The Ties that Bind

Author: pratz

Disclaimer: RIB's. The Bartimaeus universe belongs to Jonathan Stroud.

AN: Hey, how you all are doing? I spent most of my time after spring semester ended traveling, so I didn't really allocate time for writing. A lot of names and events mentioned here are of actual history—you might want to Google them later. I'm happy to know that some people are still following this story, and I hope you'll find this chapter to your liking!

-.-.-.-

Chapter 4 of 9

I spent a few following weeks after Fabray's cold dismissal in the royal library. I was still hungry for the Other Place, still weak from the lack of power, but it wasn't as unbearable as the first few days. Fabray's power did that, I guess. Still, it was humiliating—to be dependent upon a employer. Hmph. (And apparently it showed in my latest entries. Puck said I spoke in paragraphs; he would be delighted to see how choppy, inarticulate I was. Well, preserving my being was of a higher importance to me now than articulating my point with glossing that would reach even an ape's intelligence. Hm? Was what that? Were you laughing at me, humans? Oh shut up, you humans knew nothing, zip, nil, nada about mental hunger.)

When would this be over and done? What's the purpose? Why did Fabray do this? She didn't need to starve me to make sure I obeyed the contract down to a T. Hell, she alone would be enough—and don't even try to bring her girl-throwing knave of a father into the picture. Even I, being a strong, legendary djinn, knew that both Fabrays were more than enough to overpower an afrit. (Well, to say they could handle a marid was tempting, but I lacked of proof.)

Then why didn't you look for more proof instead of sitting here playing a scholar, a part of me asked myself.

Annoying. Really annoying. I started having more conversation with myself lately, and I didn't like it. It's what you humans did! A demon wouldn't! If only I could shut it—me—up.

Or perhaps that's why I was here, reading books upon books to enlighten myself with what was going on with the world outside. Your human world, alright? Not mine. Which I didn't need to, actually. Again, how annoying.

Then there was a string of hushed sounds slithered to reach my human ears.

I knew these voices.

"—is to counsel His Majesty to our very best on this subject."

"It is perfectly what I do."

"A war is not the answer.'

"We are at war." The hissed response was stressed, strong and leaving no space for arguments. "What do you think our American colonies are doing? Do you think they're having the time of their life, sipping tea and enjoying the weather? No! They're building an army. Preparing themselves for a war. Coming for us. You know it, Hiram. Hell, His Majesty knows it, too. And what does he do? Nothing! I can suffer a weak king, but not a stupid one."

"It is still an assumption."

"I'd rather hit first than become a laughing stock for Rome or Jerusalem."

"They will not partake in our domestic affair."

"They will partake in whatever will bring our kingdom down."

I was not supposed to continue eavesdropping, I knew, but hey. Russell Fabray and Hiram? Discussing a—a war? I'd be damned if I didn't.

"You are not thinking clearly, Russell."

"Oh I am, old friend. I am. And I act."

I slipped quickly to hide myself behind one of the pillars in the history section as I saw Russell ended his counsel with Hiram and left, his robe billowing behind him. His face was hard, nostrils flaring in pent-up anger, his eyes cold. I saw Hiram took a breath and schooled his expression to appear unimpassioned. Then he too left in the same direction where Russell was heading.

Moving closer to the window, I saw that he caught up with Russell and another man in the courtyard of the royal library. I knew that man from the books I'd been reading. Joseph Chamberlain, Secretary of State for the Colonies and Russell's direct superior in the First and Second Boer Wars. As Puck had said, Russell Fabray made his name in those wars, proving himself to be equal to the caliber of Frederick Roberts and Herbert Kitchener. Afrikaan magicians were no rival to three of the now most well known, if not the strongest, magicians in the British Empire. Roberts and Kitchener might have outranked Fabray Senior in rank and experience, but even Chamberlain knew that the man not someone to cross—an understatement of the century, yes.

Chamberlain, Hiram, and Russell seemed to be engaged in yet another serious discussion while walking away from the courtyard. I couldn't listen to them, but from Russell's red face and Chamberlain's resigned expression, I could guess that Russell had the upper hand of the discussion.

That was... interesting.

A war, huh?

Well, warmongering Fabrays were perfect for the job. No doubt about it. And judging from their temper, I would not be surprised if the number of enemy magicians that fell like rag dolls—Puck's term—in front of the Fabrays was greater than that of the Boer Wars.

Speaking of which, it had been long since I last saw Fabray Junior.

-.-.-.-

My question was answered two days later in the form of sudden flaring pain that awakened me from my sleep—not that I could sleep well with this starvation, really. Her mark on my left arm was burning, and the pain stabbed a million needles into me, deep, so deep they reached my bones. Fabray! What the hell!

I summon you.

I was forced to leave my human body, an unseen force pulling me roughly as if flaying me alive. Her summon was unforgiving, and it squeezed my entire self, human and demon both. My insides felt like they jumped to my throat and were ready to spill out. I was known to be dramatic, riveting, thrilling, but this pain was thespian.

Come.

Then when I opened my eyes, I was in front of her, staggering to stay on my shaking feet and gasping for breath. I felt boneless. I was back to my demon body, and the first assault on my sense was the metallic stench of blood. Instant nausea hit me. Then my surrounding became clearer. It was a clearing of a forest, dark as the night. An unmoving body lied across a pile of broken trees and dead horses. His outfit was of the noble garb.

I found my employer leaning against a tree. Bruised, bloodied, but alive. Her pentacle, drawn with blood, decorated the right thigh of her white equestrian pants. Her left arm was bent in an odd angle, the sleeve torn and the skin scrapped. She had a long gash on her left temple, but even when slicked by blood and sweat, her eyes were shrewd.

"Shit," I cursed aloud, gasping, my demon tongue hard and heavy in my mouth. "What—"

"Bring me home."

Though still disoriented, I knew it was a command.

I didn't know how I managed to bring her back to the Fabray Mansion. I forced open the door to the chamber of the Fabray Mansion's physician, Bradley Ellis—a learned man whom I found not annoying because of his fondness of music. The commotion roused guards and attracted castellans. Shit. One wrong move and I could be mistaken as an enemy demon. I must haven't thought clearly.

"Hide," Quinn said. "You must not be seen." The in your demon form part went unsaid but understood.

The pain from her wound was too great a torture for me. Weakened and half dying, I went back to my human form's room and curled into myself on the cold floor. I didn't even have the energy to drag myself to the bed. My arm still throbbed with what was left of Fabray's last summon and I still felt nauseous, but at least I was no longer in a mortal danger.

Because she was no longer in a mortal danger.

-.-.-.-

I woke up some time later, still groggy from the unexpected power trip, still trembling from both the cold and the hunger. My ears picked up a quiet conversation wafting from the room next to mine. Her room. A man's voice. And hers. Was she up already? Tended to? Healed?

"—Lord Roberts' body will be interred in the palace before the burial. His death is a big loss for our country." A pause. "But I'm glad you're safe."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Quinn, you know it's Finn for you. Come on."

"Thank you, Finn."

Oh. That must be Kurt's brother. The crown prince.

Their conversation continued and she had more visitors that evening, but I needed fresh air more than I needed to know what she was discussing with her fellow nobles. I opened a window, breathing in the cool evening air, and the realization that my human form was so glad to be able to breathe it in made me sick with disgust.

Curse her for making me get used to this body and its world and all its needs.

From the tidbits I gathered, I learned that there was an ambush upon her and that Lord Roberts when they took their night ride. Where did I hear that name before? Ah yes. He's one of the Boer Wars troika, that Lord Roberts. So that was the man in noble garb from last night. He's maimed. Fabray survived. It wouldn't be a big deal—people killed and got killed everyday—if it wasn't for the missing attacker.

Jolly crown prince and his camaraderie believed that it was possibly conducted by an enemy. Bloemfontein, Rome, Jerusalem, perhaps. Or even the American colonies. Fingers were ready to point, but they didn't know where to point.

But I knew better. I was sustained by Fabray's power long enough it made me familiar with the characteristics of her magic. I could recognize its residue even when nobody else could. I did know better.

And that was why I slipped into her room late at night.

Her back straightened as she became aware of my presence in her room, but she still didn't look up from her book. Gone was the broken figure from yesterday. In her place now was a typical Fabray: rigid and alerted and cold. Her left arm was in a sling, though I doubted she had any more serious injuries. (Magicians, remember? They did more wonders than any bonesetters to commoners.)

"I do not remember to have invited you."

"It wasn't an ambush," I said.

It was you.

Her right hand stopped mid-way flipping a page of the book she was reading.

Of course. Nobody would suspect that it was not an ambush but a duel. I'd seen humans practice magic for millennia to know the difference between a malicious attack and a disinterested attack, and I knew Fabray. I knew the offense and defense of her magic. She must have opened an attack on Lord Roberts when his guard was down. Taken by surprise, he must have attacked back. Too late. He must have been a fool to think he could get an upper hand over Fabray. (Not that I was proud of her, no. But let's be honest: I wouldn't be employed by a meek magician). He must have never seen how she snapped at the three girls that day, without a spell and without a demon aid. He might have been a powerful magician and managed to land a blow or two upon Fabray, but he was old and unguarded, and Fabray was—Fabray was everything he wasn't. She's younger, more powerful, and more skillful.

I could imagine the crack of bones and squish of blood as the old lord fell to his death. Fabray then would have mask the incident as an ambush and summoned me with the remnant of her strength.

Smart. Very smart. But not smart enough to fool me.

"For a pretender, you're not very convincing."

She closed her book. "I was not trying to. I knew you would figure it out." She stood from her chair. "I would not have bound you in a contract from the beginning if you are less perceptive."

But—why would she—oh.

She did it on purpose. She wanted me to figure it out.

Manipulative lass!

But why did she? To set something in motion? What something? I knew she was hiding more things from me, but what were they? She was my contractor, my employer; it's not as if I could object to her biding. If she bode me to kill someone, anyone, I would do so. That's my part of the contract. Even though I could—and would—try to find a flaw in her intricate scheme, she didn't have to hide a biding from me.

"I am going to bed," she announced.

Then what? Was I welcome to prolong my stay? Wasn't it folly to let your enemy stay close to you? (Trapped in this human body, even a letter opener knife on her desk was so, so tempting.) "I could kill you in your sleep, you know."

She let out a soft, cold laugh. "I would kill you first."

Both of us knew it was the truth.

-.-.-.-

Two days later, I was in the library when the king made a public statement regarding of what he called 'the tragic death of a warrior, a long time defender of the kingdom, a dear friend.' London would enhance the security observance throughout her empire. From America far north to Terra Australia down south, there would be 'police actions in unsettled areas' and a promise of 'swift retribution for those who do not comply with the order.' It was not mentioned, but everybody with even half my intelligence would realize that it was aimed to the restless American colonies.

Russell, Secretary of Treasure, stood next to the king during the broadcast, and his haughty expression told me that the king's speech was not totally his own. I had a sense that soon Russell would get the war he wanted. Was this the thing that the Fabrays tried to set in motion?

Soon the library was filled with anxious murmurs and whispers about the prospect of a bigger conflict with the colonies or rival countries, and I found it my safe haven no more.

And of all people I could bump into, I bumped into Hiram as I exited the library's secluded section.

His hand quickly reached out to prevent me from falling, and his eyes widened behind his round spectacles as he took in my face.

(I guess it would happen to everyone whose dead daughter was modeled after for a demon's form.)

"I apologize for not paying attention of where I walk," he began, "Lady..."

"Rachel."

"Rachel," he repeated. Then his face softened. "You remind me so much of someone I hold dear to my heart," he murmured softly, and for a moment his eyes went glassy. "Oh my. Pardon this old man his discourteousness, my lady."

"No, my lord. It's alright."

"Are you," he paused, taking in my appearance fully now, "a regular patron of this library or merely dropping by for a visit?" He smiled kindly. "I am the Head Librarian. May I offer you my service as to redeem my faults?"

"I'm well, my lord."

"Please. I insist."

I swallowed. "Actually, I'm waiting for someone, Lord..."

"Hiram," he said. His eyes twinkled as he smiled. "No family name."

But I knew that already. Heck, I knew more about him from his secret sessions in the old public auditorium. Hiram the Head Librarian: a man of no significant lineage rising from below to enter the service of the king with acute liking to music and endless bitter memories of his dead daughter.

I swallowed again. "Lord Hiram, yes. I'm waiting for—for—" I couldn't mention a Fabray, could I. Double shit. "Dr Bradley Ellis. Yes. I'm waiting for him."

"Dr Ellis? As in Dr Ellis who serve the Fabrays?"

"Yes, yes. He's an acquaintance of mine."

"I see." Hiram nodded. "He's a good man, that doctor. Have a good sense of music as well. I heard he was occupied lately because of an ambush upon young Lady Fabray. Please send him my greetings."

"I will, I will, Lord Hiram."

"And to young Lady Fabray, too. She used to visit the library ofttimes, you see. Nothing pleases me more than young people with appreciation of the written words. Yet I guess now that she's growing up, she has more important matters to attend."

Oh believe me, she did.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, my lady," Hiram said. "Please let me know if you visit the library again."

"Thank you, Lord Hiram. The pleasure's all mine."

I hurriedly left him without a glance. The corridor felt twice longer when I knew that he was staring at my back. Of all the people, really. Such great luck I had.

And young Quinn was an avid reader. Huh. I wondered when she decided that books had run out their charm and became the stuck-up magician she was today. Was it magic? Was it her father? Was it London's tense atmosphere of royal fuckery?

"Rachel?"

Oh royal fuckery, indeed.

Kurt the jolly prince was approaching me with a wide smile on his face. Seriously? What was this place again? A place where everybody was friend with everybody?

I bit back a scowl and put a smile on. "Greetings, Your Majesty."

Kurt relocated all the books he carried to his assistant and took my hand to drop a kiss at the back. "Fancy meeting you here, Rachel. Are you here to see Master Russell? Or Quinn?"

"No, Your Ma—Kurt. I was merely returning a book." I followed when he directed us to continue walking down the hall. "And I met the Head Librarian, too."

"How neat! Master Hiram's a benevolent person, isn't he? He and Master Russell used to tutor my brother and I." (Well, that explained why he called Russell Master.) Then he realized something, his brows furrowing. "Quinn is doing better, I assume? I haven't had time to visit her myself."

"Yes, she is. She is recovering very quickly."

"I'm glad." Kurt smiled, continuing walking. "We grew up together, you see. She, my brother, and I. She's more of a lady now—"

You meant smug and stuck-up, eh prince?

"—but I'm sure my brother will put back the smile upon her face."

Oh about that. "I happened to come across such hearsay—" or, more aptly, gossips from an unfortunate trio, "—that many a girl are after His Majesty the Crown Prince."

"Why, yes." Kurt laughed. "I don't see how girls find him so charming—you must not tell him that if you happen to meet him in person, by the way." He winked in good humor. "But alas! The rumor is true. I don't see an impending wedding any sooner, but it is not to say that there will be no wedding at all."

Well, surely Russell wouldn't be happy with that. In this game of power, why would he let go of a chance to be the king's in-law?

"Anyway, Rachel, may I require your presence this evening? The royal auditorium is hosting a goodwill ambassador singer from Rome. She will be singing an aria from Puccini's Tosca."

Ah yes, Puccini. My old employer. I remembered him with fondness. "I'd be glad to be there, Kurt."

His face lighted up, and I couldn't help but thinking of how easy it was to please this human prince. My, my. He would be useful to me, anyway. That's how the human world works. Connection was currency. The more powerful people you knew, the better.

Which, by the way, I didn't see the Fabrays do.

Powerful magic, checked. Powerful position in the palace, checked. (However, I still had questions of why a war hero like Russell was merely a Secretary of Treasure instead of, say, Secretary of the Colonies like Chamberlain or a Commander of the Army like the late Roberts.) Yet they seemed to have made enemies left and right. A hobby, perhaps?

Kurt seemed to notice, saying, "Penny for your thoughts, Rachel?"

I dismissed him with a harmless smile. "I'm just trying to recall memories of the aria of Tosca."

He grinned toothily in return. "You should have stayed longer in London, Rachel. Nowadays, there are not too many people who have an appreciation of art." (I noticed that as well, sadly.) "I have to admit, to my utmost grief, that ever since the closing of the public auditorium, there have been not too many opera performance worth seeing either." (Okay. I wasn't aware of that.) From Kurt's yapping, I learned more, more than library books provided. London apparently hasn't been too kind to art for the last few years. Rising tension with the American colonies and recovery for her southern African colonies took its toll on the economy. No time for art whatsoever, but at the same time military dependence took a steady rise. Well. And why wasn't I surprised that Russell was the force behind it? Puck was right. Even Chamberlain was not a rival to Russell's zealous persistence of recovering the kingdom's name—with might.

Well, magic is might, after all.

The aria was okay, I guessed. Not exceptional, but it reminded me of the old days I was employed by Puccini. Good man, he was. Back when I still spared some time to drop by New York, his work was all over the city, performed by a string of the colonies' best singers. Ah London, you were so, so blue compared to her.

(Damn. Now I missed New York.)

Kurt's assistant delivered me back to the Fabray Mansion after the performance. Mid-way, I stopped by a small bookstore to get a book. I picked the book, paid for it (with human bills, yes), and brought it home with Fabray in my mind. Hell and all its seven levels, I didn't even know what I was doing. Had I lost my mind? Had all this time being trapped in this filthy world messed up with my head?

I knocked on her door, and like before she was behind her desk when I entered. A silk shawl was draped across her shoulders, and I couldn't help but noticing its lily of the valley patterns. Her arm sling was changed—hey. Stop! I was not employed to pay attention to this kind of details!

"Enjoying the human life, I assume?" she said, not unkindly.

I shrugged. "A demon has a soul, too, and a soul needs more than just bread and magic to live." I approached her. "However, I don't expect you to know more than how to employ us to do your dirty work." It was intended to be an insult, but I lacked the bites to make it one. Ck. I must have gone soft.

If Fabray meant to make an insult in return, she didn't do it. Instead, she eyed the book I laid before her. "Nalniades' Journey to the Demon World," she read from the cover. "A good book, I agree, having read it years ago. If only not for Nalniades' spiraling into madness in real life, I'd say his account is very credible." She then raised her eyes to meet mine—for the first time since the incident in the watchtower. "Is this another attempt of yours to find any weakness through things I am fond of?"

"This is... a gift."

If I myself winced at my own wording, imagine Fabray's surprise.

"For someone who has fondness for books, you are boringly uncultured about my kin even though we've been here way before yours do," I said quickly. (Detour couldn't get any faster, no? Yeah.)

A corner of her mouth lifted up, but it could also be a visual trick aided by the dim light in the room. "Such a speech from an old soul."

Was she indulging me? "You are young, human."

"Compared to a demon who has served the House of David, yes."

That brought something to my mind. "How old were you when you first discovered your magic ability?"

"Seven," she said, leaning back against her chair, closing her eyes, looking a bit more relaxed. "I was in Bloemfontein. By now I am sure you are informed about the Boer Wars. My father was stationed there. I summoned my first demon just to see if I could. An imp appeared, and he was unhappy about my flawed pentacle. He lunged at me, and I killed him."

"You killed him," I repeated. Make no mistake: I didn't have sympathy for the weaklings of my kin—and imps bred like bacteria anyway. I pictured a younger Fabray in my mind, seven and less brooding in a pretty dress, summoning a poor imp without even knowing she could—wait. "When did you first draw your flawless pentacle?"

She opened her eyes, yet looking at the ceiling. "Not until I was eleven."

That made sense. Not even a wunderkind could be the alpha kind without training. "And the rest is history," I said.

"And the rest is power," she said, her eyes back into piercing mine. "I am young, but I am not inexperienced. I see what power can do. Tientsin, Bloemfontein, Silistra—they make no difference. Power is power. The strong win, the weak lose."

This human body I inhabited felt sick. A girl of seventeen had seen conflicts from one end of this human world to the other end. Wasn't she only, well, five when Tientsin erupted in a battle between the Old World and its Chinese adversary? Wasn't she only seven when she first killed, imp be damned? Was she an active participant in the Siege of Silistra last year? Summoning demons, triumphing over weaklings, and killing opponents?

So, so young yet so, so laden.

"My arm will be healed by the time Lord Roberts' funeral is conducted," she said. "Two days from now, His Majesty the King himself will give the eulogy. You are to attend it with me. There is no reason one should not pay respects to the dead."

I stared at her in disbelief. But you're the one who killed him was on the tip my tongue, but I couldn't get it out.

"It is late. Go to your room."

I didn't say anything. I just turned around and took my leave.

"Oh, and Berry?"

Tiredly, I stopped before her door. When I turned my head to look, she was opening Journey to the Demon World and flipping the first few pages.

"I do not consider a good book a weakness."

Quinn Fabray, what were you actually planning?

-.-.-.-