“Of all people?”
“The goddess stands upon the threshold and lights the way. As do her followers.”
The old man got to his feet. Evidently, the meeting was at an end. She followed him out into the shop. When they reached the door she turned to him.
“Thank you, Mr. Sadiki.”
“I regret I cannot help you with the book, but if you have need of more keys, or should you have more questions … you are welcome here. Any time of day or night.”
“Oh, there will undoubtedly be more questions, you can rely upon it.”
As she went to leave he put his hand on her arm.
“Remember, wherever a poisonous plant is found, its remedy grows nearby, often cloaking its importance in drabness.”
Without allowing time for her to press him on such a cryptic statement, he closed the door behind her and she heard the heavy bolts put into place.
Phileas was late. Hecate was not surprised, and yet still she had to suppress irritation. Why was it that some people were unable to be punctual? She knew that his intentions were good, but his life tended toward the chaotic. Her mother said it was his want of a wife. She herself doubted any one woman could bring sufficient order to his existence to effect much alteration in the man. When at last she saw his phaeton turning into Broad Street she felt any irritation fade away. His likability would ensure he was always forgiven, and therefore change was not necessary.
“Whoa! Whoa, girls, steady now!” He could be heard persuading his two fine dapple grays to a halt alongside the west gate to the Cathedral Green. He cut a dashing if somewhat outlandish figure. The phaeton carriage had been popular years earlier as a racy and quite dangerous style of transport, favored by young men with a thirst for speed. In recent years it had been superseded by more stable and comfortable conveyances, but Phileas would not part with what had been a favorite carriage of his father’s. The two mares who pulled it were highly strung and underemployed, so that their one desire any time they were taken out was to go as far and as fast as possible.
He tied the reins to a brass hook by the driver’s seat and leaped down, greeting Hecate with an elaborate bow, doffing his bowler hat as he did so.
“Apologies for my tardiness, Hecate. We encountered not one but two flocks of sheep being relocated along the Mordiford road.”
“Were any sheep or shepherds mown down in your haste?”
“Not a single one. On the contrary, I took an aging ewe aboard to save her legs.”
“How thrilling for her.”
“When set down again, she seemed relieved to have been spared the walk.”
“Or happy to reach her destination alive,” Hecate teased, accepting his hand as he helped her up into the seat beside his own.
He jammed his hat back on and picked up the reins. As they set off at some speed west along King Street, she found it impossible not to compare her outings with John in the cathedral gig with this breathless journey with Phileas. The modest, two-person carriage and poorly trained, lowbred horse that pulled it seemed to suit John’s lack of interest in anything frivolous or ostentatious. The way Phileas’s yellow silk waistcoat matched the painted livery of his flamboyant conveyance was typical of his personal flair and sense of fun. She had, of course, considered asking John to take her to Grayfriars but several things had persuaded her that Phileas was a more fitting choice on this occasion. To begin with, there was her father’s continuing concern about John’s name being on their list of suspects regarding the raising of the spirits. While she herself did not believe him to be guilty of such a thing, she did not wish to clash with her father on the point more than she could avoid. And then there was the fact that she had been so busy of late she had seen very little of her old friend, and she missed his company. In the midst of so much darkness, he offered light relief, and she was thankful for it. Besides, she had told herself, the housing development on the west side of the city was his project and he would be so proud to show it off to her. It mattered not that her main need to see the site was to fully understand what was taking place regarding the exhumation of the ancient graves there. Could it be that some of the Resurgent Spirits were emerging from such a place? She had been so fixed on the cathedral crypt, was it possible she had missed other places where the necromancers had used their skills? She hoped she would be able to find out what she needed in the course of letting Phileas take her on a tour of the old abbey location.
The site in question was only a few streets from the cathedral and she could easily have walked it but had not wished to deprive him of the obvious delight he took in fetching her in his precious phaeton. They flew through the town at a reckless rate, avoiding collisions due to the fleet-footedness of the horses and their master’s deft handling of the reins. He was so at ease and aglow with the joy of the ride he was able to shout greetings and even raise his hat to familiar faces he spotted along the way. When they arrived at their destination, Hecate found she had been gripping the handrail so tightly her knuckles were white. He helped her down, his face beaming.
“Safely delivered!” he announced. “Here”—he offered her his arm—“the going is uneven, so much groundwork and whatnot being underway.”
She accepted the support, aware he was enjoying the curious glances they were garnering from the workmen as he strode forward with a young woman on his arm. The sight of a figure near one of the remaining small buildings made her stop short.
“Is that Lord Brocket?”
“What? I believe it is, yes.”
“Has your enterprise here anything to do with him?” she asked, immediately concerned.
“I should say anybody’s enterprise hereabouts has to do with him. Or rather, he was to do with it. The man has his finger in many pies, d’you see? A voracious appetite for business.”
“Is that so?”
“Indeed, there is little that goes on by way of development in the city, I daresay the entire county, that His Lordship does not have an interest in.”
“But he has stepped outside of society. His behavior…”
“Ah, but society is not business, now, is it. I say, mind where you put your feet. Mud and dirt and all that.”
They were indeed picking their way through a place that was more earthworks than construction. There was a smell of wet ground, freshly turned. On the far side, Hecate could see stacks of timber and quantities of bricks awaiting their moment. For the most part, however, the landscape was mud, holes, discarded stone, slick boards, and masculine activity. Men wielded spades and shovels or pushed barrows. To the right a team of shire horses were being hitched to a felled tree. This scene of industry played out to an accompaniment of whistled tunes, shouts of warning or encouragement, stomping boots, scraping shovels, and squeaking barrow wheels. The men sported the ubiquitous uniform of the laborer; clothes that were mud colored before and after a day’s work, heavy hobnailed boots, and greasy cloth caps. The foreman of the works was easily identified by his short black coat and his bowler hat, which he raised in recognition of his superior. Phileas returned the gesture and then fell to explaining the plans to Hecate.
“It should only take a further week or so to finish the clearing of the ground. Most of the stone has already been moved, as you can see. It’s an ample site. Thirty dwellings are planned, each with its own yard, coal bunker, and privy. And there are trees to be planted along the central avenue, here and there,” he said, waving his arms expansively, doing his best to paint a picture for her.
She was happy for him. Happy for the obvious pride and excitement he felt at being in charge of such a worthy social project. She feared “avenue” might be somewhat a grand description for how the place would actually look, but she could not hold his enthusiasm against him. She thought then that this was a rare chance for a man of privilege who enjoyed a life of ease, able to dabble in whichever enterprises took his fancy, to put himself to good use. To be seen as someone more than a dilettante. She admired him for valuing this.
“Tell me, where exactly was the old abbey?” she asked.
“Well, there were really only ruins of one or two walls. They have already been removed,” he explained, pointing toward the piles of stones near the entrance to the site. “We will have them crushed for ballast and used in the footings of the new houses. The abbey itself stood over there,” he said, indicating the central area.
“I should like to see,” she said.
“Truly? There is nothing left save marked ground.”
“Indulge me,” she insisted, pulling him gently with her as she stepped forward.
He hurried to guide her onto the nearest run of wooden boards, keeping her out of the worst of the mire.
“There really was little to see of it even before we set to work. The building was deconsecrated many years ago,” he told her as they came to a halt.
