The House on Durrow Street

by Galen Beckett

  Resigned, he went to her and kissed her cheek. “It is probably best if you do not wait up for me, dearest.”

  “If I am up in the night, it will be only to pray.”

  “Pray?” he said, startled. “For what?”

  She did not answer, and instead turned another page of the Testament. He left the little apartment, shutting the door behind him, and went out into the cooling evening.

  It would be best to take a hack cab later tonight, for the affair would no doubt end late. Thus he had decided to save paying a fare twice and walk to the party. The air was gentle, and it was not very far. He made his way past the cathedral and soon turned onto the east end of Durrow Street.

  “Penny for a paper!” a boy cried, holding a broadsheet. “Today’s copy of The Fox—only a few left!”

  Such was the way the boy waved the newspaper that Eldyn could not help but read the headline. EVENGROVE WATCH CONTINUES, claimed the headline, and beneath that in large type, No Persons Allowed Near Madiger’s Wall. Taking up much of the rest of the front page was an image of a high stone wall before a ragged line of treetops. Even in the dimming light, the picture was rendered so vividly it seemed to glow with its own light, and Eldyn knew it had to be an impression.

  How some illusionists mastered the trick—holding an engraving plate and willing upon it the image of some scene in their mind—was one Eldyn did not comprehend. As far as he knew, only a few Siltheri had the capability to do such a thing. No one at the Theater of the Moon could work such a feat, not even Dercy. However, at tavern one night after a performance, he had met a young illusionist from the Theater of Mirrors who made a good bit of money selling his work to the various broadsheets.

  Would that Eldyn could make impressions, for then he would be able to save portions for himself and Sashie all the sooner! But he could not, so instead of making money he would instead save it by forgoing a paper.

  Not that there was any need to read more than the words of the headline. The news of the happening at the Evengrove had been shocking. It was one thing to hear of Risings in Torland; it was quite another to have such a thing take place so near the city. However, in the quarter month since then, there had been no more news, nor did he expect any. No doubt the soldiers would keep any other mad individuals from attempting to light fires and provoke the trees.

  He waved the boy aside, walked around Béanore’s fountain, and continued down the length of Durrow Street—from the direction of the theaters, and past houses that grew larger and more ancient as he went. Many of these edifices were dilapidated shadows of the grand edifices they had been in the days when this was the fashionable part of the city, before the New Quarter was constructed.

  Before too long, though, near the end of the street, he approached a dwelling whose windows were ablaze in the gloaming, and which appeared not the worse for its ancientness, but rather all the more handsome and majestic. The house was set off from the street by a wild garden and bordered by hedges and a fence of wrought iron, which lent it almost the appearance of some keep in the moorland. Eldyn gave his coat a tug to straighten it, then started toward the gate in the fence.

  His way was blocked as, from out of the dusky air, Dercy manifested with a flourish and a grin.

  “I was wondering when you would appear,” Eldyn said.

  Dercy laughed. “And I was wondering when you were going to notice me. I’ve been following you for half a mile!”

  “Oh?” Eldyn said, affecting a bored tone. “I hadn’t bothered to look.”

  Dercy gave him an affectionate punch in the arm. “Don’t pretend you weren’t surprised when I showed up just now.”

  In fact, Eldyn wasn’t surprised. The other night he had told Dercy about the party, how he could bring a guest, and how he was disappointed that his sister was refusing to attend. Given this, and what he knew about Dercy, Eldyn would have been more surprised if he hadn’t appeared, his beard trimmed, his blond hair rakishly tousled, and wearing his most dashing coat.

  “Besides, you should look about when you go out walking at twilight,” Dercy went on. “There’s no telling who might be prowling up behind you with the most awful of intentions. You don’t want to be the next to go missing, do you?”

  Though the evening was balmy, Eldyn could not help a shudder. Just yesterday there had been whispers on Durrow Street of another illusionist who had not shown up at his theater for a performance and had not been seen since. True, he may have simply left the city to escape a bad debt or return home to the country. Or he might wash up on the shores of the Anbyrn, his eyes gone from his skull.

  “You shouldn’t make a jest about such things,” Eldyn said.

  Dercy’s grin went dark in the gloom. “You’re right. It was a poor joke. Why don’t you let me make it up to you by buying you a cup of punch before we go to the party?”

  “You can’t expect that I’m taking you to Lady Quent’s affair!” Eldyn exclaimed. “You will embarrass me, I have no doubt.”

  “On the contrary, I will save you from embarrassing yourself. Indeed, I already have. You were about to approach the gate, and the sun has only just set. Everyone knows a formal affair starts an hour after sunset.”

  Eldyn hadn’t known that fact, but he did not want to admit it. “I did not wish to be late.”

  “That’s your second error,” Dercy said, grinning again. “The most desirable guests to a party always come late. Indeed, the more desirable they are, then the later they come. Therefore, if we wait a good while, everyone will wonder who we are and wish to speak with us when we do arrive, believing us to be very important personages.”

  Eldyn looked past Dercy at the house. It was true that he did not yet see any carriages out front or people approaching the gate.

  “All right,” he said. “You can buy me a punch while I wait. But you are not coming with me to the party!”

  “Whatever you say, my lord,” Dercy said with a mock bow, then rose and held out his arm.

  Eldyn hooked his elbow around his companion’s, glad the matter was settled.

  “Except I am coming,” Dercy said with a laugh, and he pulled Eldyn down the street in the direction of the nearest tavern.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  IVY COULD NOT be startled when the door of her bedchamber suddenly burst open, for even the most violent and abrupt noise lost its ability to induce alarm if it occurred often enough.

  “My new pink ribbon has gone missing!” Lily exclaimed as if Murghese soldiers were storming the walls of the house. “I’ve looked everywhere and I can’t find it.”

  “Have you looked in Rose’s hair?” Ivy said without glancing up from the broadsheet she was looking at as she sat near the window. “That is likely where it is, as you told her this morning at breakfast that she could wear it.”

  “Nonsense,” Lily roared. “Why would I ever have done such a ridiculous thing?”

  “I think it was to return the kindness she has shown in so faithfully laboring on your tableau to have it ready for tonight.”

  “The tableau is both of ours, which means Rose should have to show a kindness to me as well. I will tell her to give me the ribbon.”

  Now Ivy did lower the broadsheet, and she gave Lily a stern look. “A kindness rescinded is no kindness at all, but rather a cruelty. Besides, I think a blue ribbon would best suit your hair.”

  “It might best suit my hair, but it does not best suit me,” Lily said with a sour expression. “But I suppose you’re right—I can’t very well take the ribbon from Rose, for she would have to do her hair over again, and she will hardly be done in time as it is. It always takes Rose a hundred years to get ready for anything.”

  Ivy conceded there was some truth to this. If they were all going somewhere, she usually told Rose they were about to leave an hour before Ivy actually wished to depart.

  “What of you, Ivy? You aren’t even in your gown yet, and the party is hardly an hour away!”

  “My hair is ready, and it does not
take me an hour to put on my gown,” Ivy said. “Besides, it is more than an hour until the party will begin. The sun has not yet set.”

  “I am sure that it has set,” Lily said despite the apricot-colored glow that colored the panes of the window. “And wherever is Mr. Quent? I have not seen him yet.”

  “He will be here shortly,” Ivy said, keeping her voice light.

  Just after breakfast a note penned in a hasty hand had arrived at the house. It was from Mr. Quent. His trip had taken him longer than planned, but he had at last arrived in the city that morning. He had to make a report at the Citadel before he could return to the house, but he had assured Ivy that he would arrive in good order for Lily and Rose’s affair.

  “How can Rose and I be presented if there is no one to present us? There will be no party at all!”

  “He will be here,” Ivy said. “Have you ever known Mr. Quent to disregard a promise?”

  Lily frowned, but she said nothing. Nor could she, for Mr. Quent always kept his word. All the same, Ivy could not help sharing some of Lily’s despair. She had no doubt that Mr. Quent would arrive before the party began, but it would have soothed all of their nerves if he had been there already.

  These last days, the rapid approach of the party had induced a great deal of anticipation and apprehension in the household—so much that Ivy could, to a great degree, forgive Lily’s behavior. Rose, too, had been overcome more than once. Earlier that afternoon, Ivy had had to console her, for Rose had expressed a terror that she would not know what to say to people she met.

  “No one ever caused offense by smiling nicely and saying ‘How do you do,’ ” Ivy said, and this had seemed to reassure her.

  Evidently there was nothing more to complain about, because Lily departed the chamber. Ivy looked down at the broadsheet in her lap. It had come into the house that morning, and all day she had been fascinated by the picture of the Evengrove on the front page. It was an illusionist’s impression, and so perfectly was the picture rendered that she could almost see the crowns of the trees swaying above the top of the wall.

  The news of the Rising at the Evengrove and the deaths of three of the king’s soldiers had resulted in a sensation in Invarel. Yet for all the commotion, things in the city proceeded in much the same way as before, and Ivy had known there could be no talk of delaying her sisters’ party.

  Only everything wasn’t the same. Or rather, Ivy wasn’t the same. Ever since that day, she could hardly go an hour without recalling what it had been like to touch the rough bark of the Old Ash, to hear the voices of the trees, and to feel the vast and ancient will of the Wyrdwood—a will that she had been able to alter and direct.

  For the last quarter month, she had wanted nothing more than to speak to someone about what had happened. However, she dared not write about what had taken place to Mr. Quent for fear of who might see the letter. The only other person she could have spoken to about that day was Mr. Rafferdy. Yet she had not seen him since then, and while she had every expectation he would be at the party tonight, she doubted there would be any opportunity for them to speak together in private. All the same, merely to exchange a look with him was something she would be grateful for.

  Ivy set the broadsheet down and rose from her chair, but she did not put on her gown just yet. She did not want to be in the midst of dressing when Mr. Quent arrived, for she wished to greet him as soon as he entered the house. With this thought, she left her bedchamber. The umbral had begun, which meant it was time to check her father’s journal again. She could not count on getting another chance that night, for the party might go very late.

  She descended the stairs, passing bustling servants making the last preparations for the arrival of the guests, then proceeded to the library, which was dim and quiet. Soothed by the tranquillity, she sat at the desk, opened the Wyrdwood box, and took out the journal.

  “I wish you could be here tonight, Father,” she murmured. “How delighted you would be to see Rose and Lily all grown and ready to enter the world!”

  Though she smiled, she also suffered a pang of regret. Yet she had every hope that she would bring their father home soon, and then they would all be together. Consoled by this thought, she opened the journal and turned through the pages.

  And there it was, a little over halfway in: a page filled with spindly letters. Ivy read, at first in delight, but then in growing dread.

  LOERUS IN AGNATHON RISING

  My dear, you are small as I write these words, and you think me to be infallible—stronger and wiser than any man. It is natural for a child to believe this about her father. However, as you read these words you are now a woman grown, and I fear I must inform you that I am as imperfect as any man. While I have often thought myself to be clever, I know now there is another much cleverer, for I have been most profoundly deceived!

  I suppose I should have seen it, yet I was blinded by affection and loyalty. I always knew he had ambition; he never attempted to dissemble when it came to that fact. He comes from an old family, and he often made a jest that if a large enough number of his relatives were to perish, he would find himself a magnate of high degree one day. Now I wonder if he means to assure this event happens! I knew it was his aim to rise high, yet I did not know before to what lengths he would go to do it.

  Now I do. It was Gambrel who stole the key to Tyberion. And he intends to use it.

  Yet for all his scheming, that is something he will not be able to do. Mundy, Larken, and Fintaur all knew of the key, as did Gambrel; Bennick and I needed their aid to help bind the enchantment to protect it, and we chose them carefully for that reason. Little did I know that Gambrel had sown the seeds of the spell’s undoing in its very casting. He was ever a sly and subtle magician. Yet he does not know where Tyberion is hidden; that is something only I and Bennick have knowledge of.

  Gambrel was aware of this fact, and he went to Bennick, thinking he could get the secret out of him. Being that most perceptive judge of character that he is, Bennick must have sensed Gambrel’s duplicitous intentions. He gave Gambrel the impression that he would indeed reveal the location of Tyberion. And so, once Gambrel had stolen the key, he went at once to Bennick. Thus the theft was revealed to us.

  Bless Mr. Bennick! Once again I am deeply in his debt. I hope that you have come to know him, Ivy. If you have, then I am sure you admire and trust him as I do. I will not make him out to be something he is not—his demeanor can be as sharp as his intellect—but he is the truest of friends.

  Because of Bennick’s foresight and actions, Gambrel’s duplicity was revealed, and he has fled. Though he is a powerful magician—the best of us all, I have no doubt—still he cannot face the wrath of Bennick, Fintaur, Larken, Mundy, and myself all at once. Where he has gone to, we do not know. It does not matter. He may have the key to Tyberion, but he has no idea of Tyberion’s whereabouts.

  Even if he did—if he was to learn that it is in fact here in this very house—still he would not be able to reach it to place the key upon it. I am sure you are familiar with the Arcane Eyes all about the house, Ivy. I have warned them of Gambrel, and they know to watch for him. Should he ever try to enter the house, the eyes would raise such an alarm that his presence would be known at once.

  Again, I must chide myself for not realizing sooner what Gambrel’s intentions were. I should have known that it was not merely out of polite interest that he made all those enquiries concerning my research into Waywrend Dratham and the Sword and the Leaf.

  Well, even if the key is gone, Tyberion itself remains hidden and safe. Nor do any of the others, save for Bennick, know of the existence of Arantus. Thus its secret is well-guarded. You must know how important Tyberion and Arantus are. No one can ever be allowed to use them, for fear of what hideous powers might be unleashed through them.

  These have been trying days, my dearest Ivy. I am greatly fatigued from all the magicks we have been forced to work. I am very glad you are safe in your bed at Whitward Street. I will make ce
rtain all of the eyes in this house are properly enchanted with all the correct wards, and then I shall come home to you, and give you a kiss as you sleep. Then I shall lay my own self down. I pray I shall not dream.

  G.O.L.

  Ivy set down the journal. Though the words her father had written had set her mind awhirl, there was no time to peruse the entry again in a slow and careful fashion to comprehend what it all meant. Instead, she took out pen, ink, and paper and transcribed the entry as hastily as possible, caring not if she made a spot or smudge as she went.

  All the while, her thoughts worked as swiftly as her pen. So it was not Mr. Bennick after all who had taken the key to Tyberion! Yet surely he must have put Gambrel up to the deed—why else had Gambrel gone right to him after stealing it? Only somehow Bennick’s scheme had gone awry, and Mr. Lockwell had discovered the theft before Tyberion could be used. While Gambrel still possessed the key, he had been banished from the house and could not enter, for it was under the watch of the arcane eyes. What’s more, having been betrayed himself, Gambrel had no doubt refused to relinquish the key to Mr. Bennick. Thus Tyberion was and remained safe. Only what were Tyberion and Arantus? Ivy still didn’t know.

  Or did she? Maybe she had known all along.

  Ivy glanced over the words she had transcribed. I should have known that it was not merely out of polite interest that he made all those enquiries concerning my research into Waywrend Dratham and the Sword and the Leaf.…

  A thrill coursed through her. The Sword and the Leaf—what else could her father be referring to but the doors she had uncovered in the second floor gallery? Both of them had been hidden, the one sometime earlier than the other, Mr. Barbridge had said. Besides, what else did one open with a key in order to let something through but a door?

  True, she had dismissed this notion earlier, for she had not observed a keyhole in either of them. But in the entry he had referred to the key not as a thing to be inserted into the door, but rather something to be placed upon it. Which meant, perhaps, that her notion of what the key should look like had been limited by conventional notions.