Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch [65]
Oxley wasn’t a pissed young man, but I could see he was just as keen to find someone to hold him back. Or maybe his father?
‘Your father,’ I said. ‘What does he really want?’
‘What any father wants,’ said Oxley. ‘The respect of his children.’
I nearly said that not all fathers were worthy of respect, but I managed to keep my gob shut, and anyway, not everyone had a dad a like mine.
‘It would be nice if everyone could chill for a bit,’ I said. ‘Keep everything relaxed while the Inspector and I sorted something out.’
Oxley looked at me over his teacup. ‘It is spring,’ he said. ‘Plenty of distractions upstream of Richmond.’
‘Lambing season,’ I said. ‘And what not.’
‘You’re not what I expected,’ said Oxley.
‘What were you expecting?’
‘I was expecting Nightingale to choose someone more like himself,’ said Oxley. ‘Upper-class?’
‘Solid,’ said Isis, pre-empting her husband. ‘Workmanlike.’
‘Whereas you,’ said Oxley, ‘are a cunning man.’
‘Much more like the wizards we used to know,’ said Isis.
‘Is that a good thing?’ I asked.
Oxley and Isis laughed. ‘I don’t know,’ said Oxley. ‘But it will be interesting finding out.’
It was strangely hard to leave the fair. My legs felt heavy, as if I was wading out of a swimming pool. It wasn’t until we were back at the Jag and the funfair sounds had started to fade that I felt I had escaped.
‘What is that?’ I asked Nightingale as we climbed into the car.
‘Seducere,’ he said. ‘The Compulsion, or, as the Scots say, “the Glamour”. According to Bartholomew, many supernatural creatures do it as a form of self-defence.’
‘When do I learn how to do it?’ I asked.
‘In about ten years,’ he said. ‘If you pick up the pace a bit.’
As we headed back through Cirencester for the M4, I told Nightingale about my meeting with Oxley.
‘He’s the Old Man’s consigliere, isn’t he?’ I asked.
‘If you mean his consiliarius, his advisor,’ said Nightingale, ‘then yes. Probably the second most important man at the camp.’
‘You knew he’d talk to me, didn’t you?’
Nightingale paused to check for traffic before pulling out onto the main road. ‘It’s his job to press for an advantage,’ he said. ‘You had the Battenberg cake, didn’t you?’
‘Should I have refused?’
‘No,’ said Nightingale. ‘He wouldn’t try to trap you while you’re under my protection, but you can’t always take common sense for granted when dealing with these people. It makes no sense for the Old Man suddenly to be pushing downstream. Now that you’ve met them both – what do you think?’
‘They both have genuine power,’ I said. ‘But it feels different. Hers is definitely from the sea, from the port and all that. His is all from the earth and the weather and leprechauns and crystals, for all I know.’
‘That would explain why the border’s at Teddington Lock,’ he said. Teddington is the highest point the tide reaches. The river below that point is called the tideway. It’s also the part of the Thames administered directly by the Port of London – I doubted that was a coincidence.
‘Am I right?’ I asked.
‘I believe you are,’ he said. ‘I think there may always have been a split between the tideway and the freshwater river. Perhaps that’s why it was so easy for Father Thames to abandon the city.’
‘Oxley was hinting that the Old Man doesn’t really want anything to do with the city,’ I said. ‘That he just wanted some respect.’
‘Perhaps he would be content with a ceremony,’ said Nightingale. ‘An oath of fealty, perhaps.’
‘Which is what?’
‘A feudal oath,’ said Nightingale. ‘A vassal pledges his loyalty and service to his liege lord, and the lord pledges his protection. It’s how mediaeval societies