Who: Mac, Arabella Ward, and Lou Parkinson (with a brief appearance by Zipporah Bakst) What: Information comes to light with unexpected consequences When: 19th February, 1889, following on this Where: The Lionhart Rating: PG
Lou wasn't exactly a regular at the Lionhart, but he knew about it, of course (who didn't? except maybe Arabella) and he knew it was the best place to try and lay a hand or two on Mac. So could at least take her there and see that she was introduced to Mac and that Mac was aware of the coinage scheme, whatever it was, and the apparent murder. There was no way that Lou could protect her when he could barely protect himself, and while he didn't want to be in debt to any Sidhe lords, it was better than the alternative.
Once he'd coaxed Arabella inside, he went to the bar for a pint and to ask to speak to the proprietor, on official business regarding the House of Shadows. Unfortunately. And alas, no, it was not something that would wait.
Mac was already quite busy that day with House business on top of the tasks the Queens had dropped in his lap. He could feel the storm clouds gathering, the energy building, trouble was coming but he'd yet to identify the forces behind it. When word came of a visitor insisting to speak with him on official business he scowled at the retainer who brought the news, then shook his head. It wasn’t their fault and he was never one to shoot the messenger.
He glamored himself appropriately for being seen in the common room and made his way downstairs. Seeing young Parkinson at the bar with a serious (and no little bit of anxiety mixed in for good measure) expression he bit back a groan. The lad wasn’t an excitable sort, so whatever was going on it had to have at least an acquaintance with a real problem.
“Parkinson.” Mac didn’t smile but he kept his tone polite. “You wished to speak to me? About ‘official business’?”
"There's a problem, possibly two." Lou gestured toward Arabella, who had of course not accompanied him to the bar. "And the other concern is one I would rather speak of in privacy, for reasons you'll understand once I've told you what I'm concerned about. The young lady seems to have stumbled into something very troubling, with implications that touch on your official duties, and--" Lou lowered his voice even further "--it looks as though at least one person has been murdered to cover it up. And--" he was whispering now "--I think Miss Ward is one of yours--so--" he trailed off there for a moment, but rallied to finish, "I thought it was better to bring the entire matter to you directly." Parkinson wasn’t wrong about Arabella, but it wasn’t his place to confirm the man’s suspicions and Mac merely nodded. He glanced in the direction of Arabella and suppressed a frown. The girl was a problem he didn’t need added on top of the others he had on his already lengthy to-do list, but he’d promised Una.
“Aye. You’d best come to my office then.” With the House of Shadows and his building being less than a ten minute walk from each other he kept his primary offices firmly behind the wards of his establishment rather than at the Parliament itself. He had an office at the House for when he needed or wanted to conduct business there, but otherwise he tended to keep his work in the same building as his home.
He gestured to the bartender, one of his fae retainers glamoured to appear human, and murmured into his ear after he approached. The bartender looked first at Lou, then over at Arabella, and nodded at whatever Mac had told him. “Seamus here will lead you where you need to be, I’ll join you there shortly. Be welcome in my establishment. While you’re in these walls your foes are mine, and woe to anyone who seeks to do my guests harm.”
Arabella felt entirely out of sorts in this sort of establishment, where she knew at first glance she shouldn't be, particularly accompanied by an unmarried gentleman. She didn't protest when Mr Parkinson courteously suggested they relocate, or ask after the silent man who led them away about where he was taking them.
It turned out to be an office, comfortably furnished in warm-toned woods, and given colour by the addition of quite a few plants, which splashed bright spots of green throughout the room. They were granted sunlight by a large glass skylight in the ceiling, which must brighten the room when it was not so gloomy and overcast. Arabella turned slowly, drinking in her surroundings, and then her gaze returned curiously to Mr Parkinson.
Before she could ask, they were joined by the man Mr Parkinson had spoken with at the bar, who Arabella had suspected she recognized, but up close there was no question of it. "Mr Mac," she said, her voice level, though inside she was surprised and slightly alarmed. If Mr Parkinson suspected foul play and conspiracy, a man who turned up conveniently at a museum to ask about Arabella's interest in coins and then again at a meeting involving the same was rather too much coincidence for her. "You spoke truly about your knowledge of metals, I see."
Arabella reached out to touch Lou's sleeve without taking her eyes from Mac. She wanted to tell him that they should go, but could not think of how to phrase it without alerting her museum guide. "Mr Mac and I met at the British Museum. He was very helpful in helping me to locate certain alloys, after I told him I was studying a specific, unique pattern of decay."
Oh my. Lou hadn't known that Arabella had met Mac already. And apparently in a way that had been suspicious, which was not entirely surprising because Mac was a Sidhe lord and they could be tricksy wights even if well disposed.
"Perhaps formal introductions are in order," he said, putting the best face on it. It took him a moment to decide which order introductions were supposed to go in, a matter of no small import when a Sidhe Lord's favour was on the line. For all that she was the young lady, technically there was no way Arabella could outrank Mac. "Mr Mac Ruadh, it is my pleasure to present Miss Arabella Ward, an alchemist of some note. Miss Ward, it is my very great honour to introduce Mr Conall Mac Ruadh of the Summer Court, Member of the House and representative of the Courts to Queen Victoria."
He looked in mute appeal to Mac, because surely there was some reason he already knew of Arabella's interest in coinage and alchemical materials. There might also be a mute prayer that he hadn't buggered it all up already with one or both of them at the same time.
“A pleasure to meet your acquaintance for real, Miss Ward.” Mac responded, taking pity on Parkinson. He dropped his preferred Scottish brogue for speaking in a standard upper class English accent, best not to have any confusion over his words today. “I have indeed met you once before, and my associate the lady Una, now Countess Ravensworth, mentioned you to me before that as well as someone to keep an eye on.” It was past time to drop pretenses and let the girl know what she truly was, though how he’d go about it he hadn’t decided yet. “Please, have a seat. You’re in no danger here.”
"Please forgive my reservations," Arabella said, sounding not at all pleading about anything, "but Mr Parkinson has been diligently attempting to convince me that I might be in some danger, and you have just admitted to watching me. May I presume that our introduction at the museum was no accident, nor your curiosity about my research into a coin entirely innocent?"
She tilted her head, studying him. "A museum may be a fitting place for a Member of Parliament," she noted, "but a pub seems an odd place for one to keep an office."
Mac set himself down behind the desk in his comfortable leather chair and eyed the girl curiously. She had no fear at all, or at least displayed none, and his estimation of her rose a notch. “Believe it or not, lass, meeting you at the museum was entirely coincidental. And your coin was an interesting puzzle but didn’t seem important enough at the time for me to press the issue. Especially when I have larger issues to deal with.”
He grinned at her observation. “And a pub barely five minutes from the Palace of Westminster and the House of Shadows is a perfect place to keep an office. I hear the most interesting things when members and their aides get too deep in their cups. But the pub is a...hobby of mine. And who would suspect a simple publican of being the representative of a race far older than humanity? But I’m being a neglectful host in not offering refreshment, will either of you take bread or wine? Offered freely and without obligation as my guests.”
"I would enjoy it very much, if you please," Lou, who at least looked like he was no longer going to fall over if he hadn't sat down, managed, and gave Arabella a look. There was a tennis match going on here between Mac and Arabella, and Lou was fine letting the ball bounce back and forth over his head until Mac was ready for him to explain about the murder. But she still needed to not use the T word.
Thanking their host might not have been the farthest thing from Arabella's mind, but it was very nearly so. "Far older than humanity," Arabella echoed, taking a seat at least, more out of distraction than intent. "What do you mean by that?"
“The Fae walked the Earth when humans were still in the trees.” Mac replied simply. ‘Faerie exists in a different realm than this one, and I am...an ambassador, of sorts. Long ago by human reckoning I entered into an agreement to sit in the House of Shadows and be an advisor to the monarchs of this land. Whether they listen to my advice, well,” he spread his hands and shrugged as if to say ‘what can you do?’.
“Ah, here come the refreshments.” Two servants came through the door, one bearing a tray with a bottle of wine and glasses and the other carrying a basket of fresh rolls still warm from the oven. “Be welcome as guests of my household. While here your enemies are mine and I will do my best to help you with your concerns. I offer this freely without obligation in return.”
They are the oldest of them all, Zipporah had said; but more tellingly, they will leave you be for a bowl of wine and bread. Mac had just offered them such. Arabella didn't know what kind of forest folk Mac might be, but all of the stories cautioned against offending the faeries. She was very glad that she'd spoken with Zipporah before this, or she might have said something very ill-advised indeed.
"You are one of the forest folk," Arabella declared curiously. Guessing that flattery could not hurt, she echoed some of Zipporah's words aloud. "Ancient and wise and powerful. I have heard of you. I am..." Her eyes flicked to Mr Parkinson, who seemed slightly less high-strung now than he had been moments ago, and back to Mac. "...honoured to make your acquaintance."
Lou managed to look even more relieved after Arabella's speech. "I shall very much enjoy your bread and wine, Mr Mac Ruadh, and appreciate the generous offer." That Arabella, whatever she might be herself, had managed to figure out what she was dealing with and remembered careful manners was a load off Lou's shoulders. He smiled, still nervous, at the servants; his business would wait until they were gone and Arabella had settled things with Mac. Because there was still the minor matter of whatever someone was doing with the currency and killing people in the Mint over.
The servants poured glasses for the three of them and set the tray and basket on the side of the desk within reach before withdrawing, leaving as silent as they entered. Mac waited until both visitors partook of the provided refreshment and officially became his guests under the ancient laws before saying anything more. The flattery was amusing and his lips curled upwards, but he didn't deny any of it.
Parkinson was jumpy about something, which was unlike him. Unfortunately it would have to wait until the girl’s curiosity was settled. He decided he would ask Arabella to stay behind once this business was settled and tell her the truth in private. If she chose to tell the lad that was her business but he would not discuss it in front of the mortal.
“The forest folk are indeed close kin of mine. All legends have at least a little truth, though what that is may differ from place to place. Once this matter of the coin is discussed I would ask you to stay behind briefly, there is another matter I would like to discuss with you privately. If you wish young Parkinson to wait I'll see he's provided a meal or drink in the common rooms until you're ready to depart.”
Arabella did not look at Mr Parkinson, who no doubt would be attempting to give her silent advice with meaningful wiggles of his eyebrows, and blinked once, slowly. "If my life is in danger, it would be unwise of me to accept, but more unwise to refuse. And Mr Parkinson's absence would leave me without an escort."
Mr Parkinson had brought her here and would know where he had left her, and with whom, if anything went amiss, but a Member of Parliament who was older than humanity would not likely answer to a young banker's charges.
She decided to test the wisdom of the forest folk in making her decision. "What would you suggest that I do, considering these circumstances?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as Mac fixed an unblinking stare at the young Fae (ignorant of her heritage, he tried to remind himself) for several seconds. “Mr. Parkinson, you are familiar with the ancient ways I follow. Do you believe either of your lives are in danger, either from myself or others, while you are Guests in my home?”
His gaze didn’t waver from Arabella’s face.
Lou was also looking at Arabella, because he didn't think Mac was angry with him, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know if he was wrong and Mac was. "The ancient laws of hospitality under which the Sidhe live bind you to protect us as your own now that we are your guests," he recited, as if he were reading from a book. "And, realistically, Miss Ward, I brought you here because Mr Mac Ruadh's power is so much greater than my own. As a practical matter, I'm social chaperonage, but if he wanted to harm you, Mr Mac Ruadh would be more than capable of disposing of me. But I sincerely did bring you to him because I thought he was likely to help--and because I already suspected you were of supernatural origins yourself and he seemed the best person to inform for that reason, also."
Arabella's fixed gaze turned on Lou. "I was honest with you," she told him, a sharp note in her voice. "Instead of keeping my confidence, you have turned me over in order to advance yourself. This is the world of men, I suppose."
Since Mac had not answered her question, Arabella made her decision alone. "I will speak with you, Mr Mac. I would prefer to do so in the company of a sister, but if that is not possible, I will still listen."
“You do Mr. Parkinson a disservice, Miss Ward.” Mac’s voice was still cold, but his expression had softened somewhat. “He did well bringing you to me, for reasons you don’t yet understand but will after this meeting is at an end. The lad knew he was out of his depth and brought you to someone who can help. If you choose to take him into your confidence after our discussion is at an end that is entirely up to you, but it must be your choice.”
He took a deep breath and let go of his irritation. The room began to warm again and he took his gaze away from Arabella. “Now then, what’s got you flustered Parkinson?”
Lou cast a beleaguered look at Arabella, because he was trying to help her and he hoped in the end she could see that. Mac's words had convinced him that Mac knew something he didn't, and that was enough. His guess had been close enough and she'd be able to claim protection, which was the important thing.
"Miss Ward came to the bank some time ago with a very odd coin. It was made of a strange substance, not any of the usual alloys, and when I looked it up in the Mint issues, it was listed as withdrawn from circulation. Miss Ward and your colleague Mr Kessinger took a look at it from a scientific point of view and she's been researching as well, since apparently that's how she encountered you at the museum. Anyhow, nothing has come of it and that's not my area of expertise, so Miss Ward will be able to tell you more.
"My concern is that I researched the recall of the coin and found out that an official named Herbert Chomondley-Smith arranged for the recall. And not long afterwards, he died. Further enquiries, which I conducted on behalf of the bank, turned up a suspicion among his colleagues that he'd been murdered. Scotland Yard is also investigating. I believe this is linked to the attempt to suppress this false coin. And if so, Miss Ward is in danger.
"I can't prove that this is all linked to the House of Shadows or that it belongs to the Night Watch, not yet, but it's all circling on the edges of your business in ways that make my teeth itch. I've seen just enough to have a feeling for that kind of trouble, and this is, and would be, even if Miss Ward wasn't involved. But she is, and now she may be a target for someone who has already killed to protect their secret. And that's why I brought it, and her, to you, sir," Lou concluded.
“How many coins were produced?” Mac honestly hadn’t given the coins much thought aside from the puzzle they presented. Mortals spent all their time grubbing after coin, he had more funds than he could count simply to having a long lifespan and acquiring property over the centuries. This situation was a tricky one, with the real possibility of it being in Parkinson’s head as far as thoughts of murder went. The coin itself had to be magical, there was no other possibility he could think of for it to behave in such a fashion.
"None that we are aware of." Arabella turned over her gloved hands in her lap, palms up. "This one may be a prototype, or a test model, released by accident. Mr Parkinson originally believed it might be counterfeit, perhaps produced when the coin was scheduled to be minted, and the counterfeits introduced into the populace before the official coin was withdrawn."
She blinked once, pausing. "A counterfeit of a coin that does not exist has little value to collectors, but greater value to those attempting to control the currency."
Mac frowned and drummed his fingers on the desk. “I'm not an expert in the ways of the mint but I've seen my share of coins. I'll schedule an appointment with the head of the Night Watch and ask they personally investigate the matter, I assume you’d want to attend the meeting?”
He looked back and forth between his two guests.
"Please," Lou said. "But Miss Ward, please explain what it's made of--or rather, how what it's made of behaves, since exactly what it's made of seems to be a mystery. That's why she brought it to me," he added for Mac's benefit. "To try to find out what it was made of."
"I have," Arabella said, her voice empty of feeling, void if not actually cold. "But as you know the full story now, Mr Mac--it behaves unusually for any metal, and cannot, in the small sample I have taken, be separated out into its element parts. I believe it to be an alloy, containing no iron -" A deduction she did not go into further at present, as Mac seemed to know far too much about her already. "- and there is something in it which reacts to acids of some kind in the skin, rather than temperature."
Arabella paused briefly. "I have not tested it with salt water," she acknowledged. "I will do that upon my return. But I believe it to be a reaction to something else. This interaction causes small amounts of the metal to liquefy, as if warmed to a melting point, or decaying."
“It sounds magical to me to be sure. Though why they’d go to all the effort to make it is something of a puzzle.” Mac shrugged. The Night Watch would sort it out. It was worth someone’s attention, but at present not his. He had bigger problems to worry about and the headache of revealing to the girl her true nature after so long. The coin was not at the top of his ‘to do’ list.
“I’ll send a messenger to the Chief Inspector this very day and arrange an appointment at his soonest convenience.”
"The coin is in a double-keyed vault at the bank, with Miss Ward and I each holding one key. Of course I'll make myself available to the Chief Inspector. I do appreciate your kindness in hearing me on this matter. I know there's a small possibility that it's all coincidences, but I've never seen anything like this coin before. If it came to light that a supernatural criminal was dabbling in forgery or trying to upset the currency, it would--" Lou hesitated and settled on "--make many of our lives very difficult." This, Lou thought, was the understatement of the year.
"If it please your lordship," he added," "I'd also like to speak with Mr Kessinger about the disposition of the coin and the investigation. I don't intend to gossip about it, obviously, but since we'd already addressed a question to him about it, it seems as though we should let him know what has happened, out of courtesy, if nothing else. I brought Miss Ward to you on an emergency basis for reasons that I believe you understand, but I didn't intend it as a slight on his capability or his ability to follow up." Arabella might be upset with him, but Mac appeared to have a good idea of what was going on, and Lou hoped Mac wouldn't put him crossways with a dragon for his trouble.
“You have my permission to discuss this with Mr. Kessinger and the Night Watch, and Miss Ward of course.” It was her coin after all, and she seemed very determined to solve the puzzle. “Anyone else please consult with myself or Mr. Kessinger first.”
"Of course," Lou said. Aware that he had about outlasted his usefulness in this conversation, Lou looked to Arabella. "With Miss Ward's permission, I should be happy to withdraw and leave the remainder of the conversation to you, sir." He looked to Arabella to give that permission, which he hoped she would without putting him further on the spot. "Truth is a sharp sword, so I cannot guarantee Mr Mac Ruadh will not hurt you at all, but his word is his bond and I know he will not do it intentionally."
Men. Arabella held in a sharp frustration as they discussed consulting with one another - not her, though she was permitted to be spoken to, it seemed - and Mr Parkinson followed through on his decision to leave her without a chaperone, along with a cryptic warning that she might be hurt. Accidentally.
Emotions would not serve her well - they never did - and the men already had enough between them without adding hers to the mix. Arabella held Mr Parkinson's gaze for a long moment, then said, "As little care as you have for my reputation, Mr Parkinson, I would not expect more for my well-being."
She wished they had not so casually dismissed her request for a female companion, as Zipporah's strength would have been a buttress, supporting and defending her even in silence while Arabella spoke for herself. She had little choice now, however, as it was either leave and make an enemy of a powerful man - if he even let her go - or stay and stand alone. Arabella's curiosity would not let her depart just yet.
She studied Mr Mac Ruadh as Mr Parkinson left, waiting until the door had closed before she asked her first question. "How did you lower the temperature in the room, before?"
Arabella had not minded; had revelled in the bite in the air, rather, feeling herself more awake and alive as the breath of cold touched her skin. Why he had made it so was irrevelant at present, however--what mattered far more was how it had been accomplished.
Magic. The supernatural. Words Arabella had believed only stories, these men took for granted and spoke of as casually as they might have chemical elements and alloys.
“I’m summer Fae, lass.” Mac replied feeling a bit more at ease now that the mortal had left them alone. “Making things hot or cold is child’s play, as automatic as breathing. We have control over the elements, the Fae do. Summer Fae are best at Earth and Fire, just as the Winter Fae are best at Air and Water. I’m afraid that change you felt was me coming close to losing my temper and doing something that a host should never do, but it’s been centuries since I’ve been insulted to my face so in my own home.” He waved off any apology or explanation. “I know it was not your intent to do so, which is why we’re having this discussion instead of having the both of you tossed out my door summarily.”
“Have you ever wondered about your metal allergy? What it might mean that no one else you’d ever heard of had such a thing?”
"That's not true," Arabella replied automatically, before she could think beyond her first thought. "I placed an advertisement in the paper. It was answered..."
She stopped as suddenly as she had started. She had placed an advertisement in the Times, true, but it had been answered by someone who'd read it in The Shade, a publication Arabella had never heard of before. One which contained odd bits of news and was missing others, one which Lou had claimed to be read by those who were something other than human.
And the one who had answered it had been strange, somehow. Patient in answering questions, ordinary, and yet...
She had claimed Arabella as kin. Said she had known her somehow as a cousin.
Adrien the librarian had given her a book on the faerie folk, even after she had told him her interest wasn't in mythology and folklore. And another on genealogy, after she had dismissed heredity. She had believed the stories of a magical people's aversion to iron might have some root in truth, but thought it a superstition based on a certain family's intolerance for the metal, passed along through bloodlines.
She had been right. She had also been entirely wrong.
And Arabella...
She felt the ground shift beneath her, the constriction of her corset suddenly too much, the air hot and close as she went to draw in breath. She wished the air colder, as it had been before, as she'd felt it when Zipporah had taught her to focus on her breathing, to find her magic...
Her magic.
Dark spots danced before Arabella's eyes, and she struggled for a breath, cold and clean, but none came. Arabella felt the boning that conformed to her ribs and hips, felt the bite of it into her waist, and on her next desperate, gasped breath, the corset boning shattered.
Something else shattered with it.
Arabella saw walls of stone curving up into high-domed arches overhead, illuminated by eerie blue light. Pale icicles grew from the ceilings, and when a droplet of water fell from one icy tip, it splashed into a dark blue sea, shallow and endless, stretching out into the darkness. Frozen waterfalls cascaded over icy stone, and far, far above, beams of light broke through the hazy dimness of the cavern, only to dissolve in a weak, watery glow before they illuminated whatever portal created them.
Arabella looked up at the shining light, at the top of the vast stone staircase, and began to climb.
She had broken her corset, so she could breathe as she climbed, in an unending spiral up from the floor of the underwater cavern. There were lava rocks here, she saw, and crystals, and the sharp wink of gems from within the rock walls. Arabella climbed until her legs ached, until she thought of stopping, but there was nowhere else to go but down, or up. She chose up.
She wished Zipporah were here, and after a long time spent on that thought, she imagined she could almost hear Zipporah's voice, almost hear her laugh and see her dark eyes winking in the gems. Arabella touched the wall as she passed another bright crystal in the worn stone, and the cold surface felt slick under her hand, wet and smooth as glass.
It was glass. Just ahead of her, where the wall curved up and onward, Arabella saw Zipporah's eyes dance and flash, saw the bright shine of her teeth as she laughed.
My dear friend, Zipporah said within the lava-glass. Miss Arabella Ward. Her image fractured, a dozen-hundred-thousand of her split onto every reflective surface of ice and glass and stone, and Arabella cried out, the first sound she'd made since finding herself here, one that echoed back to her from every side and vanished, fading, into the vast darkness.
"Zipporah!" Arabella cried after her, rushing up the slick stones to reach the flashing eyes ahead of her. But the steps were slippery, and she fell, catching herself on her hands and knees. Her skirt protected her legs, but lava rocks were sharp as razors, and a cut opened on her palm, so keen Arabella hardly felt it, and the blood took a moment to rise, as though it, too, had been taken by surprise.
Then a drop fell onto the step beneath her, splashing onto a bright mirror reflecting that eerie blue light, and Arabella could see Zipporah as clearly as if she were there, surrounded by women and drinking tea, smiling and happy.
"Zipporah!" Arabella called again, urgently, but when she pressed her bloody palm to the mirror, the image vanished, leaving only cold black stone and Arabella alone, the echoes of her voice dying away in the depths of the cavern.