Chapter 19

As always, my legs were in motion before my mind had quite grasped what I was seeing. I’d always had quick reflexes, though once I started giving a damn about people, they started to take me towards danger instead of away from it.

Not that I especially cared about my so-called fiancée, but my instincts saw an unwell woman in need of my help, even if my mind knew she was Fera’s creature.

“Wendy?” I put a hand to her throat, but there was no pulse at all. No breathing, no twitching. No signs of life at all.

The machine-gun like clicking of the newsmen’s cameras reminded me I couldn’t exactly cast an All Heal in the middle of the ceremony. My human healing magic was rather limited, since we’d mostly focused on basic triage and first aid. However, there was one that might just do the trick.

Magical energy was intimately tied to human biology in ways that devils had never questioned, and humans were too new to the art to have investigated much. A depletion of energy could knock out a human, even if nothing was physically wrong with them. The feedback could go the other way, too, and forcing the magic to circulate through the body could potentially shock the organs back to life.

Mimic gave me an unfair advantage in that regard. I wasn’t skilled enough to cast while using Mimic Sight, but I could lean down and sniff out the state of her magic with Mimic Scent.

I nearly gagged; her signature was like a rancid mix of garlic and sulfur. The good news was that I could get a whiff of magic, which meant she wasn’t dead. No time to delay, then!

“Sukanabikona’s Pulse!” My Japanese lessons had done some good, at least; I didn’t stumble over the Japanese god of hot springs and healing’s name.

Like most human healing magic, the effects lasted after the initial casting. Unlike the times when I’d used lesser healing spells, Wendy’s distorted magical field actively fought against me. “Stop being stubborn and let me help you!” I hissed.

It was no use; as soon as I’d grabbed ahold of her energies, they slipped out of grip, refusing to move from their spot.

I didn’t struggle for long before a group of medics moved me aside to try more conventional medicine. CPR didn’t seem to be doing the trick any better than my magic, but at least she wasn’t trying to thwart their efforts.

Activating Mimic Sight shed some light on the situation, and the news wasn’t good. I’d never thought to scan the dead or dying before, though I filed that away as a good way to look for enemies playing possum. Wendy’s magical signature had already been strained and distorted, but I was just in time to watch it float away from her body. To my utter shock, it seemed to be heading upwards.

I shook my head, deactivating my affinity. It was a private moment that I didn’t care to watch. I didn’t mourn Wendy; Rei had been my fault, but this skeletal demonkin had made her own bed. Instead, I mourned the loss of her information. Dante was beating a hasty retreat for the exit, and I wasn’t about to take my chances with him.

The medics continued their ministrations, but I could see the defeat in their faces. The cameras continued to clatter on, recording every moment of the woman’s demise. Her end was already being broadcasted to news shows and feeds around the world at the speed of light.

Vultures. Damn lousy vultures. The Yeomen took too long in blocking the view, since they’d ensured the King’s safety first. Some of the photographers had the gall to try and sidestep the guards to get a closeup. Instead, they got a closeup of the blunt end of their ceremonial pikes shoving them back.

I couldn’t help but smirk. At least there was a bit of justice in all this. After all, as far as they knew, they were recording the death of a civilian, not a traitor to the human race. They truly were vultures.

The party was completely spoiled, of course. I managed to avoid the questions of the throng of reporters and honestly concerned people. To the former, I showed a brave face and simply said that I was too overcome for their questions. No matter how much I disdained them, I knew the importance of having good press.

The latter category included the bishop, Mr. Maki, and a few higher military officials I didn’t recognize. I wasn’t so cold with them. After all, from an outside perspective, the last two escapees from England had just been reunited and cruelly separated in a single night. Worse, she’d apparently told anybody who would listen that we were betrothed. Of course decent people would be concerned.

“It’s in God’s hands now,” said the bishop, giving me a comforting pat on the back as they wheeled her unresponsive body towards an ambulance.

“I suppose it is.”

The older man smiled up at me. “Even if she doesn’t make it, I spoke with her before while we prepared for the ceremony. She was a fine young woman, full of kindness and concern for others. I’m confident that whatever happens, she’ll receive her reward from her maker.”

I kept from smirking that time. “You have no idea how much that comforts me, sir.”

************

Belfast, North Ireland

Wednesday, December 14th, 2050

I awoke the next morning to the news that they had been unable to revive Wendy, which meant I’d have to put on a show. It was hard to act overly fussed about Fera’s agent, so it was simpler to wear a brave face. Mr. Maki actually showed me some consideration and didn’t wake me up when he left for his morning jog. The news must have spread fast, since the hotel refused to let me pay for breakfast, and served me actual coffee.

I wasn’t terribly surprised that I was summoned to King George’s bedroom again just as I’d finished my meal. Mr. Maki was a bit put out that the invitation didn’t extend to him. Me too, since that implied this was to be a private conversation with the king of the island I’d helped burn. I’d have loved some backup.

“Sir Marlowe,” said King George as I entered. He’d already looked half dead, but what must have been a sleepless night for the aged monarch had advanced him to three-quarters. He made no move to rise, which I’m sure relieved his medical staff.

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“Sir Marlowe? Is it official?” I asked. “We were interrupted, after all.” I still had the cross-shaped emblem of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire in its box in my pocket. I still didn’t know if wearing it would hurt me, and I wasn’t eager to find out.

“It is official because I say it is official.” There was still iron in his voice, even if it was softer than before. “Leave us,” he barked to the staff.

“Your Majesty—” started one of the doctors.

“Guard!”

“Yes, Your Highness?” I recognized him as one of the Yeomen from the night before, though he’d traded his ceremonial clothes and pike for military fatigues and a serious-looking rifle.

King George gestured at the attendants. “Remove them if they won’t remove themselves,” he snapped. “They can go back to managing my death when I’m done with Sir Marlowe.”

I reflexively gulped, glad that his ire was focused elsewhere as they slunk out of the room.

“Come close and cast a spell to keep things private,” he said.

I nodded, carrying out the order. I made the Zone of Silence a tad larger than normal, since I didn’t want to accidentally disrupt his life support.

“I am at your service, my lord,” I said. Those modes of address for the Dark Lord came too easily. I wasn’t sure if that was a proper thing to call a British King, but he didn’t object.

He nodded once, considering me in silence a moment. “Who was I really honoring last night?”

“Sir?” The question made my stomach quake. Had he somehow gotten an inkling of my past?

“She was next. Ms. Bailey, that is.” He let out a wet cough once before pressing on. “In some ways, her story was more inspirational than yours. You had the Royal Navy to pick you up, and you’d only been held a month or so. She had to float her own boat after an extra year of torment. Even better, her fiancé was due to be knighted while she looked on. We couldn’t have dreamed up a better propaganda event if we’d tried. Except I don’t think that’s true anymore.”

“I saw no reason to doubt it,” I said.

“You bloody well did last night,” he said, reaching up to poke at my cheek with a gnarled finger. “I saw that little smirk on your face. I’ve buried two wives, and I can tell you that if I had just watched my fiancé collapse, I wouldn’t smile for a month afterwards.”

“You saw that, did you?”

“That I did,” he replied. “So, why were you so pleased to be done with her?”

“Oh, you misunderstood me, Your Highness,” I said. “The press had already descended upon her body, and one of your guards taught them some manners with his pike. That’s what I was smirking about.”

He studied me again. “If you’re lying, remind me not to play cards with you.”

I resisted the urge to grin, a bad nervous habit that could only get me in trouble. “I find it’s easier to stick to the truth.”

“You say that,” he said, “but I reviewed the footage from the event, to make sure my impressions were right. She acted like an old friend. You were never comfortable around her.”

“Is that why you didn’t sleep well, sir? You need your rest.”

“I’ll have plenty of that soon enough.”

“If I can ask, Your Highness, what ails you?” I asked. I’d done some research on him in my spare time; it was clear to everybody that the king was ill, but the government had never acknowledged or explained why. Who knew, perhaps something in my dark arts bag of tricks could help?

“Being eighty-five, for starters,” he said. “Everything in me is winding down. There’re medicines that can make me human for a time so I can be presentable in public, but they work a bit less each time. So, you can see why I want to know what spoiled one of my last public relations events. Stop dodging! If Wendy wasn’t your fiancé, why did you play along with the lie?”

“Are you certain, sir? I picked her up and hauled her up the stairs, and held her up through most of the ceremony. I’d say that’s rather darned comfortable. And at the risk of sounding gauche, I was the first one on the scene trying to revive her.”

He shook his head. “I just told you, I have been married twice. That was not how you touch a fiancé. You gave her the same regard you might show anybody in her fragile condition. She kissed you twice that I saw, but you never kissed her back. Before you object, I am well aware of your reputation with the ladies.”

“You are, are you?”

“Of course,” he said. “I made you a knight. It doesn’t mean as much as it used to, but I look into anybody I’m honoring. So, Sir Soren Marlowe, as your first real order from your king, how about we cut out the rubbish? What was she really?”

“Well…” I’d likened him to a bulldog before, and he certainly wasn’t letting go. I’d have to feed him something plausible. “You’re aware that I don’t have a totally clean record.”

“At least one arrest, up in Iceland,” he said. “You also had lousy grades at your old school in Kent.”

He had done his homework, but he wasn’t calling me a Holy Brother, demonkin, or devil. I wasn’t going to volunteer anything quite so damning. It was time to use what he hadn’t questioned to thread my lies. “I did know poor Wendy growing up, but we weren’t especially close. Poor thing, everyone gave her a wide berth because of the rumors.”

“Rumors?”

“It was about her family,” he said. “There was talk about strange noises coming from their flat and communing with spirits. Nothing solid, but it was enough that people called them demonkin. All nonsense, of course, but I was one of her only friends.”

He frowned. “That didn’t come up when I looked into her.”

“It wouldn’t,” I said, waving him off. “It never progressed beyond nasty rumor. If it had, there would have been a formal investigation that would have come up in your research. I was, well, not to be immodest, but I’m not bad looking. The poor thing had the biggest crush on me. I didn’t reciprocate; even when she wasn’t half-starved, she wasn’t my type. I suspect that she might have convinced herself that we were promised, just to give her something to return to while the Grim Horde worked their wickedness upon her. I only wish things hadn’t ended so abruptly.” That part I could put some real emotion into; Wendy had passed on leaving me with more questions and worries than when I’d arrived in North Ireland.

He nodded. “You did her a great service then.”

“My lord?”

King George studied me again for a moment, before laughing to himself. The laugh devolved into a coughing fit, but he recovered quickly. “You know what being a figurehead king in a constitutional monarchy has taught me, Sir Marlowe?”

“I imagine it gave you more time for your hobbies,” I said, regretting the impolite joke instantly.

He chuckled, which again turned into coughing. I fetched him water from a nearby nightstand and helped him drink. “You are right there, Soren. However, the primary lesson is on the importance of belief.”

Oh no, not a religious sermon. I already acknowledged that the Enemy existed, I didn’t need to hear about His so-called goodness.

“A false belief can be just as motivating as a real one,” he said, catching me off guard. “People think I have authority, so I have authority. I can’t write a law, but I can influence the people who then vote for Parliament. However, I think you’re already knew that lesson.”

“How do you mean?”

“You were not the man she was going to marry, but thinking you were there waiting for her gave her the strength to escape. At least she died among friends and well-wishers instead of a stinking demonic dungeon somewhere. It was good of you not to shatter that illusion when she was already so frail.”

Was… was the King of England trying to comfort me? I’d managed to ignore the guilt while I was worried about being exposed, but that concern got the better of me.

“Come now, Sir Marlowe. Tears are unbecoming of a knight.”

I wiped the errant moisture away. “Y-you said it yourself; being a knight isn’t what it used to be.”

“Maybe not for the celebrities and philanthropists,” he said, “but you’re going to be out there on the battlefield fighting the hordes of hell itself. That sounds like a bloody knight errant to me. So, compose yourself.”

I couldn’t help but grin. “If that’s your order, sir.”

He gave me an almost fatherly smirk. “I’ve taken you away from your training long enough. Go. Be an example for your nation. Carry yourself well wherever you may find yourself.”

I nodded, reflexively bowing in the Japanese style. That habit had become rather ingrained. “I shall, Your Highness.”

“Good,” he said, settling back into his pillow. “I think you mean it. You’re a good man, for a fraud.”

“A what?”

He gave me a knowing grin. “Oh, never you mind. Whatever you were, now you’re a hero and a knight. Do your duty and it will all be overlooked.”

And then, pulling the greatest power move the old and sick can, he closed his eyes and fell fast asleep.