle, probably 1600s, linked to names like Melmidoc Redclover. Please. Thanks xx

We hadn't given Miranda the full low-down about the spire before, probably because it had not seemed relevant. We'd just told her about the part we knew would interest her: Dramary's Bestiary. I wondered, though. Had she heard the rest from someone else? Word tended to travel at Home. If she had, she would have taken that information to Ancestria Magicka — which meant that George Mercer must be lying about their ignorance. If so, what was his game?

I showed my message to Zareen, who grunted, a sound halfway between approval and irritation.

'I know, I know.'

'I hate this.'

'Me too. Right. Part two in progress.' I called the Baron. 'Alban,' I said crisply the moment he answered. 'It's Ves. May I speak frankly?'

'Please.'

'This shit is driving us crazy and we would like to resolve it. We propose a joining of forces.'

'Oh? Among whom, exactly?'

'The Thrilling Three, even if we are presently down to the Testy Two, and the Troll Court.'

'As represented by me?'

'Yes.'

I waited. I knew the Baron would understand my meaning. I wasn't just asking for his personal assistance; I was requesting the official aid of Their Majesties' Court itself.

'I'll see what I can do,' he said.

The Baron arrived in person about an hour later.

Zareen and I spent the intervening time scouring Miranda's books for what Nancy Drew might have called "leads" (unsuccessfully). About all I could determine from Millie Makepeace's diaries was that she was batshit crazy, and largely unaware of her Waymaster abilities. Apparently magickal education for young women of breeding was on the underwhelming side, back in the day. I wondered who had introduced her to her powers (after death...?), and how they had known she'd had any. I shied away from the idea that someone from her own family had been responsible for her after-death fate, but one or two references to her father made me wonder a bit. Had he been a practitioner of the Weird Stuff? Perhaps.

Zareen read through her pamphlet with an irritable frown, and finally snapped it closed with, I thought, unnecessary violence. The booklet was old, and delicate. I gently took it from her. 'No use?'

'Tells me nothing new.'

Judging from her glowering dissatisfaction, it had reminded her of a number of things she did not like to think about.

I checked the title. Dark Deeds and Strange Wayes: The Wyrde Path. No author was listed.

'It's all new to me,' I said. 'Mind if I read?'

Zareen had signalled her lack of objection with a shrug, and had then proceeded to stretch out in the grass (we were out in Mrs. Amberstone's garden again, under the walnut trees). Whether she was sleeping or brooding I could not tell.

I skimmed through the pamphlet, keeping an absent eye on my phone in case of word from the Baron or Miranda — or Mabyn Redclover, at the Hidden Ministry. I'd informed her of the fate of the spire, and had capitalised on her satisfaction by pleading for help. I knew Val would be doing her utmost to come up with something, too; with that many people at work on the matter of the mysterious isle, I had hopes of hearing something useful soon.