Herald of Ruin, page 15
part #2 of The Sanford Files Series
Sanford didn’t acknowledge the barbed comment, but simply folded his hands on the blotter and fixed Ruby with a sharp eye. “I want you to steal the Grail of Dreams.”
“Haven’t we already tried that?” Ruby said.
“Tried, and failed, though I acknowledge that was my fault, not yours. I provided you with incomplete information.”
Ruby was taken aback, and not sure she quite hid the fact. Sanford’s words had sounded perilously close to an apology, or at least an admission that the magus was less than perfect. Such statements didn’t come naturally to Sanford, which meant… what? Tillinghast had him shaken? Or was he trying to ingratiate himself with Ruby? Could be both, she mused. “Nobody could have seen Tillinghast coming,” she said, deciding to meet conciliation with conciliation. “He’s like one of those fogs that rolls in off the sea out of nowhere. You close your eyes for a minute in sunshine and open them to find yourself lost in the mist.”
Sanford nodded in acknowledgment, and then waited.
She leaned back and crossed her legs, pondering. “You know where the grail is now?”
“It’s in the man’s accursed shop… which is, indeed, located in the former site of Huntress Fashions.”
Ruby shook her head. “I was in there just last night, it was all dust–”
“Tillinghast must have come in the dead of night with a team of laborers. I’m sure the Dyer woman could have organized such a thing with trivial ease. I set watchers to keep their eyes on the shop overnight, but they were Initiates, and they became confused, or else something confused them, and they watched the wrong site, and so didn’t note any comings and goings. I have had people watching the correct address since I departed, however, and no one has left the place since. After nightfall, I want you to break in and take the grail, and anything else that looks particularly valuable.”
Ruby nodded, wondering how she was going to navigate this mare’s nest of conflicting loyalties. “I thought I was supposed to be ingratiating myself with Tillinghast? When he finds out the grail is gone, he’s going to suspect me straightaway.”
“That doesn’t matter anymore,” Sanford interrupted. “The time for subtlety has passed. In fact, you’ll be accompanied tonight by an expert in the field of… fire insurance.”
She blinked. “You’re sending an arsonist to burn down Diana’s shop?”
Sanford sniffed. “Tut, tut. There’s no place for such misplaced sentimentality, Miss Standish. Diana is long gone, and I doubt she has many fond memories of Arkham, for her shop or otherwise. I’m going to burn down Tillinghast’s shop, and if he’s sleeping upstairs, he can burn with it – or escape, and face death in another form. I have grown tired of his treacherous and insidious presence, worming his tendrils of influence throughout my city, tweaking my nose as if he possesses some immunity from consequences.” Sanford placed his hands on the desktop and said, with blank finality, “I am going to burn him out.”
Ruby nodded. “I see. What if I don’t like this job, Sanford?”
“You are free to say no,” Sanford said. “I will not retaliate against you. Though I would recommend, if you choose to leave my employ, that you also leave Arkham. You have a history with Tillinghast, and I don’t want you to go running to him when you find yourself in need of another job.” He stroked his neat beard. “But I don’t see why you’d decline, unless you have some fondness for Tillinghast? I’m not convinced you’d bother to save me from a fire, if Tillinghast were the one sitting across from you, proposing a similar plan.”
She scowled. “I saved you from worse than a fire, and you know it. Don’t be offensive. I’ll go and get your stupid cup. But I’m not keeping some arsonist company. Firebugs give me the shivers. Send him on his own, after I’ve come and gone.”
Sanford bowed his head, then gave a small nod. “To demonstrate my good faith, and my hope for the fruitful continuation of our relationship, I agree to your terms.”
Ruby rose. “If that’s all?”
“What else could there possibly be?” Sanford mused.
•••
“He’s desperate for that grail,” Altman said. “You weren’t there in the shop. You didn’t see him. I’ve never known Sanford’s composure to crack like that. He was breathing heavy. Practically panting over it! I think it’s not even the object itself so much, though he wants that, too… it’s the fact that Tillinghast scooped the grail out from under him. That’s why he doesn’t just want to steal it back. He wants to destroy everything Tillinghast has, and Tillinghast, too.”
Gloria Dyer sat beside him in the front seat of Sanford’s Bentley, parked out back of Hibb’s Roadhouse, where Altman had earlier made arrangements for arson and execution. “I don’t think Mr Tillinghast would like that,” Gloria said. “Something must be done.”
Altman shook his head. “Not by me.” During their recent conversation, Gloria had convinced him to help Tillinghast in exchange for certain promises, but he’d negotiated hard limits on what he was willing to do. He would pass them information, and further their agenda when possible, but he would not endanger himself in the process. “I can’t stop Sanford. Not without making him suspicious, and if he’s suspicious, he might kill me. He might do worse than kill me. I swore my oaths to the Lodge, not to Sanford, but the man doesn’t make any distinction between the two. Some of the things I’ve seen in the basement… there are people who betrayed him in far pettier ways, years ago, who are still down there.” Why had Altman agreed to help this woman and her infernal boss? She’d made him promises, the kind of promises that would change his life for the better forever, but only if her side won. Altman hadn’t worked for Sanford long, but he’d worked for him long enough to know that losing wasn’t something that happened to the magus often, if ever.
“He’s got a basement full of oubliettes?” Gloria said. “I can’t imagine those do much for the property values.”
Altman shuddered. “Oubliettes would be better. When you put someone in an oubliette, you forget about them, and they just die after a while. Sanford doesn’t forget.” Altman stared out at the weathered boards of the dilapidated saloon. “Sanford remembers, and he gets revenge.”
“Sanford won’t be getting much of anything, pretty soon,” Gloria said. “My employer appreciates the tip-off, but it’s hardly necessary. Mr Tillinghast deliberately goaded Sanford, hoping he would take rash action. Everything is proceeding just as he anticipated.”
“The magus is a lot more formidable than you seem to think,” Altman said. “My brother told me stories, and I’ve seen a few things in my months under the man’s wing. He’s survived attempted coups before. The people who tried to overthrow him are the ones in the basements.”
“I understand,” Gloria said. “And my employer understands as well. We are prepared for resistance.”
“It’s just…” Altman cut his eyes toward Gloria, then looked away. Maybe it was foolish to reveal his misgivings, but what if Gloria could actually reassure him? “What you promised me. It only works if you beat Sanford. Really beat him. You can’t just topple him. You have to take him off the board entirely. I’m not convinced you can do that.”
“Then why did you agree to our terms?” Gloria seemed genuinely curious.
“Because I’m not convinced Sanford can beat you, either, and it seemed sensible to hedge my bets. I’m not going to move against him openly, though, or even defy his direct orders, because if Sanford does win, I want to remain in his good books. But… I’ll do this much. I’ll tip you off about his plans. And I’ll slow things down when I can. Ruby is going to come after dark to steal anything from the shop worth taking. The arsonist I hired, Gas-Can McGann, will start splashing his namesake around once she’s done. I don’t know who O’Bannion is sending to kill Tillinghast, but I told him I needed his best, and with what Sanford’s paying, that’s what we’re going to get. If Tillinghast survives until morning I’m honestly not sure what Sanford will do. But he’s got powerful relics, and other things, down in that vault, and if he comes at you with those, he’ll be a lot harder to stop than a team of hired criminals. If the mundane approach fails, I think Sanford is going to escalate matters.”
“I see. I suspect that Mr Tillinghast will, nevertheless, decline to die. Burning up in a fire in order to avoid greater problems in the future doesn’t seem like a sound strategy.”
Altman groaned. “Yes, I know, it’s just… things are going to get ugly, Gloria. Be prepared for that.”
“I am prepared for anything. That’s why Mr Tillinghast employs me. Don’t worry about a thing. Nothing to come will reflect badly on you, at least, not until Sanford is neutralized. You have my promise.” She patted him on the arm, then slid out of the car and disappeared into the night.
Altman considered going back into the roadhouse for a drink, or ten, but instead, he cranked up the engine, and returned to the Lodge, to tell Sanford that everything was arranged.
Chapter Fourteen
Sleeping Dogs
Sanford finally found Sarah Van Shaw, who was out patrolling the grounds again, peering at holes in the ground. “Warden!” he bellowed, his patience fully expended on greater matters. “Why haven’t you tracked down the person who delivered that accursed package?”
Van Shaw rose and turned to face him, and she was… smiling? In an abstracted, faraway manner, but yes, it was definitely a smile, as foreign on her stony face as a flower blossoming on an ice floe. “I did, at least as far as I could. I left a note on your desk with my findings.”
There had been notes on his desk, quite a few, but he’d assumed they were messages from the pretty blond Initiate who acted as his secretary. He’d been neglecting his usual duties, skipping meetings and failing to return calls, as Tillinghast took up more and more of his attention. “I didn’t see them,” he snapped. “So you might as well tell me now.”
The warden nodded her head in acquiescence. “One of the newer Initiates, a Mr Detwiller, found the package just outside the front gates.” Van Shaw wasn’t looking at him, but past him, gazing so intently at nothing that Sanford nearly turned to look over his shoulder to see what captivated her so much. “It bore an engraved card that said, ‘For Mr Carl Sanford, care of the Silver Twilight Lodge,’ and though the box was unusually damp, Mr Detwiller believed it had simply been caught in the rain after being left carelessly outside by a courier. He brought it in and left it on your desk.” She pursed her lips. “We have had a frank and thorough conversation in the garden shed, in the company of two of my hounds.”
Sanford didn’t shudder, but someone else might have. The shed was a ramshackle wooden construction, hidden out back among the trees, and while it did indeed hold various gardening implements, it held other implements, too – ones Van Shaw had proven adept at using more than once. Even to be in the presence of those tools, some allowed to rust and others distressingly gleaming, had a tendency to concentrate the mind. The Lodge had very few repeat offenders when it came to trespassing. Most were simply scared away, but those who’d committed more serious offenses, with more malicious intent, would never have to fear anything ever again. Van Shaw was not just warden, but groundskeeper – and not just groundskeeper, but gravedigger.
She went on. “The Initiate now knows, in the future, to bring any such packages to me for inspection first. I believe I made the point forcefully enough. I have also made arrangements for him to be lightly disciplined by a Seeker in one of the lesser sanctums, though you may, of course, choose to alter those instructions.”
Sanford shook his head, scowling. “No, that’s fine. So there was no conspiracy with Tillinghast, then? No snakes loose in our henhouse?”
“I believe Mr Detwiller acted all in all innocence,” Van Shaw said. “His crime was foolishness, which is serious enough, but there was no treachery there. Beyond that, I cannot say. If you wish me to test all the Lodge members for loyalty, that can be arranged, and the results can be definitive, but the process will be time-consuming and not pleasant.”
“Thank you, warden, but I think a more targeted approach will suffice.” Sanford should have been reassured that Tillinghast didn’t have spies inside the Lodge, doing his bidding… but of course, he still might. He just hadn’t used them for the gambit with the package. Which might mean he was saving them for bigger, better, nastier things. Still, killing the shopkeeper should have a chilling effect on the loyalty of anyone he’d coopted, Sanford thought. “Carry on, warden. We’ll talk later.”
“As you wish, master.” She went back to staring at the hole in the ground, but Sanford was almost certain she wasn’t looking at anything so much as simply lost in her own thoughts. As he walked away, she let out a little sigh, but not a put-upon one, or a disappointed one. The sound indicated… contentment? Van Shaw was stoic, as a rule, but not content.
He shook his head as he returned to the Lodge. He couldn’t worry about his warden’s peculiar emotional state right now. He was supposed to have lunch with the mayor, and he really shouldn’t put the blowhard off again. For all Sanford knew, Tillinghast had sent his honor some little bauble, too, and that was a connection he couldn’t bear to see poisoned.
Sanford endured a thoroughly tedious lunch in the lavish dining room of the Excelsior Hotel. The chop was properly cooked, but the conversation was decidedly underdone. The mayor spent most of the meal greeting his donors as they passed by – the hotel restaurant being a popular destination for local lawyers and businessmen – and delivering the usual bland half-promises he exhibited in lieu of conversation, but Sanford saw no sign the man had been ensorcelled. Sanford even mentioned Tillinghast, and suggested the mayor might take a look at the status of his business license and lease agreements. “I’ve heard rumors that an unlicensed amateur electrician is rewiring his shop. It’s shameful the risks people take to save money, isn’t it?” The mayor promised to look into the matter, as he always acceded to Sanford’s requests, but showed no reaction to the interloper’s name. Sanford was provisionally reassured.
After extricating himself from the mayor’s hearty farewell handshake, Sanford strode toward the lobby… and stopped dead when he saw Sarah Van Shaw emerge from the lift, wearing a hat with a feather bobbing in the brim, and a blue dress that made her look ten years younger than usual. A moment later he realized she was also wearing makeup, and delicate shoes with heels, instead of her usual black boots.
Sanford hadn’t become head of the Order and the ruler of Arkham’s magical community by being easily shocked, or indecisive in the face of a sudden challenge, so he walked straight up to the warden, noted the brief flash of utter horror on her face, and then took her firmly by the arm.
“My dear Sarah,” he murmured. “Perhaps you’ll join me for a drink?” He steered her toward the hotel bar, and she came along, unresisting and without speaking a word.
Sanford deposited her in a back booth, shook his head at the questioning look of the bartender, and then sat down across from his errant associate. “Why have you deserted your post, warden? Now, in this time of trouble, when we are beset by the machinations of a devilish outsider who is proven to mean us harm?” He was furious, so much so that he could feel a vein throbbing in his temple, but he was also astonished. The warden never left the Lodge, except under the most pressing circumstances, and certainly for nothing frivolous.
She bowed her head. “Master… I just… I needed some, some time to myself–”
“I can’t believe I need to say this,” he seethed through clenched teeth. “As the head of the Silver Twilight Lodge, I invoke your oaths of loyalty and obedience, and demand that you answer me truthfully.”
Van Shaw slumped back in the booth, her posture limp and defeated. “I have not deserted my post.” Her tone was flat. “I am there even now, doing my duty, as diligently as always.” A spark of defiance flared in her eyes. “And so, you have no cause to reprimand me, master. My oaths are fully upheld.”
“What do you mean you’re – wait.” Sanford fished in his vest pocket for a pair of pince-nez spectacles with bluish lenses. The glasses weren’t as powerful as his Hermetic Mirror, being unable to pierce illusions or differentiate between malicious and beneficial magic, but like the topaz loupe he kept in his desk, these lenses could reveal the presence of the unseen.
He peered through the spectacles and saw a silver thread attached to the back of Sarah Van Shaw’s head, trailing away across the room until it disappeared into a wall, leading in the direction of the Lodge. “Is this some form of bodily bilocation?” Sanford said. “Do you mean to say you’ve created some sort of mystical homunculus, and you’re using an astral connection to operate it remotely, sharing in its senses and sensations?” He shook his head. “This is impressive magic, warden, and far outside the scope of your usual abilities. What exactly are you using this newfound freedom for?”
“To sleep in a feather bed,” she said, voice sharp and full of snarls. “To take a hot bath for as long as I like. To wear something soft, to drink something bubbly, to feel pretty! I am a person, master. I am more than just a guard dog, bred to obedience!”
Sanford was taken aback. Van Shaw’s loyalty to the Lodge was absolute. Indeed, it was magically compelled, the result of a complex ritual that had granted her numerous privileges and powers in exchange for her fealty. Sanford had never sensed even a hint of dissatisfaction in her manner before. “What brought on this tantrum? And how did you come to develop this power, anyway? Did you – no.” The answer was obvious and as chilling as a sword of ice to the heart. “Was it him? Tell me the truth, warden. Your oaths command you. Did Tillinghast give you this power?”
Van Shaw shook her head. “I’ve never met the man.”
“Then how–” He pounded his fist on the table. As if he could be undone by semantics! The fact that the warden was trying to slither away from telling the whole truth was disturbing enough. “Was it the woman, then? Gloria Dyer?”
