Spectred Isle (Green Men #1)(6)

“Could it be a genius loci?” Randolph asked.

His three companions all looked blank. Barney remembered some Latin from his expensive education, but possessed only the slightest, scrabbled-together knowledge of the arcane; Sam knew more about the theory and practice of ghost-hunting than anyone Randolph had ever met, but had barely darkened a school’s doors; Isaacs had neither formal nor occult learning. “Plebeians,” Randolph told them all. “Genius loci, a spirit of place. One of those manifestations that arises from the atmosphere. A spiritual echo.”

“Oh, yeah, I know what you mean,” Isaacs said. “No.”

“Definitely not,” Barney added. “It’s an entity.”

Sam shut his eyes. “Fine. Did you get rid of it?”

The soldiers glanced at one another. “Well, it buggered off,” Isaacs said. “I wouldn’t feel quite comfortable in saying got rid of.”

“No, I agree. It felt a sticky sort of blighter and you know, this isn’t our field.”

“Ugh.” Sam rubbed his forehead. “Randolph, do you have time to take a look tomorrow? I’ll be tied up all day with Syrena Phan, and this doesn’t sound right.”

“If I must, dear fellow,” Randolph said with dramatic gloom. Sam didn’t bother with even a perfunctory smile, which was unusual. “Is there something bothering you, at all?”

“Oh, you know. Well. Another approach from Whitehall today.”

“Arseholes,” Isaacs muttered. “You told them to sling their hook, right?”

If there was one principle that united their little band, it was refusal to do Government work. The thoroughly decent Barney would unquestionably kill before he let bureaucrats get their soft, unaccountable hands on Isaacs again, while Sam, whose family had been destroyed by the War, regarded the British state with all the hatred of which his cheerful nature was capable. He looked fairly uncompromising now. “Of course. But they were very pressing. Threatening stiff penalties.”

“I’ll tell ’em where they can press their stiff penalties, whenever you like,” Isaacs growled.

“Already did. They aren’t listening. The Shadow Ministry would like us to know it’s time for a united front.”

“Nothing fills my heart with more optimism than the British ruling classes establishing a Front,” Randolph said. “It was such fun last time.”

Isaacs cackled; Barney got it a second later, and snorted. Sam didn’t laugh. “Something seems to be going on over there, gents. Sir Ranjit’s getting old; I’ve heard younger men are trying to force him out of the job. There’ll be any amount of political coups and manoeuvring planned, and I have no doubt they’ll be looking for pawns to play with. I wouldn’t be worried by that alone, but I had a letter today. From Jo.”

All three of the others sat up straight. Randolph had never met Jo, Sam’s foster-sibling and the most talented soothsayer England had produced in a century, but he’d heard a fair bit, including that Jo, like many of the greatest seers, was neither man nor woman in the conventional sense, and should be referred to as “they”. Jo had left Britain before the War, disappearing to an undisclosed location abroad rather than permit their prophetic powers to be used as a military weapon. They had never returned, for fear of detention; Sam couldn’t visit them in case he was followed; even letters had to go through a complex poste restante system. If Jo had written, something was up.

“What did they say?” Randolph asked.

“How is they?” added Barney, who did his best. “Well, I hope?”

Sam made a face. “I think well, but troubled. They’re having visions. Not terribly specific, but they wouldn’t write if it wasn’t important.” He took a letter from his pocket. “They say, It’s hard to judge what is related. The veil is so thin and hangs in tatters in too many places. I must tell you this: no sign will guide you; no gun will save you; a fool and a knave may do what an emperor could not, and the unenlightened man brings light.”

There was a respectful pause, which Isaacs broke with, “You what?”

“Not the faintest,” Sam said. “It will make sense in the end one way or another but, as Uncle Robert used to say, the hard part is working out what it means while it’s still useful. He was awfully good at it, but then he could do The Times crossword before breakfast. I don’t suppose any of you—”

“I think I got a four across, once, in 1920. Let’s have it again?” Barney repeated the words after Sam. “No sign will guide you; no gun will save you; a fool and a knave may do what an emperor could not, and the unenlightened man brings light. Umph. Any ideas?”

“An obvious one,” Randolph said. “We know what an emperor, or at least the Kaiser, could not do as of 1918.”

There was a nasty pause as the others considered that.

“Um,” Barney said. “Sam, old fellow, would you say Jo might tackle quite such...large matters?”

“If you mean, did they just prophesy the fall of empire, I’ve no idea.”

“Could we ask?”

“They won’t know. They aren’t obscure on purpose, believe me. If they could write, Watch out for a fellow called Smith who’s going to pick your pocket next week, let alone, The monarchy will fall, they would.” Sam was bristling slightly, as he always did at any imputed slight to his beloved foster-sibling.