Any Other Name (The Split Worlds) - By Emma Newman Page 0,64

turned to look at him, the smile not leaving her lips. “Is something wrong?”

“Did you manage to get any sleep?” Petra asked from the doorway as Max discarded the blanket.

“I did, what time is it?”

“Three in the morning. We had to put the gargoyle in the scullery for a few hours, it was wearing the carpet out.” She passed him his walking stick. “I think it was excited. Mr Ekstrand is just fitting it with some new bracers now.”

Max stood, ready for the familiar twinge whenever he moved his leg after a period of rest. “What for? Is something wrong with the old ones?”

“No, I’ll let him explain. He’s waiting for you in his study.”

“Which one?”

“The one he lets people into.”

Max followed her down the hallway, past the assortment of decorated doors and the monitoring room, to one near the end. It was made of plain wood with “Private, no apprentices, no owls” engraved upon it. Max wasn’t aware there’d been any problems with owls. Nothing had filtered through to the Chapter anyway.

Petra knocked. “I have Maximilian with me, Mr Ekstrand,” she called through the wood.

“Bring him in!”

Max followed her, finding the Sorcerer lacing the left bracer of a new set on the gargoyle’s wrist. “Just wait till you see this,” it said with a grin.

“Keep still.” Ekstrand tied the last knot in the leather. “Good. Walk over there.”

He pointed at the far side of the room. On first glance it looked like an average study with its large desk, shelves of books and comfortable chair, but Max’s trained eye spotted the tiny lines of formulae inscribed on the bookshelves and the slight discrepancies in wear indicating there was something concealed beneath the silk rug. The gargoyle walked across the room to the far bookcase. Silently. Over rug, over wooden floorboard, the usual clunking of heavy stone was gone.

Ekstrand beamed and looked at Petra, who rewarded him with a delicate round of applause. The gargoyle appeared to be equally delighted.

“Very useful,” said Max, nodding.

“Well, it is Thursday after all, technically speaking,” Ekstrand said, looking very pleased with himself.

“Now you can take me with you,” the gargoyle said. “When you check out the Agency.”

“I was planning on going alone,” Max said, but Ekstrand shook his head.

“I read your report on what the puppet told us about this Agency. I don’t like it, not one bit. We’re not going to visit these people in the usual way.”

The usual way, the one that Max had been trained in and that had been used by the Chapter for over a thousand years, involved walking up to the residence in question, in either Mundanus or the Nether, and knocking three times slowly whilst wearing the knuckle-duster he always carried in his pocket. Everyone in the Great Families knew what it meant, the rules associated with it and the penalties of refusing access.

“Can I ask why, sir?”

“Something one should never do, when dealing with something completely unknown, is make assumptions,” Ekstrand said. “I too planned to send you there to demand entry and see what in the Worlds they get up to, but when I saw the Tracker’s resting location, and put it together with the facts in the report, I concluded that we cannot assume these people respect the rules.”

“They’re of Society, and therefore not innocents, so they’re still bound by those rules,” Max said. In the Split Worlds there was no such thing as exemption; the Treaty bound Society, the Fae and, in their own way, the Sorcerers.

“But that’s another assumption. Why do we not know about them? Have they deliberately hidden themselves from scrutiny? If so, why? What are they hiding?”

“You want me to go in covertly?”

“Yes.”

“With a walking gargoyle?”

“Yes. It’s much quieter now, aren’t you?”

The gargoyle nodded earnestly. “And I can hit hard too. Not that we’ll need to hit anyone. Hopefully.”

“And what if we’re discovered?”

“Well, then it’s time to hit them with the full force of the rules and remind them of your status.”

Max nodded, understanding perfectly. Apply the rules when most convenient to him. Not usual, but hardly unheard of. And with no innocents involved, he wasn’t going to argue.

“You said something about the location making you worried. Where will I be going?”

“Three quarters of a mile from the northernmost border of the Heptarchy, near Stirling.”

“It’s an area under dispute, a no-man’s-land,” Petra added. “The Sorcerer of Northumbria still has occasional skirmishes with the King of Caledonia. There’s an uneasy truce that hasn’t been broken for the last century, but