Part IX: Manoeuvres
He stood and considered Will. ‘Come at me. Give me your best shot.’
Will’s eyes narrowed. ‘And then what? You slam me into the wall snarling “Don’t think you can ever get the better of me, boy”?’
‘No.’ Well, yes, probably – he’d have to control himself – but did the brat have to be so suspicious? It was normally a matter of preventing Will from charging at everything and anyone with fists flying.
‘Pretend I’m a Trecorde demon and I’ve just insulted Dru’s honour. What would you do?’
Will glared at him. ‘Come and fetch you, sir, because a three year old fledgling shouldn’t delude himself he can take on a Trecorde,’ he chanted.
Oh, right. Yes, well at least he had learnt that lesson. ‘Will you damn well just show me your best attack.’
Will raised his fists carefully and threw a punch, which Angelus allowed to connect, then Will gave a textbook two-three follow up and stood back. ‘How was that?’
‘Try again.’
The same three-part combination, with a look of grim determination on Will’s face. When he was done again he settled back, the heels of his boots clumping against the kitchen flagstones. He smelt of brass polish from where he’d been rubbing desultorily at the fender when Angelus came in, and his breath carried the sweet stickiness of something human. Probably jam, it was almost impossible to stop Will eating jam. In the warm, homely glow of the kitchen-range he looked even younger than he usually did.
‘Try something else. See if you can surprise me.’
Will hesitated and this time began on the other foot, with the high cross-cut Angelus had struggled half the winter to perfect. It was not quite faultless but it was close, and Will’s face was screwed up with concentration to achieve it.
Angelus folded his arms. He had a very slight throb in his jaw where Will had hit him. I’ve got Will, he thought. No minions, no Darla, Dru’s as likely to invite everyone to a tea-party as fight, so I’ve just got Will.
‘That’s very good. Exactly how I’ve taught you.’ He thought about Will fighting the Trecorde, his face lit with glee, inaccurate punches raining down in a flurry of incompetent fury that had somehow stunned the Trecorde into retreat. ‘Was that how you fought the Trecorde?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Liar. Come here.’
Will came slowly, a little sideways, slinking like a spaniel that has been too often whipped. Angelus took him and turned him round, back to his chest, laying his hands over Will’s arms, the way he had always taught him how to move. He felt Will relax under him, agile young muscles solid through the thin cloth of his shirt. Angelus moved him just a little off his balance.
‘What did you think about when you fought the Trecorde?’
Will turned his head to look up at him miserably. ‘Give over, sir. You already thrashed me for that, and it was ages ago.’
‘This isn’t about punishment, Will. I want to know what you thought about when you fought.’
Will frowned. Under his hands Angelus could feel Will shifting, unthinkingly trying to get back into a proper fighting stance. ‘I’m not sure, sir. About Dru, I suppose. And… maybe a bit about how spare you’d go when you found out.’
Angelus smiled. It was the first time Will had admitted he’d given a second thought to Angelus’s warning to avoid the Trecorde.
‘Did you think about your stance? Your balance?’
‘Yes.’
Angelus sighed and released him. ‘Good boy.’
And then very uncertainly Will turned and looked at him. ‘I did try, sir. I really did. But there’s so much to remember. And…’ He hung his head. ‘You’re always yelling at me to concentrate, but I just don’t know how to.’
Angelus set his hands on Will’s shoulders. ‘So what did you think about as you fought, truthfully?’
‘Nothing, sir. I don’t think I could think about anything. I was just fighting.’
And he’d been tiring when Angelus had come up, muscles beginning to forget their lessons, but Dru had said Will had been gone for half an hour. For the first time it occurred to Angelus that for a three year old fledgling to stand up to a Trecorde for half an hour was no little thing, and he had a flickering pang of regret that he had not paused for just a second to observe how Will was doing it.
‘Show me. Forget about everything I’ve ever taught you and just fight me like you fought the Trecorde.’
Will took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded, and Angelus took a step back. Will’s eyes narrowed slightly and Angelus imagined he was pretending he, Angelus, was the Trecorde. And then Will shook his head and as his fangs descended he charged.
It wasn’t graceful, it wasn’t model, but by God it was getting the job done. As Angelus dodged a fist with real intention behind it, he realised that whilst Will probably thought he was abandoning everything he had been taught his limbs were in fact perfectly following their lessons, only for once Will wasn’t concentrating on worrying about getting it right. Whatever he was thinking about was translating into whirling fists and feet so fast that…
A blow to his jaw like a carthorse kicking made Angelus stop analysing and start concentrating on fighting back. It was one thing to have a sense of pride in his boy’s achievements but he was damned if he would let him actually win.
Will was pushing him back, driving him into the corner between the dresser and the kitchen table, trying to hamper his movements.
Angelus swung low, sweeping out with his legs but Will jumped up, regaining his balance in a flash.
It gave Angelus time to roll sideways though and he came up and landed two blows on Will’s midriff before Will could counter them. Angelus followed it up with a punch intended for Will’s jaw but found it blocked and then another landed on his own side, catching one of the bruises Harmonia’s brutes had left. He gasped and Will dodged back, grinning from ear to ear.
‘What exactly is going on?’
They straightened up like guilty schoolboys, Angelus quickly tugging his waistcoat straight.
‘I should have thought that was obvious, Darla.’
‘You went out hunting, Angelus. Have you caught anything? Or did you spend all your time mooning around the cathedral and then come back to play with the boy?’
Angelus flailed between panic at her mention of the cathedral, the dire necessity of not making that apparent, and not giving in to retort to the obvious insult that he and Will were just playing.
‘I am testing the boy’s fighting skills – I would have thought even you would consider that important.’
‘It is his Latin and his hunting that needs attention. He is already well able to brawl as he shows with tedious frequency.’
‘Nothing wrong with my Latin,’ Will said.
Darla made an impatient gesture, as if flicking a fly away. ‘You evaded my question, boy, did you catch anything?’
‘When I need you to examine me on my hunting, Darla, I will ask you.’
Will was watching everything, wide eyed, and the little wretch was obviously scenting the air, his nostrils quivering as he picked up the waves of tension roiling between them.
‘So you did not.’
‘Hungry are you, darling? Not found anything yourself then?’
She smiled triumphantly. ‘That would be because this God-forsaken backwater is dry.’
‘Or because you lack the imagination to look outside the same tired tricks you’ve been using for twenty years.’ Any minute now she was going to hit him. ‘I have something in mind, it will take a couple more days but it is coming along nicely.’
‘Who?’ She snapped the word, head rearing back, frank disbelief in her face. She thought he was just stalling.
‘The assistant organist at the cathedral.’
As Angelus said it, Will gave a small gasp and Angelus wondered what that meant, but he couldn’t break his gaze from Darla, couldn’t let his concentration slip for a second.
‘The organist?’
‘The assistant organist. He is growing discontent with his position, in a day or so I shall organise an argument with his chief and the young man will be believed happy to leave for a better proposition elsewhere. Lincoln, as it happens.’ He smiled at her. ‘But then you clearly knew that, my dear, since you apparently know I’ve been hunting the cathedral.’ He waited, watching the play of carefully withheld emotion on her face, trusting that he was keeping his own hidden from her in return.
At last she sniffed, the sign that for now she was willing to concede a little ground – and that always meant she was planning something even deeper and more dangerous than ever.
‘I see, and why does testing the boy’s brawling come into this?’
‘Because there are Impresarios in the city.’
That shocked her, enough that she didn’t try to conceal it. Her eyes flew to Will and then back to him. ‘Oh Angelus, when did you find out?’
‘This evening.’
‘But we have no minions! No…’ Again she looked at Will.
‘What’s an Empress Ario?’
‘Quiet, Will.’ He took a step forward, looking down at her, setting a hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, darling, there are only a few, nothing I can’t handle.’
For a moment she let herself go, her eyes dipping closed, her frame quivering, and then her body snapped upright, her voice barking. ‘What, with that boy to help you? Don’t be a fool, Angelus. The two of you cannot take on a herd of Impresarios and there is an end to it. We will pack and leave tomorrow.’
‘And let the whole world know that Angelus of Aurelius can be driven off his chosen hunting ground by any stray demon that fancies to try? I think not, Darla.’
‘Yes, if needs must and you are foolish enough to have got us into this situation.’
‘You wouldn’t say that in London.’
‘And I hardly need remind you that we are not in London. Who cares if we concede this provincial dung-heap? If you fight them, you fight them alone, Angelus.’
‘He’s not alone, he’s got me!’ Will said.
‘Oh be quiet, boy. I warn you, Angelus, I will not risk my life for one of your posturings.’
He quirked a smile. ‘I never thought for one moment that you would, darling.’
‘So you think you can use that?’ She flicked her hand in Will’s direction.
‘Yes. Will and I will deal with them together, and you ladies need never set foot out of the house or look up from your embroidery frames.’
She glared at him for a moment, then turned her back, her heels making harsh little clipping steps on the kitchen flags as she headed for the door. ‘I shall send Dru out when it is all over,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘With a dustpan.’
‘Women,’ Angelus remarked.