“All right then,” she whispered and cautiously moved forward.
The trip across the room seemed to take every bit as long as it did in the dark. She moved slowly, staying poised, aware, ready for anything. It was part of the game, she was sure, to lull her into a false sense of security. She wasn’t going to let that happen.
Finally, she made it to the doorway, then moved further into the hall, staying glued to the left wall, watching the two doors across from her. When she drew even with the first she stepped to it and twisted the knob. It turned, but the door didn’t open. It was either locked or the knob was a false one. The same was true of the other door on the same wall, and the one opposite.
The end door opened easily, however. Behind it was a short landing, with stairs twisting around the square opening, leading both up and down from where she stood.
“Weird layout,” she muttered. It seemed designed to keep you on edge, make you feel that there were things left behind you that you didn’t know about. Things that could follow you or make it impossible to get back out.
She leaned over the railing and looked up. Lights flickered along the wall all the way up to the third landing, which was as far as she could see. Down, there was only darkness, the light from the candles on this level only illuminating the first few steps.
Obviously, she was supposed to go up. Which was exactly why she chose down, even though the thought of going back into the dark was enough to make sweat break out on her brow. But if something was down there that they, whoever they were, didn’t want her to see, then that’s where she was going.
Taking a deep breath, she moved quickly, holding on to the railing in one hand. It wasn’t as pitch dark as the front room had been. Once she was in it for a few moments, her eyes adjusted enough for her to see the wood paneling covering the walls, and the half-worn runner in the middle of the stairs.
At the bottom was another door. Unlike the ones in the hallway above, this one was very large, made of wide planks and strapped with iron. Heavy hinges held it to the wall and there was a stout padlock around the hasp. She reached out and gave it a tug, finding that it was as secure as it appeared.
There was no way she was getting this door open, so she turned and climbed back to the first-floor landing, not without a small sense of relief to be back in better light.
“Nothing for it, then,” she said, and started up.
The second floor was much like the first, only the hallway extended further, and branched out to both sides. There were more closed doors that she didn’t bother trying and more hallways leading from both of the side passages. The hallways all ended in a boarded-up window. Like the ones below, some of the boards were on the outside of the building, others were stretched across the inside.
She grabbed one of the inner boards and pulled as hard as she could. It creaked and bowed a bit in her hands but that was it. She realized how futile her idea downstairs had been. How ever she was getting out of here, it wasn’t this way.
Third floor then, which must be exactly where they wanted her to go.
More of the same, a hallway, branches off it, and more closed doors.
Until she got to the end of the left-hand passage. Next to the boarded-up window, a door stood open.
Her annoyance at the run-around she was being given evaporated in the rush of fear that coursed through her. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and slowly crept along the hall, eyes fixed on the open door.
Within the room was the same flickering light of the wall sconces, but no sounds. Whatever was in there was lying low.
When she reached the doorway, she stopped and slowly peered around it, holding her breath. Depending on what she saw, she would either rush in and try to surprise it, or move slowly away, back to the first floor and take her chances on finding a way out down there.
She scanned the room, seeing only the dim shapes of furniture. A large bed dominated the space, a canopy supported by four posts. A cold hearth stood along one wall, the remains of a long-ago fire still in it.
A chair faced the boarded-up double windows with their ragged curtains still hung on each side. And in that chair sat a man, his back to her.
Celia froze, staring, waiting for him to move or speak to her. She wasn’t aware of how long she stood there, but he never stirred. She gathered her courage and stepped in.
“Hello?” She spoke softly, not wanting to surprise him, or to stir up anything else that could be around.
There was still no answer or movement.
She moved around the chair and confirmed what she suspected. The man was long dead. His skin was gray and dry, and drawn into the bones of his face. His eyes were mostly gone, sunken in so far as to be almost invisible, and his lips pulled back from brown teeth.
He had been a short, stocky man in life, and his clothes, although musty and threadbare now, had been fine at one time.
Celia suspected that this was the Minister that Friedrich and Greta told her about. If the position really had become hereditary, the line ended here.
“I am sorry.” Even as a whisper her voice sounded loud in the room. It was a small decency. She didn’t know him, but her friends said he was a good man, and he deserved better than sitting alone in this place.
She sighed and was about to turn and leave, to search for another way out, when she heard the whistle. It came from the hallway that led to the stairs and was getting louder, a disjointed tune that kept stopping and then starting over.
There were no other exits from this room. She could hide under the bed, or in the large wardrobe, but what good would it do? Whoever opened the door downstairs knew she was in here. They were probably watching her.
The only thing to do was fight. It was one whistle, and she’d already shown she could put one of the hunters down. Let her get past this one, and then she’d worry about any others.
She moved to the bed and grabbed one of the posts holding the canopy. A sudden jerk snapped it off with a loud crack. The whistle hesitated for a moment, then started up again, still becoming louder.
Celia ripped the corner of the canopy from her club and hefted it. It was too large and unwieldy, but in a pinch, like now, it would work. One good shot should take care of the hunter. And while her makeshift weapon was too long to swing in the hallway, she could use it to charge into one of them, like a heavy, dull spear.
The whistle was right outside the doorway when it stopped. Celia stood motionless, muscles tensed, ready to swing.
Around the corner came a small figure, dressed completely in shocking pink. Blonde hair was twisted into spikes that stuck out in all directions from her head. And on her face was a featureless white mask.
“Lyssa,” Celia said, feeling her heart break.
She was there when the girl was taken and had seen her expressionless face watch as she ran away. But inside she had still hoped that she would find the girl, alive and unharmed, and bring her home to her parents.
The girl didn’t move. Even without eyeholes, Celia felt she was being watched. She moved slowly to her right and the girl tracked her. The same when she moved back the other way.
“Lyssa? Do you want to go home?”
There was no response. On the other hand, there was no move to attack either.
“Come with me. We’ll get out of here together and go see your Mom and Dad.”
Still nothing.
Celia lowered her club and moved closer. She honestly didn’t know if she could bring herself to use it on the girl or not, but she wasn’t ready to let it go quite yet.
Lyssa still didn’t move beyond turning her head to keep Celia in sight.
“Are you ready to go?” She kept her voice calm, trying to soothe the girl.
When she was in front of her, she reached down with her left hand, keeping the bedpost in her right, allowing the end to drop to the floor. Lyssa didn’t object when she took her hand and started moving to the door. She turned and allowed herself to be led.
C
elia tried not to hurry, but she had the sense that whoever set all this up was only toying with her. Letting her take the girl a certain way, and then the other doors would all open and the rest of the hunters would appear. In their bright colors and white masks, with bodies that felt like old wood and long arms that could wrap around you and—
“Stop it,” she ordered herself. This wasn’t helping, and it wasn’t going to help Lyssa.
She made it back to the stairs, the little girl walking sedately next to her, the white mask turned up to watch her rather than where they were going. Down the two flights and back to the first floor.
All along the hallway, the girl walked with her.
But when she tried to enter the front room, Lyssa balked. Celia tightened her grip on the girl’s hand and pulled gently. Reluctantly, the child followed. Then, she balked again, planting her feet and pulling back.
Celia either needed to drop her club or lose the girl. She threw the bedpost as far as she could into the dark front room and grabbed Lyssa with both hands. Lyssa reared back, but Celia caught her around the waist and lifted.
When she stepped over the threshold, Lyssa went berserk. A piercing whistle came from the mask and she started to twist, squirm and lash out. Her fist caught Celia on the end of the nose, which made her eyes water. A foot into her stomach, followed by a knee.
Lyssa was stronger than any girl her age had any right to be, even one of the Folk. She pummeled Celia, kicking, punching and head-butting until Celia had to let her go.
She dropped the girl, who immediately scrambled away, sprinted back into the hallway and to the stairs. Celia watched in misery as Lyssa disappeared back to the upper levels of the manor.
“Damn it.”
Behind her, for the second time in this very same room, there was the sound of a door creaking open.
Chapter 33
All dead. Darius wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Part of him wanted to laugh. He only wished he was here to see it happen. But a larger part of him was desperately seeking a way out of this mess. The end result of Jocasta’s gambit resulted in her actually consolidating her power. Darius had been counting on playing Childress against her, keeping things unstable until Celia came back and he could really throw the House into chaos.
Although, if you asked him why it was that he was supposed to do that, he had no idea. It was Malachi’s orders. Keep Whispering Pines in a state of flux, don’t allow them to settle back into their comfortable role as spymasters.
He rubbed the half-healed wound on his chest. No, he definitely wanted to stay on Malachi’s good side.
This would take some thinking about. Jocasta wanted him to return to Towering Oaks, to continue pursuing Willow. She had laughed when he told her of his flirtations with the healer, then grew quiet.
“We can use that,” she mused.
“I’m sorry?”
“Think about it. You seduce her and then you’re in a position to shatter her, or even to bring her here. Either way, it diminishes her usefulness to Towering Oaks.”
“But you know healers don’t work for one House. She doesn’t belong to Towering Oaks.”
“Pfft. You’re not that naïve, are you? Of course, she belongs to them. She just doesn’t want to admit it. Regardless, I want you back there.”
And so here he was. House Whispering Pines more stable than any time since Florian’s death and he sent away. Back to where he couldn’t influence events.
He frowned, remembering his attempt to do just that. There was something about Jocasta, almost like a wall of iron, that prevented him from getting inside her mind and twisting her. While he wasn’t as good as his former tutor, the one who turned Florian’s cousin, magic of the mind was still his gift. He should have been able to get through to her.
It was maddening that he couldn’t.
He stalked away from the compound, waving off the offer of accompaniment from the guards, and into the forest. Once out of sight, he called up a portal and returned to his own House.
Malachi might not be pleased with his news, but better to tell him face to face and seek assistance than try to hide. If he wasn’t so practiced in it himself, he almost would have said he was compelled to return.
♦ ♦ ♦
“You’re telling me that while you were busy doing something that you weren’t assigned to, you allowed Jocasta to solidify her position? Do I have that right?”
Malachi was angry. Darius could see it in his eyes and in the way that he held himself.
“I’m afraid so, yes.”
There was nothing more he could do. He could either face the music now or later, and it was bound to be less painful if he came clean himself. Wasn’t it?
“And now you’ve been removed from Whispering Pines yet again. It seems that Jocasta doesn’t have much use for her ‘aide’.”
“I don’t believe it’s so much that, as it is that she trusts me to do in Towering Oaks exactly what you want me to do in her House.”
Malachi considered him for a moment.
“You have a point. Perhaps there’s a way to turn this to our advantage.”
“I do have an idea, if I may.”
Malachi indicated that he could proceed.
“The man I brought here with me last time. Samuel. Let me work on him. I think I can turn him, plant him in Towering Oaks.”
“You didn’t do such a great job the last time I allowed that. Bragnold is a mindless idiot now. It works well enough with Jamshir, but Shireen is a different story. She’ll notice, and question, changes to her aide.”
“I’m aware that I flubbed the job with Bragnold, but Syrus taught me much more after that. I watched what he did in the Rustling Elm tree with Florian’s cousin. I can be more subtle now.”
He thought the use of the phrase from their House name clever. Malachi ignored it.
“And if you fail?”
“I won’t.”
“See that you don’t.” Malachi let the threat linger.
♦ ♦ ♦
The cell was dark. Not pitch black the way the Soul Gaunts liked it, but dark enough to sap a person’s will. Sitting in it, day after day, with nothing to do and no one to talk to was a pretty standard way to soften someone up.
“Samuel,” Darius said gently, approaching the bars.
Within, something stirred but there was no answer.
“Samuel, it’s me. Darius. I’m coming in.”
The bars held an old enchantment, laid down by some Subtle Hemlock adept of centuries past. All he needed to do was walk forward and he’d pass through them. When he was done, he’d leave the same way. As long as he wasn’t the one imprisoned, he had free passage.
Samuel, on the other hand, could throw himself against them from now until doomsday and they’d remain as solid as any ordinary cell bars.
The aide for Towering Oaks was lying in the back of the cell, curled up into a ball and facing the wall. His clothes were dirty and there was a foul smell coming from the hole in one corner. Hard to believe the man had only been here for a couple of days.
“Samuel, come on. Get up. We need to talk.”
Finally, the man turned his head. His eyes went wide when he saw Darius.
“You! You did this?”
“No! Of course not! I found you, that’s all. Do you know where you are?”
“No. The last thing I remember was looking at birds, then I woke up here. I haven’t seen anyone since or had anything to eat.”
Darius wasn’t surprised at that. If anything, he was shocked that Samuel was even given water.
“You’re in the cell of a rival power, outside of the Greenweald. I don’t know who they are. Some race I know nothing of. I found their trail and followed you here. Now, I’m working on securing your release. It might take a little time, though.”
“Who? Why would someone do this? And why me?”
Darius shook his head. “I don’t know. The people here look a lot like us. Like the Folk. But they’re not u
s. They’re cruel, Samuel. They’re demanding a lot for your return. I told Lady Shireen what they wanted and she said no, they couldn’t do it.”
“What was it?” The sheer desperation in Samuel’s voice made it hard for Darius not to smile.
“They want part of the Greenweald. As their own, no Folk living in it.”
“That’s preposterous.”
“I agree. But without it, they say…”
“What? What do they say?”
“They’ll hurt you, Samuel. And then they’ll start sending evidence to Lady Shireen.”
“Evidence? I don’t understand. What do you mean, evidence?”
Darius cleared his throat. “I don’t…I’ve really already said too much…”
“Please!”
“Pieces.” Darius sighed. “They said they’ll start sending pieces of you.”
Samuel sobbed and drew in on himself. “Isn’t there anything you can do?”
“I’m trying, my friend. I’ll keep at it. In the meantime, stay strong if you can. I’ll be back.”
Darius turned and walked from the cell.
“Wait!” Samuel rose to his feet and cautiously approached the bars. “How did you do that? Walk through them like that?”
“Oh.” For a moment Darius was stuck. Then, he reached under his shirt and pulled out a medallion that he wore around his neck. It was nothing. A bauble that his mother gave him long ago, when she was still alive. Some family crest or something equally ridiculous. “They gave me this. It allows me free passage of your cell and around the area. They are powerful wizards, Samuel. I only hope I can sway them.”
He gave the other man a slight bow and turned away again before breaking into a grin.
“Well,” he thought to himself. “That went better than I hoped. I didn’t even have to get into his mind. Yet.”
Chapter 34
“I still can’t believe you did it.” Thaddeus sat up, a sheen of sweat covering his body.
Melanie moved up beside him, laying her head on his chest.
Solomon's Journey Page 17
