have seen Cyricus in my dreams and in my spiritual wanderings. I don’t know from where he comes but he is an old, old mind. He is not of this region. He was ancient even when Myrren was casting her curious magic. I was too young, too caught up in the curse on Wyl Thirsk to notice Cyricus. But he was there — an interested bystander you could say, watching us. And I suspect his curiosity was pricked by her unique, twisted magic.’
‘What is he?’
‘A demon, as I told you,’ Fynch said, standing. ‘I think we should give you a chance to bathe, to get new clothes.’
‘But what about —?’
‘I realise I have given you a sense of urgency but in this matter we must show a little patience,’ Fynch said, raising a hand. ‘Now, you are wrinkling your nose at the smells of the town but I can assure you, the other travellers are going to pinch theirs when they get a whiff of your particular aroma.’ Fynch beamed Cassien the bright smile that lit up his eyes and warmed anyone it touched.
Cassien sniffed the sleeve of his leather jerkin.
‘That bad?’
‘Eye-watering,’ Fynch assured. ‘You’re going to meet a queen. We want you at your best.’
Cassien found himself immersed in an oaken barrel of hot water. He was mesmerised by the feel of the soap’s slipperiness on his skin, and the sensual pleasure of having someone wash his hair, rubbing his scalp clean. The fact that it was the bark-smoking Wife Wiggins with her black teeth and gravelly voice, rather than a pretty young woman like the inn maid, didn’t matter. It was heavenly.
Wife Wiggins was not in the least moved by his nakedness; she’d raised her eyebrows in disdain at Cassien’s bashfulness and cast a sigh over her shoulder towards Fynch. Nevertheless, Cassien emerged from the depths groaning with satisfaction.
‘I’m surprised you have no lice,’ she remarked, ‘you’re so grubby. Make sure you use the soap on your —’
‘Thank you,’ Cassien said, cutting off her advice. ‘I can manage now.’
She looked at Fynch, who nodded. ‘Right then, I’ll leave you to it,’ she grumbled. ‘I suggest you soak for a while. You seem to have leaf mould growing out of your ears, young man.’
‘I’ll see to it. Thank you again for the clothes,’ Fynch said.
‘Yes, well, you’ve paid handsomely. And I’ll be burning those old rags he wore when he walked in here.’
‘Do we tip the water out or —’
‘Tip it out?’ she cried from the doorway of the barn she called a bathhouse. ‘Are you mad, sir? I’ll wash three more men in that water before it gets tipped. Just leave it as you found it.’ She left, pushing the bark smoke back between her lips.
Cassien blinked. ‘What a scary woman.’
Fynch’s eyes sparkled with amusement. ‘You can just imagine the array of men who pass through her tubs. It started out as a service she offered the tanners but now she has to run ten tubs, and in high season can bathe fifty men a day. She doesn’t usually scrub them down herself, I must admit, but you’re special.’
‘Fynch, I must know more about this demon. It’s as though you hesitate.’
‘Maybe I don’t want to accept it as real and by getting you involved I must fully accept the reality of his threat.’ He sighed deeply. ‘I told you Cyricus has been watching us from afar for decades.’
‘And you have been watching him.’
‘I have watched you too. You are suited to the role.’
‘What role?’
‘To kill the demon when he presents himself. You are all we have. Your killing skills and your very special magic.’
Now, finally, it made sense. Fynch was after the weapon of his mind. He could see in Fynch’s open face that the old man knew Cassien understood that.
Fynch sighed. ‘Cyricus will come to Morgravia in the guise of a man, of that I’m sure. He must travel in that form in order to walk our land, otherwise he has no substance.’ Fynch held up a long, slim finger. ‘But as flesh he is also vulnerable in the way a man is.’
‘How will I know him?’
‘You won’t. But he will attack the Crown. That will be part of his plan. To bring it down. He will seek to destroy first the royals and then seize power.’
‘Why would he want to?’
‘Because he can,’ Fynch said in a weary tone, handing Cassien a linen, signalling it was time for him to clamber out of the tub. ‘Because he is bored. Because he enjoys stirring trouble, bringing problems. He sees an unsettled people and he wants to spice up the discontent. And because he has reason to destroy a single region of the empire that I will not, cannot permit.’
‘And where is that?’
‘It’s called the Wild. It is our bad luck that his attention has been attracted and focused on our empire but it’s no good bleating. We must act.’
‘Surely an army is better than a single man?’ Cassien stood with the linen wrapped around his lower body, water pooling around his feet. He knew Fynch’s story sounded far-fetched, and yet because Romaine trusted him Cassien felt compelled to follow suit.
‘An army against another army perhaps,’ Fynch replied. ‘But an army is no match against a foe it can’t see, or doesn’t know is there. What’s more, I have no desire to give Cyricus warning that we know of his presence. Right now he believes himself unknown — and to most he is. But I know him. I feel him. I smell him. I taste him and his hungry interest on a bitter wind. One day I may hear his cries for mercy or touch the dead body he chooses to inhabit, but right now surprise is my only defence … and you and I the only people who stand in his way.’
‘Has our world faced a demon before?’
‘Not to my knowledge, although Myrren’s curse on Wyl Thirsk could be viewed that way. But, while I might be old, this demon is as ancient as the Razors, maybe older. He comes from the east, I believe.’
Cassien pulled on the ill-fitting pants and shirt, posing for Fynch, who made a face of amused resignation. ‘That will have to do for the moment.’ As Cassien continued dressing and tidied his hair, Fynch finished what he could of the story.
‘Cyricus was astonished, excited by the power of the Wild when he discovered it, and sought to use it. The magic within the Wild repelled him, bouncing his acolyte, the sycophantic Aphra, out of our plane to another, trapping her and weakening Cyricus. This is very ancient history, mind you,’ Fynch warned, ‘long before my time. Cyricus did nothing until the scent of the magic of Myrren reached him centuries later, stirring him from whichever depths of thought he lived in.’
‘And being cautious now he simply watched?’
‘Exactly,’ Fynch said. ‘Ready?’ Cassien nodded. ‘Then it’s time to call on the tailor,’ Fynch said, looking up as they departed Wife Wiggins’s barn.
‘How
