The Doorway and the Deep (33 page)

“Fine,” said Dorian, throwing his hands up. “It's not like I can stop all five of you. But I swear, I'm not slowing down for anyone. We keep to my pace and my schedule, is that clear?”

Everyone assured Dorian of how very clear his instructions were. Then they settled into tired silence.

At least we'll all be together
, Lottie thought.
Even though one of Iolanthe's assassins or Iolanthe herself could be prowling nearby, at least I'm with my friends
.

When Lottie woke, it was without any memory of having closed her eyes. Their shelter was awash in pale light. Oliver and Eliot were already awake. They sat with their backs to Lottie, a pile of frost plum pits between them. Eliot's
shoulders were shaking with laughter. Lottie smiled. Then she winced. As she sat up, she found she was unbearably stiff. Her head was pounding and her lips chapped. She struggled to comb her fingers through her knotted hair.

“Oh, here,” said Adelaide, who sat nearby, a half-eaten plum in hand. “I'll fix it for you.”

She set aside the fruit and pulled a violet finch from her pocket.

“Ribbon, Lila,” she said, stroking her genga.

Lila tweeted obligingly, then made a delicate rumbling sound. She coughed once, then again, the opening in her beak growing larger and rounder until she coughed out a small wooden comb, followed by a strand of white ribbon.

“Thanks, dearest,” said Adelaide, pressing a kiss on Lila's head. She carefully wiped the film from the comb and ribbon, as Lottie had seen Fife wipe film from the medical vials Spool stored. Lottie sat still as Adelaide combed a path through her hair less painfully and more efficiently than Lottie could have. Then, with practiced skill, she twirled back Lottie's hair into a neat braid, securely fastened at its tail by the ribbon Lila had supplied. When it was over, Lottie turned to Adelaide with a grateful smile.

“I really missed you,” she said.

Adelaide smiled back. “I missed you, too. Dorian might be pretty to look at, but he and his father are as uncouth as wild dogs. The house was a mess, and the food . . . well, I
don't blame Mr. Ingle, but you'd think for an innkeeper he'd have better cooking skills.”

Though she'd been too afraid to try the frost plums the night before, Lottie's stomach now groaned from emptiness. She ate one plum, then another, and then three more. So
this
was why Adelaide had been raving about them. Their flesh was light and crisp, with the slightest bitter tinge at its edges. Though the rest of Lottie's body still ached, she felt more refreshed and capable as they set out on the morning's journey.

In the early afternoon, they stopped in the town called Sharp Bend to gather supplies. The town was little more than a single broad street bordered by houses, taverns, and shops. The buildings here were a far cry from the regal stone and brickwork of New Albion. They were constructed of wood and thatch, and all seemed in a general state of disrepair. Paint peeled from shutters, grime covered windowpanes, and Lottie heard the howl of a stray dog from a nearby alley.

“I'll wager there's no florist here, either, Ada,” said Fife.

“I've begun to think they don't exist in the north,” she replied.

They came to a stop outside the dirtiest building on the street: a tavern with a rotting front door and a sign that read
REBEL
'
S SPRITES WELCOME
. Even from outside, Lottie could hear shouts and slurred words.

“It's only noon,” said Oliver, judgment in his narrowed, brown eyes.

“Best let me take care of this,” said Dorian. “Look around if you want, but don't stray too far. We'll meet here in fifteen minutes.”

“Look!” said Eliot, once Dorian was gone. He pointed across the street at a shop sign, which had come loose from one of its pegs and hung lopsided. Still, the red paint was readable:

QUIGLEY BOOKS

“Suppose they have anything worth reading?” Eliot asked Oliver.

“May as well look,” Oliver answered, his muddy brown eyes turning gold with interest.

“I think I'll join,” said Adelaide, and Lottie wondered if she was the only one to notice the shy way Adelaide looked at Eliot when she spoke.

“The more the merrier,” said Eliot.

Lottie watched the three of them cross the street.

“What?” said Fife, who'd taken a seat on a wobbly bench outside the tavern. “You aren't curious as to what literary treasures await?”

Lottie sat beside him. “I'm just not much in the mood for reading. I think there are bigger problems to worry about.”

Fife nodded. Then he breathed in sharply, his eyes closed.

Lottie frowned. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Is it your wound?”

“It's
nothing
.”

Lottie gave Fife a hard look. Then she yanked at his sweater. He gave a cry of consternation, but it was too late: Lottie had revealed his injured stomach and the blood soaking through linen bandages.

Fife scrambled to push the sweater back down. “It's none of your business! I just popped open a few stitches is all. I could sew them up myself if they weren't in such an inconvenient location.”

“
Fife
. You've got to get this taken care of! When did it even happen?”

“I said, it's
nothing
.”

“Give me your hands,” said Lottie.

Fife looked around, as though Lottie could possibly be talking to anyone other than him. “W-what?”

Lottie rolled her eyes and grabbed Fife's hands.

“What are you—”

“Shut up,” she said. “I'm trying to concentrate.”

Fife grunted as Lottie closed her eyes. She had to focus on her emotions, just as she had done with Rebel Gem in the pine clearing. She had to focus on what made her angry, fearful, and sad. She had to think of a worn photograph of her parents' freckled faces, and of the words “
Two, maybe three weeks to live
.”

A full minute passed.

“Erm. Lottie?”

“Shhh,” she said. Then, opening her eyes, “I have to empathize with you. Tell me something about yourself.”

“Um,” said Fife. “I hate parsnips?”

“No,” said Lottie, growing desperate. “Something more important than that. About your fears, or your parents—something personal.”

Fife's face darkened. “My
parents
?”

“I have to know something about you that you might not want me to know. That's how it works. There has to be a connection between us.”

Lottie wasn't sure how it happened. One moment, Fife was looking at her with large, watering eyes. The next, she felt a gentle pressure against her lips.

Fife was kissing her.

Lottie's mind went blank. She pulled away with a choked gasp and found Fife staring at her, bewildered, his face flooded with color.

“I—I—” he stammered.

“You kissed me,” Lottie said stupidly, touching her lips.

“Um.” The color in Fife's cheeks grew more vibrant. “You said something I might not want you to know. That's . . . one of them.”

“You like me?” Lottie whispered.

“Uh.” Fife's swallow was audible. “Well, yeah.”

Lottie was silent, wide-eyed, uncomprehending.

Fife's expression transformed from embarrassment to something far worse: hurt.

“But if you don't like me back, that's—I mean, it was stupid of me to—”

“No!” Lottie said quickly. “No, I just—
ow
.” Her chest tightened, squeezed in on all sides by invisible hands.

It was a bad spell. She doubled over in pain, gasping for breath.

“Lottie?” Fife said, panicked. “Lottie, are you okay?”

Lottie grabbed Fife's hands again. She clung to them tightly as the bad spell grew stronger, straining at her muscles and skin as though it might tug her to pieces from the outside in.

Move the pain
, she told herself.
Move
.

And the pain moved. It burned out of her chest and down her arms, into her hands and out to Fife's. The bad spell surged from her, and though Fife jerked from the contact, he did not break away.

Then it stopped.

Lottie opened her eyes. Her hands went slack, and she removed them at last from Fife's.

“Are you—?” she started. “Are you all right?”

But Fife was too busy tugging at his bandages. There was no more blood beneath them. The scar on his side was
healed. All that remained was the faintest outline of pink, puckered skin.

His gaze met hers.

“Y-you kissed me,” Lottie repeated.

“Yeah,” Fife said. “You
healed
me. How did you even do that?”

“It's . . . hard to explain.”

“I bet.” Fife looked distressed about something.

“What?” Lottie asked.

Fife said nothing at first. Then, very softly, “You didn't kiss me back.”

A blush burned up Lottie's face. “I—I got distracted. I wasn't expecting it, and then I was busy—”

“Healing me,” Fife finished. “I noticed. So . . .” He looked more uncomfortable than Lottie had ever seen him. “So, you didn't hate it?”

“
There
you are! Haven't moved an inch since we left you.”

The others were heading toward them, Adelaide in the lead. Lottie hurriedly scooted away from Fife. He tossed the bloodied bandages behind the bench, into a mud-caked stream running beneath the tavern's doorstep. Adelaide didn't seem to notice.

“The sorriest excuse for a bookshop I've ever seen,” she said, tromping up and taking a seat between the two
of them. “The shop clerk didn't know where anything was. He thought Edna Hapshock was a
playwright
.”

“It's just as well,” said Oliver, though his eyes were gray with disappointment. “It's not as though books are the priority. Or that we'd have anything to buy them with if they were.”

“Books are always the priority!” said Eliot, the only cheerful one of the group. “At least there were some interesting covers. Like the one with the glittery lettering and all the locks?”

“I don't suppose you found anything on survival skills for the Wilders?” said Fife. He turned to Lottie with ease, as though nothing had passed between them only a minute earlier. “Not that I don't trust Dorian, but . . . Hmm. I
don't
trust Dorian. Seems a little preoccupied with his mission. Don't think it'd bother him much if one of us took a tumble off a cliff on the way north.”

The tavern door burst open, and with it came a wave of boisterous singing. Dorian called back to someone inside, then shut the door soundly behind him. He carried a large, soot-covered bag.

“Right,” he said. “Supplies acquired. Some food and a flagon, too. We've wasted enough time here. Last chance for you to stay behind.”

“As you say,” said Adelaide, “we've wasted enough time here.”

“Yeah,” said Eliot. “Let's find some addersfork.”

They left the town of Sharp Bend behind, heading northward on a narrow dirt path that wound through trees and over brooks. Ahead, mountains—not the hills that surrounded the Northerly Court, but real
mountains
—rose in the distance, peaked with snow.

“Your boots better be sturdy,” Dorian told them. “We'll be taking the pass. No climbing required, but it won't be easy on your soles.”

They hadn't traveled long when Lottie began to hear rustling in the thickets bordering their path. Then she thought she saw a flash of black.

She stopped in the middle of the path.

“Did anyone else see that?” she asked.

Adelaide, who had been busy talking to Eliot, now perked to attention.

“You're right. There's something close by. I can hear it now.” She turned to Lottie. “I think it's a
Barghest
.”

Lottie stepped closer to the thicket.

“Barghest?” she called. “Is that you?”

There was a low growl. In the space just between tree and thicket, a hulking black creature appeared, its silver pinprick eyes alight. It was, indeed, a Barghest. And not just any Barghest—it was
Lottie's
Barghest.

Lottie wasn't the only ecstatic one. Eliot clapped his hands excitedly, and Fife gave a cheer.

“Where have you
been
?” Lottie asked, kneeling to throw her arms around the Barghest's mane. “I thought we'd lost you for good!”

The Barghest released a growl so deep it shook Lottie's ribs.

In its rough voice, it said, “There were complications.”

“But you're okay?” asked Lottie.

She stood to get a better look at the creature, afraid now that she would find gashes or scrapes ripped through its beautiful coat of fur. But from what she could tell, the Barghest was unharmed.

“You are the one who has been in grave danger,” said the Barghest. “I let harm come to you, Heir of Fiske. I did not fulfill my duty.”