A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire #2)(39)
“He’s punishing them.” My voice was dull.
I knew enough of this war to understand that R’hlem didn’t mindlessly destroy. What goods and people he could preserve, he did. Canterbury had been the base of his operations in the east for years, after all. This, however, was sick and wasteful.
He was trying to force the sorcerers’ hand to give me over.
“Why does he hate me so much?” I’d destroyed one of his monsters, yes, but why this?
“Because he thinks you’re the chosen one,” Blackwood said quietly, dissolving the mirror and returning the water to its bowl. He leaned against the table as though he couldn’t stand properly on his own. “If you’re the only one who can defeat him, he won’t stop until he destroys you. So he blasts the country until we’ve no choice but to give in.”
“Maybe you should.” It was a childish, mad thing to say, but I was on the verge of sobbing. This was where I’d got us all: a monster rampaging through the countryside, and a chosen one who was not truly chosen. “At least if he has me, he might stop—”
“Don’t think that!” Blackwood snapped, swiping the silver bowl to the floor. It struck with a clatter, water splashing onto the black stone. He grabbed me by the elbows, looking desperate. “I know your mind, and I swear to God if you take it upon yourself to go to him, I will drag you home even if it kills me. Do you hear?” His eyes shone with panic. “I’ll never let him have you.”
He was shaking now. I’d truly scared him. Gently, I extricated myself and picked up the bowl, sweeping the water back inside before setting it in its proper place.
I nodded. “I won’t go to him. But,” I said, “don’t you see? We need those weapons. If only—”
“No, Howel.” He cut me off with a look and then stalked out of the room. Apparently he thought that was all it took to settle the matter. He was wrong.
Bother the headaches and nosebleeds, bother that these weapons had been created by a magician: if we were willing to throw something away because we didn’t understand it or it made us uncomfortable, then R’hlem deserved to win.
I went right upstairs to get out of my bloodstained clothes. Lilly struggled to keep a calm expression when she saw me, but she did an admirable job. I scrubbed with soap until my skin was raw, and reluctantly let Lilly take my soiled gown for the rubbish after she swore it was beyond saving.
Finally, I pulled out Mickelmas’s trunk and tried the Ever what you need spell once again. I thought of the weapons; nothing happened. I thought of slashing R’hlem’s throat. Still nothing. Groaning in frustration, I thought of Mickelmas, his laughing dark eyes, his gray-shocked beard, his stupid multicolored coat. Above all, I imagined throttling him out of sheer frustration.
That seemed to do the trick. The chest thumped beneath my hand, and I threw open the lid.
Inside was a flyer. Mystified, I picked it up. It appeared to be a carnival poster, the type that advertised the strongest man alive and such. The woodcut letters were blocky, and beneath them was an illustration of a man with a top hat and a curling mustache.
SEE THE WONDERS OF BEGGAR’S CORNER, the poster read. MEET MEN AND WOMEN OF MARVELOUS MAGICAL REPUTATION. CHILDREN WELCOME, PETS PREFERRED. BURLINGTON ARCADE 59, AT PICCADILLY.
The man with the hat held a bubbling potion of some kind, and sparks flew from his open hand.
Definitely a magician. I squinted as I read it over again. Burlington Arcade? But that area had been beneath the ward for over a decade, since the magicians had been driven out of London proper. This poster looked to be much older; the paper was yellowing, and there were coffee stains on the edges.
It must have been from before the start of the war, making it all but useless. I nearly balled it up and burned it but reconsidered. The ward had been gone for months. Suppose the magicians had found a way to move back into the city undetected? Suppose there were now magicians in the heart of London who could help me? Suppose one of them knew about these blasted weapons?
My mind raced. I couldn’t tell Rook, not when stress would speed the poison. I couldn’t bring it up to Blackwood, since he had a barely concealed dislike for the weapons. Magnus and Dee would be enthusiastic, but perhaps overly so. I imagined Magnus gallivanting into a den of magicians and being turned into a ham. But I needed to tell somebody.
And I knew exactly who that person should be.
The stairs creaked beneath my feet as I hurried to the top floor. I knocked lightly on Fenswick’s door, and Maria opened it. Her face and hands were dusted with flour.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, wiping herself clean.
“Look at this.” I waited until she was neat, handed over the paper, and sat. She scanned the flyer, a wondering expression stealing over her face. She began to grin.
“Mam used to tell me magicians’ abilities were grand and strange. Can they turn your hair blue, do you think?”
“Oh, they can do much more than that.” Clearly I’d told the right person. “I want to go tomorrow.”
“I’ll come with you,” Maria said right away, sitting beside me. My heart leaped at how easy it was to trust her. Then she frowned. “Have you the time?”
“I’m excused in the afternoon for an outing. Come with me then and we’ll slip away afterward.” I smoothed the paper, excitement coursing through me. I’d often wondered if all magicians were like Mickelmas. Now I’d have a chance to see.