Taltos (Lives of the Mayfair Witches 3)

"Yes ... all connected somehow, doesn't it seem?" Stuart was actually stammering. "But we have no further indication. That is what I meant." Suddenly his deep-set eyes fixed upon Marklin, who sat almost at the far end of the table, looking calmly at him.

"Gentlemen, to tell you the truth," said Stuart, tearing his eyes away and searching the faces around him, "I'm completely inadequate to take Anton's place. I think ... I think I should pass the scepter to Joan, if it's all right with the entire assembly. I can't continue!"

Stuart, how could you! Marklin stared at the table, trying to conceal his disappointment just the way he'd tried moments ago to conceal his triumphant smile. You're in the driver's seat, he thought bitterly, but you can't handle it. You're stepping down when you are needed to block the very communication that will hasten things. You are a fool.

"I have no alternative!" said Stuart loudly, as if he were speaking only to his novice. "Gentlemen, I'm too ... I'm too upset over Aaron's death to be of use."

Interesting statement, wise statement, thought Marklin. Stuart had always taught them, if you have some secret you must keep from the psychics around you, think something close to the truth.

Stuart had risen. He was giving the chair to Joan Cross. There were cries of "Aye!" and approval coming from all sides. Even Elvera was nodding. Young Crawford, one of Joan's pupils, was maneuvering her wheelchair into position at the head of the table. Stuart stood back, near the wall. Stuart was going to try to slip out!

Not without me, thought Marklin, but how could he leave now? Stuart wasn't going to get away from him, he wasn't going to get a chance to flee to that secret place where he kept Tessa. No, that was not going to happen.

Once again, there was a hubbub. One of the old men was complaining that in this emergency the Elders present should identify themselves. Someone else had told the old man to be silent, not to mention such a thing again.

Stuart was gone! Quickly, Marklin slipped out of the chair and hurried through the north doorway. He could see Stuart leagues ahead of him, it seemed, moving towards the Superior General's office. Marklin didn't dare call out. There were two younger members with Stuart--Ansling and Perry, both secretarial assistants. They had been a threat to the operation since the beginning, though neither had had the wits to realize that anything had been wrong.

Suddenly the trio disappeared through the double doors and closed them. Marklin stood alone in the empty hall.

A gavel sounded in the council room, or something very like it. Marklin stared at the doors. On what pretext could he enter? To offer his help, his condolences? Everyone knew he was devoted to Stuart. Good God, what should he do under normal circumstances, if he wasn't ... Don't think about it, don't ever clearly dwell upon it, not here, not within these halls.

He glanced at his watch. What were they doing? If Stuart had resigned the position, why was he in that office at all? Perhaps the fax was feeding out a message from the Elders. Tommy had had time to stop the interception. Or perhaps Tommy had written the communication that might be coming in.

At last he couldn't stand it any longer. He marched forward, rapped on the doors, and opened them without waiting for permission.

The two young men were alone in the office, Perry seated at Marcus's desk, talking on the telephone, and Ansling hovering above him, obviously trying to follow the call. The fax was silent. The doors to Anton's bedroom were closed.

"Where is Stuart?" Marklin asked loudly and directly, though both men gestured for him to be silent.

"Where are you now, Yuri?" said Perry into the receiver. Yuri!

"You shouldn't be here," said Ansling. "Everyone should be in the council room!"

"Yes, yes ..." Perry was saying, clearly humoring the man on the other end of the line.

"Where is Stuart?" demanded Marklin.

"I can't tell you."

"You will tell me!" said Marklin.

"That's Yuri Stefano on the phone," said Ansling, obviously very ambivalent about what he was revealing, glancing anxiously now from Perry to Marklin. "Stuart's gone to meet him. He told Stuart that he had to come alone."

"Where? How did he leave?"

"Well, down the Superior General's private stairs, I imagine," said Ansling. "How should I know?"

"Shut up, both of you!" said Perry. "Ah, God, he's just rung off!" He slammed down the receiver. "Marklin, get out of here."

"Don't speak to me in that tone, you idiot," said Marklin furiously. "Stuart's my tutor. What private stairs?"

He went right past them, ignoring their indignant and imperious voices, moving through the bedroom and then seeing the perfect cutout of a doorway in the paneling, the unmarked door itself pushed only a few inches ajar. He shoved it back. There was the stairway! Damn!

"Where's he gone to meet Yuri?" he shouted to Ansling, who had only just entered the room.

"Get away from that passage," Perry said. "Get out of this bedroom now. You don't belong in the Superior General's bedroom."

"What's the matter with you, Marklin!" said Ansling. "The last thing we need now is insubordination. Go back to the council room at once."

"I asked you a question. I want to know where my tutor has gone."

"He didn't tell us, and if you'd shut up and stayed out of this, I might have gotten it out of Yuri Stefano myself."

Marklin stared at the two angry, frightened young men. Idiots, he thought, idiots. I hope they blame you and your sniveling, subservient kind for everything. I hope they expel you. He turned and went down the hidden stairs.

A long, narrow passage wound round the corner before leading to a small door. It opened directly to the park, as he knew it would. He had never even noticed this door! There were so many. A few scattered stepping-stones led off across the lawn in the direction, more or less, of the garage.

He broke into a run, but he knew it was useless. When he reached the cars, the attendant was on his feet.

"They've asked everyone to stay in, sir, until the meeting's over."

"Stuart Gordon. Did he take a staff car?"

"No, sir, his own, sir. But his orders were that no one else should leave without express permission, sir, that's what he said."

"I'm sure!" said Marklin furiously. He went directly to his own Rolls, and slammed the door on the attendant who had followed him. He hit thirty before he reached the gates.

On the highway he quickly accelerated to sixty, then seventy, eighty. But Stuart was long gone. And he could not know whether Stuart had even taken the highway--whether it was to Tessa or to Yuri that Stuart had gone. And since he had no idea whatsoever where Tessa was, or Yuri, he was following nothing and no one!

"Tommy, I need you," he said aloud. He reached for the car phone and, with his thumb, punched in the number of the secret digs in Regent's Park.

No answer.

Tommy might have already disconnected everything. Oh, why hadn't they made a plan to meet in London? Surely Tommy would realize the error. Surely Tommy would wait there.

The loud screech of a horn startled him. He slammed down the phone. He had to pay attention to what he was doing. He floored the accelerator and passed the truck in front of him, pushing the Rolls to its top speed.

Thirteen

IT WAS AN apartment in Belgravia, not far from Buckingham Palace, and expertly fitted with everything he required. Georgian furnishings surrounded him, a great deal of fine new white marble, and soft shades of peach, lemon, oyster white. A staff of expert clerks had been retained to do his bidding, stringently efficient-looking men and women who set to work immediately preparing the fax machine for him, the computer, the phones.

He saw that the near-unconscious Samuel was put to bed properly in the largest of the bedrooms, and then he took possession of the office, seating himself at the desk to read through the papers quickly, and absorb whatever he could of the story of the murder outside London, the man who had been strangled by a mysterious intruder with very large hands.

The artic

les made no mention of his height. Curious. Had the Talamasca decided to keep this secret, and if so, why?

"Surely Yuri has seen this," he thought, "if Yuri is functioning at all normally." But then, how could he know whether or not Yuri was?

Messages were already coming in from New York.

Yes, these were things he had to attend to. He couldn't pretend even for one day, really, that the company could run without him.

The young Leslie, who apparently never slept, looked radiant as she waited upon him, receiving yet another few pages from a clerk, and placing them to one side.

"Your lines are connected, sir," she said. "Anything else?"

"Dearest," he said, "see that a great roast is prepared in the kitchen for Samuel. He'll be a bear when he opens his eyes."

He was already punching in the direct line to Remmick in New York as he continued speaking to her.

"See to it that my car and driver are ready for me whenever I need them. Fill the refrigerators with fresh milk, and buy some cheeses for me, soft double-and triple-cream cheeses. All manner of the best Camembert and Brie that you can find. But you must send out for all this. I need you here. Tell me immediately if Claridge's calls with a message, and if you don't hear from them, call every hour on the hour, you understand?"

"Yes, Mr. Ash!" she said zealously, and at once began to scribble everything on a notebook which she held two inches from her eyes.