“I had to wait a long time,” he offered in mitigation. “Anyway, I’m the ambassador of the queen. I should be made welcome.”
“You’re a burglar; I’m a witch,” said Fern. “Drink uninvited at your peril. You never know what may be lurking in bottle and cupboard.”
“I couldn’t see anything.” The goblin’s confidence was ebbing rapidly.
“Of course not. Do you think I am an amateur?”
“It was labeled Toe Peep . . .”
“Tio Pepe,” said Fern after a moment’s reflection. “I might have known. I keep that for burglars: there’s an attraction charm on it.” The goblin set the glass down, eyeing it uncertainly. Fern relented. “Drink it with my blessing. It won’t harm you—this time. I have news for your queen, though it is not good. The witch we spoke of is indeed dangerous, more dangerous even than we feared. I have learned her identity—through the power of the circle I saw her face-to-face. She is Morgus, who dwelt for years uncounted beneath the Eternal Tree, and has returned to the modern world with all her ancient grudges intact and her ambition sharpened to megalomania. I will defeat her, but I need the aid of your people.”
“Megalo-what?” Skuldunder was frowning, his small face screwed into a caricature of bewilderment.
“Lust for power,” Fern translated. “Tell the queen, it is time for witchkind and goblinkind to work together. Mabb knows how Morgus treated the denizens of Wrokeby, both ghost and goblin; she will destroy wantonly any creature that offends her, werefolk or menfolk, small or large. The threat is to us all. This young sapling that she nurses could well be a sprig of the Eternal Tree, perhaps planted now in the true soil of this world, its power subject to her. Who knows what fruit it may bear? We must act now. Tell the queen.”
“A goblin cannot confront a witch!” Skuldunder protested, his voice squeaky with sudden panic.
“I am glad you realize that,” Fern murmured without undue emphasis. “I would not ask it of her. But goblin powers are those of skulking and hiding, of sneaking and spying. I want certain people followed—contacts of Morgus, but ordinary humans. I want to know where they go, what they do, who they meet. This is goblin work. If I write down a list of names and addresses, can Mabb arrange this?” She knew the goblins would make unreliable, if unobtrusive, detectives, unlikely to adhere to the task in hand, but she had to use whatever troops were available. In addition, she wanted to cement her alliance with Mabb, if only because it was the one alliance she had.
“The queen will require more gifts,” said Skuldunder, swallowing audibly.
“Of course. I will fetch them.” She really must buy some more makeup, she thought to herself. Her supply was becoming depleted. “There will be some now, and more later. Wait here.”
When she had fetched the gifts, Fern lingered over the list. Principally, she wanted Kaspar Walgrim followed, a discreet vigil maintained by Dana’s bedside in the clinic, and a watch kept on Wrokeby, though she knew it would have to be from a safe distance. With some hesitation, she added the name of Lucas Walgrim and his mews address, telling herself it was for his own protection. Needing to trust him—somehow fearing that need—she reassured herself that he would never know. Skuldunder took the list, his finger tracing the words as he read it through.
“It is for the queen,” Fern reminded him. “If she agrees, ask her to send me a sign.”
“There will be a token beside your door by midnight tomorrow—”
“No. Other tenants use that door; it might be dislodged, or removed on purpose. Leave it in here, on the table.” Skuldunder nodded and took a careless mouthful of sherry; then fixed it with a suspicious glare.
“You’ll have to leave now,” said Fern, glancing at the clock. “I must get some sleep. Tell your queen I honor her, and my goodwill goes with her and all her folk.”
When he had gone she went to bed, but she slept fitfully, torn between waking thought and intrusive dream. She pictured Luc’s rare smile, with the tooth missing in his lower jaw, and tried to superimpose it on another face, half-forgotten, blurred with the passage of too much time. That other smile lacked a tooth—she remembered it now—but whether it was the same, whether it was chance, whether it was important, she didn’t know. She strove to match feature to feature, present to past, but