A Skinful of Shadows

by Frances Hardinge

  James’s face contorted with frustration. Within him, the ghosts were doubtless raging. Somehow the situation was slipping through their fingers.

  ‘She is not ill,’ he said quickly. ‘My sister imagines things sometimes—’

  ‘The girl’s as grey as ash!’ exclaimed the leader. ‘She can barely stand! Sorry, friend – I don’t blame you for trying to protect your sister, but we must follow orders.’ He hesitated, then frowned a little. ‘And you’ve been tending her, have you? Perhaps you’d better come with us as well.’

  ‘Do you have any idea who I am?’ snapped James. ‘I have powerful friends that you would not wish to cross—’

  ‘And we have orders,’ retorted the guard.

  James’s ice-cold eyes flitted over the six guards with a calculating look. Perhaps the Elders inside him were weighing up whether to kill the whole patrol. They could do it, no doubt, but there would be consequences.

  He turned, and fled into the darkness. One guard started to give chase, but soon gave up and returned.

  ‘Sorry, mistress,’ said the patrol leader, ‘but we must take you to the huts outside the city. They will look after you there.’ He sounded less certain than he wanted to be.

  I really hope, murmured the doctor, that there is a second half to your plan.

  Led through the darkened streets of Oxford, Makepeace felt as if she were walking through some cold underworld. At long last, Quick’s drug was loosening its hold on her, but the scenes around her were dreamlike in themselves.

  Makepeace had grown so used to Grizehayes. She had silently seethed against the house, but its long pauses, the contemplative chill of its high walls, and the wind’s uninterrupted conversations with itself had become part of her bones. Even its sounds were familiar to her – she could identify every creak, clink or distant voice. Here, every distant laugh, bark, smash or hoof-clatter was unknown to her, and it made her feel unmoored.

  The streets were darkening, but not yet dark enough for the link-boys to be out. Now and then a great college building loomed against the violet sky. A few candles flickered in windows.

  Once, her escort led her to the side of the street, so that a strange procession could waltz past. There were gentlemen in fine clothes, with cobweb-fine lace at their collars, bows on their shoes, ostrich plumes on their hats and lustrous, curled hair down past their waists. They were making a show of dancing down the murky, slippery street. A gaggle of musicians swayed beside them, playing flutes and guitars, while behind them giggled a small horde of ladies, masked and hooded like courtesans.

  Makepeace knew that these were living men and women, but there was something phantasmal about the parade, like the carvings of dancing skeletons she had sometimes seen in graveyards. Even knee-deep in disease and disaster, the court was determined to be the court. Silly, decadent, gorgeous and bold.

  At the gates, the patrol exchanged muttered words with the sentries. The gates swung open, and the group emerged into a cold wind, the sky wide and unforgiving above them. The earthworks were even more vast in the fading light.

  In spite of the sharp night air, and the sense of being exposed to the wide gaze of the sky, Makepeace felt slightly relieved. Oxford had made her feel trapped, she realized. She had already spent too much of her life imprisoned by ancient walls.

  Ahead, the broad road continued towards the river, and Makepeace could see the soft glow of lanterns from guard posts on the bridge. She turned her head away from it, staring out across the lightless fields to her right. She blinked hard, welcoming her night sight.

  Bear, I need your eyes. I need your nose. I need your night-wits and forest-wisdom.

  ‘I’ll walk you to the quarantine camp,’ the patrol leader was saying. ‘You’ll need a lantern to light your steps.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Makepeace said quietly. ‘But I will need no such thing.’

  Before her escort could react, she sprinted from their little pool of lantern-light into the darkness, her feet pounding the soft, treacherous clods of the field. The guards called after her for a while, but did not pursue. In a lost city, how could they chase down every lost soul who became a little more lost?

  PART FIVE: NO MAN’S LAND

  CHAPTER 26

  After the lantern-light, the darkness was shocking. Makepeace could hear nothing but her own panting. One of her feet twisted on a tussock and she nearly fell, biting her tongue as the shock jolted her spine. The next false step might turn her ankle, but if she hesitated she would be caught. She raced onward, deafened by her own panting, and put her trust in Bear.

  And Bear, who had been confused by the crowds, the streets, the medicine and the human stinks, realized that now they were running. This was something that he understood. He wanted to drop to all fours, but sensed that Makepeace could not run that way.

  Seen through Bear’s eyes, the darkness was not complete. There were details just visible, storm-cloud grey against the black. Ruts and furrows. Hummocks of half-built earthworks. The outlines of trees far ahead flanking a path.

  Makepeace zigzagged between the mounds, until she was running along the tree-lined path. Only when she was out of breath did she pause for a moment.

  I think we have lost our pursuers, murmured the doctor.

  Shut up, Dr Quick, Makepeace retorted in her head. Stealth was vital, so she did not dare answer out loud. Fortunately, the doctor seemed to hear her.

  You have some right to be angry, he said. I acknowledge that I made an error of judgement.

  I said, shut up. I need to concentrate. Makepeace swallowed her annoyance, and tried to focus on Bear’s sense of smell. Trust me, we’re not alone out here.

  The guards would make no serious attempt to follow her, she suspected. A contagious girl was not their concern outside the city, and they had little chance of finding her in the dark. But James would not be deterred so easily. She was sure that he must have followed her and her escorts through the streets. Bribery, bullying or connections would see him through the gates. He would soon be hunting her.

  If you want to make yourself useful, Doctor, Makepeace whispered grimly, keep an eye out for ‘my lady’. That was what both the doctor and James had called the unknown spirit who had briefly taken control of Makepeace’s powers of speech. Whoever she was, she was an enemy, and could strike at any time.

  Tenderly Makepeace drew out of her pocket a little ivory object.

  That is a diptych dial! The doctor sounded both scandalized and fascinated. How did you come by such a thing?

  Makepeace did not bother to answer. The Fellmottes had been dismissive of Sir Thomas’s precious collection of navigational devices. Taking it had barely felt like theft.

  She had long since worked out the meaning of its etched lines and numbers. It was a miniature sundial, designed to be carried around in the pocket, and the inside of the lid was a moondial. Right now, however, she was more interested in its tiny compass.

  ‘North-east to Brill,’ she mouthed to herself, then turned the little box around until the arrow pointed to the ‘N’ and set off in the ‘NE’ direction.

  The wind changed direction, blowing from behind her, and Bear uttered a deep growl. There was a smell on the wind. It was almost human. It was almost James.

  Ahead, across the charcoal-grey field, Makepeace glimpsed the jet-black seam of a narrow, twisting river, almost hidden by trees. She headed for its concealing shadow, and followed it until she came to a place where the bank was rutted. It was a ford, but even with Bear’s night sight she could not tell how deep the water was.

  A solitary moorhen made her jump by bursting from cover and sputtering a line of white foam across the surface of the river. Somewhere far behind her, Makepeace heard a brisk snap of a twig, as if somebody had given a start.

  There was no time for caution. Makepeace hitched her skirts to the knee, took off her shoes and stockings, and clambered down the bank, the cold mud giving perilously under her feet. Her first step into the icy river brought i
t up to her knees. As she waded across, the current threatened to knock her off balance, but she managed to scramble up the soft slippery bank on the other side.

  She donned her shoes and socks again, then carefully she slipped through the undergrowth and carried on walking. She had doubtless left barefoot tracks in the mud. If her pursuer was James, he would have centuries’ experience of second-guessing enemies, and hunting all kinds of prey. However, unlike Makepeace, he probably could not see in the dark.

  The hours of darkness were Makepeace’s friend, so she carried on walking. She stayed alert, trying to sense ‘my lady’, but the mysterious ghost seemed to have gone to ground again. However, she could feel the doctor hovering insistently inside her mind.

  Mistress Lightfoot, he began at last, we must talk.

  Must we? Makepeace was brimming with bile. What can you say that I will believe? She had trusted that calm, doctor’s voice.

  She had obediently sipped his medicine as he tricked her into the Fellmottes’ hands.

  I was deceived – I was betrayed.

  You were betrayed? exclaimed Makepeace. I took you in! I scavenged you from death!

  You did so for your own reasons, not for pity! snapped the doctor, and then were was a long silence as if he regretted his outburst. We have both acted in haste. Have we not?

  His words had some truth in them, but Makepeace was still wary. Like medicine, truth could be used as a poison by someone cunning enough.

  You despise me, she snarled quietly, just as you despise Bear. I am a kitchen girl. He was a dancing brute on the end of a chain. Why would you care what we think? We are nothing. When would our wrongs ever bother you?

  Well, now you must care. We are your judges, Bear and I, lowly as we are. Make us trust you, Doctor. Give an account of yourself.

  The Bear is hardly— began the doctor.

  Do not say a word against him, warned Makepeace, with a growl in her thoughts. I can trust him as I can no other.

  The beast is loyal, conceded the doctor quietly. That is certainly true. I think it would fight for you against the world.

  I do not have its passionate devotion to you – I will not pretend that I do. I made an alliance against you, thinking that it was my best chance of self-preservation. I was mistaken. You only trusted me because you needed another ally. You still do. I no longer have a reason to betray you. We do not need to like one another to be useful to each other.

  The choice is yours. You can have your Bear tear me apart, or we can talk, and try to form a useful alliance.

  Everything the doctor said in his clear, precise voice frayed at Makepeace’s temper. Humans always betrayed you sooner or later. For a brief moment she wondered what it would be like if the great armies on the march destroyed each other and every human in the country, leaving only empty fields and forests where she might wander with Bear.

  The idea made her feel serene for a moment, but next instant the cold sadness of it sank in like dew.

  Talk, she told the doctor grudgingly.

  You have an enemy in your skull, said Quick, as you know. A subtle foe, mistress of a thousand tricks. I thought her mad when I first glimpsed her, but she is not. She is merely mangled – wounded. And she is very dangerous.

  Somewhere in Makepeace’s head, something gave a hiss of anger and warning. Silence, Doctor, not another word . . .

  The doctor hesitated, but continued, his voice now a trifle fearful.

  Her name is Morgan, he said. Lady Morgan Fellmotte.

  The Other was not Mother. For a few seconds that was the only thought in Makepeace’s head. She had known it already, but the doctor’s words killed her last doubts. Makepeace was overwhelmed with relief, but at the same time a terrible feeling of emptiness and loss.

  In her lifetime she was a spymistress and intelligencer, the doctor went on. For the last thirty years she has been part of the coterie of ghosts that inhabit each Lord Fellmotte. About a week ago, when the coterie was hoping to move into your body, she was sent ahead to—

  ‘Infiltrate,’ whispered Makepeace aloud.

  The Other was the Infiltrator. At last Makepeace understood. The ghost that had slithered into Makepeace’s brain in the chapel had been wounded by Bear, but had not been destroyed after all. Of course it was so. Of course. She had been so obsessed by the idea of a vengeful Mother-ghost she had been unable to see past it.

  It is one of her appointed tasks, said the doctor. Taking over a new mind is a dangerous business, so an Infiltrator is often sent first to scout out the domicile, subdue threats and make room for the coterie. However, the lady was not expecting your brain to be guarded by a large, angry ghost-bear. She was badly wounded, and so she hid in the corners of your mind.

  Oh, Bear, thought Makepeace, struck by realization and remorse. You knew. You kept growling and I didn’t know why. You could smell her. In her mind she put out a hand to stroke Bear’s muzzle. He had not been snarling at Makepeace at all, but at an intruder she could not see.

  Ever since, Quick explained, Lady Morgan has been trying to sabotage your escape and get word to the Fellmottes, but without you noticing her presence. She only dared act when your guard was fully down – when you were asleep.

  My sleepwalking! Makepeace’s mouth was dry. It had been caused by Morgan all along, not Bear. I nodded off in the carriage escaping Grizehayes. She must have rapped on the roof so that the driver would stop and discover me.

  No doubt, said Quick. She has also been leaving secret marks and messages at every stop to make it easier for the Fellmottes to track you. She even left a letter in a Fellmotte carriage telling them that you were heading to Oxford.

  So that was why Makepeace had found herself standing outside the stables of the safe house in the dead of night. It took her a moment to work out why Morgan had pinched her arm to wake her. Morgan must have overheard their hosts sending word to the Parliamentarian soldiers, and woken Makepeace so that she would realize her danger. After all, the Fellmottes would hardly want Makepeace falling into the hands of the enemy.

  It also made sense of the dream in which the mysterious lady had scratched an ‘M’ into the door jamb. Perhaps some part of Makepeace’s sleeping brain had realized that her body was getting up, sleepwalking to the door and leaving a mark for others to find. ‘M’ for Morgan, not Margaret.

  The night after my death, Dr Quick went on, when I promised to guard your sleeping, I did so in good faith. Once you were asleep, however, Lady Morgan approached me with a proposition. She told me that you were a virtual lunatic who would almost certainly destroy me in a fit of temper, and . . . at that time I was in a mood to listen to her. She promised that if I helped the Fellmottes capture you, the family would allow my spirit to dwell alongside theirs as a reward.

  We needed to prevent you leaving until the Fellmottes arrived, so we dosed you with an opiate. When you woke, I persuaded you that your torpor was a sign of illness, and that you needed to keep drinking your ‘medicine’ at regular intervals.

  I take no pride in this. It was a low scheme, beneath me. All I can say is that I believed that I was fighting for my survival.

  How had Makepeace missed all the clues? Even her new-found ease with reading should have told her that she was using someone else’s skill.

  Instead, she had suspected Bear. Poor loyal, bewildered, angry Bear.

  Everybody betrayed her, so why expect otherwise? But it turned out that distrust could fool you and endanger you, just as trust could.

  Have you made a decision? asked the doctor quietly.

  Makepeace trudged on for a little while without answering. Overhead a scattering of stars trembled in the hazy night, each of them pure, cruel and lonely.

  You’ve been a total fool, Doctor, she answered silently. A dupe and a gull. So have I. We need to be cleverer from now on, or we’re both lost.

  She heard him give an almost inaudible sigh of relief.

  Do you still mean to push on to Brill, and then into enemy terri
tory? asked the doctor after a while.

  Yes, she replied. James is at our heels. I must do something he does

  not expect from me. We must go somewhere he cannot easily follow. We must find friends he cannot win round.

  Gracious God – are you thinking of joining the enemy?

  Makepeace hesitated. She was reluctant to discuss her plans with the doctor after his treachery, let alone within hearing of the elusive, ever-listening Morgan. However, there was no hope of a true alliance if she kept Quick completely in the dark.

  My cousin Symond has turned to Parliament’s side, she explained. He is a treacherous, murderous snake, so the Fellmottes will probably expect us to stay away from him. But Symond might be our best chance of survival if we can make an ally of him.

  Makepeace did not mention the rest of her plan.

  The royal charter that Symond had stolen from the Fellmottes was his master card. If it really did reveal the terrible truth about the Elders, then it would be devastating if it was made public. The Fellmottes would probably be accused of witchcraft, and the King too for protecting them. It might even turn the tide of the war.

  Symond had it. The Fellmottes wanted it back. The King had sent Helen to recover it. Parliament would probably give anything to acquire it if they found out it existed. Whoever had the charter in their possession had power in their grasp.

  Makepeace felt that it would be no bad thing if she had it instead.

  CHAPTER 27

  The damp ground made for slithery walking. Makepeace kept her eye on the diptych dial’s compass, and tried to hold to her bearing, even when this meant scrambling through thickets, streams and hedges.

  There was a cream-coloured moon aloft now, and the fuzzy shadow on her moondial told her that it was about two or three of the clock. A few birds were already scraping the night air with questioning notes. Night was her friend, but dawn was only a few hours away.

  Most of the drug was out of her system now, she fancied, but she was finding herself groggy from fatigue. She realized that she had not enjoyed unbroken or undrugged sleep since leaving Grizehayes. At one point she entered an almost trance-like state, the rhythm of her feet heavy and automatic, and was only woken by an urgent whisper from the doctor.