“There’s one under the bed,” said Merlin. “Do you know how to use a blade?”
“I fenced for four years in the lower school,” said Susan. “Saber and foil. So I can hack at . . . things . . . at least.”
“Okay,” said Merlin. “Saber? You take this one, then.”
He handed her his saber, hilt first, and rummaged under the bed, pulling out a much older, straight-bladed sword. Its narrow, flattened oval guard was solid bronze, the grip inlaid with ivory strips, and there was a rough emerald in the pommel.
“Does anyone know you have that?” asked Vivien, hanging up the phone.
“I signed it out,” said Merlin. There was something slightly evasive in his tone that Susan noticed but Vivien didn’t.
“Okay, I don’t think Cousin Armand believed there’s anything to be concerned about based on the smell alone,” said Vivien. “But he’s playing it by the book. There’s only three left-handed here right now but they’ll cover the fire stairs, Armand the foyer, and the response team is on its way from the Old Bookshop, led by . . . Aunt Una.”
Merlin made a face.
“What’s the problem with Aunt Una?” asked Susan.
“Generational difficulties,” said Vivien. “She doesn’t think any of the left-handed under sixty are any good, or have a clue. Merlin, being one of the youngest left-handed, gets an extra serving of that attitude. I guess to be fair she also thinks Merrihew’s past it and should let her take over.”
“We’d better have a look in the corridor,” said Merlin. He spoke as if he had to talk himself into it. Susan suppressed her own shiver. If Merlin was scared . . .
“On the bright side, if it is a Cauldron-Born, it must be under control or it could never have got up here,” said Vivien.
“You mean they can get out of control?” asked Susan.
“I only know what I learned at school; I haven’t done any advanced reading on the subject. But I understand the more Cauldron-Born you control, the more difficult it is, because you have all their senses and perception coming in at once, as well as your own. Historically, that was often how they were dealt with, when an overambitious Cauldron-Keeper tried to command too many and lost control.”
“What happens then?” asked Susan. “Do they freeze up or flop down dead again or anything useful like that?”
She settled her feet into the proper pose and flexed her knees before testing the weight of the cavalry saber with some slight cuts and a stop thrust in slow motion. It was considerably heavier than a fencing saber and balanced differently. There was something written on the blade in a curlicue script about it having been used at Waterloo by Cornet someone someone, of the something or other regiment of hussars. The names were so worn and the script so ornate it was indecipherable.
“We wish,” said Vivien. “They lose the guiding intelligence of the controller, to become—”
“Mindless, ravening beasts,” said Merlin. “Who hate, hate, hate everyone and everything else, so they turn on whoever or whatever is closest. Including each other, which is a small blessing. Ready?”
Vivien nodded.
“Don’t you want a sword?” asked Susan, thinking three swords would be better than two when dealing with undying monsters that needed to be hacked into many pieces. “I bet Merlin’s got another half dozen squirreled away here.”
“The right-handed don’t fight with physical weapons,” said Vivien. “We have the left-handed for all that.”
“Stay a bit behind me,” Merlin instructed Susan. “If there is a Cauldron-Born, chop at its left side and I’ll hack at the right. Go for the knees, get it down on the ground first. And don’t hit me.”
“Okay,” said Susan.
“Viv, you pop its eyeballs or do whatever you can do,” said Merlin.
“I’ll try,” said Vivien. “Depends who’s inside its head, doesn’t it?”
“That’s what’s worrying me,” said Merlin quietly. He hefted the old sword in his left hand and pushed down the door handle with his right, easing the door open.
The hotel corridor looked no different from how it had on the way up, emanating a sad and faded grandeur with its oft-patched-up wallpaper of bluish lilies and pinkish crowns on beige, and a once royal-blue carpet faded to commoner status, so worn in the middle there was almost no pile left, with the warp beneath showing through. It was in the kind of perpetual twilight that is the default of a class of hotels that only ever replaces half the light bulbs in the public areas.
“It’s gone,” said Merlin.
“Where? Into a room?” asked Vivien. She sniffed the air. “The scent has almost faded.”
“Maybe it went back to the lifts,” said Merlin. “If it was dressed up properly it wouldn’t be too noticeable, at least to ordinary—”
A door suddenly opened three rooms along the corridor behind them, and the trio spun around, but it was only an elderly couple who shuffled out, shrugging on raincoats and hefting umbrellas.
Susan looked at the sword in her hand and held it close against her body. She glanced at Merlin, who didn’t bother, slanting his weapon back so the blade rested on his shoulder, making it very obvious indeed.
“Won’t they see the swords?” hissed Susan.
“That’s what Vivien’s for,” said Merlin. “She’ll cloud their minds.”
“Stand against the wall and be quiet,” instructed Vivien.
Merlin and Susan obeyed, backing up against the wall. The old couple were coming closer, weaving slightly and muttering to each other about the kettle in their room, which wasn’t big enough to fill a proper teapot. They had brought their own with them, and the last time they’d stayed, for the Queen’s coronation thirty years ago, the kettles had been bigger, the room cleaner and brighter, and everything had been better.
“Quiet,” whispered Vivien. She took in a deep breath and held it as the duo came up to them. They walked past without even glancing at Merlin and Susan or their swords. They got to the lifts and the man slowly and regularly pressed the call button three times, neither of them looking back along the corridor.
Vivien exhaled and shook her
