9 Tales From Elsewhere 8 Read online

  THE END…

  RESPECT FOR THE DEAD by Andrew Knighton

  I lifted the knocker, gave one hard thud and three soft taps. The door of the Collegia creaked back, letting me into the chequer-board hallway. At first I'd thought that door cantrip was pointless guff, but Mark showed me how these small touches turned emotions into power. That was the Mark I'd liked, the inspiring teacher.

  I turned to the door of our so-called Inner Chamber. Apparently putting a gavel on a dining table made it venerable.

  Ruskin was ahead of me, gloved hand on the door handle. The butler had his own sort of magic, a silent, grey-haired illusionism that let him appear from nowhere.

  'May I take your coat, Master Robert?' he asked.

  You spend long enough around magic and people's emotions become like perfumes. Ruskin's loathing for my leathers smelt like oil and ashes.

  I shook my head. 'Let's just get this done.'

  A dozen pairs of eyes turned as I entered the room. The place stank of impatience and single malt Scotch.

  'You're late.' Vivienne sat at the head of the room, a Machiavelli in pinstripes. She tapped her zippo against the table. Cthunk. Cthunk. Cthunk. That thing was as much of an affectation as my working lad matches, or Mark's pink plastic lighters. The tapping was deliberately hypnotic.

  I threw myself down in the empty chair, facing her cold glare up the room. I thought about telling the truth. That the riots had passed down my street and I spent twenty minutes reassuring old Mrs. Covey from downstairs. But Vivienne never shared her truth.

  'Traffic was a bugger.'

  They all looked back at me like I'd just farted. All except Rebecca, face pale against her mourning black, and Charles, who grinned like a cherub as he passed me a glass.

  'I got you a drink, old boy,' he said. The pint of bitter looked like a scruffy giant next to his tumbler of port. 'It smells like horse piss, but I hear that's the Yorkshire way.'

  Fire flicked from the silly bastard's fingertip, lighting up a cigar like a donkey's todger. Only I laughed.

  'Are you done?' Vivienne was glaring, but what was new?

  'Aye.' I sipped my beer. 'Let’s get on with it.'

  'The cabal is called to order.' Vivienne lifted up a crystal bowl. 'Let all give of their power to uphold the wards.'

  She ran a finger round the edge of the bowl, magic running rich and glittering into the centre. Hers was decadence and pride, drawn from the emotional well of bankers and aristocrats. She passed the bowl to Charles who poured in merriment, which was followed by my usual anger and determination. Tommy Bray, dead-eyed and jittery, gave a thin trickle of worry. He never held enough feelings back to recover between spells. I gave Tommy another year before his scruffy blond hair fell out and they took him to the loony bin.

  The bowl went round the rest of our lucky thirteen and finally to Rebecca, who overflowed it with sorrow, gazing lost into the swirling power.

  At last we all linked hands as Vivienne wound her spell, willing the power up and out into the air around us. Even before Mark died, before that frantic night of blood and deceit, this had been her job. She might be a stuck up bitch, but she was clever with it, and the second most powerful mage in the cabal.

  Most powerful now.

  The power shimmered, stretched, vanished into the walls. Vivienne finished chanting and we let go, relieved. Everyone felt safe again, with the wards up against the prying of other cabals. Everyone except Rebecca and poor Tommy.

  'Before we turn to tonight's agenda,' Vivienne began, 'we should approve-.'

  'Fuck that, love.' I leaned forward, almost knocking my pint. 'Let’s get to the meat of it.'

  She held my gaze. Always calculating, that one. Some of us preferred just living.

  'Would you care to chair the meeting?' Her voice was as sharp as her face.

  'You know I don't have the patience.'

  'Then show some respect for those who do. Someone has to run this cabal.'

  'I thought we were all equal.'

  'And I thought you were smart.'

  'I never thought that,' Charles said.

  My laughter spread down the room. Vivienne wasn't smiling, but who cared. I slumped back in my chair, glad to have had my own indignation deflated.

  'Fine.' I pulled out a cigarette. 'Read the fucking minutes.'

  'Oh no,' Vivienne said. 'Let’s not give you cause for further disturbance.'

  She rose and prowled round the table, peering over shoulders, playing the alpha of some corporate pack.

  'Before Mark's death,' she placed a hand on Rebecca's shoulder, protective, possessive, 'we discussed the possibility of a greater ward. It would enhance our influence over the common people and tell us if other magi set foot in London.'

  'Do we really want to know every time some gnarly Scots warlock or greasy Eyetie wizard comes sight-seeing?' Charles's humour was infectious, but so was Vivienne's intimidation, and the laughter quickly died.

  'After last year's fiasco at Euston?' she asked. I thought back to the effort of calming that naked, wailing crowd. 'I think we do. And so did Mark, didn't he?'

  Rebecca took a moment to respond, but she murmured her agreement. When she looked my way, her gaze was so raw with bitterness that it ripped me up. Whatever she'd once thought of me, all I could see now was sorrow and rage.

  'The burden of this ward would be great,' Vivienne continued, stepping round behind me. 'On us. On the communities we draw our energy from. On myself as the cornerstone of the spell. But it would be worth it.'

  'The burden would be monstrous, more like.' I sat upright, looking around the table. I could feel her behind me, burning with intensity, but hers wasn't a mind I could change. 'Do you lot think this is some simple enchantment, where we scavenger up stray love or hate and turn water into wine? This is draining emotion from every poor bastard in London, every day, from now until they die. You think some tired Billingsgate shopkeeper, or some neglected kid in Hackney, has the rich emotional life to spare us a slice? You think you all have?' I looked at Tommy.

  'No-one will die,' Vivienne said. 'There will be safeguards. And as for us, we pay the price for our own good. Don't we, Tommy?' She placed a hand on his shoulder. Sweat beaded his brow.

  'Maybe no-one will die, but they ain't got a choice either.' I could feel my face going red as Charles. 'This is abuse on a city-wide scale.'

  'This is self defence. For us, and for the masses.'

  'It ain't right.'

  'Are you saying that Mark was wrong?'

  Rebecca's small, lost sob echoed round the room. A hush fell across the table. My own battered heart broke at the sound.

  'Let’s take a break,' I said. 'If that's alright with you, Mrs. Chair.'

  Vivienne nodded.

  'Fifteen minutes,' she said. 'Then back in here.'

  I sat at the bar with Charles and Tommy, watching Ruskin polish glasses. This place was like some Victorian dream of a clubhouse, all leather seats and fine service.

  Vivienne sat with Rebecca in one corner, nursing her through her tears.

  'She's using that lass.' I took a gulp of my second pint.

  'Well, yes,' Charles said. 'But she's doing it frightfully well.'

  Around the room, people were looking at the pair with sympathy. The goodwill for Mark's bereaved girlfriend spilt protectively across Vivienne. It made my skin crawl. If only this lot knew the truth.

  'This shit can't go through because of Mark,' I said.

  'Mark was a great leader,' Charles said. 'And a very talented mage.'

  'Aye, but he never knew right from wrong.'

  Down the bar Deborah Bray, Tommy's capable cousin, gave a shocked gasp. The way her diamonds twinkled, you'd have thought they'd been placed for such chest-heaving exclamations.

  'Don't be a swine,' she hissed. 'Show some respect for the dead.'

  I sank my head in my hands. If only they knew.

  'Batten down the hatches,' Charles said, pointing with his cigar. 'Here
comes a storm.'

  I looked round to see Deborah whispering in Vivienne's ear. Debs wasn't all bad, but what actress could resist a scene.

  Vivienne rose and strode towards us. I lit a cigarette, match flaring in front of my face. Shields up, as Mark used to say.

  But it wasn't me she turned on.

  'So you think this is funny, do you?' She glared at Charles.

  'My dear girl, I think everything's funny.' He raised his cigar, put on his terrible Churchill impersonation. 'I shall fight boredom on the beaches. I shall fight it in the streets and in the hills. I shall never surrender.'

  'Real human beings don't laugh at grief,' she said. 'Particularly other people's.'

  Charles followed her gaze to where Rebecca sat, toying mournfully with her silver necklace. He slumped.

  'I didn't think.'

  'Of course you didn't. Nor did you think what would happen if you blocked my ward.' She leaned in close, lips curled up in a snarl. 'I can snap you like an over-dressed twig.

  'As for you, Tommy Bray...'

  The poor sod lurched back, falling from his seat.

  'Think where your future lies,' she hissed.

  'What about me?' I towered over her, blood boiling at the way she'd treated the others. 'You gonna push me around too?'

  'You've pushed yourself far enough.' The rest were watching us and I felt my isolation, pierced by looks of accusation and disappointment. 'Turning up late. Mocking our works. Dirtying a dead man's name.'

  'I'm dirtying his name?' I raised my hand, realised it was a fist. 'You've got some fucking cheek.'

  'Really?' She raised an eyebrow. 'Are you going to go there?'

  'I am.' I grabbed her arm, dragged her towards the door. 'Scuse me, fellas. We need a private word.'

  I slammed the door shut behind us, scanned the hallway in case we had company.

  'Well then?' she said. 'Get it off your chest.'

  'You keep pushing me, you keep citing Mark the martyr, and I'll tell them the truth.' I didn't like to say it. I didn't even like to think about it. But this had gone too far. 'How he died. Who he died with. Our sordid cover up.'

  She snorted. Such a crude sound from such an elegant figure, my rage almost turned to laughter.

  Almost.

  'Bullshit,' she said. 'You were as complicit as me. You drove the car. You carried the bodies.'

  'You faked the wreck.' Visions flashed through my mind. Pale limbs tangled among silk sheets, wreaking of sweat and magic. The tears running down Vivienne's cheeks as she reached out with her mind and slammed the Porsche into a lamppost. Blood and engine oil, trickling into the road. 'You've got far more to lose.'

  'What about what Mark could lose?' she said, a desperate edge to her voice. 'He was your friend. Would you shred his reputation, all that's left of him, just to have your way?'

  'My friend, your lover. How do you think they'll react to that little secret?'

  'Them? They'll admire him more, for seizing what they all want. But her...' She lowered her head, a bitter imitation of Rebecca's grief. 'How do you think she'll feel, hearing that he got bored of his pretty Jewish heiress? That he fucked me across the Chamber table while she was drinking in the bar? That he died wrapped up in another woman, trying twisted sex magic even I wouldn't touch?'

  She took a step back, reached for the door handle.

  'Mark could be a shit,' she said. 'But you loved her long before you loved him, and you won't break her heart.'

  'I can win this.' The words felt hollow in my mouth.

  'No you can't. And once the dust has settled I'll have you expelled. Because I can.'

  The next session was uneventful, just Vivienne repeating the details of her plan. She soothed and reassured while I sat and fumed.

  Then we broke for more drinks. You could call it a cheap trick on her part, getting everyone pissed up and receptive. But we were all on edge, emotionally exhausted, and when the chance came I was first to the bar.

  The whole time she talked I'd been thinking, plotting even, descending to her level. I couldn't let her win. It wasn't just the ward and the people it would hurt. It was the consolidation of her leadership. She really was becoming the new Mark.

  I dragged Charles aside, stuck a coffee in his hand.

  'Irish?' he asked with a sigh.

  I shook my head, took a gulp of tea.

  'We need to start playing smart,' I said.

  'Is that the royal we?' Charles said. 'Or are you presuming on my friendship now?'

  'Do you really think this ward is a good plan?' I leaned in conspiratorially. 'Do you want that bitch in charge?'

  'She is a splendid filly...'

  'Charles, this ain't the time to be funny.'

  'Fine.' He waved away Ruskin, approaching with a bottle of port, and sipped at his coffee with childish disgruntlement. 'But if she wins me over with feminine wiles it's your own fault.'

  I drank my tea, watched the rest of the cabal muttering in small huddles. They all looked at ease with oak panels and servants, whether born to it or grown into excess. But though I'd clawed my way here, the place still set me on edge.

  'What's the plan?' Charles thrust his empty cup away. 'We need something to sell, not just your Marxist grumblings.'

  'Treaties.' I tried to say it with conviction. 'Mutual recognition with other cabals, sharing information about who's coming and going. Mages get a friendly reception when they travel, and in return they behave.'

  'That's it?' Charles's expression told me what I feared - the idea was piss weak.

  'It don't need to be perfect, just an excuse for folks not to vote her way.'

  'I suppose I can sell it. Fill it out with their pet peeves.' He laughed. 'We're just like politicians. Any cheap trick for a vote.'

  He must have seen how shitty that made me feel.

  'Come now, old fellow.' He reached up and slapped me on the back. 'No need to beat yourself up. It's for the good.'

  I nodded. 'Time's short. We should split up.'

  'I'll take Bray Minor,' he said. 'Normally Tommy's a pushover, but following you's a scary proposition today. Sally too - that old lush will do anything for a case of good cigars.' He waggled his Cuban, revelling in the hypocrisy.

  'I'll start with Deborah,' I said. 'She enjoys stirring things up.'

  'Jolly good.' Charles fished out a pink plastic lighter. 'But tread lightly, old chap. You've a lot of damage to undo.'

  I looked round the room, saw the cold stares coming back at me, the accusation in Rebecca's eyes.

  'Don't I know it.'

  I hated that the Inner Chamber had a chandelier. It made me feel like a twat just for sitting in that room. But that was the price I paid for magic.

  One of the prices.

  As we filed back in Vivienne stood by the door, rigid with tension.

  'I know what you've been up to,' she hissed in my ear. 'It won't work.'

  I liked that sound, that hint of desperation. I smiled at Charles and he smiled back.

  We took our seats and Vivienne pounded the gavel.

  'The rules state that there should be a debate before the vote.' She gazed around the room, staring every person down except me and Rebecca, who had not followed us back in. 'So, I call for debate on casting the ward that Mark and I developed. If you have points make them briefly and make them well.'

  There was a minute of clinking glasses and creaking chairs as everyone wrapped their thoughts around the accelerated pace. Most of them liked long, languorous debates, but cutting through the shit was something where Vivienne and I saw eye to eye. We could have achieved so much if we'd worked together on anything but burying our friend's mistakes.

  Deborah cleared her throat.

  Good girl, I thought. Can't resist the limelight, can you?

  'I find myself in two minds,' she said. 'We need some way to prevent further disasters. The Euston incident, the rumours of foul play in Mark's death, these leave us exposed. But there are problems with this plan. None
of us wants to give up a portion of our power indefinitely. If this is our only option I'll vote for it. But I'm interested in alternatives.'

  I almost laughed. She'd found a way to stir while still sitting on the fence. But it was an opening at least.

  'Come on then Rob.' Vivienne tapped her lighter against the table. 'Out with it.'

  'I defer to Charles,' I said. My strength wasn't in making situations about me. Not like her. Not like Mark. My strength was in other people.

  'Friends, Romans, countryman.' Charles stood and spread his arms wide, hamming it up for all to see. Sally and Tommy were already laughing along, one half-cut, her red hair flapping wildly, the other twitching like a blond flea. Hope glowed inside me. 'Our good friend Robert has come to me with a suggestion. That we tackle this problem without draining our magical resources. That we build treaties to keep ourselves safe. It is a sensible plan. A noble plan.'

  People nodded along. Drink didn't just make them vulnerable to Vivienne, it opened them up to Charles's joviality too. I looked down the table, expecting Vivienne to be scowling, but she was grinning like a vulture over a carcass. I shuffled uncomfortably in my seat. We were winning, weren't we?

  'Unfortunately, it is a plan too late.' Charles spoke and I realised there was no 'we' to win with. 'Such an endeavour would take years, and we need protection now. Before he died, Mark worked with Vivienne to craft a defence. Let’s use it.'

  I sat in stunned silence. How had I not smelled his betrayal?

  Everyone was nodding, murmuring their approval. Poor Tommy, too desperate to realise this would finish him, started to clap.

  Charles leaned down and whispered in my ear.

  'Sorry, old chap,' he said. 'Mark wasn't the only one she had alone in here.'

  Before I knew it I was halfway to my feet, fist an inch from his face.

  'Now now.' He gestured towards the rest of the cabal.

  They stared at me. All evening, people staring at me, like I was some sort of deviant. The whispers. The accusations. The betrayals. I had to get out.

  I stormed from the room, slamming the door shut on their idiot clamour.

  The bar was silent. I tried to light a cigarette, but the matches kept tumbled from my shaking fingers, husks of charred wood falling useless to the floor.