The sundering hours, p.58
The Sundering Hours, page 58
He sighed, then glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to hear.
“Well, the truth is . . . I ain’t never had any real friends before. Didn’t see the point, ‘specially ‘cause other people were so boring and stupid.” He scratched his head and gestured towards the village with his hat. “But then I got mixed up with all of them. And we’ve been through a whole lot together. Had crazy adventures. Seen strange things and weird places. Met some decent people, but a few really bad ones, too. Dangerous, even. And the awful thing is . . . I’m one of ‘em, Archie.”
A tear came to his eye, which he quickly brushed away.
“I’m one of the bad ones. I’m . . . I’m Marlas. I’m Bill. Kingsley and Blackwood. Even that filthy little weasel, Frederick Coram. I used that stupid watch ‘cause I thought it would get me what I wanted, and I didn’t care about the cost, which makes me just as low as all those other slimy rats. Blimey, my own granddad’s even a Spektor. If that’s not a clear sign, I don’t know what is. I’ve even stopped having nightmares about my parents, which must mean I don’t care about ‘em any more. So you see . . . what Pallaton said is true. I don’t belong here with them. They’re honest and kind and brave. I tried to tell ‘em. Tried to warn Simon and Delia that I’m no good. But they don’t believe me.”
The dog laid his head on his paws and let out a contented sigh with a sleepy blink of his eyelids. The wagging tail had slowed but not stopped. Ink shook his head.
“You don’t believe me, either. But that don’t mean it’s not true. I just keep remembering their faces. How sad they got whenever we’d run into a bad one. How angry and upset they were. How much it hurt ‘em. That’s the worst one, you know—hurt. And that’s why I can’t tell ‘em about the watch. About any of it. I just . . . I couldn’t bear it if they ever looked at me like that. I think it would . . . break my heart forever.”
He wiped at his eye again. He felt foolish. Pathetic. But relieved. He’d never said the words out loud before. He’d hardly dared to even think of them. Now, it felt as though a bit of weight had lifted from him. A very, very little bit. But there was relief all the same.
It was then Ink noticed a pair of shadows moving towards the hill. When they got to the base of the stairs, he saw it was Margaret and Jeremy, talking together and glancing up at him. He quickly wiped his sleeve across his face a few more times, then sat up straighter. Archie raised his head as they approached, his tail wagging again.
“Hullo,” Ink said.
Jeremy smiled at him. “Hey there, Ink. We were wondering where you’d gone.”
“Standing guard?” Margaret asked.
Ink shrugged. “Somebody’s gotta do it. Most of these High Order people never even saw a Spektor before. They don’t know what they’re up against.”
Jeremy settled on the step beside Archie and scratched behind his ear. “Well, I’m happy to report all’s well down below. The animals are settled. The ship is secured. The Keepers are even planning on making us a new mainmast.”
“You think we’ll be leaving soon?” Ink asked.
“I’d be surprised if we did,” Margaret replied, sitting beside him. “I think we could be here for quite a while. Have to admit, I’m glad of it, too. Not only to be back on solid ground, but in such a place as this. Just look at that view. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”
As Ink looked out over the cove again, a distinctive moo sounded over the village.
“Was that Nyssa?” he asked.
Jeremy chuckled. “I think it was. She was happier than anyone to be off that ship. As soon as we got to the pastures, she ran straight out to the middle like she was home at long last. I would almost call it skipping if cows could skip.”
“It’s a fantastic place for the horses as well,” Margaret said. “Harriet’s already got her eye on several riding routes. Jasper, too.”
They fell quiet again, gazing out over the village. A few minutes later, a Keeper came by to light the torches posted along the curving stairs. He tipped his hat to them and wished them a good evening, to which Jeremy and Margaret responded in kind. Ink still didn’t feel like being cordial to strangers.
“That’s the King,” Jeremy said solemnly, watching the man as he returned to the village.
Ink and Margaret exchanged a puzzled glance.
“The what?” Ink said.
“Milton. The Radish King. I met him earlier.”
“Radishes?” Margaret said.
“Yeah. He grows ‘em. Huge ones. He told me people call him the Radish King.”
She began to laugh, unable to help herself. Ink snickered.
“What’s so funny?” Jeremy asked.
“You said that so seriously. The King,” Ink said, mimicking his solemn tone of voice.
“I was all set to present myself and curtsey,” Margaret added.
Jeremy smiled. “Anyway, I told him I was something of a gardener myself. Thought maybe I could help him out. Make myself useful.”
“Yeah,” Ink said, “but did you tell him you were a fugitive gardener? He might not want your help, then. They might not want any of us.”
“No, this is different. These people get to hear our account of the story first. And they have no stake in it. No reason not to believe us. I think they’ll be on our side.”
“Not least of all because we’ve got a Keyholder with us,” Margaret said. She looked out over the bay, then leaned her arms on her drawn-up knees with a quiet sigh. “Oh, that makes him sound like a trophy or a prize. I don’t mean it that way.”
Ink nodded. “We know.”
A night gull soared overhead, wheeling towards the bay and passing beneath the moonlight like a glimmer of silver. They watched until it was out of sight. Archie sunk his head onto his paws again, nearly pressing his nose against Ink’s leg. A warm breeze swept across the steps, making the torchlights flutter.
Margaret rubbed her arms. “It’s awful, isn’t it? This time of waiting? Nothing to do but sit around hoping for a good word.”
“It’s nice to have distractions at a time like this,” Jeremy said. “Little projects to do. Plans to make. I think that’s why Caradoc never stopped doing chores on the ship.”
Margaret brushed a blonde hair from her brow. “Maybe I should see if the village is in need of a gambling house. Get a few tables set up. A nice little bar. What do you think?”
She glanced down at Ink, whose brow was wrinkled in worry.
“It’s not me, is it?” he asked.
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Back there. In the Foundry. You said you hated someone.”
“Oh, Ink.” She put her arm around him. “I should never have blurted it out like that. It was foolish of me. Of course it’s not you. I could never hate you. I was thinking of a very bad man, very far away. As a matter of fact, I don’t even know if he’s still alive, but he’s certainly not you.”
“Whatever made you think that, Ink?” Jeremy asked.
“I dunno. Sometimes people don’t say how they really feel about each other, so I figured I’d ask.”
Margaret exchanged a knowing glance with Jeremy, then squeezed Ink’s shoulder. “You’re wise beyond your years, Mr. Featherfield. Do you know that?”
“I know.”
Her smile faded. “I don’t suppose either of you happens to know who Simon meant. I can’t imagine him hating anyone. It’s not like him at all.”
Jeremy shook his head. “Afraid I don’t.”
Ink remained silent. He’d sworn during the Secret Game not to say anything about the professor who’d tortured the poor man, and he would do his best not to break that oath.
Fortunately, Margaret had little time to read into his silence, for the next moment a strange sound drew their attention towards the East. It was a great trumpeting cry, mixed with a roar or a groan, loud but distant, echoing through the mountains. Even Archie raised his head and cocked an ear towards it.
“What the devil was that?” Margaret said.
“Skiff said there was all kinds of creatures on that side of the island,” Ink replied. “Maybe that was one of ‘em.”
“Well, let’s hope it stays on that side. I certainly shouldn’t like to meet it in person.”
“Ah! Here you all are!”
They glanced down to see Chester climbing the stairs. Evering followed close behind with his shoulders hunched up around his ears.
“Did you all hear that sound?” he said. “Like some bloody great dragon?”
“We heard it,” Margaret replied.
“I’m telling you, Evering, it wasn’t a dragon,” Chester said. “Just some ornery moose or bear or sea lion—far, far away. So just relax, will you? Hey! Look here, mates!” With a flourish, he reached into his pocket and produced a tobacco pipe.
“So you didn’t leave it behind!” Ink cried.
“No! Just got it mixed up with some of the Plumsleys’ things! Those Keepers are splendid people. Splendid! I told them I’d buy them all a round of ale if they came across it while we were shifting our gear. But seeing as they don’t make any here, I’m off the hook!”
“No ale?” Margaret said.
“A bit of whiskey and wine were all I could ferret out. The whiskey’s all right but the wine . . . well, that could use some work, putting it politely.”
“Shh!” The sound came from Jeremy, who leaned forward and laid a hand on Chester’s shoulder to reinforce the command. He nodded towards the village. “Look down there.”
At first, all they could see was a mass of flames hovering in the air, streaming out from the houses and gathering together as they moved up the main road. As they came nearer, Ink saw that it was a large group of people carrying candles. When they reached the base of the hill, they began to break off into groups of two and three, each choosing a spot near the steps but never directly in front of them. As the Colonists watched, a woman with a long braid approached the stairs and looked up at them with a gentle smile.
“I hope we’re not disturbing you,” she said. “We’d like to hold a vigil for the Keyholder. At least one member of every household will pray here, at all times of the day and night, until he is delivered.”
Margaret tried to smile in return. “That’s lovely. Thank you.”
The woman nodded, then returned to her group.
“He’s not dying, you know,” Evering said in a low voice, sounding resentful. “They’re acting like he’s dying.”
“He’s not altogether well, either,” Jeremy replied. “They just want to do something to help, same as the rest of us.”
Chester raised an eyebrow. “Someone told me that few people from this generation of Keepers have even seen a Keyholder before. This is quite special for them.”
Evering scoffed. “I still can’t believe a place like this actually exists. And all this time! If we’d known about it from the beginning, we could’ve come straight here after Marlas told everyone we were murderers. We could have had peace. Safety. And not lost so many people.”
“That’s true,” Jeremy replied. “But then we wouldn’t have met so many new friends, either.”
“And saved lives in the bargain,” Margaret said. “I’m fairly certain I’d be dead by now if you lot hadn’t come along in time.”
Ink fidgeted with his hat. “Me as well. The Spektor in that lake was ready to rip my head off.”
Chester snorted. “And Sarah would’ve had to marry that Pallaton creep. Which, as I understand it, would’ve been bad enough even without him being Spektor-ized.” He puffed on his pipe and blew out a stream of smoke. “You know what else makes my head spin? How dear old Bash found out about this place before we did. Or found out its name, at least. It was in his research, remember? ‘If all else fails, seek Arravantis’.”
“I remember,” Ink said. “I think he must have heard it from the Spektor in his house, without knowing exactly what it meant. Or else he would’ve given us more helpful directions.”
“Yes, that’s true. Well, at any rate, I’m glad we’re here now, even if it did take a while. I don’t think my stomach could have handled much more of the sea life.”
Margaret smirked at him. “I thought you’d gotten over that. Weren’t you cured on Blackwood’s ship?”
“I was drunk on Blackwood’s ship, so much that I didn’t know whether the consequent spewing was alcohol-related or motion-related. But it made a good cover all the same. It wouldn’t do to have the great Sidas Ramm turning green at the sight of waves, after all.”
As he spoke, Ink noticed another group approaching the stairs, but carrying no candles. When they came into the torchlight, he saw it was the rest of the Colonists. As soon as they had joined them on the steps, Martin nodded at the Keepers.
“What’s this? A vigil?”
“Yes,” Jeremy replied. “They showed up just before you did.”
“Surprised to see you here, though,” Evering said. “I thought you’d all gone to bed.”
Harriet nodded, leaning on her cane. The long walks between the ship and the stables had roused her old leg injury awake. “We gave it a good try. But it was no use in the end.”
“Has there been any word?” Seherene asked. “Any news?”
Ink shook his head. “I think the only people who’ve come out of there were the ones who brought them dinner a few hours ago.”
Delia sat on the step beside Evering. “Well . . . we obviously can’t spend all night lying on the doorstep waiting for something to happen. And the house they’ve given us is perfectly lovely, it’s just . . . too far away.”
“I can talk to the Magisters,” Skiff said. “They might let us bed down in the temple. The outer chamber is big enough to hold us all.”
Chester raised an eyebrow. “Sleep in a temple? Are you sure?”
“Well, they’re using the Council House. The Archives are too small. And I’m sure no one wants to go into the Foundry again. I’m sure they won’t mind. Just give me two minutes.”
She bounded up the stairs and away towards the Council House.
Simon nodded at Chester. “What wrong there, Captain? Don’t like the idea of spending the night in a temple?”
“It does bring a spot of worry to mind, yes. With my record, I’m liable to turn into a pile of cinders soon as I set foot through the door.”
“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” Harriet said. “But even if it is, at least you’ll keep the room nice and warm.”
Chester leaned back with a hand on his heart, feigning offense. “And what was that, Mrs. Whistler? A joke at my expense? My, how things have changed!”
She smiled. “I thought I’d give it a try for once.”
“Well it was very good. You should keep it up.”
“Come on,” Martin said, reaching down to help Chester to his feet. “We’ll go and have a look at the place before stepping inside. You’ll see it’s not so frightening.”
As the group started up the steps, Chester glanced down at Ink beside him.
“Hey . . . d’you think I’ll be allowed to smoke in there?”
“Dunno. I’ve never been inside one myself.”
Chester raised an eyebrow and turned to his left. “Sarah?”
“I would say probably not,” the Entress answered with a smirk.
“Damn!” He winced, then raised a hand towards Heaven. “I mean, uh . . . that’s, uh . . . unfortunate. But I’ll get by! Don’t you worry! This is not a problem!”
Ink imagined God smiling and shaking his head.
The Magisters agreed to Skiff’s proposal and arranged for the Keepers to bring as many mattresses, blankets, and pillows as they could carry. The Colonists stood in the courtyard while the makeshift quarters were furnished. Ink couldn’t help but glance at the lighted windows of the Council House every so often. He wondered how much longer Caradoc would be in there. Perhaps they had already found an answer to the Sundering.
“Ink.”
Someone touched his shoulder. It was Delia, who then beckoned him away from the rest of the group. He followed her to where Simon stood. Archie scampered behind.
Ink frowned at them. “What’s wrong? Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing’s wrong,” Simon replied. “We just wanted to talk about . . .” He threw a furtive glance at the others before continuing. “Your granddad.”
“We started thinking about how that cage might’ve made you feel,” Delia said. “And all that talk about trapping and imprisoning. Simon and I have agreed not to involve your grandfather in any of this—for your sake. We don’t want things to be harder on you than they already are.”
“Oh. Well . . . thanks.”
“And you will tell us if you see him again? If there’s any sign at all?” Simon asked. “We don’t want you facing him alone. Not if it can be helped.”
Ink nodded. “I’ll tell you. I promise.”
But even as the words left his mouth, he knew he didn’t mean them.
Chapter 39
Distant Dreams
Ink wasn’t sure what to expect inside a temple, but he soon found there was nothing worrying about it. The chamber was very large and boasted a high-vaulted ceiling fitted with arched windows. Moonlight flooded the room, bathing the marble floor and fluted pillars in soft blue light. A large metal brazier sat in the center of the room and filled the air with the scent of woodsmoke as the fire crackled inside. The Keepers had brought so many cushions, mattresses, and pillows that Ink couldn’t even feel the hard floor beneath. All in all, it was a pleasant place.
Chester, as evidenced by a familiar snoring sound, was one of the first to fall asleep. Most were still too restless to do so. Evering and Jasper sat up talking a little ways away. Harriet, Martin, and Simon toured the chamber in a slow circle, inspecting the many elaborate tapestries on the walls. Across from the main entrance was a carved door leading to the inner sanctuary. Skiff and Delia had both gone inside a few minutes ago, whether to pray or to simply look around, Ink didn’t know.
