The sundering hours, p.42
The Sundering Hours, page 42
“And we certainly don’t blame you for keeping him a secret,” Simon said. “We’re just so sorry you’ve had to deal with such a terrible shadow lurking over you all this time. It should never have . . .” His face suddenly changed. It was a look of astonishment, his eyes lighting up with a thought. “Oh. Wait a minute.”
“What’s wrong?” Delia asked.
He stood and stepped back. “I’m having an idea. A crazy, ludicrous, insane idea.”
“Crazy?” Ink said. “That don’t sound like you.”
“I know. But what if . . .” He pointed a finger in the air. “What if we use this to our advantage?”
Delia narrowed her eyes. “How do you mean?”
Simon glanced at Ink again, his face brightening. “Would it be possible for you to . . . get your grandfather here somehow? To summon him?”
“I don’t think so. Even before, he wasn’t the type to come when he was called. I did find him at Harroway when I went looking for him, but I think that was only because he wanted me to find him.”
“Could you trick him, then? Make him believe you had something he wanted? Or that you were going to do something he’d asked you to do?”
“Wouldn’t he know Ink was lying?” Delia asked.
“Spektors aren’t omniscient. Of course he might assume it’s a trap, but perhaps we can figure out a way to convince him we’re serious. And it doesn’t even have to be your grandfather, really. The point is . . . I think we should try to catch a Spektor.”
Ink and Delia exchanged a glance.
“You’re right,” the boy said. “That’s absolutely barking crazy.”
“But think about it,” Simon continued, growing even more excited. “If we manage it, we’ll have a powerful source of information! We could force them to tell us how to stop the Sundering! Even get them to tell us about the . . . thing we found! And if Blackwood continues to keep Chester and Sarah as prisoners, we might even use the Spektor as a bargaining chip. After all, a man who’s obsessed with supernatural things would never turn down the chance to have his very own supernatural being!”
“It is insane, no arguing that,” Delia said. “But . . . therein lies a kind of logic.”
“What?” Ink cried, shocked to hear her agree.
Simon held his hands out. “Bash had the same idea, remember? And had some success with it!”
“Yeah and ended up dead!”
“This will be different. We don’t mean to make friends. We mean to make it a prisoner. And Bash attempted it alone, but with all of us here, and several of us already having experience with Spektors, I think we can make it work.”
Delia tapped her chin in thought. “The key thing is the process. The summoning might be simple enough, but these are spirits who are capable of making themselves immaterial at will. They could easily pass through any cage or trap we devise. We’ll have to find a way to . . . bind them somehow. Keep them in solid form. That will be the tricky part.”
Ink raised both eyebrows at her. “You’re actually agreeing to this?”
“Simon’s right. This could be our best chance at finding out how to stop the Sundering. That’s more important than anything else. Above all other concerns.”
“And what’s more,” Simon said, “I’ll bet that even if Skiff could tell us her secret, she still couldn’t guarantee that King’s Island will solve all our problems. This would be a viable alternative!”
Ink shook his head. “Granddad’ll see right through it! For all we know, he’s standing here right now listening to us!”
Simon reached up and grabbed a nearby lantern off its hook. He raised the flame to his eye and looked through as he made a turn to inspect the room.
“No one else here. All clear.”
“All right, then what about Caradoc? You know he won’t like this.”
“He probably won’t. And I realize it’s a dangerous thing to do, but if it’s the only way—if there’s really no other choice—then it doesn’t matter whether he likes it or not. Besides, we’ll be careful. We won’t rush things. We’ll have to combine all our resources and knowledge. Get ideas from all the others—especially Sarah.”
“Or maybe,” Delia said with a raised eyebrow, “we only need a glance through the Keyholder Book.”
Chapter 28
Cassria
They broke the news of their grand scheme at dinner. Of course, the general reaction was shock and dismay, but once Simon and Delia had thoroughly explained their side of things, popular opinion was swayed in their favor. The only one who refused outright was Martin. He was so upset, in fact, that he left the galley without finishing his meal. Harriet went to speak with him but came back shortly after and told them he wasn’t in the mood for talking.
The next thing was to find the Keyholder Book. At first, Simon was certain he needed only a few minutes to rummage around in the small trunk Caradoc kept beneath his hammock. When he didn’t find it there—nor anywhere else in the vicinity—he enlisted the others to help, dividing them up into three search parties. They looked for well over an hour, checking the cargo holds, storerooms, and even the animal stalls. It was nowhere to be found.
To add to this frustration, a fine spring squall broke upon them halfway through the hunt. Water dripped through the timbers overhead. Anything that wasn’t tied down began to shift and slide. They had to be especially careful whenever climbing any steps or ladders as the movement of the ship oftentimes meant ascending at an angle. With thunder booming overhead and the waves crashing high against the creaking hull, Ink and the other members of his search party agreed to return to the galley. They had to watch every step carefully as they went, ducking under swinging lanterns and sidestepping puddles of water as the ship rocked to and fro. On the way, Ink spotted Delia heading for the animal stalls, no doubt anxious to make sure the storm hadn’t unsettled them too badly.
Having reached the galley, the party made for a corner table, desperate to attach themselves to the anchored chairs which would provide some relief from the constant motion. After mopping his brow with his apron, Jasper rose again to retrieve a round of hot tea. The loud clinkings and clankings they soon heard from the kitchen made them worry the teacups wouldn’t survive the effort. Skiff jumped up to help him.
“You know,” Amos said, slapping his damp woolen hat onto the table. “If we hadn’t lost that mainmast, and weren’t forced to detour to Calamor, these squalls would be a godsend. We’d probably make King’s Island by next week.” He glanced at Margaret. “D’you reckon Mr. Caradoc will be gone much longer?”
She folded her arms and leaned forward on the table. “I don’t think we can reckon anything in this situation. There’s also a part of me that’s convinced they’ll not be so kind as to bring him back to the ship again.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s Otherworld travel,” Ink replied. “There’s an invisible Veil that links everything together, but however far you cross when you’re somewhere else, that’s how far you’ll have gone in this world, too.”
Amos looked between them. “But . . . doesn’t that mean he could be dropped anywhere? Even the far side of the world?”
“I’m afraid so,” Margaret answered. “It’s all the more reason to find a way to put a stop to this Sundering business.”
“What about Martin?” Ink asked. “You think he’ll come around to Simon’s idea?”
She nodded. “After he’s had some time to think. To be perfectly honest, I don’t like it any more than he does. I’d always hoped my first encounter with Spektors would also be my last.”
“That’s right,” Amos said, sitting forward. “Ink told us a bit about what happened. You had a proper showdown with ‘em, didn’t you?”
“I did, sorry to say.”
Ink tilted his head with a curious frown. “What was it like? And how’d you ever manage to keep your wits about you? You had hardly any warning at all!”
Her gaze fell to the table. The lantern overhead swung towards the starboard side, throwing their shadows across the wall.
“It was a world of black sand and dark skies,” she began. “As soon as we arrived, I saw this large metal brazier nearby, filled with oil and fire, and pouring out so much smoke I couldn’t tell where the vapor ended and the clouds began. They’d been using it to enter through the hearth fires in my house. I don’t remember much of what happened next. There was a great deal of shouting and hissing, rattling chains and strange voices. Caradoc had told me to hold tight to him, but I was so much out of my depth—and so terrified by the sight of all those Spektors—I could hardly remember the instruction. The only thought that did hold firm in my mind was that I would surely die there.” She rubbed both hands over her arms. “Caradoc stepped between us. Told me to focus on him. I was shaking so badly I could hardly stand, but I forced myself to do it. And then . . .” She smiled. “Then he said something so terribly clever.”
“What was that?” Amos asked, his chin propped up by a hand.
“He said, ‘You’re not going to die here. But unless you’re willing to stand up to them with all the fire and light I know is inside you . . . I’ll die.’” She glanced away and furrowed her brow. “That’s when I became a Defender, long before I’d ever heard the term. For then the battleground was changed. I wouldn’t only be fighting for my life, my property. But for him. A man I barely knew, yet trusted implicitly, against all logic and reason. I think that’s why we’ve all agreed to this plan, dangerous as it is, and why Martin will, too. Because we’re all willing to do the same.”
Amos narrowed his eyes in thought. “So . . . this business of being a Defender. What’s it mean, exactly? Do you get any kind of special weapons and such?”
“No, it’s nothing like that,” Margaret replied. “It’s rather like . . . well, it’s like what we’ve discovered about Cassrians playing a part in enchantments. Only the Key itself has any real physical power over the Spektors, but a willingness to support the one who bears it can make all the difference. And what you give is nothing physical. It comes from opening your heart. Letting your true spirit rise to the surface. But there can’t be anger in the act—nor bitterness or fear—because you must focus on who you’re fighting for, not against. And what’s more, it must be done with . . .”
When she stalled, Amos nodded in encouragement.
“Fire and light, you said.”
“Yes, but that’s only a part of it. It’s a feeling that ties it all together. No, it’s more than a feeling, it’s . . . oh, it’s almost impossible to explain in words . . .”
“Conviction.”
Amos looked at Ink in surprise. Margaret looked impressed.
“That’s it exactly,” she said.
Amos smirked at the boy. “Where’d you learn a word like that?”
“Whatcha mean? I’m a proper scholar, I am. Everyone knows that.”
It was, in fact, a matter of education—earned in the midst of the Spektor attack on Harroway. Without conviction, his rebellious act of breaking into song would not have had the effect it did.
Amos returned his gaze to Margaret. “In light of your description, it sounds like being a Defender makes you just as vulnerable as whoever’s holding the Key.”
She nodded. “It did feel that way. And it’s especially difficult if you’ve grown accustomed to mistrusting everyone. Or being suffocated by shame and doubt. But in such a moment, you can’t give any thought to those things. Someone is relying on you not to give in. Not a day goes by I don’t wonder at the risk Caradoc took confronting those Spektors for my sake. The light in me was buried so deep I almost couldn’t find it. But somehow . . . he always believed I would.”
“And what happens to that light?” Ink asked. “Once you find it . . . does it stay close?”
A curious expression crossed her face. Something between a smile and a frown, or perhaps both at the same time. Her eyes fell to the table again as she traced her finger across the grain.
“For some, perhaps it does. For me . . . let’s just say my struggles are far from over.”
Both Ink and Amos knew better than to prolong the subject. Fortunately, the heavy mood was soon broken as Skiff and Jasper returned with the tea. Once it was passed around, they drank it quickly before the shifting vessel could send it sloshing over the rims. Amos downed his cupful in a single draught, then reached for the stack of newspapers in the middle of the table.
Jasper glanced towards the galley door as he poured himself a second cup. “I wonder where the others are. They can’t still be searching for that book in this weather.”
“They probably are,” Skiff said.
“Then maybe we shouldn’t have given up so soon.”
“We ain’t gonna find it. No one will,” Ink said. “He’s hidden it away to keep anyone from reading it, like he always did on Riverfall.”
Margaret nodded. “Which means there’s still nothing to be done but wait.”
“Oi. Jasper.” Grinning, Amos turned his paper around and held it up. “Look here.”
It was an advertisement for the Plumsleys grand tour. The page boasted an exclusive feature about the show, complete with artistic sketches of Wendolen and Josephina in dramatic poses and wearing glamorous attire. Ink couldn’t help but smile at the sight.
“Harriet and I saw that article a few days ago,” Margaret said. “They’re meant to be arriving in Jaston for the next leg of their tour. That puts them clear of the West Country.”
“But still jolly close to it,” Skiff replied. “Doesn’t Jaston sit right at the foot of the Lockhorns?”
“Aye,” Amos said. “But this was written only a few days ago and doesn’t mention any trouble, so by all accounts they are still safe.”
Ink shifted in his seat. “And if they keep heading east like they are, it should be no problem for us to sneak backstage and get ‘em out of there.”
Amos handed the paper to Jasper, who took it with an eager grin. Margaret smiled at the young man.
“Are you a fan of the Plumsleys, Jasper?”
“Are you kidding?” Amos replied. “If he’d known they were Colonists he would have tracked you down and joined for that reason alone! We’ve got a record player in one of our safehouses and that’s all you’ll hear him play on it! Day and night!”
“I learned to sing from them,” Jasper said. “Even had the sheet music from one of their operas, though I couldn’t read it.”
Margaret chuckled. “Knowing the Plumsleys, they’ll be pleased as punch to hear it. And you can bet they’ll arrange a recital on the spot. Best start preparing now.”
Jasper blushed. “I don’t even know what I’ll say when I meet them. Probably won’t be able to speak at all, I’ll be so tongue-tied. And I’m sure they won’t want to hear my croaking. I’m only an amateur, after all.”
“It’s your gift, Jasper,” Skiff said.
The comment caught him so off-guard, as well as the earnest tone of her voice, that he looked at her in surprise. She nodded.
“Singing’s your gift. The thing you’ve been given to help make the world a better place. It’s like your own personal enchantment. It even comes from the same place—in your heart and soul. Some people take years to figure out what theirs is. Some never find it at all. You’re lucky, you know. So don’t run yourself down for it. You’re no croaker.”
The young man’s face melted back into a sheepish grin. “Thanks, Skiff. We may not know much about your past, but wherever it is you’ve come from, they must have a lot of wisdom to go around.”
Amos nodded towards her with a smirk. “It’s feedin’ into her brain from that mark on her head.”
She struck him playfully on the arm.
“Hey!”
Everyone glanced up at the galley door. Evering leaned into the room, rain-damp and slightly out of breath as though he’d been running.
Ink jumped out of his seat. “Did you find it?”
“Find what? Oh, the book—no, not yet. But there’s a sight to see up on deck!”
“Not more Spektors,” Margaret said.
“Or sea serpents,” Skiff added with a grimace.
“No! It’s some ancient city or something! Out towards the west! You’ll miss it if you don’t hurry! Come on!”
The rain had just stopped falling by the time they reached the main deck, but it was still plenty wet as the roiling waves continued to toss great sprays of saltwater against the port side hull. Ink turned up his coat collar and braced his legs against the gusting wind as he staggered out of the companionway. Almost everyone had gathered near the starboard gunwale—even Martin. Radburn looked on from the helm.
As Ink joined the others, he heard Jeremy explaining that they were now passing the easternmost edge of the mainland. Ink peered out towards the west at a high green hill looming out of the distant sheets of rain. Upon it stood an impressive collection of stone bastions, towers, and arches. It was, as Evering had said, obviously ancient, overgrown with vines and moss, and bearing gaps in the walls where the stone had crumbled away.
“It’s Cassria!” Skiff cried. “Oh, I’ve always wanted to see it for myself!”
Ink frowned. “What? There’s actually a place called that?”
“There is, indeed,” Simon replied. “History books say that’s the very spot where the first non-Entrian folk showed up in Eriaris, after crossing the Eastern Sea almost two and a half thousand years ago.”
“I thought that was only a theory,” Jasper said. “Since they found no ships with them.”
“It’s true there’s no hard evidence to say how they got here, but most historians assume the ships were sunk in a storm.”
Ink glanced over his shoulder. The crew of the Grackle were also taking in the sight. It was hard to tell if Chester and Seherene were among them, but he could see several crewmembers clustered along the starboard side like they were.
