Sabriel (Old Kingdom Book 1)
Page 34
“I don’t remember the last time the wind came from the north,” said Elinor. “The servants all think it brings trouble, don’t they?”
“It does,” said Mrs. Watkins. She did not sound at all like her usual self. “I hope not here.”
“What do you mean?” asked Elinor.
Mrs. Watkins was still watching the weather vane. It was twitching between sou’-sou’-east and nor-nor’-east.
“We’re a good fifteen miles farther south than Bain,” she said, apparently to herself, for when Elinor repeated the question, she shook her head and gripped the young woman’s arm again and pulled her along.
In the end, it took Elinor fifteen minutes to dress in the ridiculous layers of flannel and corsetry, many-buttoned coat, and flounced long dress that the year-old copies of The Gentlewoman’s Magazine from Corvere said were suitable for a young lady of middling social status and wealth. Though in Elinor’s case both these things were notional. Even before Amelia Hallett had put Coldhallow House in near isolation, her parents had always kept her secluded from local society, such as it was, and she had begun to realize from the lack of upkeep to everything that while the family may have been wealthy once, it was no longer. Or her mother was even more of a miser than she had always seemed to be. As with many other subjects, money was not something Amelia Hallett would discuss with her daughter, even before she became ill and could not talk at all.
The finishing touch was an unfashionable bonnet, pulled low to hide the disfiguring scar on her forehead. Amelia always insisted her daughter keep her forehead covered to hide the brand, and did not care to hear that bonnets had been out of fashion for at least several decades, even in the country.
Elinor accepted it was a disfigurement. She was relieved it was sometimes hardly visible, but it always became more distinct when she was upset or angry, probably something to do with blood flow, and it could not be concealed with paint or powder, somehow always showing through. Elinor could often forget about it, but Mrs. Hallett had an absolute horror of the brand, possibly because it had been mysteriously inflicted by her own mother, Elinor’s grandmother.
Elinor wasn’t clear on exactly what her grandmother had done, or how she’d done it, as her mother refused to discuss the matter. She had no memory of any traumatic pain or, indeed, anything else that might have made the mark. Mrs. Watkins had already been her governess then, but she had not seen what happened, having been sent on an errand clearly to get her out of the way. She had returned to find the baby’s forehead indelibly marked and Mr. Hallett threatening to whip his mother-in-law off the property, forbidding her ever to darken his threshold again, a sensibility shared by his wife.
“Come along, Elinor,” urged Mrs. Watkins, returning to check on her charge’s progress for the third time and help her with the final buttons. “The doctor wouldn’t take tea or anything, he’s already gone straight in to your mother. These city folk, always in a rush!”
Elinor followed her governess, feeling both excited at finally meeting someone new, and nervous, in case the doctor somehow discerned her disfigurement under the bonnet and cried out in disgust or whatever it was her mother was always afraid was going to happen.
But the doctor hardly spared her a glance. He seemed very eager to conclude his visit and be gone.
“I’m afraid I can offer no more promising diagnosis than my esteemed local colleague,” said Dr. Branthill hurriedly, even as Elinor walked into her mother’s bedroom. “I concur with the treatment to date. Continue feeding her; it is a good sign that she can still drink. Clear soups and the like, calf’s-foot jelly, tea, a little lime juice. You have done well with the nursing; there is no better course than clean linens, regular bathing and turning, and if you can take her out in the chair when the weather is clement, that I also advise.”
“Maria, my mother’s maid, has been responsible for her care,” said Elinor quickly, not wanting to take credit for something she hadn’t done, and in all honesty, did not want to do. Her mother had never liked Elinor touching her, had always shrugged off any attempt at a hug or a kiss. “Do you see any hope of . . . of recovery?”
“I simply do not know,” said the great man. Many a lesser doctor would have offered some meaningless claptrap that upon close examination would mean nothing. “She breathes, albeit incredibly slowly. Her pulse, likewise. She lives, but in a very lowered state. The pallor of her skin is curious, but her lips and fingernails blush, showing no trace of blue. Her blood is red, her breath sweet. Her temperature is normal . . . she is not cold, despite what you think you saw—”
“I have seen it several times!” protested Elinor. “The thinnest layer of frost that forms upon her skin. But when I touch her, it disappears. It only happens at night—”
“Ah, late at night, when you are very tired and of course anxious,” said the doctor hurriedly, making quick motions with his hands as if to sweep away whatever Elinor had seen or thought she’d seen. “You are certain she never speaks?”
“No words,” said Elinor. “Sometimes I have come into the room and thought she was singing under her breath. Or humming. But it is so faint I’m never really sure whether I’ve heard it or not.”
“While we have made many advances in medicine these last few decades, much continues to be unknown,” said the doctor. He hesitated, then added, “Particularly when considering the . . . ah . . . oddities of this locale.”
“What do you mean?” asked Elinor.
The doctor gave her a look she couldn’t decipher. It wasn’t exactly suspicion, nor puzzlement. Something between the two.
“The North,” he said finally.
It was Elinor’s turn for a puzzled expression to form upon her face.
“What has that to do with anything?”
The doctor glanced at Mrs. Hallett.
“It’s not really the North here,” said the governess nervously. “We’re miles and miles south of Bain. We don’t have . . . the oddities . . . usually.”
“The oddities of the locale,” repeated Dr. Branthill, almost to himself. He glanced out the window as he spoke, and hurried to close his bag. Elinor looked out too, and saw the tops of the poplars in the drive were beginning to sway.
Not in their usual direction.
The wind was blowing from the north again. Not fiercely, but certainly enough to set the treetops swaying.
“You are a local woman, Mrs. . . . er . . . Wobkins?” asked the doctor.
“Aye,” she answered, not correcting his mangling of her name. She hesitated, then added with a touch of defiance Elinor had not often seen in someone so concerned with social differences, “Bain born and bred, as it happens.”
“I too,” replied Dr. Branthill, surprising both women. “Rather farther north, in fact, even closer to the Wall. I do not often come back. I . . . trust . . . trust you recall the childhood warnings pressed into us all. Given the condition of Mrs. Hallett, I do not think this is quite so far south as one might hope and . . . and I do not like this wind.”
He no longer looked the picture of the confident medico but rather a slightly apprehensive middle-aged man whose side whiskers were quivering.
“So I am most anxious to get considerably farther south myself before nightfall. I am sorry I cannot offer you any greater certainty or any relief for your mother, Miss Hallett. Good day!”
He was out the door before Elinor had a chance to even thank him, or offer any parting words. She followed him more slowly, only half listening as he clattered down the main stairs, strode swiftly down the gallery, and went out the front door like a jack-in-the-box, shouting for his coachman, who was to take him posthaste to the station and the soonest possible train southward.
About the Author
GARTH NIX is the New York Times bestselling author of the Old Kingdom series, beginning with Sabriel, and many other fantasy novels for teens and children, including the Seventh Tower series and the Keys to the Kingdom series. More than six million copies of his books have been
sold worldwide and his work has been translated into forty-two languages. You can find him online at www.garthnix.com.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Praise for New York Times
Bestselling Author Garth Nix:
SABRIEL
“Rich, complex, involving, hard to put down, this is excellent high fantasy.”—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Sabriel is a winner.”—Philip Pullman, author of The Amber Spyglass
“Nix has created an ingenious, icy world in the throes of chaos. The action charges along at a gallop, imbued with an encompassing sense of looming disaster. A page-turner for sure.”—ALA Booklist (starred review)
LIRAEL
“What makes Lirael a delight is the magic that Nix brings to his story and to his characters. It is filled with twists and turns, playful inventiveness and dark magic, and is sure to satisfy his many readers.”—Locus
“Readers who like their fantasy intense in action, magisterial in scope, and apocalyptic in consequences will revel in every word.”—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
ABHORSEN
“Thought-provoking fantasy.”—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Terror, courage, bitterness, love, desperation, and sacrifice all swirl together in an apocalyptic climax. Breathtaking, bittersweet, and utterly unforgettable.”—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
Books by Garth Nix
THE OLD KINGDOM SERIES
Terciel & Elinor
Sabriel
Lirael
Abhorsen
Clariel
Goldenhand
The Old Kingdom Collection
To Hold the Bridge
Across the Wall: A Tale of the Abhorsen and Other Stories
The Creature in the Case: An Old Kingdom Novella
The Ragwitch
One Beastly Beast: Two Aliens, Three Inventors, Four Fantastic Tales
Shade’s Children
A Confusion of Princes
Newt’s Emerald
Angel Mage
The Left-Handed Booksellers of London
Credits
Cover art © 1996 by Leo and Diane Dillon
Cover design by David Curtis
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Copyright
SABRIEL
First published in 1995 by HarperCollins Publishers, Australia.
Copyright © 1995 by Garth Nix. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Nix, Garth.
Sabriel / Garth Nix.
p. cm.
Summary: Sabriel, daughter of the necromancer Abhorsen, must journey into the mysterious and magical Old Kingdom to rescue her father from the Land of the Dead.
ISBN 978-0-06-231555-7
EPub Edition MAY 2014 ISBN 9780061975134
Version 09152021
[1. Fantasy.] I. Title.
PZ7.N647Sab 1996 96-1295
[Fic]—dc20 CIP
AC
* * *
Revised paperback edition, 2014
14 15 16 17 18 LP/RRDH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Version 05012018
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