Director Brynner took the three of them to the Underground’s exit, through a nondescript wooden door that led immediately to his office on the top floor of the Caliber Institute.
He knew he shouldn’t, but he always felt a little trill of satisfaction when his more dramatic moments got the results he wanted. Helton was imperturbable as always, but he caught the one with the pink hair – Orsolya Carpenter, her name was – glancing out of window at the buildings below. He could practically see her reorienting where she thought she was.
The door to the station he’d conjured vanished as he sat in the comfortable leather chair behind his meticulously tidy desk. He’d already set out three chairs for his guests. They were considerably less comfortable. Truthfully, he could probably have just gotten two; Helton never sat down when prompted.
To business, then.
‘Please, sit yourselves down,’ he said, glancing over the reports Penelope had compiled for him. Two of three chairs were filled. Helton declined to be seated.
The Gnome, who’d just introduced himself as Merlin Williams, launched once more into talks of recompense for the distress he’d experienced at the hand of one of the Institute’s employees.
Brynner cut him off. ‘We can get right to the debriefing if you’re feeling impatient, Mr. Williams?’
The formality seemed to appease the Gnome. He leaned back in his seat, and contributed several quite astute observations to Helton’s account of everything they’d experienced. At the end, Helton strode over and placed the Powerbook containing the Epistemophage before him. Brynner slid it with a gleaming metal finger until its sides were parallel to the edges of his desk. It would distract him otherwise.
‘On the matter of recompense,’ he said, when he was quite sure they’d finished. ‘We’ll be anonymously sending a wereguild to the family of the guard. Unfortunately no such compensation can be sent to the librarian’s family.’ Seeing the sour expression on Miss Carpenter’s face, he added, ‘As a party in breach of the Inside Accords, she would no longer qualify for its protection or advantages. And such breaches must be held up as examples.’
‘What’s a wereguild?’ asked Carpenter.
‘Compensation a party within the Accords has to pay if they take the life of another Accorded individual,’ provided Helton.
‘She didn’t actually kill anyone though,’ said Merlin of Helton. ‘She might be a bumbling ignoramus, but she certainly didn’t kill that man. He dropped dead after…’
Both he and Miss Carpenter shuddered.
‘Regardless of liability, Mr. Williams, the Caliber Institute is the overseeing entity over much of the paranormal goings on in the UK; with your heritage from Outside I’m sure you already know this, what with your submitting paperwork to us along with your taxes and the like. If a perceived intrusion of the supernatural results in the appearance of an Auditor, it can only be as a result of our not doing a thorough enough job.’
Brynner would have smiled, had he still been in possession of a mouth.
‘Which brings me quite neatly to the topic of employment. Miss Carpenter, Mr. Williams? I’d like to make you an offer.’
‘Oh no,’ said Helton. She visibly sagged. Brynner thought she might even go so far as to actually sit down, but it apparently wasn’t quite that bad.
‘I have what I’ve learned from your debriefing. I have some compiled documentation of your abilities outside of what’s happened this night. And Penelope has kindly supplied footage of your work tonight before doctoring it sufficiently for Mortal consumption.’
‘Who is Penelope?’ asked Carpenter.
‘She’s a ghost,’ said Helton. ‘A proper one, too, not just an echo. She lives in the network here and is probably the only reason smartphones haven’t led to a mass extermination by Auditors.’
‘I need to cut in there,’ said Williams, growing quite agitated in his seat. ‘To be blunt, it seems like you’re about to offer us employment without explaining just what the–’ here he took a second to compose himself ‘–the thing we encountered even was. I would be… greatly appreciative if you could elucidate me on just what the fuck an Auditor is.’
Brynner waited a moment, just in case he wasn’t finished. He didn’t appreciate the Gnome’s tone. Though he could understand it, he supposed.
‘All of us here, Helton there included despite her being a good old-fashioned human, are members of the Inside Accords. They were signed toward the end of the Second World War, in the immediate aftermath of magic being introduced by the Trinity Nuclear Test. Having made homes for yourselves in England, you are members of an Accorded Nation: that is, the Earth.
‘Now, the most ironclad stipulation of the Accords is that of secrecy. The Mantle of the Auditor is the reason for this.’
He leaned forward, the leather of his chair creaking as he did so. ‘Magic is an intrusion on this Earth’s natural laws. A virus. The Auditors are the Earth’s immune system.’
‘So you’re saying if a human sees something spooky, they’ll go grey and become an Auditor?’ asked Carpenter.
‘Sometimes. And even then, only if it’s overtly unexplainable; something their natural mental filters don’t blot out. A person having horns is easily ignored, a summoned fireball is less so.’
‘How often?’
‘We don’t have an accurate calculation of the likelihood. I suspect humans with, how should I phrase it, open minds? They’re less likely to turn. But we have, as you can imagine, avoided testing the theory.’
‘Right,’ said Carpenter, nodding her head. The rest of her stayed still as a wild animal preparing to run. ‘And then they pull people’s spines out?’
Brynner sighed. He didn’t need to breathe, so his only reason for doing so was to intentionally convey his exasperation. ‘They eliminate the breach. And then they turn back and forget, or they die. Now. Can we get back to the subject at hand?’
‘Your offer of employment,’ said Williams. He and Carpenter shared a morbid glance.
It had been more than 70 years since Brynner had lungs. He suddenly found himself missing them terribly. A few deep, calming breaths would probably work wonders right now. He found himself eyeing Helton. The other two, he thought, really would be a good fit to work with her.
The ticking that always emanated from his chest had filled the room. They were waiting for a response. Brynner composed himself once more.
‘Yes. As I mentioned, I believe the two of you would be valuable assets for the Caliber Institute, and would like to offer you each a role working with Miss Helton here.’
Williams’ eyes narrowed. ‘Would she be our boss?’
‘No. You would be colleagues on the same field team.’
‘What kind of hours are we talking?’ asked Carpenter.
‘In terms of office hours, you would only be expected to be in for two days of the week to assist with filing, et cetera. But the deskwork is, if you’ll allow me to be candid, really more of a sinecure; the real duties of your role would be in the field. You would be on call for the rest of your time, but provided you can be reached, this time would be your own. And the pay is quite substantial.’
‘Wait, wait.’ Helton had been silent for some time. ‘Why these two? How do you know they’d be any use at all? Yes, they tried to help, but I’m more effective in the field if I don’t have to babysit.’
‘We have eyes out there, Helton. Mr. Williams’ blending of magic and technology is greatly useful in this modern age.’
The Gnome brightened. ‘I’m actually working on something to help us really move into the modern age; it’s like a social media network specifically for magical folk? It’s called BlinkedIn. I’m actually integrating something of the mental filters vanilla humans have to keep it under the radar. Somewhere safe for people like ourselves to connect.’
That… hadn’t come up in the background check Penelope had carried out. Brynner found himself impressed.
‘Meanwhile Miss Carpenter… well, it’s always useful in our line of work to blend in. I would have thought a Changeling’s affinity for this rather obvious.’
Carpenter’s face went as pink as her hair.
‘You’re a Changeling?’ said Williams.
Helton just made a little ‘Huh’ sound.
Carpenter kept her eyes fixed on Brynner’s desk. ‘Yes, I don’t like to tell people because it can give them the wrong impression. Like now. Mr. Director, thank you for the generous offer but I think I should decline. I don’t like being put in situations like this, and I really don’t like having to see people having their spines ripped out.’ She stood as if to leave.
‘I can assure you that tonight’s unpleasantness is far from standard. But if you’re really not interested, I’ll have to schedule a follow-up meeting with you to discuss the risk your online presence poses.’
Her eyes met his. Brynner never blinked unless he chose to. He delicately retrieved a report from his desk and continued. ‘We have a few avenues to consider there. There’s your, er, YouTube profiles, ‘@Sleepyybear’, ‘Saubra’s Clean Living, Clean Life’, and something just called ‘Abidalian’. All with associated profiles around the web. All connected to the same IP address, I’m told. And at least one occurrence of minor spells in your videos. Quite a risk.’
‘Are you threatening me?’
‘I’m keeping you informed. As I said earlier: we have to make examples of those that breach the accords.’ Brynner traced his finger back up the report. ‘Let’s see… Imrus and Sarolt Carpenter, up in the Lakes? Along with Adrienn, Panna, Zente, and Edvin. I’m sure they’d be distraught to know the danger you were putting them all in.’
Carpenter sat back down, but remained tense. She was weighing up her options. ‘How do you have those names?’
Perhaps the Sturm und Drang approach was doing more harm than good here. ‘It’s our job,’ Brynner pleaded. ‘The names are all on paperwork your parents filled out and submitted to us. Miss Carpenter, I need you to understand. I am not a threat to you or your family. You are. But if you were to join the Institute, that would grant you and yours a measure of protection. We can have Penelope cover your tracks, for starters.’
She just looked at him. Carpenter’s calculations had clearly come to a conclusion. He couldn’t continue cumulating compromises. If it came to confrontation, he’d be obligated to commit to his convictions.
‘Kay,’ said Carpenter, as Brynner tried to think of another word for obligated that began with a C. ‘As long as I don’t have to delete my channels.’
‘Oh,’ said Brynner. Unexpected. ‘What about you, Mr. Williams?’
‘Would I be granted access to your R&D department?’
‘Once your paperwork is cleared and you’re fully approved for fieldwork, yes?’
‘Excellent,’ said Williams. ‘I’m in.’
So that was that.
Brynner took in their comportment. Carpenter had taken on a brooding countenance; Williams’ eyes were glittering, his gaze somewhere in the future; and Helton’s mouth was twitching at the corner in that way it so often did when she was suppressing an urge for violence. ‘I’ll have someone along shortly to go through the paperwork with you. And there’s another meeting I must arrange beyond that.’
*
A huge, brown-furred, black-horned Minotaur led them down to a more moderate office and set them off on forms to fill in. He wore an expensive but off-the-shelf suit that struggled to encompass the charcuterie of muscle on him. As if to offset this, he also wore a bright, novelty necktie. It had a picture of Garfield on it.
‘It was a gift from my wife,’ he explained when he suspected someone was looking at it, which happened to be immediately. ‘Anyway, I’m Cepheus – spelled with a C, not a K – and I’m with the HR department. I’ll be getting you all signed up today, well, not you, Nora, but while we have you, you are overdue for confirming your details are still correct.’
By the time they finished all the paperwork, and answered a few interview questions that Cepheus assured them were just a formality, Brynner was waiting outside the office. It was now almost 5 in the morning.
‘I hope you’re getting time and a half for this, Cepheus,’ said Nora.
‘Double time, actually,’ Cepheus said with a wink. ‘It’s hazard pay for having to ask you to do paperwork.’
Brynner cleared his lack of throat. ‘If you’re quite finished, I’d prefer not to keep our chthonic clairvoyant waiting.’
Cepheus paled at this remark. ‘Of course, Director.’ He addressed Merlin and Ursa next. ‘Good luck.’
They were led to an old, industrial-style lift with a double roller door. Nora had only been in this lift once, when she’d first joined the Institute. She didn’t flinch when Brynner slammed the doors shut, noting to herself that he didn’t begin his explanation until the lift had already begun to move. He hadn’t changed since she was last down this way.
‘I’m taking the two of you to see our resident Fate. Her name is Morta. You’re not to speak it in her presence. In fact, it’s better if you only speak when spoken to. Stay within the light of the doorway. And do not attempt to get a better look at her. She will bestow upon you a prophecy.’
‘What kind of prophecy?’ asked Ursa.
The lift came to a lurching halt, and Brynner wrenched the doors open to reveal a dim stone hallway, lit only by a whisper of candlelight. Quite incongruous with the architecture upstairs.
‘She’ll tell you how you die.’
Ursa took this in. She failed to see how that was a good thing. ‘Why would we possibly want to know that?’
‘It’s part of the Institute’s insurance policy. As it stands, right now anything could kill you. You could trip and crack open your skull. You could have a sudden heart attack. Helton there could shoot you in the back of the head.’
Ursa’s nervous glance back at Nora failed to elicit a response.
‘But,’ continued Brynner, leading them further down the shadowy passage. ‘Let us say you’re prophesised to be slain by a man wearing one sandal. Suddenly, none of these other threats are possible. You are safe. Think of it as a kind of shield.’
A door loomed before them; a nondescript thing with no lock and no handle. It swung open of its own accord. The room beyond was pitch black, the candlelight from where they stood too cowardly to go any further.
Brynner perched on a sober little bench that seemed to function as a waiting area. He addressed Ursa, either ignorant of or unmoved by her trepidation. ‘You’re to go first, Miss Carpenter.’
Ursa swallowed, half expecting her throat to make a kind of creaking sound instead. She looked from the door, to Merlin, to Nora.
Nora just held her gaze, unblinking. She could understand Ursa’s predicament; Nora had felt the same way when she’d gotten her own prophecy. It wasn’t that she was incapable of empathy. She just preferred to keep things professional.
Then Ursa sucked in a fierce breath, squared her shoulders, and marched through the waiting door.
As instructed, she stayed within the light of the doorway. There was a flutter of wings close to her head, and she flinched to one side, almost planting her foot in shadow. Fortunately she had quite a bit of experience when it came to staying in-frame.
Her eyes had begun to adjust now. In the centre of the room was a figure with its back to her, facing a triptych of other, empty doorframes. The wings that had knocked her off-course for a moment belonged to a fat, prehistoric-looking magpie which settled down on the frame among a dozen others. They each followed her with unblinking eyes.
The figure didn’t turn. And were there others, facing her, within the doorways? No, Ursa thought. They’re mirrors.
The Fate’s reflections in the three mirrors were each dressed in a minutely different fashion, though the lack of light made details hazy and vague. Common to each was long hair, almost to the floor, and an eyepatch over the left eye, though the colour and ornamentation changed from one to the next.
Ursa waited.
Maybe half a second before Ursa opened her mouth to announce her presence, Morta, the Fate, spoke out.
‘Orsolya Carpenter. I have foreseen your death. Your life comes to an end almost as loud as the crack in the bell.’
Ursa closed her mouth. She retreated from the room.
Nora recognized the haunted look that Ursa wore when she emerged. ‘Don’t tell us what you got,’ she said, as Ursa came over. ‘It’s for you alone.’
But she could still remember when Morta had told her, ‘The end of you comes after a… suspicious malfunction.’ She’d been near-horrified, considering what she wore on her wrist. Nora felt her eyes soften, just a little.
‘You did well, though,’ she added. ‘I hope it wasn’t too bad.’
Merlin went through next. He realised he’d been near silent for a time, thinking through what the Institute’s resources could be put towards – magically speaking – instead of partaking in the sparkling conversation of his associates. But this was another opportunity entirely.
Think of it as a kind of shield, the clockwork Director had said.
A bird flew at him. He paced on, indifferent. A figure waited with its back to him in the middle of the darkness. Rude, really. Still, he at least could be polite.
‘Good morning! I’ve come to–’
‘Sam Williams.’
Merlin stopped, mid-greeting. That name wasn’t exactly a secret or anything, but still, it being said by a woman in a basement with only a mirror for company was more than enough to give him pause.
I have foreseen your death,’ continued the Fate. ‘Your life comes to an end bathed in viridian flames.’
‘Ah. Thank you,’ said Merlin, and made a mental note to look up some hex codes when he got the chance.
Roll History 