making her. And once they were freed from its influence, perhaps he could get them back on track, making a family of their own and consolidating their power in Londinium. By the time he stepped back through the mirror into the reflected Tower of London, he was convinced of two things: that he was right to ask Sir Iris for help in dealing with the wish magic, and that it would be best that Cathy didn’t know.
• • •
Whilst Kay and Rupert were off buying things for the office, Max read the article, looked up the address of the newspaper office, and then phoned ahead to make an informal appointment with the relevant journalist. He’d used the mobile phone Rupert had insisted he buy. Perhaps it would be useful after all.
He thought about the article as he walked across the city. It was the first in a series, apparently, claiming that Bath had a hidden history of disappearances that had taken place over the past hundred years that had never been satisfactorily explained. The first article concentrated on prominent trade unionists from Bath and its nearby towns who’d simply disappeared over the twentieth century.
Max knew his father had worked at a foundry in Walcot Street, but had no idea he was in the National Union of Foundry Workers as the article claimed. The picture in the paper was of him and his fellow foundry workers, taken after they’d declared membership of the trade union founded that year, in 1920. Max’s childhood memories were a confusing patchwork of images and sensations. He could still recall the itchy wool of a jumper his grandmother had knitted him, and the short trousers he’d worn with sturdy boots handed down through three generations of boys. By the time they’d got to him there were holes in the soles so big he could put his toe through them. Then his father had got the job at the foundry and everything was better. New boots, full bellies, and his mother smiling again. He couldn’t remember much more than that.
In the Chapter, after he’d been taken from Mundanus, the head of the dorm had hit them with a cane if they talked about their life before. One girl who had wept hysterically for her mother was locked in a cupboard until she stopped and thrown back in there every time she started again. She went on to become a researcher and had supported him on multiple investigations, then was killed by the Sorceress along with the rest of the Bath Chapter.
Max knew that picture of his father was taken the same year that the Arbiter dragged him into the Chapter. He was ten years old and his new boots had scuffed on the cobbles as he’d struggled against him. He knew the Arbiter had taken him from Mundanus because he saw something he shouldn’t near the foundry. Nothing more. After his soul had been dislocated and he was in full training as an Arbiter, the one who took him, Collins, became his mentor. They never talked about what had happened, because it was irrelevant. Thirteen-year-old Max, with a newly fitted soul chain tight around his neck, was no longer capable of being homesick or longing for his mother’s arms or his father’s laughter. He was no longer curious about whether his siblings were well or if his parents missed him.
Now, over ninety years later, Max wanted to find out what happened, unlike anything he’d wanted to investigate before. Something was shifting inside him. He’d gone fishing a week before because the gargoyle had wanted to go. Somehow, once he was at the river, the desire to fish lasted longer than any physical contact with the gargoyle. Without any reason to fish other than enjoyment, Max had started to wonder if the long-term proximity to his soul was having some sort of effect on him. Not that he could say he enjoyed the fishing.
Now he was driven to find out what happened to his family in a way he never had been before. He didn’t feel upset or excited or in need of any closure. It was simply an intellectual compulsion, one that had made the gargoyle
• • •
Whilst Kay and Rupert were off buying things for the office, Max read the article, looked up the address of the newspaper office, and then phoned ahead to make an informal appointment with the relevant journalist. He’d used the mobile phone Rupert had insisted he buy. Perhaps it would be useful after all.
He thought about the article as he walked across the city. It was the first in a series, apparently, claiming that Bath had a hidden history of disappearances that had taken place over the past hundred years that had never been satisfactorily explained. The first article concentrated on prominent trade unionists from Bath and its nearby towns who’d simply disappeared over the twentieth century.
Max knew his father had worked at a foundry in Walcot Street, but had no idea he was in the National Union of Foundry Workers as the article claimed. The picture in the paper was of him and his fellow foundry workers, taken after they’d declared membership of the trade union founded that year, in 1920. Max’s childhood memories were a confusing patchwork of images and sensations. He could still recall the itchy wool of a jumper his grandmother had knitted him, and the short trousers he’d worn with sturdy boots handed down through three generations of boys. By the time they’d got to him there were holes in the soles so big he could put his toe through them. Then his father had got the job at the foundry and everything was better. New boots, full bellies, and his mother smiling again. He couldn’t remember much more than that.
In the Chapter, after he’d been taken from Mundanus, the head of the dorm had hit them with a cane if they talked about their life before. One girl who had wept hysterically for her mother was locked in a cupboard until she stopped and thrown back in there every time she started again. She went on to become a researcher and had supported him on multiple investigations, then was killed by the Sorceress along with the rest of the Bath Chapter.
Max knew that picture of his father was taken the same year that the Arbiter dragged him into the Chapter. He was ten years old and his new boots had scuffed on the cobbles as he’d struggled against him. He knew the Arbiter had taken him from Mundanus because he saw something he shouldn’t near the foundry. Nothing more. After his soul had been dislocated and he was in full training as an Arbiter, the one who took him, Collins, became his mentor. They never talked about what had happened, because it was irrelevant. Thirteen-year-old Max, with a newly fitted soul chain tight around his neck, was no longer capable of being homesick or longing for his mother’s arms or his father’s laughter. He was no longer curious about whether his siblings were well or if his parents missed him.
Now, over ninety years later, Max wanted to find out what happened, unlike anything he’d wanted to investigate before. Something was shifting inside him. He’d gone fishing a week before because the gargoyle had wanted to go. Somehow, once he was at the river, the desire to fish lasted longer than any physical contact with the gargoyle. Without any reason to fish other than enjoyment, Max had started to wonder if the long-term proximity to his soul was having some sort of effect on him. Not that he could say he enjoyed the fishing.
Now he was driven to find out what happened to his family in a way he never had been before. He didn’t feel upset or excited or in need of any closure. It was simply an intellectual compulsion, one that had made the gargoyle
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