Bartholomew’s expert defence but they were enough to give the impression of desperation.
Will retreated, letting himself pant audibly. Freddy jeered and Will concentrated on letting his shoulders drop, making his stance loose and his expression hopeless.
Bartholomew looked like a man who wanted to be elsewhere. “This is pointless.” He glanced up at the ceiling as if searching for an answer in the heavens. It was the moment Will had been hoping for and he lunged forward with the perfect strike. Any other man would have been run through but Bartholomew twisted in time to reduce the injury to a cut on his stomach.
It was enough.
To everyone else Bartholomew would just look shaken, natural when injured for the first time in a duel, especially one in which the abilities were so mismatched. But Will could see his eyes glaze and his grip on his sword altered, as if he was doubting the feedback from his hand. Poppy had promised an instant effect and he hadn’t exaggerated.
Bartholomew blinked rapidly, adjusted his stance and made an attack but it was slower and Will parried it easily. It was like fighting someone of his own ability instead of a man with over two hundred years of experience on him and Charms to speed his reflexes. Will felt a rush of confidence, then reined it in. The duel wasn’t over yet and he could only survive one more strike before he was completely on his own.
He lunged and Bartholomew parried, but he had to work hard to do it in time. Attack, parry, riposte; Will could see Poppy’s opiate charm taking hold. Will feinted then stepped in and ran Bartholomew through, just as his blade skewered Will an inch above his hip. They were caught on each other’s blades briefly, then Bartholomew staggered backwards and Will pulled his blade from his gut.
Margritte’s screams filled the room as her husband collapsed, his sword still stuck in Will’s side. Will pulled the blade out and laid it at Bartholomew’s feet, marvelling at the lack of pain.
As Bartholomew’s blood pooled Will felt his thigh muscles twitch, his heartbeat deafening. The Marquis rushed to Bartholomew’s side and both Freddy and Margritte pushed people out of the way as they closed in around him and Will.
The Tulipa’s rattling breath could be heard when Margritte reached him, her screams dying in her throat as she fell to her knees at his side.
“Will.” Bartholomew reached towards him with a hand covered in his own blood.
Will approached, taking care to keep away from Freddy, who looked ready to throttle him.
“I’m here.”
“I didn’t send anyone to kill Catherine. I swear it. On my family’s honour, on the life of my wife and children.”
Will clenched his jaw as a flicker of panic rose up from his gut. “My sources say otherwise.”
“Lies,” Bartholomew whispered and his head lolled towards Margritte.
Will stepped back, not wanting to overhear the last words spoken between man and wife. Freddy was glaring at him and Will faced him fully.
“Say it.”
“You’ve done a terrible thing, William Iris,” Freddy growled. “A terrible thing.”
A guttural moan from Margritte told him Bartholomew had died. He straightened. “I acted with my Patron’s blessing and I saw justice done for my family. If you or anyone else here has a problem with that, you’re setting yourself against not only me but the entirety of the Iris family.”
Freddy was a social oaf, but it seemed he was no fool when it came to picking fights. He knew that if he took his grievance further in public, he would drag his family into a war without the support of his elders or his patron. Freddy settled back into a steady glowering, then wrenched his gaze away from Will to Bartholomew and his face twisted in grief.
The Marquis cleared his throat and made his way back to the dais. The assembled watched him in stunned silence as Margritte’s awful sobbing filled the room. Will looked at the throne and tried to think only of Lord Iris and how pleased he would be, anything to try and block the sound out.
“In accordance with ancient law,” the Marquis began in a tremulous voice, “the Ducal seat of Londinium passes to the successful challenger who proved his right to rule with victory in combat.”
He beckoned to Will who walked up the steps. Bartholomew’s blood was drying on his blade, his shirt was slashed and he smelt of sweat.
“I, the Marquis of Westminster, do hereby recognise William Reticulata-Iris as the Duke of Londinium, granting him the rights and privileges of the rulership of Londinium. If there are any here who will not recognise his right to take the throne, speak now.”
Will held his breath as the Londinium Court stared at him in silence. A man bearing a strong family resemblance to Freddy was in close conference with him; Will assumed he was counselling Freddy to remain silent. He looked at the Peonia who had been so stubborn, now looking at the floor uncomfortably. The Wisteria contingent were frantically whispering to each other.
But no one spoke out. Will was under no illusion that he was being welcomed by the Court; they all knew Iris had personally supported his challenge.
Satisfied that form had been kept, the Marquis retrieved the collar from the throne and placed it on Will’s shoulders. It was reassuringly heavy and Will appreciated that he had succeeded.
“Long live the Duke of Londinium,” the Marquis hailed as Will sat on the throne. The Court echoed the call but Will suspected they’d cheered louder when Bartholomew had ascended earlier that evening. He looked out over their faces and saw no warmth, no respect. He watched Margritte being guided out of the room as Freddy laid his cloak over Bartholomew’s body. Will knew the battle for Londinium had only just begun.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I'd like to thank Jennifer Udden of DMLA once again for great feedback on an early draft of this book and also Lee Harris, my wonderful editor at Angry Robot Books. Both of you made this book so much better.
Big thanks to Kate for the hours of listening to me read this book aloud, for laughing at the right bits and gasping when Will did something she didn't expect!
I'd also like to thank my husband, Peter, for… well, everything really.
Lastly, but certainly not least (I so want to say leastly but I must resist), I'd like to thank my Mum for spotting a rather glaring error – the sort that would have come back to haunt me a thousand times over on the internet, no doubt. Thanks Mum!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Emma Newman was born in a tiny coastal village in Cornwall during one of the hottest summers on record. Four years later she started to write stories and never stopped until she penned a short story that secured her a place at Oxford University to read Experimental Psychology.
In 2011 Emma embarked on an ambitious project to write and distribute one short story per week – all of them set in her Split Worlds milieu – completely free to her mailing list subscribers.
A debut short-story collection, From Dark Places, was published in 2011 and her debut post-apocalyptic novel for young adults, 20 Years Later, was published just one year later – presumably Emma didn’t want to wait another nineteen… Emma is also a professional audiobook narrator.
She now lives in Somerset with her husband, son and far too many books.
enewman.co.uk
twitter.com/EmApocalyptic
Read over fifty short stories by Emma based in the Split Worlds at
SplitWorlds.com
ANGRY ROBOT
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Tiptoe through the Tulips
An Angry Robot paperback original 2013
Copyright © Emma Newman 2013
Cover art by Sarah J Coleman (inkymole.com)
Distributed in the United States by Random House, Inc., New York.
All rights reserved.
Angry Robot is a registered trademark, and the Angry Robot icon a trademark of Angry Robot Ltd.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Sales of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this book is coverless, it may have been reported to the publisher as “unsold and destroyed” and neither the author nor the publisher may have received payment for it.
ISBN: 978 0 85766 324 5
Contents
Any Other Name
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Imprint
Table of Contents
Any Other Name
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Imprint