Thaumatology 02 - Demon's Moon Page 11

  ‘I know. I was a bit surprised too.’ Her voice lowered slightly. ‘I thought, y’know, considering what Alexandra told you…’

  ‘Yeah,’ Ceri said, ‘I’ll get out there as fast as I can.’

  Mortlake

  The last time Ceri had been to Mortlake was when she was twelve. Mister Hopkins, her History teacher, had organised a school trip to see John Dee’s house. Ceri had spent the first hour of the trip being poked in the ribs by a girl named Cynthia Bennett who was convinced that Ceri was “a witch who would turn everyone into toads.” When Ceri had pointed out that poking a witch in the ribs when you were convinced she would turn you into a toad was incredibly stupid, Cynthia had told everyone Ceri had warts. Ceri did not have great memories of Mortlake.

  At least it was dry and not too cold as she walked down Sheen Lane toward East Sheen and the fairly huge expanse of greenery that was Richmond Park. Ceri may have been surprised to hear that Alec could afford to live here, but she was not surprised that he wanted to live next to the largest expanse of parkland in the city. The closer she got to the end of the lane, the more her nose picked up less city and more country, and the more she had an urge to turn into a wolf and just run. When she got to Fife Road and saw the expanse of open ground stretching away before her, the only thing stopping her was the lack of a Michael to run with. Sighing softly, she turned left and headed along the road looking for number ten.

  It turned out to be a fairly large, rambling building which seemed to have been split into flats. It still seemed expensive for a bartender, but at least it made a bit more sense. Ceri walked up the drive, her eyes taking in details. The lights were on in the upper floor windows, but downstairs was dark. Stopping a few yards from the door, she concentrated and spread her senses out across the building. There were two humans on the upper floor, and that seemed to be it. Of course, if Alec was lying in a puddle of blood…

  The labels next to the buzzers at the door did not help much. The one at the bottom read “A. Black” so that confirmed that Alec occupied the lower floor. She pressed the button and waited. No answering voice sounded from the speaker, the door did not open. She gave it another try, not really expecting a different result. Frowning, Ceri put her hand over the lock and said, ‘Ymagor.’ There was a click and she pushed the door open, stepping inside.

  There was a large hallway with a flight of stairs up and a door to her left. She was a little surprised to find that Alec’s flat was unwarded, but it did have a fairly standard alarm system with a control box just inside the door. Disabling it before she unlocked the door was not particularly hard. She slipped into Alec’s flat as quietly as she could manage, closing the door behind her.

  It was dark, but she could see in the pitch black if required and turning the lights on seemed a bad idea. The hallway inside had three doors off it. One turned out to be a bathroom. There was no sign of Alec, in a pool of blood or not, and she moved on.

  The next door opened onto a lounge and Ceri walked in feeling a little self-conscious. She was searching the house of a friend who could just have needed some personal time or… Okay, so she was looking for a friend she was worried might be lying somewhere with a silver dagger rammed through his heart. Alec could turn up any minute and demand to know what she was doing sneaking around his home in the dark, but that would be much better than finding his body, or having to tell Carter that she had not found his body because she did not want to break in.

  She was not quite sure what to expect of Alec’s living room, but somehow this was not it. He seemed younger than Carter, but his furniture was all pre-Shattering. It looked Victorian, if she had to guess. Then again, Alexandra had said that he had been leading a pack against the Nazis so she figured he was older than he looked. It seemed odd. Werewolves were not known to be longer-lived than humans, but then Alexandra had said she was older than she appeared.

  There was no sign of Alec in the lounge, or the kitchen beyond it. Ceri walked back to the entrance hallway and the last door. Since she had yet to find it, she figured this would be the bedroom and she opened the door to it rather reluctantly. There was no Alec lying dead in the bed, but the place was a mess. For a second she thought the room had been turned over; drawers were pulled out, the bed was unmade, the doors were open on a huge, dark oak cupboard. However, that made no sense at all and a few seconds of looking around suggested instead that clothes were missing. Alec had packed in a hurry, which begged the question “why?”

  Ceri headed back out through the flat’s door, and then out through the front door, stopping beside the buzzers. She pressed the top one and a few seconds later a male voice came over the speakers. ‘Hello, who’s that?’

  ‘This is Detective Sergeant Middleshaw, with the Greycoats,’ Ceri said. ‘I’m looking for your downstairs neighbour. I was wondering if you could spare me a few minutes to answer a couple of questions?’

  There was a pause and then, ‘Of course, Detective.’ The door buzzed and clicked open. ‘Come up,’ said the voice.

  Ceri composed herself and pushed the door open, heading up the stairs to the landing. A man in a dark green robe was waiting outside the inner door. ‘Could I see some form of identification?’ he asked, smiling a little uncertainly.

  ‘Of course,’ Ceri replied. Reaching into her coat, she produced absolutely nothing and held up her hand as though showing a warrant card. ‘As you can see,’ she said firmly, ‘all in order.’

  The man blinked. ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘please come in.’ He turned and let her follow him through a hallway and into a lounge not unlike Alec’s, though the furniture was a lot more modern. A woman in a silky, white gown more suited to the bedroom than the living room was sitting on the couch trying to look like she had not been up to anything before Ceri had arrived. ‘I’m Brian Trent,’ the man said, ‘and this is my wife, Sharon.’

  Ceri smiled. ‘Mister Trent, Mrs Trent, I’m DS Middleshaw. I was simply going to ask whether you had seen your neighbour.’

  ‘Alec?’ Sharon said. ‘He’s been away since…’

  ‘Monday morning,’ Brian finished for her, ‘very early.’

  ‘He woke us around three am,’ Sharon said. ‘That big motorcycle of his speeding off. He’s not normally inconsiderate despite being, y’know, a werewolf.’

  ‘He hadn’t been acting strangely at all before then?’ Ceri asked. She did her best not to react to the werewolf comment.

  Brain frowned. ‘Is Alec in some sort of trouble?’

  ‘No, sir, not at all,’ Ceri said. ‘He was reported missing and we’re just looking into it. It sounds as though he just wanted some time to himself. Werewolves can be like that.’

  ‘He may have gone to visit the one who comes by every so often,’ Sharon suggested. ‘What’s his name, dear?’

  Brian smirked. ‘You know very well,’ he said, ‘Dane. I think he’s a pack Alpha from north of London.’

  ‘Yes,’ Sharon said, ‘that’s the one. He was here… a week or so ago, I think.’ Brian nodded in agreement.

  ‘Thank you,’ Ceri said. ‘You’ve been very helpful. I’ll let you get on with your evening. I can see myself out.’ She turned and headed out through their hallway and down the stairs. She stopped briefly beside Alec’s door to reactivate the alarm and then walked out into the night.

  So, Dane had visited Alec last week, and Alec had ridden off into the night in the early hours of Monday, when Alexandra was busy sensing that something had happened. Ceri’s stomach felt heavy as she walked back along Fife Road. Something had happened all right, and Alec was trying to handle it his own way. Ceri had a strong feeling that it was not going to go well.

  Soho, December 9th

  It was well after midnight when Ceri arrived at the Jade Dragon. She felt distinctly under-dressed, but she was in no mood to be bothered by the looks a few of the patrons gave her as she walked up to the bar and lifted herself onto a stool.

  ‘I’m going to assume,’ Carter said from behind the bar, �
�that you did not find him.’

  ‘His neighbours say he rode out about three o’clock Monday morning, in a hurry,’ she replied.

  ‘I see.’ Carter was silent for a moment. He looked a little incongruous standing there in a white shirt with the collar undone. It was not his usual look when at the club. ‘I take it they had no idea where he was going?’

  ‘No,’ Ceri replied, ‘but I think I do.’

  Carter placed a glass of white wine down in front of her. ‘On the house,’ he said. He was waiting for her to continue; the question was too obvious to ask.

  ‘You know how Alec’s pack was wiped out, don’t you?’ Ceri said.

  The wizard nodded. ‘I also know it was the same thing which almost destroyed the North Hills pack. I’ve made it known that I’m willing to help, but Alec is a proud, and very stubborn, man.’

  An arm slipped around Ceri’s waist and Lily planted a kiss on her cheek. ‘He’s gone off hunting Remus?’ the half-demon asked.

  ‘He has been trying to kill the thing for over half a century,’ Carter stated.

  ‘All he’s going to do is get himself killed,’ Ceri said, ‘or worse. And he’s going to take Dane and his people with him.’

  ‘If you don’t mind me asking,’ Carter said, his voice calmer than Ceri thought it should be, ‘how do you know about this?’

  ‘Do you know much about the Battersea pack?’ Ceri asked. Carter shook his head slowly. ‘Their Alpha… knows things,’ Ceri went on. ‘I was told that I was going to have to help Alec. Something bad is happening. Something to do with Remus. It’ll happen at the Solstice. And that’s about all I know at this point. With Alec already gone I don’t even know where to start.’ She took a swig of wine. It was good stuff, crisp with a fruity taste.

  ‘Might I suggest you employ the oldest adage of warfare?’ Carter said. ‘Knowing your enemy is half the battle. You need to learn as much as you can about what you are facing.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Ceri replied. ‘Where do I find out about demon-demigod-wolf-monsters? I’ve been digging around in Dad’s books, but what I’ve mostly found is that I need to find more.’

  Reaching under the counter, Carter produced a notepad and pen and began writing something down. ‘Tomorrow afternoon,’ he said as he wrote, ‘go to the British Library and ask to see this man.’ He looked up. ‘Afternoon mind. It’ll take me a couple of hours to arrange things.’ He ripped off the sheet of paper and handed it to Ceri. ‘Dress smartly, be respectful, but don’t take any of his lip. He’s a misogynistic arse, but he can give you access to what you need and if he respects you he can be a lot of help.’

  Ceri blinked. If Carter thought this Charles Fitzlawrence was a misogynist she had to wonder how any woman in their right mind would put up with him.

  ‘What’s the other half?’ Lily asked.

  ‘Sorry?’ Ceri asked.

  Lily was looking at Carter. ‘If knowing your enemy is half the battle, what’s the other half?’ she asked.

  ‘Ah,’ Carter replied, smiling slightly, ‘that would be knowing yourself.’

  Somers Town

  The woman behind the counter eyed Ceri suspiciously. ‘Doctor Fitzlawrence is an extremely busy man,’ she said. ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  ‘I was told to come here and ask for him,’ Ceri said.

  The woman picked up a telephone and dialled an internal number. ‘Doctor Fitzlawrence? There’s a young woman here to see you… Yes, Brent…’ Her cheeks flushed and she looked as though she had been kicked. ‘Of course, Doctor. I’ll send her through.’ She put the phone down as though it had suddenly turned into a large spider and pointed at a door in the back corner of the room. ‘Through there. Take the lift down to sub-basement four.’

  Ceri smiled as her, even if she did not really deserve it. ‘Thank you,’ she said and started off.

  The door had a fairly discrete sign on it which said, “Restricted Access. Library Staff Only.” Ceri ignored it and walked through. Not far beyond was a set of lift doors which opened as soon as she pressed the call button. She noted the camera in the corner of the ceiling as she stepped in, located a button labelled “SB4” and pressed it. The lift seemed to go down a long way and there was a significant gap between the indicator over the doors stating that she had reached sub-basement three and the lift stopping at sub-basement four.

  The first thing she saw when the doors opened was a humourless-looking man in police uniform with a sub-machine gun cradled in his arms. She swallowed and stepped out of the lift to find herself in a small hallway. The guard nodded to a door on her right and she walked through.

  Sitting behind a desk in a very bare, concrete walled office was a man in his mid-fifties, slightly balding with grey at his temples. He was bean-pole thin with a face like a hatchet and piercing, grey eyes. Ceri had decided to wear her interview dress which was a little low cut and a little short, but very business-like, and the man, who was presumably Fitzlawrence, did not bother disguising that he was examining her legs as she walked in. She closed the door behind her and turned to look back at him.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘you’re Fleming’s latest piece of fluff?’

  Giving him the benefit of the doubt, she decided that it was a calculated insult. ‘I’m Ceridwyn Brent,’ she said, ‘research assistant at the London Metropolitan University, thaumatologist, and practitioner, and Mister Fleming was kind enough to arrange this meeting.’

  ‘Fleming was “kind enough” to get Malcolm Charles to arrange this meeting,’ Fitzlawrence snapped. ‘Just because the Minister says you can come down here, doesn’t mean I have to like it and I’ve never known Fleming do anything for a woman he hadn’t got something from first.’

  Ceri smiled tightly. ‘We learn new things every day,’ she said. ‘You know Carter, I take it? Went to Cambridge with him?’ He looked the right age, though Carter was wearing the years a great deal better. ‘You possibly knew my father, David Brent?’

  ‘Oh, you’re that Ceridwyn Brent.’ Ceri wondered how many there were. ‘I knew your father, yes. I knew your mother as well.’ He grinned a little maliciously. ‘Only woman I ever met who left Fleming, rather than the other way around.’ Now that was news; her mother had been Carter’s girlfriend? The shock of it was overtaken by the surprise of seeing Fitzlawrence’s body language change as though someone had just flicked a switch. ‘If you take after your mother,’ he said, ‘perhaps Fleming hasn’t had his grubby paws on you. What is it you’re looking for?’

  ‘I need all the information I can get on the legends surrounding Remus,’ Ceri said. ‘As in the brother of Romulus.’

  Fitzlawrence considered for a second and then rose up from behind the table. ‘These are the rules,’ he said and took a deep breath. ‘I’m going to take you to a reading room. The books and manuscripts stored in Section Seventeen are kept under very strict conditions and readers are only allowed access to them within their assigned room. Each room is equipped with a toilet and drinks machine. Don’t drink over the books. Each room has a catalogue terminal which you may use to research further reading. No external network or telephone access is allowed.’ He stopped, allowing himself to breathe again. ‘Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, Doctor,’ Ceri replied.

  ‘Good. I have a good idea where you should start, so I’ll have two books brought to you immediately. The assistant who brings them will give you some instruction on handling the texts.’ He started toward an inner door, punching a six digit code in to unlock it before waving Ceri through ahead of him. The corridor behind it had five, widely spaced doors along each side of it. There were no windows, and each of the doors was heavy iron. Ceri suspected they had a silver-iron layer built in like the summoning room doors in her house.

  The doors were code-locked, and Fitzlawrence did not tell her what the code was before showing her into the room. Not that it would have done much good; inside the room there were two buttons beside the door, one to request assistance or exit, and one for eme
rgencies. There were cameras in all four corners, near the ceiling, allowing whoever was observing the rooms to see what was being done on each of the large tables which took up three walls and the middle of the room. One table beside the wall had a basic flat-screen display and keyboard arrangement which was presumably the catalogue terminal.

  ‘There’s a camera in the toilet as well,’ Fitzlawrence explained, ‘but I assure you it’s turned on only when you’re in there for too long. Don’t take anything in there with you. If you need anything, press the call button. Someone will be down with those books shortly.’ Nodding to her, he turned and went out through the door. There was a solid sounding clunk from the locks. Sealed in, Ceri settled onto a chair and waited.

  ~~~

  Fitzlawrence had been as good as his word, and obviously knew his collection well. A man in a white coat had arrived after about ten minutes of waiting with two large books on a trolley. There had also been a pair of clean, white, lint-free gloves which Ceri was made to put on before handling anything, and a half-hour of careful instruction on how to handle any of the types of book which could be found in the restricted library. These two just had information in them which had been deemed dangerous to allow into public knowledge, but Section Seventeen apparently stored some books which were more actively dangerous.

  There had also been a fairly thick document which she had been required to sign before she could touch the books. She had accepted the summary version, though the man had suggested that she take her copy away and read it properly. Basically what she was signing said that she would not tell anyone where she had learned anything in the room, that she would not reveal materials where covering documents indicated the contents where to be kept secret, and that she would suitably restrict knowledge of anything she discovered there to those who needed to know. Oh, and she agreed that the government could do horrible things to her if she disobeyed the rules.

  Ceri had been working carefully through a fairly thick tome on the esoteric history of Rome which was, unfortunately, providing little more detail than Alexandra had, when the door opened again and a small, mousy woman entered carrying a metal case which she placed on the middle table before turning to look at Ceri.