The sundering hours, p.3
The Sundering Hours, page 3
Ink entered the dining room. Margaret had taken a seat while Chester remained standing. He set the bowls down in front of them.
“Thank you, Ink,” she said, sweeping a stray lock of blonde hair from her face.
He nodded, then smirked at Chester. “I see your stock of hair products came through all right.”
The mustachioed man ran a self-conscious hand over his oiled locks. “I started keeping an emergency reserve once we came back from the North Country. Hey . . . why don’t we get Se-uh-Say . . . Sareen—”
“Seherene,” Ink said.
“Yes, that’s the one. Why don’t we get her to raise Riverfall? Like Riva did! Get us back up in the air!”
“And risk hitting another skytrap?” Margaret replied.
“Oh, I’m sure it would be all too easy for her to remove them.”
Ink moved back towards the kitchen. “I asked her about that. She said they can only be cleared out by the one who set ‘em up there.”
“Besides that,” Margaret said, “even if we could get back into the sky, we’d have no system of propulsion or steering. We’d be worse off than we are now—especially without a working Drifter. What’s more, I’m not convinced the village could survive another raising. It’s likely to break all to pieces under the strain.”
Deflated, Chester leaned his forearms on the back of his chair, then grimaced at his bowl. “Soup again, eh? Don’t suppose there’s any more bread?”
“I’ll check,” Ink said, and disappeared into the kitchen.
Just as he returned, Delia and Harriet arrived and began pulling off their coats and scarves. The shield around the village had made the temperature a lot more bearable but the sheer size of it meant they still had to don their warmer clothing for the foreseeable future. As soon as Ink set down the tray of bread rolls, Chester snatched one up and began to eat it plain.
“Soup again,” he lamented with his mouth full.
“It’s a miracle we’re able to have a hot meal at all,” Harriet replied. She took the seat next to Margaret, glanced towards the kitchen, then back again. “Is there any change?”
Ink had just turned to fetch the next two bowls, but paused to hear the answer. Margaret had been delivering meals to Simon and Jeremy, both of whom were taking shifts in the infirmary—one monitoring Caradoc’s condition while the other slept in the room across the hall. She answered with a rueful shake of her head.
“His pulse is strong. His breathing’s regular. But nothing will rouse him.”
“That bullet was laced with a black spell,” Delia said, taking her seat across from Harriet. “That’s certain to be the cause. I can’t say I know much about such things but I have seen the effects of blood poisoning, and it’s bad enough when it’s only the common sort.”
Ink retrieved the next two servings of soup, then returned to the table and placed them in front of Harriet and Delia. Martin followed close behind with two for Ink and himself. He sat next to Delia, while Ink took the chair at the head of the table. Chester remained standing as he finished the last bite of bread, then began to shake his head in frustration.
“But you realize who does know about ‘such things’, don’t you? Come on, I can’t be the only one who’s had the thought. We all saw what happened back there on the island. You really believe she wouldn’t be able to help?”
Delia picked up her spoon with a dismissive sigh. “Not this again, Chester.”
“Yes! This again! I’ll say it as many times as it takes. We have no right to hold her prisoner in that house! Not after what she’s done for us! I know you all think I’m some kind of drooling deviant and can’t be relied upon for a reasonable opinion since she’s come here, but you can just as well pluck my eyes out and put a bag over my head! I won’t change my mind!” He yanked his chair back from the table and moved to sit. “Prisons are the business of jailers and judges and we are neither! It doesn’t sit right with me! It’s not—”
The chair collapsed under him, dropping him temporarily from sight. Each of the Colonists seated at the table did their utmost not to laugh out loud. Ink only half succeeded. Martin disguised his snickering with a clear of the throat.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Chester cursed as he hauled himself to his feet and flung the pieces of the broken chair into the corner of the room. “Damned, bloody useless . . . ! Of course I’m all right!” With an angry huff he marched to the next chair, dragged it out, stamped his foot on the seat to make sure it would hold him, then sat down and pulled his soup bowl close.
Ink, still grinning, leaned towards Delia. “If he had his eyes plucked out, why would he need a bag over his head?”
“He doesn’t think that far ahead,” she replied with a smile.
“What you say is true, Chester,” Harriet said, a hint of mirth in her voice. “She has done a lot for us. But even so, you can’t blame us for being cautious. It will take more than two days to discern if her change of heart was genuine.”
“And it’s not as though she’s chained to the wall or being starved or tortured,” Martin added. “She’s quite comfortable, as prisoners go. We haven’t even locked the doors.”
“Furthermore,” Delia said, “what happened on Fenmire is no proof that she could wake Caradoc again. He didn’t stir when he lost consciousness the second time, even though she was near. I’m still not convinced she had nothing to do with the shooting.”
Chester scoffed aloud. “That’s ridiculous! She could have killed us all then and there if she’d wanted! Or had us dragged off to that airship with no difficulty whatsoever! Why flee to Riverfall and help hide us?”
“Why did George Marlas shoot Abner and let Evering run off with a bag of silver?” she cried, anger flaring in her eyes. “That makes no sense at all! But still it happened, and you will not convince me that Marlas did it for love or kindness or compassion. There is no such stuff in his festering heart!”
“I won’t argue with that. But she is not George Marlas!”
“You’re right! She’s only the woman who signed my husband’s execution order!”
This was followed by a long moment of uncomfortable silence. Ink stared down at his soup and pushed around a floating bit of carrot. Martin picked up his spoon but only fidgeted with it before turning his gaze to Delia again.
“She did admit as much.”
“Oh, not you, too,” she said, glaring at him. “You’re usually the first to object to anyone new to our company. You certainly gave your very loud opinion the day she set foot on Riverfall, as well you should have. She’s been our most feared enemy for the past nine years. There’s every reason to doubt her motives and intentions. Her own mother is commander of those monstrous Blue Flames. Do you honestly think—”
“I don’t know what I think,” Martin interrupted. “I don’t know if I can be certain of anything that’s happened in the past few days. It’s like nothing we’ve ever been through before. I’m all for being cautious in our first steps with her, but I have been wondering . . . if we are so set on making her prove herself to us . . . what more must she do?”
“Bringing Riva and the Plumsleys back wouldn’t hurt.”
“Of course not. But that still means figuring out a way to return to the mainland. And yes, we could also stand her in front of the Assembly and High Council and have her tell them the whole truth. But knowing the Blue Flames, they’ll be three steps ahead of us and will see to it that she never makes it there, or at least is not taken seriously if she does.”
“And that’s if she doesn’t turn around and betray us on the spot.” This Delia said almost under her breath, so as not to re-ignite her quarrel with Chester. She swept a hand across her brow. “I don’t know what the answer is. But I can’t sleep properly knowing that woman is here. It turns my blood to ice just thinking about what she could do to this place. To us. Coincidentally, is Evering still sitting outside her house?”
Ink nodded. “Right along with that pistol of his.”
“Is anyone bringing him meals?” Harriet asked.
“Ah! Now, none of that!” Chester said, pointing his spoon at her. “He put himself on guard duty and he can jolly well get his sorry backside to the kitchen himself! Don’t encourage him by coddling him.”
Margaret pushed her bowl away and folded her arms on the table. “It feels like the whole world has turned upside-down. Nothing looks the same anymore. Not even dear old harmless Evering.” She glanced towards the east-facing window. “And we still haven’t done what we first came here to do. That scroll could be on the island somewhere, in that Middling House. If we mean to gain an advantage over the Mistress, we can’t leave without it.”
Ink glanced around the table but kept his mouth firmly shut.
“You’re right, of course, Miss Margaret,” Chester said, “but personally, I don’t think we stand a chance of getting anywhere near such a place without Caradoc around. And besides that, I think food is the slightly more pressing issue at present.”
“How much is left?” Harriet asked, looking across the table at her husband.
“About a week’s worth,” Martin answered. “And I know I said I wasn’t certain of anything, but I do know we can’t stay here much longer. Fenmire is barren. There’s no fish in these waters. No game to be seen. We do have the silver pieces in Evering’s keeping, but where to spend them? And how to get there?”
Chester shrugged. “Why don’t we move the village across the water again? She did it once already, she could do it again if we all helped.”
“It’s ten times as far to the mainland,” Harriet replied. “And the effort spent the first time was exhausting enough.”
“What about the Drifter?” Margaret said. “It may never fly again, but couldn’t we row it across the bay?”
Delia shook her head. “The winds haven’t died down since we arrived. Those waves would overtake it before we were even halfway across.” She leaned back in her chair and pushed her own bowl away. “But come now, Mr. Whistler. Your estimation was far too generous to our feelings. We could survive a lot longer than a week. It would just mean killing all our animals.”
There was a general outcry around the table. No one had a particularly close relationship with the resident chickens, but Nyssa the cow and Annabelle and Bessie the horses might as well have been family members.
Martin raised a hand. “Calm down. It won’t come to that.”
“We can eat only eggs if we have to, couldn’t we?” Chester asked.
“Chickens need feed to lay eggs,” Delia replied. “There’s not much left of that, either.”
There was another long silence. Ink took the opportunity to empty his bowl. He briefly considered having a bit of bread as well, but soon decided against it and stood from the table. “Well, that’s me finished. I ought to bring her supper now, even though she ain’t been eating much.” He turned back towards the kitchen.
“Wait a moment, Ink,” Margaret said, rising to her feet. “Why don’t you take Simon and Jeremy theirs instead? Let me go to her this time.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You sure?”
“We’re out of ideas. We need all the help we can get.” She glanced around the room with an air of curiosity. “And besides, I’d like to see for myself what everyone’s so afraid of.”
Chapter 3
Sarah
By now, the Colonists had learned that Fenmire was privileged to only an hour or two of sunshine each day. At all other times, the fog inundating the island was so thick it was almost night-dark again. Margaret could tell the moment of respite was drawing near, for snatches of golden rays had begun to steal through the oppressive gloom around the shield enchantment, rending the clouds slowly apart with every stab. She slowed her pace, eager to enjoy even the smallest glimpse of light.
She picked her way around fallen trees and over the many fractures in the stone pathway until she came to the Plumsleys’ house. Before it sat Evering Hart, the self-appointed Warden of Riverfall. As Margaret rounded the chair and caught sight of his face, she smirked. The young man was fast asleep with his mouth half open. His pistol lay nestled in the crook of his arm.
Stepping lightly, she climbed the front steps and let herself into the house, careful to close the door gently behind her again. She steadied the bowl of soup in her hand, then went to the room on the right side of the hall and knocked.
“Come in.”
She found the Lady Seherene sitting at a desk in the far corner. She was still dressed in the same blouse, riding trousers, and boots she’d been wearing a few days ago, but with Caradoc’s bloodstains now removed. She had also mended the gash in her arm and stitched the sleeve together again.
She was bent over a sheet of paper, writing intently. Several finished pages were stacked nearby. Her eyes remained fixed on her work as she acknowledged the interruption with a small tilt of her head.
“Hello, Inkwell.”
“Not this time, I’m afraid,” Margaret said.
Seherene looked up with a start, then put down her pen and stood. “Oh . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“Ink was busy with something else, so I thought I’d give him a hand.”
She set the bowl on a small table near the door. The Entress nodded towards it.
“Thank you.”
Margaret held the woman’s gaze long enough to take a good look at her face. She was pale and drawn, evidently sleeping no better than she was eating. Her eyes were also pink and her lower lids half swollen. It was the face of a person who was only now beginning to recover from crying for hours at a time—perhaps even days. Margaret knew the signs all too well.
Movement caught her attention. There on the bed lay Oswald, the gray one-eyed cat, stretching all four legs until his claws extended.
“So there you are, you sly thing,” Margaret said, moving towards him and reaching down to scratch behind his ears. “Have you been hogging that bed this entire time?” She glanced up again. “I can take him out if he’s been bothering you.”
“No. He’s not been bothering me at all. He’s been good company, in fact. I’ve quite missed having animals around.”
Margaret’s eyes fell to the pages on the desk. “Looks like you’re well on your way to finishing a novel there.”
Seherene nodded. “It’s my account of all that’s happened. Everything I’ve learned. I thought I should get it down in writing. Especially about the Blue Flames. The Assembly knows nothing of their existence. Of course, they still may not believe it. No one is likely to trust my word any longer.”
As she turned her gaze to the window, Margaret took the opportunity to study her more carefully. The Entress was definitely older than herself, closer to Harriet’s age. Forty, perhaps, or thereabouts. Then again, it might have only been the weight of sorrow and the burden of her life’s work that made her appear so. Such things were enough to age anyone, even by several years. Still, she wore it well, with grace and decorum, and no obvious attempts to hide the signs.
“Why don’t we take a walk?” Margaret said. “Get you out of this room for a while. The sun’s about to make a brief appearance. Best we take advantage of it.”
Seherene looked back at her in surprise, then shook her head doubtfully. “I’ve given my word not to leave the house. I don’t mean to go back on it.”
“You were not to leave the house without permission. Which I am now giving you, officially.” She moved to the door. “Come on. We’ll have to go out the back way to avoid waking the guard. You’ll want your cloak as well.”
After a little more convincing, Seherene finally followed Margaret out of the house through the back door. They took a route across the snow-covered meadow which twisted between tufts of sleeping grass and stretched all the way to the bulwark of trees at the village’s perimeter. The sun was shining now, though dark clouds and curtains of fog hung ominously near. Still, it was light, and combined with the open spaces of the meadow, it made for a reasonably pleasant walk. Margaret took a deep breath of the crisp, invigorating air and lifted her face to the sky.
The Entress, however, did not appear to be enjoying herself at all. There was a stiffness to her movements, and she looked around and over her shoulder every half minute or so, as if expecting to be caught and accused of escaping.
“I’m Margaret, by the way. Margaret Wallis.”
Seherene glanced back at her. “I don’t recognize your name. Nor your face.”
“I’m not on any of the warrant lists. I came late to the party, about four months ago. Simon and Caradoc showed up on my doorstep one night to turn my entire world upside-down without warning. But for very good reason. There were seven Spektors in my house.”
The Entress halted in her tracks. “Seven? In one place?”
“I thought you’d appreciate that,” Margaret said with a small smile, which quickly faded. “I’d gotten myself mixed up in a very bad business. The details aren’t important. But after a fair amount of convincing, Caradoc brought me through the Veil and we faced them together.”
“And you taking the role of Defender? With hardly any preparation at all?”
Margaret nodded. “Things went as poorly as you might imagine. At one point, I was sure it was going to be the end of us both. But somehow we managed to make it back again. Afterwards, I begged my rescuers to take me along with them. My house had been destroyed. I had no friends or family to rely on. In the end, it was Simon who persuaded the others to agree to it.”
“I’m guessing you knew nothing of their true identities.”
Margaret laughed as they both resumed their walk. “No, not at first. Of course I went mad when I did find out. Ran through the village with an axe, actually. Certain they wouldn’t let me live to see another day. But I calmed down eventually. Heard their stories. Got to know them. And now I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”
“Really? Even though they are hunted and cursed and exiled from society? And you along with them?”
