The foyer’s deserted. Winifred bolts the door the moment we step inside. The place is a mess. Tapestries hang askew on the cracked walls. The domed ceiling looks perilously close to collapsing. Some of the enormous stained-glass windows have shattered.
‘This way,’ she says.
Our footsteps echo through the cavernous space. My hands are shaking. I feel numb. I’m covered in blood, sweat and vegetable gunk, and the invisible thread’s trailing behind me through the dust, untethered now, disconnected from Dad.
He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone.
Why am I even following this woman? Isn’t this all her fault?
Maybe I’m in shock. I’m definitely in shock. Hell, I’m not even supposed to be in here. I’m not allowed. I swear the larger-than-life-sized statues lining the walls are glaring down at me. Sayuri Hara. Atticus Khan. K.B. Gray. Finn Pigeon. They look like ancient guards. Sentinels bearing weapons, compasses, globes and books. These are the Great Adventurers. The people whose exploits through the Manor have become the stuff of legend.
The statue in the centre of the foyer’s the largest of all. That Dawes guy everyone loses their nut over around here. There are all sorts of impressive words people use to describe him. Imposing. Fierce. Ferocious. All I see is a ponytailed fool in a loincloth. The plaque at the base of the statue says he entered the Manor over two thousand years ago.
Apparently, he was the first to step inside. And he never returned.
Dad’s gone. He’s in danger. Go get him.
‘We are going down,’ Winifred says, heading towards a spiral staircase in the far corner. ‘Like you, I have grown accustomed to underground living.’
So down we go, twisting deeper and deeper under the museum. Getting further and further away from Dad, step by step.
At the bottom of the stairs, Winifred opens a hefty wooden door. ‘Welcome to the Great Library. Or perhaps I should say, welcome back …’
The library’s enormous, lit by hundreds of oil lamps hanging from the walls, lined with rows of stone columns and seemingly never-ending shelves. The same shelves from my baby photo. It looks like an underground city, and smells of dust and old parchment.
‘This way, if you please …’
Winifred plucks a lamp from its bracket, sets off down one of the aisles. I catch a few titles on the shelves as we go. Isobel Harper and the Tomb of the Serpent King. Hughlance Boone and the Glacial Blade. Jack Lee and the Darkling Light. There are thousands more in this aisle alone. The Bluehaven Chronicles. Some look well preserved. Others have cracked leather bindings and faded, flaky lettering. It’s impressive. All of it. Even I can’t deny it.
‘There are so many.’
Winifred nods. ‘One book for every adventure undertaken through the Manor, written by the heroes themselves upon their return.’
We head through an archway, down a staircase, along a stone-walled corridor and into a warm, cosy study – the same study from Dad’s photo. There’s the crackling fireplace, the desk littered with parchment, the massive cabinet packed with antique swords, rifles, globes and vases. An enormous painting hangs on the wall next to the cabinet. A canyon riddled with caves. One of the supposed infinite realms connected to the Manor, I suppose.
‘Your hand,’ Winifred says. ‘Are you in any pain?’
‘Of course I’m in pain.’ I’m feeling bolder now. Angrier, too. The shock’s starting to wane. ‘Why did you bring me down here? Where’s my dad gone?’
‘Your father is merely following the path that was laid out before him.’ Winifred strides over to her desk and pulls a small decanter and two crystal glasses from one of the drawers. She pours a dash of golden liquid into each. ‘Just as I am following mine.’
‘We should’ve stopped him.’
‘You cannot stop what is meant to be, Jane, any more than you can stop the moon from rising.’ Winifred downs her glass in one gulp, places the other in front of an empty chair across the desk. ‘Drink. It will help ease the pain in your hand. And your head.’
‘It smells disgusting. More special herbs?’
‘Whiskey.’
‘Oh.’ Who gives whiskey to a fourteen-year-old? ‘Thanks, but I’m … trying to cut back.’
Winifred shrugs. ‘Very well, then. Let us talk about your path.’
‘My path?’
‘Of course. You are the hero of this adventure, whether you like it or not.’
‘Look, I just want to get my dad back –’
‘And therein lies the adventure.’ Winifred pulls a crummy green rucksack from behind her desk and flings it at my feet. ‘There is a towel in there. I was unable to find any clean underwear or socks among your belongings while I collected your father, but I did salvage a clean tunic and a pair of pants. It may not be the best attire for the quest you are about to –’
‘Quest? No, no, there won’t be any quest, okay? Listen, thanks for rummaging through my underwear drawer and’ – I pull a chunk of bread from the rucksack, spot a few dates in there too – ‘thanks for the snacks. But as soon as things calm down outside, I’m going up the Stairs, getting my dad and taking him back to the basement.’
‘It is not going to be that simple, and you know it. Every moment of your life has been building to this, Jane. You will enter the Manor, yes, but not via the Sacred Stairs.’ She places the key on her desk – must’ve picked it up before following me out of the Town Hall. ‘You must take this. Keep it safe. I have returned it to you, and with you it must stay.’
‘Returned it to me? Meaning what, exactly?’
‘Meaning I took it from you when we first met, and now I have given it back.’ Winifred sits down, leans back in her chair. ‘I was there, Jane. The night of the first quake. The night you and John came to Bluehaven. I was the one who found you on the Stairs.’ She nods at the empty chair. ‘Sit for a moment. Please. There are things you need to know.’
THE NIGHT OF ALL CATASTROPHES
‘There was a storm that night. I was crossing Outset Square when the ground started shaking. I looked up at the Manor just as a bolt of lightning struck. I saw the gateway open, your father collapsing at the top of the Stairs. I ran to help him.’ Winifred pours herself another splash of whiskey, swirls her glass. ‘He was in so much pain, but I couldn’t discern any visible wounds. He seemed to be fighting something within, as if poisoned. You were crying in his arms.’ She nods at the key on the desk. ‘That was fastened to a strip of cloth around your neck, like a talisman. When I reached out to touch it, your father grabbed my wrist. Hide it, he said. Keep it secret. Tell no one. I asked what had happened, where he came from, but something had broken inside him. He passed out. I took you into my arms and hid the key in my pocket. I have never mentioned it to anybody since.’
I scratch at a glob of egg on my neck to keep my hands from trembling. ‘Where’d it come from? What does it open?’
‘John is the only person who can answer that. I do not know what happened to him in the Manor, but he had clearly been through a very long and horrible ordeal.’
‘And his illness? Do you think it’s true I could’ve –’
‘Cursed him? No. Unlike most of the fools on this island, I have seen several curses – even been cursed once myself. It is not pleasant, let me assure you.’ Winifred pauses, deep in thought. ‘Your father’s illness is something altogether different. But what, I cannot say.’
‘So … what happened next? After you found us on the Stairs?’
‘I knew I had to get you and your father to safety as soon as possible. The ground was still trembling. The quake wasn’t as violent as this evening’s, but it was alarming all the same. Bluehaven had never been struck by one before, at least not in my time. A town council meeting was in session that night. Spooked by the quake, they fled into the square. Eric Atlas, Idris – that’s Mayor Obi – and a few others saw us. They helped carry your father down.
‘The island was in chaos. People flooded into the streets, fearing the wrath of the
Makers, converging in Outset Square. A large crowd had gathered by the time we reached the bottom of the Stairs. I wrapped you a little tighter in my cloak and then – well – the strangest thing happened. You stopped crying. The quake ceased. Nobody moved. We stood there in the easing rain, all of us, waiting – for what, we didn’t know. Then you opened your eyes. They glowed like embers.’
‘The eyes of a monster.’
‘Different eyes,’ Winifred says. ‘Hardly monstrous. Rather striking, if you ask me.’
‘But people freaked out, right?’
‘Simple minds fear what is different, Jane. Everyone was terrified, desperate for answers, and there you were. Some suggested we break the First Law and try to dump you back inside the Manor. Others suggested banishing you and John instead, casting you off to the Dying Lands. Idris and I protested, but we were drowned out by three simple words.’
‘She is cursed.’
‘Precisely. I am sorry, Jane. It all happened so quickly. Your future had obviously been set in stone long before you fell through the Manor doors. It was as if you were destined to be held accountable for the Night of All Catastrophes.’
I grab my glass and try downing the whiskey in one go just like Winifred, but it burns like fire so I end up spluttering most of it back into the glass. I hate the very idea of fate and destiny. The thought that someone, something, somewhere is controlling my every move makes me feel like a puppet, and I’ve been kinda scared of puppets ever since the Hollows staged a cautionary play in the kitchen called The Little Girl Who Defied Her Guardians. It was a two-hour epic tragedy.
‘Are you all right, Jane?’
‘Yes.’ I’m pacing around the study now. ‘No. Maybe.’
‘Well’ – Winifred nods at the rucksack – ‘now that you’re up, you might as well change. Time is against us, and I refuse to let you enter the Manor looking like a rotten salad.’
‘Can’t you just tell me where the second entrance is now? I sat. I listened. My dad’s alone up there – in there – and he’s probably lost and scared. I’m all he’s got.’
‘Precisely, which is why you need to be fully prepared when you leave.’ I open my mouth to object, but Winifred simply nods at the rucksack again and says, ‘Chop chop.’
Breathe, I tell myself. He’s not dead. He’s okay. You’ll find him.
‘Fine.’ My injured hand throbs as I reach into the bag. This isn’t gonna be fun. My clothes are clinging to me like a damp second skin, and the thought of stripping in front of an old lady doesn’t exactly float my boat, either. I start small, lose my boots and socks. ‘But hurry.’
‘Certainly.’ Winifred swivels her chair to the side to give me an incy bit of privacy. ‘Oh, and do remember to clean behind your ears. Now, where were we?’
‘The townsfolk.’ I take a deep breath and yank my tunic over my head, smearing veggie crap all over my face. ‘Being jerks,’ I add with a cough. I grab the towel and scrub at a papaya smudge on my ankle. Shake the watermelon pips from my hair.
‘Ah, yes. Well, as frightened as the townsfolk were, I made it clear we would not be banishing anybody. Idris helped me. He was a dear friend. A good man. We took you and John down to Vintage Road, where I lived at the time. I assumed John would recover, soon wake from his trance. I believed answers would come. How wrong I was …
‘Weeks passed. The quakes continued. People climbed the Sacred Stairs daily to no avail. The Manor had been the lifeblood of Bluehaven for thousands of years, but it seemed to have bled dry. It opened for nobody. Desperation turned to anger. Crowds gathered outside my house daily. A boat was readied for you both, but there was no way I was going to turn you over. Eric led the charge, of course. Turned the townsfolk against me. Called me a troublemaker. A traitor. My reputation stayed the gossip for a while, but fear is a powerful thing. Everyone bar Idris and the council elders chose to believe you had infected my mind, driven me mad, just like John. But I weathered the storm, and Eric soon realised it would take much more than rumour and hearsay to break me.
‘After a particularly frightful quake – and against the will of the council – he led a mob down Vintage Road. Fifty-odd men and women. There was the usual nonsense, of course. Chanting, pitchforks and so on. Suffice to say, the witch hunt had reached its climax. I was presented with an ultimatum: surrender you and John immediately or suffer the consequences. Thankfully, I’d had enough foresight to board up the doors and windows earlier that day, when news of the gathering had reached my ears. To cut a long story short, the siege began at midnight and ended an hour later, when Eric and that oaf with the wooden leg forced their torches through the downstairs windows.’
I whip my daks off and wipe down the rest of my legs. ‘They tried to burn us alive?’
‘Their plan was to flush us outside, and it worked, much to their horror.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means I decided the time had come to remind everybody just how dangerous Winifred Robin can be. I stormed the street and subdued everyone who stood in my way.’
I pull on the pants from the rucksack. ‘But you said there were fifty of them.’
‘Fifty-three, to be precise. I made certain there were no serious injuries. A few joint-lock and pressure-point attacks, the odd butterfly kick, nothing too flashy. The fire consumed the house, but Idris had already ducked inside and brought you and John to safety.’
I don’t know what to say. Winifred could probably spring across the desk right now and kick me into next Tuesday if she wanted. ‘That all sounds … wow.’
‘I do not wish to sound arrogant, young lady, but “wow” does not quite do it justice.’ Winifred downs the last of her whiskey. ‘There was nothing I could say or do to stop the townsfolk from blaming you for the Night of All Catastrophes, but I told them that if any harm came to you I would unleash a fury upon Bluehaven to rival the old Gods of Chaos. As the house collapsed and embers filled the night sky, I told Eric he would be the first to pay the price. Idris and the other elders expelled him from the council at once.’
‘And everyone let us go?’
‘Let?’ Winifred says. ‘My dear girl, I’d given them no choice.’
‘So what went wrong?’ I shake out the clean tunic and slip it on. It’s the one I nabbed from our neighbours’ bin last year. ‘Why’d we end up being raffled off to the Hollows?’
‘There was no raffle, Jane. That was a lie created by the Hollows to keep you from knowing the truth about your past. To stop you from tracking me down in search of answers.’ Winifred swivels back to face me again, clears her throat. She looks uncomfortable. ‘The truth is, you spent your first two years on Bluehaven living under my care, here in the museum.’
‘The second photo.’ I fish the old happy snap from the pocket of my manky tunic. The photo’s soiled now, reeks of rotten pumpkin. ‘You took this while I was living here?’
She nods. ‘About a year after your arrival.’
I stare at the photo, at my smile. ‘I look happy.’
‘You were,’ Winifred says.
‘Not for long, though, right?’ The words roll off my tongue before I even know they’re there. Before I can taste how bitter they sound. ‘Why didn’t we stay here with you?’
‘I did not abandon you, Jane. Please understand this. If I’d had it my way, you and John would have stayed with me indefinitely, but there are other forces at work here. Yes, you’ve had a difficult time with the Hollows, but –’
‘Difficult?’ I throw the photo onto the desk. ‘They’ve treated us like dogs for years.’
Winifred sighs. ‘Jane, Beatrice has been in my debt, grudgingly, for a great many years. I will not go into detail now, for it is another story entirely, but I once saved her life. Long before you came to Bluehaven. When I delivered you and John to her doorstep, she had no choice but to honour this debt and take you in. Besides, they have not always been so –’
‘Horrible? Nasty? Evil?’
‘Complex. Yes, they h
ave always been dimmer than the average lantern, but Bertram and Beatrice are not evil. They didn’t even participate in Eric’s campaign against you following the Night of All Catastrophes. They had been living in their own scared little world for years, but that world came crashing down the moment I knocked on their door.
‘Word of the move travelled quickly. Idris and the council elders had passed a law forbidding anyone from harming you and John – like me, they believed the Makers had sent you to us for a reason, for protection – but others saw the move as an invitation. A sign that I had finally given up. Still fuming from his expulsion from the council, Eric organised several assaults on you and John, some endangering the lives of the Hollows as well. I stopped them all, protecting you from afar. That is why Eric changed tactics, started manipulating the Hollows. He showered them with gifts, whispered things, suggested ways to make your life intolerable. You used to live upstairs, you know. It was he who suggested the basement.’
‘Gosh, he really is a piece of –’
‘Work, yes.’
‘Actually, I was gonna say –’
‘I know what you were going to say, but I don’t tolerate foul language.’ Winifred pauses for a second. ‘Well, not in here, anyway. So you see, Bertram and Beatrice have always been in a difficult position: desperate to please Eric but terrified of betraying me.’
‘I’m supposed to feel sorry for them now?’
‘Not at all. But remember, Jane.’ She flips the photo, taps the tiny scrawl beneath the symbol. ‘Everything happens for a reason. You have had a hard life growing up in that household, harder than any child should have to endure. You have suffered, oh yes, but this suffering has made you strong – far stronger than you realise. It has also forged a fierce bond between you and John.’ Winifred pushes back her chair and stands. ‘Most importantly, you are alive, Ms Doe, and seeing as though the future of Bluehaven now rests upon your shoulders, that is a very fine thing indeed.’
HIDDEN THINGS AND PUPPET STRINGS
Jane Doe and the Cradle of All Worlds Page 6
