The Ripper Affair

You were my sovereign, and I would have done much more for you, had you not used me as you did. The comforting, soothing heat of a drink most ladies would not dare bolstered her. I did not mind being a glove for your hand, my Queen, but a Prime does not brook being insulted.

Emma chose the next few words carefully. An outright refusal would not do. “There must be other Primes in your service.”

“None with your… efficiency.” Her face twisted as if the admission hurt.

I hope it does. “Quite a compliment.” Now will you tell me of the other Prime, the one dogging my steps after the plague was released? The one leaving me posies and presents?

Even now, there were secrets to keep.

“Sorceress.” Britannia’s voice filled Victrix’s mouth, the sibilants long and cold. “You try Our patience.”

“What would you have of me, spirit?” Deliberately hard, each word pronounced with the crispest of accents. Her Discipline sent a heatless pang through her. Those of the Endor were held in some caution, even among the Black. Even a Prime could not hope to strike down a ruling spirit… but she could certainly inconvenience one.

And do so mightily. If only by inaction.

“Someone in Whitchapel has committed murder.” Victrix, now, using her own voice.

“That is hardly an event,” Emma observed.

Mikal had gone very still, standing by the Chinois dresser in a Shield’s habitual attitude, hands clasped loosely and the readiness clearly visible on him.

Carrying weapons in the queen’s presence.

Victrix had come inside, alone, though the street was watched.

The realisation was a slap of cold water, stinging Emma into functioning properly. She continued, with great deliberation. “Starvation, Crime and Vice walk the Eastron End every night.” Every morning, too. “Someone is always violently shuffling off a mortal coil there, with assistance and without.”

“We are aware of such things.”

Emma let silence cover that remarkable statement. Her gaze met Mikal’s. It would be so easy to cross the room, open the door and step into the hall, consigning this whole conversation to the realms of Such a thing occurred, and nothing came of it.

She weighed the idea and found much to recommend it.

When Victrix finally spoke again, her tone was no more than a weary mortal woman’s–middle-aged, a desert of hopes lost and the knowledge of grief. “We–I

–witnessed a brace of murders. It is unspeakable. They have been savaged, Emma. We felt it. It was done with intent, and it tapped the source of Our power in some fashion. The weakness is… horrid. We do not know how or why. You must discover this, and quickly.”

For a moment, Emma simply stared. Who knew what she might have said had the door not been thrown open and Clare staggered through, his hair wildly disarranged and his jacket askew?

“Emma, I must apolo–Dear God in Heaven, Your Majesty, what are you doing here?”

Chapter Eleven

Complete His Cowardice

“Dear heavens,” Clare repeated, vainly trying to smooth his wild, greying hair down. His blue eyes were blood-shot–he knew as much–and he was in no fit state to be before royalty. “I had no–mum, I mean, Your Majesty—”

“Sit down.” Miss Bannon was at his elbow. She all but dragged him across the drawing room and pushed him firmly into his wonted chair, a walnut affair with high curved arms he tapped thoughtfully when a complex case had his undivided attention.

“In front of the Queen?” He sounded genuinely horrified, even to himself.

“I care little who is present, sir, sit down before you collapse.”

She held an empty glass, and his sensitive nose discerned the odour of rum.

Her nerves must be frayed, indeed.

The remarkable fact that the Queen of the Isles was on the settee, without a guard or a minister anywhere in evidence, impinged upon his consciousness as well. It did not bode well at all, and thankfully gave him something new to busy his faculties with. “What dire news is it this time? The dynamitards, have they struck again?”

“No, indeed.” Victrix essayed a pale smile. “It is quite a different danger, and I am begging our redoubtable sorceress’s aid with it.”

“Begging? Nonsense. Miss Bannon is always more than happy to…” He blinked up at the lady in question, whose expression had shifted a few critical degrees. “I say, Emma, I am well enough. Do tell me, how may I be of service?”