Henry glared at her, and then amended her by saying “If that’s what he wants.”

Robert shook his head at that. “Trust me, he won’t.”

Maggie crossed her arms, clearly stung. “Why not?”

“You haven’t met many Saints other than him, have you?”

“Of course I...” Maggie trailed off, then looked down at the table. “What do you mean?”

“Saints change when they start hanging around together. The more you get in one place, the more you see it.” Sybille reached out and took Maggie’s hand. “They confirm one another’s biases and prejudices; stop seeking outside perspectives on their decisions. They feel like they have come home, and that makes them see what they had before as, well, less.”

Maggie snatched her hand away, and cradled it to her chest. “Less what?”

Sybille’s face fell, and she looked away. “Less everything. You aren’t the only one who’s lost family to the Angels. I… We’ll help you. But don’t be surprised if your help isn’t welcome.”

The headquarters of the Richmond Royals was far better appointed than Henry expected, looking more like the city home of some stuffed-shirt Lord. Still timber-built with wattle and daub walls, but the plaster was smooth and the whitewash could still pass for white as long as it wasn’t snowing. Only the double-sized stable block and the mess of wagons and mercenaries in the huge front courtyard showed it was a military building. Maggie had her arm looped through his, and he tried not to think about that too hard. It got distracting. He tapped his cane on the cobbles, and leaned close to her ear. “Well, at least he’s not freezing in some drafty bunkhouse. What do we do now?”

“We wait for Robert to create a distraction, and then we walk in the front door.”

Henry coughed nervously. “The front door? Isn’t that risky?”

“Less risky than skulking around in the shadows with a bunch of Saints about. At least if we walk in bold as brass, we can claim we didn’t know we were trespassing. Besides, look at you.You’re fancy. Who’s to say you don’t belong here?”

“True enough, I think?”

“Hush now.”

Maggie gave Henry’s arm a squeeze, and he did as he was told. His heartbeat quickened gradually as the minutes crawled by, until it was like a drum in his ears, blotting out the sounds of the city, the horses, and the milling soldiers.

A loud crash down the road caught Henry’s attention. He glanced up as the flow of wagons stalled, and further down the road he could see where a dung cart had overturned and blocked all the traffic, one of its wheels having somehow snapped in half. A wagon-hand ran back to the compound, yelling the news, and the officers quickly rounded up most of their men and headed out to remove the obstruction.

With the courtyard mostly clear, Maggie took Henry’s elbow and led him firmly through the front gates. Henry schooled his expression to haughty neutrality as his training kicked in. His left hand fluttered across his belt, touching the hilt of his small-sword, and dagger. All he could hear over the pounding of his blood is the steady click-click of his walking stick on the cobbles, the yelling and cursing wagon-men reduced to a distant murmur.

They glided across the courtyard as if in a dream, snatches of detail in a blurry sweep, his conscious mind dominated by the looming oak double-doors. Time dilated, shadows deepened. Every passing stable-hand was a leering gargoyle ready to shriek an alarm. Then, with a lurch, they were there on the steps, and Maggie reached out for the knocker. She knocked twice, then paused, then knocked again.

The spell broke as the doors opened, and Henry’s heart lurched and skipped. A maid stood in the threshold, looked them over, and then stepped aside. He noticed that she winked at Maggie as they passed, shut the door and then led them through a curtained side-passage into the servant’s rooms.

Maggie speaks first. “Do you know where they are keeping him?”

The maid responded, and Henry recognised the voice with a start. It is Sybille, but she has used blood magic to reshape her face. He’d seen her practice this a bit before, but he’d never seen it so effective. She could flood certain parts of her face with blood, and drain others, changing the shape. She didn’t have so much control that she could look like someone in particular, but she was very much able to look like someone other than herself. “He’s in the back,” Sybille said, “on the upper floor. But he’s not being kept captive, far as I could see.”

Maggie nodded, and grasped Sybille’s hand tightly in her own. “Good. Thank you. You did well, but you shouldn’t stay. Best you be off now.”

Sybille hesitated, but then shook her head. “No, I’ll stay. You might need my help again before this is done.”

Maggie released Sybille’s hand. Her expression was intent, as if she might argue, but then she dropped her eyes and nodded. “Okay. Lead us to him.”

The rooms within the barracks were far more sparse and utilitarian than even the most basic of the Guild’s, and a far cry from the building’s prosperous exterior. Rush mats lined the floors, and the walls were devoid of any decoration. The only sign of wealth was the abundance of lit bees-wax candles and lamps in every room, giving the rooms a warm glow that softened their otherwise spartan atmosphere. Even the internal walls were little more than wicker partitions, designed to be easily rearranged. They wove through training rooms and bunk-rooms, all fastidiously tidy. Finally they all climbed up a narrow and rickety stair to the upper floor, and onto a wide landing with a number of doors leading off of it. Sybille pointed at one, and then stood aside. “Through there is a corridor with rooms for the younger Saints. Francis is at the end on the left. There is another boy still in there though, so watch yourselves. I’ll stay here and keep watch.”

Henry looked to Maggie, and Maggie nodded. She smiled at Sybille, and then quietly lifted the latch on the door and eases it open. Henry silently padded to her side, and peeked through into the hall beyond. An unfamiliar boy about their age sat on a stool, his back against the wall. He looked bored, reading a narrow leather-bound book by the light of a candle.

Henry stepped into the corridor, and started walking towards the boy. His soft-soled boots made little noise, and so it took a few steps for the boy to notice. He straightened up instinctively, snapping the book shut and jamming it into the pocket of his doublet as he looked up, his expression sheepish.

The expression changed of course, the second he saw that it was not one of his superiors coming to check on him. Henry took another stride, and the boy registered confusion. Another step, and it turned to suspicion. Another, and the boy leaped to his feet.

Henry’s powers ignited, and the world slowed. His awareness of the boy’s emotions became clearer. He saw alarm spread, then fear and anger. The tell-tale glow of the boy’s Angels being summoned, dry heat beating off of him in waves as he draws on his power. But all too late, Henry was within striking distance. He delivered a vicious blow with his walking stick, and the boy stumbled back, his concentration broken. Henry stepped in again, and struck the boy across the temple with his back-swing. It was almost too easy, and the boy spilled to the ground in a heap.

“What the devil are you doing?”

Henry turned, smiling, and saw Francis standing in the doorway to his room. He was dressed in a nightgown, and enveloped from head to toe in the white-hot glow of angel-fire. His dark hair floated around his head as if in a breeze. The frame of the door started to smoke gently as the heat built.

Henry’s smile died on his lips. Something was wrong. “We’re here to rescue you?”

“Rescue me? What do you mean, rescue me? I don’t need rescuing.” Francis was shouting now. And his tone was both familiar and strange. He was speaking to Henry like he used to when Henry didn’t pay attention in bible study, but there was something new behind his voice now. A resonant buzz, the echoing voice of the Angels. “What have you done to Richard? Did you kill him?”

“Calm down! He’s alright, I just knocked him out.”

“Get out of here you fool. Go!”