Read Online Fallen Angels by Bernard Cornwell - Free Book Online
Authors: Bernard Cornwell
Tags: Fiction, Historical
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belong to us.'
'How soon?' Lucifer asked.
'Two months? Maybe three.'
The silver cowl nodded. 'You see, Chemosh, by how slender a thread the fortune hangs? The Earl, his son, and then it is ours. All of it. Except for one problem, a problem that you,' and here a silver gloved finger stabbed at him, 'will solve. Tell him, Belial'
Valentine Larke, MP, leaned back from the table. 'There is a daughter. Her name is Campion.' He said the unusual name slowly and scornfully. 'She is, for a girl, remarkably well educated. At present she has all the responsibility for Lazen. Her father is ill, her brother absent, and she governs. She does it, I am told, well.' He paused to sip wine. 'Our problem, Chemosh, is simple. The Earl knows how slender is the thread. He knows his son has no heir. He knows that Sir Julius might inherit and Sir Julius is a gambler. Lazen is in peril, and we believe that the girl is his answer. One. She might inherit, though I doubt it. Two, she might inherit part of the fortune, though I doubt that the Earl will divide his inheritance. Three, and most likely, is that whoever inherits will find themselves still under her thumb. The estate, in short, will be entailed and she will have the governance of the entail.' He shrugged. 'We can't kill her now, because the Earl will change his will, just as he would if the son died, so we must do something else.'
'You must do something else.' Lucifer spoke, and again his finger stabbed at Chemosh. 'Your task, Chemosh, is to ensure that the Lady Campion Lazender is no threat to us. Specifically she is not to marry.'
Chemosh understood that. If she married, then her husband would take her property and would have the governance of the entail or the estate. Her children, if her brother and cousin died, might inherit. 'I stop her marrying?'
'You stop her marrying by any means short of death. Later she will die, but not until her father is buried.'
Chemosh had his task now, he had earned it, and he was part of a conspiracy that would twist the history of the world into a new, clearer future. He felt privileged to be in this place where decisions were made which, like those which had led in secret council to the fall of France, would now lead to Britain's downfall. He was Chemosh, the name of the Fallen Angel that demanded human sacrifice, and he had escaped death by inflicting death. He understood now why they had made him kill for this initiation, for only a man without pity and who understood that Reason's servants are above man's petty laws was worthy to be a Fallen Angel. Chemosh's elation lasted as Lucifer gave his last instructions. He, Chemosh, was to take his orders from Valentine Larke, while Larke would communicate to France through Marchenoir's messenger. Yet to Chemosh these were mere details that were swamped by his exhilaration at this privilege.
Finally, Lucifer stood and the movement shifted the cowl for one second, and Chemosh saw again the glitter of eyes deep in the shadow. It seemed that even Lucifer's eyes were silver, then the hood settled back and the dry, rustling voice spoke again. 'We are done. I shall go, the rest of you will follow in ten minutes. I wish you all a safe journey. I do not need to wish you success, for we are followers of Reason and therefore cannot fail.'
Then, with a shimmer of his robes, he turned and went down the passage at the back of the chamber.
Marchenoir waited till their leader's footsteps had faded to silence, then stood, stretched his massive arms, and went to the painted, curved doors and pulled them apart. Chemosh saw that the body of the girl was gone. The marble floor glistened.
Marchenoir grinned. 'Watch, Chemosh.'
'Watch?'
The Frenchman jerked his head towards the empty, circular chamber.
There was silence. Chemosh gave a puzzled look to Valentine Larke who, now that Lucifer was gone, pushed his hood back from hair that, despite his fifty years, was still glossy black. It was rippled like the hard sand on a
'How soon?' Lucifer asked.
'Two months? Maybe three.'
The silver cowl nodded. 'You see, Chemosh, by how slender a thread the fortune hangs? The Earl, his son, and then it is ours. All of it. Except for one problem, a problem that you,' and here a silver gloved finger stabbed at him, 'will solve. Tell him, Belial'
Valentine Larke, MP, leaned back from the table. 'There is a daughter. Her name is Campion.' He said the unusual name slowly and scornfully. 'She is, for a girl, remarkably well educated. At present she has all the responsibility for Lazen. Her father is ill, her brother absent, and she governs. She does it, I am told, well.' He paused to sip wine. 'Our problem, Chemosh, is simple. The Earl knows how slender is the thread. He knows his son has no heir. He knows that Sir Julius might inherit and Sir Julius is a gambler. Lazen is in peril, and we believe that the girl is his answer. One. She might inherit, though I doubt it. Two, she might inherit part of the fortune, though I doubt that the Earl will divide his inheritance. Three, and most likely, is that whoever inherits will find themselves still under her thumb. The estate, in short, will be entailed and she will have the governance of the entail.' He shrugged. 'We can't kill her now, because the Earl will change his will, just as he would if the son died, so we must do something else.'
'You must do something else.' Lucifer spoke, and again his finger stabbed at Chemosh. 'Your task, Chemosh, is to ensure that the Lady Campion Lazender is no threat to us. Specifically she is not to marry.'
Chemosh understood that. If she married, then her husband would take her property and would have the governance of the entail or the estate. Her children, if her brother and cousin died, might inherit. 'I stop her marrying?'
'You stop her marrying by any means short of death. Later she will die, but not until her father is buried.'
Chemosh had his task now, he had earned it, and he was part of a conspiracy that would twist the history of the world into a new, clearer future. He felt privileged to be in this place where decisions were made which, like those which had led in secret council to the fall of France, would now lead to Britain's downfall. He was Chemosh, the name of the Fallen Angel that demanded human sacrifice, and he had escaped death by inflicting death. He understood now why they had made him kill for this initiation, for only a man without pity and who understood that Reason's servants are above man's petty laws was worthy to be a Fallen Angel. Chemosh's elation lasted as Lucifer gave his last instructions. He, Chemosh, was to take his orders from Valentine Larke, while Larke would communicate to France through Marchenoir's messenger. Yet to Chemosh these were mere details that were swamped by his exhilaration at this privilege.
Finally, Lucifer stood and the movement shifted the cowl for one second, and Chemosh saw again the glitter of eyes deep in the shadow. It seemed that even Lucifer's eyes were silver, then the hood settled back and the dry, rustling voice spoke again. 'We are done. I shall go, the rest of you will follow in ten minutes. I wish you all a safe journey. I do not need to wish you success, for we are followers of Reason and therefore cannot fail.'
Then, with a shimmer of his robes, he turned and went down the passage at the back of the chamber.
Marchenoir waited till their leader's footsteps had faded to silence, then stood, stretched his massive arms, and went to the painted, curved doors and pulled them apart. Chemosh saw that the body of the girl was gone. The marble floor glistened.
Marchenoir grinned. 'Watch, Chemosh.'
'Watch?'
The Frenchman jerked his head towards the empty, circular chamber.
There was silence. Chemosh gave a puzzled look to Valentine Larke who, now that Lucifer was gone, pushed his hood back from hair that, despite his fifty years, was still glossy black. It was rippled like the hard sand on a
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