The sundering hours, p.32
The Sundering Hours, page 32
Just as he’d turned from the window, he noticed a glass door adjoining the parlor to another room. The guard had been standing directly in front of it when they’d first entered, and now he could see the reason why.
A tall glass case had been set on a high table, and within were two crowns perched on display stands. They were incredibly delicate-looking, the gold and silver strands twisted and woven together as fine as threads of gossamer silk. As he approached the door, they sparkled in the light, suggesting precious jewels.
And so, like any pickpocket worth their salt, Ink put his hand on the doorknob and pushed his way inside. The others called after him in hushed tones, but he only leaned back half a step and beckoned.
“Sweet gravy, you have to come and see this!”
Seherene was the first to reach him. “Ink, I think Blackwood will be suspicious if we’re gone much long—”
The words died away as her eyes fell on the room. Margaret and Martin followed close behind, and soon mirrored her stunned expression.
It was like a museum exhibit. The room was twice the size of the parlor and full of items on display, everything from fine jewelry and ornate clocks to curious masks and diamond-studded music boxes. The gold and silver crowns were the obvious centerpieces of the collection but they shared some very odd company. Nearby was an assortment of strange sculptures that appeared to be made of bone and animal horns. A row of colorful pendants hung in the next case, and below it an array of gold signet rings.
They wandered among the objects, in no mind of returning to the tea party any time soon. This was much too curious a diversion.
“Would you look at this?” Martin said. “Half this stuff is made of precious gems and metals. It’s like we just walked into Blackwood’s private vault.”
“Maybe we did,” Ink replied.
Margaret wrinkled her brow. “And yet it’s guarded by only one man in the next room? That makes no sense.”
She was right. Had the items all been kept in glass cases, Ink might have suggested the glass was unbreakable. But as most of the collection was out in the open, surely that meant the room contained spelltraps to keep unwanted visitors away. On the other hand, if there were such things lurking about, Seherene would have warned them. As it was, she was hovering near a small table in the corner, studying a paper-wrapped parcel. A card had been tucked into the twine.
Ink’s eyes were drawn to a bracelet set atop a velvet cushion. It was made entirely of black diamonds. The cut of each gem was exquisite, and each held a peculiar luminescence which glowed a dark shade of green deep in the center. It was hypnotizing. He reached a finger towards one of the stones.
“Stop!”
He looked up. Seherene had taken the card from the parcel and now held it open before her. Her piercing gaze sought each of theirs in turn.
“Touch nothing. Not the handle on a case, not even the furniture.”
Ink plucked his hand away from the bracelet.
“What have you found?” Margaret asked.
The Entress looked at the card again. “‘I have done as you asked. The concealment is in place as well. Ensure the item is not touched with bare hands.’”
Ink, Margaret, and Martin all backed away from the cases they’d been examining.
“Heavens above,” Martin said. “What’s in that parcel? Another Wickwire gift?”
“There is still one missing,” Margaret replied, her eyes slightly wide in alarm. “I shouldn’t be the least bit surprised if it was here.”
Seherene shook her head. “It’s unclear what the parcel contains, but we now know it’s been infused with a black spell under concealment. Which means the other items may be as well.”
They gathered together in the middle of the room, looking about them as though they stood in the midst of a mine field.
“Guess that explains having only one guard,” Ink replied. “Probably don’t even need him with this kind of security.”
Margaret glanced at Seherene. “If our host is dealing with black spells, surely he must be an Entrian.”
“He isn’t,” Martin answered. “He made that very clear to us when he applied to the bank all those years ago.”
“Nor have I sensed any power in him, or his guards, for that matter,” Seherene said.
Ink wrinkled his nose at her in confusion. “So then . . . can Cassrians use black spells?”
“Theoretically, yes. There is no enchantment required to summon a demon and ask for the words of a curse, but they would not be able to infuse it with anything. This note makes it clear he’s been buying these items from others who are laying the spells at his request. All the more reason to put Blackwood and this island as far behind us as possible.”
“But wait a minute,” Margaret said. “Shouldn’t we find out if it’s a Wickwire gift?”
“What difference does it make whether it is or isn’t?” Martin asked. “Let him have the damned thing!”
“It makes a great deal of difference to the Mistress. If we find it, we’ll have added leverage against her. And at the very least, we can make sure she never gains any advantage by it. We ought to check the entire room, in fact. It might be any one of these things.”
“Or none of them,” Martin shot back. “And we’re gone so long in looking that Blackwood takes us for thieves.”
Seherene nodded. “I agree. It would be a worthwhile endeavor had we the time, but I think all we can do at this point is mark this down as a possible location.”
Margaret sighed. “You’re probably right. But I know this is going to keep me up at night.”
Once Seherene had returned the ominous note to its parcel, everyone agreed it was time to make an exit. As he headed towards the door, Ink’s gaze fell once more on the crowns in the glass case—the cursed crowns, as he now knew. It was such a shame. Why did everything beautiful have to have a catch?
“Oh, good Lord.”
Ink glanced behind him. Margaret had stopped dead in her tracks, her face overtaken by a look of horror.
“What? What’s wrong?” Martin asked.
She walked slowly to the corner half-hidden behind the door, each step heavy with dread. When she had gone as far as she dared, she finally answered.
“It’s the Mistress. A statue of the Mistress.”
Seherene and Martin hurried forward to look for themselves. Ink couldn’t move.
“Are you sure?” the Entress asked.
“You recognize the Mistress?” Martin said.
Margaret nodded. “I saw her at the Tinderbox, remember? At that secret séance. I would never forget that face.”
They stared at the figure in stricken silence. Ink forced his feet to work and moved just far enough to catch a glimpse for himself. It was a white stone statue about three feet high, set on a cushion of gold silk. The woman was draped in an elegant robe and stood in a proud pose with her chin raised and her eyes staring straight ahead. A pattern of tiny diamonds was set into the stone, marking the right side of her brow and running down to her cheek. Her hair was caught up in a strange sort of crown which twisted like the limbs of an ancient tree.
Ink clenched his hands into shaking fists. So this was her. The woman who’d sent the Spektors after him, who’d tricked him into naming Caradoc as his enemy. Who’d whispered such poison into Darian’s heart as to incite the Battle of Damiras. Consort of demons. Architect of the Middling House. Brutalizing the world with her vile curses and monstrous servants. Whom no one living could now oppose.
He wanted to leap forward and shove the horrid thing to the ground, see it break into a thousand pieces. But he knew it wouldn’t do any good.
“Perhaps,” Martin said grimly, “we might now call it a probable location for a Wickwire gift.”
Seherene turned back to Margaret. “You said you saw her at the Tinderbox? I’ve heard something of that place. It’s in Vaterra, is it not?”
“Yes. But the story that goes along with it is best saved for . . . safer quarters. To which we ought to return with haste.”
All were in eager agreement.
As soon as they stepped into the main hall again, they found Blackwood and the others waiting for them. Chester and Daniel were relieved at the sight of the mostly recovered Martin, who reassured them he was out of danger. The physician Ink had slighted was nowhere in sight. When Martin apologized for upsetting the tea party, Blackwood responded with a small wave of his scarlet handkerchief.
“Do not think of it, Mr. Whistler. I am only pleased to see you feeling better. So tell me . . . how did you enjoy my collection?”
Ink winced. Seherene, however, took the question in stride.
“It is most impressive. Am I right in thinking that some of the items are enchanted under concealments?”
“They are, yes.”
“Enchanted items are quite the rare sight in a Cassrian household. They are becoming scarce even in Entrian Country. You must have paid very handsomely to acquire them.”
Blackwood, who had been holding his handkerchief to his nose and mouth again, responded with a nod. “I consider myself an avid collector of such artifacts. I find them endlessly fascinating. Infusion often gives them an added beauty they would not otherwise possess. And there are those I keep for historical value. The crowns you saw in the middle of the chamber, for example, once graced the heads of the kings and queens of the Old Kingdom.”
Chester leaned towards Ink and muttered in a low voice, “Nobody tell the Blue Flames.”
“We were particularly struck by the statue of the woman in the corner,” Margaret said, looking closely at him. “What can you tell us of her?”
Blackwood drew his eyebrows together, and Ink thought the look of constipation became even more acute. “Ah, yes. That was a peculiar case. Acquired from an unusual source many years ago. Dealers often embellish details or make up fanciful stories to enhance the appeal of their merchandise, but this one came with no explanations at all. I am not even sure of the woman’s identity, if indeed she is meant to depict any real person.”
“Who was the dealer, Mr. Blackwood?” Martin asked.
“Someone who did not wish to be known. He neither showed his face nor gave me his name. But this is a common practice in these parts.”
He raised his handkerchief to his face again. Margaret took the opportunity to move to Chester’s side, nudge him in the ribs, and glance towards the front door.
“Ah, yes, well,” Chester said, “fascinating as this day has been and obliged as we are for your hospitality, I believe it’s high time we were off. The wheel grinds ever on, you know.”
“Yes, of course,” Blackwood said. “Allow me to show you out.”
Blackwood called for the carriage at once. A smaller coach was nearby, and inside it was the curly-bearded doctor, now in conversation with Mr. Hawkesworth, who stood outside his window. Seeing this, Margaret hung back on Chester’s arm and made a small throat-clearing noise to attract Seherene’s attention.
“Perhaps we ought to ask for a sleeping aid. Didn’t you say he’d run out?”
Seherene glanced back at Blackwood. “I’d rather not ask him for anything. But I suppose we may as well get something out of this trip. Excuse me, Mr. Blackwood.”
“Yes, my lady?”
“We were wondering if you might have any medicines or remedies to help with sleep. One of our crewmembers is sorely in need of it and I’m afraid our own supply has run dry.”
“Of course. It’s fortunate I had the doctor waiting—in case you touched anything in my collection. Mr. Hawkesworth! Ask the good doctor if he might spare something to aid with sleep.”
“Yes, sir.”
Blackwood turned back to the Colonists. “Where are you headed next, Captain?”
Chester froze for a moment, unsure of how to answer, then covered his hesitation with a gruff laugh. “Damned if I know! It’s my first mate with all the ideas. I just carry ‘em out.”
Blackwood squinted at him. “Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”
“Well not today, my good man! But tomorrow things may change! Who knows? We go the way of the wind, wherever we fancy, however we like. Can’t have every day the same, now can we?”
“Calamor, sir,” Daniel said before Chester could continue his nonsensical babbling. “We’re headed to Calamor.”
Blackwood nodded, his brow still tightly furrowed. “Dangerous waters between here and there. Even with a capable crew and a talented Entress, you’ll be hard pressed to avoid misfortune—especially considering recent events. You must allow me to escort you.”
Chester raised an eyebrow. “Oh . . . that won’t be necessary.”
“And we wouldn’t wish to inconvenience you,” Seherene said.
“It’s no trouble at all. I’m due to meet with one of the town councils on Calamor. Besides, you stand a far better chance of arriving quickly at your destination under my security. One ship, no matter its size and situation, is always considered a prize. Two at least pose a decent threat to marauders.”
Daniel’s eyes filled with worry. “Sir, that is most generous of you but—”
“It really isn’t necessary,” Chester finished. “Why I’ve seen pirates turn tail and run at the mere sound of my name! They won’t bother us. Rest assured.”
Hawkesworth approached and handed a small vial of powder to his employer. Blackwood took it, then held it in his hand as if deciding whether or not to actually give it to them.
“I should be honored, Captain, if you would allow me the privilege. What’s more, I insist on hosting both you and the Lady Seherene aboard my own vessel for the duration of the voyage. There you will enjoy the utmost comfort. That way, we can continue our discussion of recent events. Perhaps even make further plans to our advantages. It is a unique opportunity for us all and, as I say, no trouble whatsoever.” He locked eyes with Seherene. “I insist.”
Another request that was not a request. Even were he not holding the sleeping powder as a paltry ransom, there were still cannons aimed at the Chain Breaker and an able crew aboard Blackwood’s vessel to chase after them. The worst part was that Blackwood was right. If it did come to a fight at sea, they didn’t stand much of a chance. The Colonists exchanged disheartened glances of resignation. Chester nodded at the Entress.
“Thank you, Mr. Blackwood,” she finally answered. “We are pleased to accept.”
Ink had to hand it to her. All those years dealing with authorities and politicians she disliked and doing it with an air of unimpeachable cordiality was a skill he could never attain—much less stomach. Blackwood handed her the vial.
“Excellent. Your friends can return to the quayside and have your things sent to my ship. We will follow within the hour, once my own bags are packed.”
As soon as the carriage arrived, Hawkesworth strode to it, opened the door, and let down the steps. Seherene handed the vial to Margaret. They exchanged an anxious glance.
“Can I go along, too, Mr. Blackwood?” Ink asked.
“No, you may not,” Chester answered sternly.
Seherene shook her head in agreement. “Best stay with the others.”
“But—”
“Ink,” Martin said, strictly but kindly. “Let’s go. Come on.”
As the departing Colonists forced themselves towards the waiting carriage, glancing over their shoulders with worried frowns, Blackwood returned his attention to Chester and Seherene.
“I had rather hoped to see Mr. Isaac Caradoc in your party this afternoon. Was he not available to join us?”
“I’m afraid he’s been ill as of late,” Seherene said. “The sleeping aid is for him.”
“Ah. Well, I wish him a speedy recovery. I’ve heard reports of the strange talisman he carries on his hand. I am most interested to speak with him about it.” He looked back at the retreating Colonists. “Perhaps if he has rallied enough by the time you return to your ship, you might urge him to join us on mine.”
Daniel nodded. “We’ll pass the message, sir.”
“Yeah,” Ink added with a disgruntled frown. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”
Margaret spurred him into the carriage before he could give further insult.
They were delayed again when Blackwood had the idea to send a few newspapers back with them to share among their fellow Colonists. Once these had been handed to Daniel, Hawkesworth shut the carriage door and tipped his hat with a smile.
No one smiled back.
The driver spurred the horses. Ink kept his eyes on Seherene and Chester for as long as he could, twisting his neck until it hurt, even as the carriage turned onto the winding road leading away from Moorcrest.
Daniel released a sigh of frustration. “Another delay. First this damned tea party, and now we have to make a stop at Calamor.”
“You did the right thing not telling him about King’s Island,” Margaret said. “Besides, we can use the time to figure out a way to shake free of him.”
Martin nudged Ink’s arm with his. “Chester and Sarah will be all right. They’re prizes to him. Precious merchandise. He won’t let anything happen to them.”
Ink slumped against the seat. “Well, you might convince me. But Caradoc’s gonna go mad.”
“That’s likely true,” Margaret said. “But whatever happens, we can’t let him leave the ship. No matter how keen Blackwood is to meet him.”
“Best not tell him about the invitation, then,” Daniel said. “If I know him, he’s bound to accept it, if only to cause trouble.”
Everyone agreed.
Chapter 22
Something in the Water
There was nothing left to do. Caradoc was sure of it. From the lowest decks to the rigging on the masts, he had finished every chore and task at hand—whether it needed doing or not. There had been only half an inch of water in the bilges, but still he’d pumped it out. He had mopped the decks even though he’d done it the day before. He’d tended to the animals, trimmed the lantern wicks, replaced a rusted hinge on the cargo hatch door, and triple-checked all the charts to make sure they were on the most direct course to Calamor. It was ten o’clock by the time he forced his steps towards the sleeping quarters. He would have two hours to rest before the start of his shift on the middle watch. Might as well make an attempt.
