The Harp and the Ravenvine

by Ted Sanders

  “I’m not sure I believe that part,” April said reflexively, even though everything else Isabel was saying had her transfixed. “They can really hijack any instrument that’s around?”

  “The instrument’s owner must be present, but yes—almost any instrument.”

  “Even harps. Even Miradel. That’s why you’re so afraid of them. She could do to you what you just did to her.”

  “Yes. That’s why they’re just as afraid of me as I am of them. When I battle an Auditor, it comes down to who’s faster.”

  April thought about that, and the speed with which the Auditor had spun and then collapsed. Isabel was fast, she had to give her that. But if an Auditor was only as dangerous as the most dangerous instrument around, an Auditor around Miradel was dangerous indeed.

  “The Auditor called you something strange,” said April. “Forsworn, I think. What does that mean?”

  Isabel pulled her oar quietly through the water. The canoe continued its slow slide across the lagoon. Far ahead, some white waterbird skimmed low and ghostly over the surface of the water. “It means they pity me,” Isabel said at last. “But I don’t need pity, least of all from the Riven. No more questions now. Keep paddling. Let’s get to where we need to go.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Hope for No Regret

  “WHAT KIND OF DIFFICULTIES?” GABRIEL ASKED.

  Mr. Meister stood in the parking lot, daktan in hand, watching it closely. “The Keeper is several miles away yet, still headed in our general direction. But the movement is slow. Far too slow for a vehicle—and even somewhat slow for walking. Worse, though, it seems the Keeper is wandering wildly, as if lost.” He raised a hand and wove it through the air. “It’s almost as if the daktan’s call were hard to hear.”

  Horace stayed silent, beginning to wonder if he’d somehow damaged the daktan by sending it through the box. Had he scrambled the signal? But just then Chloe climbed into the cab again, the Alvalaithen swinging in Horace’s face, and he remembered—the Alvalaithen had once gone traveling too, and afterward it had worked just fine.

  He set his doubts aside and tried to be logical. He considered the evidence: the Keeper’s meandering approach; moving forward at the pace of a slow walk; the current location somewhere vaguely to the northwest of where they were now. He summoned up what he knew about the area, and as soon as he did that, it all came together for him. “The river,” he said at once. “Bo Peep’s on a boat in the river.”

  “River?” said Chloe. “What river?”

  “The North Branch. It winds all around like crazy, especially up here. That explains the wandering. And the speed.”

  She looked at him blankly.

  “The Chicago River,” he clarified. “I swear, half the people in this city think the Chicago River ends after downtown. But the river comes in from the north, from way outside the city. Me and my dad go canoeing on the North Branch all the time. Lots of people do.”

  “That old red canoe in your yard?” Chloe said, her voice thick with disbelief. “You actually put that thing in water? And then you get in it?”

  Horace shrugged. “It floats.”

  “Yeah, so does a marshmallow. But you’re not going to see me—”

  “If you two are quite finished?” Mrs. Hapsteade said briskly, cutting Chloe off. She turned to Mr. Meister. “The river—that could explain it.”

  “I believe it does,” Mr. Meister said thoughtfully. “And if that’s where our Keeper truly is, perhaps we can find a secluded spot along the bank for our encounter.”

  “We definitely can,” Horace said. “All we have to do is stay on this road for another ten minutes or so, and we’ll practically hit the river. There’s a big stretch of parks and trails right there—woods and stuff on both banks.”

  Mr. Meister’s left eye shone like an owl’s eye, keen and almost predatory. “Show me,” he said thickly, and he and Mrs. Hapsteade scrambled back into the crowded cab.

  As Beck pulled out of the parking lot, growling slightly in an echo of the engine’s roar, Chloe nudged Horace. “So, canoeing. Wow.”

  “What, you’ve never been in a canoe?”

  “When I was little, yeah. But I didn’t know you were so outdoorsy.”

  “We own a canoe. We go camping all the time.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I look at stars for a hobby.”

  “True, but you also play marbles.”

  “Marbles is really supposed to be an outdoor sport, you know.”

  She snorted. “Sure. When I think of outdoor sports, I think of marbles right up there next to snowboarding and polo.”

  “I’m sorry, is there a reason you’re so feisty tonight?”

  Gabriel spoke without turning around. “She carries the daktan. I imagine it is not an easy task to stomach.”

  Chloe opened her mouth to fire back—about to say something juicy and cutting, judging by the look on her face—but then she closed it again. She crossed her arms and exhaled bullishly through her nose. Several seconds later, Horace was shocked to feel a dazzling and indescribable swell of energy creep slowly into his left foot, a universe of stupefying sensation. He caught his breath and held it.

  He knew at once what was happening, didn’t need to look over at Chloe to see that the dragonfly’s wings were whirring. She’d gone thin, and placed her own foot entirely inside his. He could feel her pulse, the electric signals in her muscles, even the curl of her toes. Past it all he could hear the faint, sweet music of the Alvalaithen, a humming, soaring chorus. But there was something else too, something fainter still. Something far more simple, and utterly sad, like a fish out of water gasping for breath, or the eyes of an abandoned child.

  The daktan.

  Horace tilted his head toward Chloe and felt her tilt back in return. “Just so you know how it feels,” she whispered, so low that only he could hear, and then she pulled her foot from his, leaving him empty with his thoughts. Mr. Meister gave them a pensive glance but didn’t comment.

  A few minutes later Mrs. Hapsteade spoke, startling Horace. “Tell us when, Keeper.”

  Horace looked around, trying to clear his head and find his bearings. “We’re getting close,” he said, and then he pointed to a road he recognized, running along a large uninterrupted patch of forest. “This is the way we usually go when we’re canoeing—there’s a landing somewhere over there in those trees. But I’m not really sure where the best spot for us would be. I’ve only really seen the whole woods from the water.”

  “Perhaps we can get a better lay of the land,” Mr. Meister said, leaning forward and looking meaningfully across at Neptune.

  “I’m on it,” she said, and began rolling down her window. A rush of cool night air poured in. And then, before Horace knew what was happening, Neptune started to hoist herself out the window. In a flash, she was outside, clinging to the side of the moving car, her free hand gripping her tourminda tight. Her cloak fluttered madly behind her.

  Horace tried not to stare. No doubt Neptune had done this before, and no doubt it was perfectly safe—probably—but this was like a movie stunt.

  “Why did no one tell me this is a thing that happens?” said Chloe. “Is this, like, what you guys do for fun on Wednesdays?”

  Neptune ducked her head and peeked in. “Go on into the park,” she said. The rushing wind tore at her voice. “I’ll be back down in a jiffy.” And with that she pushed off with her powerful legs, launching herself into the sky and cruising quickly out of sight.

  Horace and Chloe both leaned over, craning their necks to watch. “That is . . . kind of awesome,” Horace said, wondering how far the momentum of the car would carry her.

  “Hmm,” Chloe said skeptically. “I bet she gets bugs in her teeth.”

  Everyone looked at her, even Beck. “What?” she said innocently. “Professional hazards, right? We all have them.” She pointed at herself, Gabriel, and Horace in turn, reciting: “Scars and broken bones . . . pissing off all your friends . .
. possibly shredding the very fabric of space-time.” She shrugged and sank back into the seat. “All I’m saying is, maybe swallowing a few mosquitoes isn’t so bad.”

  The cab rolled on into the park. They passed an aquatic center, complete with a pool and twisting water slides, closed for the night. Beyond, an unlit parking lot was surrounded on all sides by dense woods. Somewhere in those trees, Horace knew, the North Branch of the Chicago River snaked by. If he was right, Little Bo Peep was somewhere upstream, following the call of the daktan that Chloe carried.

  If he was right.

  Beck slid into a spot at the far end of the darkened lot and shut down the car. Mr. Meister and Mrs. Hapsteade got out at once, and everyone but Beck followed—in fact, as Horace closed the door he could have sworn that the driver leaned back and drifted immediately to sleep, snoring softly.

  Once outside, Horace stretched his legs, his foot still tingling with the memory of Chloe’s flesh inside his own. Meanwhile, Mr. Meister led Chloe aside and had her take out the daktan again, quickly focusing all his attention due north. Horace tried to remember what he could from river maps that he and his father had printed out. It was practically impossible to memorize the meandering river’s exact path, but he did recall that it took a big swing out to the west and then back east again, snaking all around as it went. If Little Bo Peep really was following the river, and if she was due north right now, he figured she must be about four or five miles upstream.

  Horace tipped his head back and gazed into the clear sky above. The moon hadn’t risen yet into the night full of stars, and he could easily see Polaris almost directly over Mr. Meister’s head. He’d first learned to identify the North Star by tracing a line from the last two stars in the bowl of the Big Dipper, but now he could recognize it on sight. Meanwhile, off to the east, the Summer Triangle shone plainly—the bright stars Vega, Deneb, and Altair.

  Abruptly he became aware of Gabriel beside him. “Can you see Neptune?” the older Warden asked, as if he somehow knew Horace was looking at the stars.

  Horace laughed slightly. “The planet, or the person?” The planet Neptune couldn’t be seen with the naked eye, but most people didn’t know that.

  “Either,” Gabriel replied good-naturedly.

  Horace sighed and scanned the sky. “Neither,” he said, but no sooner had he spoken than there was a soft rustle overhead, and Neptune—the person, of course—dropped out of the darkness, slowing her fall with her cloak and alighting like a leaf right in front of them.

  “I found a spot,” Neptune said as the other Wardens quickly gathered around. She led them north out of the parking lot and onto a well-worn path. They followed it for a hundred yards or so and then broke off into the dark woods. Neptune and Mrs. Hapsteade took out their jithandras. The combined violet-black light cast a sinister, magical glow onto the dark trees and made long shadows bob and sway all around. Sticks and leaves snapped and rustled unnervingly underfoot.

  Horace glanced at Chloe and saw that her face was crumpled with worry and distaste. Part of this was the daktan, no doubt, but Horace suspected that some of it was the forest itself. Not everyone liked the wilderness, even a tiny slice of it like this one. He thought back to that first night he’d followed Chloe, before he even knew her name, and how she’d hidden from Dr. Jericho inside a tree. He hoped there’d be no need for that here tonight.

  At last, perhaps a quarter mile from the parking lot, they came to the river. The North Branch was a smallish river, only thirty or forty feet wide, trees crowding both its banks. Horace hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said the river wound around like crazy. Just here it bent severely, like the end of a paper clip. It flowed up from the south on their left and turned sharply to head back southward on their right, leaving them on a kind of peninsula. There was a good-sized clearing here, too, rocky dirt and patchy grass sloping gently down to a muddy bank. It was a good location for the coming encounter. Anyone—or anything—hoping to sneak up on them would need to come through the woods behind, or over the water ahead.

  “Just so,” Mr. Meister said, nodding approvingly. He turned to Neptune. “And now it is time we laid eyes on our approaching guest. You will find our Keeper somewhere directly to the north of us. Follow the river and see what you discover.”

  “Actually,” Horace said. “Don’t follow the river. Not only does the river wind, it bends way off course. Little Bo Peep might be several miles away by water, but if she really is due north, she’s probably only . . . I don’t know . . . two miles away, in a straight line?”

  “Understood,” Neptune said. “I’ll go as the crow flies, then.”

  “Excellent,” Mr. Meister said. “Come back as quickly as you can. Hitch a ride. And remember, Neptune—be cautious when approaching the Keeper. Despite my hunches, we still do not know what to expect.”

  Neptune nodded, then looked over at Gabriel.

  “Fear is the stone,” Gabriel said, as if he could see her. “May yours be light.”

  Neptune smiled. “It always is.” She pushed off easily from the ground and drifted into the branches of the tree overhead. High above she caught a limb, planted her feet against the trunk, and launched herself over the river and out of sight.

  Mr. Meister turned to Horace. “You know the river. What is the earliest the lost Keeper could possibly arrive?”

  “If she really is where we think she is, and if she stays on the river . . . definitely over an hour. Probably closer to two hours.”

  “My hope, of course, is that you will be able to witness the lost Keeper’s arrival through the Fel’Daera. Can you adjust the breach to ensure you do not miss it?”

  “I can try,” said Horace. “A bit over an hour should do it.”

  “Excellent. Please proceed, Keeper.”

  Everyone watched as Horace pulled the Fel’Daera from its pouch. Feeling a bit of stage fright suddenly, Horace focused on the task at hand. It was now 10:20, and he was reasonably sure Bo Peep couldn’t arrive any sooner than 11:40, an hour and twenty minutes from now. He would try to set the breach at a bit over an hour, just to be safe, even though he suspected Bo Peep wouldn’t show up until closer to midnight.

  Ignoring his audience—particularly Mr. Meister and his great left eye—Horace took hold of the silver sun with his thoughts. He found the valve and squeezed it closed slowly, turning down the flow. The gleaming silver rays began to go dark one by one as the breach shrank. Cautiously he kept clamping down. Once the breach sank below the hour and a half mark, he tried to pin the valve in place, stabilizing the flow. Nothing happened. The breach threatened to reopen again. He remained calm and tried again, pressing much harder. At last the breach settled.

  Horace examined the single silver ray that still glowed. “An hour,” he said. “Almost exactly.” That would work fine. He’d just have to keep checking the box during the next forty minutes or so, especially as it got closer to eleven. He squinted at the ray again, another new kind of time sense suddenly shimmering to life inside him. He could tell exactly how full the silver sun was, the same way he always knew the time. “Actually, to be exact, fifty-nine minutes,” he said.

  “Excellent,” said Mr. Meister. “Very well done. And now?”

  Right. The job was only half finished. Quickly Horace oriented himself mentally to the moment, to this uncertain game of tracking and baiting and waiting, to everyone’s roles so far, and also—as best he could—to the Keeper who was out there somewhere following the call of the daktan. It was 10:21. He was positive Little Bo Peep could not possibly arrive within the next fifty-nine minutes . . . but being absolutely positive was a bad idea when using the Fel’Daera.

  He twisted the lid open easily. He blinked at what he saw. Through the Fel’Daera’s blue glass, the river itself looked astonishing—a ribbon of shivering static, both grainy and textureless at once, a fine and crackling misty road. Horace just watched it for a while. He’d never seen anything like this before—but then, he’d never looked at flowin
g water through the box before. He reasoned that the static was due to the chaotic turbulence of the water’s surface. On the one hand, you had millions of tiny ripples, all connected, whose precise futures were probably impossible to predict. But on the other hand you had the river itself, the whole body of it steady and reliable and constant. Add to that the knife-sharp clarity of the narrow breach, and Horace could hardly—

  “See anything?” said Mr. Meister patiently.

  “Oh. Sorry.” Horace tore his attention away from the spectacle and scanned the bank. There, he saw—Chloe and himself, sitting side by side; Gabriel standing a ways off with Mr. Meister and Mrs. Hapsteade. They were clearly waiting. Horace spun in a full circle and didn’t see Neptune, but that was to be expected. She was probably high above, keeping watch.

  Horace briefly considered trying to widen the breach a little, to push the dial of the silver sun forward in time, but he wasn’t confident he could maintain control. Opening the breach was still difficult for him, and the last thing he wanted was to slip forward to a full day. No, he’d leave it at fifty-nine minutes and keep checking.

  “We’re here. We’re waiting. Everything looks fine.” He closed the box. “My guess is she’ll be here around midnight, give or take ten minutes. Once it gets closer to eleven, that’s when I’ll really have to keep watch.”

  “Just so,” said Mr. Meister. “We wait.”

  “So the plan is to wait?” Chloe asked skeptically.

  “When one has the Fel’Daera, one does not make plans,” Mr. Meister said.

  “Okay, but . . . does one at least decide what one will do if this whole thing turns out to be a trap?”

  Mr. Meister sighed. “If it is a trap, Horace will see it long before the trap is sprung. Have faith in your friends, Chloe. Time is on our side.” He turned and wandered off with Mrs. Hapsteade, the two of them talking quietly and disappearing among the trees.