Icy Sedgwick's Blog, page 71
July 4, 2014
#FridayFlash – The Guardian
Image by Georges Jansoone (JoJan), via Wikimedia Commons
This piece follows on from last week’s flash, The Monarch . This has inadvertantly turned into a serial!
Word must have spread among the guards as no one stopped Artemuse during her flight from the Palace. She left the shining building behind her and plunged into the murky depths of the Old Town, a crumbling maze of dilapidated tenements and ramshackle shops. She made her way between the usual denizens of the quarter who had crept outside to enjoy the early morning sun. Her cloak of owl feathers flapped around her ankles but she daren’t take flight so early in the day.
The Palace stood at the top of a cliff, and the Old Town clung to the side of the hill as it curves down into the valley. A huge gatehouse stood at the far end of the Old Town, built out of the cliff itself. A narrow iron grille hid in the shadows beside the gatehouse, ignored or unobserved by most who passed by. Artemuse wriggled out of the throng of those heading to the market in the Artisan Quarter beyond the gate, and made her way to the grille. A few whispered charms were enough to make it swing inwards.
Artemuse slipped into the rocky passage that led down to the Catacombs. These were not the Royal Catacombs, hewn from the rock just below the Palace to house the royal dead, but rather the original catacombs of Balzarin, the ancient city upon which Rhodenius was founded.
The air was cool and still in the passage, and Artemuse needed no light to see in the dark. She padded downwards until she could hear running water. The underground stream, rumoured to be a tributary of the mighty Styx itself, marked the start of the Catacombs.
A chamber opened out before her, and doorways were cut into the stone of the opposite wall. The stream ran through the middle of the room, appearing and disappearing through low arches, and symbolically marking the boundary between Life and Death. A figure sat on a stool on the Death side of the stream, a floppy hat low on his head, casting his face in shadow. He wore a woolen cloak of the same shade of grey as the rock around him. A book lay open in his lap, and Artemuse could barely make out the arcane writing on its pages.
“Eddister!” Artemuse hailed the man. He looked up, and she could make out the dim lines of his face. He smiled and closed the book.
“Young Artemuse! How goes it?”
“It’s terrible – I need your help.”
Moving to the edge of the stream, Artemuse told Eddister her tale, culminating in the assistance of the guards and her descent below the city. He nodded as she spoke.
“Yes, the Vaal’kyr have been roused. They will reach Rhodenius by nightfall, I should imagine. However do not worry, you will be no payment for their services,” replied Eddister.
“That’s not what concerns me. We need the Monarch to raise the army. The Vaal’kyr can dispatch the wraiths that Lord Draumir brings, but they won’t have time to stop his warriors as well.”
“The Monarch is complacent, it’s true, but he won’t raise the army because he fears them. If they become war-hungry, he worries they may return from battle in a belligerent mood, and attack Rhodenius itself.” Eddister laid the book on the floor beside his stool and stood. Artemuse had forgotten how tall the Guardian was – at least six and a half feet.
“Could that happen?”
“It’s possible. He’s weak but he’s not an idiot.” Eddister removed his hat, and a cascade of red hair fell about his shoulders. The shade of red made Artemuse think of the foxes she observed by night – and Eddister was just as cunning.
“So what do we do?”
“We wake the other army.” Eddister grinned.
“The other army?”
“You don’t think the Death Cult relied on just the Vaal’kyr, do you?”
Eddister moved to the edge of the stream and held out his hand. Artemuse grasped it, and leapt across the water. He held her hand for a fraction longer than was necessary, before bending to slide both the book and the stool inside his hat. Without a word, he put the hat back on his head, and disappeared through the middle doorway in the wall.
Artemuse followed.
Continues next week with The Sleeping Army !
June 27, 2014
#FridayFlash – The Monarch
This piece follows on from last week’s flash, The Tower.
Artemuse stood in the Throne Room of the Great Palace, hands bound behind her back. She had donned her cloak of feathers before she was arrested in the Bell Tower. Two of the Palace Guards flanked her, brandishing their halberds as though she were a threat to the realm. The guard from the Bell Tower stood to one side, sullen and sporting a new bruise around his left eye, punished for sleeping on the job.
The Monarch sat before them, his throne on a raised dais below a vast stained glass window. He glared at the Bell Tower guard, before turning his gaze to Artemuse. He pursed his lips as though her very presence polluted the Throne Room.
“You rang the Death Knell. Without permission.”
“There wasn’t time to seek permission. Forces approach from the north, Your Majesty.”
“So you say.”
Artemuse scowled. She knew the Monarch was a near-sighted moron whose favourite place to bury his head was the sand, but she had hoped that even he might realise she wouldn’t ring the Death Knell unless it was absolutely vital.
“None of my guards have seen these approaching forces.”
“They’re only looking with their eyes, Your Majesty.”
The Queen leaned across to her husband’s throne, and laid a hand on his arm. She whispered something beneath her breath before she spoke aloud.
“Artemuse is a talented Astral Mage, my dear.”
“So you say.”
The Queen rolled her eyes and sat back in her own throne, a smaller and less ornate copy of the Monarch’s seat of power. Artemuse frowned. The Queen was a powerful mage in her own right, specialising in water magic. If the Monarch wouldn’t listen to her, then he certainly wouldn’t listen to Artemuse. The situation required brutal honesty.
“Your Majesty, if I may be frank, these forces are on their way and they will arrive at the city in two days – maybe less, considering all of these delays. You must raise the army and meet them on the Lesian Plains. The element of surprise will be your best weapon.” Artemuse glared at the Monarch.
“You have rung the Death Knell and so roused the Vaal’kyr. They will be upon us in hours – surely they will be adequate protection?”
Rhodenius was a bustling metropolis, often considered the very epitome of life itself, but it had its foundations within an ancient necropolis, and its roots lay in the old Death Cult that once ruled the area. The Vaal’kyr were the last remnants of the Cult, winged protectors of the city. Legend said they would only respond to the Death Knell – but their assistance often came with a price.
“They will help, but the oncoming forces have their own astral beings. The Vaal’kyr cannot fight the living and the dead at the same time. They need backup from the army to take care of the living warriors.”
The Monarch furrowed his brow, and a flicker of hope sparked in Artemuse’s heart. The spark died as he gave her a customary haughty look.
“I will take what you say under advisement – it is worth investigation at least. However, it must be borne in mind that you have roused the Vaal’kyr without permission or authorisation, and they will demand payment. It seems fitting that we should give them…you.”
“My dear! You cannot give Artemuse to the Vaal’kyr!” The Queen clutched the Monarch’s arm.
The Monarch fell silent and flicked his hand at his guards. They marched Artemuse out of the Throne Room, and along the warren of corridors that led away from the shining heart of the Palace. For a few moments Artemuse could hear the Queen bellowing insults at the Monarch, but the walls thickened as they descended towards the dungeons, and the shouts faded into whispers.
“Is it true what you said, about the banners? And the skulls?” The guard to her right broke the silence.
“All of it was true.”
“That’s Lord Draumir.” The guard to her left spoke now, awe colouring his tones in the dim light of the corridor that led to the cells.
“It is.”
“But…he leaves nothing left alive. Someone has to do something.” The guard to her right fell out of step with her.
“I tried, but you heard what the Monarch said.”
Suddenly her bonds loosened, and her arms fell freely at her sides. She looked down at the severed knot, and turned to face the guards.
“Go. We’ll come up with a story.” The guard who’d cut her bonds gestured back up the corridor towards the square of light that was the lower tier of the Palace.
“What would be plausible?” asked the other guard.
“Tell them that I appeared to faint, and you paused to check if I was still breathing, but then you were both knocked unconscious – you believe that I attacked you on the astral plane. When you woke up I was gone. The Queen – tell the Queen. She will understand what I mean.”
The guards nodded. Artemuse smiled, and turned to run up the corridor. There was one other person in Rhodenius who might help her, and she didn’t have much time.
Continues next week…
Image by Teslacoils, edits by me.
June 24, 2014
#Craftblogclub Challenge – #YouCompleteMe
I’m terrible for starting projects and never finishing them, be they novels or craft-related ideas. I always think I’ll get to something “eventually” but eventually never arrives! So it was quite handy that the latest #craftblogclub challenge was called ‘You Complete Me’, with the idea being that we finished a project we’d had outstanding for a while. Originally I’d planned to finish a knitting project but going away for a week at the end of June put paid to that, so instead I decided to finally finish the pendants I’d made using a microwave to fuse glass (original post is here). The glass pieces were ready back in April…so it’s taken me a while!
Using epoxy adhesive, I glued the two smallest pieces to ring bases – I felt the orange pear-shaped drop better suited the antique bronze filigree base, and the blue dome looked better on silver. I’m actually pretty pleased with how they turned out!
Next I turned my attention to the pendants themselves.
I decided to hang the orange and black lump from bronze chain, so I attached a bronze bail to the back with more epoxy adhesive, while my ‘sail boat’ piece ended up on a silver bail on a silver chain. The other two pendants are on silver bails, but they hang from either white leather cord, or grey leather cord. Here they are in more detail.
I think the one I’m most proud of is the ‘sail boat’ one. The bottom third is dark blue, the middle third is a mid-blue, and the top third was originally clear, with an orange foil triangle that looks like the sail of a boat. I painted the back of it with pale blue and white acrylic paint to look like sky.
I’m so glad we had this challenge to give me the kick I needed to finish them!
What about you? How do you go about inspiring yourself to finish projects?
June 22, 2014
#BookReview – The Guardian’s Wyrd
Young Adult fiction can sometimes suffer from the notion that it’s somehow not for grown ups, despite the success of series like Harry Potter among adults. Thing is, it’s a thriving classification, featuring strong stories and incredibly likeable characters – and it’s totally okay to like it!
Nerine Dorman, purveyor of titles such as Camdeboo Nights and Inkarna, has turned her pen to YA with latest release, The Guardian’s Wyrd. I had her over at the Cabinet of Curiosities a couple of weeks back to talk about it, as well as her writing process. But now it’s time for the review! Here’s the blurb.
Sometimes having a fairytale prince as a best friend can be a real pain.
Jay didn’t realise that sticking up for Rowan, the gangly new kid at school, would plunge him into the dangers and politics of the magical realm of Sunthyst. But if anyone is up for the challenge it’s Jay September. With his trusty dog, Shadow, at his side, he braves the Watcher in the dark that guards the tunnels between the worlds, and undertakes a dangerous quest to rescue the prince.
It’s a race against time – can he sneak Prince Rowan away from under King Lessian’s nose and bring him safely back home – all before the prince’s sixteenth birthday? Or is Rowan’s mother, the exiled Queen Persia, secretly trying to hold onto her power by denying her son his birthright?
Jay is ready for anything, except, perhaps, the suffocating darkness of the tunnels. And that howling …
As with most stories that deal with magical or mystical realms, the book opens in modern day South Africa, where Jay September is a frustrated loner who dreams of rock stardom. He sticks up for the new boy in school when Rowan is bullied, and a bizarre friendship springs up between the two. Rowan is clearly looking for a friend, while Jay is drawn by his desire to explore Amberlee, Rowan’s strange and rambling house. An afternoon exploring in the grounds leads the boys through the tunnel to Sunthyst, and when Rowan is snatched by his uncle, Jay is half tempted to leave him there. Eventually his conscience gets the better of him, and he ends up being enlisted by Rowan’s mother, the exiled queen, to rescue her son.
The Guardian’s Wyrd features a whole host of interesting races, such as the forest-dwelling Skree, barbaric werewolves, mysterious Watchers that guard the tunnels, as well as Oryxis, the aloof guardian who promises Jay that he’ll teach him how to use magic. I wasn’t wholly keen on Jay at first, seeing him as the sort of sullen teen I encounter all too often, but his discovery that not only is magic real, but he can also wield it, seems to provoke some sort of burgeoning conscience, and he becomes the sort of hero you can actually root for. Rowan is perhaps the least interesting character of the book but he has plenty of time to develop in the next title of the cycle. I also want to see a lot more of the Skree!
The Guardian’s Wyrd might be classified as YA but don’t expect some cute or fluffy tale. It is visceral and wrenching, and perfectly suited to those who like their fantasy on the darker side.
Five out of five!
June 20, 2014
#FridayFlash – The Tower
The Oculus Tower stood to the north of Rhodenius, clinging to an outcrop of rock above the sprawling city. The blocks of the tower grew out of the granite cliff, pointing upwards like an accusatory finger. Perhaps long ago its architect blamed the citizens of Rhodenius for some terrible error, but none were alive to remember its construction, or the reason for its design.
Its position and height made the tower an ideal vantage point, but the Monarch had grown complacent, believing no one would dare attack a behemoth like Rhodenius. The garrison, such as it was, remained in the Keep, near the south of the city, and the tower had been left to rot.
Yet there was one in the city who believed in the value of high places, and she lived there halfway between the earth and the sky. Her rooms at the top of the tower were high enough that the slums below seemed quaint in the afternoon sunlight, but low enough to avoid the incessant winds. The air was clear, purified by the low-lying mist that often swept through the city, but Artemuse had not chosen the tower for its health benefits. She wanted the moonlight, and the view of the horizon.
Artemuse rose each evening with the moon, and sat on the balcony on the north face of the tower. She could see little of the city from this side of her rooms but the city did not concern her. The growing darkness far beyond the reach of mortal sight was more important than the daily business of the traders and workers below. Each night, she left her body and roamed the night skies, a psychic watchdog on the edges of human consciousness. Occasionally she noticed other beings in the ether, creatures that were sometimes curious but nearly always shy, but mostly she returned to her body at dawn, both relieved and worried that nothing had happened.
Eighty nine days after commencing her watch, compelled to take up her place after a vision confirmed her suspicions, Artemuse followed her regular ritual, and left her body. She danced through the night as a silver speck of starlight, her keen eyes focused on the horizon, watchful for invaders.
She saw their spears first, glinting in the pale moonlight. The night air rang with the sound of thousands of feet marching across sunbaked soil, weary yet determined. She drew nearer, wary of drawing the attention of the wraiths and shifters that prowled the edges of the approaching company. She recognised the skull sigil on the black banners that rippled in the darkness.
Artemuse fled across the astral plane, plunging back into her body. She wished that the Monarch had taken her suspicions seriously, and placed a messenger at her door should she have news to send. Many in the city thought her crazy, and the tower came to be avoided if possible.
Seizing a bottle from her workbench, she tipped the silver draught down her throat. A screech erupted from her mouth in the moment before it became a beak, and she shed her skin to make way for snow white feathers. Artemuse the Astral Mage had returned from her vigil, and now Artemuse the Owl left the tower, flitting across the city to ring the warning bell at the cathedral just outside the Keep.
The snow owl plunged through an open window, landing inside the guard post. The guard, a boy of no more than thirteen, slept in a chair beyond the bell pulls. She shed her feathers which fell to the floor as a single cloak, revealing snow white skin beneath. Artemuse ignored the sleeping boy and reached for a single black pull. The velvet was soft beneath her fingers, and she muttered a prayer as she hauled on the rope.
For the first time in three hundred years, the Death Knell was heard in Rhodenius.
February 23, 2014
Psst....over here....
February 19, 2014
Liebster Award
I was granted the Liebster Award by bloggers and fellow writers Katherine Hajer and David Shrock. The basic principle is that you receive the award, answer the questions posed by whoever nominated you, then nominate your own chaps and ask questions of your own. I usually forget to actually write these posts after I get awards but I realise I haven't blogged in a while and figured it was as good an excuse as any. Plus I've got two sets of questions to answer, so here goes.Questions from Katherine Hajer
Do you have one place you write in, several regular places, or are you a "writing nomad" (write where you can)?
I just write wherever; using Evernote on my phone on the train to work, at my desk on my lunchbreak, in the living room at home...pretty much anywhere. I don't have a fixed time that I write either - just whenever I can. I'm not really all that big on creative routines - I prefer to write when I want to so it doesn't become a chore, so that means I can't be too fussy about where I write.
What are your favourite writing tools (either physical or software)?
I do love the old notebook and pen, you can't really beat those (unless your pen runs out and the notebook gets wet) but other than those I tend to write in Word. I know, shocker, right? Though I do have to keep the Evernote love going - it's so useful for saving snippets of ideas, and bits of stories that I want to put into the main work when I get to an actual computer.
What is your biggest writing "win" from the last twelve months?Placing The Necromancer's Apprentice with Dark Continents Publishing.
Author and genre comparisons can be tricky, but what are some signs that a reader will like your books (ie: if they liked X book or like work by Y author, they should check out your books)?
Oh I have no idea. I guess if you liked something like Flashman & The Redskins then hopefully you'll enjoy The Guns of Retribution . My editor Nerine Dorman even compared The Necromancer's Apprentice to Harry Potter so I'm not about to argue with her on that one.
The universe grants you power over all of writer-dom for one day. What's the one thing you make all writers stop (or start) doing?
Stop sending automated direct messages on Twitter. If I want to find you on Facebook, and 'like' your page, then I will. Don't command that I do so the second I follow you on Twitter - and don't thank me for following you, because you were the one who added me in the first place.
Recognising that everyone on my nomination list writes in the science fiction/fantasy/horror end of the spectrum — how much time to you spend on planning and envisioning your setting relative to character development?
You can't have one without the other. Everyone is affected by their environment, so to have a character that is wholly divorced from their setting seems implausible, and obviously you make the choices you do in the context you're in. I think I prefer world building, and that's probably more what I bear in mind, but I spend the same time on both of them.
Does your setting come first, your characters, or a combination of both?
Depends on the story. Sometimes the plot comes first and then I have to work out where and when it is, and who the main players are.
How much research do you do when working on a story?Again, it depends on the story. The Guns of Retribution took a lot of research because even though it's considered 'pulp', I wanted it to be as historically accurate as I could make it, while The Necromancer's Apprentice was less rigid in that regard. I've got a Victorian murder novel in planning that's going to take a lot of research because I want to sit it within both historical fiction and horror. I guess I like getting the details right so that even if someone detests the story, they can't say I didn't check my facts.
What are your favourite sources for setting inspiration?
Cinema and non-fiction are great as secondary sources, particularly films made in a certain era if you want to set your story there. I wouldn't write 1940s Los Angeles without watching noir. But if you can, actually visiting places is fantastic. A lot of my stories seem to end up in London because I lived there, and it's the kind of place that gives you ideas just by walking around it. London is a very generous muse.
If you could spend time in one of your settings, which one would you pick and how long would you stay there?
I'd like to visit the Underground City from The Necromancer's Apprentice but I wouldn't want to stay long - it's not a very nice place. I'd prefer to visit the City Above because I don't feel I know it very well and I'd like to explore it. It seems like the light, airy and gleaming twin to the squalor of the Underground City but I'm betting it has a darker side too.
Questions from David Shrock
1. Who’s your hero?
I'm not entirely sure I have one. I have people whose work I enjoy, and who I like, but I wouldn't necessarily call them a 'hero'.
2. What gave the beginning of your writing experience?
I've been writing since I was at primary school so I can't remember the first things I wrote. I do remember writing a fake news report about the flood that washed away the original bridge in Newcastle in 1771, so I guess I've always had an inclination towards historical fiction.
3. How do you engage on a story? Do you outline or are you more of a discovery writer?
I tend to write really bare outlines just so I know the main 'cornerstones' of the plot, and then the rest of it I make up. It's like joining the dots, I suppose. I've tried sitting just making the whole thing up as I go along but I don't like not knowing where I'm heading, and likewise I don't like having too strict an outline or I tend to lose interest entirely. I need a mix of the two.
4. In what genre/s do you write and why?
I write in a few but primarily Gothic horror, Western, dark fantasy and historical. I suppose they're what I read and what I'm interested in. I don't read sci fi so I have little interest in writing it.
5. What’s the one line you’re really proud of?
I'm not really sure. I don't really keep track of things once I've written them.
6. You get to bring to life one character for 24 hours. Which one is that and why?
Hm. Probably Eufame Delsenza, the Necromancer General from The Necromancer's Apprentice, so Nerine can hang out with her.
7. Do you regret reading a book?
Sometimes, particularly if I've invested a lot of time in reading it and it's turned out to be crap. If I've spent weeks reading a book and the ending is flat, or whatever, then I sort of feel cheated, even if I enjoyed it up until that point, because I could have spent that time reading something else.
8. Pick a childhood favourite book.
I always liked Enid Blyton's Adventure series, particularly The Castle of Adventure.
9. How many books do you plan to read in 2014?
If I set myself a target I'll just fall short anyway, so I want to read as many as I have time to read.
10. You have been given a one-way rocket offering to any fictional destination. Which one would you choose?
Diagon Alley!
I can't think of any questions, so I will pose either David's set, or Katherine's. I nominate John Wiswell, who writes pithy and witty Friday flashes that I thoroughly enjoy, and Adam Byatt, my favourite Australian English teacher who plays the drums and writes Post-It poetry.
February 13, 2014
#FridayFlash - Payment Taken
I don't normally do multiple part stories, but this week's flash follows on from last week's story, The Shadow Cabinet. I'm not sure if everyone gets the reference, but in the UK, the party (or coalition) in power present a cabinet of ministers with different jobs who are theoretically responsible for those areas. The party in opposition presents a cabinet of ministers with those same job titles, but in a 'shadow' capacity as they aren't in power, hence 'Shadow Cabinet'. I just prefer my own Shadow Cabinet ;-)* * *
Prime Minister Etherington sat at his desk, staring at the single sheet of paper in front of him. It was pale cream, edged in a sooty residue that now spotted the ink-stained blotter beneath it. A line of type sat in the centre of the page.
Problem solved. Payment taken.
He didn't need the page to tell him this. He'd been listening to the reports for the last five days. The mysterious plague that began affecting the citizens who'd long graced their Suspicion Lists, the same plague that wiped out the entire Ministry of Secrecy in neighbouring Retirany. The supposedly natural disasters that destroyed whole sections of Retirany's major cities, throwing the entire populace first into uproar, and then disarray. He didn't need to be told why it was happening.
Etherington knew that could be explained by the first half of the message. He slumped forward, his fingers curling into his hair as he cradled his head in his hand. The first half was bad enough, but nothing connected those events to his meeting with the Shadow Cabinet. Indeed, Parliament congratulated him on his decisive action, and the destruction of the threat to the nation. They'd figured out the connection between the two, and didn't seem to question the ethics of destroying the lives of innocent citizens to wipe out an invasion plot. During those first five days, he didn't even question it himself. However, what he did mind, what really bothered him, was the second half of the message.
For every Retiran citizen who perished, they lost one of their own population. Not through natural disasters, or mysterious plagues that could be noticed by one side or the other - they simply ceased to be, winked out of existence without warning or fanfare. Etherington didn't need to know why. He'd asked the Shadow Cabinet for help, and now he needed to reconcile himself to what they'd done. They'd tipped the scales first one way, and then the other. His only advantage was that no one else knew; the moment one of their own population disappeared, they took the memories of their existence with them. No one remembered or mourned them. The nation simply seemed quieter, and less crowded than usual.
Only Etherington knew they had once existed, and now because of him, they didn't. That was the price he'd had to pay.
February 10, 2014
Cover reveal!
I've been buzzing about my forthcoming novella, The Necromancer's Apprentice, for a while, and now I can finally reveal the cover! Only it's not here - it's over on Dark Continents Publishing's blog, along with my post in which I discuss my influences and the world building of the story. If you want to see the cover, and read my post, then click here. The cover is beautiful, and I'm so grateful to Daniël Hugo and Carmen Begley for their fantastic work on it.If that's whetted your appetite, you can check out my visual influences on my Pinterest board, and read some of my Friday flashes set in the same universe.
Blurb
Though Jyximus Faire lives in a crumbling tenement in the Underground City, he escapes the squalor daily to attend lessons in magic and sorcery at the prestigious Academy in the City Above.
But the pace isn’t fast enough for Jyx. He wants to learn everything—and he wants to learn it now. Then the dread necromancer general Eufame Delsenza sets her sights on Jyx; she needs a new apprentice, and Jyx fits the bill. When she tasks him with helping to prepare royal mummies for an all-important procession, he realises this might be a chance of a lifetime.
Will Jyx’s impatience lead to him taking his education into his own inexperienced hands, and can a necromancer’s apprentice really learn to raise the dead—and control them?
February 7, 2014
#FridayFlash - The Shadow Cabinet
Image by Krappweis. Edits by me.Prime Minister Etherington sat at his desk, staring at the reports laid out before him. The words swam before his eyes, with particular phrases leering at him. “Possible conspiracy”…. “grave threat to the nation”…. “utmost importance”…. “imminent danger”… “I have no idea what to make of all of this. Can any of it be substantiated?” he asked.“Of course, sir. We’ve triple checked all of it before we even brought it to you. Loughborough thought it was just rumour but sadly not,” replied the short man standing near the door. He held a bowler hat in one hand, and a battered briefcase in the other.
“So what do we do?” asked the Prime Minister.
“That was rather what we were hoping you might be able to answer, sir,” replied the short man.
“It’s been so long since we had to deal with conspiracies and whatnot. My great-uncle would have known what to do,” said the Prime Minister. He looked up at the portrait of Finnigan Etherington above the fireplace.
“I do not wish to sound trite but unfortunately he is no longer here. We need to know what to do about all of this. I’ve asked Dundridge to come up here to advise.”
“Dundridge? I don’t recognise the name.”
“He’s the Head of the Secret Service, sir. He keeps himself possibly too secret, but if it’s anyone’s job to sort this out, it’s his.” The short man deposited his briefcase on the floor.
A triple knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” called the Prime Minister.
The door opened, and a tall, thin man entered. He wore a long black trenchcoat and a black fedora.
“Ah, Dundridge! I’ve been explaining the situation to the Prime Minister,” said the short man.
“Damned shame, sir, damned shame. I’ve had men on this for some time now and all they can give me is bad news,” said Dundridge. His voice barely rose above a whisper, and the Prime Minister could see why he’d work so well in the Secret Service.
“So what do I do? Mackleworth here tells me that you’re the man to give advice on this,” said the Prime Minister.
“I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere, sir, and this thing is bigger than we can perhaps realise. I think there’s only one thing you can do.”
“Which is?”
“Consult the Shadow Cabinet.”
The Prime Minister gulped at the mention of the name. As far as anyone knew, the Shadow Cabinet had existed long before Parliament – possibly long before the nation itself. No one would dare doubt their loyalty, but they might question their methods.
“I really don’t want to bother them, Dundridge.”
“You might have to, sir.”
“There are reasons we don’t involve the Shadow Cabinet in decisions. Their assistance always comes with a price. Remember what happened to Heartstone?"
The short man shuddered.
“But still, sir, this is bigger than any of us. None of us are equipped to put down a conspiracy of this size. The Shadow Cabinet are, sir,” said Dundridge.
The Prime Minister looked at the reports on his desk and nodded. He didn’t want to admit it, but Dundridge was right. Perhaps their price would be reasonable this time given the severity of the threat.
He left Dundridge and the short man in his office, and made his way through the House of Parliament to an old door at the far end of the building. This part of the House was at least two centuries older than his own wing, and it existed in a twilight of shadow and silence.
The Prime Minister knocked on the door. A few moments passed, and it swung inwards without a creak. He straightened his tie and entered.
He found himself in a large wood-panelled chamber, with ancient tapestries covering the walls, and straw strewn across the stone floor. Fires blazed in iron wall braziers, casting flickering shadows around the room.
“Prime Minister Etherington. I do not think we have seen you for at least a year.” A deep voice sounded from the far end of the room.
The Prime Minister inched into the chamber, until a long table became visible in the low light. Five shadowy figures sat at the table, and the Prime Minister gulped. The Shadow Cabinet was comprised of seven – where were the other two?
“I apologise for my absence, things have been rather hectic.”
“Indeed, and with the current state of affairs I imagine they will only get more hectic.”
“Well that is why I’m here.” The Prime Minister explained everything that he’d been told that morning, though he got the feeling he was telling the Shadow Cabinet things that they already knew.
“This is indeed a difficult situation, Prime Minister, but it is not without resolution in the favour of our great nation,” said the shadow with the deep voice.
“It’s not?”
“We can solve this problem with little trouble to ourselves.”
“And…er…your price?”
“We will name our price when we have solved the problem.”
The Prime Minister frowned. What a risk to take! Would the price be too high? He thought again of the reports on his desk and sighed. He couldn’t solve this himself – there was simply no other way.
“Very well.” He heard himself saying the words before he’d even realised he agreed to their terms.
“Excellent. Expect a resolution within 48 hours.”
The shadow held out its hand, a dark stain against the air around it. The Prime Minister held out his own, and the shake sealed the deal. He withdrew his hand as quickly as he could, eager to get some warmth back into his skin, and he hurried out of the stone room.
As he headed back to his office, he glanced down at his palm. Either some residue had been left by the Chairman of the Shadow Cabinet….or he had blood on his hands.
