Page 214 of The Bone Season

‘Get back in there, unnatural.’

Defeated, I cast my eye around the hall again, looking for Frank Weaver.

The Grand Inquisitor of England was nowhere in sight. Scarlett Burnish was another notable absence. They must both have been given leave to stay in London, since they were so vital to Scion. Still, I could see a few other recognisable officials, including the Chief of Vigilance, Bernard Hock. He was a huge bald man with a muscular neck, who also happened to be a sniffer. Even now, his nostrils were flared.

I made a note to murk him if I could. He had detained many of his own.

The sight of another man stopped me dead.

It couldn’t be him. Then again, he must have fled to London. If he had dared stay in his own country, he would have been assassinated.

Cathal Bell.

Cathal the Sasanach, the betrayer. The facilitator of the Dublin Incursion.

In his early fifties, he had been a charismatic and passionate man, with a crooked grin that endeared him to voters. Now his sweep of hair was grey.

I had never met Bell, but he knew my father. He had arranged our flight to London. It must have made him feel better, to bring other defectors across the Irish Sea. How my father had felt, I might never know.

Bell blotted his face with a pocket square. Every now and then, he straightened his tie and fussed with his collar. He seemed to be making stilted conversation with a Serbian official, Radmilo Arežina. Bulgaria had taken most of the blame for resistance to the Balkan Incursion, but Arežina must have annoyed someone – both were getting as wide a berth as if they had lung fever.

At first, all I could do was drink in the sight of him, a worm squirming on the end of a hook. Bell must have thought he was buying himself a life of privilege, the day he betrayed Ireland. Now he understood that all Scion saw was another brogue – the king of kerns.

I almost walked towards him, to confront him, but I stopped myself. It was good that he was here. Let the dog see its masters fall.

Seeing him had set me to shaking. When Michael passed again, I took another glass of mecks. Bell had noticed my look, and was frowning, as if trying to place me. I started to turn away.

And then my willpower just snapped.

Bell and Arežina both clocked me coming at once. Seeing my red dress – the mark of an unnatural, in this context – Arežina backed away and made a beeline for the Greeks, leaving Bell stranded.

‘Mr Bell,’ I said. ‘You look a bit different to how I remember you.’

I thickened my lilt as much as I could, getting his back straight up. ‘Do I know you?’

‘I was about to ask if you did.’

‘I’ve never seen you in my life.’ He spoke defensively. ‘I don’t make a habit of associating with unnaturals.’

He had tried very hard to shed his accent, but I could still hear it, plain as the nose on his face.

‘You might remember Cóilín Ó Mathúna – Colin Mahoney, these days,’ I said. ‘Eleven years ago, you booked two tickets from Shannon to London. One was for him. One for his daughter.’

‘Paige Mahoney.’ He had turned white. ‘I’ve no business with you now.’

‘Oh, but I have business with you, Mr Bell. After all, you’re part of the reason I’m even in this country.’ I stepped closer, making him back into a pillar. ‘First, I want to know something. Did a Trinity student named Finn Mac Cárthaigh survive the Dublin Incursion?’

‘If he did, he’s dead now,’ Bell said, his face hardening. ‘Other than a certain few who escaped, the survivors were executed at Carrickfergus.’

I had known, but hearing it still stoppered my throat.

Carraig Fhearghais, up in Ulster. Its castle was a former English military outpost.

‘You will not shame me, unnatural.’ His eye twitched as he said it. ‘Scion is necessary. Ireland needed the anchor as much as the rest.’

The golden cord gave a sharp tug. Across the hall, Warden was now engaged in conversation with a handsome Greek woman. He shot me a warning look over her. I forced myself to smile at Bell. I couldn’t risk the rebellion. He needed to think I was powerless.

‘I may be trapped here now,’ I whispered to him, ‘but your ghosts are coming for you, Mr Bell. Trust me – they’ve told me themselves.’

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