by E. E. Holmes
“But we don’t know their plans!” I cried. “I’ve got one image of one moment in time! We have no idea how far away that moment might be, or how events are going to unfold to get us there!”
“Yes, that’s true. But if we let on what we know, then we’ve lost the element of surprise,” Catriona said, fighting against an urge to lose her patience with us. “You’ve never seen the Isle of Skye in person. You’ve never experienced the sheer magnitude of the place. It’s a fortress by design, meant to be unassailable. If the Necromancers take it from the inside, we will have absolutely no chance to take it back.”
“But, what will the Necromancers want the príosún for?” Milo asked. “Like, what can they do with it? It’s a building. Even if they take control of the physical location, what kind of advantage does that give them? They still don’t have control of the Gateways. They’re just… trapped, aren’t they?”
Catriona shook her head. “That’s where you’re wrong. The príosún is home to a wealth of weapons that the Necromancers can never be allowed to wield.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“The first and most obvious is the release of all our most dangerous enemies. The Skye Príosún holds at bay every person, alive or dead, that ever posed a true threat to us. Every Necromancer, every Durupinen traitor, every spirit who railed against our control—all of them, free of their bonds and willing to serve the Necromancers in pursuit of our destruction.”
Hannah made a small sound like a wounded animal and dropped into the nearest chair.
Catriona looked satisfied. “I’m glad you understand the magnitude of the problem. The second danger is the catacomb archives,” she went on.
“What’s the catacomb archives, besides the title of a hypothetical horror movie I kind of want to see?” Milo asked. Hannah made a motion to smack him, which went straight through the specter of his torso.
“In essence, it’s a library of crime records deep within the bowels of the príosún. Every criminal who has ever been housed at the príosún has a file there, detailing everything related to their offenses against the Durupinen. There are also many artifacts down there—important evidence and exhibits from criminal trials that have been preserved for archival purposes. I can’t even begin to imagine what the Necromancers could have at their fingertips should they breach it.”
“You… keep a library of weapons and dangerous information in the same place you house the criminals who would love to get their hands on it?” I asked weakly.
Catriona glared at me. “Those catacombs have remained unbreachable in the thousand years the fortress has stood on that site. The protections of the Caomhnóir have never been penetrated!” she snapped.
“The protections of the Caomhnóir won’t matter if the Caomhnóir are the ones doing the penetrating,” Hannah said quietly.
Catriona looked as though she would dearly have loved to shut Hannah’s observation down with a cutting retort, but she couldn’t. Her point, in all its terrifying reality, was too true to be brushed off.
We all sat in silence, letting the horror wash over us. Finally, when I thought I might scream aloud from the weight of the dread, I said, “So. What do we do? Because we can’t just sit back and do nothing. We’ve already wasted enough time as it is, trying to be cautious. If we are not going to tell the Council about my prophetic drawings, then what are we going to do? Because Finn is at that príosún, and so is Fiona, most likely, and there’s no way in hell that I’m abandoning them there, so give me an alternative plan, or I’m marching up to Celeste’s office right now and telling her everything.”
“No, you’re right,” Catriona said. “The time has passed to wait and see.”
Catriona paced in silence for what felt like a long time, and I could see her wheels turning furiously. Finally, she planted her foot and turned on her heel so sharply that she looked like she was doing a military exercise.
“We need to get a Tracker inside the príosún, and we need to do it without alerting the Caomhnóir that we know something is going on.”
“What will it matter if we get a Tracker in there?” I asked. “Whatever is happening is still… happening. It’s not like one Tracker inside the walls is going to stop it.”
“Yes, but if that Tracker has the ability to communicate with those of us on the outside, then we would have a window into what’s happening, and be able to prepare for it. You see, we don’t want to face the eventuality that your drawing portrays. Once that fortress is fortified for battle, it’s already too late. We’re done for. If our warriors are turned against us and holed up in the strongest defensive position we possess, we might as well just hand the Gateways over to the Necromancers now. I don’t see how we could possibly win.”
Beside me, Milo was muttering a monologue of profanity under his breath. Hannah, on the other hand seemed to have stopped breathing entirely.
“Okay,” I said slowly, “let’s say that I agree with you. If we were able to somehow get a Tracker into the príosún unobtrusively without any of the Caomhnóir or the Necromancers getting suspicious, and that Tracker could act as a spy and relay information to us, that would be incredibly useful. The fact remains that they would never allow a Tracker to just walk in there in the midst of their plans!”
“I think they just might, in fact,” Catriona said pensively. “I’ve just had an idea, you see. It’s mad, quite frankly, but it just might work. I just need to know one thing: Do you trust me?”
I was surprised how easily the words sprang to my lips. “I do.”
“Excellent,” Catriona said, and her face broke into the kind of smile that only a ludicrously dangerous plan could’ve brought to her features. “Let’s get to work, then.”
13
Captive
BANG. BANG. BANG.
For once, I was being woken out of a dead sleep by a disturbance that I had not personally made—some of the only sleep I’d managed to get in the two days since Moira’s death. My heart was in my throat as I stared around in the darkness. To my left, Hannah had also sat up in her bed, gasping with surprise.
“What?” she cried, her voice still slurred with sleep. “What is that? Jess, what’s going on? You don’t think… ?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, attempting to master my own breathing. I cleared my throat. “Who is it?” I called, trying to sound authoritative rather than scared shitless.
“It’s Seamus,” said the familiar bark of a voice. “It’s urgent. Open the door, please.”
The “please” was perfunctory, I noted. His tone left me in no doubt that this was not a request that could be ignored if I wanted the door to remain on its hinges.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and scrambled out from under my blanket. I slid my feet into my slippers and shuffled over to the door.
“Wait!” Hannah hissed. I turned to look at her, but my eyes had still not adjusted to the darkness, and all I could see was the slight glint of her frightened eyes.
“What?” I hissed back.
“I just… what if it’s… do you think we have to open it?” she whispered.
“I guess we don’t have to open it, but it sounds like he’s going to break it down if we don’t,” I replied quietly.
Hannah whimpered, but couldn’t argue with me, and so I closed the rest of the distance between myself and the door, pulled back the deadbolt, and wrenched it open just wide enough to see who was standing on the other side of it. I tried to stifle a gasp of shock, but failed.
Waiting in the hallway, standing shoulder to shoulder like comrades-in-arms, were Seamus and Ambrose. Just behind them stood Catriona, looking particularly solemn.
“Good evening, Jessica,” she said.
“It’s…” I squinted at the clock by my bed, “two o’clock in the morning! This isn’t evening. What the hell is going on?”
“We’ll explain everything when we get downstairs,” Catriona said, glancing up and down the hallway. “Will you just come with us pleas
e, Jess?”
“No, I won’t,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest protectively. “And you will explain now.”
Hannah had slid down off of her bed and walked over to stand beside me by the door. Milo had appeared beside her—evidently, she had used the connection to silently contact him while I was talking to Catriona—and his face was wary when he caught sight of who was standing on the other side and struggled to catch up with what was happening.
“What’s going on here?” he asked the group at large.
“Catriona was just about to explain that, actually,” I told him. I turned back to Catriona. “So, let’s have it. We all know this isn’t a pleasant little social call.”
“Are you really going to make me do this here, where anybody could hear me?” Catriona asked. She was keeping her voice hushed, but Seamus’ loud knocking and shouted demands had already woken several people along the hallway. Up and down the corridor, doors were opening, and sleepy faces were peering out, searching for the source of the commotion.
“Yes, I am,” I said, ignoring the eager stares.
Catriona rolled her eyes, and then shrugged off-handedly. “Very well, then,” she said. “I was going to try to make this easier on you, but if you want to be a public spectacle, then be my guest.”
She turned to Seamus, who pulled out an official-looking piece of parchment. “Jessica Ballard of the Clan Sassanaigh, you are being placed under arrest and charged with conspiracy to undermine the will of a foreign Durupinen Council.”
“What?!” I cried, but I could hardly hear myself over Hannah and Milo’s shouted protestations.
“This is insanity!” Hannah cried, and her voice was shaking violently. “Jess hasn’t done anything wrong!”
“As it turns out, she has,” Catriona said evenly. “The Traveler Council has filed formal charges, and it is our duty to enforce them.”
“The Traveler laws are antiquated bullshit, and you know it!” Milo shouted.
“The events at the Traveler camp happened months ago,” I pointed out, trying to keep my voice calm. “If the Traveler Council was unhappy with my actions, why didn’t they file a complaint then?”
“New information has come to light about your actions surrounding the trial of Irina Faa because a corroborating witness has come forward,” Catriona said.
“What witness?” I challenged her.
“Flavia,” Catriona said quietly. “I’ve spoken to her myself about the matter.”
I just stared at her. Hannah and Milo also went quiet in their shock. Catriona took advantage of the silence to continue.
“Now, would you like to continue to do this here, or shall we take this conversation elsewhere?” She looked pointedly down the hallway where more and more faces were poking out of doorways and whispering to each other. I could feel the flush of humiliation rising in my face.
“Fine,” I spat at them, keeping my voice down as the gathering crowd craned their necks to get a better view. “Hannah, toss me my sweater,” I said, turning over my shoulder. “And my sneakers.”
Hannah stayed exactly where she was, her wide and terrified eyes fixed incredulously on my face. “You’re not seriously going to go with them, are you? They can’t arrest you like some criminal.”
“Actually, I think they can,” I said. “Just hand me my stuff, Hannah. We’ll sort this out downstairs. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.”
Hannah still looked like she wanted to argue, but she hurried over and grabbed my sneakers and a sweater from the back of my chair and handed them to me. I kicked the slippers off, slid my feet into the sneakers, and pulled the sweater on over my T-shirt and ratty sweatpants.
“All right then,” I said to Catriona. “Let’s go. The quicker we figure this out, the quicker I can go back to bed.”
At my words, Seamus half-lifted his hands toward me, and I saw that he was carrying a pair of handcuffs.
“Oh, hell no!” Milo growled. “If you so much as touch her with those…”
But Catriona was already putting up an admonitory hand. “Those aren’t necessary, Seamus, as long as Jess agrees to come with us willingly. You do, don’t you?” she asked me.
I threw Milo a warning look and then replied, “Yes. I’m not resisting, so hard pass on the fancy convict accessories, okay? Just tell me where to go so we can sort this out. This has to be some kind of mistake.”
“I’m resisting!” Milo cried. “I’m fucking resisting, okay? Does Celeste know about this? Or the rest of the Council? There’s no way they would stand for this kind of—”
“The High Priestess has been notified,” Catriona said in an almost bored voice. “She has countersigned the arrest warrant. Would you care to analyze her handwriting?”
Milo opened his mouth again, but I forestalled him. “This is just making it worse, Milo. Let’s just go, okay?”
Milo looked mutinous, but he fell silent. I stepped through the doorway, and a voice rang out.
“Jess! What in bloody blazes is going on here?”
Savvy had emerged from her room, tousle-haired and wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt. She squinted at the scene, understanding dawning in her still-drowsy face.
“Nothing, Savvy. Just a misunderstanding. Everything’s fine,” I told her in the most soothing voice I could manage. Her face looked so distraught that I took an unintentional step toward her and away from the Caomhnóir.
Instantly, Seamus and Ambrose were flanking me on either side, each of them with a warning hand resting just behind my elbow.
“Oi! Get your bloody hands off her!” Savvy shouted, stumbling forward. Frankie reached out a hand and pulled her back.
“Savvy, it’s okay. Hannah will explain. I can handle myself. Everything’s fine,” I reiterated. When I was sure that Savvy wasn’t going to come barreling down the hallway, I faced my captors again. Seamus was stony-faced, but as I glanced at Ambrose, I caught a fleeting glimpse of a smirk on his face before he composed his features.
“Enjoying this, are you?” I muttered at him.
He did not reply. The smirk disappeared, but I knew I had not imagined it. I guess I wasn’t all that surprised. He probably resented and disliked me as much as I resented and disliked him. I couldn’t pretend that I wouldn’t have cracked a smile if I thought he was being carted off to prison.
I turned back to Seamus. “I assure you, I do, in fact, know how to walk without assistance,” I told him. He did not so much as blink. He kept his eyes facing stubbornly forward, and his hand in exactly the same place upon my elbow.
Deciding that physically pulling away from them would probably just result in me being clapped in irons, I grudgingly accepted being led by the elbows down the hallway with spectators now gathered eagerly on every side. I felt like the proverbial woman being dragged through the streets, the only difference is that I was being bombarded with stony glares instead of actual stones. I suppose I should’ve been grateful for that, but I was finding it hard to muster that particular emotion at the moment. The chilly stares of ghosts joined those of living people as news of my perp walk spread rapidly through the castle.
We reached the main staircase, and I turned automatically to head down the corridor that led to the Tracker office, but both Seamus and Ambrose tightened their grip on my elbows, halting my progress, and making me stumble.
I turned to Seamus. “What are you doing?” I asked him. “The Tracker office is this way.”
“I’m aware of that,” Seamus replied, still refusing to look at me. “We are not going to the Tracker office.”
I looked from him to Ambrose, and then at Catriona. “So, where are we going, then?” I asked them.
Catriona hesitated before she replied, “Out the front doors. To a waiting car.”
“And where exactly is that waiting car going to take me?” I asked, my voice rising with badly suppressed hysteria.
“To be held at the Skye Príosún until such time as the hearing can be scheduled,” Catrio
na said at last.
Hannah and Milo burst into a fierce stream of protestations, and I had to shout to be heard over them. “You’re sending me to jail?”
“Yes,” Catriona said, almost automatically.
“You can’t do that!” Hannah cried, her voice breaking in a sob. “You can’t just throw someone in jail when they haven’t even had a trial or anything!”
“Jessica will have her chance to defend herself against the charges,” Catriona said with an almost robotic calmness, as though her brain had completely disengaged and she was simply reading from a prepared script. “But until that time, the Traveler Council has requested that she be held. They believe she is a flight risk, and she has sufficiently confirmed their fears on that point.”
“But…” Hannah looked in serious danger of completely breaking down. “Why can’t you keep her here? Like, Durupinen house arrest. Isn’t that a thing?”
“No,” Catriona said. “I’m afraid that’s not ‘a thing.’ We have protocols, and we must follow them. Jessica will have her due process, but she has to follow the rules like everyone else.”
“Seriously? Due process? Are you even listening to yourself?” Milo raged. “Dragging someone out of their bed at two o’clock in the morning instead of just summoning them to your office during daylight hours? Locking her up in that… that hellhole with Necromancer scum? Does that seriously sound like due process to you? Are we supposed to believe that she’s being treated like an innocent person right now? Because I think we can conclusively say that’s bullshit.”
“Are you quite finished with your dramatic monologue, Spirit Guide Chang? Or would you like me to write you up for insubordination? They have cells that hold spirits in Skye Príosún, you know.”
Milo was sputtering incoherently. Seamus and Ambrose were so still and impassive on either side of me that it seemed they had turned to stone. Catriona’s face was set, even as Hannah broke down in a storm of crying. What else was there to say?
