The Milkweed Triptych 01 - Bitter Seeds by Ian Tregillis Read Free Book Online Page B

friend. A grisly night, but harmless . . . until Will found the object of his quest and read aloud from it. Marsh crossed his arms, warding off a frisson ofdisquiet. He’d never returned to the Bodleian after that night. Nor had they ever spoken about it. One sensed that Will had committed a whopping great indiscretion, even by his standards.
    Unnatural
. Marsh had comforted himself with hopeful self-delusion, disregarding the whole affair as a faulty memory and perhaps a lesson on the perils of drinking to excess. Except, of course, Will had been sober as a deacon. And now as he listened to Stephenson and reflected upon the events in Spain, Marsh confronted the possibility that his memory was unscathed.
    Marsh returned his attention to the conversation at hand. Somebody had turned on another lamp. The room had split in two factions: those who believed Stephenson and Marsh were crazy, and those who believed they were merely mistaken. Arguments flew back and forth until Admiral Sinclair clapped his hands for silence.
    “Gentlemen! This is leading nowhere. I’ll issue an all-section directive to flag and compile any information regarding this von Westarp character. Until we know more, there is nothing we can do. I suggest we table the issue.”
    Marsh’s thoughts were still in Oxford. “That’s a mistake,” he blurted.
    Stephenson coughed, the corners of his mouth turned up behind his hand.
He loves it when I make an ass of myself.
    Somebody muttered something about “Stephenson’s pet gorilla,” Marsh’s nickname back at SIS. They saw him as a rough fellow, brutish, and—because of his class—no doubt endowed with disgraceful manners. A gorilla.
    The Admiral leaned forward, fixing Marsh with a cold stare. He coughed again into his handkerchief before responding. “I beg your pardon,
Commander
?”
    “Forgive me, sir, but I was there. And I’m telling you, the Jerries are on to something here. If we wait on this, it’ll be too late to do anything.”
    “Well, then,” chimed the First Lord. “Thank you so very much for sharing your vast wisdom and expertise.” He shifted in his chair, turning his attention fully on his peers. A none-too-subtle indication that Marsh was dismissed and disregarded.
    Thinking of Will, Marsh murmured to Stephenson, “We need to recruit specialists.”
    “Specialists?”
    Well, hell. In for a penny, in for a pound
, thought Marsh. He nodded at Stephenson. The old man regarded his protégé through narrowed eyes.
    “Yes,” said Marsh. “Experts in the unnatural.”
    There was no point in Marsh announcing the idea. But Stephenson had the respect of these men, and so he voiced Marsh’s suggestion as though it were his own.
    The room erupted in pandemonium.
    “Right, then. We’ll just open our doors to every crank we can muster, shall we? Press them into service?”
    “—may as well issue faerie wands to the troops while we’re at it—”
    “—off his rocker—”
    “—wasting our time—”
    The rotund man in the shadows cleared his throat. “Hmm. Let the man have his say.”
    Marsh recognized the voice.
And what the hell is he doing here? He holds no office . . . although if war breaks out on the continent, Stanhope may be ousted.
    Stephenson looked at Marsh. “What do you have in mind?”
    Marsh shook his head. “First let me talk to somebody. Discreetly. Then I’ll get back to you.”
    7 March 1939
    Reichsbehörde für die Erweiterung germanischen Potenzials
    K laus abandoned his plan to actively humiliate Reinhardt at the award ceremony after learning none other than Reichsführer-SS Heinrich Himmler would pin the Spanish Cross on Doctor von Westarp’s chest. Had it been a lower-level functionary presiding over the ceremony, Klaus would have gone ahead and knocked Reinhardt down a few rungs. But embarrassing Reinhardt on today of all days would also mean disgracingthe doctor in front of his patron. Contemplating the inevitable retribution was enough to