Page 65
Story: The Exorcism of Faeries
T he Agamemnon Council berated him for the better part of an hour.
After that, it became an amusing match of members defending him and others all but hanging him.
“You wore the mask of this society alongside someone who does not even belong in our ranks,” Lynch began his closing remarks. “You defied our protocols by stepping out on your own with some disastrous results.”
Some, but not all , thought.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” Lynch demanded.
All eyes in the chamber beneath Saint Patrick’s were on him, and stood. “All I have done is what my arm of Agamemnon set out to do. Most often, there is no time for red tape and bureaucratic processes. Lives are being saved because of the work of Achilles. Yes, I formed a small, covert unit within, but the results are the same. Lives are being saved, the Plague is losing ground, and Agamemnon maintains its reputation—has kept its promise.”
Murmurs went up around the room. Most of the argument had revolved around whether Agamemnon was being credited with the mounting success or not. The public knew so little about the Society that ran as an undercurrent to the city, but they knew enough, and that meant many members had argued in and Atta’s favour that the masks they wore pointed people to the Society.
It irked that the effect on Inhabited patients had never come up, save for the mention of their failures—the ones they’d lost.
“I do not stand before you today,” went on, his voice ringing out in the room of marble and bone, “with any desire to claim glory for the success of what’s happening. When I lobbied to have Achilles House opened, it was with one goal in mind. The goal of eradicating the Plague has remained my only aim, and I will not stop now. Take all the credit you’d like.” He looked each of the eight council members in the eye, then turned to sweep his attention over the Society members gathered for the spectacle. “I only wish to end this nightmare.”
Lynch, his face as mottled as ever, stood from his seat, nearly toppling it over. “Then report your goddamn findings! Your process!”
“That I will not do,” responded simply, firmly. “You let me and my team do as we are doing without interference, or we take off the masks. Take off the Society.”
“This is an outrage!” watched the spittle fly from Lynch’s mouth, his jowls wobbling.
“Enough!” Trinity Provost Nial Rochford stood, speaking for the first time since the council convened. Even Lynch had to sit down and listen to him.
The Rochford family had led Agamemnon since its inception. Many had been better leaders than Nial, but many had been far worse.
“We cannot stake our reputation on your processes we know nothing about, Dr Murdoch. Your conduct with a student, no less, has coloured your once rosy academic and Societal character in grey. Tell us your methods, or we will interfere, beginning first with your position at TCD.”
did not gape at him or gasp as some of the others did. He’d seen all this coming. Had for weeks. “I’ll share our protocol, discoveries, and all our research if you will reinstate Ariatne Morrow at TCD.” More murmurs echoed through the council and the audience.
Lynch had his meaty hands in fists on the council table while Rochford’s steely grey eyes bore into him. “You have a deal. On one condition. Miss Morrow can come here and pledge her life to Agamemnon and share her research herself.”
’s stomach turned. Atta would never agree to that. Nor did he want her to, but she could return to her studies, to her beloved college. She shouldn’t have to sell her soul to do it. “You should be kissing the fucking ground Ariatne Morrow walks on,” he spat through gritted teeth. “She shouldn’t have to dance to your tune to be granted entry back into Trinity, not when she’s single-handedly responsible for saving this goddamn city.”
Nial Rochford’s even demeanour cracked. “Ariatne Morrow is responsible for the deaths of multiple people and a multitude of crimes.”
That was when began to shout, to bellow horrible things at them, cursing them to high heaven until someone dragged him out—Walsh and Mariana, he realised when they made it outside.
Sitting on the cathedral steps, Mariana O’Sullivan laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I got you into this mess,” she said gently.
looked up at her, arms slung on his bent knees. “I’m not.”
“She’ll need to make the decision herself, pet.”
Mariana was right. “See if you can get her here.”
Table of Contents
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