Idol Lane, London, Hampstead, Middlesex, and Antwerp, the Netherlands

Jane felt it, knew it, the instant that Cornelia-reborn and Brutus-reborn met. She stood in the centre of the fish market, staring northwards, and gaped.

And then felt agony as the imp within her womb bit deep.

Come home! Weyland’s voice seethed through her mind. Come home! I command it!

Jane dropped the basket she held over one arm, tore her mind free of whatever it was Brutus and Cornelia were doing, and half sank to her knees in pain, her arms wrapped about her belly.

“For Christ’s sake!” she whispered. “Allow me to walk and I will return to you!”

The pain abated somewhat, and Jane straightened. A few people had turned to stare at her, but none had moved to aid her. Instead they turned aside, presenting Jane with the cold hardness of their backs.

She was the Harlot of Idol Lane, and if she succumbed to whatever sinful disease beset her then it was no concern of theirs.

Jane took a deep breath and steeled herself against both the pain she suffered now and the pain she expected once she returned to Weyland; she hobbled as fast as she was able back to the house in Idol Lane.

The instant she was within the door Weyland grabbed her shoulder, spun her about, and slammed her back against the now-closed door.

“There is magic about,” he hissed, “and it involves Brutus!”

Jane’s loathing of Weyland had far outstripped her fear, and she was able to regard him with a modicum of composure. “It is Midsummer, the solstice. There is magic everywhere.”

“Don’t spin me tales about Midsummer. This is something else. It involves Brutus.”

There was fear in his eyes, and Jane almost smiled at it. You’re still afraid of him, aren’t you? “Brutus is in Antwerp,” she said. “You would have known if he had returned.”

Weyland’s eyes narrowed. “Have you been in contact with him?”

Now Jane did allow a cold smile to emerge. How, as Swanne, had she ever been fooled into thinking she loved this? “In contact? With Brutus? How can that be so? I am your slave, your whore, and I speak to no one without your consent.”

His fingers dug into her, his hazel eyes more intense than she’d ever seen them previously. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously calm. “You stupid bitch, Jane. Speaking to me as if I were a simpleton is no way to bolster your own position.”

“I can sink no further,” Jane snapped. “Threats of degradation have no power over me!”

He stared intently at her, then slowly nodded. His face relaxed a little, and he raised a hand to run one finger slowly over the line of her jaw. “You’ll never escape me, Jane. You know that, don’t you?”

All the defiance drained from Jane’s face, and she sagged slightly. “I know that.”

He leaned very close to her so that their mouths were almost touching. “Good,” he said, so softly it was little more than a whisper of breath against her lips.

He stood back, and jerked his head towards the kitchen. Jane straightened, thinking that Weyland had done with her, and walked through the parlour into the kitchen, aware every moment of Weyland following close behind.

As she entered the kitchen, Jane moved towards the hearth, thinking Weyland would want something to eat, but was stopped dead as Weyland seized her arm, spinning her round to face him.

He hadn’t finished with her, after all.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten Brutus,” he said. “I can still smell his stink as though he were standing next to me.” With his other hand Weyland grabbed painfully at Jane’s chin. “You and I are going to make sure that Brutus is still in Antwerp. If he isn’t, then all hell is going to break loose, my dear.”

There was a flash of fear in Jane’s eyes, and Weyland smiled.

“The imp has not harmed you,” Noah said with immeasurable relief as they lay relaxed and entangled amid the sweat-dampened sheets of the bed. Their hands were loosely entwined, their faces very close.

“The imp sleeps,” he said. “Coel’s power has done this.”

She half smiled. “I have felt some of his power in this life. He is greatly blessed, I think.”

“I would have lain with you no matter what. I meant what I said. If the imp snatches, then so be it. I am tied to you…damn it, Noah, I love you, and if my death is a result of that…” He shrugged.

“How I have longed for you to say that.”

His only answer was to stroke her face with gentle fingers. “Whatever you need, Noah, I will do it.”

Her eyes became very dark. “And if what I need is for you to hand over your powers as Kingman to the Stag God new-risen, then will you do it?”

“Noah, who shall be this stag reborn?”

“It is not for me to say who the Stag God is to be, Brutus.”

“Why not?”

“You must hand your powers as Kingman to whoever the land picks, Brutus. Whoever it is. Can you do this?”

He moved away from her very slightly, little more than a tensing of his body, but it was enough, and she sighed.

Brutus tensed even further. “Is it to be this John Thornton who you have taken as your lover? Is he who you have picked as your Kingman?”

Noah’s eyes widened and he could see he had shocked her with his knowledge. Well, so be it. Let her guilt match the hurt he felt.

“John Thornton is as important to me,” she said, her voice low but forceful, “as Marguerite is to you. How important is that, Brutus?”

“Is Thornton to be your Kingman?”

She sighed. “Brutus—”

But he had rolled away, and was no longer listening.

Weyland’s fingers tightened agonisingly about Jane’s chin. “You’re bound to Brutus,” Weyland said. “You were his Mistress of the Labyrinth and his lover. You can reach him and, by God, I’m going to reach out and touch him through you. God help you, Jane, if he isn’t in Antwerp.”

Then power seethed through her, taking control of her, and Jane gasped and sagged to the floor, her eyes rolling back in her head.

Weyland sank to the floor with her until they faced each other on their knees, and took both of her wrists in his hard hands.

“Take me to Brutus, Jane Orr, Mistress of the Labyrinth. Take me to your Kingman!”

Noah sat up, angry. “I cannot always be who you want me to be, Brutus.”

“Most apparently.”

“Brutus—”

He sighed, and rolled back to face her. “Noah, I am sorry. Can we not talk of this? I am more worried about you.”

He sat up as well, and took Noah’s shoulders in gentle hands. “Noah, you cannot go to Asterion.”

“I must.”

“Why?”

“If for no other reason than that he has Jane in his thrall, and she is the only one who can teach me the ways of the labyrinth.”

“Then I will snatch Jane, and bring her to you, and—”

“Brutus. Enough.” She laid her hand on her belly. “I have his imp inside me. I cannot escape this. I must live it through, in whatever manner fate dictates.”

“Then I curse fate, for—” Brutus suddenly stiffened, his hands dropping away from Noah. “Gods!” he said. “Asterion is scrying out for me! I have to return. Now!” He leaned forward, kissed Noah hard but briefly on the mouth. “I will do everything I can to protect you,” he said. “You shall not be trapped by Asterion!”

And then he vanished before Noah could make any reply.

Everyone in the Circle twitched, and Marguerite and Kate both moaned.

Charles, who had been bent over from his waist, to such an extent his nose was almost touching the circle of emerald silk, gave a loud, strangled cry and jerked himself upright, his eyes blinking, their pupils dilated as if he was disorientated.

“He’s coming,” he whispered, his voice very dry. “Asterion.”

Kate made as if to pull away from the Circle, but Charles almost snarled at her. “No! We must let him enter. We must let him see that I am here!”

The circle of silk rippled, then a noxious black stain spread out from its centre. Just before the stain reached the outer edges of the silk, the material reared up, taking on the shape of the Minotaur’s head.

It slowly revolved, looking about the Circle with eyes black and luminous.

“Well, well,” it hissed. “How pretty. How sweet.”

Suddenly its head swivelled around and stared at Charles. “And how helpless, eh, Brutus? What are you up to, then?”

Charles extended his arms to his side and then raised his hands, Marguerite’s and Kate’s still held within them, until they were just below shoulder height.

“Sending you my very own best wishes,” he said, and he abruptly let the women’s hands go and flung his own fists towards the apparition in the centre of the silk, opening his fingers just as his arms extended fully.

Everyone in the Circle save Charles gasped in shock, for as Charles opened his hands, so a storm of leaves and twigs erupted from his palms, flinging themselves at the apparition of Asterion.

The Minotaur cried out, then vanished, and the silk fluttered flaccid to the bed, resuming its emerald aspect.

Charles slowly retracted his hands, and rubbed at his biceps. “You weren’t expecting that, were you, my friend?” he said.

Weyland let go of Jane so abruptly she fell senseless to the floor. He rose to his feet, staring at her prone form, although it was not Jane that he saw but Brutus.

Brutus, hands outstretched, a sly grin on his face, flinging such power at Asterion…such power as the Minotaur had never expected.

The power of the forests?

Weyland cursed, low and foul. Brutus’ transformation was further advanced than he had thought.

Louis scrambled about the now broken Circle and laid his hands on Charles’ shoulders. “Charles, are you well? By God, I never expected…”

His voice trailed off.

“And Asterion ‘never expected’, either,” Charles said. “He will think twice about trying to scry me out next time.”

He glanced at Long Tom, who was regarding him with a smile.

Then Marguerite sighed, and she reached for the silk circle, and folded it back to its original turf.

The Circle was disbanded.

Noah woke with a start, finding herself lying arms and legs akimbo in a corner of the wooden platform in the elm.

She scrambled to her feet, her face red, wondering if someone had climbed the steps and seen her thus.

There was nothing but quiet, no voices, no sound save for the gentle rustling of the leaves of the elm.

She stood for a few minutes, reorientating herself, hardly daring to believe in what had just happened, then she descended the steps in the elm and made her way back to the edge of Hampstead Heath where Lady Anne was more than pleased to see her.

That night Marguerite came to Charles. “Do you wish me to stay?” she asked, her fingers already at the laces of her bodice.

Charles reached forward and stilled them. “No,” he said. “I am sorry, Marguerite, but I think you and I can no more…”

She kissed him briefly on the mouth, and smiled to show that he had not wounded her feelings. “I understand,” she said.

And then she turned, and left him alone.

In the stone hall the imp sat, legs splayed, his head resting in his hands.

He was feeling very groggy.

Then came a noise, very faint, but a noise nonetheless, and the imp sprang to his feet, wavering a little until he caught his balance.

For a moment he saw nothing, then, as his eyes focussed and became their usual bright points of bleakness, he saw that something moved in the shadows at the very far end of the hall.

“Come out!” he hissed. “Come out, whatever you be!”

Another noise, as if of the scraping of a foot against stone, and then something did emerge from the shadows at the far end of the hall.

The imp squinted, his small round face layering up in myriad lines of concern. He took a step forward, and squinted all the harder.

“Oh,” he said, deflated that the intruder was merely a very small girl.

She walked forward, a child of some six or seven years. She was very pretty, with long black curly hair, very pale skin—fine as only a child’s can be—and with sparkling, deep blue eyes.

In her hands she carried a long loop of red wool.

“Would you like to play a game?” she said to the imp.

The imp chewed his lip, thinking. He really should tell his master about this…

“If you win, then you may tell the world of my presence if you wish,” said the girl, “but if I win, then you shall do whatever I say in this matter.”

“No one ever bests me in a game,” said the imp, his pride dented by the very idea that a child could outwit him.

The little girl smiled.

“Very well,” said the imp, and squatted down on the marble floor of the stone hall. “Show me this game of yours, then.”

On the next day, Louis and Charles managed a few quiet words. Both had been shaken deeply by what had happened the previous day. Of the two Charles looked by far the worse; he’d been exhausted both physically and emotionally by his exertions of the last twenty-four hours.

“She is fatalistic about Weyland,” said Charles. “I cannot believe she can be so calm about her fate. Damn it!”

“She needs to be saved from him,” Louis said. “After yesterday, neither of us can just let her walk into what Weyland has waiting for her.”

“But Noah needs Jane to teach her the skills of Mistress of the Labyrinth, and Weyland has Jane, so—”

“Then we snatch Jane as well. But at the very least we do not allow Noah to fall into Weyland’s power. What he might do to her beggars the imagination.”

“Aye,” Charles said. “I agree. I’ve been thinking on what you said earlier…that perhaps you can return to England a day or so before I do and take Noah before Weyland has a chance to snatch at her.”

“So,” Louis said, “you agree that I can return to England immediately before you? Snatch Noah before Weyland manages it?”

Charles gave a single, curt nod. “Just make sure that Weyland doesn’t snatch you, my friend, for then all would indeed be lost.”

“How long?” Louis asked. “How long before…?”

Charles sighed. “Who can tell? Cromwell must die, England must set aside its experiment with parliamentary democracy, and the people must invite me home. Only then, as I prepare for my grand restoration, can you embark for England.”

“It will not be soon enough,” said Louis.