As for guns, that knowledge seemed to be particularly forbidden to her since she could barely even look at them. She clenched her hand closed. What would have happened had she held onto the gun and not dropped it? Could she have overcome the will of the gods or would they have destroyed her? She rather thought the latter.
“I must admit I was very sure I knew the way the world worked,” Cade said. He was now oiling the moving parts of the gun, suffusing the air with a heavy, metallic scent. “And then you arrived. I thought there was no place for magic in this world, but how else could someone from the past come to be here? I am learning there is much more to the world than can be plainly seen.”
Karigan knew the truth of that. Hadn’t she seen the ghost of Yates Cardell that very morning? She’d dealt with ghosts since becoming a Rider, but how they existed, why they appeared to her, remained a mystery.
The thud of hooves announced the return of Luke. Gallant and Raven were mildly damp with sweat, revealing they’d had some exercise.
“Heard only one shot,” Luke said, “then nothing. That all you’re doing today?”
Cade placed the Cobalt in its velvet lined box and closed it. “It is.”
Luke hitched the horses to the back of the cart, and the three of them disassembled the target. Cade’s pouch of cartridges, and the box with the Cobalt in it, were concealed in the false bottom of the cart, along with the actual target. Cade slid the cover of the false bottom in place, which was in turn concealed by the bales of hay. Then he pushed aside a variety of digging tools and removed a picnic basket.
“I took the liberty of bringing along a midday meal,” he said.
Karigan, Luke, and Cade lounged on a blanket to eat the simple meal of cold meats, cheese, and bread, and sip cool tea sweetened with honey. They spoke little, and when they finished, Cade collected the remnants into his basket. “I must return to the city.”
When Luke went to the horses, Cade turned to Karigan and said, “The professor told me all about what you did for Arhys this morning. Thank you. She can be trying at times, but she is worth protecting, even if it means protecting her from herself.”
Worth protecting. It was an odd way of putting it. Did Cade see himself primarily as Arhys’ protector? And then it dawned on her: That was precisely what he was.
“You’re her Weapon,” she whispered.
“Apparently not a very good one.”
Karigan was pleased she had guessed right and that he didn’t bother to deny it.
“I wasn’t even there to save her this morning,” Cade continued, “and you have shown me how deficient my fighting skills are.”
“But not with the gun.”
“No, not with the gun.”
And that was the end of their exchange. Cade climbed up into the driver’s seat of the cart and wished them a good day before whistling his mule on. As Karigan watched him guide the cart along the bumpy ground, she thought a child like Arhys needed more than one Weapon to keep an eye on her. Several more.
Luke handed her Raven’s reins. “I think this one is ready for a nice strenuous workout. I’ve but warmed him up.”
Karigan mounted. Riding Raven, truly riding him, was a dream. He was tireless, moving effortlessly between gaits, attentive to her commands. Someone had trained him well before he came into Silk’s hands. They ran up and down the mounds as once she had done with Condor, Raven as smooth as a sloop cutting through calm waters. For a while she forgot about being in a different time, and the oddness of not being able to look at a gun, much less handle it.
Though Raven showed no signs of tiring, she slowed him to a walk and joined Luke and Gallant near where they’d picnicked.
“Looks like you’re getting some good paces out of him,” Luke said.
“He’s wonderful.”
“Well, sorry to say, but we best head back.”
Karigan wondered if Raven detected her disappointment because he pulled on the reins and turned as if he wanted to run up and over the nearest mound. She corrected him. “Sorry, boy, but we’ll do this again.”
“Of course you will,” Luke said cheerfully, “but it wouldn’t do to keep Miss Goodgrave out all day. Her absence might become too noticeable.”
As they rode away from the Scangly Mounds, Karigan took one more glance toward where the castle once stood in the distance. The smoke and haze had settled more heavily over the Old City than when she’d first viewed it. The clouds looked to suffocate all that was left. She turned her gaze away with a sigh that carried all the tiredness and sorrow she felt, and watched the path ahead.
The haze hovered over the mount like a poisonous fog. It shortened Lhean’s breath and burned his eyes. From its rim, he dropped down into his crevice and sat with his back against compressed rock and debris, a dim shaft of light falling on him. He closed his eyes, wondering why the people here allowed themselves to be exposed to such filth. He could only guess that they did not care they were shortening their already short, mortal lives.
He’d tried leaving the mount to search for the Galadheon, whom he sensed to be somewhere down in the city. He’d gone at night and only got as far as the river. The aura of misery, of cold brick and machine, had been too much for him, and he retreated to the remains of the Old City, back into hiding where he could consider his next move.
And now, another day was passing. He’d die here in these ruins just as surely as he would in the city below. His armor had turned a shade of gray, and not just from dirt. It had begun to flake and it ached. Ached all over his body. How long before it perished, and he must shed it? The armor mirrored his overall well-being. If he could not get home, or at least get off this mount and find proper nourishment, he too would perish, cease to exist.
He gathered a few edible wild herbs and roots growing among the ruins, but they were sparse and stunted, poisoned by the same air and water as he himself, and it was not enough to sustain him. He had one precious nugget of chocolate left in his pack. The maker of the chocolate called the variety Dragon Droppings. Eating it would revive Lhean’s spirit and vitality for a while, but he’d been reserving it for a time of dire need. As he weakened, he realized the need was nearly upon him. There would be a point after which even chocolate would not aid him.
He cracked his eyes open to gaze at the gray sky drifting past the craggy rim of his hiding place. If he ate the chocolate, he would have to take advantage of its benefits and enter the city to find the Galadheon. She was no Eletian, but she was his only link to home, and perhaps between the two of them they could find a way back. After all, it was the Galadheon who caused them to be here, wasn’t it? She who could cross thresholds . . .
He would do it under cover of darkness, of course. During the day the mount was too busy with slaves and their masters making the road and erecting a wood-framed structure at the summit. Fortunately his excellent sense of hearing had not deserted him, and even now he heard voices in conversation. They were not very close, and he was not in any present danger of being discovered.
“I’m telling ya,” one man said, “it’s got some of the slaves spooked, and their overseers, too.”
“These ruins are full of ghost stories,” a second man said.
“Yeah, but it’s slowin’ down work and making the boss none too happy. They say they see a figure all in white standing there, then the next moment it’s gone.”
Lhean frowned. Though he’d been careful in his scouting, he must have been seen. How else could he find out what was happening in the world if he did not scout? Just as well he was mistaken for a ghost—these ruins lent themselves to mortal superstitions very well.
The second man laughed. “Tell you what. If we see a ghost, I’ll shoot it, and then we’ll see whether or not it bleeds. Eh?”
The rest of the conversation faded as the two men moved out of range. Lhean would have to be more careful than ever to avoid dis
covery. The men he saw on the mount—men other than the poor slaves—carried weapons. Not bows and arrows, or swords, but devices that reeked of death and made him almost ill to look at. He’d seen them use the weapons, taking aim at the occasional hare or rodent. He’d covered his ears at the terrible noise they made, his eyes stinging from the quick gouts of flame that burst from the devices. The men usually missed their targets, but Lhean had seen how forceful the weapons were, how deadly they could be. He could be taken down long before he ever got within sword’s length of one of these shooters.
He’d heard of “concussives” used in the days of Mornhavon the Black, weapons that had helped defeat Argenthyne. What he saw of these shooting weapons sounded like the concussives of old. Had time bent round on itself?
He shook himself, trying to replace the images of these weapons, this place, by recalling memories of home, of Eletia, spring green and rattling aspen leaves, the slender white boughs of birches entwining overhead; of the music of water flowing through a lush glen and the myriad voices of songbirds. He faded into the memories, whispering a song of home, the ruins and gray air vanishing from waking thought.
The stars of Avrath, moon to rise, guide me, guide me home, he sang in his own tongue, for I am a mariner lost, a mariner lost on the misty sea . . .
AN INVITATION
On the ride home, Raven grew more skittish the closer they got to the city, but Karigan now knew what to expect, and so they reached the professor’s stables without incident. Upon their arrival, however, Luke received a message from one of his lads.
“You’d best get changed,” he told Karigan. “The boys will take care of Raven. You’ve got a guest.”
“A guest?”
Luke nodded. “Apparently someone of importance. It was conveyed that I should urge you to hurry.”
The boys provided her a bucket of clean water and a towel to wash the dust off herself in the tack room. Luke once again assisted her with her dress and stashed her boy clothes in the big cabinet. She gave herself a look in the mirror and spared a couple minutes to primp her hair, which had been mashed down by the cap, and to ensure that everything was in its proper place. Satisfied, she rushed across the yard and through the back door of the house. Mirriam nearly pounced on her.
“Finally! You’ve a guest waiting on you. He has been visiting with the professor this last half hour.”
“Who?” Karigan asked, but she could guess. She’d met only one other person outside the immediate household.
Mirriam did not answer but thrust a hat and veil on Karigan’s head and ushered her down the corridor as if herding baby ducklings. When they reached the parlor, Karigan paused in the doorway and smoothed her skirts.
“It was the most amazing discovery of eating utensils ever,” the professor said with enthusiasm to the guest, a teacup and saucer balanced on his knee. “Whole place settings!”
With a certain amount of unease, Karigan saw she had guessed right. Her visitor was none other than Dr. Ezra Stirling Silk, who looked politely bored as the professor regaled him about each pewter fork, knife, and spoon found at his current dig site. A hulking man, well-dressed, stood against the wall behind Silk. A servant, or a bodyguard, or both.
Mirriam discreetly cleared her throat. “Sir, Miss Goodgrave.”
“There you are, my dear,” the professor said. Both men rose at Karigan’s entrance, but before Silk could take her hand again to bow over it, the professor guided her over to the sofa so she could sit next to him. In this case, she did not mind him being overprotective.
When all were seated, the professor poured her a tea. It was less hot than she liked, and bitter, indicating it had been steeping for a while. She glanced over the rim of her cup at Dr. Silk. Even inside he wore his dark specs. Did he wear them as an affectation, or did he have some disease of the eyes?
“I am to understand that you are quite taken with Samson. I mean, Raven.” Dr. Silk smiled.
“She can’t bear to be apart from him,” the professor said. “Must run in the family. I had a cousin with a great affection for animals, too. He took in strays, fed birds from his hands, trained dogs. He was a Goodgrave as well. In any case, we’re trying a lad named Tam to exercise Raven. The two seem to get on well, and he has my niece’s approval, doesn’t he my dear?”
Karigan played along and nodded.
“A high-tempered stallion needs his exercise,” Dr. Silk said amiably. “I hope your lad works out.”
“Luke speaks highly of him,” the professor said.
Karigan focused on her tea, sipping beneath her veil, hoping the two men would simply carry on the conversation without her, but it was not to be so. Dr. Silk turned his gaze on her, and she caught her twin reflections in the lenses of his specs.
“I am grateful for your uncle’s swift payment—the first half—for Raven, but I am now here for the second half.” He gestured, and his servant removed an envelope from an inner pocket of his coat. He crossed the room in three strides and presented it to Karigan. The fine paper and flowing ink made it look suspiciously like an invitation. “Normally I’d send Mr. Howser around with invitations, but I was so charmed to meet you yesterday, Miss Goodgrave, and anxious to hear how you were getting on with the horse, that I decided I must come myself.”
Mr. Howser resumed his station behind Dr. Silk. Karigan glanced at the professor, who did not look very happy.
“Now, now, Bryce,” Dr. Silk said. It was odd to hear anyone call the professor by his first name. “Try not to look so glum. It’s a party, not an inquisition, and you haven’t been to one of my affairs in, oh, years, and I can guarantee this one will be very interesting. But now that I’ve made my delivery, duty calls and I must be off.”
Dr. Silk rose and bowed in Karigan’s direction. “I look forward to seeing you again very soon, Miss Goodgrave.”
While the professor saw Dr. Silk and his attendant out the door, Karigan flipped the veil out of her face and cracked the gold wax seal on the invitation. She and a companion, it said, were invited to an evening of dinner and entertainments hosted by the Honorable Dr. Ezra Stirling Silk. The party was to be the next week at seven hour, but no location was listed—it was intended as a surprise. A carriage would come promptly on the evening to deliver her and her companion to the affair.
When the professor rejoined her, she passed him the invitation.
He scowled as he read it. “I don’t like it,” he told her. “I don’t like that he does not disclose the location or that we cannot use our own carriage.”
Karigan agreed that it sounded all very mysterious. “Wouldn’t all his guests have to do the same?”
“If there are others.”
“You suspect a trap?”
The professor stroked his mustache, deep in thought. “It does not seem subtle enough for Silk. Still, there is no way I am going to trust him. I’ll make some careful inquiries to see if anyone else has been invited, and whom, but I’m rather disposed to decline the invitation.”
“We can’t decline,” Karigan said. “It’s part payment for Raven.”
“I know, I know. I’ll see what I can find out, but no matter how innocuous a dinner party may seem, Silk’s motives never are.”
• • •
Karigan returned to her bed chamber with nothing to do, and she welcomed the respite. Everything that had happened, all the revelations over the last twenty-four hours, had left her numb. She tossed her hat and veil aside, sprawled on her bed, and stared at the ceiling. She worked everything through her mind once more: Arhys, Amberhill . . . If—when—she returned home, the first thing she’d tell King Zachary about was Amberhill. He must not trust his cousin.
She wondered about the ghost of Yates. She wondered why he had appeared to her. She’d had enough experience with ghosts to know that they did not appear without reason. What would compel him to come across time and the veil
of death to her?
If there was one facet of her day that made her smile, it was learning about Cade’s aspirations to be Arhys’ Weapon. He was beginning to show depths that she had not expected, and she looked forward to their next training session. Still, all that she had learned since she’d been in this time did nothing to reveal the purpose of the gods. Why was she here? Maybe there was no purpose, maybe she was arbitrarily deposited here, but she did not think so. There was too much connecting to the past, her past, for it to be a coincidence.
Karigan could only ponder these things over the following days, which were, essentially, quiet and left her to brooding. She saw little of the professor or Cade and received no invitations to join them in the old mill. She spent hours with Raven, grooming him and tending the healing lash wounds on his hide. The air was too noxious, Luke explained, for even the horses to go for a run. And it was true—a cloud had settled over the city, and she was not at all disposed to open the window in her room. The sulfurous air made her cough and her eyes water. Cloudy, the cat, had not appeared at her window for a visit anyway.
Some of her time was taken up by a visit from Mistress Ilsa dela Enfande and her coterie, there to create an evening gown for her attendance at Dr. Silk’s dinner party.
“It shall be my latest, most daring design,” Mistress dela Enfande declared. “Dr. Silk is known for inviting only the most fashionable of the Preferred to his engagements.”
Karigan could only sigh. She had no choice in the matter so she gave in to her fate, as well as to the capable talents of Mistress dela Enfande.
She managed to avoid Arhys for the most part, although during the assault of Mistress dela Enfande’s assistants and their measuring tapes, she caught Arhys peering through her cracked door, scowling. Likewise Mirriam kept her distance and remained aloof. It was mostly Lorine who attended Karigan, and she’d gone from formal back to her former quiet but friendly self.
One afternoon while Karigan sat by her window, boredly gazing at another day’s vaporous clouds—hazing even the wall of the neighboring house—Lorine came in with clean linens, which she proceeded to store in the wardrobe.
Mirror Sight Page 24
