of college for magicians going on, or something. The name we’ve got is Shavi — don’t know if that’s first or last.’
‘That’s not far from my old stomping ground. All right if I give that a try?’
‘Sure,’ Hunter said, ‘but it’s not an easy ride. No one we’ve sent down there has returned.’
‘He killed them? I thought he was supposed to be a champion of humanity.’
‘I don’t know any more than that. We were on the brink of sending a full force in there to haul him out when this whole thing blew up.’ Hunter paused, considering his words. ‘Suddenly things look a whole lot different from this side of the fence.’
‘That happens. Sounds like the Government hasn’t changed — still fucking with people’s lives. What have they done with the other two — locked them up in Dartmoor?’
‘We haven’t been able to track them down. From what we hear, they’re travelling together. One of them is called Ruth Gallagher-’
Mallory nodded. ‘She’s the big witch-queen. Trained Sophie.’ Mallory felt a twinge of desperate emotion, battened it down.
‘The more you look, the more you see these strands tying everything together. It could get a little unsettling if you let it.’
‘The other?’ Mallory asked.
‘Some woman called Laura DuSantiago. Don’t know anything about her.’
‘So if you have no idea where they are, how are you going to find them?’
Hunter leaned out of the tent mouth to throw another log on the fire. It sizzled and spat as the frost-rimed wood hit the heat. ‘I think I’m getting the hang of this. Whatever made us Brothers of Dragons brings us together to do a job. So I’m just going to let it.’
Mallory held out his hands, inviting the warmth of the fire to ease the bitterness from his bones. ‘You’re just going to sit here until they turn up?’
‘I’m going to ride and see where I find myself.’
‘Very Zen. Or stupidly optimistic. One of the two.’ Mallory leaned back into the tent and pulled out the lantern. ‘You’d better take this, then. You’re going to need something to light your way on those dark, lonely nights.’
Hunter took the lantern and fastened it to his bag. ‘I’ll treat it as a good-luck charm. Until it turns into some monster in the middle of the night and slits my throat.’
‘When we get back, where do we meet up?’
Hunter thought for a moment, then said, ‘There’s a brothel on Saint Michael’s Street in town. Ask for Mrs Damask. Anyone will direct you.’
‘You’re sure it’s wise to come back to Oxford?’
‘The way I see it, we’re all being drawn there. We need to regroup there in case anyone else turns up.’
‘Start at first light?’
‘If you’re up to it.’
Mallory smiled as he unzipped his parka and tugged free the bandages wrapped around his midriff. The wound beneath had almost healed.
Hal had stoked the fire in his office every fifteen minutes, but it had little effect on the biting cold that insinuated its way through the very walls. He’d bundled himself up in his overcoat and wore a pair of fingerless gloves while he worked, occasionally taking a swig of some bitter alcoholic concoction that the main gate security guard had brewed up in one of the secret stills that now proliferated across the city. The only relief from the bitter temperatures was losing himself in his project, as he now grandly called it.
He’d worked feverishly, oblivious to all sense of time, until the chime of the clock told him it was getting on for dawn. His room was a claustrophobic space crammed with paintings and books and mysteries, illuminated by the flickering light of several candles. In search of clues, Hal had immersed himself in anything he could find on the Poussin painting and its symbolism, and on the Shugborough Hall monument. Instinctively, he was somehow convinced that his investigations would lead to a devastating revelation that would change the course of the war. Everything pointed to the vital significance of the Wish Stone — the way it had been hidden, the way it had been found, the coded message designed to deter the unworthy. If he was right, he had finally found his role.
Hal couldn’t decide if it was a by-product of his obsessive investigation, or even a sign of encroaching madness brought on by a world where anything was possible, but he was starting to see hidden connections slowly developing into a sense of some arcane master plan. The more he delved, the more connections he saw, so that at times he looked up from his books unable to tell what was real and what was a product of his overworked imagination.
So engrossed was he that he didn’t hear the knock on his door. He only jolted out of concentration when a figure loomed over him. It was Samantha.
‘I saw your light through the window. What are you doing working at this hour?’ she asked, concerned.
‘Important business for Mister Reid.’ Hal considered how much he should tell her for fear of putting her in danger, then added, ‘I think it might lead to something that could change the course of the war.’
‘Really?’ The admiration in her eyes excited him; he wanted more of it. ‘Can you talk about it?’ she asked animatedly.
Relenting, Hal explained about the stone recovered from Cadbury Hill and the mysterious message it contained. ‘Why this painting, or its reverse image at Shugborough? Why was it thought important enough to preserve at Cadbury? How could it be linked to a picture painted hundreds of years later?’
‘But what makes you think it has any relevance at all?’ Samantha settled into a sagging armchair near the fire and poured herself a glass of the moonshine.
‘Two people — two very important people in the crisis we’re seeing now — were drawn to Cadbury, to find this. Those two people were supposed to be part of the last defence of humanity, against whatever it is that’s attacking us now. And I think they were led to find this because the picture is a code that reveals something they could use in the fight, perhaps some kind of weapon.’
‘That’s amazing. Mister Reid must think a lot of you to give you a project as important as this.’
‘He trusts me. I get the feeling that… well, that doesn’t matter. Anyway, I’m starting to piece it together.’
‘How far have you got?’ Samantha asked, excitement and a moonshine buzz bringing colour to her cheeks. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
Hal was thrilled by the prospect of the two of them working closely. ‘Can you spare the time? You’re normally up to your neck in work.’
‘I’ve been twiddling my thumbs ever since the war started. What I do isn’t a priority any more.’
‘Well, if you’re sure…’ Hal couldn’t contain a smile any longer. ‘OK. We’re a team. Let me tell you what I’ve found out so far.’ He stood up to point to a print of The Shepherds of Arcadia, with the shepherds and the stately woman gathered around the tomb with its intriguing inscription. ‘There’s been a lot of debate about the meaning of this ever since Poussin first painted it.’
Samantha stood and leaned towards the print, to examine it more closely. ‘What’s Arcadia?’
‘It comes from a long tradition of pastoral poetry going back to the Greeks. Basically, the poems brought to life an imaginary place — a kingdom of Utopia. Scholars spent a long time searching for the origin of the phrase “ Et in Arcadia Ego ”, but there’s no classical source.’
‘So Poussin made it up?’
Hal nodded. ‘Which makes me think that phrase is the key. One translation suggests it means “And in Arcadia I Exist”, with the scholars believing that “I” is death. Hence, even in Utopia, there’s death.’
‘That’s a little morbid.’ Samantha returned to her seat, warming her hands by the fire.
‘But you’ll notice that the shepherds and the woman don’t seem too concerned about this. In fact, if you look closely, they seem to be pondering the meaning of the inscription. Yet strangely, Poussin painted another painting, very similar and also on the Death in Arcadia theme, a few years earlier. In that version, the shepherds and the woman are visibly shocked to discover the message. There’s also a skull on top of the tomb. It’s much more sombre.’
‘So he changed his mind. Suddenly death wasn’t so scary.’
