The sundering hours, p.10
The Sundering Hours, page 10
Ink was all too glad to let him have it.
Soon after, Ink escorted Seherene back to the Plumsleys’ house. As they went, he couldn’t help but sneak occasional glances at her face. Sometimes she looked quite serious, which was no wonder considering the last few hours of conversation. At other times, however, she smiled to herself, once even gazing up at the dreary sky as though it was the brightest day of spring.
She was glowing. Reviving. When they arrived at the house she reached for Ink’s hand, thanked him, then seemed to float up the steps and through the front door.
Ink remained standing on the stone path, unsure of how to feel. During his time at her family home in Ciras—when she’d been so encumbered by duty in the crushing grip of her imperious mother—he’d often longed to see her happy. Whenever he managed to inspire in her a genuine smile or laugh, it brought pure joy to his heart, and in no small part because he himself had been the one to do it. But now that Caradoc was awake . . .
Ink turned on his heel with a gasp of realization.
“Sweet gravy! He’s awake!”
He leapt off the step and raced down the cobblestone path.
Ink went to every house, running so fast the dead leaves stirred at his heels as though he were a miniature whirlwind. Shouting as he went, many came rushing towards him before he found them himself, and in no time at all the entire village heard the good news. Almost instantly, each person dropped what they were doing and hurried towards the infirmary.
Unwilling to slow his momentum, Ink managed to reach it ahead of them. Simon met him just inside the door and gestured to the stairs leading to the glass chamber on the second floor.
Caradoc stood on the far side of the room, talking quietly with Jeremy. Huge cracks ran through every pane of glass in the otherwise empty room. Beyond lay the ruined expanse of Riverfall. Jeremy gestured towards the south where the waters of the bay now swirled in place of his and Riva’s small houses. It was easily the most shocking damage they had suffered, but there was rubble and wreckage in all directions. Dozens of trees had been charred and blackened by the fires stirred from the exploding boiler. Stones from the center tower were scattered every which way. The frozen earth and snow-covered meadows were pitted and marred by debris. Caradoc surveyed the scene but didn’t seem at all dismayed or discouraged by it. He couldn’t be. His face, too, was glowing.
“I spread the word!” Ink said as he approached them. “They’re all on their way.”
Jeremy smiled at Caradoc. “You sure you’re feeling up to being rushed by a mob?”
Before he could answer, Chester dashed into the room. At the sight of the Keyholder, he gave out a great cry and barreled towards him with outstretched arms. Caradoc met the exuberant Mr. Fortescue with a broad grin, though Ink thought he also detected a brief grimace of pain as the large man’s arms went around him.
“By thunder, it’s good to see you up and about! You’re an absolute scoundrel for giving us all such a fright. Do you know that? And a sly rogue besides, but that counts for a compliment in my book.” He clapped him on the back with a knowing smirk.
“That’s a compliment more than I deserve, Chester, but thanks all the same.”
Someone else raced into the room, then halted at the threshold. It was Harriet. Tears welled the moment her eyes found Caradoc. As she continued across the chamber, her steps were so halting Ink thought she must have inflamed the old injury in her leg. Her gaze fell many times to the floor before she reached him, at which point she extended a hesitant hand. Ink was surprised. He’d fully expected her to greet him in much the same way Chester had.
“Mr. Caradoc,” she said. “I am . . . so very pleased to see you recovered.”
He took her hand. Neither quite looked at the other.
“I understand a good deal of my recovery is owed to you and your efforts with the horses,” he replied.
Chester let out a chuckle. “It’s a downright miracle they came galloping in when she called them! Blimey, if they didn’t look like steeds arriving from the gates of Heaven itself!”
“Yes,” Jeremy said, smiling at Harriet. “It was very well done, indeed.”
Caradoc nodded. “I’m in your debt.”
A slight frown creased her brow. “No. There is no debt. And never will be.”
The front door slammed downstairs. They heard voices, followed by footfalls on the staircase. Harriet drew back just as Margaret entered. As she hurried forward to greet Caradoc, Delia and Martin appeared just behind her, and Simon a moment after that. A flurry of hugs and kisses and handshakes followed. They declared themselves amazed that he had walked up a flight of stairs so soon after waking, but were then forced to admit it wasn’t really a surprise after all—knowing him.
Evering was the last to arrive. Amid all the smiles and laughter and expressions of relief, no one quite noticed him at first, but Ink could tell straightaway that the young man had made up his mind to be angry upon entering the room.
That lasted a mere moment. When the mob parted and Evering’s eyes met the Keyholder’s, Caradoc reached out a hand to him. The young man’s lower lip quivered as he strode forward and wrapped his arms around him. Ink looked around at the others’ faces and knew they were all thinking the same thing. This moment gave Evering the chance to welcome someone he loved back from the brink of death. After what had happened to his father, he was not about to squander it. Caradoc must have known it, too, for he didn’t release his hold until Evering was ready. As the young man stepped away, Ink saw him sniff and quickly wipe at his cheeks. Harriet put a hand on his arm.
“I think that’s everyone,” Simon said. “Unless you’re wanting the cow and horses as well.”
“And the cat,” Margaret added.
“I’ll have a chat with them later,” Caradoc replied. “Right now . . . I have a very serious apology to make to you all.”
Much of what he told them, he’d admitted earlier to Ink; that he hadn’t kept his prior relationship with Seherene a secret to hurt them, and that he ought to have told them long ago.
“I’d hoped to have her with us from the start,” he said. “But when that plan was foiled—along with our efforts on Damiras—I panicked. I began to worry you would all think I dragged you to that island to help me ensure her survival. Until today, I never even knew she was at the gathering. Her father had promised to see that she stayed at home in Ciras.”
“Her father?” Delia asked.
“Atturias. The Elder who helped us.”
Martin scoffed in astonishment. “Really? Good Lord, this just gets better all the time.”
Caradoc took a silent breath before continuing. “And then . . . as the months passed and all our efforts were spent trying to survive and evade capture, it seemed less and less important to tell you. But that was wrong of me. Very wrong. And especially offensive to those of you who lost loved ones. Delia. Jeremy. Evering.” As he said their names, he looked at them with heart-stricken remorse. “I don’t deserve forgiveness. Not from any of you. And I will never be able to thank you enough for your actions on Fenmire. For helping me the way you did. For lending Sarah your strength to move Riverfall. You kept faith, even in me, while I have been . . . faithless. The thought of which strikes me with a pain far greater than any bullet might cause. But I also feel—very strongly—that if you condemn her to imprisonment, you must condemn me to the same. She is my friend. She has the same claim on my heart that all the rest of you have. And I will stand by her.”
A long moment of silence followed. All were conflicted, some more than others. But they were also clearly moved, and if there was any anger or resentment towards Caradoc for his ties to Seherene, it now softened—if not disappeared altogether. Ink was glad in knowing he’d already forgiven him and had been right to do so. The old Ink would never have been so understanding.
Delia heaved a heavy sigh, tightened her shawl around her, then glanced at the others before turning her gaze on Caradoc.
“I have reason enough to harbor a lifetime of bitterness against her. She may have only been an unwilling pawn of the Blue Flames all these years, but she still played a hand in my husband’s death. It may be a long time before I can bring myself to forgive her.” She stepped closer. “But to forgive you, I needn’t think twice. And for the place you hold in my heart, I am willing to let her have her freedom again.”
As she laid a hand on his arm, he bowed his head to control his emotions.
“Thank you,” he said.
Jeremy put a hand on his shoulder. “If you ask me, you’ve both been too hard on yourselves. The Mistress of the Spektors is at the heart of all our troubles. She’s our true enemy. Not Sarah. And certainly not you. So don’t carry this burden any longer, my friend.”
“Well put,” Chester replied. “I say the same.”
“So do I,” Margaret said.
“And me,” Ink added.
Caradoc clasped Jeremy’s hand in gratitude. “Thank you, Jeremy. Thank you all.”
Martin stepped forward with a curious look on his face. There was something of guilt in it. Of anger and frustration. But Ink wasn’t certain of the cause until the man began to speak.
“You weren’t around to see it,” he said to Caradoc, “but as usual, I went and made a fool of myself when she first came to Riverfall. Shouted and shook my fist and all that. Just as I did when Ink came. And Margaret. I’m ashamed of that now. In fact, I’m ashamed of most of my behavior over the past ten years, and I feel I must submit an apology of my own. To you all.” He glanced briefly at his wife, then dropped his gaze. “It’s not who I am. Not really. If you can believe that.” He lifted his eyes to Caradoc again. “And a faithless man is not who you are. Far from it. So there’s nothing to forgive. And if she is your friend, then . . . of course we must set her free.”
Harriet nodded. “I agree.”
At this, Caradoc seemed closer than ever to shedding tears. But he rubbed his brow instead and nodded with his head already partially bowed. “That means more to me than I can possibly say. Thank you. Both of you.”
Evering sniffed again as he wiped his sleeve under his red nose. “I, uh . . . well, I’m inclined to agree with Delia myself. Might take some time to get used to it. Used to her, I mean. But . . . I can try. I will try. Just . . . don’t ask me to accept George Marlas with open arms.”
The Colonists all laughed—nervously—but it was a welcome sound even so. Evering moved towards Caradoc and embraced him again, granting his forgiveness.
“Thank you, Evering. Thank you.”
As soon as he stepped away, the Keyholder looked to the man standing opposite him.
“And Simon. I am so sorry for asking you to keep that a secret all these years.”
“You jolly well should be!” Simon cried with a smile. “And what a secret! It nearly killed me to hold my tongue for so long!”
“I can’t believe you didn’t let it slip!” Chester replied. “Not even a hint of it for nine years! Your tighter than a bank vault!”
“Speaking of secrets,” Ink said to Caradoc. “I think now’s as good a time as any. If you get my meaning.”
Caradoc appeared to hesitate, but finally answered with a nod. “No use putting it off any longer. Would you go and fetch it, Simon?”
“Back in two ticks.”
When Simon returned a few minutes later, he had the scroll in one hand and a stool in the other. This he placed in the middle of the chamber, then set the container on it. Even wrapped in the blanket, it made a heavy thunk. The others peered at it with great curiosity.
Caradoc went to it and began to reach down. His hand wavered for a moment, uncertain. Reluctant.
Ink couldn’t blame him.
Finally, he threw off the top folds of the blanket. The cylinder gleamed even in the low light. The streaks and dashes of gold shimmered across the glossy black surface, underscoring the strange runes carved along its side.
“Caradoc,” Delia said, deep lines imprinted on her brow. “What have you done?”
A smile twitched on his lips. “Something terribly foolish. As usual.”
“Good Lord,” Margaret breathed, still staring at it. “You found the Middling House. You went looking for it that night, after we were all asleep.”
“On your own?” Martin asked.
“That was the plan. But Ink decided to follow me, which I didn’t discover until I’d already set foot inside.”
Everyone turned towards the boy. He shrugged.
“Someone had to keep an eye on him.”
Chester’s eyes doubled in size. “Blimey, Ink, you went inside? Didn’t Bash’s research say it was a . . . what was it now . . . an ancient place of darkness?”
“And with the Spektors on your tail?” Harriet said. “What were you thinking?”
Ink raised his hands. “They weren’t there. Not the Mistress neither. And we didn’t stay very long. Leastways I don’t think we did. Time was sort of . . . wonky.”
“So what did you see?” Evering asked. “What was inside?”
He ended the question by looking at Caradoc again. Ink did the same. It wasn’t for him to answer. It was Caradoc’s father who’d been the true object of his search. Caradoc’s father who had guided them to the scroll hidden inside the tree. Caradoc’s father who had moved to shoot himself just as they escaped—the same act which had put him in the Middling House to begin with, and which he was forced to repeat for all eternity. Unless he consented to become a Spektor.
Caradoc struggled with how to reply, clearly reliving the whole nightmarish ordeal in the process. He tucked both hands into his pockets, stared at the scroll, fidgeted. And then opened his mouth to answer.
“No.”
The word came from Jeremy, quietly, but as firm and solid as any command. He looked at the stunned faces around him.
“Caradoc was right to keep it from us.”
Delia folded her arms. “You say that like you know the reason.”
“I do. After he woke, he talked with Sarah for a long while. Then he called the rest of us in—Ink, Simon, and me—and told us what really happened on Fenmire.” He shook his head with a grim look of warning in his eyes. “It’s enough to say the house is just another stronghold of the Mistress’s. Another place of wickedness and despair. If you’re truly desperate to know, if you’re willing to bear yet another horror, you can ask me or Simon in private conversation. But if you’ll take my advice . . . it’s really better not to know.”
The room fell silent, the air heavy with dread as they took his words to heart. It was much the same feeling as Ink had experienced in the infirmary an hour earlier. Jeremy exchanged a glance with Caradoc, as if to ask whether or not he’d said the right thing. Caradoc only nodded, his eyes filled with gratitude and relief.
“He’s right,” Simon said at last. “There’s no need to say another word about the place. What matters now is that we have what we came to Fenmire for.”
Everyone fell to gazing at the scroll again, now with disquiet added to the curiosity.
“Do you know what the markings signify?” Martin asked Caradoc.
“I only know they’re runes in the First Language. Which means the Mistress is the only being alive who will know how to read them, ancient as she is.”
“Have you tried to open it?” Delia asked.
“Tried and failed.”
“Seherene even put a few enchantments on it,” Ink replied. “But nothing worked.”
Evering twisted his mouth in displeasure. “Maybe it’s another black spell.”
“Maybe,” Simon answered. “But I don’t believe it’s an object of evil. If Bash was right about this thing being in the Middling House, I’m willing to bet he was also right in guessing its purpose. That it contains something to bring about the Mistress’s downfall.”
“Unless it’s another trick of hers,” Harriet said. “And she means for us to think so.”
“Which is entirely possible, knowing her,” Margaret added.
Caradoc reached down and traced a finger across the runes. When he spoke again, there was a faraway look in his eyes. Even haunted.
“It is possible,” he replied. “But the one who . . . helped us in our search . . . gave us a very stern warning never to speak of it. Never to give the Mistress the slightest indication that we might be in possession of it. We may have already said too much aloud. If we are to discuss it further, we most do so only in the vaguest terms.” He raised his eyes to them. “Like her Spektors, she is neither all-knowing nor all-seeing. But she is able to cast her sight and hearing to whatever corner of Eriaris she wishes, at any time.”
With these last few words, he lifted the corners of the blanket and hid the scroll from sight again.
“This must be our greatest secret,” he continued. “Until we can discover its proper use.”
“Any ideas how to do that?” Chester asked. “You’ve told us the Keyholder Book makes no mention of it, and Bash’s research went up in smoke thanks to bloody Bill Stone. So what does that leave us with?”
“Very little, unfortunately,” Simon answered. “Nothing but to keep our ears open for anything that would be of help to us.”
Evering crossed his lanky arms. “We could try snatching one of them Blue Flames. They’re bound to know something about it, being such big fans of the Mistress and all.”
“Or perhaps Mavie will know more,” Delia said.
Caradoc tilted his head. “She might. We should head for Mastmarner anyway, once we’ve got ourselves a ship. She’s not safe any longer. I know there’s an awful lot of water between here and there, but we have to try.”
Margaret nodded. “Riva may have fled there as well, after her escape.”
“Very likely,” Martin said.
The one-armed man moved towards the scroll and picked it up in his hand, keeping it bound in the blanket. He hefted it a few times, as if to take stock of its substantial weight.
