In which a maze fulfils its function
Violence never lies.
- from Lady Avely’s Guide to Lies and Charms
A few steps in, she heard an awful crashing, wrenching sound. It went on for long minutes, a dreadful violence that rent the air. It was impossible to hear where it came from in the darkness. Judith stood petrified, her senses assaulted. When it finally died away, she took a shaky breath and pressed forward again. She was determined to find Dacian, even if it should take all night in this hellish landscape.
For an interminable age, she stumbled through the twisting pathways of the maze. She cursed its construction, Dacian, and herself, in an internal stream of invective to try to keep her spirits up. For all she knew, she was uselessly travelling in circles while Dacian lay unconscious a few feet away. The thought was unbearable, and her anxiety was at a peak when she finally stumbled upon the secret passage to the centre.
The brass key charm had been wrenched from the yew branches. It lay on the ground, barely visible, the narrow entrance revealed. Judith did not stop to wonder who had torn it aside, and took the path without hesitation.
She emerged into the circular clearing. A sword gleamed in the moonlight, thrusting its point to the sky, the stone plinth covered in its blanket of flowers. The sweet, ghastly smell of the blooms assaulted her nostrils as she scanned the clearing. Then she saw that the second steel sword was missing from its pommel.
And Dacian was sprawled upon the wooden bench, bleeding.
His head lolled on his shoulder, unconscious, his black hair limp. Blood ran from his scalp, down his cheek, in a terrible river that had frozen and stilled. The other sword lay on the ground beside him, and more blood pooled beneath his body. His arm trailed, lifeless, so that his elegant fingers brushed the liquid.
Judith’s own breath threatened to suffocate her. A crashing devastation rolled over her like a wave, and she ran towards him, full of terror.
Throwing herself into the pool of blood, she grasped his hand and brought it to her lips. His fingers were cold and lifeless. He did not move, his face slack and empty.
Grief choked her, with the crippling fear that her life was now utterly desolate.
“Dacian,” she whispered. “Please no.”
She stared at his beloved face: even in the shadows cast by the hedge, she could see the black fan of his lashes, the strong line of his jaw, his parted lips firm and full. All waxen now with death.
His moustache was gone, she noted distantly. He must have cast it aside.
The first slither of doubt crept into her tumultuous mind. Why would he cast aside his disguise? And why could she still see his cravat pin in place?
Her eyes sharpened and she looked more closely. Shuddering, she released the hand that she held. It dropped back to the ground with a thud.
Her heart slowly lightened as she stared at the face before her. The brows were too elegant, too arching. The handsome features were not quite right: a little too perfect in its symmetry. And while there was a small white scar on his forehead, it was angled slightly wrong.
It was an Illusion.
Tears once more flooded her eyes, this time with relief. It was not Dacian. Thank God, it was not him.
Yet the blood seeping into her skirts was real. She could see the spreading stain, and feel the awful wetness as she ran her fingers over the sticky damp.
She stayed still, kneeling in the blood, her mind racing. The hand she had held was real enough; and cold enough. Judith looked over the fallen body, and realised that she had no idea if it were male or female, under the depiction of the duke’s fine clothes and face. And the fact that the Illusion had not vanished upon the touch meant that the Illusor was still present, keeping the mirage in place.
To be sure, she steeled herself, and reached to grasp the limp shoulders. The flesh under her hands was solid and broad, and she shook it, as if trying to rouse her beloved, overtaken with grief.
Briefly, her violent shaking showed a dissonance. Dacian’s elegant coat wavered, revealing a coarser cut: the garb of an upper servant. Another face showed a glimpse under the planes of Dacian’s.
It was Faske.
A terrible gladness swept through Judith at this final confirmation, even as new fear thudded through her. Flinching, she slipped her fingers to his neck. No pulse thudded in the butler’s throat. The column was cold and clammy. He was dead.
She dropped her hand and bowed her shoulders, as if in sorrow, while her senses sharpened. Who cast the Illusion? Whoever it was, they were still present, watching.
Awareness prickled between Judith’s shoulder blades. She swallowed and stared at the ground, hoping she painted a convincing picture of shock and grief. With an awful lurch, she remembered the small gaps in the circling hedge. Small enough to act as peeping holes.
For a long moment, she stayed there, bowed and listening. Silence met her, along with the growing sense that someone was there, observing her.
She stood.
The killer was here. She could feel the knowledge of it on her skin. Somewhere in the glade, or just out of it, the Illusor was watching.
Judith bent, ignoring her bloodstained skirts, and picked up the steel sword that lay beside Faske. The hilt of it was bloodied and marred. She grit her teeth and swung round.
The clearing was empty. With shaky steps, she trod round the centre plinth, searching. In the awful quiet, she thought she could hear someone breathing. The sound sent icy shivers down her back.
“Show yourself,” she said hoarsely. “Stop hiding behind tricks, you fiend.”
For a moment, nothing happened. Then footsteps padded. Judith gripped the sword, raising it higher. But the sound was retreating behind the hedge, as the watcher moved away.
Angrily, Judith turned and ran through the secret path, determined to see who it was. She careened left, trying to follow the steps. Yew branches clawed at her sodden gown, and the sword was heavy, weighing her arm down. Her face was stiff with dried tears, and she was wracked with guilt and fear. What had she missed, that had doomed Faske to his death? Why hadn’t she discovered who was playing such cruel games?
Soon she was hopelessly lost again, in a dreadful purgatory, stumbling in the dark. Once she thought she heard footsteps, and terror spiked through her. When she stilled, she heard her name hoarsely whispered from somewhere beyond yew walls. Her heart thudded erratically, with the hope that it was Dacian, but she dared not speak, for fear of another trap. She waited a long moment and the grim cry did not repeat. She pressed on.
When she passed a statue of Pan for the third time, she halted, breath heaving, and rested the sword on the ground. Worry clawed at her. Where was Dacian? Robert? Would the killer hesitate to harm them as well?
At that moment, a black shape swooped in front of her, as if in warning. It materialised as a bat, with long black wings flapping urgently, and Judith felt relief surge through her. The bat twisted into human form and landed on the shoulder of Pan.
Judith blinked. It was not Marigold who stared back, but another feminine vampiri. Wide, dark eyes glared from a beautiful face, set above a velvet cloak.
“Lady Avely, hush.” A slender finger held up in warning. “I take it that you wish to find the Duke of Sargen?”
Judith stared. This must be Yvette, and obviously she did know something of their purpose, if she could mention Dacian’s title. But Judith was too anxious to prevaricate. “Where is he?”
“I will show you. Follow me.”
Yvette stepped off the statue. The cape billowed up, showing a glimpse of curves, then she plunged into her bat form. Spiralling up, she flew just above the height of the hedges, but close enough for Judith to see.
At first, Yvette led her on a winding path, then suddenly straightened into a broader swathe. This path looked new and ragged, as if it had been impatiently cut through the serpentine twists. The sharp smell of sliced wood hung in the air. Judith’s breath caught, for she perceived the work of an Impactor. This must have been how Dacian found his way out, in that violent, crashing cacophony she had heard.
Judith followed the brutal swathe until it emerged on the right-hand side of the maze, facing the house. She drew a breath and strode forward, holding her sword aloft like Athena herself, careless of who might see her.
“Where is he?” she demanded of the dark sky.
Yvette flew in the direction of the glasshouse. Judith followed, warily scanning the gardens. There was light glowing in the oriel windows again, warmly, as if someone did not lie dead nearby. She could see no sign of Robert, or Dacian, or their vampiri companions. Was Yvette leading her into a trap? Could she trust her? Could she afford not to trust her?
She heard her name called, low and urgent. “Judith!”
It was Dacian’s voice, to her great joy. Judith halted and stared about, unable to see him anywhere.
“Put that bloody sword down.” His voice was close by, tense with worry. “Is that blood on your gown? Are you alright?”
Judith lowered the point. “Where are you?” she hissed.
To her right, a bushy hedge suddenly dissolved and Dacian appeared. His lips quirked under his moustache. “Don’t you recognise Robert’s handiwork when you see it?”
Judith dropped the sword and flung herself at him.
“Judith?” His arms came round her. “Good God, what happened?”
“Dacian.” She found herself weeping again. She did not care, just pressed as close to him as she could manage. “Thank God you are safe. I saw you dead.”
Grimly, he processed her meaning. “You saw another Illusion? Of me murdered?”
“It was Faske.” She swallowed back more tears. “He lies dead in the maze.”
Dacian arms tightened around her, as a pressure gathered in the air. “Damn it, Judith, you were meant to stay put!”
“I thought you might be hurt.” She lifted her face from his chest, to check that he was indeed unharmed. She ran her fingers down his cheek, and the moustache and mole vanished, showing his rigid jaw and concerned gaze.
His own hand came up to gently brush the tears from her cheeks, then her lips. She leaned in, and kissed him long and hungrily, then abruptly pulled away in a daze. What was she thinking? This was not the time for passion. A murderer stalked the gardens, and moreover, knew that Dacian was here.
Reluctantly, she let go of his coat, gathering the shreds of her composure and looking away. The moonlight cast dark shadows around the maze, imbuing it with threat.
“What is it?” asked Dacian. “Don’t stop, Judith, my dear.”
She cleared her throat. “You are in danger. Whoever cast that Illusion meant it as a warning. And where is Robert?”
Dacian shrugged, and his hand fell from her shoulder. “I do not know, curse the boy. Have you seen Marigold or Wooten?”
Judith shook her head and explained that Yvette had led her out of the maze. Yet when she called out, the vampiri did not deign to reveal herself again. “Find Marigold,” Judith pleaded to the empty, dark garden. “Please. She trusts you.”
Silence was the only response, but Judith hoped that her plea had not gone unheard.
Dacian drew Judith behind the shelter of a tree, and told of his own movements. After he had run into the maze, he had become lost. Then he had seen a figure pass briefly through an avenue: the disappearing back of Faske. Dacian had followed it, only to be further led astray. Fearing that while he ran in useless circles, Faske might leave the maze and find Judith, Dacian had grown impatient. When he heard Judith’s faintly calling for ‘Harold’, he cast Wooten’s map aside and cut a path through the yew. That had been the dreadful crashing sound that Judith had heard.
He had come out on the southern side of the maze and rapidly walked the circumference, searching for Judith, hoarsely whispering her name. It had taken him several minutes to complete the circuit in the dark, which must have been when Judith was trying to find her way out with the sword.
“I couldn’t find you.” He pulled her close again, in the shadow of the trunk. “I was sick with worry. Then as I came round the southern side again, I saw a figure emerging from the maze. I thought it was you at first, but then I saw it was another woman, unfamiliar to me. She had blonde hair and a mobcap like yours.”
“It sounds like Selina Southcott.” Judith frowned. “What was she doing here?”
Dacian shrugged. “She walked towards me. I was in shadow, and had the presence of mind to press into the side of the maze and turn on Robert’s charm. She went straight past me and into the glasshouse, keeping to the shadows.”
“The glasshouse?” Judith turned to stare at the glass dome. “Is she still in there?”
“I haven’t seen her emerge. But then I heard someone walking about in the maze again and thought it might be you, and thank God, I was right.”
Judith stared unseeing at the sword she had left lying on the ground. Part of her wished to run away now, pulling Dacian to safety, and put the whole awful business far behind them. Yet Faske, for all that he had been boorish and hostile, had not deserved to die like that. She shuddered, remembering his blank face and the pool of blood. He might even be the third victim, if Harriet’s death was also due to this vile plot. Judith could not let the culprit go unpunished, especially if they still threatened Dacian.
“It is unlikely to be Selina behind it all,” she said slowly.
“Why not?”
“Simply because you saw her.” Judith turned to look at the opaque windows of the glasshouse. “The Illusor would not be foolish enough to appear as themselves. Ergo, it is not Selina.”
Dacian grimaced. “You might be right.”
“We must go into the glasshouse, and find whoever it is.”
“I will go alone,” said Dacian firmly. “And bring the whole edifice down around their heads, if I must.”
Judith rolled her eyes. “If you think for one moment that I am going to allow us to be separated again, you are mad. I have my sword. You have your Gift. We will be fine.”
Dacian’s lip twisted. “I’ll only allow it because I can’t trust you to stay put, God damn it, Judith.”
Together, they crept up to the glasshouse, Judith lugging her steel weapon. She pushed the door open while Dacian held his bare hands at the ready.
They stepped into an eerie silence. The creeping vines and potted trees cast deep shadows. Grime on the ceiling panes filtered the moonlight into haziness.
Cautiously, they proceeded through the various obstacles: pots, shovels, plants, and trees. Yet after twenty minutes of careful searching, they could not find anyone crouched behind the black shapes.
Dacian pulled Judith to a halt, and they stayed still and silent. There wasn’t a sound, not even a breath.
“Curse it,” muttered Judith. “Is there another door, perhaps?”
After another ten minutes searching, they found it: a low, wide entrance hidden in the southeast corner. It was obscured by a lush oleander plant.
“Damn it.” Dacian pushed the door open, and it opened without a sound. “She must have left through here.”
“No doubt in another guise.” Judith chewed on her lip. “Cunning.”
“Yes,” Dacian sighed. “Let’s leave this wretched place, and go home.”
Judith clenched her hands in frustration. “No! We must find out where all the players have been, and who might be Bemused. We cannot let them defeat us like this!”
Dacian nodded reluctantly. “True. Whoever it is, they cannot have carried off so many Illusions without paying the price.”