The sundering hours, p.27
The Sundering Hours, page 27
“Not in the slightest.”
He nodded. “Would you mind terribly if I shared it, then?”
“I was going to ask if you would. We can continue our history lesson. We haven’t yet talked about Frederick Coram. I’m already well aware of Ink’s opinion—”
“A sniveling, slimy twit of a weasel!” Ink cried in contempt, unable to help himself. “He’s after the Spider Key, you know! He’s mad for it! Tried to make Caradoc give it to him at Mastmarner! Fat lot of good that did him. All he got was two broken legs!”
“Oh, don’t bring that up again,” Caradoc said, passing a hand over his face.
“And that wasn’t even the first time!” Ink continued. “Back in that mining camp? After they were all tied up and waiting to be carted off? He tried to make Caradoc tell him everything he knew about the Key!”
Caradoc dropped his hand from his face and looked at him in curiosity. “I never told you about that.”
Ink raised his eyebrows, trying to look as innocent as possible. This was not the time to admit he’d used a cursed pocket watch to spy on past memories. Nor could he explain that someone else had told him, for Seherene would know he was lying.
“Well, I heard it from somewhere!” he finally replied. “How else would I know? Anyway, the point is, Coram wants control of the Spektors!”
Seherene looked at Caradoc in alarm. “He told you as much?”
“At least implied it. Said something about using the Key to its full potential, and he didn’t mean conducting expulsions. I’m still not sure how he learned as much as he did. I told him nothing about it. For a while, I suspected you had said something.”
“No. I never did. But ever since I met him, he’s been fixed on learning as much as possible about the Spektors—even when Marlas himself tried to convince him to focus his attentions elsewhere. He never shared with me how he got his information. In fact, it wasn’t even until a few months ago I learned he was your cousin.”
Caradoc glanced up at the lantern swaying from the low beam in the center of the room. “I’m sure he rid himself of that association as quickly as he could. At our meeting in the mining camp, he made it painfully clear he no longer considers us family. He blames me for his father’s death. For getting him and his mother arrested.”
“He was just scared,” Ink said. “And angry. Like everyone else.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he flinched inwardly. Now he was suddenly defending the little creep? He ought to have been disgusted—had he not also been defending himself.
“I know,” Caradoc replied. “But with some people . . . if they let the fear stay too close for too long . . . it changes something deep inside them. So it did to Frederick. Or else he would have believed me when I told him I never meant things to go so badly. He’d never had cause to doubt me before.”
Seherene returned her gaze to the cow, who was now dozing. “Every story I hear, every turn in the road towards pain or misfortune, it always points back to the Mistress as the true source. The worst part is that few will ever see it that way. Not as long as she and her Spektors are dismissed as myths and children’s stories. But Mr. Coram . . . he did seem to believe in them. The last time we spoke, he told me he intended to travel to Damiras to find her—and if she existed, to use her abilities to discover your whereabouts, if she still held the powers of an oracle. I also thought he meant to prove to himself that she never really warned you of the massacre, and that he was right in holding you responsible for it. But his knowing about the Crypt . . . it makes me wonder . . .”
When she didn’t continue, Caradoc finished the thought.
“You wonder if she found him first.”
She sighed. “It’s a terrible thought, I know. But she got to my brother somehow. Perhaps it isn’t all that far-fetched to think she might have reached out again. The fact that Coram holds blood ties to a Keyholder would make him an even more desirable target. He’s also traveling with Lord Malkimar, a known occultist.”
Caradoc drew up a knee and rested his arm on it. “Starts to paint a pretty clear picture.” He shook his head. “I should have looked after him. Not kept him away from it all.”
“He wouldn’t have let you,” Ink said. “He didn’t want looking after. He still don’t. He’s got to be the one in control now. Don’t you see? That’s why he’s after the Crypt. Why he’s gone mad for power—even the kind he ain’t supposed to know about.”
“But even if he did have the Key, controlling the Spektors is only a myth. It wouldn’t work.”
“She probably only tempted him with the idea to lead him towards some other scheme of hers,” Seherene replied. “Though God only knows what.”
Ink sighed to himself, feeling a fresh wave of regret. If he’d named Coram as his enemy instead of Caradoc all that time ago, he might have been able to summon a vision of what he’d been up to. Find out his plans. Maybe even hers.
“I met with him after your confrontation at Mastmarner,” Seherene continued. “He asked me to heal him.”
“Did you?” Caradoc asked.
She shook her head. “At the time, he was . . . torturing Mavie for information.”
Both Ink and Caradoc’s faces fell.
“It wasn’t until then I accepted what kind of person he really was,” she said. “It wasn’t even the first time I’d had a glimpse of it. After we were introduced at the Great Hall, a woman ran up to me, begging for mercy. She was part of a group of prisoners who’d come to tend the grounds. From Talas, I believe. She insisted that she and her husband had been wrongfully accused of aiding the Colonists. Before I could say anything, Coram rushed forward and struck her with his cane.”
Caradoc looked away, clenching his jaw.
The Entress’s eyes filled with guilt. “I was little better. I dismissed her, certain she was lying, though I made no effort to truly discern it. She’s often haunted my thoughts since then. The misery in her eyes. The desperation in her voice. The tears streaming down her face. And how many more must there be just like her?” She put a hand to her brow, then shook her head. “Before we changed course, I had intended to post my account of events to the High Council and Assembly as soon as possible. That will not change. I can only hope it will be taken seriously.”
The silence that followed hung heavy in the air. No one had to say how slim that hope was. Even if Seherene strode into the Great Hall herself to declare the truth, the Assembly wouldn’t believe her if they had already made up their minds. Ink had seen that for himself in an earlier vision. They would insist she’d been led astray, corrupted by the Colonists’ nefarious influence, as Ink and Riva had been. And there was certainly no chance of convincing the High Council. The Elders would probably even call for her to be executed on the spot.
“You mentioned Mavie before,” Caradoc said to Seherene. “Why didn’t you have her arrested? You had to know she helped us escape.”
“Yes, and she did not deny it. But she also knew about us. Not because anyone had told her. She said it had been clear from the start. She didn’t mean to reveal it to anyone else, as the effect would hurt us both, but she also knew that simply having the information was enough leverage to stay my hand. Which it was.”
Caradoc nodded. “She’s always been sharp. Able to see things that were hidden—or trying to hide.”
“Yes,” Seherene said. “Which leads to a question of my own; why did you never tell me she was a Keyholder until a week ago? And that it was she who’d given you the Key?”
“That’s simple. She didn’t want anyone else to know. Said that if anyone had the right to learn her secret, she would tell them herself. Not only for her own protection, but for others who might come to harm simply by carrying that knowledge. After all that’s happened, I figured she wouldn’t mind you learning it now.”
“It certainly explains a lot. Her knowledge of the Spirit World. Her connection with you. Her appearance. When I asked how she had gone from thirty-two to eighty, she told me it was due to ‘consequence’.” She looked at Caradoc with a touch of dread. “The Mistress cursed her as well?”
He nodded.
“It’s just another crime she ought to answer for,” Ink said. “Once we find her.”
Seherene shook her head. “The list grows longer by the day. I still can’t believe she got her claws into Pallaton. These past few days, I’d been wondering why she told him about Bash being a Colonist. Why she let him reap the reward after she had killed the poor man. I think she must have foreseen all this. She must have known what a formidable servant she could make of him one day. She needed only to grant the simplest favor to earn his enduring loyalty.”
Ink frowned. “D’you think there’s any way of making him tell us more? About the Mistress? The Sundering? Or even the warrant list we found on Bash’s wall?”
“I doubt it. He was an attorney, remember, and quite a skilled one. He never even gave a helpful word unless there was serious benefit to himself. Or rather, he won’t give.” A mirthless chuckle left her lips. “Now I don’t know whether to refer to him in past tense or present.”
Caradoc rubbed his beard, the lantern light catching a hint of amusement in his eyes. “You know, I didn’t get a very good look at him on Fenmire, at least not for long, but he struck me as the type to obsess over putting his sock drawer in perfect order.”
The Entress smiled. “Did he?”
“Yes. You know the sort. All his handkerchiefs folded in neat little squares. A comb next to every mirror in his house. Brushing his boots with the aid of a magnifying glass.”
Ink snickered. “I bet that ain’t too far off.”
A smirk tugged at Seherene’s mouth. “Well . . . I did once see him arrange the carrots on his plate before eating them. They had to be in a straight row, side-by-side.”
Caradoc grinned. “And ordered by length?”
“I think so,” she answered, laughing.
It was then Ink noticed the sound of the waves breaking against the hull, the movement of the ship now a little more pronounced. It was common for the wind to become a bit more rowdy at night, especially in the Northern Sea—or so Radburn had told him. This was also the hour when the temperature usually dropped by a noticeable measure. Caradoc must have been thinking the same, for a moment later he stood and went to a pile of blankets sitting on a barrel in the corner. He took the first one, then returned and spread it around Seherene’s shoulders, for which she thanked him. The second blanket he tossed over Ink’s head, temporarily blinding him. Ink gave out a cry of mock-annoyance. By the time he’d freed himself from it, Caradoc had draped a third blanket over Nyssa, who still dozed. Seherene smiled at him as he did so, with a look in her eyes that was both grateful and—what was it? Admiring? Adoring? Whatever it was, Ink was sure she had never gifted such a sentiment on Pallaton. Or anyone else, for that matter.
“All right,” Caradoc said, settling beside Nyssa again with his own blanket. “I think we’ve talked enough about scoundrels for one night. What else have you been dying to know?”
A mischievous smile crossed the Entress’s lips. “I don’t know. What else haven’t you told me?”
“Well . . . did I ever mention Ink makes a very convincing dwarf?”
“A what?” she said, laughing again.
Ink felt his ears burn. “All right, all right, no need to go into that.”
“Why not? It’s a very entertaining story.”
“I’m afraid I have to insist on hearing it now, Ink,” Seherene replied.
“No, no, that’ll have to wait ‘til I’m not in the room. It’s my turn to do the asking now.” He arched an eyebrow. “I say it’s time to hear an embarrassing story ‘bout Caradoc.”
“What?” the Keyholder said with a grimace.
“That’s right. Come on, I’ll bet there are loads of ‘em!”
“It’s true. I can’t deny it,” Seherene said.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ve forgotten all those by now,” Caradoc replied. “Besides, I thought we agreed on no more scoundrels tonight.”
“I think we can make an exception for one more.” She looked at him thoughtfully. Her smile widened again as she gave Ink his answer. “Did he ever tell you what happened to his ear?”
“What, that bit he’s missing off the right one? I always assumed a Spektor did it.”
“Nothing quite so grand, I’m afraid. It was a bird.”
“A bird?”
“Now, wait a minute. Wait,” Caradoc said, putting up a hand in defense. “If you’re going to tell it, you have to tell it right. It wasn’t just a bird. It was a huge giant monster of a bird.”
“All right, a huge giant monster of a bird,” she said. “A Great Macaw. Able to crack whole coconuts with their beaks. He was lucky it was only his ear and not his skull.”
“Really?” Ink said, sitting forward. “But couldn’t you heal the chunk it did get?”
“Yes, quite easily. Only he refused to let me, and all out of sheer stubborn pride.”
Ink grinned. “Oh, I’ve gotta hear this one.”
Caradoc yanked the blanket down around his shoulders and shot the Entress a look of disgruntled resignation. “All right, fine. But then I get to tell the one about you and the monkey.”
Whatever gloom that had gathered from their earlier conversation was soon driven away by laughter and merriment. The evening turned into a competition of who had the most embarrassing story about the other, with Ink egging Seherene and Caradoc on against each other, both determined to win. For those few blissful hours, there was no Sundering, no Spektors, no Keys or curses. And these were good memories, nothing sad or painful, made all the better by the good-natured teasing they gave each other during every re-telling.
Even if Ink had not already used the watch to spy on their first meeting, he felt he could summon a clear picture of what they’d been like ten years ago, how deep their attachment had become, and how that bond had never really broken—only faded into a ghost-like strand which had haunted them in the years apart. Ink began to understand a little more of what had been lost, and why neither had been able to bear speaking the other’s name in all that time.
He also realized that he’d been so focused on Seherene’s affectionate feelings towards the Keyholder that he hadn’t stopped to wonder if Caradoc still regarded her in quite the same way. It was obvious he cared about her, but he cared about everybody. Even Frederick Coram. So as the night wore on and the lively conversation began to quiet down, Ink turned his attention to the question and watched his face closely.
And then he saw it. The same admiration. The same quiet delight. It was in the way he looked at her. In his smile. Yes. The feelings were mutual. Only with Caradoc, there was something much more guarded about it, reserved, as though he were making a conscious effort to keep such feelings in check. Ink could only imagine it was because of the Sundering.
He hadn’t intended on staying the night in the stalls, but as the evening was so pleasant, and he was not asked to leave or told to go to bed, he eventually settled into a clean pile of hay, tugged the blanket over him, and fell asleep to the sound of their voices.
Chapter 19
Northcliff
Four days later, the Chain Breaker’s prow finally turned south. They had left the Northern Sea and now had a strong backing wind which would hopefully take them to King’s Island faster than expected. After breakfast, Ink hurried eagerly to the main deck, curious to discover if the Eastern Sea presented any marked changes.
The first thing he became aware of was the milder temperature of the air. They had rounded the northeast corner of the High Country only three days ago, but already the bite was gone from the early March winds. It was refreshing now to breathe it in, rather than painful. The second thing he noticed was a high-pitched wailing noise coming from overhead. He stepped back, lifted his eyes to the top of the mainmast, and there saw Skiff and Jeremy perched on the shroud rigging just below the crow’s nest. Only by craning his neck for a better view was he able to spot a tuft of red hair just above the rim of the lookout’s barrel. Two arms were wrapped tightly around the mast itself, and the wailing changed into words.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this!” Evering howled. “You’re heartless! The both of you! Cruel and heartless!”
“Steady on!” Jeremy called up to him. “You’re all right! We’ll not let you fall!”
“It’s moving up here! It’s bloody swaying back and forth! You didn’t say it would be moving!”
“Well, of course it is!” Skiff shouted. “It’s a long pole sticking out of a slab of floating wood! You’ll get used to it!”
“I don’t want to get used to it! I want to come down!”
“Stop making such a fuss! You lived on a floating village!”
“And besides,” Jeremy said, “it can’t be worse than that giant crocodile you faced!”
“It’s worse!” Evering shot back.
“How?”
“It’s worse!”
Ink turned and climbed the steps to the quarterdeck. Simon was at the helm, gazing at a compass in his right hand. Margaret stood nearby, evidently to study the charts but distracted by the commotion above—at which both were grinning.
“Well,” Ink said as he approached them, “at least he can say he tried it.”
Margaret folded her arms. “Frankly, I don’t understand it, either. He spent six years on Riverfall, and I never once saw him hesitate to board a Drifter. Now suddenly he can’t handle a bit of height?”
“There could be any number of explanations,” Simon said. “But I think we ought to relieve him of that particular duty. I don’t see him getting over it any time soon.”
Evering’s deathly pale face was now just visible over the edge of the barrel. His long, thin arm reached out towards Jeremy.
“I’ve got you!”
“Don’t pull me!”
“Stand up!”
“Don’t pull me!”
Ink grinned, then glanced out over the ship’s starboard side. The eastern coast of the High Country was still visible as the Chain Breaker followed alongside it. The rocky hills and mountainous plateaus of the lonely terrain stood pale gray in the distance, still dusted with snow.
