The sundering hours, p.53
The Sundering Hours, page 53
For a moment, a new panic rose when Jasper wondered if Blackwood’s submersibles might be following them, but Martin recalled that the vessels could go no further than eight hours from their base and would surely have returned by now even if they had been following. Everyone relaxed after that, though they knew better than to let their guard down completely. Over the next few days, they kept an eye out for sails on the horizon, as no one wanted another pirate fleet surprising them. Ink also raised the question of whether it was possible to place spelltraps in the sea, but Seherene assured him that no Entrian had ever successfully infused water with an enchantment. There were such dangers as sunken mines, but Blackwood would have needed to know the Chain Breaker’s course to plant them ahead of time, and he had never once managed to glean that information from any of his captive guests.
In the galley that night, Delia led a toast to the Entress, declaring that by her discovery of the first trace enchantment, she had surely saved their lives once more.
Seherene was glad to be well again. Glad to walk in the sunshine and fresh air. Glad to put Alistair Blackwood far behind her. But along with her quick recovery came a great regret—namely, that Caradoc had gone back to busying himself with work around the ship. For two and a half days he’d stayed at her bedside, reading to her, making her laugh, catching her up on the last few years of the Colonists’ adventures. She’d fallen asleep to the sound of his voice, often with her hand in his. Each morning, she woke to find him dozing in the chair beside her and not in the empty bed a few steps away, though both she and Margaret had encouraged him to use it.
They’d also had a long conversation about her mother, and Seherene’s struggle to reconcile her feelings about her. The subject had brought her pain, but of the healing kind. Or so she hoped. It even proved useful in persuading Caradoc to talk more about his father, though he was careful never to steer the conversation near anything too terribly dark.
It was the most time they’d spent together since their reunion. It was also—unequivocally—the happiest two and a half days in all her recent memory. Each hour brought with it countless reminders of why she had first lost her heart to him so quickly and so completely all those years ago. Even his faults had somehow become more endearing than irritating. She also remembered how fiercely she had counseled herself against falling to those feelings again, especially since she couldn’t assume he wanted anything more than friendship.
But it was no use. She was powerless to stop it. And all his warmth and attentiveness and affectionate teasing did nothing to discourage her.
Not until she was well again did he finally tell everyone of his experience at the second Sundering Hour. Afterwards, Radburn suggested that the Chain Breaker’s ethereal shape in the blue Otherworld might be the effect of a different sort of tracking method—perhaps one which Pallaton and company were using to keep on the Colonists’ trail from beyond the Veil. Everyone declared it a most sensible theory. Caradoc even conducted a search of the vessel using the Spider Key, hoping to locate some oddity or aberration of the supernatural variety. But either there was nothing to be found, or the Key itself had returned to its near-useless state.
It was unnerving to think that only three Hours remained before the Keyholder lost all his senses, but they did their best to encourage him and each other with the knowledge that King’s Island was only a few days away. Caradoc spent many long hours talking with Skiff about her encounter with the Spektors, and about her mysterious vows and enchanted marking. He was strongly suspicious at first, though not unkind, and in the end decided she was well and truly acting out of a desire to do good.
One morning, Seherene walked the main deck with Simon and Margaret as they told her of their experience at the Tinderbox in Vaterra. Almost every part of the story both shocked and angered her. It was bad enough that her brother had contacted the Mistress all those years ago, but to discover that his Blue Flames had continued the practice long after his death—and with her mother’s blessing? It was horrifying. Hearing that Lord Malkimar and Lady Annyulan had arranged the vile séance was a little less surprising. She’d had an odd feeling about them ever since they’d introduced themselves to her, and now her instincts were justified.
And of course, learning that the murdered doctor and his wife had also attended the secret meeting now made all the sense in the world. She only wondered which member of the Blue Flames had done the deed and affixed the words ‘Colonists, arise!’ to their bodies. As for the Mistress styling herself an angel, it seemed to fit with what she had told Caradoc about thinking herself some kind of benevolent judge.
Perhaps the greatest surprise, however, was in discovering that John Spindler had also been present that night, and furthermore had fallen unconscious before the ‘honored guest’ could arrive. Seherene guessed the newspaperman’s research into the matter of the Spektors had led him there, and that someone had sent a clever combination of enchantments his way to keep him from learning any more.
“You may be surprised to hear it,” Seherene said, “but I am acquainted with Mr. Spindler. I met him at the Great Hall when he reported Ink’s kidnapping. When he told me the story, I asked him to keep in contact with me in case he discovered any leads—either about the boy or the Colonists who supposedly snatched him away.”
“And did he keep in contact?” Margaret asked.
“A few times, mostly to keep me appraised of his travel plans. But I don’t recall him ever mentioning Vaterra. Then again, my mother had been reading my correspondences before they reached me. If he referred to the Tinderbox by name, it’s entirely possible she suspected he was getting too close and decided to destroy the letter before I could be made aware of the place.”
Margaret nodded. “That does make sense. It’s funny to think how deeply Mr. Spindler’s gotten involved. I would’ve assumed the worst intentions from an opportunistic journalist. But rescuing Jeremy? Sheltering him and treating him kindly? And then trying to bait Lord Malkimar to find out the truth? I think he’s really trying to do the right thing.”
“I agree,” Simon said. “Especially as he was willing to risk getting on the wrong side of Bill Stone.” He nodded at Seherene. “As well as yourself and Commissioner Marlas, come to think of it.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Seherene replied. “And you said Jeremy advised Mr. Spindler to go to Mastmarner once they parted ways?”
“Yes. Seeing that Mavie’s on the warrants now, I can only imagine he diverted course before arriving, or that they both escaped the place together.”
Margaret folded her arms. “As it comes to Marlas . . . do you think he might be a member of the Blue Flames as well? Recruited after Damiras, perhaps? When he played into their game by blaming the wrong people?”
“It does fit the facts, in some respects,” the Entress answered. “But I don’t believe my mother would allow a Cassrian in their ranks. And none of their kind would ever show the slightest leniency towards the Colonists. If Marlas was a member, and he’d also played the part of Old Saul, as you all suspect, most of you would now be in Stalikos.”
Simon clenched his hands behind his back. “I often think of all the folk from Harroway, sitting in their own cells because of him. A few even proved to be good friends to us.”
“I wonder how many knew about all those children working in the mines,” Margaret said. “Or dismissed it as a rumor rather than entertain the possibility. And there were certainly others outside the town who knew. Someone was bringing them in.”
“I made that very point in the testimony I wrote,” Seherene replied. “Once we find a reliable messenger to deliver it to the Assembly, I pray they take swift action to put a stop to it, before anything else.”
Simon furrowed his brow in thought and glanced at them both. “You remember what Ink said about that list they found in Bash’s secret room? The one with the names written in the First Language? The Mistress’s warrant list? By her own confession, she hates Marlas above all others. Why shouldn’t his name be on it as well?”
Seherene had no answer. Margaret shrugged.
“I suppose it’s as much a mystery as the reason she hates him.”
The foresail snapped overhead as the canvas caught a gust of wind. Dark clouds were massing to the north, a sight which had now become common in the afternoons and which Radburn had said was perfectly normal south of Calamor this time of the year. They had all learned to look upon the next storm eagerly, for the winds would help make up the time lost owing to their missing mainmast.
“I wonder what Skiff is leading us to,” Seherene said. “I’ve never heard there was anything special about King’s Island. In fact, I’d always heard the name itself was a joke. Calling it something so grand when it’s only a bit of sand and rock.”
Simon nodded. “I’m just as bewildered. But I must believe there’s something to it. Firstly because Skiff says there is and she’s not one to deceive, and secondly because we know the Keyholder who first suffered the Sundering meant to make their way to it.” He let out a sigh of frustration and glanced towards the quarterdeck where Caradoc and Skiff were looking at charts near the helm. “And he still won’t tell me where he keeps the Keyholder Book. He claims there’s nothing in it about capturing Spektors, but I’m not sure I believe him.”
“Has he told you anything?” Margaret asked Seherene.
“No. He only insists it isn’t worth trying. But I have had an idea about the process. I think a combination of enchantments might keep a Spektor in material form—casting a shield, deadening the limbs, reinforcing whatever restraints we use. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to help with that, but when I mentioned it to Skiff she said not to worry, and that everything would be taken care of once we got to the island.”
“Oi!” a voice called out.
They looked up towards the quarterdeck. Caradoc leaned on the railing and gazed down at them with a suspicious look and his spectacles in his hand.
“You’re not talking about Simon’s terrible idea again, are you?”
“As a matter of fact, we are,” Simon called back. “And we’re already well aware you don’t approve of it. Fortunately, we don’t need your approval.”
“You do also recall that the Key is wholly unreliable at this point?”
“If all goes to plan, we should have no need of it,” Seherene said. “And anyway, if Skiff says it’s worth doing then we’ve no reason not to try.”
Caradoc’s turned his disapproving expression towards the young woman beside him, who responded with a grin and an innocent shrug.
“I was only giving an opinion. Now are you gonna stand there sulking or come finish these charts?”
Caradoc donned his spectacles again. “Can’t I do both at the same time?”
“No,” she laughed.
Margaret turned back to her walking companions. “Well, I must be off now. I said I’d help Harriet and Jasper in the kitchen. Ah . . . good morning, Amos.”
The wool-capped man had just emerged onto the main deck as she spoke and greeted them with a nod and a crooked-toothed grin. His left arm was in a sling.
“Morning, Miss Wallis. Morning, all. Looks like we’ve got a fine storm on the way. A welcome sight these days, isn’t it?”
“Yes, indeed,” Seherene said. “Even if does make the plates slide around at breakfast.”
Amos chuckled. “Aye, that it does.”
“How’s the arm? Any pain?” Simon asked.
“Not a bit. It’s healing up nicely.”
Margaret smiled. “Glad to hear it. We’ll have you scrubbing pots and pans again in no time.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a chuckle, watching her retreat to the companionway.
Once she disappeared below decks, he drew a piece of paper from his pocket and held it out to Simon.
“I did what you asked, Mr. Elias. This here’s an account of all the medical stock we got in the storeroom, checked over twice and three times again. Miss Wallis was kind enough to help me with the spelling.”
Simon accepted the paper and looked it over. “This is excellent, Amos. Thank you. But once again, you don’t have to call me ‘Mr. Elias’. ‘Simon’ is perfectly suitable.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll try, sir. Uh . . . Simon.”
Seherene hid a smirk. Most of Daniel’s crew had been addressing them formally since they joined, despite repeated corrections and promises to change. The younger three in particular still seemed in awe of the Riverfall Colonists, despite having shared so many adventures already.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you, Amos,” she said. “What’s the story behind that tattoo on your upper arm? Is that a cleaver?”
Now that the weather was warmer, the young man had taken to wearing his shirt with his sleeves rolled high. He shrugged his shoulder to get a better glimpse of his right arm, as though he’d forgotten what was there.
“Oh. Yes, ma’am. Not really much of a story behind it. My dad was a butcher in the South Country, near Turesia. Bandits burned down his shop a few years ago, after clearing out all they could. Once I left home and joined up with Daniel, I got the tattoo as a way to sort of honor my dad.” He grinned. “I also thought people might start calling me ‘the Butcher’ or something like that. Turns out you don’t get an intimidating name in these parts without doing some actual butchering. Of people, that is.”
“Tell you what,” Simon said, tucking the paper into his waistcoat pocket. “We so happen to have a friend who runs a newspaper. The next time we see him, I’ll tell him to print you up as ‘Amos the Butcher’.”
Amos laughed. “I’d owe you for that! Daniel and the rest would get a good chuckle out of it and no mistake! Oh, by the way—” The young man glanced around the deck, as if making sure no one else was near, then stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I’ve been wondering . . . do either of you happen to know Miss Wallis’s situation? Is she . . . you know . . . with anyone?”
Seherene shot Simon a furtive glance. The mirth in his expression had dropped entirely away. He was almost on the verge of an affronted frown.
“Yes,” he said.
Amos took his meaning at once and stepped back. “Oh . . . oh, I see. I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean any offense.”
“Don’t mind him, Amos, he was just taken off-guard by the question.” Seherene nudged Simon’s arm. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Elias?”
“Uh, yes. Yes, don’t mind me. Thank you again for the account. It was very well done.”
Amos dipped his head and backed away towards the steps. “Thank you, sir. You make sure to call on me if you have need of anything else. You too, ma’am.”
Seherene smiled. He nodded once more, then turned away and hurried below decks. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Simon went to the port side gunwale and leaned over it, gazing out at the water. She gave him a moment, then joined him. The cool wind blew again, bringing with it the scent of rain.
“Why haven’t you told her?” she asked.
He let out a mirthless chuckle. “Because I’m a great big coward.”
“That can’t be the reason. That’s not you at all.”
“I’m afraid it is. At least when it comes to this. I am terrified—paralyzed even—by the thought that she might not feel the same way. So I wait for just the right moment, when I can be sure that she does. If I can ever be sure. My own interest isn’t exactly a secret. What little sophistication and charm I possess seems to vanish whenever she’s around. She must surely know the reason by now. And yet, the waiting drags on. And on.”
Seherene considered the problem for a moment. “Well . . . perhaps she’s also waiting. Maybe not for the same reason, but lack of a response doesn’t necessarily mean a lack of interest. It may only be that she cannot act yet.”
“Why not?”
“You’d have to ask her.”
“Assuming that is the obstacle, and not that she finds me utterly repulsive.”
Seherene couldn’t help but smile. “You are verging on the ridiculous, Mr. Elias.”
He looked at her and frowned. “You’re doing it, too. Calling me mister. What’s that about?”
He was right. Save for Isaac, she’d been calling everyone by their surnames. Like Daniel’s crew, it was partly out of deference and politeness, but the more she considered it, the more she realized it was also because she hadn’t felt worthy enough to assume so casual an acquaintance.
Simon shook his head and gazed at the sea again. “None of that between friends.”
A small smile touched her lips. “As you say, then . . . Simon. Anyway, all I meant is that you shouldn’t go around making assumptions about other people’s feelings. You can drive yourself mad trying to guess, but you’ll never know for certain until you have an open, honest conversation with her. Which I very much think you should have.”
Simon sighed and leaned even lower on the gunwale. “You don’t know how many times I’ve gone in search of her, determined to tell her everything, only to lose my nerve in the end. This week alone I made half a dozen attempts. But you’re right. It must be done. And I will do it, it’s just . . . I need a bit more time to think on it.” He clasped his hands together. “And what about you? Have you told him?”
She dropped her gaze, resisting the urge to glance back towards the quarterdeck.
“Not in so many words.”
He turned towards her and fixed her with an earnest look. “You can’t possibly be in any doubt of his heart. Whenever I would stop by the cabin to see your progress, yours weren’t the only eyes brimming with joy. Even before then, sometimes I felt that if I set a stack of firewood between the two of you and waited a few moments, you’d set it alight simply by looking at one another. And weren’t you just saying it’s best to be honest?”
