The Concarnadine Chronicles #003 -- "End"
Title: "End"
'Fandom': The Concarnadine Chronicles
Claim: General; Characters
Prompt: #003 :: “Ends”
Word Count: c.2500
Rating: PG-15
Summary: The last chapter(s) begin(s).
Author's Notes: This is what I'd been working to from early on. Props to those of you who guessed; even more to those who guessed the details.
“End”
“This isn’t your fight - ”
“The hell it isn’t !!” Elizabeth Stellamer’s voice was at a “cut-steel” level, and Borin decided that now was perhaps not the time to go in to the morning-room and tidy away breakfast. Indeed, it might be better not to go anywhere near …
“He tried to have me killed - or had that escaped your memory ?!!”
“That wasn’t personal - you were just a suitable sacrifice - ”
“Let me tell you, when it was going on, it felt damned personal.”
Concarnadine - illusionist extraordinary, and part-time paranormal warrior - didn’t reply immediately, and Borin wondered whether he was still there, or had he simply teleported out of the Chelsea house he owned, and shared with Elizabeth ?
“All right: how about if I’m brutally honest, and say that I don’t want you where you’d inevitably be in danger.”
“That is at least, as you say, honest,” Elizabeth conceded. “But would you consider the point that I have some interest in this, and that I might not want you hurt.” She cleared her throat, and went on: “Besides, if what you say is right, if you fail, my entire world is going to be torn apart. If that’s what the future looks like, I think I’d rather go down fighting it, than live and suffer later.”
Borin could see point in that: not that he could see that Elizabeth Stellamer had a wildebeest’s chance in a lion reservation of coming through any confrontation alive, but … He, himself, had a grudge against Jovimort, but he was keenly aware that, unless the extra-dimensional entity granted him the chance to strike from behind, and with a magical weapon, he had a less-than-zero chance of actually doing any harm to it.
Hearing footsteps approaching, he ducked back into the kitchen - perhaps, if they both left, together or separately, he could get the washing-up done. Then, he had an axe to polish …
# # # # #
“Well - you’d better come in.”
Concarnadine inclined his head, acknowledging Rayner Mortimer’s words, but Elizabeth smiled brightly, held out her hand, and said “I’m very pleased to meet you again, Professor.”
Concarnadine shook his head, but Mortimer phlegmatically led the way to the library.
“You’re determined on this course of action ?” he asked, once they were seated and comfortable.
“I am.”
“As am I,” Elizabeth added.
“Tell her,” Concarnadine asked his one-time mentor.
“Would it do any good ?” Mortimer replied.
There was a sound (which might have been interpreted as ‘grump’) and Concarnadine said “Anyway - yes, I’m determined.”
“And you want … him … to know you’re coming.”
Concarnadine nodded.
“Very well - I will let Rügar know this evening. That should ensure that everyone he knows will know by the equivalent of morning, so if He hasn’t heard by … say, midday tomorrow … he’s either deaf or dead.”
“And would you do the honours, if it’s necessary ?”
“Assuming that there’s enough of you left, you’ll be laid beside the Colonel.” Mortimer smiled, and turned his head to catch Elizabeth’s eye: “The Colonel was my dog when I was 11. He died while I was at university, and I was on the way to giving him a Viking funeral when my father stepped in. He has a west-facing plot, overlooking the lake, to catch the sunsets.”
“I’d like that, too,” Elizabeth said. “My family will protest - but they haven’t wanted mush to do with me, lately, and it isn’t too far for them to come and visit, if they want.”
Mortimer nodded, ignoring the vein which had sprung up on Concarnadine’s neck.
“Will you - don’t mind me asking, but … - will you plan to face him here, or travel to his realm ?”
“He wants here,” Concarnadine said: “Let him fight here. I claim not a stone or a water-drop of his realm. So long as he stays there, and doesn’t try to interfere outside it, I have no quarrel with him.”
Mortimer nodded. “A wise choice, if I may say so. Do you know where to look ?”
“I do, but I’d rather not discuss it,” Concarnadine replied, then, seeing Mortimer’s eyes track back towards Elizabeth, he broke a smile: “No - not for that reason. She knows the where as well as I do. I’d just rather not take chances.”
“The listening shadow - I understand.”
There was a pot of tea and a buffet lunch waiting (Concarnadine had phoned ahead after all), and then, as the sun headed towards mid-afternoon, they parted.
Rayner Mortimer went back indoors, and to his writing desk. Rügar was quite reliable, but there were ways of doing things like this, and the right words were so important, to make sure that the message was transmitted accurately.
# # # # #
“You’re convinced that this will be effective ?”
Concarnadine considered the point.
“No,” he said, at length. “But I think it’s the best chance we have. Unless you know better.”
Septimus Fitz-Lawrence shook his head.
“My -ah- fields of expertise do not extend sufficiently far in that direction to allow me -erm- any adequacy of prediction. Besides, my field is this world and its own mal-influences. Your … Jovimort … ” he pronounced the name with nervous precision “ is something utterly outside my purview.”
“Be thankful,” Concarnadine replied. “Anyway, no further attempts to kill any of your circle, or steal anything.”
“No - it would appear that your efforts - those of you and your various friends - have been effectual in that regard. Which, I suppose, would argue that you may well be ah- correct in your analysis of Jovi -erm- mort.”
There was a period of companionable silence: Concarnadine was browsing through one of the books Fitz-Lawrence had retained from the police raid in Hertfordshire, whilst the scholar himself was busy scribing a complex sigil onto parchment using a rather special pen, made of cold iron. Finally he pulled pen from page and breathed out.
“There. Though I must say that I -ahm- do not now precisely what efficacy it will have.”
“The Shield of Michael, inscribed on virgin parchment by the Keeper of the Grail - I couldn’t wish for a better talisman,” Concarnadine said.
“You realise that you are relying on little more than superstition.”
“I realise that a great deal of superstition has a root in truth, and that it is very difficult to persuade people that it has no effect.”
“You -ah- have a point.”
“And you have my thanks. For this, and for keeping quiet about my visiting.”
Fitz-Lawrence looked across the room.
“I don’t know whether it affects anything, Concarnadine, but Sir Edgar has been in touch with me. He proposes to resign from the Company, to resign and to go abroad. I gather that he will nominate me for the vacant seat on the Inner Council.”
Concarnadine nodded. “In a way I feel sorry for him: his world has been, to a great extent, shattered by all this, and it has not been his fault.”
“I wouldn’t like to comment - but Lady Ilona and I have never seen eye to eye. Indeed, I suspect her - ”
Concarnadine held up a hand. “My dear Doctor - I don’t mean to be rude, but the next weeks will see all these matters settled in one way or another. Sir Edgar’s decision, while laudable in itself, has come too late to affect things. Similarly Lady Ilona’s actions have settled into history, and unless you have revenge on your mind … then let things go.”
He rose from the chair he’d been sitting in. “I shall be in touch, all being well. Until we speak again, look after yourself.”
Fitz-Lawrence watched him depart, then went to the window to watch him down the street. Then he turned to his bookshelves and removed a black leather bound book. He turned to the first blank page, dated it, and carefully, he wrote four line of text below the date. Concarnadine was, he thought, a good man, an honourable man, but he had no idea of the obligations that people outside his own narrow world faced.
# # # # #
“I’m going - I don’t know if I’ll be coming back, but I’m going.”
“I … I envy you - honestly, I do - for being able to make that sort of decision. I couldn’t.”
Robin Flavour paused, and wondered whether those had been the right words to use: Elizabeth Stellamer looked stricken to the heart.
“Honestly,” Robin went on: “I think you’re being very … ”
“Brave ? This isn’t about anything like that - this is … Oh, I don’t know. I just know that if I didn’t do this … ”
“You’re in love with him,” Flavour said, with the confident air of one who was herself in love and recognised the symptoms. Elizabeth’s head rose, her colour up, her eyes diamond-bright. Then, as abruptly, she looked down again.
“Hey - nothing to be ashamed of: he’s a handsome man, and polite and - ”
“And going to get himself killed !!”
“Well … ” Robin didn’t want to comment on that: she knew that the “Thane” - DI Barratt - gave some credence to the fantastic story of an extra-dimensional creature which was planning to take over the earth, and was controlling a network of dupes among the population to assist him in that endeavour (though why, if he were so powerful, he needed human agents … ) For her part, Robin Flavour had seen evidence of some kind of satanic cult, featuring robes, weird impedimenta, and alleged human sacrifice, but as to the connection to “Jovimort”, she remained unconvinced.
She’d also seen enough of Concarnadine to know that he was a skilled illusionist or magician, well able to use distraction and mis-direction to get his way, but (she believed) fundamentally a good man, who’d be ideal for Elizabeth.
“I’m sorry ! You invite me out, and all I can do is be a wet blanket !”
“No,” Robin hastened to reassure her … were they friends ? She supposed Barratt and Concarnadine were, but where did she and Elizabeth fit in, vis-à-vis each other ? Were they like the in-laws whose connection was through marrying siblings ?
“No,” she finished, hoping that the hesitation hadn’t been noticed: “You’ve got some tensions, sure - but if I’m your friend, I should take you as you come, shouldn’t I ? Come on, have another drink.”
“I shouldn’t - ”
“Non-alcoholic - I’ll get you a smoothie !” Robin pressed, and found pleasure when Elizabeth conceded.
“Have you told him ?”
“Who ? What ?? - No, of course not ! You’re exaggerating, anyway.”
“Heart beats faster, you find his face keeps popping into your head, really really trivial things suddenly remind you of him ? Oh, you’re … under the effects,” Robin replied, teasingly. Then she sobered up.
“All right - so you haven’t said anything … but he knows, doesn’t he ?”
“Prob … possibly - I don’t see how he could, though !!”
“He isn’t what you’d call stupid - and if you’re as starry-eyed when you’re around him … well, he’d be blind not to -- This is what all the trauma’s about, isn’t it ? You’re in love with the man: he’s going off to fight for his life, your life, all our lives, and you’re afraid it’ll all come to nothing, aren’t you ?”
“Maybe,” Elizabeth whispered.
“You’ve got two options,” Robin said immediately: “Tell him now, and deal with the consequences, or wait till he’s defeated this Jovimort, and then tell him, and take the risk he thinks it’s just a reaction to him winning.”
# # # # #
“Have we got everything ?”
They looked utterly different to usual - gone was Concarnadine’s dress suit and his opera cloak, replaced by weatherproof trousers, a thermal shirt, and a Kevlar jacket which Barratt had “loaned” him. Elizabeth was in hiking gear, wearing boots intended to combine toughness and comfort, and a backpack that had pockets all over its surface, as well as spare clothes and an emergency sleeping bag inside.
“Well, is there anything else you can think of that we need ?” Elizabeth replied.
“If either of you carry a minim more … ” Borin growled.
“Just because you could carry twice as much without breaking swe-glow,” Elizabeth retorted.
Borin might have answered her, except that it was true, and they both knew it.
Concarnadine looked at the dwarf: “I know you want to come, but … ”
Borin nodded, and shrugged.
“Mortimer will see to you if … ”
“You’ll come back,” Borin said.
“Yes,” Elizabeth joined in: “You’ve three nights to do at the Durbar next week, and then you’re taking me to Europe again. And I want you to sit through at least three new routines I’m working up.”
“Or then again, you might decided dying’s easier,” Borin added, dourly. “I’ll be here, either way.”
“It’s still not too late - ”
“It’s Enfield, to start, isn’t it ?” Elizabeth asked, ignoring Concarnadine’s comment. “Do you want to use the tube or the train ?” There was no question of using magic - Jovimort might know that they were coming, but there was no point in giving him their exact location and co-ordinates at this early a stage.
“I’d thought the tube as far as Brent Cross and then we can get a hire-car from there. I want to stop at the Three Yews before we move on - it’s one of the places I asked Wantage to leave word.”
Elizabeth nodded, and they made their way to the Underground station. Through the journey she concentrated on concentrating on nothing - neither allowing her mind to focus down on any one aspect of the situation into which she was going, nor letting her mind drift to where it might dwell upon unguessed-at unspeakableness. She’d just finished reorganising her wardrobe (in her head) when it was time to disembark and go up to the shopping centre.
Concarnadine threaded his way through the afternoon crowds, and Elizabeth followed a step or four behind him. Once upside, the illusionist led the way to a coffee bar.
“Here - have a latté,” he said, tossing a two-pound coin onto the table. “I’ll go and see about the car.”
“It’s too soon,” Elizabeth said, and, when he looked back, she went on: “Most of the people here now are shoppers: they’ll have come in their own cars and they’ll use those to drive home - there’ll be little call for hire-cars at this time. Wait an hour, and it’ll be a lot closer to when you get people who want cars for over-night: you won’t stand out as much. Secondly, the Yews will also be quiet now, so we’ll stand out. People will remember you asked about Wantage - someone might make a call or two. Plus, if you give me and hour or so, and I’ll be able to work up some sound effects that will cover whatever you say to get the message and that will have a memory-damping charm slipped in among them.”
“You can do that ?” Concarnadine queried: “Run one spell inside another ?”
“Only some of them,” Elizabeth answered: “Which is why it’ll take a while to work the algorithm out. Get me an extra-grande with triple tiramisu syrup, then go and look round a shop or two. Oh, and you might put a Shield on me as you go.”
Concarnadine nodded: he didn’t understand Elizabeth sometimes, but he wasn’t going to ignore her - her moods, her ideas, her inspirations - when she was trying her hardest to be a benefit to him.
'Fandom': The Concarnadine Chronicles
Claim: General; Characters
Prompt: #003 :: “Ends”
Word Count: c.2500
Rating: PG-15
Summary: The last chapter(s) begin(s).
Author's Notes: This is what I'd been working to from early on. Props to those of you who guessed; even more to those who guessed the details.
“End”
“This isn’t your fight - ”
“The hell it isn’t !!” Elizabeth Stellamer’s voice was at a “cut-steel” level, and Borin decided that now was perhaps not the time to go in to the morning-room and tidy away breakfast. Indeed, it might be better not to go anywhere near …
“He tried to have me killed - or had that escaped your memory ?!!”
“That wasn’t personal - you were just a suitable sacrifice - ”
“Let me tell you, when it was going on, it felt damned personal.”
Concarnadine - illusionist extraordinary, and part-time paranormal warrior - didn’t reply immediately, and Borin wondered whether he was still there, or had he simply teleported out of the Chelsea house he owned, and shared with Elizabeth ?
“All right: how about if I’m brutally honest, and say that I don’t want you where you’d inevitably be in danger.”
“That is at least, as you say, honest,” Elizabeth conceded. “But would you consider the point that I have some interest in this, and that I might not want you hurt.” She cleared her throat, and went on: “Besides, if what you say is right, if you fail, my entire world is going to be torn apart. If that’s what the future looks like, I think I’d rather go down fighting it, than live and suffer later.”
Borin could see point in that: not that he could see that Elizabeth Stellamer had a wildebeest’s chance in a lion reservation of coming through any confrontation alive, but … He, himself, had a grudge against Jovimort, but he was keenly aware that, unless the extra-dimensional entity granted him the chance to strike from behind, and with a magical weapon, he had a less-than-zero chance of actually doing any harm to it.
Hearing footsteps approaching, he ducked back into the kitchen - perhaps, if they both left, together or separately, he could get the washing-up done. Then, he had an axe to polish …
# # # # #
“Well - you’d better come in.”
Concarnadine inclined his head, acknowledging Rayner Mortimer’s words, but Elizabeth smiled brightly, held out her hand, and said “I’m very pleased to meet you again, Professor.”
Concarnadine shook his head, but Mortimer phlegmatically led the way to the library.
“You’re determined on this course of action ?” he asked, once they were seated and comfortable.
“I am.”
“As am I,” Elizabeth added.
“Tell her,” Concarnadine asked his one-time mentor.
“Would it do any good ?” Mortimer replied.
There was a sound (which might have been interpreted as ‘grump’) and Concarnadine said “Anyway - yes, I’m determined.”
“And you want … him … to know you’re coming.”
Concarnadine nodded.
“Very well - I will let Rügar know this evening. That should ensure that everyone he knows will know by the equivalent of morning, so if He hasn’t heard by … say, midday tomorrow … he’s either deaf or dead.”
“And would you do the honours, if it’s necessary ?”
“Assuming that there’s enough of you left, you’ll be laid beside the Colonel.” Mortimer smiled, and turned his head to catch Elizabeth’s eye: “The Colonel was my dog when I was 11. He died while I was at university, and I was on the way to giving him a Viking funeral when my father stepped in. He has a west-facing plot, overlooking the lake, to catch the sunsets.”
“I’d like that, too,” Elizabeth said. “My family will protest - but they haven’t wanted mush to do with me, lately, and it isn’t too far for them to come and visit, if they want.”
Mortimer nodded, ignoring the vein which had sprung up on Concarnadine’s neck.
“Will you - don’t mind me asking, but … - will you plan to face him here, or travel to his realm ?”
“He wants here,” Concarnadine said: “Let him fight here. I claim not a stone or a water-drop of his realm. So long as he stays there, and doesn’t try to interfere outside it, I have no quarrel with him.”
Mortimer nodded. “A wise choice, if I may say so. Do you know where to look ?”
“I do, but I’d rather not discuss it,” Concarnadine replied, then, seeing Mortimer’s eyes track back towards Elizabeth, he broke a smile: “No - not for that reason. She knows the where as well as I do. I’d just rather not take chances.”
“The listening shadow - I understand.”
There was a pot of tea and a buffet lunch waiting (Concarnadine had phoned ahead after all), and then, as the sun headed towards mid-afternoon, they parted.
Rayner Mortimer went back indoors, and to his writing desk. Rügar was quite reliable, but there were ways of doing things like this, and the right words were so important, to make sure that the message was transmitted accurately.
# # # # #
“You’re convinced that this will be effective ?”
Concarnadine considered the point.
“No,” he said, at length. “But I think it’s the best chance we have. Unless you know better.”
Septimus Fitz-Lawrence shook his head.
“My -ah- fields of expertise do not extend sufficiently far in that direction to allow me -erm- any adequacy of prediction. Besides, my field is this world and its own mal-influences. Your … Jovimort … ” he pronounced the name with nervous precision “ is something utterly outside my purview.”
“Be thankful,” Concarnadine replied. “Anyway, no further attempts to kill any of your circle, or steal anything.”
“No - it would appear that your efforts - those of you and your various friends - have been effectual in that regard. Which, I suppose, would argue that you may well be ah- correct in your analysis of Jovi -erm- mort.”
There was a period of companionable silence: Concarnadine was browsing through one of the books Fitz-Lawrence had retained from the police raid in Hertfordshire, whilst the scholar himself was busy scribing a complex sigil onto parchment using a rather special pen, made of cold iron. Finally he pulled pen from page and breathed out.
“There. Though I must say that I -ahm- do not now precisely what efficacy it will have.”
“The Shield of Michael, inscribed on virgin parchment by the Keeper of the Grail - I couldn’t wish for a better talisman,” Concarnadine said.
“You realise that you are relying on little more than superstition.”
“I realise that a great deal of superstition has a root in truth, and that it is very difficult to persuade people that it has no effect.”
“You -ah- have a point.”
“And you have my thanks. For this, and for keeping quiet about my visiting.”
Fitz-Lawrence looked across the room.
“I don’t know whether it affects anything, Concarnadine, but Sir Edgar has been in touch with me. He proposes to resign from the Company, to resign and to go abroad. I gather that he will nominate me for the vacant seat on the Inner Council.”
Concarnadine nodded. “In a way I feel sorry for him: his world has been, to a great extent, shattered by all this, and it has not been his fault.”
“I wouldn’t like to comment - but Lady Ilona and I have never seen eye to eye. Indeed, I suspect her - ”
Concarnadine held up a hand. “My dear Doctor - I don’t mean to be rude, but the next weeks will see all these matters settled in one way or another. Sir Edgar’s decision, while laudable in itself, has come too late to affect things. Similarly Lady Ilona’s actions have settled into history, and unless you have revenge on your mind … then let things go.”
He rose from the chair he’d been sitting in. “I shall be in touch, all being well. Until we speak again, look after yourself.”
Fitz-Lawrence watched him depart, then went to the window to watch him down the street. Then he turned to his bookshelves and removed a black leather bound book. He turned to the first blank page, dated it, and carefully, he wrote four line of text below the date. Concarnadine was, he thought, a good man, an honourable man, but he had no idea of the obligations that people outside his own narrow world faced.
# # # # #
“I’m going - I don’t know if I’ll be coming back, but I’m going.”
“I … I envy you - honestly, I do - for being able to make that sort of decision. I couldn’t.”
Robin Flavour paused, and wondered whether those had been the right words to use: Elizabeth Stellamer looked stricken to the heart.
“Honestly,” Robin went on: “I think you’re being very … ”
“Brave ? This isn’t about anything like that - this is … Oh, I don’t know. I just know that if I didn’t do this … ”
“You’re in love with him,” Flavour said, with the confident air of one who was herself in love and recognised the symptoms. Elizabeth’s head rose, her colour up, her eyes diamond-bright. Then, as abruptly, she looked down again.
“Hey - nothing to be ashamed of: he’s a handsome man, and polite and - ”
“And going to get himself killed !!”
“Well … ” Robin didn’t want to comment on that: she knew that the “Thane” - DI Barratt - gave some credence to the fantastic story of an extra-dimensional creature which was planning to take over the earth, and was controlling a network of dupes among the population to assist him in that endeavour (though why, if he were so powerful, he needed human agents … ) For her part, Robin Flavour had seen evidence of some kind of satanic cult, featuring robes, weird impedimenta, and alleged human sacrifice, but as to the connection to “Jovimort”, she remained unconvinced.
She’d also seen enough of Concarnadine to know that he was a skilled illusionist or magician, well able to use distraction and mis-direction to get his way, but (she believed) fundamentally a good man, who’d be ideal for Elizabeth.
“I’m sorry ! You invite me out, and all I can do is be a wet blanket !”
“No,” Robin hastened to reassure her … were they friends ? She supposed Barratt and Concarnadine were, but where did she and Elizabeth fit in, vis-à-vis each other ? Were they like the in-laws whose connection was through marrying siblings ?
“No,” she finished, hoping that the hesitation hadn’t been noticed: “You’ve got some tensions, sure - but if I’m your friend, I should take you as you come, shouldn’t I ? Come on, have another drink.”
“I shouldn’t - ”
“Non-alcoholic - I’ll get you a smoothie !” Robin pressed, and found pleasure when Elizabeth conceded.
“Have you told him ?”
“Who ? What ?? - No, of course not ! You’re exaggerating, anyway.”
“Heart beats faster, you find his face keeps popping into your head, really really trivial things suddenly remind you of him ? Oh, you’re … under the effects,” Robin replied, teasingly. Then she sobered up.
“All right - so you haven’t said anything … but he knows, doesn’t he ?”
“Prob … possibly - I don’t see how he could, though !!”
“He isn’t what you’d call stupid - and if you’re as starry-eyed when you’re around him … well, he’d be blind not to -- This is what all the trauma’s about, isn’t it ? You’re in love with the man: he’s going off to fight for his life, your life, all our lives, and you’re afraid it’ll all come to nothing, aren’t you ?”
“Maybe,” Elizabeth whispered.
“You’ve got two options,” Robin said immediately: “Tell him now, and deal with the consequences, or wait till he’s defeated this Jovimort, and then tell him, and take the risk he thinks it’s just a reaction to him winning.”
# # # # #
“Have we got everything ?”
They looked utterly different to usual - gone was Concarnadine’s dress suit and his opera cloak, replaced by weatherproof trousers, a thermal shirt, and a Kevlar jacket which Barratt had “loaned” him. Elizabeth was in hiking gear, wearing boots intended to combine toughness and comfort, and a backpack that had pockets all over its surface, as well as spare clothes and an emergency sleeping bag inside.
“Well, is there anything else you can think of that we need ?” Elizabeth replied.
“If either of you carry a minim more … ” Borin growled.
“Just because you could carry twice as much without breaking swe-glow,” Elizabeth retorted.
Borin might have answered her, except that it was true, and they both knew it.
Concarnadine looked at the dwarf: “I know you want to come, but … ”
Borin nodded, and shrugged.
“Mortimer will see to you if … ”
“You’ll come back,” Borin said.
“Yes,” Elizabeth joined in: “You’ve three nights to do at the Durbar next week, and then you’re taking me to Europe again. And I want you to sit through at least three new routines I’m working up.”
“Or then again, you might decided dying’s easier,” Borin added, dourly. “I’ll be here, either way.”
“It’s still not too late - ”
“It’s Enfield, to start, isn’t it ?” Elizabeth asked, ignoring Concarnadine’s comment. “Do you want to use the tube or the train ?” There was no question of using magic - Jovimort might know that they were coming, but there was no point in giving him their exact location and co-ordinates at this early a stage.
“I’d thought the tube as far as Brent Cross and then we can get a hire-car from there. I want to stop at the Three Yews before we move on - it’s one of the places I asked Wantage to leave word.”
Elizabeth nodded, and they made their way to the Underground station. Through the journey she concentrated on concentrating on nothing - neither allowing her mind to focus down on any one aspect of the situation into which she was going, nor letting her mind drift to where it might dwell upon unguessed-at unspeakableness. She’d just finished reorganising her wardrobe (in her head) when it was time to disembark and go up to the shopping centre.
Concarnadine threaded his way through the afternoon crowds, and Elizabeth followed a step or four behind him. Once upside, the illusionist led the way to a coffee bar.
“Here - have a latté,” he said, tossing a two-pound coin onto the table. “I’ll go and see about the car.”
“It’s too soon,” Elizabeth said, and, when he looked back, she went on: “Most of the people here now are shoppers: they’ll have come in their own cars and they’ll use those to drive home - there’ll be little call for hire-cars at this time. Wait an hour, and it’ll be a lot closer to when you get people who want cars for over-night: you won’t stand out as much. Secondly, the Yews will also be quiet now, so we’ll stand out. People will remember you asked about Wantage - someone might make a call or two. Plus, if you give me and hour or so, and I’ll be able to work up some sound effects that will cover whatever you say to get the message and that will have a memory-damping charm slipped in among them.”
“You can do that ?” Concarnadine queried: “Run one spell inside another ?”
“Only some of them,” Elizabeth answered: “Which is why it’ll take a while to work the algorithm out. Get me an extra-grande with triple tiramisu syrup, then go and look round a shop or two. Oh, and you might put a Shield on me as you go.”
Concarnadine nodded: he didn’t understand Elizabeth sometimes, but he wasn’t going to ignore her - her moods, her ideas, her inspirations - when she was trying her hardest to be a benefit to him.