The Master of Heathcrest Hall (50 page)

He dampened his fingers and used them to comb the tangles from his dark hair, which was getting long again, then bound it
behind his neck with a ribbon. This done, he went to the window and looked out. People and horses and carts moved on the street below, and with all the bustle it might have been any normal day in the city. Except that, upon second glance, a large number of the people going to and fro were not merchants or washerwomen or boys selling broadsheets, but were in fact soldiers, the morning light glinting off their brass buttons and the bayonets on their rifles.

Eldyn’s skull throbbed, none too gently reminding him that he was overdue for a cup of coffee. A glance at the sky above the rooftops confirmed his hope that, however long it had been, the morning was not over. That was well, for by Lord Valhaine’s order all coffeehouses were forced to close their doors as soon as the sun reached the zenith. Which meant, on short lumenals, people had to be quick to take a cup. And if Eldyn was quick now, he might yet get a cup himself.

The theater was quiet as he went downstairs. Everyone must have been out and about already. Though a peek through the door of the parlor on the second floor confirmed that Madame Richelour was sitting with Master Tallyroth. Having no wish to disturb them, Eldyn proceeded to the first floor, and as it was daytime he departed by the front door. He turned to start down Durrow Street, eager for a hot cup—

—then stopped short, gaping at the man in front of him. The other was tall, of an age with Eldyn, and if not precisely handsome, was all the same very pleasing to look at in his fashionable gray suit.

Except Eldyn was anything but pleased to see him at this moment.

“Garritt!” the other man said at the same time as Eldyn exclaimed, “Rafferdy!”

For a long moment both of them stared at each other. The sunlight was hot, and Eldyn felt sweat trickle down his sides.

It was Rafferdy who managed to speak first. “I have been greatly worried about you, Garritt. You haven’t replied to any of my notes
lately. I went to your address near the cathedral, only the landlady said you no longer live there, and nor had you been by in some time to retrieve your letters.”

“But how did you find me here?” Eldyn said, rather breathlessly.

Now Rafferdy frowned. “Good God, Garritt, you hardly sound happy that I have done so! And here I was worried you had been shot dead in some riot. But then your landlady’s son told me that he had followed you one day after you picked up your letters.”

“He spied on me?”

“Yes, he is apparently an enterprising lad. No doubt he thought the information might be of value someday. And so it was, for I had to give him half a regal to get it. At first, when my driver pulled up to the address, I thought I’d been swindled out of my coin. Only I see the boy was right after all, for here you are.” He glanced up at the sign over the door of the theater, then raised an eyebrow. “But why
are
you here, Garritt? I would hardly expect to find such a diffident soul as yours strolling on such an unwholesome avenue as this.”

A sharp edge of fear cut through Eldyn. But then it passed and was replaced by a resignation. Indeed, it was even a peculiar kind of relief he felt, such as a murderer who has been on the run for years must feel when he is at last apprehended. For so long he had dreaded this moment, but now that it had come, it could no longer be avoided. There was no use in dissembling or lying to his friend anymore.

“I live here,” Eldyn said.

Rafferdy leaned upon his cane, as if caught off balance. “What do you mean you live here? This is a playhouse, Garritt. I don’t understand.”

“Then let me show you.”

Eldyn lifted his hands, holding the palms together like a little stage, and looked down at them. There was so much light all around that it took hardly any effort. A golden dove with ruby eyes manifested on Eldyn’s hand, and he could not help smiling a
little as it did, for it was beautiful. The dove flicked metallic feathers and opened a jeweled beak. Then, all at once, it spread its gleaming wings and flew up to the sky.

Eldyn let the phantasm dissipate, but he did not lift his gaze from his now-empty hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “It was wrong to hide this from you for so long. But I could never bring myself to tell you. Only now you know the truth. I’m sorry, Rafferdy. You must be repulsed.”

He waited for his friend to reply. Only they wouldn’t be friends, not anymore. There would be words of anger, of scorn and disgust, and after that the two of them would never see each other again.

Only when Rafferdy at last replied, it was not with words at all, but rather with laughter.

Unable to believe his ears, Eldyn at last looked up. But sure enough, Rafferdy was gripping the handle of his cane and laughing heartily, as if he had just heard the most amusing joke. Then he leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“Show me that again, Garritt!” he said.

I
VY WALKED along the seashore in the pale morning light. Despite the cold, she was dressed like before, in only a soft piece of doeskin around her midriff and an aurochs hide cast over her shoulders. She walked along the shore, searching for pretty shells. One caught her eye, as smooth and pink as the sky above the horizon. She bent down, using her fingernails to pry it up from the half-frozen sand.…

No, this wasn’t right. This wasn’t where she was supposed to be. Ivy struggled, willing herself to be elsewhere.

And then she was. It was night now, and she huddled with her people in the darkness of the cave. She pressed close to them for warmth, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of their bodies. From outside came a sound like the murmur of waves upon the shore. Only the people were many days of walking from the sea now, and the noise was that of the trees of the great forest, heaving to and fro in the wind.

Suddenly a hot spark of light appeared at the mouth of the cave. At first she wondered if it was the new red star shining through the opening. Only then a man and a woman stepped into the cave, and the light was coming from what looked to be a glowing coal in his hand. Yet it was brighter than a coal, and he held it against his flesh as if it were cool as stone.

The light illuminated the strange pair. The woman wore black leathers that clung to her like a second skin, while her own skin was as pale as bone. The man was tall and handsome, a silver wolf pelt draping his broad shoulders. His sharp blue gaze roved over the people, then fell upon Ivy.

A terror came over her.
No!
she tried to call out to the people.
Do not let him in! Do not follow him!

But she could make no sound. The man and woman came farther into the cave. Ivy recoiled against the stone wall, but there was no way out. Her lips opened in a silent moan of fear. She knew the man, she knew what he wanted and what he would do. And she already knew his—

“I
VY!”

Something shook her back and forth. She imagined black branches reaching down, coiling around her, and lifting her up.

“Ivy, wake up! You’re having a horrid dream again.”

She opened her eyes and saw, not a tangle of trees, but rather orderly rows of books upon shelves. She was not in a cave or by a forest, but rather in the library. Floating above her like a worried moon was the oval of Lily’s face. As if to be certain, she gave Ivy’s shoulder one more robust shake.

“I’m awake,” Ivy said hastily, hoping to avert any further assaults.

A bit dizzily, she sat up on the sofa. As she did, a book tumbled to the floor. It was the copy of
The Towers of Ardaunto
she had bought from Mr. Fintaur’s shop. She had been reading the book once again to see if there were any further clues to be found within its pages—any hints about the keystone or what its purpose was. Only she must have fallen asleep, and the shocking nature of the events in the book had inspired similarly awful dreams.

“Who is Mr. Murgen?” Lily said.

Ivy pressed her fingers to her temple, for it was throbbing. “I do not know anyone by that name. Why do you ask?”

Lily picked up the fallen book and sat beside Ivy on the sofa. “You called out the name just a moment ago, in your sleep. Murgen, you said. I thought it must be someone named Mr. Murgen that you were dreaming of.”

Ivy grimaced as she rubbed her temple. She was certain she wasn’t acquainted with anyone by the name of—

A sudden breath rushed into her. Yes, she could still recall bits of the dream: the crimson glow from a gem in his hand, the wolf pelt across his broad shoulders. His name was not Mr. Murgen, but rather—

“Myrrgon,” she murmured.

“Yes, that’s the name,” Lily said. “So you do remember, then. But who is he? I’m sure I haven’t met him.”

“No, you haven’t, and nor have I. He’s a magician. Or rather, he was long ago. He established one of the seven Old Houses of magick, or so it is said.”

Lily frowned. “Well, that’s a queer thing to dream about.”

Yes
, Ivy thought,
it is
.

“You’re not thinking about trying to work magick again, are you, Ivy?” Lily thumbed through the pages of the red book.

“No, I’m not.”

“Good, because as I’m sure you’ll recall you had no talent for it. And besides, it’s all forbidden now anyway, even for men if you’re not doing magick for the government—and I do not think we will
be doing anything for
them
. Do you mind if I borrow this?” She shut the book.

Ivy had found no further clues in the book’s pages last night. It had already told her all it could. “Not at all,” she said. “Though I will warn you, it contains many horrid scenes.”

“Excellent,” Lily said with a grim satisfaction. “If it is very horrid, then perhaps everything else won’t seem so dreadful in comparison. There’s tea in the parlor.” She gave Ivy’s cheek a kiss, then departed the library.

Ivy supposed a cup of tea might help ease the aching in her head, but she did not get up at once. For after she drank a cup of tea and readied herself for the day, what would come next? Lily had woken her from a nightmare, but what Ivy had awakened to was hardly any less awful. Mr. Quent had been arrested under suspicion of treason. The soldiers had hauled him away to the prisons at Barrowgate. And just yesterday she had been informed that he was to be formally charged with illegally freeing a witch from official custody before she could be tried for treason. This had not previously been a crime, but now by an act of Assembly it was so, as were many other actions deemed to be harmful to the nation.

“But he cannot be charged with a crime when it was not a crime at the time to do such a thing!” Ivy had exclaimed yesterday at the Citadel, speaking with the magistrate who had informed her of the news. She was no expert in law, but there were several volumes on the subject in her father’s library, which she had perused over the years.

“In fact, he can be,” the magistrate had replied in a disinterested tone, as if they were discussing some arcane and mildly interesting legal theory rather than a man’s fate. “The Measure Against Treasonous Activities makes it very clear that one may be charged for any harm caused to Altania, in either the present or the past, or even one intended to be committed in the future.”

“But if that is the case, then it is a crime to simply think of something which might cause harm to the nation!” Ivy had exclaimed.

The magistrate had peered at her down the length of his nose. “Have you had thoughts about harming Altania, Lady Quent?”

Ivy had stared at him in horror. She had gone to the Citadel to make a petition to be able to see her husband, but the magistrate had denied it based on the grounds that he was now awaiting trial. Sir Quent could not be seen by anyone not involved in trying his case, she had been informed, lest they affect his testimony or collude with him to alter it. She had intended to argue the decision, but after the magistrate’s statement, she had wanted only to be gone from the place. So she had fled.

The days since had been filled with an anguish so severe she suffered it as a kind of tearing pain in her body and her brain, as if some vital part of her had been ripped away. This she experienced in alternation with long periods of numbness during which she felt nothing at all. At such times, it was as if she were enveloped in a thick gray fog that obscured and muted all things, and which imparted such a listlessness that she could hardly move.

The only time she was not afflicted by one or the other sensation was when she was able to concentrate upon the needs of her sisters, which would momentarily outweigh her own. To console and soothe them helped to soothe her as well, though it was Rose who was more often in need of such attention. Often the smallest thing—a cup clattering against a saucer, or a tangled thread when she was trying to sew—would cause her to burst into tears.

Lily, in contrast, had been astonishingly brave. She had wept the day the soldiers took Mr. Quent, but since then Ivy had not once seen her indulge in any kind of outburst. Instead, though she was solemn, even grim, Lily seemed peculiarly calm. If she had a fear of what was to become of them, she was not revealing it to her sisters. The only real change Ivy had noticed in her was that she had taken to drawing in her folio again, spending hours at it in the parlor or in her room.