Spectred Isle (Green Men #1)(65)

He headed forward, he and Sam with Saul between them. The other men—it was all men, the Ministry didn’t employ women arcanists—retreated. Delingpole didn’t. “The world is changing, Glyde. You need to understand that.”

He stood as though his pinstripes and position made him untouchable. One saw that a great deal with those who had found employment in sending other people to war; they hadn’t had the civilisation trained out of them. Randolph simply shouldered him out of the way, and the man went staggering back.

“Some of you, stop him!” Delingpole snapped, regaining his balance.

“You could try,” Isaacs said. He was walking behind them, backwards, in the manner of a rear guard. “I wouldn’t if I was you.”

Isaacs was spoiling for a fight, and the atmosphere boiling off him was raising the hairs on Randolph’s neck. Everyone around them clearly felt the same strong disinclination to get any closer, and the Green Men moved into the main hall unmolested. Saul was more or less walking by this point, his hand gripping Randolph’s shoulder.

“It’s all right, old chap. I have you,” Randolph told him quietly. “We’ll get you home.”

“Camlet Moat,” Saul rasped.

Randolph’s stride faltered. “Did you say—”

“The Moat. Now. Please.”

“Hell,” Randolph said under his breath. “Isaacs, get the front door, then find Barney and meet us at Camlet Moat. Up past Cockfosters, in a place called Trent Park. Quick smart.”

“Got yer.” Isaacs nipped round them and trotted up to the doorman, who was nearly a foot taller than him. By the time Sam and Randolph had got Saul to the door, it stood wide and unobstructed, and they made their way into the evening air. Saul took a shuddering breath.

“That was fun,” Sam said. “I suppose you realise we’ve more or less declared war. We certainly will have done by the time Barney and Max are finished in there.”

“It’s about time. This was a personal attack on me as well as a gross overstepping of all civilised bounds. Thank you.”

“What was that last bit?”

“Thank you for standing by me,” Randolph amplified. “That was above and beyond, from you and from the others, and I appreciate it. You’re a damned good ally—friend—to have.”

“Are you planning to go over the top or something?” Sam asked cautiously. “Farewell speech, sort of thing?”

“I was trying to express human feelings as requested. Christ, you’re fussy. Taxi!”

“Should we not take him home?” Sam suggested.

“Camlet Moat,” Saul repeated, more strongly.

“Trent Park, cabbie,” Randolph ordered. “Up past Cockfosters. You know it? Good.” He climbed into the back of the cab after Sam and Saul, and pulled the partition across. Goodness knew how long this journey might take with all central London to cross, but at least they’d be private.

“Right,” Sam said. “I think I’ve been remarkably patient. What’s going on?”

“Saul first.” His head was back, eyes shut, but his hand was groping. Randolph took it, feeling the flesh cold and clammy, and sucked in a breath. “Oof. Grab his hand, would you?”

Sam did so, and muffled a Navy expression. “Gah. Leaves.”

“He’s calling on us.”

“I thought you said he wasn’t involved in our business. This is your jack-in-the-box fellow Lazenby, yes?”

“Yes. Things have become complicated, I fear.” Randolph had barely seen Sam since his return to London. “He turned up in the Fens when I was dragged up there the other day. We had quite a time.” He gave Sam a brief summary. “And that was where we encountered my cousin Theresa.”

“Your dead cousin Theresa?”

“Indeed. She made Saul the Walker of Camlet Moat.”

Sam assimilated that for a moment. “Right. Well, that’s that issue dealt with. Or not. You’re sure it was her, not some trick?”

“Entirely.”

“And we now have the Walker of Camlet Moat between us, looking sick as a dog and demanding to be taken there. Oh God. Give me the entire story, from the beginning, in detail.”

Randolph did, with as much concision as possible. Sam heard him out in silence. “So the Ministry want him as a witness to the upheaval in the Fens. Because they think he could testify to your wrongdoing or failures?”

“I think so. Delingpole and Bracknell are keen to be rid of me.”

“And could he bear witness? What actually happened up there?”

“I’m not sure. It seems that something to do with Geoffrey de bloody Mandeville triggered it all, but whether that was to do with Camlet Moat, or Saul’s presence, or the Temple Church business, damned if I know.”

“Will he not know?” Sam indicated Saul.

“I hope so. I haven’t discussed any of this with him. We need to sit down and talk, but—well, there hasn’t been an opportunity.”

“Balls,” Sam said flatly. “Barney told me he dropped Lazenby off at your rooms yesterday afternoon. Delingpole said you were wining and dining him at some fancy restaurant all evening. How did you not make time to discuss the small matter of Camlet Moat?”