A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire #2)(42)

“Shut up and let me in,” Alice said cheerfully.

“Correct password.” The ghost disappeared in a puff of smoke, and a door opened in the wall.

“Your people are strange,” Maria whispered. Well, she was right.

We stepped into a public house that appeared perfectly normal, as far as public houses went. The walls were brick, blackened in spots by smoke from the guttering oil lamps. A tarnished mirror behind the mahogany bar reflected the room’s crowd, which wasn’t that spectacular: about ten people all told. Portraits of famous magicians gazed down on us. One of them showed Merlin; another, Strangewayes. In one corner I spotted Darius LaGrande, and in another a man who seemed curiously familiar….When I realized who he was, my throat tightened. I hurried over to look at the portrait more closely. The subject was a handsome young man with dark hair and a round, pleasant face. His smile was warm, open, friendly. The placard at the bottom read WILLIAM HOWEL.

My father had been more renowned in magician circles than I’d ever imagined. His name was carved in Ralph Strangewayes’s house, and now this? Unthinking, I touched the portrait, tracing my fingers over my father’s face.

I wish you could see me now, I thought, reluctantly stepping back. I wish, God, I wish I could talk to you.

Blinking back sudden tears, I took a moment and studied the people in the room to calm myself. Alice had already seated herself at a table and was chatting animatedly with a man. He looked like a normal sort, with light brown hair and a long face, until he coughed up a fish. The silvery creature slid out of his mouth and onto the table. It was alive, flipping and flopping about. With a resigned shake of his head, the man tossed the trout into a bucket by his feet.

I hoped that whatever the spell was didn’t last for very long. I imagined that coughing up fish was uncomfortable.

By the side of the room, a little girl with dark skin and braided hair hugged a doll, one that appeared rather badly singed. A shock of light sizzled in her hair, almost like an electric storm. When she caught me looking, she smiled.

A red hawk with beautiful feathers sat on the back of a chair, cleaning its wings.

Surely someone here could help me with Strangewayes’s weapons. I was about to start introducing myself when a dark-skinned man appeared out of thin air, right by the bar.

“My truest, most pungent companions,” he said, popping onto a stool. “Thank you for meeting me. Our wait is nearing an end, my friends. England will be great once more, with our magic to guide her.” He raised his arms, the purple-orange-red patchwork sleeves of his coat falling around his elbows. He received muted, lukewarm applause.

“Oi, Jenkins,” the fish-cougher said, lifting his drink in welcome.

Only this man was not Jenkins Hargrove. His real name was Howard Mickelmas.

My mentor, after months of utter silence, was sitting in a pub as though everything were perfectly normal. The bartender passed him a frothing mug of ale, which he happily drank.

“You know him, then?” Maria whispered. She must have noticed my look of shock.

“He taught me everything I know,” I muttered, sitting down at a table. I didn’t want him to notice me until I was ready to be noticed.

Despite everything, I was relieved to see him. Though I’d known he survived Korozoth’s attack when he gave me his magical trunk months ago, I hadn’t known what had become of him. But here he was, drinking and laughing and perfectly alive. I smiled a little as I watched him.

Mickelmas reached into his pocket and pulled out a ridiculously feathered purple hat. “Pass it around, my ostriches. A few coins go to pay for the Army of the Burning Rose.”

My smile evaporated. Oh no. No, that could not mean what I thought it did.

“What is it?” Maria asked as I balled my fists. “Do you not like roses?”

“The burning rose is my sigil. My sorcerer sigil.”

“Ah.” She whistled. “I imagine you didn’t give him permission to use it?”

“I am going to kill him.”

“So that’s no.”

Mickelmas passed the hat around, though most people didn’t put anything in it. “Go on. A penny or two for our great army’s advancement,” Mickelmas clucked. Someone passed us the hat. Maria had to send it on fast, to prevent me from setting fire to it. “And might I add how good it is to see everyone?” Mickelmas looked about the room. I ducked my head to keep him from glimpsing my face. “Yes, Alice and Sadie and Gerald and…where’s Alfred?” He frowned.

“You’re sitting on him,” someone called. Mickelmas leaped off the bar stool, which began to rock back and forth on its own.

“Anyone know the counterspell?” He waited, but there was no answer. “Sorry, Alfred. Let’s hope it wears off.” He patted the leather seat and continued. “Our own flower, seeded in sorrow, brought to bloom in adversity, our dear Henrietta Howel is at this moment living in the seat of power. She has been taken to Her Majesty’s most royal bosom and declared the great chosen one. Our success is assured!” he cried. There was some polite scattered applause. The fish man coughed up another trout as Alice nodded at me, expectant. The hat, now lightly jingling with a few coins, returned to Mickelmas, who slipped it back into his pocket.

“Jenkins?” Alice waved her hand. “Now that the burning rose is with us—”