Whispering Twilight

by Melissa McShane

  Memory emerged, a memory of two knobby sacks positioned on either side of the doorway with strings emerging from them. No, not strings. Fuses. The Incas had gunpowder; they had to or they could not use their stolen guns. They had meant to blow up the treasure room so the Spanish could not get their gold. But that made no sense, because the Incas had been moving the gold. Unless…no, it did make sense. The Spanish would expect there to be treasure, and if the Incas could convince them they had buried it, the Spanish would waste their time trying to dig up an empty room, while the Incas transported their gold far, far away. The explosion had simply gone off too soon.

  Or…had it?

  Bess cursed. Achik. He had not been happy that his plans were ruined, and who better to take out his anger on than the woman who, as far as he was concerned, had ruined them? Lure Bess into the treasure room, set off the gunpowder…yes, Achik was definitely the kind of man who was willing to cut off his own nose to spite his face, so to speak. And the kind of man who would warn her away from the door so she would not be killed immediately and instead would suffer the terror of being trapped beneath the mountain.

  Bess shook Amaya again and got no response. She looked at the torch. It was impossible to tell for certain, but she believed it was burning lower than before. A quiet groan echoed through the room, and the fallen wall settled further. Bess froze, willing it to stop. She stood and paced, refusing to look at the low ceiling that surely had not got any lower just because of the explosion. Her breath came too rapidly, and she stopped and closed her eyes. She would not be crushed. She had only to find a way out.

  Mr. Quinn, she Spoke. Mr. Quinn, I am in great danger. Help me.

  Immediately, the reassuring Voice filled her. Miss Hanley. Is it the jaguar warriors? Or Sapa Inca?

  Neither. Achik blew up the treasure room and—

  She incautiously glanced at the ceiling and cringed at how low it was. Quickly, she sat on the floor next to Amaya, who had not stirred. The torch flickered with her movement, then returned to its usual state.

  What do you mean, blew up? Mr. Quinn’s astonishment made their connection shiver.

  I mean there was an explosion. The Incas meant to hide the treasure room from the Spanish, but Achik wanted me dead, so he set off the gunpowder while Amaya and I were within.

  Once again, a low groan filled the room, this one louder and longer than before. Bess gasped and clutched the torch more tightly. Mr. Quinn, I fear—I believe the room is unstable. The ceiling is falling. I will—it will crush me and Amaya, we are— A shriek began building in her chest.

  Then we must get you out, Mr. Quinn said.

  His calmness soothed her panic, and she breathed in deeply and relaxed her shoulders. It must be soon.

  Don’t be afraid. I will stay with you, and we will find a way out.

  A new fear followed hard on the heels of relief. But if you are called away—you said you have duties—

  I swear I will not leave you. Look around. What do you see?

  Bess obediently looked around, grateful that her vision was still enhanced. Treasure. The riches of an empire. No exits.

  Show me.

  Bess focused on a nearby pile of random golden objects, atop which was an elaborately engraved crown, and Spoke the image to Mr. Quinn. I might Speak this image to an Extraordinary Bounder.

  Mr. Quinn was silent as if considering. Then he said, I do not know if that is unique enough.

  Neither do I. But the Bounder will. Daphne—it would be early morning for her, but Bess was desperate enough to wake her regardless.

  Amaya groaned, and Bess gasped and ran to her side. “Amaya,” she said, “can you free yourself?”

  Amaya’s eyes were open and glassy with pain. “Move the things,” she whispered.

  “They are too heavy for me—I cannot—”

  Amaya took Bess’s wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. Bess screamed as pain shot through her arms and back, like the worst muscle ache she could imagine multiplied a hundredfold. She knew her surprise and pain had been communicated to Mr. Quinn, because she could once more hear him Speaking to her, but his words were so much noise to her agonized mind.

  Then the pain faded, and was gone, and Bess sat back, breathing heavily. Amaya released her wrist and said, “Lift.”

  “I—” Bess began, reaching toward Amaya, and stopped in amazement. Her arms were now smoothly and powerfully muscled. She lifted a chunk of rock with both hands and flung it away as easily as if it were a feather.

  Mr. Quinn, she Spoke as she quickly shifted the weight bearing Amaya down, I apologize for my outburst, but Amaya Shaped me rapidly without explanation, and I was startled.

  I admit that mental scream is disconcerting, Mr. Quinn said. Now I understand how a Spoken attack might be incredibly effective.

  Were you too terribly hurt by my screaming?

  Nothing to speak of. What happened to Amaya?

  She was nearer the door than I, and half buried by the explosion.

  Bess shoved piles of golden objects off her friend’s body until she was able to drag Amaya out from under the rest. Amaya smiled and closed her eyes. “I Shape,” she whispered. “Heal fast.”

  “Do not rush, we are perfectly well as we are,” Bess lied. She stood and stretched. Her family would not recognize her when she returned, as powerfully Shaped as she now was.

  Amaya is recovering. I will choose a unique object now, she told Mr. Quinn.

  I suggest you put whatever it is in a place by itself, where it will stand out, Mr. Quinn said.

  Bess crossed the room, examining its contents. Crowns, vases, statues…they all seemed remarkably unique to her, but an Extraordinary Bounder would need something whose essence was different from anything else’s.

  Her eye fell on a drinking vessel with one of those strangely elongated mouths. Unlike the others she had seen, which were all variations on animals, this one was of an abstract design, its base broad and trapezoidal, with five-petaled flowers etched around its fat belly. Bess picked it up and turned it around. It had two handles shaped like oversized ears, one of which was dented on the top curve. That alone should make it unique.

  Bess examined it closely until she felt she could Speak the image to anyone, then set it against the back wall, far away from the flickering torchlight whose movement might be a distraction even to an Extraordinary Bounder. Mr. Quinn, I will contact my friend Daphne, and she will take us out of here.

  Please tell me the instant you are safe.

  I will. She pictured Daphne, composed her thoughts, and prepared to send a blast of Speech into Daphne’s mind that would rouse her no matter how deeply she was asleep. Then she thought better of it. She might communicate with Daphne, but Daphne could not Speak back to her. Bess needed Sir Clarence to act as go-between once more.

  So instead she directed her mental clarion at Sir Clarence, waited for the space of three breaths, and then Spoke: Sir Clarence, I apologize for the intrusion, but could you warn Lady Daphne I intend to Speak to her soon? It is most urgent.

  There was no response for what felt like forever. Finally, Sir Clarence said, Forgive me, Miss Hanley, but Lady Daphne has been seriously injured and is with the Extraordinary Shapers now. Is there anything I can do for you?

  Fear for her friend momentarily swept away fear for herself. I…think not, she said. Is she—will she recover?

  They hope so. She was shot above the battlefield and fell a good distance. Please excuse me, someone else is addressing me.

  Bess pictured Daphne dropping out of the sky like a stone, and her heart ached. Pray give her my best wishes for a speedy recovery.

  The connection had already vanished. Bess sat staring blindly at the wall and the vase for a time. She knew no other Extraordinary Bounders, and it would take an Extraordinary to reach this room. The idea of telling Mr. Quinn devastated her.

  Eventually, she drew in a breath, and Spoke: Mr. Quinn, I fear it is hopeless. I know only one Extraordinary Bounder, and
she is incapacitated. I will have to Speak to Miss Emrey and ask her to set the Seers to Dreaming of this room.

  That is a fine idea, Mr. Quinn said.

  His Voice was too carefully neutral. There is something you are not telling me, Bess said.

  Because I do not want to alarm you.

  Bess laughed, and stopped herself before it became hysterics. It is too late for that.

  It is that I believe you will run out of air at some point.

  Bess’s gaze shot to the flickering torch. She had learned, from the War Office’s Scorchers, that fire consumed air, and the torch’s movement looked like a dozen tiny mouths drinking in the precious gas. She almost extinguished the torch before remembering that there was absolutely no way a Bounder could reach them in the dark, and besides, the thought of being in this tiny room without light made her dizzy and terrified again. Thank you for your honesty.

  There is another solution.

  There is?

  I know of an Extraordinary Bounder. You will Speak the image to me, and I will Speak it to the Bounder.

  But—you will not…that is, how can you do so without revealing yourself?

  That is nothing for you to worry about.

  After so many weeks of wishing he would do exactly that, Bess felt irrationally guilty at the thought. I cannot permit it.

  Miss Hanley, if you think my concealing my talent is more important than seeing you rescued, you do not know me at all.

  His Voice was strong and compelling, and Bess had never wanted so desperately to declare her love—but this was not the time. Mr. Quinn, it is extremely unlikely. Speaking an image directly to an Extraordinary Bounder is one thing, but to Speak that image to you, and then for you to pass it on secondhand—Spoken images alter and distort the more distant they become from their source—

  Do you have another suggestion?

  Bess drew in a deep breath, feeling as if she were stealing it from the torch. We will attempt it, and if it fails, we will simply come up with another plan.

  Then show me what you see.

  Bess again focused on the drinking vessel, this time examining not just the vase, but its relation to the wall and the rest of the treasure. Then she Spoke the image to Mr. Quinn, who said, I see it. Please wait. And—do not fear. I will not rest until you are free.

  I know you will not. I—thank you.

  The connection dissolved. Bess backed up until she was seated next to Amaya. The woman breathed peacefully, and Bess thought she might be asleep, but when she touched Amaya’s hand, her eyes flickered open. “I no hurt,” she assured Bess.

  “I am so glad,” Bess said, gripping her hand. “We—” She stopped herself before telling Amaya of the plan. If it did not work, she did not like the idea of having to explain to Amaya that they had failed. What would they do if her secondhand image was not enough for an Extraordinary Bounder to recognize the essence of? If they extinguished the torch, it would give them a little more air, but there was no point in that, since it would end the same regardless. She did not know if she could bring herself to let Amaya give her a painless death. And—Mr. Quinn would stay with her until the end, she was certain. She could not bear the thought of him witnessing her death. She would have to shut him out for his own good—

  A whoosh of displaced air ruffled Bess’s disordered locks. She looked up, startled, to see a tall, well-built woman standing near the back wall, her eyes wide and astonished. “Sweet mercy,” she said. “He said treasure, but I didn’t think he meant treasure.” She strode toward Bess with her hand extended. “Lady Caroline Smythe, at your service, Miss Hanley. Now, I don’t like the look of that torch, so if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like us all out of here as quickly as possible.”

  Chapter 36

  In which the real Mr. Quinn is revealed

  The Extraordinary Bounder Lady Caroline took first Amaya, then Bess, to St. Margaret’s Hospital in London as easily as ferrying kittens. By the way the hospital staff rushed to surround them at well after midnight, Bess knew someone had warned them of their arrival. When they discovered that Amaya was in the process of Healing herself, and that Bess was uninjured, they provided comfortable beds and cups of hot tea and polite conversation, all of which made Bess feel better than actual medical care could have. They listened to Bess’s story with mingled astonishment and excitement, and by the time it occurred to Bess that she possibly should have been more circumspect, it was too late. Bess, exhausted by her ordeal, fell asleep listening to Amaya trying out her rudimentary English on her fellow Extraordinary Shapers.

  She woke when she heard her name being called, and sat up in time for her mother to throw herself on her, sobbing and laughing at once. She hugged her back, shedding a few tears of her own, then embraced her male relatives and Mary with equal joy. All her family together—after what she had experienced, she had no desire ever to leave home again.

  Her father bundled the womenfolk, including Amaya, into a chaise that took them directly to Wimpole Street. Amaya in her ill-fitting gown provided by the hospital staff to replace her bloodstained blouse did not do more than raise a few eyebrows among Bess’s family, which gratified Bess on her friend’s behalf.

  Amaya, for her part, was very quiet once they were in the carriage, staring out the window at the darkened streets. Bess’s mother regarded the young woman curiously, but said nothing to her, reserving her questions for Bess. Bess answered briefly, finally remembering what the government’s representative had instructed her to say—or not to say—about the Incas, but her attention was on Amaya as well. Finally, she said, “Amaya, what is wrong?”

  Amaya did not turn away from the window. “I wish kill Achik,” she said in a flat, blunt voice.

  Mama and Mary gasped.

  “Amaya,” Bess began.

  Amaya glanced at Bess and made an impatient gesture. “He take from me, I take from him,” she said.

  “Do you mean…you were Uturunku, and now you cannot be?”

  Amaya nodded. “They think we dead. Someone else Uturunku.”

  “But…do you wish to return? Because I am certain that is possible.”

  Amaya went back to staring out the window and said something lengthy in Spanish that Bess, her mind fuddled with tiredness, failed to understand. Then, to her astonishment, Mary sat up and hesitantly replied in the same language. Amaya turned to face her. Mary spoke again, more confidently, and Amaya replied with several pauses.

  “I asked her whether she missed her family,” Mary said. “Whether she did not want to return to them. And she said they are all dead. That is terribly sad.” She said something else in Spanish, and Amaya responded. “She says if she returns, she must face—I do not fully understand this, but she must face a challenger, and then another, and one of them may kill her. How horrid her life in Peru must be!”

  “I cannot be home,” Amaya said. “I am not anywhere. Not belong. So—” She made an impatient face and broke into rapid, slurred Spanish.

  “She says if she has no home, she might as well remain here,” Mary translated.

  Bess and Mama gazed at each other, then at Mary. “I did not realize you spoke Spanish,” Mama said faintly.

  “I learned it years ago,” Mary said, “but there is little use for it in the drawing room. Mother Hanley, we must give this young woman a home. She must be so lonely.” Mary’s thin features looked so determined it was as if she were a different person.

  “She knows no one else in London,” Mama said. “Of course she must stay with us.”

  Amaya looked from Mama to Bess in confusion. “You do not have to go anywhere,” Bess explained as the chaise stopped at the Wimpole Street house’s front door. “Everything will be all right.”

  Amaya did not look as if this was reassuring, but Bess was too tired for anything else. She ascended the stairs to her bedroom and fell gratefully into her own bed, wishing nothing more than to sleep for a thousand years.

  When she woke, it was past dawn, and everything was blu
rry. She had lost her spectacles somewhere during the explosion, but she had a spare pair in her dressing table. Rather than get up to find them, she lay still, feeling relaxed and comfortable despite having slept in her clothes. Still, something troubled her—something she had forgotten to do.

  She ran back over the events of the previous night, gasped, and Spoke, Mr. Quinn! I beg your pardon, I should have Spoken to you—

  Never mind. I knew you were safe, or I would have addressed you earlier.

  Bess snuggled deeper into her pillows. Thank you. I owe you my life.

  It is no less than you would do for me, I am certain.

  A comfortable silence fell. How pleasant to simply sit and feel that connection. Mr. Quinn?

  Yes?

  Does Lady Caroline know who you are?

  She does not. I made her acquaintance indirectly. My talent, and my identity, remain a secret.

  Even from me?

  He was silent for a time. I believe I told you once, he finally said, that I do not believe you would be my friend if you knew my true identity. Forgive my cowardice.

  You seemed to consider changing your mind, before I returned to England.

  Miss Hanley, I treasure the moments when I hear your Voice. I believe you feel the same. I do not want to lose those moments.

  You do not trust me. The idea hurt Bess’s heart.

  I do not trust myself. I would rather we go on as we have done.

  What, Speaking as true friends and never meeting in person? Mr. Quinn, I do not think I could bear it.

  She felt the hush that was a mental sigh fill their connection. Miss Hanley, Mr. Quinn said, if you deduce my identity, I will admit to it and bear the consequences. But I will not tell you myself.

  I accept your offer. And now, good day, sir.

  So soon? He sounded unhappy, and it cheered her to know he cared.

  I have a friend to find. And I will find you soon.

  When the connection dissolved, she swung her legs around and hopped out of bed. Fumbling around until she found her spectacles, she rang for Naughton and turned her attention to her wardrobe. It was a bright new day, and she had work to do.