Or he would, Lili thought drearily, if he hasn’t washed his hands of me entirely by now.
She found her mentor waiting for her at the house, in the sunny front parlor. There must have been something in the way that she walked, some sign of discouragement. “We are no closer today to finding the Jewel?” Sir Bastian asked.
Lili shook her head. “Several times I have seemed to be so close, I could actually sense the tiny machinery—the little gears and wheels moving, the magnetic lines of force—but the sensation always faded.”
She sat down in a massive oak chair, gave a weary little sigh. “Yesterday, just at nightfall, it was stronger than ever. I was sure I had found the place where the Chaos Machine was hidden: a little basement shop where they sell pins and ribbons. But when I went back this morning, when I found a pretext to go inside, there was only a sense of—emptiness—a sense of loss. But how can you lose something you never had?”
Sir Bastian considered her words very carefully. “Had you felt that emptiness, that loss, before?”
“Never. It was very odd. I went up and down the street, but the feeling I had last night never returned. I think—I think that the Jewel was moved during the night. I believe it is no longer here in the town.”
“And where do you think it has gone?”
Lili put a hand to her head. “North. I can’t say why, but I feel a pull to the north.”
Sir Bastian reached into his waistcoat pocket, pulled out a length of fine silver chain. At the end of the chain was a tiny pendulum shaped like a scythe. Wrapping several inches of chain around his fist, he held the pendulum suspended about eighteen inches from his body and closed his eyes, the better to concentrate.
For several minutes, nothing happened, then the silver scythe began to move: first slowly, then with increasing motion, until it was swinging violently from side to side. The hand that held the chain began to tremble and then to twitch, and a strong vibration seemed to pass up the entire arm.
Sir Bastian opened his eyes. “There is certainly a strong disruption in the magnetic currents to the north.” When he gathered up the chain and the pendulum into his fist, the vibration in his hand and arm abruptly ceased. “How quickly can you pack up your things?”
Lili took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I never really unpacked. Except for a few small items and the clothes on my back, everything remains in my trunk. I can be ready to travel in a matter of minutes.”
“It will take longer than that to prepare the coach and hitch up the horses,” said the old gentleman, sliding the pendulum back into his pocket. “And my dear child, you look exhausted and hungry. I will instruct the cook to pack us a basket—a complete cold supper we can eat in the coach. There is no telling when or where we will be stopping next.”
Three-quarters of an hour later they were in the berlin, rattling through the city streets. As tired as she was, Lili felt a surge of elation. It was something to be moving again, to have a sense of purpose, after the last two discouraging weeks.
They reached the river, where the driver negotiated with one of the ferrymen to carry the berlin across. A bargain was struck, the horses were led on board, and the flat-bottomed boat cast off. Sitting on the seat opposite Sir Bastian, with the copper-and-crystal divining rod in her hand, Lili felt certain it would not take very long to overtake the Chaos Machine now that it was moving, now that the magnetic disruption was so very strong.
But on dry land again, a mile beyond Chalkford, she was suddenly overcome by a wave of sickness. Her stomach lurched, her pulses pounded. A cold hand seemed to take a hold of her heart and squeeze and squeeze until she was dizzy with the pain. Bringing all of her healer’s training to the task, she tried to overcome it. But the sickness did not go away. With every yard that the coach travelled, her physical distress grew more and more intense. Finally, Lili could bear it no longer.
“Sir Bastian, we have to go back. We have to go back to Fermouline at once.”
The old gentleman gave her a startled glance. “You are pale, my dear, and you appear agitated. What has happened? Has the Jewel returned to the city?”
Lili shook her head, swallowed hard to keep down the rising nausea. “No, no, the Chaos Machine is still moving north. But we have to go—we have to turn back anyway. I can’t tell you why I know this, but I think that Wilrowan is dying!”
38
Will sat in the taproom at the Cinque d’Or, staring into a tankard of bitter ale. The room was dim and the ceiling low; a pall of smoke hung heavy on the air. Somewhere, a door opened. Candles flickered in the sudden draft and boot-heels clattered on the scarred plank floor. But Wilrowan remained oblivious to his surroundings. Ever since the night before, when the woman had eluded him, he had been cudgeling his brain, trying to come up with some scheme for discovering her whereabouts. She would be on her guard now, unlikely to return to that part of the town where he had seen her before, yet there must be some way of smoking her out—
Will took another drink of the thick, muddy brew. It was probably the worst he had ever tasted—the specialty of the house, he was told, a concoction known as Cock Ale, made by boiling a rooster in ale and spices—but the water at the inn was even worse and the cider nearly as bad.
He finished his dinner and drained his tankard, then went upstairs to his room. He studied the map on the wall for several minutes, planning in his mind a series of movements meant to take him through most of the town in a matter of hours. As he was turning away, his vision blurred; he experienced what felt like a sudden hard blow to his chest. The pain was as sickening as it was intense.
Will reached out blindly for the wall, meaning to steady himself, but he could not find it. As he took an uncertain step forward, he nearly doubled over with another pain. He felt himself toppling, then hitting the floor. His head struck the wall with a loud crack. After that, there was nothing but darkness.
Eighty miles away, at Brakeburn Hall, a very fine coach was just rolling down the long drive between the oaks. The owner of that coach was obviously one who liked to travel in style: nine outriders kept pace, a pair of footmen went sprinting ahead, and two large mastiffs trotted briskly behind. When the coach stopped at the foot of the stone staircase leading up to the house, there was increased activity on the part of this retinue. The horsemen dismounted and lined up smartly along the avenue. The coach door opened, a panting footman moved forward to let down a pair of steps and assist the occupant as she alighted. Meanwhile, the two dogs bounded up to the top of the stairs, where they stationed themselves on either side of the massive front door.
Inside the house, Miss Allora Brakeburn was sitting in the morning room, knotting a fringe, when a dazed-looking lackey came in to announce Lady Krogan. Wondering at this unexpected visit, Allora put her work hastily aside and rose to her feet, just as a stately figure trailing shawls, scarves, and veils swept into the room, followed by the two golden mastiffs.
“How do you do, Miss Brakeburn,” said the dowager. Though she moved with great energy as she crossed the room, it could be seen that she leaned heavily on a silver-handled cane. “I hope that I do not intrude.”
“Not at all,” said Allora, dropping a perfunctory curtsy, at the same time she was taking the other woman’s measure. These two formidable old ladies had never met, though each knew the other by reputation. Allora—who seldom felt her lack of inches—was somewhat taken aback. She had not, after all, suspected Will of such a tall and imposing grandmother. “Though I cannot help wondering what could possibly bring you here.”
“Your great-niece and my Wilrowan,” said Lady Krogan, shedding several layers of sable draperies as she spoke.
Allora frowned. A forthright woman herself, she was not always pleased when others were equally direct with her. She motioned her visitor to take a seat, and the dowager lowered herself carefully into a wing-backed chair, while the two leonine mastiffs settled down on the polished floor at her feet. “I wish to effect a reconciliation between those two chi
ldren, and I believe you may be of some little assistance.”
Allora gave a short, incredulous laugh. “A reconciliation between your Will and my Lilliana?” She resumed her own seat with a small indignant bounce. “No, Lady Krogan, I cannot and will not assist you there. I am sorry to say so, but your grandson’s unpardonable conduct on every occasion—”
The dowager stopped her by the simple expedient of talking over her. “It is not of Wilrowan’s conduct that I wish to speak; you can tell me nothing that I do not know. Where Lili is concerned, however, I must admit that I was regrettably ignorant—until quite recently, when I made it my business to make certain inquiries. What I learned then surprised me very much.”
Allora gave a tiny, outraged gasp. “If you believe that you have uncovered any scandal, you are very much mis—”
“No scandal,” said Lady Krogan, cutting her off again, this time with an imperious wave of one white hand. “Though much that you obviously wish to keep hidden. To be brief, Miss Brakeburn, I find that you have been training Lilliana as a Specularii magician.”
Allora stiffened. There was a long pause, while she struggled to regain her poise. “I don’t know what you can possibly mean. Perhaps you will inform me: just what is a Specularii magician, and why should I wish to train Lili to become one?”
The dowager shook her head. “Come, come, let us at least be honest with one another. You do yourself no good by pretending ignorance. We are both too old and too experienced to be fooled by such puerile tactics. Could someone like yourself—with such a very wide acquaintance in esoteric circles—really know nothing of the Specularii? Indeed, your evasions only convince me that my sources do not lie.”
Allora did not answer. She only sat very upright in her chair, maintaining a stubborn silence. There was nothing that she could say. All she could do was try to school her expression to perfect indifference as Lady Krogan went on.
“It is plain enough that Will and Lili left Mountfalcon for the same purpose. Would they not stand a very much greater chance of succeeding, if they worked together instead of apart?”
Allora thrust out her chin. “Where Lili has gone, what she is doing, has nothing to do with Wilrowan. But even if it did, it would not matter. Where Lili is at this precise moment, I do not know, and I have no way of finding it out. That is to say,” she added, with a tight little smile, “supposing I wished to influence her on your grandson’s behalf—which I certainly do not!”
The dowager regarded her scornfully. “Well, you are a foolish, prejudiced old woman after all. It is too bad. I had expected more of Lili’s aunt.” As she rose slowly from her chair, the dogs growled deep in their chests and lumbered to their feet. “You might have made my task considerably easier, but as you will not—it hardly matters.”
Gathering up her trailing vestments, she moved toward the door, though she stopped on the threshold for a final word. “Lilliana is no longer a child. When she and Wilrowan return, you should treat their marriage with more respect, allow your niece to lead her own life without interference. Otherwise, I warn you: you may very well lose her, and you will have no one but yourself to blame.”
Rather than return to Eaudaimanté, Lady Krogan instructed her coachman to take the western road. She allowed one of the footmen to assist her into the coach, made herself as comfortable as possible, then whistled to one of the mastiffs. The big golden dog entered the coach in a single bound, and settled down with his head propped on the dowager’s feet.
She groaned inwardly as the coach began to move. Though the vehicle was well sprung and its seats padded, she was growing too old for these long journeys. She had already found this trip a punishing one, and feared she would scarcely be able to move by the time she reached Hawkesbridge. Yet a visit to the Volary suddenly seemed imperative.
Three days later, after a difficult and fatiguing journey, she arrived at the house she maintained in the city, and went directly upstairs to her bedchamber. Dismissing the maid-servant who helped her to remove her shoes and loosen her stays, she lay back against the horsehair bolster with a deep sigh.
The bed was soft, the room was dark, but try as she might to fall asleep, her keen mind continued to work. At last she abandoned all efforts to rest, rose from her bed, and hobbled around the dim bedchamber, leaning heavily on her stick.
She had not really expected much in the way of cooperation from Allora Brakeburn; what she had principally meant to accomplish was to trick Lili’s aunt into confirming what had really only been guesses about Lili, the Specularii, and the quest for some mysterious missing object—the true nature of which the dowager’s spies had been unable to discover. In this, at least, she felt she had succeeded very well. If Allora said nothing to confirm Lady Krogan’s suspicions, the expression on her face, even her silence on some points, had been eloquent enough.
“But perhaps I will learn more when I visit King Rodaric,” she mused out loud. “I must see how much I can convince him to tell me. Then, of course, there is young Trefallon—who is likely to know considerably more than he actually realizes. In the meantime, if Miss Brakeburn will not send word to Lilliana, I must find a way to communicate with Wilrowan.”
Lady Krogan stopped pacing; she stood staring blindly before her, seeing another place, another time, in her mind’s eye. Almost three years had passed since she handed the Maglore ring on to her grandson, yet she had possessed the ring for so many years before that, she thought that some lingering traces of her long rapport with the ravens might still remain. “It is at least worth trying.”
Crossing to her bedroom window, she drew back the heavy draperies of grey tabby silk and threw open the shutters. A brilliant beam of sunlight came into the room, causing the old woman to throw up a hand to shield her eyes. Gradually, her vision adjusted, and she was able to face the light.
With an immense effort, she pulled a heavy chair over to the window, and lowered herself to the seat. She waited a moment for the ache in her bones to subside. Then she sent out her thoughts across the city—hoping that one or more of the great black birds would hear and respond.
She sat by the window for what seemed like hours, straight-backed, determined, refusing to accept defeat. The ravens would come, if her will was strong enough, if she kept her mind focused on her pressing desire.
At last there was a flutter of wings outside; a raven landed on the window-sill. A moment later, another bird joined him. Faint and seemingly far-off, the first raven’s greeting was like a broken whisper in her mind.
Lady Krogan concentrated as hard as she could.
So the old woman gave her message, repeating it three times over, in the hope that in this way it might all be received—if not intact at least in intelligible fragments.
“No,” said Lady Krogan out loud at the same time she spoke the words in her mind. “There is no need for you to bring me any reply. Only make certain that Wilrowan learns this valuable piece of information. It could spare him much worry and grief.”
Will had been wandering in darkness for an hour or an eternity when he heard someone speaking inside his head.
He did as he was told. Gradually, the inky blackness turned to grey, and then to a golden glow of candlelight. A pale face was hovering over him, slightly blurred. Then his vision cleared and he recognized Lili.
“Thank goodness, he has come back!” She spoke over her shoulder, to somebody standing in the shadows by the door. “No, Will, you mustn’t try to speak or move. Just lie there quietly.”
“I must be dreaming,” he managed to say. “You can’t possibly be here. Lili, I—”
“Hush, Will. Be still and don’t tire yourself by trying to speak. Someone poisoned you; if I had arrived even a few minutes later, you would have died. As it was, it was a very near thing.”
“Poisoned?” Will tried to sit up, to lever himself up on his elbows, but the room began to spin, all the strength went out of his arms, and he fell back again. He tried to remember where he was, what he had been doing, but the events of the last several days all jumbled together in his mind. In his confusion, he forgot to whom he was speaking, imagined he was speaking to Nick Brakeburn instead. “Was it the woman or was it the Wryneck?”
There was a brief hesitation. “The—woman, Wilrowan? And I don’t understand what you mean about the Wryneck.”
“The one in Chetterly. Dash it, Nick, I must have told you—you say I was poisoned? Eternal Darkness! Don’t ever tell my grandmother I was such a fool. If she knew I had allowed myself to drink something I shouldn’t, she would never let me hear the end of it.”
“Will,” said Lili, with a slight tremor in her voice, “it very nearly was the end—for you. Now do as I say, close your eyes, and rest for a while. There will be time for explanations later.”
Will nodded. For some reason, he suddenly felt enormously sleepy, weary beyond all measure.
The moment he closed his eyes, a wave of sleep seemed to wash over him. He barely heard the sound of retreating footsteps, or the soft click of a closing door.
Out in the berlin again, Lili confronted Sir Bastian. “The Wryneck, sir? I knew there was a Grant killed when Will was in Chetterly. But I never heard there was a Wryneck involved in the plot—or a woman, either!”
The Queen's Necklace Page 41
