Chimes at Midnight od-7

by Seanan McGuire

  “Okay.” I pulled away, gesturing for him to follow as I made my way across the receiving room toward May and Danny.

  My Fetch had solved the problem of height by climbing onto Danny’s shoulders, and was wielding her redwood branch with a gleeful violence that sent sheets of dust and cobwebs cascading down onto them. The floor, which hadn’t been exactly clean when she started, was rapidly turning an undifferentiated shade of ashy gray. She stopped when she saw us approach, although I’m not sure how she saw anything through that mess.

  “Is it time?” she asked, passing her redwood branch down to Danny.

  “Soon,” I said.

  “Okay.” She slid back down to the floor, tucking her dirty hair behind her ears with one hand as she walked toward us. “Hey, Tybalt. How do you like the place?”

  “It’s charming,” he said blandly.

  “Don’t listen to him,” I said. “The Court of Cats is just as bad.”

  “Sweet Oberon, will you look at this place?” The question was asked in a tone of shrill delight, like the speaker couldn’t imagine her luck. All four of us turned to see Melly and Ormond in the entryway, mops in their hands and blissful expressions on their faces.

  I blinked. “Tybalt, you told Sylvester we’d need more than just the Hobs, didn’t you?”

  “I did,” he said, sounding as bemused as I felt.

  Meanwhile, Melly had spotted us. Beaming, she trotted across the dirty floor and seized my hands before I had a chance to step away. “Isn’t this just the finest of all fine messes?” she asked. “Oh, October, it’s beautiful, and you’ll see, we’ll have it all shipshape in no time!”

  Ormond followed her, seeming to move more sedately, and yet somehow crossing the floor in the same amount of time. “Before you go worrying yourself, His Lordship is right behind us, and with four dozen men besides. We were just at the head of the pack, as it were. It occurred to us there might be a mess in need of setting right, and it would have been unfair to leave it any longer than necessary.”

  “Ah,” I said. “Let me introduce you to Arden. This is her knowe.” I started walking, not bothering to check whether the Hobs were following me. Because this was Arden’s knowe, they’d need her permission to start cleaning—and there’s nothing in this world or any other that Hobs love more than they love to clean. It’s their calling and their passion, and a mess like this one was their equivalent of Christmas.

  Arden had heard the unfamiliar voices, and had managed to set her makeshift broom aside and at least try to dust off her hands before we reached her. “Hello,” she said, with a mildly questioning lilt.

  “Melly, Ormond, may I present Her Highness Arden Windermere, Crown Princess and rightful Queen in the Mists,” I said. “Arden, meet Melly and Ormond. They’re from Shadowed Hills. They’d really appreciate being allowed to mop your floors.”

  “And wipe your windows, and scrub your stonework, and polish anything that needs polishing,” said Melly, sounding dazed. Then she curtsied. “Your Highness.”

  “Highness,” said Ormond, with a much more restrained nod of his head. “We’re here to set your house in order, if you’ll let us.”

  “Please,” said Arden fervently. “This place is . . .”

  “It may be booby-trapped,” I interjected. “Oleander was here.”

  Ormond’s expression hardened. “Will that snake never stop poisoning our gardens?” he asked sourly. “Be assured, we’ll watch for signs of her.”

  “Okay. If you find a trap you can’t defuse on your own, mark it with a redwood bough.” Glancing to Arden to be sure she was all right with what I was saying, I continued, “It’d be best if you could start here, get this room and the entry hall into a presentable condition. Arden, did you have a room here?”

  “Yes,” said Arden, sounding puzzled.

  “Melly, if you can find the Princess’ room, you might be able to find her wardrobe . . .”

  Melly straightened, all but glowing in her excitement. “Oh, dresses! Yes, of course! Highness,” she bobbed another curtsy to Arden. Then she was off, moving almost too quickly for my human eyes to follow as she vanished into the remaining curtain of cobwebs.

  Arden blinked. “It’s going to take me a while to get used to that.”

  “Fake it.” Footsteps from the entry hall signaled the approach of a much larger force. I turned to see Sylvester stepping into the receiving hall. All his knights and men-at-arms were behind him, even Etienne. Grianne was standing at Sylvester’s right, signaling that she was, for the moment at least, his second-in-command. It made sense: without his powers, Etienne couldn’t safely move outside the knowe unescorted. It still sucked.

  Sylvester paused long enough to look around, assessing our progress, before turning and murmuring something to Grianne. She nodded, and her Merry Dancers—the two globes of living light that accompanied her everywhere she went—rose to ceiling level, lighting up the receiving hall and throwing the grime into sharp relief. I didn’t say anything, but I was glad to have the extra light, no matter how nasty it made everything look. Sylvester nodded, looking pleased, and led his forces across the room to where we were waiting. No one said anything.

  When he reached us, he drew his sword, placed its tip against the floor, and knelt. “Your Highness,” he said.

  Arden looked flustered. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Yes, he does,” said Tybalt. She glanced to him, startled. “Accept the fealty you are offered. It is your responsibility, your privilege, and your burden.”

  “. . . right.” She turned back to Sylvester. “Thank you.”

  Acceptance of fealty is one of the few times in Faerie when thanks are appropriate. Sylvester rose, resheathing his sword. He was trying to watch Arden—I knew him well enough to know that—but his eyes still skipped to me, taking in my too-human state and the faint glow of the firefly sitting on my neck.

  “We are here to support your claim to the throne,” he said, tearing his eyes away from me and looking back to Arden. “Will you have us?”

  “Gladly,” said Arden.

  “I have also brought my housekeepers, as I thought you might need some small assistance in preparing for parley.” I was impressed: he managed to say that with a straight face.

  “Melly and Ormond are already starting to scrub things,” I said. “Don’t mess around: the place is a sty. Did you see the Undersea forces at all?”

  “They’re on their way up from the beach,” he said, looking only faintly annoyed by my determined effort to ignore propriety.

  “Good. And Goldengreen?”

  “Amassing in the parking lot.”

  “Better.” I looked to Arden. “Your army is here. Your knowe is open. This is your time to act.”

  She took a deep breath, and turned to Sylvester. “Your knight is a Candela, I believe?” she said, indicating Grianne.

  “She is,” said Sylvester.

  “May I borrow her?”

  A smile flashed across Sylvester’s face, there and gone so fast that it would have been easy to miss. “Please.”

  Arden turned to Grianne, taking a deep breath as she visibly centered herself. “I’d like you to carry a message to the imposter who currently holds my throne, if you would be so kind.”

  Grianne cocked her head, waiting.

  “Tell her . . .” Arden took another deep breath. “Tell her I will no longer sit idly by while she pretends to my father’s name. Tell her the true Queen in the Mists is in her knowe, and claiming that which is hers by right.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” said Grianne. Her Merry Dancers descended and swirled around her as she turned and ran toward the wall. There was a green glittering in the air. Then she dove into it, and was gone.

  Arden stared after her, something midway between hope and horror in her face.

  “Well, then,” I said. “No turning back now. May?”

  “I’m on it.” May waved her hands, and while I couldn’t see the casting, I could see the resu
lts: in the blink of an eye, she went from herself to me, as I normally was. She even created an illusionary leather jacket, completing the picture. “Now go get that boy and bring him home.”

  “We will.” I turned to Sylvester. He would barely meet my eyes. Our last parting had been hard, on both of us, and he clearly wasn’t sure I’d forgiven him for keeping Tybalt away when I needed him there.

  Sylvester had been a father to me when I’d had no one else. I leaned over and kissed his cheek, propriety be damned. “Kick her ass,” I said. I glanced to Arden. “Stay alive. I’ll be back with your brother.”

  Tybalt was waiting when I turned back to him. He gathered me into his arms without asking, and carried me, grime and all, into the hanging curtains of cobwebs until the light became diffuse enough to count as shadow.

  “This will take some time,” Tybalt murmured. “I’ll come out as often as I can. Just hold on, all right?”

  “All right,” I said. “I trust you.”

  He smiled through the growing dark. I took a breath and closed my eyes, and the world went cold around us.

  True to his word, we broke back out into warmth just as my lungs were beginning to burn. Tybalt kept running. I gulped down several mouthfuls of sweet, night-warm air before he squeezed my arm, signaling that we were about to step back onto the Shadow Roads. I took a breath and held it as we dove back into the cold.

  The transition happened twice more before Tybalt stumbled, dropping me onto a stone floor. I yelped—I couldn’t help myself—as I spun head over heels to slam into a wall that somehow felt even harder than the floor. I finished my tumble by hitting my head against that same wall. Yup. It was definitely harder than the floor.

  Then I realized that Tybalt hadn’t made a sound since he’d fallen.

  “Tybalt?” I was aiming for a whisper. My voice came out in a squeak. Trying to ignore my spinning head, I rolled to my hands and knees and crawled toward him. “Are you okay?”

  He still wasn’t moving. I swallowed a cold jet of panic and crawled faster, finally reaching his side. Maybe it was the pain, and maybe it was the cold inevitability of the situation, but I found myself swaddled in a veil of surprising calm. Things had been going too well. Everyone I loved had to die. That was the way my life worked, and had worked since the day I woke up, wet, naked, and alone in the pond that had been my prison. I was a fool to have thought, for even a few seconds, that this time would be different.

  I pressed my fingers against the side of Tybalt’s throat, trying to find a pulse, and found nothing. “Come on,” I whispered. “Please, just this once, just this one time, forget you’re a cat, and come when you’re called. Please.”

  He didn’t respond. The muscles in his face were completely relaxed. He looked like he was sleeping; like he’d wake up at any moment.

  My head was still spinning. I raised my hand to cup his cheek. “Please, don’t do this. Tybalt, you promised. You promised you wouldn’t do this.”

  He didn’t move.

  I took a deep, ragged breath, reaching up to touch the firefly that was huddled in my hair. I didn’t know whether seeing illusions would extend to hearing things that were normally confined to Faerie, but it was worth a try. The firefly’s wings buzzed against my fingers. I eased my butt down to the stone floor, leaning against Tybalt, and waited for something to happen. Seconds ticked by, each of them seeming to last an eternity.

  And in the distance, I heard the sound of wings.

  My heart lurched. I opened my eyes and turned to see the first of the night-haunts descending toward us. No—not the first. The flock normally traveled together, a great swarm of shadowy bodies and ragged, fast-beating wings. There were only two this time, both wearing faces I recognized. My old mentor, Devin . . .

  . . . and Connor. They landed several feet away, folding their wings behind their Barbie-sized bodies and watching me warily.

  Hope bloomed in my chest like a cruel flower. “He’s not dead, is he?” I asked.

  “Death is like pregnancy,” said Devin’s haunt. “A little can go a very long way.”

  Connor’s haunt gave him a reproachful look, but didn’t say anything.

  “It doesn’t work that way,” I countered. “You’re either pregnant or you’re not. You’re either dead . . .”

  “Or you’re dying,” said the Connor-haunt. “I’m sorry, Toby, but that’s the way it is. Death isn’t something that has to be helped along. Once it starts, it generally finishes.”

  “Then tell me how to save him.” They stared at me. I fought the urge to grab them and bash their diminutive heads together. They’d eat me if I tried. “You’re the night-haunts. You speak death. Tell me how to save him.”

  “October—” began Connor’s haunt.

  The Devin-haunt grabbed his arm, stopping him. “We do not bargain with the living,” he said. “No matter how much we remember caring for them.”

  “Not even when the living can make so many meals for you?” I asked. I wasn’t going to touch the topic of Devin having cared for me. “Please. I’ve fed your flock. I saved May, even if I didn’t know I was doing it. Please, help me save him.” I paused before whispering, “Connor, please.”

  “We owe you nothing,” said the Devin-haunt, releasing the Connor-haunt’s arm. “But there is something charmingly perverse about the idea of your being bound to do us a favor. We have not been owed a favor by the living in a very long time.” Connor’s haunt looked away, falling silent once more. He looked ashamed in that moment. My heart ached for him . . . but he was dead. I had to save my strength for the living.

  “I won’t kill anyone for you.” My lips felt numb as they shaped the words. I meant that—there were some things I couldn’t even justify by saving Tybalt’s life—but I hated myself for saying it.

  “Death is our job, not yours,” said the Devin-haunt. He gave Tybalt a disgusted look. “The cat is not dead, merely drained. The holder of these halls has tightened her wards since the last time the Shadow Roads were used to pierce them, and mortality weighs heavily in that darkness.”

  “So he hurt himself because he had to carry me through something that wasn’t designed to let humans pass.” I took a deep breath, swallowing my guilt. “I will owe you a favor.”

  “Yes, you will,” said the Devin-haunt. “And if you default on us, we will take you.”

  The idea of being eaten by the night-haunts while I was still alive didn’t exactly appeal, but I didn’t see another way. Not if I wanted Tybalt to live. Reluctantly, I nodded. “I’ll do whatever you ask me, as long as I don’t have to kill anyone. I won’t kill anyone.”

  “Agreed,” said the Devin-haunt. There was a strange weight to the word, like it was binding above and beyond the actual meaning.

  Feeling vaguely as if I’d just made a huge mistake, I asked, “How do I fix this?”

  “The cat is sore wounded. He used his strength until there was nothing more. He needs power.” The Devin-haunt fluttered his wings. “Were you your own self, I would say you could grant it to him, but as you are . . .”

  “As I am, I’ve got nothing.”

  He smiled. “And yet you could have everything you desire.”

  I frowned at him before finally looking away from Tybalt and the night-haunts, and taking stock of my surroundings.

  We were in the final hall leading to the Queen’s dungeons. That was why the wall had felt so much harder than the floor; the floor was just stone, and the walls were laced with iron, to dampen and poison the magic of anyone who tried to escape. That explained why only two of the strongest night-haunts had come: the weaker members of the flock would probably have dissolved as soon as they entered. Torches made of mixed rowan and yarrow burned in sconces set into the wall, sending plumes of smoke up into the air.

  We were in the Queen’s knowe. We were near the hope chest.

  I turned back to the night-haunts. “How much time do I have?”

  “The guards at the door heard the sound of wings,” s
aid Connor’s haunt. “They’re not going to come in here until they’re sure that we’ve come and gone. They’d rather not see us if they have a choice in the matter.”

  A cruel smile twisted the mouth of Devin’s haunt. “Fear is a beautiful wall to place between yourself and your enemies.”

  “Okay. So . . . okay.” That didn’t give me an exact time, but it was a start. I stood, trying to ignore the shaking in my legs. “Can you stay with him?”

  “Until you return, or until he comes with us,” said the Devin-haunt.

  I blanched. No matter how bad I felt, I was doing this on a time limit. “All right,” I said. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Connor’s wings rattled, and he looked at me, sea-dark eyes sad. “Hurry,” he said.

  There was a warning in that word that I couldn’t deny, no matter how much I wanted to. I needed to hurry; I needed to run through the knowe until I found the treasury. But I was still smart enough to know that I wouldn’t make it very far if I tried to do this on my own. Slowly, I turned toward the darkened hall ahead of me. Somewhere down there in the dark was the only aid I was going to find here, in this place controlled by one of my worst enemies. All I had to do was find Dianda, free her, and hope that she was still capable of helping me after being locked in an iron-laced cell. And I had to do it before my boyfriend died.

  “No pressure,” I muttered, and pulled a torch from its sconce before I limped onward into the dark.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  I’D NEVER BEEN ON THIS SIDE of the cells before while I was in a position to look around. The air was thick with smoke, making it difficult to see even in the light cast by my borrowed torch. I limped from door to door, peering through the hatches set into them at eye level. The first four cells I passed were empty. When I opened the hatch on the fifth door, a brick rebounded off the grill.

  “Whoa!” I yelped, barely managing to fling myself out of the way of the flying stone chips. “Dianda? Is that you?”

  “Come a little closer and find out for yourself,” she snarled.

  “. . . definitely Dianda,” I muttered. Louder, I said, “It’s me, Toby. Can you please not throw anything else? I’m here to get you out of there.”