“It’s fine—I am just not accustomed. By all means, speak plainly. Why would I want him to rest through the night?”
Arerio swallowed hard but forced himself to continue. “Might it not be preferable for Master Michlos to be present for the proceedings?”
“To talk me out of this, you mean?”
Arerio said nothing, but his raised eyebrow suggested that it might not be such a bad idea.
“I know you don’t approve, but our options are limited. What would you have me do? Toss them off the cliffs?”
“Sometimes simple solutions are the most effective.”
“You don’t mean that. Though I admit the temptation is great, we can never afford to become that which we despise, even in the name of opposing it.”
“There may be other simple solutions, though. Perhaps if Master Michlos—”
“Michlos has his hands full with too many other things to concern himself with a minor matter such as this.”
“As you wish.”
Marguerite sighed. “I don’t like it either. I’ve thought this through a hundred times—the situation is too complex to involve the Constable, we don’t have the wherewithal to hold them indefinitely, and that wouldn’t solve the problem anyway. You’ll just have to bear with me. They arrived at a door, and she threw it open. Ah, here we are.”
Multiple lanterns cast flickering shadows throughout the parlor. Marguerite strode between two men armed with wicked-looking blades. Neither of them actually had a clue how to use one, but Marguerite wasn’t relying on them for protection anyway. The guards had served their purpose—the three prisoners squirmed in their seats, casting the occasional resentful glance their way. Behind the prisoners, a great velvet curtain cloaked the wall, giving the room a theatrical flair. From the prisoners’ expressions, it was clear they were anticipating a tragedy.
Marguerite cleared her throat. “Good evening, gentlemen. I trust you have found the amenities to your liking?”
The sullen men did not respond.
“Well then, as long as there’s nothing else you require, I was wondering if we could chat about our little misunderstanding on the road?”
“You’ll get nothing from us, witch,” said the first of the three. His right hand was swathed in bandages.
“Oh, so that’s what this is about? Someone made accusations of heresy, and you believed them? Someone affiliated with the Church, perhaps?”
“After what you did to us, you have the gall to deny it?”
“If you’re referring to clothing and feeding you after you assaulted my carriage on the road, then indeed, I am guilty.”
The prisoner held forth his bandaged hand. “You forgot to mention this.”
Marguerite nodded. “I did have it bandaged. It looked like it needed it. Is that such a terrible thing?”
“Don’t mock me, witch. You did this.”
“I don’t even know you. Even if I were a witch, why would I have bothered?”
“To escape justice.”
The man next to him leaned over. “Shut up, Aaron.”
Marguerite addressed him next. “You, sir, I do know. Even without the militia uniform beneath the cloak and hood, I would never forget the face of the man who told me my son-in-law had been murdered. What could possibly compel a man to commit such a heinous deed?”
The man looked away.
She turned to the third man. “And you. How could any righteous man accost an old lady in the dark of night? Are you claiming some sort of higher purpose like your friend here? Or are you the common thief you appear to be?”
Anger flared in the man’s eyes, but he mastered it.
“By all rights, I should have the Constable slap you in chains. He takes a dim view of highway robbery. And if I thought for one minute you were responsible for your actions, I’d have done it already.”
“I saw your witchlight,” Aaron said. “And the ensorcelled slumber. I know you for what you are.”
Marguerite nodded. “That’s your one saving grace. I saw it, too. That’s how I know you were deceived.”
“She’s trying to confuse us. Don’t listen to her.”
“You haven’t asked what happened to the last member of your little band,” Marguerite said. “You were hoping he escaped, weren’t you? That perhaps he’s rallying to your rescue as we speak. You must think very highly of him to have risked your lives like this. Did it not occur to you that he might have ulterior motives—ones he maybe didn’t deign to share?”
Aaron growled. “If you captured him, it only confirms the power of your witchery.”
“Actually, I think our friend Josephus was a bit surprised when my armed retinue showed up. They were only a few minutes behind my carriage. I don’t normally employ one, but then, I don’t normally find myself in the position of rushing to the scene of an assassination. I have you gentlemen to thank for ensuring I arranged for backup. Poor Josephus seemed reticent to argue with their crossbows and accompanied us placidly enough.”
The second man stirred. “Do you honestly expect us to believe these lies? Josephus is the most righteous man I have ever served under. You’re asking us to believe he engineered everything for some hidden sinister purpose?”
“Why, yes,” Marguerite said. “To frame me.”
Aaron snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”
“It does seem farfetched, doesn’t it? But I’m not asking you to take me at my word.”
“Then, why are we here?”
“Why, for the show of course.” She tugged a nearby cord. A cacophony of bells sounded. One by one, Arerio extinguished the lanterns.
“I direct your attention to the window behind the curtain that Arerio will open shortly. Things may take a moment to get going, but once they do, I expect you’ll find the performance fascinating. Please don’t think of leaving your seats until the show is over. I assure you the swordsmen are very skilled and their blades are very sharp—it would only take me opening this door for them to have plenty of light to do their business.”
A slight rustle marked the curtain’s movement, but since the room was pitch black, there was nothing to see.
“This is pointless,” one of the men said.
“Patience,” Marguerite replied.
Through the window, a golden light flared, revealing a small bedchamber. Next to the bed stood a tall, heavily muscled man in a glowing nightshirt, his wrists bound in great iron shackles. The glowing man closed his eyes, held up his hands, and the shackles crumbled.
The three men gasped.
Next, the man inspected the room, stopping for several seconds to examine the window.
At that moment, Marguerite opened the door, and light flooded the parlor. “Gentlemen, I give you your heretic. Not even iron shackles can bind him.”
With the light from the hallway, the three men stood revealed to Josephus as well, and the horror and betrayal in their eyes was plain. For a fleeting instant Marguerite met Vane’s gaze, which burned with an intensity of loathing she had rarely seen in anyone, save, perhaps, her brother. Then Vane’s light went out.
“Anyway,” Marguerite said, “based on the evidence I’ve seen here tonight, I can certainly see how easily this man could have misled you, and I therefore forgive you all. You’re free to go. Since I didn’t expect him to escape the shackles so easily, you might want to be on your way as quickly as possible. There’s no telling the lengths to which he’ll go to preserve his terrible little secret.”
“You did this,” Aaron cried. “You set this all up.”
“If you wait a few more minutes, perhaps Vane would be willing to address that accusation personally, but I really wouldn’t advise it.”
The second man tugged the first’s arm. “Aaron, c’mon. Let’s get out of here.”
Once the three had fled into the remnants of the storm, Marguerite sensed Arerio standing nearby.
“How far did he get?” she asked.
“Just into the hallway.”
“Once they have a substantial lead, leave him down by the bridge. He can sleep it off there.”
“We’ll need to replace the lock and the hinges.”
“When you do, make them brass.”
“As you wish.”
As he padded away, Arerio shook his head, but said nothing further.
Chapter Fifteen
Haunted
The common room of Exidgeon’s girls’ dormitory was unusually crowded. On another night, the young women might have been scattered across campus, but this was not just any night—the storm had interrupted Inquisition’s evacuation, and though the worst was now past, ominous rumblings still rattled the rafters at regular intervals. On such inclement evenings, Miss Maxtine recruited her charges to decorate the common room, light a cheery fire, make treats, and mull cider. Ostensibly she touted the festivities as a bonding opportunity. Secretly, though, thunder scared her silly, and she couldn’t abide the thought of enduring it all night alone.
Typical activities on storm nights ran the gamut from needlepoint, to games, to all-out song and dance. But dancing was out of the question tonight, given the somber mood from recent events. In a valiant effort to engage her gloomy companions, Terulla Kardell volunteered to tell a story. It began as a simple romance, but grew increasingly spooky, eventually crossing the line into a full-blown ghost story. Arietta left the room abruptly just as Terulla voiced the moans of the hungering wraiths of the bog sisters—young maidens mercilessly drowned by the same villainous beast that held prisoner the hero’s beloved.
Though on edge from the storm, Miss Maxtine was nonetheless captivated. But as the tale continued, Terulla’s embellishments became ever more gruesome. Her hero braved the swamp’s perils, arriving at last at the lair of the ravening beast, only to find the beast was prowling elsewhere. Finding his beloved asleep in the cave, he embraced her—but it was a trap. No sooner did their lips meet than illusion failed. Instead of his beloved, he held the hideous bloated corpse of a bog sister.
Curiously, though, his horrified scream emanated not from the storyteller, but from outside the common room entirely.
Everyone in the room jumped, including Terulla. Once they had a moment to recover, several of the girls giggled.
Miss Maxtine laughed with the rest. “Oh, well done. How ever did you work out the timing?”
Terulla brought a trembling hand to her mouth. “I didn’t.”
Miss Maxtine looked at first puzzled, then alarmed. “Then what was that?”
“I don’t have any idea. Arietta maybe?”
Miss Maxtine leapt to her feet. “Where did she go?”
“I don’t know. She just left.”
“Everyone is to stay right here.” Miss Maxtine’s tone brooked no disagreement. “Understood?”
The young women nodded. Miss Maxtine strode to the fireplace and retrieved a poker. As she approached the door, it burst open. Arietta collapsed in a mound at her feet.
The girl struggled to catch her breath between sobs. “Dona Merinne. Her…she’s a…wraith…”
Miss Maxtine eyed her skeptically. “A wraith? What are you talking about, child? Are you hurt?”
Arietta shook her head.
Miss Maxtine took the gangly girl by the wrists. “Now what’s this all about? You’ve scared us half to death.”
“The…gar…garderobe,” Arietta said faintly. “Dona Merinne’s ghost.”
Miss Maxtine’s eyes narrowed. She leaned close to sniff Arietta’s breath, and her lips pursed.
“Well, it seems pernicious spirits are at work here after all, but I seriously doubt they have anything to do with Miss Merinne.”
“But the garder…the ghost.”
Miss Maxtine held out her hand expectantly. “All right, hand it over.”
Grudgingly Arietta produced a flask from her reticule. Miss Maxtine removed the cap and peered inside. “Good gracious, it’s empty. Is it any wonder you needed a visit to the garderobe?”
Arietta’s indignation supplanted her terror. “What about the ghost?”
“You expect me to believe your rantings while you’re in this condition?”
“I know what I saw.”
Miss Maxtine sighed and grabbed the poker. “Oh, very well. Show me this ghost—and then it’s to bed with you. Terulla, lass, lend her a hand.”
“Yes, Miss Maxtine.”
By now several students were curious to see the ghost. Miss Maxtine, poker at the ready, led a tight cadre of cautious young women through the doorway. Others stayed behind, their curiosity firmly subordinated to their anxiety. When the door finally closed, only Helena had chosen to neither stay nor follow. Instead, she quietly ducked out another door and headed to her room, which by now she fully expected to be haunted. And, as she saw it, this ghost had quite a lot of explaining to do.
She caught the spook red-handed.
Dona slammed shut her ravaged hope chest. “Oh, it’s only you.”
Helena crossed her arms. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Dona rummaged through the room, dumping random things into her satchel. “What do you mean?”
“Scaring Arietta like that. She has Miss Maxtine chasing after your ghost with a poker. Aren’t you in enough trouble? And, what are you doing here? I thought you left the University with Caroline and her mother.”
“Who told you that?”
“I heard them ask you myself.”
“It’s a long story, and I’d love to tell you the whole thing, but there isn’t time. Do you have any rope?”
“Whatever for?”
“How about in your sewing kit?”
“I have cord, and maybe some twine.”
“That might work. Bring it.”
“The whole kit?” The fabric too?”
Dona thought a moment and then nodded. “Good idea. Bring the whole kit, fabric and all.”
“Bring it where? We’re not just talking a needle and some thread here. That’s a lot of material.”
“We’ll have to hope it’s enough. We’ll need lanterns too.”
“What do you mean we? In case you haven’t noticed we’re in the middle of a storm and an Inquisition. I’m not going anywhere.”
Dona opened the satchel and peered inside. “As you wish. I’ll be sure to give your regards to Alphonse, assuming, of course, I make it back in time to save him.”
“Alphonse? He’s in trouble?”
“Alexi too.”
“Why didn’t you say so? Here, let me grab another satchel.”
“Hand me that,” Dona said. “You head over to the garderobe and watch for them to leave. When they’re gone, come back and get me.”
“Can’t the garderobe wait? I thought this was an emergency.”
Dona sighed. “I don’t have time to explain. Are you going to help me or not?”
“Fine, but you better be quick about it, then.”
“Oh, and stop by the common room and grab up as many logs as you can carry.”
“Logs?”
“Just do it—and hurry.”
Helena ducked out the door. “Fine, I’m going, but you’d better be here when I get back.”
Dona finally finished gathering as many of Helena’s sewing supplies as she could stuff into the satchels, as well as lanterns and a few apples. She plopped on the bed and blew stray strands of hair from her face as she waited for Helena to return. Her eyes fell on Mr. Lop Ears, staring disdainfully up at her. For the first time in her life, she found his presence disconcerting—as though she’d just learned her most trusted friend lived a secret life about which she knew absolutely nothing. He’d been a part of her earliest memories. Once, she had lost Mr. Lop Ears and overheard her mother wondering whether he been burned with the trash. Even after all this time, the memory of that cold empty feeling still made her shudder. And then, her father was there, pressing the stuffed bunny into her arms, hugging them both and promising that Mr. Lop Ears would never ever leave her. Even now, the irony stung that
he’d never made the same promise for himself.
Helena reappeared, her arms loaded with split wood. “Are you all right?”
“The coast is clear?”
“Currently, yes. Miss Maxtine is still dealing with Arietta, who’s not being terribly cooperative. She may be occupied for some time.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
“If you’re planning to go outside, I hope you have a nice quiet way to get through all the locks. It’s after curfew, you know.”
“I know.”
“One more thing,” Helena said. “Have I mentioned how happy I am to see you home safe?”
Dona stopped short. Tears welled, but she was too loaded down to brush them away.
“You sure you’re all right?”
Dona stifled a sniffle. “I am now. I’m so lucky to have you.”
Helena winked. “You certainly are—and likewise. Now, shall we rescue those silly men?”
“If we don’t, who will?”
. . . . .
The corridor was lit only at rare intervals. Night visitors to the garderobe generally carried a lantern, but Dona and Helena didn’t have any hands free. Fortunately, Helena’s assessment was still accurate—the garderobe was clear.
“I’m going to set these logs down here,” Helena said. “I’ll pick them back up when you’re done.”
“No, don’t.”
“But they’re heavy.”
“Take them in with you.”
“But I don’t have to go.”
“Yes, you do. Take them in and set them to one side.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see.”
Helena shrugged. “Very well. If you insist.”
Dona followed her in and set down the satchels. “Now, go light one of these lanterns off a hallway lantern and bring it back.”
While Helena was gone, Dona dropped a coin into the garderobe and was relieved to hear it clink on the platform. She lowered herself through the seat, feeling for the platform with her toes. She was halfway through when Helena returned with the lantern.
“Have you lost your mind?”
“Quiet. Get in here and lock the door.”
Helena engaged the latch. “I think it’s about time for an explanation. Do you have any idea how far down that goes?”
A House of Cards Page 20
