Red, White and Blue (Book Two of The Powder Trail)

Chapter Thirty: Mystical

Sam sat behind the desk in his office, with a length of evil-looking black chain spread over his knee. He'd had the shackles brought up from the cellar of the castle-prison, and even the warders there – who had been known to bemoan the absence of thumb-screws in modern law-enforcement – had looked askance at him and asked whether he was planning some kind of historical re-enactment.

Heavens knew, Sam wasn't happy about the chains. Scientific progress had furnished the police with a whole world of helpful new inventions: revolvers, handcuffs, the telegraph, the railway – and the Metropolitan police got to play about with these things to their heart's content – but he had to live in Oxford.

In Oxford, two things conspired against the modern policeman. The first was the thing which was always conspiring against him – the University, with its archaic traditions and its double-standards for important men. 

The second thing was the fact that he was dealing with demons. You weren't allowed to use anything modern when capturing demons, oh no – you had to employ mystic symbols and fourteenth-century shackles. In fact, he was surprised that Miss Syal – who had been reluctantly advising him on the gargoyles' weaknesses – hadn't just told him to whack them over the head with a Bible.

Still, he could follow the logic of her instructions, so far as it went. She said the gargoyles could walk through walls and sink through the ground beneath their feet, but they couldn't pass through metal. Sam didn't have any cells that were entirely made of metal, and nor did he have time to build any, but Miss Syal thought iron shackles would stop them passing through solid objects, because they couldn't drag the iron through with them.

It sounded a bit mystical to Sam, but he had to admit, he didn't have any better ideas. He was not in favour of swearing in Alice Darwin as a Special Constable, and forcing her to execute the gargoyles on the grounds that, as the last descendent of Doctor Faustus, she was the only one who could. He didn't like Miss Syal's advice about the iron chains, but at least it was less mystical than that.

Besides, he wanted them alive. He wanted to teach them English, and make them understand what they'd done. Then, if they were condemned to hang in a proper court with a proper jury – well, then he supposed the government would be knocking on Mrs Darwin's door and asking her to do the honours. He didn't envy the man who got that job.

He barely looked up from his work when Manda came in. There didn't have to be a purpose behind a visit from Manda. Sometimes, she just dropped by to sit in silence with him, and he was oddly thankful for it – despite the fact that she distracted him from his reports, undermined his authority with the men, and generally got in his way.

This time, she gave him an unenthusiastic greeting, before wandering from shelf to shelf at the edge of the office, looking furtive. This made it impossible for Sam to recapture his train of thought anyway, so he sighed and put the chains down with a clank.

"What are you after?" he demanded, watching as she picked up a ceremonial truncheon and hefted it in her hands.

"I need to borrow a pistol."

"What?"

"Or a sabre or a dagger or something," she went on, waving the truncheon vaguely.

"A dagger? What do you think this is, the Ashmolean museum?"

"Well, what do you boys use for apprehending a miscreant?"

Sam sighed again. You boys...

"We're allowed a truncheon and a rattle," he said. "Brass knuckles on occasion, although that's a bit of a grey area."

Manda wrinkled her nose. "Would any of those things work on Jack? I know he hasn't got supernatural powers, but I would have thought you'd need something special for Jack Cade."

Sam gave her a sharp look. "What?"

"I need a weapon that can stop Jack," said Manda, as though he was being very dense.

"How did you know about-?" But he stopped himself. They were talking at cross purposes, they had to be. Nobody else knew about the black arrow.

"Stop him from doing what?" he said at last. "What's he done this time?"

Manda took a deep breath and launched into her story. He could tell she felt strongly about it, because she barely paused between the words, and there were dull red patches on her cheeks beneath the freckles.

She told him that Madam Seacombe had been having dream-visions too, and she had seen Jack stabbing Ellini through the chest – seen the blood spreading over her white dress as though a rose was flowering on the bodice. Sam wished she hadn't been so explicit about that. He supposed it wasn't stomach-churningly anatomical, but it was still easy to picture.

When she trailed off into silence – after a lot of red-cheeked, breathy exclamations – Sam cleared his throat, and said, "I don't see that Madam Seacombe's dreams are anything to get excited about."

He should have known better than to tease her. Those red patches on her cheeks didn't turn up every day.

Manda slammed the truncheon down on his desk, causing pens and paper-weights to jump into the air. "I had that dream before I ever saw the illustration in the Book of Woe. I saw that dress long before it appeared in the shop windows. And, if you think it's usual for Madam Seacombe and I to dream exactly the same thing – about a girl we didn't even know at the time – you're mistaken. You recruited me for my intuition, and now you're going to trust it."

"I do trust it, I just--"

"Just nothing," said Manda primly. "Jack is going to kill Miss Syal tonight, unless we can prevent it."

Sam tried to remain skeptical, but the image of the black arrow was still fresh in his mind. He couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps Jack had known – or at least suspected – that he was going to be a danger to Miss Syal, before he took the serum to forget her. That was why he'd sent the arrow to Sam, saying there might be a need to kill him within the next few weeks. That was why Jack didn't remember anything about it now – because it had all been to do with Miss Syal.

"But why would he kill her? He's marrying her."

"Madam Seacombe doesn't know," Manda admitted. "She can only see the visions – she can't hear what's being said in them. We think maybe it's because these visions come from a book, so they're purely visual." She hesitated, and then added, "Although I could hear the music on the marble steps."

Sam slid open his desk-drawer and looked down at the arrow, outlined starkly against a stack of paperwork. "You're going to be with Miss Syal tonight?"

"Of course." 

"So will I," he said, chewing his lip uncertainly. "Because that's where the gargoyles will be. She's going to draw them out one last time, and I'm going to arrest them. But, in case I'm too busy with them to protect her..." 

He hesitated, wondering whether this was a good idea. Jack had sent the arrow to him – and only him – for a reason. But he couldn't be in two places at once. And who was more trustworthy than Manda? Who would do more to protect that wretched girl than Manda? Ellini was another Lily to her – a second chance.

"I want you to take this," he said, picking up the arrow and holding it out to her. "Use it against Jack only as a last resort, do you understand? When all talking breaks down. And, even then, I only want you to wound him. Try and get him in the shoulder – there are no vital organs there."

Manda focused on the arrow, and then back on Sam. "Is it magic?" she said doubtfully.

"I don't know."

"If it's magic, it might kill him with the slightest scratch."

"All the more reason for you to try talking first," said Sam, wrapping her reluctant hands around the arrow. "You're good at that."

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