NOAH SPEAKS

I had not thought even Weyland capable of such cruelty. This sounds naive, I know, but after I realised that it was he who had come to me and healed my back, and after I recalled how he had torn that repulsive man from my body…I had thought that perhaps the worst was behind me. I knew that he planned something terrible for Charles’ return into London, but I had never thought he would do this: tear both Jane and myself apart, and use our agony to send Charles a greeting on his arrival.

I had never thought…

I had never realised…

I had never suffered so as I did the instant Weyland set those terrible imps to tearing their way forth from Jane’s and my bodies.

I felt that imp slash its way through every single one of my pelvic organs on his frightful journey to the base of my spine. I felt him rip me apart, and thus torment became my entire world.

Nothing else existed.

All thought of Charles fled.

All thought of the Game vanished.

I even forgot that terrible moment when Weyland had mentioned asking me for shelter (and that little piece of terror had occupied most of my waking hours during those days he kept us trapped in the kitchen). But I was so consumed by pain, the only thought I had was to hope that death would snatch me sooner rather than later. Nothing else mattered. All I wanted was the relief of death.

But of course death stood by and did nothing, for Weyland had better things planned for me. I would be kept alive, but in agony, because that would amuse him and it would tear Charles apart.

What was it he’d spoken to Charles as I descended into hell (and Weyland had made sure that I heard this, too): Know that I only need her alive, I don’t need her whole.

I remained conscious until the imp tore his way through my back. How can I describe what that felt like? I can’t. There are no words for it. It would have driven me insane, I think, had it not been for…

Jane.

When Weyland had sent my imp on its rampage while I’d been at Langley House, he’d sent Jane into agony as well. Somehow we’d touched during that time, shared our suffering, and briefly comforted each other through that sharing.

It happened again as we both writhed about the floor of that kitchen, our bodies tearing apart about us. We met in some bleak wilderness of despair and anguish where, desperate, we touched and then clung to each other. It was somewhere beyond Weyland’s knowledge. I don’t know how I understood this, but know it I did…as did Jane. We had not escaped our agony in this strange wilderness, but we drew some small measure of comfort from our shared suffering.

It wasn’t much, and, eventually, it wasn’t enough. We could feel our flesh tearing away from our bodies, feel our blood drain away, feel Weyland’s eyes on us as we suffered. I think that we would have lost our minds, deliberately, as a means of escaping from the pain and horror, save that…

Save that, as we slid towards that welcome abyss of insanity, we heard a voice.

Follow me.

We paid it no attention. It had no meaning to what was left of our lives.

Follow me.

The voice was neither male nor female. We did not recognise it. We ignored it once more. The abyss before us was so tempting, and offered such an escape…who cared if Weyland took my mind? I no longer did. He was welcome—

Follow me!

This time the voice roared through us. It was full of such power that we shrieked, and I felt Jane’s fingernails tear through the skin of my shoulders.

Follow me, whispered the voice, and this time it was gentle and seductive, and, with no willpower left, Jane and I followed.

I blinked, then screwed my eyelids shut. I was aware of two things: that I still clung to Jane, and that my pain was miraculously gone (strangely, the absence of pain was almost as painful as its presence).

I gulped in air and felt Jane do the same.

I tried to open my eyes and this time succeeded if only to almost close them again as I squinted against the bright sunlight. We were outside, but where? And how?

Slowly my eyes became accustomed to the light, and, with Jane, looked about.

“We are in Tower Fields,” she said, her voice bewildered.

Indeed we were (my memory coming from my life as Caela rather than this life; the landscape, although much built over, had not changed a great deal). We stood in the open space just beyond the northern walls and moat of the Tower of London. In the distance we could hear the roar of the crowds—somewhere further to the west Charles was still engaged in his jubilant parade.

“But how…?” Jane said.

“By my aid, of course,” said a voice—that voice which had saved us—and Jane and I let go of each other and whipped about.

A woman stood some four of five paces away, surveying us with a self-satisfied smile.

The style of her dress gave me pause, for I was not used to seeing women dressed in the ancient Minoan manner standing about in the grassy fields of London.

The woman wore a flounced skirt of red silk that fell to just above her ankles, stiffened with many layers of petticoats, and a jacket of cloth of gold, embroidered with yet more golden threads and pearls and jade. It had three-quarter-length sleeves, wide stiffened lapels and a collar, and lay open to her waist where it was loosely held together with scarlet ties. She wore no blouse beneath it, and the open lapels of the jacket revealed her bare, firm breasts.

She wore little jewellery save for a collection of thin golden bands about her right ankle and her left wrist.

Her face was stunning: finely boned, yet giving the impression of strength rather than fragility, the woman had a broad, high forehead, large and elongated dark eyes further emphasised with an outlining of kohl, gracefully arched and drawn eyebrows, and a full and sensuous mouth that was painted the same red as her skirt. Her skin was the same rich cream of her breasts.

A magnificent head of hair crowned all of this bounty. Very dark, almost black, it rippled in bright waves down her back and shoulders.

If I had been a king I would have lusted for her, for she radiated power as well as beauty.

If I had been a common man I would have lived in terror of her, for I would have understood that this witch had the power to destroy my life.

I also knew precisely who she was.

“Ariadne,” I said, in as calm a voice as I could manage. “Well met, at last.”

She opened her mouth to answer, but just then Jane let out a shriek and darted for her foremother. Her arms were extended, her hands clenched into claws, and I have no doubt that she meant to murder Ariadne as soon as she reached her.

It was a sentiment I could understand, even as I winced. It was Ariadne, after all, who had cursed Genvissa-Swanne-Jane with her promise to Asterion that should she or any of her daughter-heirs ever try to resurrect the Game, then she (or whichever of her daughter-heirs bore her blood) would become Asterion’s slave.

Ariadne calmly held out a hand, turning it heel down, palm outwards, and said one single commanding word that emerged not as sound so much as a ripple of powerful emotion.

Jane stopped, so abruptly she collapsed into a heap two paces short of Ariadne. I stepped forward and aided her to rise. “Be still, Jane,” I whispered. “This is not the time.”

Then to Ariadne, who continued to regard us with a supreme equanimity that I envied, I said, “Are we here in reality, Ariadne, or in spirit?”

“In spirit only,” she said. “Your bodies still writhe about that dreadful kitchen floor. This was all I could do for you.”

“Why?” I said.

“You were in pain, and I did what I could to save you.” She gave a half shrug, the movement one of exquisite grace. “I can do nothing to the injuries perpetrated upon your physical bodies—by now, surely, you shall be virtually lifeless—but I could save your sanity.”

Now she looked at Jane. “I am sorry for what has happened, Jane. If not for my promise…”

“You have no idea of what I have suffered,” Jane hissed.

“Yes, you are right. I can have no idea. And so I shall do my best to set things to right.”

She paused, regarding us intently, then she smiled at me. The expression was cold, and predatory. “And well met to you as well…Eaving.”

I could not forget that Ariadne had once been the MagaLlan of Llangarlia as well as the Mistress of the Labyrinth, but I was put out by her knowledge of my goddess name. The surprise must have shown on my face, for her smile became genuinely amused.

“I have power, Eaving. I am not disinclined to use it to discover what I need.”

“What are you doing here?” I said, gesturing about at Tower Fields and the built-up areas to the east and west of us. “And like this.” Now I gestured at her clothes.

She laughed. “Oh, this is not the manner of dress I normally affect, Eaving. Generally I ensure I’m much less noticeable.”

“You mean you’re living here?” Jane said. “In London?”

“I drift in and out, from time to time,” Ariadne said. “I have an arrangement with the Gentleman of the Ordnance of the Tower.”

I could well imagine what kind of arrangement she might have, but I wondered if the Gentleman of the Ordnance of the Tower knew quite what he had invited into his bed. And why should Ariadne want to be there? I opened my mouth to ask, but Jane got the question out first.

“Why are you back? For what purpose?”

Poor Jane. I imagine she was somewhat disturbed to discover that great-great-great-granny Ariadne had been flitting around not ten minutes walk from Idol Lane.

Again that fearsome, predatory smile. “For my place in the Game, of course, what else?”

I went cold. She couldn’t possibly think that she…

“You have no right—” Jane began.

“I have every right,” Ariadne said. “If not for me then neither of you would be toying with such greatness! If not for me, then neither of you would be—”

“Writhing about on a kitchen floor having our flesh torn apart,” I said.

“Well, well, minx,” said Ariadne, stepping closer to me and grasping my chin with one of her hands.

I could feel her fingernails digging into my flesh.

“Such spirit,” she said. “What is your heritage then, to spark so brightly? What was your name and heritage in your first life, before the Troy Game caught you in its web?”

Ah, if Ariadne could know my goddess name then surely she would know this. But for the moment I played along with her game.

“My name was Cornelia, and I lived in the city of Mesopotama, on the eastern side of—”

“I know where it was,” she said. Her hand fell away from my chin. “An insignificant city. Dull. Who were you, Cornelia of Mesopotama? A servant’s brat? A baker’s bastard? A—”

She was needling me, and most successfully. “I was the daughter of the king, Pandrasus, and heir to the throne itself.”

“Ah,” Ariadne said on a long breath, although it was obvious none of this came as any surprise to her. Then, “Mesopotama was spared the Catastrophe. Tell me, Cornelia-reborn, princess and heir to that long-lost throne, did you ever wonder why?”

Jane spoke then, and I was glad, for I had no answer to Ariadne.

“Aren’t you afraid that Asterion, Weyland Orr now, might find you wandering about the Tower, Ariadne?”

“The Liberty protects me,” she said.

“The Liberty?” I said.

“The Tower of London exists under its own jurisdiction,” said Jane. “It is free from the laws of London. This Liberty came into being after your last life, Noah. You would not have known of it as Caela.” Yet still Jane looked puzzled, for that alone could not explain how Ariadne managed to hide from Weyland’s sight.

“Indeed,” said Ariadne, “the fields and streets surrounding the Tower of London form their own jurisdiction. The Gentlemen of the Tower have even managed to claim all rights to the cattle and horses that fall off London Bridge, and the swans that wander into the Tower moat.” She laughed prettily.

“But none of this explains why Weyland can’t—” I began.

“Think, Eaving! What lies beneath the Tower?”

I frowned, then suddenly remembered. “The God Well!” It was where Brutus and I had been buried in our first lives, and where, as Caela, I had met William the night he had killed me.

“Aye,” said Ariadne. “It took some skill, of which I have a small measure, to manage to entwine the power of the God Well with the legal entity of the Tower Liberty to form a protective ward. So long as I don’t leave the Liberty, Weyland can’t detect me.”

I felt uncomfortable. As Eaving I should have sensed this, for Ariadne would have used her ancient knowledge of the land in this enterprise, and yet even I hadn’t felt a thing. For the first time I had a true understanding of Ariadne’s power.

“You will come back to me here,” said Ariadne, “once your bodies have healed.”

“Why?” said Jane.

“You know why,” said Ariadne. Then suddenly she paled, and wavered on her feet. “I cannot hold you any longer,” she said. “You must return now…but come back, come back in the flesh, come back to Tower Liberty…”

Her voice faded, and I saw the fields about the Tower waver and then vanish, and the next moment the terrible bloody stink of the kitchen of Idol Lane assailed my nostrils.