“She’s a fast one,” he said with an admiring whistle.
“It’s those cats,” she said, more to herself than to him. He knew she didn’t trust him enough to confide in him, and for once, he didn’t fool himself. He doubted he could ever fool her either. He had thought it might be possible to marry her and have her fortune for himself, but even if it hadn’t been for the alleged existence of a mother he totally failed to find in Drague, he couldn’t imagine living with such a girl. Not only was she bigger than he was, but her bluntness left him no room to cajole, flatter, or use his usual manipulations. She was thoroughly intimidating, and he had no wish to live with such a person even long enough to have her committed to some remote asylum for inconvenient heiresses.
If only that lazy dragon had done her job and fried the creature! Really, you couldn’t count on anyone these days.
“What about the cats?”
“They want to go home, I expect, to their homes, and expect her to take them, except she can’t. They’re going to get her good and lost before she remembers where she’s supposed to be.”
With that, she took off with a long stride, covering the length of the road so fast she left him in what would have been a cloud of dust if it hadn’t been raining.
He found the nearest livery stable, hired a horse and buggy, and drove up the road in the same direction she had taken.
By the time he caught up with her, she had yet to catch up with the old lady. Good. Less complicated that way.
When Verity came to, she hurt all over, especially in her back and legs. She couldn’t move and she wondered what hit her. Then she remembered a horse and buggy, driven straight toward her at a mad clip, the impact as it struck her before she could move out of the way, a blow to the head that would have staggered her had she not already been on the ground.
She tried to lift her head and found she could move it only a few degrees one way or the other. She was freezing. Her clothing was soaked clear through, and cold iron bit into the skin of her wrists and neck. Her feet wouldn’t move either, but she couldn’t feel the chains—probably the same chains that had bound Vitia to the flat car—as they would be looped around the ankles of her boots.
Frightened as she was, she couldn’t stay conscious, but kept lapsing into nightmares before she could even consider forming any sort of escape plan.
Then she was dragged back to consciousness when the iron rails she was chained to began quivering, trembling, shaking and she saw the light and heard the scream of the dragons as she was about to be run over for the second time. She was gagged and couldn’t even scream, except in a strangled mumble and a shriek to rival the dragons’, but only in her mind, submerged in the clack of the wheels on the tracks.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
And realized that the brakes were squealing, that the headlamp on the front of the engine had found her.
“Human, you are impeding a locomotive in the execution of its journey,” the somewhat officious voice of Wol—or was it Gem—scolded. “Surely you realize that if our train hit you, it would de-rail. Remove yourself from the track immediately.”
“I can’t,” she replied and was thankful that to speak to those two she didn’t need the use of her mouth. “I’m chained to it.”
Chapter 33
Wormroost Real Estate
The re-configured train from Velasco Station westbound into Argonia fortunately had regained its sleeping car. Ephemera had made the train on time after all. If ghost cats had had substance, they would have crowded Verity off the narrow sleeping couch. Ephemera shooed them, but it did no good. The incorporeal cats seemed to think they were either able to give or receive warmth from Verity, so they stuck to her. Although they left paw prints all over the compartment/carpet, they were distinctly lacking in mass.
The conductor looked in on them often. And after the Argonia/Brazoria Border Station, Toby, who found riding in a boxcar was not a good option without Taz to warm him, stole into their compartment. No further attempts to harm any of them were made by anyone. Ephemera decided the person who harmed Verity, and she had an excellent idea who he was, would be waiting until they got the girl back to Queenston, where they probably would have fewer witnesses and more allies. Therefore, Verity must not return to Queenston.
Isabelle was not waiting at the station, of course; unless she had become a seer in their absence, how would she have known they were coming?
When they de-trained at Wormroost, Toby set off for the grocer to borrow the delivery sled. He would inform Isabelle of their arrival. When the sled came for them, Sgt. Foote was driving. At first Ephemera thought Isabelle had come with him, but saw as the swan sleigh drew nearer that a gypsy woman occupied that place instead.
“The lad stayed behind with the dragons,” Foote said. “Isabelle gets on well enough with them, but sometimes she needs help with that queen. She’s a great deal of dragon.”
Ephemera was glad to see him. That slimy Briciu, who behaved as if he had some claim on Verity instead of merely being her stepmother’s fancy man and apparently, henchman, had tried to insinuate himself into their party, but as soon as he saw Sgt. Foote he seemed to think better of it and slunk back aboard the train. She did not grieve to see the locomotive disappear south into the ice fields.
The glacier castle was a far busier and much more populated place than it had been when they left. Besides Isabelle and Sgt. Foote, who had returned, he said, to add some songs he had forgotten he knew to the Archives, as if that fooled anyone else any more than it fooled Verity, there was the gypsy woman, who said, “You can call me Molly for now.”
Verity’s kindly little attorney had made the trip to Wormroost as well, though Ephemera was not at all sure how he knew that his goddaughter was in trouble. Once he saw the state she was in, he gave an almost feral growl and said he would remain for a while, although he would soon need to return to Queenston to make sure her interests were protected.
Then there were the dragons. Wormroost was originally created by and for the ice worm who dwelled there long ago, and, lacking another ice worm, had died without issue. But the serpentine nature of the decor and the glacial temperature made it extremely suitable as dragon guest quarters, and the place was so vast even Ephemera was not certain she had visited all of the labyrinthine corridors and chambers, which according to the Archives completely penetrated the glacier. A great ice pack and a swelling gray sea with mountains of ice were supposed to be her back yard.
The passages were wide enough in most places that a dragon and a human could pass one another in opposite directions or walk companionably toward a common destination without feeling cramped. This was because a large portion of it, much of which now contained the Archives, had been further carved out into a castle, though the last known royal to live there was Princess Pegeen the Illuminator who had later wed Sir Cyril Perchingbird.
The two were ancestors of Ephemera’s so technically, she was somewhat royal herself. That had never mattered before, but now that she had been out in the world again, she began to entertain some little notions regarding a use to which her pedigree could be applied.
Wormroost was so far north that winter lingered there longer than elsewhere, so although the ground on some days was a bit slushy, even muddy, the proper thaw and breakup of ice on the river had not yet begun. Molly said she expected her Gypsy family might show up for an extended stay when the weather was more hospitable.
Verity’s chamber was as adjacent to the dragons’ as it could be without the walls actually melting from the warmth of the dragons. The youngest dragons were anxious about her and insisted on sleeping near her if Molly or Isabelle didn’t shoo them out to prevent the ceiling from dripping onto the patient.
There was no keeping the ghost cats away, however, unless they chose to hover around Ephemera or Molly, to whom they seemed to have taken a shine, instead.
Mr. Balgair waited anxiously by the entrance, always seeming to know when the grocery sled, and
later, cart, were arriving, and always asked if there was any mail.
“Expecting a letter are ye, Mr. B.?” Sgt. Foote asked, and the lawyer shook his head.
“Hoping there won’t be one. According to young Toby, at least one of the rogues responsible for Verity’s injuries knows that he and his dragon are here, as well as Verity, and it wouldn’t be uncharacteristic for them to demand he be returned to stand trial, or Verity sent home to the tender mercies of her stepmother. I should stay to defend the young people and the excellent Taz if need arises.”
“You need na worry about defense, lawyer. I can defend this fort with nae mair than a toothpick. ’Tis built for defense.”
“Yes, but it’s a shame that the innocent parties are obliged to hole up here while the guilty go prancing about the capital acting as if they own the place, which so far, they seem to do.”
“Every day aboveground is a fortunate one for all concerned,” the sergeant said piously.
“Some concerned will be below it if I find a safe way for Toby and Verity to produce their evidence. Always providing the officials are inclined to be honest, which they most certainly haven’t been, to the best of my knowledge.”
Convalescence with Dragons
Verity was unable to speak for two days after Briciu’s attempt to murder her. He’d got clean away, just as he had when his sabotage of the balloon killed her father. He was too cowardly to face his victims directly and stab, shoot, or strangle them face to face. Instead, he concocted these elaborate plots for death by transportation, with the dragons taking the blame for his engineered accidents.
Something must have struck her head at some point while she was being run down by a horse cart and chained to the railroad track. She kept losing touch with her surroundings, lapsing into dreams. While they weren’t especially unpleasant, the fact that her mind couldn’t seem to stay put was disconcerting.
People came and went. Gypsy Molly was an especially comforting minder, singing songs to her that did not come pre-shelled. Ephemera tended to plug in certain shells and busy herself with writing, knitting, or messing around with one vegetable or another. Molly’s songs were familiar.
“I think my mother used to sing that to me before she left us,” Verity told her, with some effort, her voice still croaky.
“I think so, too,” Molly agreed. The scarf she had previously worn just above her eyebrows had slipped back on her head, exposing pale roots to her black hair. The only other time they’d spent together had been in twilight and darkness, obscuring a lot of the details of her appearance, but even by the lamplight in the icy room at Wormroost, her hair was plainly, badly dyed. “What do you remember about your mother?”
“Not much. I was only three when she abandoned us.”
“What did your father tell you about her?”
Again the gypsy woman’s accent came and went. Sometimes it was very thick, but now it was totally missing. No dropped articles before nouns, grammatically speaking, no guttural undertones.
She reached out to pull the heavy fur covering the bed back up to Verity’s shoulders, and Verity saw that behind her ears, unconcealed by the scarf or her hair, her skin was quite pale and pink-ish. Her necklaces and bracelets revealed the same light skin on her arms and the back of her neck where they rubbed. Her skin was dyed too.
“Why all this curiosity about my mother?” Verity asked. “Did you know her from before?”
“Very well.”
Deception was occurring. Verity’s head had started pounding, which was quite unbearable on top of her injury.
Now that she had the time to study her, Verity saw that except for the coloring, Molly bore some resemblance to her and also to the portrait of Queen Bronwyn. Her carriage, her size, and her features were not unlike Verity’s own. Verity refused to be sentimental about the mother who had left her as a toddler and yet, she felt a pull toward her.
“Are you her?” she asked before she knew she was going to. “Are you my mother?”
“If I was, you would probably hate me for leaving you,” Molly said with a lifted left eyebrow.
“We can discuss that later,” Verity said. Her voice was working better now, though it continued to break before the end of a sentence and she had to force it out again to finish her sentence. “You are, aren’t you? You’re my mother! You have some explaining to do! Where have you been? What have you been doing? Why did you leave? Why are you dressed like that? Was Toby’s prison break the first time you’ve been back?”
“It was the first time I made contact with either of you,” she said. “But I kept track of you through Nic, and sometimes would go to your schools or the house, at least before Gowen married that woman, to see how you were. I wanted to, but even for the glimpses of you I caught, I had to come a long way. Do you believe me?”
“Hmmm. No headache, at least, not that kind,” Verity mumbled to herself after considering the statement for a moment. “So, yes. I don’t understand though. Why did you leave? Was I very difficult as a child? I’m a lot more mature now. I think you can see that. I don’t understand though why you had me if you didn’t want to be my mother. Why did you marry my father just to leave him and, come to think of it, what possessed him to marry Sophronia while he was still married to you?”
Maybe it was all the ice glistening in the candlelight that helped her stay as cool as she did.
“Oh, my dear,” her mother said. “You’ve a right to know, of course, though you might not care for the answers. I knew I could not be here permanently, but I fell in love with your papa and you were the result. He loved you very much and could make a nice home for you in the old family town home in Queenston. I had traveling to do and tasks to fulfill beyond my personal desires. I don’t know exactly why he married Sophronia, but he was legally free to do so. We were joined only by our love—and you. Nic arranged the practical details so that your interests were taken care of.”
“So I was an accident? And a bastard?”
“A happy accident, to be sure. And the Browns have never considered matrimony all that important for couples to live together. As for me, well, I had never intended to stay in this time as long as I did and the day came when I simply had to leave.
“But why? What did you have to do? Where did you travel?” Verity demanded. “Why do you dress up like a gypsy? You don’t sound like one now.”
“Pah! Most of us only use the accent to make the gorgios think we are stupid and can’t understand them. I use whatever voice is good for my task. But I am a gypsy, or was raised as one by my father’s relatives, who rescued me from those who claimed me, as my mother’s first-born, as part of a bargain she was forced to make. My gypsy kin thought it foolish of her to make such a bargain and raised me till I came of age, never telling me my true identity until they decided to arrange a marriage for me and it all came out. Nic and I ran away together.”
“Wait! You’re Princess Romany? My mother is Princess Romany? But you can’t be! You’re young and she’d be dead by now.”
“True enough, except those gifts I mentioned allow me to live my life unattached to a particular time. If I had lived in the normal way from the time I was a child until now, one year after the other, I would indeed have lived and died by now. But I’ve skipped large chunks of time. I think you begin to see how complicated this is?”
Verity nodded, frowning, trying to understand. “But—you ran away with Uncle Nic?”
“It wasn’t that kind of running away. I am not his type. He only likes redheads with long bushy tails, but we are allies. Neither of us were what our kinfolk wanted us to be. When they would have married me off to bear lots of children, I should have already been crowned queen of Argonia. My mother, Queen Bronwyn, died in childbirth and my father, Jack, disappeared—probably assassinated by those trying to start the Great War. In my absence, my royal uncles killed each other off fighting over the throne. If I had been where I should have been, they would not have divided the land against itself, a disast
er with effects I am still trying to undo. I was given a great many gifts at my christening, Verity. I must use them for the good of our people, even if it costs me my man and child.”
She sounded so disheartened as she said that, so overwhelmed, that Verity reached out to her, tentatively, whereupon Molly put her arms around her and hugged her, also tentatively, so as not to touch her sore spots.
Verity startled herself by letting out a sob—just once, and then, a moment later, found she couldn’t stop, but wept and wept, very noisily and quite soggily. When she wiped away some tears they weren’t only hers, but her mother’s as well.
“Promise you’ll stay with me now and won’t go away again, ever,” Verity said. “Papa’s gone now. I only have you. Promise me. Say it.”
Her mother stroked her hair and made hushing noises then sat back and looked at her as one adult would look at another. “I can’t do that I’m afraid, Verity. If I had been able to stay, you would have been my first priority. But you are old enough now that you need me much less, and once we have these villains sorted, you should do well on your own. However, you can join me in my work if you will.”
“But—how?” Verity asked.
“You’ve lived with and befriended dragons, made magical objects connected to Old Argonia, traveled across three countries and studied our lore here at Wormroost. Even if you were not my daughter, I’d say you have a great deal of potential. Any girl who can persuade dragon hatchlings to create something instead of destroy her has a lot of leadership potential, it seems to me.”
Justice Adjustment
Later that week, when Verity was up and around, her mother, Toby, Ephemera, and Uncle Nic met in the kitchen.
Uncle Nic held up a length of chain and Verity thought it might be what Briciu had used to bind her to the tracks, but he said, “Your friend Captain Lewis came through for you, Verity. Here is the broken chain from the balloon.”
The Dragon, the Witch, and the Railroad Page 29
