Spectred Isle (Green Men #1)(32)

“Wanted with me?”

“Camlet Moat is one of London’s cornerstones, a vital protection. If you had intended harm to the city, or the Moat, drinking the water would not have been an enjoyable experience. That’s why I gave it to you; I wanted to find out if you were a threat. Whether that might have attracted the hostility you experienced last night, I couldn’t say.”

“Why don’t you ask the, uh, Walker?”

“Because he’s me.”

“Sorry?”

“Theresa was the Walker of Camlet Moat,” Randolph said. “The role was passed down through my family by word of mouth alone. Before the War three people knew those deep secrets: Uncle Archibald, who was retired, Theresa as the Walker, and our young nephew Gerry, in training. But Theresa died at Ypres, and when I got back to England it was to find Archibald and Gerry dead and buried. Spanish flu, apparently, and the amusing thing is, Archibald hadn’t written down a fucking word. I spent six months ripping the house apart in the hope of finding anything I could use, and then I called myself the Walker of Camlet Moat because nobody else could do better. Since when I’ve been trying to maintain one of London’s most important arcane protections without a single solitary clue what I’m doing. I probably shouldn’t have given you the water but it seemed like a good idea at the time, and that’s all I’ve had to go on for years. I’m sorry.”

“That all sounds extremely bad,” Saul said after a moment. “And it must have been damned hard for you. To lose three family members so quickly—”

“Oh, I lost the lot. There were seven of us at the Second Great Summoning, and I was the only one who walked away. My cousin Valentine had already been lost in action at Mons, Vernon burned to death in a French chateau to nobody’s regret, and Gerry was the sole child any of my generation had yet produced. I’m the last Glyde.”

Saul stopped and swung round to face him, touching him lightly on the arm. “My God, Randolph. I am so very sorry.” His dark eyes were intense with feeling, brows pulling together, thoughts only for Randolph’s loss in the middle of his own hellish mess. It was, Randolph realised, precisely what he’d have expected.

“Thank you. It was a long time ago.” He began to walk again rather than receive sympathy he didn’t deserve, let alone do anything damned stupid such as falling into Saul’s arms on a public road just because he had a childish need for comfort.

Saul caught up after a few paces. Randolph spoke before he could say anything else. “So that’s your story. The truth after which idiots like your Peabrain are groping.”

“Peabody. You don’t think— Does he know about this?”

“He seems to have scrabbled some sort of information together. I’ll see what I can get out of him tonight.”

“What happens tonight?”

“The Vicar of St. Mary’s and I will be coming to dinner with the Abchurches. If any sinister manifestations appear, you may leave them to me. I’d enjoy the exercise.”

“How on earth—”

“The Vicar is a colleague of mine.”

“The Vicar,” Saul repeated. “Of course he is.”

“There are a number of us. Arcanists and academics and ghost-hunters, religious men, highly irreligious women. All of us with an urgent interest in making sure the veil tears no further than it has.”

“A secret society?”

“An informal association.”

“Hang on a moment. You say that the—the thing that happened in the War was mandated, that the Government knows about this veil business. Why isn’t there a formal association?”

“There is. There’s a Whitehall department entirely dedicated to occult affairs.”

“Great Scott. Well, good.”

“Not at all, no,” Randolph said. “It’s a power grab. Most of the country’s leading arcanists died in the War; those who remain are young, old, or cowards. Whitehall saw an extraordinary opportunity to seize control of an area that has hitherto eluded government grasp. That is beneficial to them, and appealing to people who are frightened of hard truths. The Shadow Ministry offers us all a structure on which to rely and an authority in whom to place one’s faith. Unfortunately, doing so rather depends on not acknowledging that these are the blundering fools who caused the current situation.”

“Well, I see that. But if someone is trying to take action—”

“If only. The Shadow Ministry’s first priority is to establish its authority. To discuss the current crisis is to question Whitehall’s competence. The Department will listen to me when I join it; until then my protests are alarmist, unpatriotic, and damaging to morale.”

“Shouldn’t you join it, then?”

“Oh, I could demand a seat at the highest table and use it to make a great fuss about what needs doing,” Randolph said. “But people wouldn’t see that. They’d only see the Heir of Glyde joining the Shadow Ministry, lending it my name, my approval. It would encourage people to take orders from Whitehall, and I know the sorts of orders they’ll give, you see.”

“Christ,” Saul said. “How is it possible that everything you say makes things worse?”

“Someone else observed much the same to me recently. Would that I could take the credit, but it’s just the way things are.”