The Folly was quiet and still: a bastion of strength and familiar solidarity in an otherwise turbulent day.
Lesley was gone and she wouldn't be returning. Not that Molly would let her in if she did, Nightingale mused thoughtfully. He hadn't seen Molly since he finally returned to his home nearly an hour ago but he could sense her furious presence prowling the upper floors as he walked the lower; keeping watchful guard over their apprentice.
Never before had the name of his home struck him as so fatalistically apposite: The Folly.
There had been too much folly recently; particularly his folly, his mistakes. He should have seen, should have known; should have had at least some inclination of what his other apprentice was up to. He hadn't even wanted her in the first place; had never warmed up to her, never trusted her, as he had oh so quickly with Peter. He should have stood firm and refused to take her on.
But he didn't and he hadn't and Peter - poor, wonderful, always overlooked Peter had paid the price.
Nightingale checked the locks on the front door again. Something primal, deep inside his psyche, demanding that he secure his home, lock the world out – as if he could keep his family safe with this act alone. But Peter couldn't stay locked within the safety of these walls for long, and it would be a further folly to attempt it. He was needed, they both were - they were all that was left to stand between London and her faceless foe. Never before had he felt so fiercely glad that he had met his apprentice that cold January night in Covent Garden; that he was no longer alone.
He had more than his fair share of regrets – at over one hundred years old it would be difficult not to – but Thomas was finding it impossible to regret meeting and taking Peter Grant as his apprentice. Even now in the cold light of Lesley's betrayal he can't help but selfishly cling to their bond in spite of knowing Peter's life would be much easier, safer, and a good deal less dangerous if they had never met.
It had taken far longer to get back to the folly than he would have liked. Varvara had had to be stashed somewhere… secure before he had stopped off to visit Zach. Officially he was there on an information gathering exercise, to see what Zach knew about Lesley's plans, but mostly it was to warn the demi-fae; Lesley was to be considered persona non-grata, to actively assist her would be to declare against the Folly and against him. Zach had only looked slightly surprised as he had replied in a surly voice "so that's it then, you're chucking her out… you're not even going to try to understand why? Are you gonna try to kill her on sight as well? She could be doing this to help you, like a spy... and you… you can't even be bothered to make an effort to understand".
"It depends entirely on what she tries to do to us first" Thomas had tiredly replied after Zach had retreated into an accusatory silence. "It may sometimes be necessary to ask forgiveness rather than permission, but this? Zach, what Lesley has done has placed a lot of people in great danger; not only did she help a wanted murderer escape but she could have killed Peter…"
"Yeah, exactly", Zach cut in excitedly, "she could have and she didn't, that's got to count for something, right? Maybe she did it to prove to that dude that she was trustworthy and on his side… like in that episode of Spooks" he continued, waving his hands to get his point across.
The idea of Lesley as some sort of modern MET equivalent of Mata Hari was not a comforting one. The writer E.M. Forster had once famously written that if forced to choose 'between betraying his country and betraying a friend, he hoped he should have the guts to betray his country'. It was a sentiment Thomas couldn't help but agree with. It would have been one thing if she had defected for ideological reasons, if it had just been her oaths to him she had betrayed. But what left Thomas cold was that she had shot her friend, arguably her closest friend, in the back without warning before walking away and that was a different matter entirely. In the space of a few short minutes Lesley May had broken her oaths and abandoned her obligations to Queen and country, to justice, to the police, to him and to Peter.
Needing to know 'why' is an oddly modern need; one finely honed by over a century of detective fiction where the why is the pivotal point in the story. But this isn't a story, this is their life and a wrong move driven by foolish sentiment could end in disaster. If Ettersburg had taught him anything it was that mercy had little place in war and he could no longer delude himself – this was war. In the face of betrayal understanding 'why' is a dangerous self-indulgence. Lesley could not be trusted, no matter her motives – the next time it might not be a taser in the back, it could be a bullet or a fireball.
It was a nice fantasy, he would give Zach that, the idea that Lesley was a double agent; but Thomas had lived too long and through too many wars to believe, even in the unlikely event that this was an elaborate bluff, that there would be a happy ending. Whatever her motivations, however good and pure her reasons might seem to her – his former apprentice had proved to be a dangerous, untrustworthy liability.
And magic didn't care for oath breakers. There was always a price to pay.
Making a mental note to ask Peter about this 'Spooks' at some point as the reference went right over his head Thomas opted to ignore it for the moment and returned his attention to the matter in hand.
"Remember what I've said, Zach, and pass the message on. Miss May no longer bears the protection of my name or the aegis of the Folly and the Metropolitan Police… she is to be counted as an oath breaker and anyone who knowingly assists her will be judged as violating The Agreement and treated as such."
Judging by the ghastly pallor of Zach's face the severity and sincerity of his message had struck home; Thomas only hoped it would stick.
Rallying his courage Zach called out as Nightingale made to leave "you and what army? It's just you and Peter now – no one's going to take The Agreement seriously when there's only two of you against a guy who gets away with blowing up a building in your back yard and swipes your apprentices from you…".
Thomas stopped abruptly. In one sentence Zach had unknowingly hit on one of his greatest fears. He turned back to look at Zach who was trying so hard to appear brave before replying evenly "then they have forgotten their history. The Folly is not alone, it never has been. There are the Others. The Agreement stands". From Zach's flinch and shallow nod the reference was received and understood, Thomas left the pub storeroom and walked tiredly back to where he had left the jag, it was time to see Abdul.
Temporarily reassured that all the entry points were as secure as they were going to get, Nightingale forced himself to leave his post in the vestibule to go and check on the Folly's newest inhabitant. The east staircase had rarely felt so long nor such an effort to climb. His desire to see Peter, to reassure himself with his own eyes that his apprentice was still alive, still breathing, still safe was almost unbearable but it was an indulgence he could not yet afford to give into.
Finally reaching the landing, Thomas paused for a moment as he approached the first door, before squaring his shoulders and opening it. This was Lesley's room; or perhaps more accurately, the room she had briefly occupied during her residency here. Calling it her room, even in the hidden depths of his mind felt like a betrayal of all those who had lived and worked and in the Folly and remained true to their oaths whatever it might have cost them. It might have been a childish reaction but the old wizard found he couldn't bring himself to allow his former apprentice to have even the slightest claim on his home.
He wasn't sure what he was expecting, exactly, as he stepped into the room and flicked on the light - but it wasn't this. The room was messy in a lived-in way; clothes spread out on the bed, towel on the chair, laundry littering the floor around the soiled clothes hamper, an open book resting on the table with an uncapped biro carelessly thrown down on a pad of paper half filled with Lesley's neat script next to it. It looked like a room the occupant was going to return to in the near future rather than one that had been abandoned.
The unpalatable job of sorting through her things to look for clues he knew in his heart wouldn't be there would have to be done but it could wait until tomorrow. Peter would have to be involved as he, indisputably, knew Lesley better himself, Seawoll or Stephanopoulos did – but he would not do it alone, Thomas would ensure it.
And there was another minefield that had to be dealt with as soon as possible - there could be no avoiding it: Seawoll and Stephanopoulos would have to be debriefed in full about Constable May's actions, especially her attack on Peter. Thinking about Peter's injuries brought him out in a cold sweat as he reminded himself that it could have been worse, that she could have killed him or permanently injured him.
Abdul's medical report had made for uncomfortable reading; apart from an assortment of bruises and strained muscles (which considering that he had also fallen several hundred feet off a collapsing building was nothing short of miraculous), Peter had also been tasered twice in the back, directly above the heart, from a distance of less than a meter. His old friend had made it quite clear that the greatest danger now was the potential cardiac damage Peter may well have sustained as a consequence of having 50,000 volts pushed through his body twice within the space of a few minutes. Tasers, even set to a high voltage, may stun rather than kill but Thomas could not help but feel that bullets were somehow cleaner and kinder.
It would be some little time before Abdul could be confident that there would be no hidden complications lurking in the background just waiting for the most inopportune moment to reveal themselves - and until then he and Molly would have to watch Peter carefully. Peter was young and healthy, which was in his favour in terms of recovery, but it was also a potential source of trouble as he doubted that his apprentice would be a compliant or particularly cooperative patient.
He turned from her room, shutting the door softly behind him before continuing down the hallway to check on the Nightwitch only to be shooed away with a hiss, and a pointed gesture in the direction of Peter's room, from the ever faithful Molly who was pacing outside her door with a predatory expression. If Varvara was foolish enough to try and leave her room without an escort she would not like the consequences. Thomas had never enquired too deeply into Molly's past, at first out of politeness and then later because it had ceased to matter, but after eighty odd years of cohabitation he was only too aware of her personality and abilities. The Folly was her territory and she guarded it and people she claimed as hers with a jealous ferocity; woe betide anyone, or anything, which tried to harm her wizard or her apprentice in her home.
Upon entering Peter's room it was immediately apparent that all was not well. In a few hurried steps he was by Peter's side, one hand already reaching out in an attempt to sooth his restless, fitful movements. Abdul had warned him that one of the possible side-effects of the pain killer he had prescribed Peter was problems sleeping due to vivid, almost hallucinatory dreams. Considering the trauma of the past few days (months) it should not have surprised him that they would be making a reappearance in his dreams. But it did.
Peter had dealt with everything he had been through so well; too well, his mind whispered before he clamped down on that thought. He had been raised in a time when men didn't discuss their emotions, how their jobs made them feel - what they made them do – what they made them become, and Peter seemed to be cut from the same cloth. The past was best left behind you, swept under the carpet of time and forgotten about, or at least not talked about. And, Lesley? Well, Thomas was honest enough to admit in the privacy of his own mind that he hadn't given much thought to how his other apprentice felt about her experiences; the impact of being possessed, of the damage to her face and her abrupt career shift from rising star to magical apprentice in a unit with little hope of professional progression. He had assumed she dealt with things in the same way as he and Peter and was recovering from her trauma on her own as she hadn't raised the subject either with him or, to the best of his knowledge, with Peter. Was this another stark example of his folly, another mistake to add to his list? Should he have paid more attention to Lesley's emotional state? He hadn't noticed anything but truthfully he hadn't been looking.
Taking on one apprentice after so long on his own had proved a challenge, albeit one he had come to cherish, but having a second foisted upon him at short notice and not of his choosing had created time management problems he hadn't foreseen or had to juggle in more years than he cared to remember. With so many demands he had struggled to find the balance between adequate supervision for two very different apprentices at different stages of learning with his duties and responsibilities to the MET and the magical community. And maybe this was the crux of the matter. Lesley had not been his choice, and would not have been his choice if he had had the option. From early on in their acquaintance he had been aware that while she might shine from a procedural perspective and would no doubt have a glittering career in her Majesty's Metropolitan Police Service she lacked the instinctive empathy and intuition that made Peter both a brilliant policeman and a poor copper and which had drawn him to Peter, to work with him, to invite him into his home after only a very short time.
Even in his own mind he referred to her as his second apprentice, his other apprentice. Was this what had driven Lesley away? The knowledge that she was second best and to a person she all to clearly saw herself as superior to (both as a practitioner and as a policeman) could not have been comfortable to a person like Lesley May who was used to being recognised as the best.
Maybe that was one of things that needed to change. He and Peter would need to discuss the events of the past few days for professional reasons but maybe it was time to talk about the personal side of it too: he would not lose another apprentice because he failed in his emotional care.
Despite the hand gently stroking his forehead and a soft stream of gentle, reassuring words Peter didn't calm or wake as Thomas had hoped he would. The drugs had too firm a hold on him but he hoped that some part of Peter recognised his presence and that it was of some comfort to him. Coming to a decision he hoped would not cause complications later he quietly murmured the words to the sleeping spell he had once upon a happier time used on Toby. Peter quieted immediately, his breathing slowing into a deeper, calmer rhythm. The spell wouldn't last long; no more than a couple of hours but if it meant that come morning Peter was slightly better rested and less sore from tossing and turning all night then that was something. And at the moment they all needed to hang onto the some things in their lives.
The temptation to stay was strong, there was a comfortable chair in the corner of the room where he could sit and unobtrusively keep watch over Peter during the night but it would cross a line, one which Nightingale was fairly sure it would be hard to come back from. Boundaries and lines were important, vital even, in a tangled situation such as theirs where he was both Master, boss and provider. If he ever were to stay in Peter's bedroom overnight, for whatever reason, it would only be with the explicit consent of its inhabitant.
With one last long look at the now peaceful occupant of the bed Thomas Nightingale shut the door quietly behind him.
Standing in the dim light of his room, Nightingale looked around uncertainly. He ought to sleep, he certainly needed it, and yet thoughts about the day continued to niggle at him; what ifs and possible futures swirling around his over-active mind as he paced a well worn route around his bedroom.
One of the hardest lessons he'd learnt over his long life is that nine times out of ten there is nothing you could have done to have changed events. People often think that living with regret, blaming yourself, is the hardest way to live – they're wrong. Blaming yourself, making it your fault, is so much easier than understanding your own cosmic insignificance; because if it's your fault, your responsibility, then you had some control in this, some part and you weren't just a victim of circumstance to be blown hither and thither by the vagaries of other people.
One of his masters had been very fond of saying that history is the sum total of things that couldn't be avoided. The unfortunate truth is that any control you think you have in an illusion - people will make decisions wholly unconnected with you and all that is left is for you to live with the consequences. Maybe, if he or Peter had known about her decision before hand, if they had known what would happen, they could have done something to alter the course of events. But 'what if' is a dangerous path to tread and whatever Lesley's motives were, whatever her reasons, they were ultimately irrelevant, she had betrayed them, and no justification would – could - undo that.
What was needed now was information.
They needed to know who their enemies were and who could be counted upon to stand with the Folly.
The Agreement still stood, but the question was for how long? Zach's ill-timed remark might have been said in the heat of anger but it was no less true because of it. Fear, tradition and complacency had kept the fragile spider web of agreements and informal détentes, that had been in place since the Magisterium first ceded authority and responsibility for the governance of magic to the newly formed Isaacs, from fracturing and falling apart. But with only two enforcers, would the demi-fae and other practitioners really feel compelled to abide by rules many of them chafed against? Or would they side with the Faceless Man as Lesley had.
The wizard sighed as he finally forced his jittery body into the cold comfort of his bed. The Folly was secure, Peter asleep and Molly on guard duty - it was time to sleep.
He had never possessed the talent of foresight as some of the fae do, but even he could sense that they were standing on the edge of something enormous.
If the agreements disintegrated, then it was probable that the Folly would not long survive. If the Folly fell... all hell would likely break loose.
Idly, in that relaxed state half way between sleep and wakefulness, Nightingale wondered whether the Faceless Man knew what would happen, who would come, if the Isaacs' were destroyed; if the Faceless Man understood exactly which hornets' nest he was in danger of awakening.
He had reminded Zach earlier that evening that the Folly was not alone, that he could - and would have to - call upon the Others if the need arose; but they were not there yet. Nightingale would not summon the Others unless he had no other options left. Today had been a shock, evil may be stirring in London but for now there was very little they could do and whatever would come they had time. They still had time.
And with that final thought, the exhausted wizard finally drifted off to sleep.
A month later, Peter phoned to say that there was a possible child abduction case in Herefordshire.