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Authors: Herbie Brennan
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reputation.’
‘Such a shame,’ said Madame Cardui.
The deep hood meant he couldn’t see her face, but he sensed she was smiling and felt a sudden chill. She’d sounded so plausible when she first approached him and frankly her proposition had appealed hugely. But there’d been no talk of killing then and especially no talk of killing
him.
He began to suspect the old witch had a hidden agenda. All the same, he felt compelled to venture, ‘Can’t
you
do anything?’
‘My deeah, I would if I could – you know that. But I can’t. My hands are tied. We’re all supposed to be
friends
with those ghastly Faeries of the Night these days.’
Chalkhill was a ghastly Faerie of the Night himself, but he let it go. For better or worse, Madame Cardui was his paymaster now. However tricky she proved, she couldn’t be more dangerous than Hairstreak and he’d survived for years as Hairstreak’s spy. Besides, he knew that whatever she said, she wasn’t likely to let him be murdered while he remained a valuable asset. At the moment, he was the only asset she had. No one else had managed to infiltrate the Brotherhood.
He decided the talk of death was just meant to put pressure on him, hurry him up a little, as if he hadn’t enough motivation already. Darkness knew Hairstreak had played the same game often enough. To move things along – perhaps even take control of the situation – he asked, ‘Any new intelligence?’
A hundred hooded heads shook negatively. ‘Only confirmation of what we already know. The Brotherhood is up to something.’ There was just the barest hesitation before she asked, ‘Did
you
find out anything else, Mr Chalkhill?’
For a moment he debated keeping it to himself, then decided against it. This early in the game he needed to ingratiate himself with Madame Cardui, reassure her he was loyal. Besides, what he
had
learned was little enough and of doubtful importance. ‘Hairstreak looked taken aback when I asked to speak to God,’ he said.
‘Ah,’ said Madame Cardui, as if he’d told her something interesting. ‘How did he respond?’
‘Brushed it off as a joke. “I’m the only God you’ll find round here” or some such. But I’m sure I rattled him.’
‘And your analysis?’
Chalkhill opened his mouth and closed it again. Hairstreak had never asked for his analysis of anything in the old days. Madame Cardui was obviously a very different sort of spymaster. His eyes flickered from one reflection to another. The fact was he didn’t
have
much of an analysis. Everything he’d done so far had been prompted by greed and gut instinct. Plus some loose tavern talk. He doubted the Painted Lady would be impressed by
that.
‘Well, it’s obviously a code-name …’
‘Yes, of course,’ Madame Cardui cut in impatiently. ‘But what does it stand for? A person? Some important ally? Another country, perhaps? Or does it simply stand for whatever it is they’re scheming about – the name of their current
project?’
How am I supposed to know, you stupid old sow?
Chalkhill thought. Aloud he said, ‘I don’t think that’s important. I -‘
‘It most certainly is, Mr Chalkhill,’ Madame Cardui cut in again. ‘In my experience, people are often foolish enough to choose code-names that hint at exactly the thing they’re trying to conceal. For example, if “God” refers to a person, we might infer someone in authority, someone with power. Whereas if “God” is the code-name for a project, we may be forgiven for assuming it was a grandiose project, something far-reaching and all-consuming.’ Her voice took on a steely edge. ‘Like a plot to overthrow the legitimate ruler of the Realm.’
Chalkhill jumped as if stung. He’d been thinking much the same thing himself, which was why he was so interested in what Brimstone was up to. By playing both ends against the middle, he hoped to ensure himself a high position in the new order if the Brotherhood plot succeeded, or ingratiate
‘Such a shame,’ said Madame Cardui.
The deep hood meant he couldn’t see her face, but he sensed she was smiling and felt a sudden chill. She’d sounded so plausible when she first approached him and frankly her proposition had appealed hugely. But there’d been no talk of killing then and especially no talk of killing
him.
He began to suspect the old witch had a hidden agenda. All the same, he felt compelled to venture, ‘Can’t
you
do anything?’
‘My deeah, I would if I could – you know that. But I can’t. My hands are tied. We’re all supposed to be
friends
with those ghastly Faeries of the Night these days.’
Chalkhill was a ghastly Faerie of the Night himself, but he let it go. For better or worse, Madame Cardui was his paymaster now. However tricky she proved, she couldn’t be more dangerous than Hairstreak and he’d survived for years as Hairstreak’s spy. Besides, he knew that whatever she said, she wasn’t likely to let him be murdered while he remained a valuable asset. At the moment, he was the only asset she had. No one else had managed to infiltrate the Brotherhood.
He decided the talk of death was just meant to put pressure on him, hurry him up a little, as if he hadn’t enough motivation already. Darkness knew Hairstreak had played the same game often enough. To move things along – perhaps even take control of the situation – he asked, ‘Any new intelligence?’
A hundred hooded heads shook negatively. ‘Only confirmation of what we already know. The Brotherhood is up to something.’ There was just the barest hesitation before she asked, ‘Did
you
find out anything else, Mr Chalkhill?’
For a moment he debated keeping it to himself, then decided against it. This early in the game he needed to ingratiate himself with Madame Cardui, reassure her he was loyal. Besides, what he
had
learned was little enough and of doubtful importance. ‘Hairstreak looked taken aback when I asked to speak to God,’ he said.
‘Ah,’ said Madame Cardui, as if he’d told her something interesting. ‘How did he respond?’
‘Brushed it off as a joke. “I’m the only God you’ll find round here” or some such. But I’m sure I rattled him.’
‘And your analysis?’
Chalkhill opened his mouth and closed it again. Hairstreak had never asked for his analysis of anything in the old days. Madame Cardui was obviously a very different sort of spymaster. His eyes flickered from one reflection to another. The fact was he didn’t
have
much of an analysis. Everything he’d done so far had been prompted by greed and gut instinct. Plus some loose tavern talk. He doubted the Painted Lady would be impressed by
that.
‘Well, it’s obviously a code-name …’
‘Yes, of course,’ Madame Cardui cut in impatiently. ‘But what does it stand for? A person? Some important ally? Another country, perhaps? Or does it simply stand for whatever it is they’re scheming about – the name of their current
project?’
How am I supposed to know, you stupid old sow?
Chalkhill thought. Aloud he said, ‘I don’t think that’s important. I -‘
‘It most certainly is, Mr Chalkhill,’ Madame Cardui cut in again. ‘In my experience, people are often foolish enough to choose code-names that hint at exactly the thing they’re trying to conceal. For example, if “God” refers to a person, we might infer someone in authority, someone with power. Whereas if “God” is the code-name for a project, we may be forgiven for assuming it was a grandiose project, something far-reaching and all-consuming.’ Her voice took on a steely edge. ‘Like a plot to overthrow the legitimate ruler of the Realm.’
Chalkhill jumped as if stung. He’d been thinking much the same thing himself, which was why he was so interested in what Brimstone was up to. By playing both ends against the middle, he hoped to ensure himself a high position in the new order if the Brotherhood plot succeeded, or ingratiate
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