The Odin Inheritance (The Pessarine Chronicles Book 1)

by Victoria L. Scott

  Cora picked up the book and tutted at the title. “Aristotle is hardly appropriate for someone in your current frame of mind,” she chastized, then sniffed. “He’s better in Ancient Greek, anyway.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for it,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “Never was any good at languages, and the only ‘frame of mind’ I seem to possess is a broken one.”

  Cora shook her head and deposited Aristotle on my desk. “Since the professors know you’re not able to meet them for lessons, you shouldn’t try reading anything until you’re better. It isn’t like they’re assigning you homework while you’re ill.”

  “At this rate, it’ll be a month before I can get back to my usual level of comprehension,” I moaned.

  “My goodness... aren’t you the glum one. Would you like to go outside?” Cora asked. She walked to the window on the other side of the bookcase, moved aside the curtain, and peered out. “If we bundle you up and you promise not to wander off, you’d have a chance to enjoy the sun for a bit. We’ll sit in the garden. I could look over my Cicero and keep you company.”

  “Gildersleeve would never allow it,” I muttered glumly, twirling the end of my braid in my fingers. “You’d have to spirit me up the chimney or out a window.”

  “Hmmmm,” Cora said, thinking fiercely. “Getting you out the window would require construction of a winch or something else tiresomely mechanical. Do you think if I got a message to your aeronaut friends, they’d be able to fly you out of here?”

  I stared at her in amazement. “I know I’m the one with the concussion, but did you really just suggest spiriting me away by way of the Bosch right under the nose of Guard-Dog Guilders?”

  Cora smiled brightly. “I know you travel in that infernal flying machine at least once a month, and it’s been easy enough to keep Guard Dog in the dark about it all this time. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Let me see who’s around. I bet we of Towson House could keep Gilders busy while we sneak you out the back. We’ll keep the Bosch idea as the back-up plan.”

  My mood lifted. If there was anyone who could get me into the garden, it was Cora. She’d employed her tactical mind to keep me guarded against Laufeson following his attack, after all, and I was grateful for her help then and now.

  “Cora,” I said, “I’d love to get out of this room, and if you could do that—“

  “Say no more,” she said, moving back to the bed and patting me on the arm. “I’ll find some co-conspirators. Sit tight. We’ll have you sitting in the sun in no time.”

  ****

  The next thing I knew, I’d been placed in a wheeled laundry bin, covered with sheets and towels, bumped down a staircase and propelled into the garden. Cora retrieved me from the laundry and helped me into one of two wrought iron chairs beside a small matching table in a sunny corner. It was a location conveniently hidden from Towson House windows and Mrs. Gildersleeve, surrounded by three elder trees and a weeping willow, all of them only starting to leaf out, their foliage peeping forth with tender, yellow-green shoots. Birds chirped in the trees. Daffodils, tulips, and hyacinths turned their blooms up at us from their beds under the trees, and the scent of the hyacinths filled the air. The grass at my feet was bright new-green, and everything about the spot Cora had chosen was pleasant and tranquil. She tutted at my still being in my nightgown and, therefore, made sure she wrapped me up in my wool blanket appropriately so none of the nightgown showed. She patted me on the head as if I were a cocker spaniel, took the seat beside me and promptly immersed herself in her Cicero text.

  I took in the fresh air, revelled in the sunlight, and rejoiced to be out of bed in a muddled, fuzzy-brained way. Even though I had been carried to the place I now occupied, I was still immensely tired, mostly because I still couldn’t keep anything but water down. I watched a raven circle overhead, enjoing the smooth, effortless loops the dark bird made. It must have seen me watching it because it flew down and took up a perch on one of the branches of the willow tree. It turned its head to look at me, and the two of us took the measure of each other in companionable silence. The raven’s black feathers had a blue sheen in the sunlight, and he had a speculative, intelligent look in his eyes. I wondered, idly, what he thought of me, bandaged, brain-addled, weak as a baby and wrapped in a blanket as I was.

  The raven must have found me acceptable company. He made a low grumble in his throat and turned his attention to preening himself, the picture of relaxed contentment.

  I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but oddly, sleep wouldn’t come. My mind felt clearer in the sun-lit garden than it had since the night I’d been hurt. It must have been the fresh air. With no book to read and nothing particular to do, I again started to ponder what I remembered of the events on the road into Cambridge. I’d been trying to puzzle it out, but I kept losing bits and pieces of my recollections as time passed. That worried me. If I couldn’t keep something as simple as a walk home straight in my mind, what hope was there I’d heal well enough to pass the Tripos in June?

  My head twinged in pain, and I felt my stomach rumble in warning. I started with logical conclusions, as I’d been doing in fits and spurts since I’d been confined to bed. Right, I said to myself, obviously, some of what Lizzie told me of the events was true, since I certainly feel the pain of the wound and have the symptoms of a concussion.

  I’d also seen the gash on my head. It was an angry red cut about half an inch long above my left eye, stitched with black thread, purpled with bruises around the edges that expanded out to the size of a crysanthemum blossom. The eye below the gash was impressively blackened and bruised though that was fading slowly to a sickly greenish-yellow as time passed. Right now, my eye was purple-blue in the middle and green-ish yellow at the edges.

  I refused to believe that my memories differed from Lizzie’s due to the delusions of an injured brain. More had happened that night than my being clumsy. As if in response to my thoughts my headache increased, but I ignored it.

  I reviewed what I remembered that differed from Lizzie’s account. I had seen Oberlin, who’d threatened me, I was sure. Lizzie didn’t seem to recall him at all. And, progessing further through the events of that night, I tried to recall what else had happened. What were the strange foreign words Andrew had spoken? I had to know and I was sure they were important.

  “Ari, you’re looking paler. Is everything all right?”

  “Here you are!” exclaimed a male voice behind us. The accent was American, and I recognized Andrew’s distinctive baritone. “That Gildersleeve woman is looking for you ladies,” he said, walking carefully through two elder trees to join us. He was more casually dressed than when I had last seen him, wearing dark blue trousers, boots, a brown shirt with a matching paisley vest, and a long leather overcoat. “I managed to put her off the scent, at least for a bit.”

  “Oh? How did you do that?” Cora asked, clearly intrigued. She shot me a worried look Andrew didn’t see. Apparently she thought I was not at all well. Since the world continued its slow barrel roll so far as my senses were concerned, perhaps she was right.

  “I let her think she chased me off from visiting a certain concussed Mathematics student,” Andrew continued.

  He’s come to visit me? I marvelled. Having something else to occupy my thoughts made my discomfort fade, which was a relief. I was tired to my soul with feeling sick to my stomach.

  Then I realized with a shock I still wore only my nightgown and my blue wool blanket, and I felt my cheeks warm as I blushed. I didn’t even have my robe on, my hair was down, and my feet were bare. How could I excuse myself from the garden to the house without his seeing my lack of proper clothing? I wasn’t even sure I could walk a straight line.

  I attempted to divine possible routes out of the embarrassing situation, but my mind just wasn’t up to the task. I determined there was nothing I could do and winced. If my mother knew I was out of doors talking with a male who wasn’t a relative while in my night clothes, she’d have
my head on a stick, or worse. I curled up in a ball and pulled the blanket in closer about me, even covering up my head. Maybe if I made myself as small and as hidden as possible?

  Andrew bowed slightly to us. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Trevelyan,” he said with a dashing smile. He turned his attention back to Cora. “I’m afraid I’ve not made your acquaintance, Miss—“

  Cora shut her book, stood up and shook Andrew’s hand. “Cora Allerton, at your service,” she said, matching his smile with her own. “You must be Ari’s American savior, famous for helping to get her home? Very dashing, I must say. Thank you for taking care of her,” she looked at me, cowering in my blanket and rolled her eyes, “since we at Towson House would hate to do without her... even with her somewhat... odd habits when we have guests.”

  Andrew bowed again over their clasped hands before he released the handshake. “Don’t discount Lizzie’s efforts, Miss Allerton,” he said. “She found the cabbie and was instrumental in the success of the rescue.”

  Cora waved that off. “Yes, we know, and we thanked Lizzie too, of course. I just don’t know your name, sir.”

  “Oh! I’m sorry. Andrew Michaelson, native of Texas at your service, ma’am,” he said. “Very pleased to make your acquaintance.” He indicated my crumpled, embarrassed form. “How goes it?” he asked. “Max has made a number of early morning visits to see Millie but hasn’t been able to get a satisfying amount information on the patient. Her other Bosch friends wanted to come by, but since they work during the day, they asked me to come as their representative. What can you report about Miss Trevelyan I can pass on to the others, Miss Allerton?”

  “She is a bit befuddled, somewhat bruised, and not able to hold her breakfast,” came Cora’s matter-of-fact response.

  I couldn’t believe what she felt free to tell this fellow I barely knew.

  “I am quite capable of speaking for myself, Cora,” I said, flustered. I pulled the blanket from my head. “Good heavens. I hardly think the disposition of my breakfast is Mr. Michaelson’s concern.”

  Andrew’s smile grew more bright. “Ah, feeling better, I see,” he laughed. “And feisty besides! I’m glad.”

  “Feisty indeed,” Cora scoffed. “She had her hands on some Aristotle earlier, contrary to doctor’s orders. For her own health, we had to get her out here.”

  Andrew looked around and nodded his approval of our warm spring weather refuge, taking in the trees, flowers, and the raven. “A nice spot you have here, Miss Allerton. Even yon raven approves your choice. I commend your strategy of hiding in plain sight. Very bold.”

  Cora made a quick curtsey of acknowledgement of the compliment. “I have sentries posted,” she said. “You got through our perimeter precisely because Mrs. Gildersleeve doesn’t like you much - ”

  “Cora—“ I said, a low rumble of caution in my voice.

  “—and wouldn’t let you visit Ari,” she continued breezily. She scanned the garden like Caesar sizing up the site of a battle. “Do you mind keeping the invalid company? She’s somewhat better, but still very weak, and I don’t want her left alone. I’ve got to do a reconaissance with my auxilliary troops. I’d feel much better if you stayed here while I do so.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but Andrew beat me to it.

  “I’d be happy to oblige,” he said.

  Cora smiled, put her book on the table, and left us to check her security measures. I had the distinct feeling she’d be gone for quite some time. Why is everyone so keen to throw me into the company of this American?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “I am not an invalid,” I clarified, once we were alone.

  The expression on Andrew’s face turned serious. “No, I suppose you aren’t though you do look the part.” He indicated the seat Cora had vacated. “May I join you, Miss Trevelyan?”

  I nodded, and he sat down. “I’m sorry you continue to feel unwell,” he said. He looked worried. “You’re very pale.”

  “I haven’t had an opportunity to thank you for helping me when I had my... accident,” I said, finding a brief refuge from my mortification in the mechanics of polite discourse.

  He chuckled. “I could hardly have left you there,” he pointed out.

  “Nevertheless, I am thankful you assisted me.” I frowned. “It seems I needed a protector after all.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “Is there some way I could help you now? A particular food I could bring? Tea perhaps? You need to gain your strength back, particularly with all the blood you lost.”

  “I quite agree,” I said with some asperity, “but my stomach remains unconvinced, and it has the final say in gustatory matters.” I sighed, recalling the tedium of my bedroom. “It’s only very bad when I try to recall what happened on the road, which is really all I have to occupy my mind.”

  Andrew sat up very straight in the chair. “What have you been able to recall? The tumble into the wheelbarrow?”

  “Hardly.” My head twinged. “What I remember is different from what Lizzie remembers, which confounds me. Bits are simply missing. I know what I experienced, and I know what Lizzie told me as if I experienced it, but I know her version isn’t the right one. Lizzie seems firmly convinced those men were just workmen, while I remember them as being distinctly different. Those men meant us harm, and I’d known one of them. How can I have two memories of the same event? I’ve been wracking my brain about it, which invariably leads to nausea and... well, I suppose you can imagine the rest.”

  Andrew nodded gravely but sat back into the chair, rubbing his forehead. He looked overly concerned about me for someone who was only an acquaintance. “I certainly can,” he said. “Two sets of memories would be very confusing indeed.” He leaned forward and looked me in the eye. His gaze drew me in.

  “Miss Trevelyan, this is very important. You need to let your recollections of that night go until you’re feeling better,” he said as if he had some sort of claim over the workings of my mind. “Head injuries are tricky.”

  I shook my head, annoyed that he felt he could tell me what to think, of all things. “I beg your pardon,” I said, my tone affronted. “I’ll think what I like.”

  Surprise flitted across his face, followed by a sort of resignation. “Clearly,” he said dryly.

  “Since I’m not allowed to read anything– “ I continued.

  “Not allowed to read?” he asked, shocked. “Why? With your Tripos exams coming up, you need to study. That’s why I brought your books back.”

  “Yes. Mrs. Guildersleeve took the doctor’s instructions that I do nothing ‘mentally strenuous’ quite to heart, and she hid my bookbag away somewhere. I’ve not been able to study.” I pulled the edges of the blanket in and tried to get smaller within the wool cocoon. “It wouldn’t matter if I did have the books. I try to read, and the letters on the page become word soup. I can’t concentrate long enough to read one equation, much less study for the Tripos.”

  Andrew looked troubled. He reached into his shirt and clasped that pendant, or was it a crucifix? I remembered from when we’d walked back from the Club together. I had a sudden vivid memory of his speaking odd words I hadn’t understood. In my mind’s eye, I saw cobbles wreathed in blue symbols fly from my hands and strike—

  “What was Dr. Oberlin doing with those men?” I asked, and instantly regretted it. My mind exploded with fire and pain. I brought my hands to my head and squeezed, trying to keep my brains in my skull, bringing my head to my knees and gasping.

  The next thing I knew I was on the ground in a tangle of blanket and nightgown, Andrew’s handsome blue-eyed face swimming before my watering eyes, the world spinning slowly around us. His gold pendant hung from his neck between us though I couldn’t make out what it was, I could see it wasn’t a crucifix. The neck of his shirt was open, and I saw odd gold tracery running up and around his upper chest. It looked to be a part of him. Confusion and fear gripped my heart. The gold metal curves I saw reminded me of the thin ring of Soph
ie’s artificial arm.

  On the ground beside me I also saw the raven, his black beak and head a part of the slowly whirling kaleidescope of spring landscape. Pain was the only sensation that kept me conscious, and I held on to it like a raft in a swirling storm at sea.

  Andrew took my right hand in his and gripped it tightly. He closed his eyes for a moment.

  “Stop,” he whispered, and in an instant, the world righted itself. The pain left me as if Andrew had removed the source of discomfort by pulling it directly out of my mind. Is that an ability that goes along with the gold tracery on Andrew’s chest? I wondered. I felt my thoughts settle, and in a rush all my memories of the encounter on the road took their proper places. I re-lived what had happened. Oberlin had been there with four very odd men. They’d threatened to hurt me. Lizzie, Andrew and I used shovels to protect ourselves until Andrew said those foreign words and that paternal presence that had overtaken me. I made cobblestones fly through the air as weapons, and then I’d been struck in the head myself. I felt bone break under the blow. Had my skull been cracked? What the bloody Hell had happened to me?

  I thought my headache had been prodigious, I heard Andrew say, but his lips didn’t move. He inspected me for exterior damage and gently moved a red curl off my forehead. They warned me. I should have listened. At least the sleep she’ll have after this will be the recuperative kind.

  I realized I heard the words inside my mind. My heart sped up in surprise. I felt panic grow, but I squashed it before it overtook me. I was tired of being frightened, blast it, and decided to try an experiment. Two could play at this game. Using my thoughts, I turned my attention to his mind. I wanted to know who Andrew was. I wanted to know what had taken me over on the road.

  My mind filled with images and snippets of information. I saw the moon, a one-eyed man in grey and had the sense of great age and power. Andrew’s fear tinged everything: fear for me, primarily, but also for the world. A picture of a huge tree and a bloody child hanging within its branches crossed my thoughts, fading into a small table covered with a child’s tea set. My Bow-Bow sat in one of the chairs, his worn, jaunty smile peeking over the tabletop as toy teacups held in disembodied hands moved back and forth across the table.