This was all definitely due to Susan’s dad. It had even been difficult to get a pair of constables from the Ambleside police station to come out to guard the bodies in the car park until Greene could organize a proper cleanup crew. They were both locals and clearly felt a strong desire to stay away from the Old Man of Coniston, a side effect of him banishing Southaw. The Old One’s “Go!” and “Get thee gone” had a lingering effect on more than the mountain’s rival.
“I just realized I must have lost my job,” said Susan, looking at the almost empty pint in front of her and thinking about collecting glasses. “Damn. And I don’t even know what day it is. Is it Tuesday?”
“Wednesday,” said Vivien. “We lost two days in Silvermere.”
“I was only there for about an hour at the most,” said Susan.
Merlin muttered something inaudible but disparaging.
“I liked the Twice-Crowned Swan,” said Susan. She sighed. “I suppose now is not the time to be worrying about having a job or not.”
“You might be able to get it back. You know, once you can tell us where the Copper Cauldron is, you can probably stay out of . . . well . . . what Greene would call the weird shit.”
“What? Go back to Milner Square and pick up where I left off, as if nothing’s happened? Sit down for a cuppa with Mrs. L and chat about the weather?”
Merlin and Vivien exchanged an awkward glance.
“What?”
“We realized you don’t know,” said Merlin. “Mrs. London was killed by that Cauldron-Born.”
“Oh,” said Susan. “Oh . . . poor Mrs. L. I wonder who’s going to look after Mister Nimbus.”
They sat quietly for several minutes. Susan was remembering Mrs. London’s cups of tea and small kindnesses, and the others were thinking of her, too.
Merlin was the first to break the silence, tapping his feet together in the slippers Mrs. Staple had provided for him and Vivien. Susan had been surprised to see neither bookseller’s feet were badly cut, only scratched, but Merlin had shrugged it off with an offhand comment that it took things like Raud Alfar arrows to really do them harm.
“Stop that,” said Vivien. “It’s annoying.”
“It helps me think,” said Merlin. He stopped tapping his feet and began to click his teeth instead.
“You’re doing that on purpose to annoy me,” said Vivien.
“What? I’m thinking!” replied Merlin. But he stopped the clicking.
“How do you booksellers deal with an Ancient Sovereign, by the way?” asked Susan, after another minute of silence. “Since cutting their mortal heads off clearly doesn’t work.”
Merlin looked at Vivien.
“There are various ways,” said Vivien cautiously. “I’m not sure this is the best place to discuss that sort of thing.”
“I don’t think Dad’s listening,” said Susan. It felt very strange to say that. “He’s . . . here, but distant. Not exactly asleep, but . . . quiescent.”
“That’s pretty much what we’ll try to make happen to Southaw,” said Vivien. “Force him into a dormant state, only for a lot longer than the rest of the year. I’ve never actually been involved, or seen it done, because we haven’t had to do it to any Old One in my lifetime. I guess that’s part of what Southaw managed for Merrihew, the ‘peace’ we’ve had for so long. But there’s a procedure I suppose you’d call it, or a ritual, which requires at least nine of the right-handed, and three even-handed, and as many of the left-handed as are needed to keep off the minions and so on while we do it. And it has to be done at the Ancient Sovereign’s locus of power. Which is usually but not always something tangible, like a rock, or a mountain, a spring, or a standing stone.”
“But you don’t know where Southaw’s locus is yet.”
“We probably do know,” said Merlin. “He’s in the Index, so the right-handed will have a historical record of the bounds of his demesne and maybe the actual locus as well. It’s only a matter of finding where it’s been recorded.”
“I doubt it will be as straightforward as that,” said Vivien, somewhat gloomily. “Southaw is no ordinary entity, even for an Ancient Sovereign. He has the Copper Cauldron. I don’t think any of us know what powers that gives him. . . .”
“At least it isn’t our problem anymore,” said Merlin. “The aunts and uncles and senior cousins can deal with Southaw and recover the cauldron. We get a helicopter ride home and hopefully everything will go back to being moderately quiet again. And Susan and I can go out for that drink.”
“I’ll drink to everything going back to being quiet,” said Susan, draining the last swallow of her Theakston’s Old Peculier.
Chapter Twenty-Four
In my dreams I fly so, so high
Effortless, my body still
In repose, a pillow beneath my head
Yet rushing heavenwards
Falling up, instead of down
THE HELICOPTER, AN RAF PUMA HC MK 1, LANDED IN THE FIELD BEHIND the Black Bull shortly after the fog had dissipated. But even though the fog had lifted, the day was still gray, with only a little sunshine breaking through here and there. Most noticeably on the peak of the Old Man, though whether this was by her father’s choice, even Susan couldn’t tell.
The crew chief ran to meet Merlin, Vivien, and Susan, checked their descriptions against her notes, and carefully read Merlin’s and Vivien’s warrant cards.
“You’re not carrying any explosives, hand grenades, flashbangs, or anything like that, are you?” she shouted over the rotor and engine noise. She hadn’t lifted the polarized visor on her helmet, so it was hard to see her expression, but her tone of voice made it clear such items would not be popular.
“No,” Merlin shouted back. He indicated his yak-hair bag and pointed at his ankle, where a small lump indicated the presence of his backup pistol. “Personal weapons only. And I’m the only one armed. Oh, and the sword in the bag.”
Susan held up the bag.
“A sword? What . . . never mind . . . as long as there’s nothing that goes bang,” yelled
