Broken Veil

by Jeff Wheeler

  She nodded vehemently.

  He pinned it to the edge of the small table, the whorl design reminding her of a snake preparing to strike. Then he removed a dagger from his belt and, not hesitating once, used the hilt to strike the kystrel. To her shock, it snapped in half, and part of it fell to the floor with a little thump.

  She stared at the broken kystrel on the floor, the edges glimmering in the light. Its power over her had been broken too.

  How strange that something that had impacted her life in such an immense way could be destroyed with such ease. She also removed the ring she’d been given to disguise herself and set it on the table. She wanted nothing to do with the school she’d been forced to stay at.

  As she lay down on top of the mattress and blanket, a heavy weariness washed over her. She could see the boy’s face in the lamplight. Then she remembered something as she fell asleep. When the ghosts used to come for her in the Fells, she’d avoid them by surrounding herself with the youngest children. The ghosts could not reach her with them nearby. Was it a coincidence that the grandfather had brought his grandson to Pree?

  That thought lingered in her mind just a moment longer. And then Cettie slept.

  She awoke to the sound of a child’s voice. “Who is she, Papa?”

  “Her name is Cettie. Isn’t that a pretty name?”

  Her eyes blinked awake. The room was suffused with morning light. She’d slept soundly, not stirring once. At least, not that she could remember. Back at the poisoner school, she’d become accustomed to waking up in a different place from where she’d lain down to sleep, especially before she accepted the kystrel, but every moment of the previous night was burned into her brain. Being freed from the Myriad Ones. Fighting with Will. Hearing his threats—the promise he’d made to murder Adam if she revolted. Fleeing the room. Accepting the old stranger’s invitation.

  “Hello!” the boy said to her sweetly, raising a little paw and waving at her. His hair was long and slightly mussed from sleep. His smile was infectious.

  Cettie lifted herself from the bed on her arms. “Good morning, Curtis,” she greeted.

  He walked over and gave her a hug, the gesture full of an easy, generous affection she hadn’t experienced in a long, long while. She stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head.

  “Papa said you’re coming with us!” he said eagerly, stepping back.

  “If she chooses, Curtis. Only if she chooses.”

  Cettie swung her legs over the side of the bed. The night of pure rest had transformed her. She felt more like herself—her old self. How strange that the transformation should come about so quickly. It was like awakening from a nightmare.

  The old man, Owen, stood from the chair, which he’d moved closer to the door to keep watch. “Where do you need to go, Cettie? We can take you there.”

  “I appreciate your kindness. I truly do. But I don’t think you can take me to where I need to go.” Worry for Adam welled in her gut, sickening her.

  “And where would that be?” he asked.

  “I am . . . I’m not from your world,” she answered. “I need to get to the empire of Comoros. But there is a war between our worlds.”

  The boy gave his grandfather a smile and a knowing look.

  “We can help you,” Owen said. “There are . . . other ways to cross worlds. I happen to know of one. It’s in Brythonica, which is not a long journey from Pree. My wife’s family is from Ploemeur. I know the way.”

  The boy gave Cettie an entreating look. “Please come with us, Cettie.”

  The Fountain had guided them to be at the hotel when she would be there. It had provided her with a way to escape her prison. Gratitude swelled inside her as she nodded. Getting away from Pree would help, but the thought of anything bad happening to these two souls made her cringe. She would not recklessly endanger them.

  “Those seeking me will be watching the hotel closely,” Cettie said. “I would need to disguise myself.”

  Owen looked around the room. “I did bring a rather large trunk. You just might fit inside of it?”

  She saw it against the wall beside Curtis’s bed. “But your clothes, your things.”

  “All can be replaced,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  “Your kindness is overwhelming,” Cettie said.

  “It is a very small thing. Your life seems to have its fill of troubles. I’ve survived plenty of my own, and I’ve learned to trust the whispers from the Fountain. They’ve led me right thus far. Just as they will for you.”

  Cettie’s heart panged again. “I hope that’s still true,” she said, feeling a horrible surge of guilt.

  “Isn’t it a miracle that we are even here? That there is enough air to breathe? That a burning sun keeps this world perfectly warm . . . just as it does on your planet? On both worlds there is water to drink and food to eat. And good people that we can call friends and family.” He reached out and mussed up Curtis’s hair. “Do you think there is anything this child could do that would stop me from loving him?” He gave Cettie a piercing look, one that cut her straight down to her soul. “He might get into a little mischief. He might even do wrong. But he’s mine. And I will always love him.” He beamed down at the little boy, hooking his arm around the lad’s neck. The boy smiled up at his grandfather with pride and love and hugged him around the waist.

  Owen reminded her a little of Fitzroy. Older, more experienced, but they shared a deep wisdom, something she’d always admired in Fitzroy.

  That thought made a shiver run down Cettie’s spine. The way Owen loved Curtis was the way her father, her true father, had loved her. In the beautiful morning sunshine, she felt close to him in a way that transcended reason. As if he were in the very room with them.

  Can you see me, Father? she thought into the stillness.

  She felt a rush of warmth inside her that felt like an answer. Cettie hung her head and began to cry softly.

  “Well, let’s get this chest emptied, shall we, Curtis?” Owen suggested. She could tell he’d made the suggestion to give her a moment to gather herself. Together, the man and the boy heaved the chest up onto the bed. It was long, long enough to fit Cettie if she curled up inside it. When they opened it, she saw a pile of folded clothes, an extra set of boots, a sword and scabbard. Owen unfastened his belt and slid it through the scabbard. It was an older sword, different from sabers the dragoons used. But it was the scabbard that made her stare. It bore the symbol of a raven, and she felt chords of magic emanating from it as Owen buckled it on. It was a melodious sound, pure and powerful.

  As he finished cinching the belt, it struck her with powerful certainty that this man knew how to use that sword. She had no doubt of it.

  “Let’s leave some clothes in there so it’s comfortable for her, Papa,” said Curtis. He gave her a knowing smile. His childlike innocence made the world seem brighter than it had just yesterday.

  “You can get me back to my world?” Cettie asked, the thread of hope growing thicker. “They will try to harm those I love.”

  Owen nodded. “Trust me. We can get you home faster than you think.”

  The idea came to me this morning during my walk. Regardless of what time I am abed at night, I always awaken before the rising of the sun and take a brisk walk in the tenements surrounding the hospital. It gives me time to think, to ponder, to wrestle with the issues from the previous day.

  I know the officers of Law use a map of the Fells in their efforts to hunt the Fear Liath that was set loose here. They mark the streets where victims are found. The idea came to me to use the same tool to keep track of the victims of the cholera morbus. If I understand their commonalities, perhaps I can discover how the disease is carried. A certain type of food they eat, perhaps. Something they drink. I already know it cannot be the air they breathe.

  I fear that if we do not find the source of the plague soon, there will not be enough boxes to bury them all in.

  —Adam Creigh, Killingworth Hospital
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  SERA

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MR. BATEWINCH

  Mrs. Pullman brought food twice more, as well as the sickly sweet cider that Sera refused to drink. Her thirst had become an intense, powerful urge. It made Sera suffer in a way she had never suffered before. Her arm was still throbbing, the wound a nasty reddish black, and the cut on her face pulsed with pain. Confined in her little room, hurting and parched, Sera could do little else than wonder what Lady Corinne would do to her next.

  Being in the dark made her lose all sense of time. It felt like she had been there for days, but it couldn’t have been that long, could it? The lack of water would have killed her.

  The isolation was its own kind of torture. Her thoughts spooled in dizzying circles as she tried to think of a way to escape. She’d tested each portion of her little cell, looking for weakness. But she lacked the strength to pry anything open. Thankfully, there were no rats scuttling in the dark. Sera wondered if she could overpower Mrs. Pullman, but how? One of her arms was practically useless. She worried a physical scuffle with the old woman would end in humiliating defeat.

  So Sera reached out to the Mysteries, asking for a way out of her predicament. She focused on the idea of escaping, willing something to happen to change her fortune. It was tempting to grumble inside about her condition, but surely Trevon had experienced worse, and his abduction had lasted more than a year already.

  If he can bear it, so can you.

  The thought gave her strength, and it made her feel closer to her husband than she had the past year.

  More time passed, she wasn’t sure how much, when she heard a noise coming from beyond the door. Acting on instinct, Sera scooted closer to it, though she did not yet have a plan for how to best Mrs. Pullman. It struck her that the steps sounded different now.

  A pulse shivered in the air, and the Leering outside the door spilled light into the corridor. From the crack beneath the door, she thought she saw a different pair of shoes—a man’s set. Was this someone who could help her? The feet shuffled a bit, as if the person were searching for something.

  Sera sat up and knocked on the door. “Can you hear me? Help!”

  “Goodness gracious, who is that?” asked a gruff voice. The steps drew quickly to the door, and the handle jangled. It was still locked.

  “Can you hear me?” Sera asked, hope flooding her chest.

  “I can. Who is this? Who locked you in here?”

  “Mrs. Pullman locked me in here.”

  “Who the devil is Mrs. Pullman?”

  Sera could tell the man was befuddled by the situation. She had to think quickly. “She’s the keeper of the manor.”

  “No, the keeper at Gimmerton Sough is Mrs. Rosings.” The handle jangled again. “Who is Mrs. Pullman?”

  Sera closed her eyes. “Who are you, good sir? What is your name?”

  “I am Mr. Batewinch, the steward of Gimmerton Sough.”

  Sera bit her lip to prevent herself from squealing. She knew that name. Cettie had told her about him, about his arrival at Gimmerton Sough with the Patchett siblings. So she was at Gimmerton Sough, which she knew Lady Corinne owned. That made perfect sense. At least the woman hadn’t stowed her in some far-flung part of Kingfountain. She was still home. There was still hope.

  “Mr. Batewinch, please listen to me,” Sera said in a trembling voice. “I am Sera Fitzempress. I was abducted by Lady Corinne Lawton, who is a traitor to the empire. My life is in grave danger. Please, you must free me and contact the ministries immediately. There is a Control Leering here at the estate, is there not? You must contact them at once and tell them where I am.”

  “Y-your Majesty?” Mr. Batewinch said with utter confusion in his voice. “You’re the empress? I don’t understand. Is this some trick?”

  Sera wanted to reach through the door and clutch his shirt. Instead, she took a deep breath to calm her emotions and spoke as quickly as she could. “No trick, Mr. Batewinch. I know your name. I know you were Admiral Patchett’s steward. That you’ve tried to look after his children, Joanna and Randall, as best you can. Please, sir, you must help me. Your keeper may be an imposter. Her real name is Mrs. Pullman—the same Mrs. Pullman who used to work at Fog Willows. She’s been feeding me, but she’s in league with Lady Corinne. Please! I beg you, send for help immediately.”

  “Your story sounds a little far-fetched,” said Mr. Batewinch. “But either way, a young woman shouldn’t be kept locked in the cellar. One of the serving girls told me she’d seen Mrs. Rosings carrying food down here and feared someone was being confined as a punishment.”

  Sera felt a gush of gratitude for the faithful servant who had reported it.

  “Please summon help,” Sera said. “You will see that I’m not lying.” She thought a moment. The nearest officers would be at the Fells, but Fog Willows was closer. “Can you tell me . . . is Lady Maren at Fog Willows still?”

  “Of course. And so is Master Stephen.”

  “Send her word right away. She knows me, she would vouch for me.”

  “All right, miss. I won’t delay. Whatever trouble you are in, I’m sure we can work it out. Are you really the empress?”

  “I am, Mr. Batewinch. I swear by the Mysteries.”

  “No need to do that,” he said. “I’ll return promptly. I don’t like the idea of anyone being confined in there. This won’t do.”

  Sera’s gratitude was overpowering. She leaned her forehead against the door, listening as Mr. Batewinch’s footsteps went down the corridor. Then the sound was gone, and she was once more bathed in silence.

  Turning, Sera leaned back against the door, her stomach in knots. She nursed her sore arm and regretted not asking Mr. Batewinch to bring her some water. If only she could break the door with her fists. If only Mr. Batewinch had been hale enough to do so for her.

  Trembling with anticipation, she waited in the stillness. The steward had left the Leering alight, so she focused on the band of light glowing beneath the door. Each minute felt like ages, but the worst was over. Soon she’d be on a zephyr rushing back to Lockhaven. Lady Corinne had the Tay al-Ard, which made her even more dangerous, but Sera would thwart her, defy her, hunt her down, and bring her to justice.

  She heard the sound of footsteps again and recognized the tread as that of the shoes she’d heard earlier.

  “Mr. Batewinch?” she called.

  “Yes, I am returned.” He sounded out of breath. “I couldn’t get the Leering to work. I couldn’t reach anyone. I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “She’s controlling it,” Sera said, her frustration growing. She scowled, made a fist with her good hand, and struck the door. It only made her fingers hurt.

  “So I fetched a crowbar,” Mr. Batewinch said. “I’m going to force the door open. Stand back, if you please.”

  Sera’s fury turned to joy. She was to be freed after all. She stepped back, her heart beating double time in her chest. The sound of the metal biting into the wood, the wood crunching beneath the assault, thrilled her.

  “Give me a few moments,” Mr. Batewinch wheezed out.

  Another sound of footsteps mingled with the other noises.

  “Someone is coming!” Sera warned.

  The crunching stopped.

  “Whatever are you doing in the cellar, Mr. Batewinch?” said Mrs. Pullman in a calm drawl.

  “I’m rescuing some poor soul you’ve locked up down here,” he answered. “I see you’ve got the keys . . . I order you to unlock this door at once.”

  “Do I tell you your business, Mr. Batewinch?” said Mrs. Pullman.

  “Unlock this door at once!”

  Sera felt a growing sense of dread as an oily feeling seeped toward her, sapping her hope and dimming the bright light coming in from under the door. Her pulse quickened as a spasm of fear shot through her.

  “Who are you?” Batewinch demanded, his voice trembling.

  “You mean nothing to me,” said Mrs. Pullman in a dead, merciless voice.
Sera heard her shoes approaching, slapping the floor one after the other, slow but sure. The light of her lantern only appeared to increase the shadows in the corridor.

  Then Sera heard a thump, the sound of a body thudding against a wall, and a horrible hissing wheeze. Somehow she knew it was the sound of a man struggling to breathe.

  “Let him go!” Sera said, pounding on the door. Then she shrieked as Mr. Batewinch’s body collided with the other side of the door with a solid thump. The body sagged to the floor, blotting all but the edges of the light.

  This darkness wasn’t just the absence of light. She felt the presence of the Myriad Ones, a power she’d not felt since taking the Test at Muirwood Abbey. Sera stood back, swallowing her fear, trying to repel the dark power radiating from the other side of the door.

  She heard what was unmistakably the sound of a heavy object striking Mr. Batewinch’s skull. A gasp escaped her lips. When the key went into the lock, Sera tried to radiate bravery and strength, but her knees were knocking together.

  Mr. Batewinch fell back into the cell, his eyes open, his chest still.

  Mrs. Pullman stood in the frame of the door, her face in shadows. She gripped her lantern in her hand. Power and strength emanated from her despite her wizened frame, dark, dark, dark.

  “You killed him,” Sera whispered.

  “Everyone dies,” Mrs. Pullman answered, her tone flat and uncaring.

  Sera steeled herself. She remembered the words to banish the Myriad Ones. To gain power over them.

  Sera stood firm and began to say, “Banirex—”

  Mrs. Pullman rushed forward and clamped her hand around Sera’s throat, cutting off the words. With inhuman strength, the old keeper pressed her against the far wall of the cell. Sera tried wrestling the hand from her throat, but the woman’s grip was stronger than iron. She couldn’t breathe.

  “That only works,” Mrs. Pullman sneered, squeezing harder, “on some of them.”

  Spots began to dance in front of Sera’s eyes, but just when she was certain she’d suffocate, Mrs. Pullman suddenly released her grip. Sera dropped to the floor, gasping for breath. The spots still crowded her vision, but she blinked rapidly, trying not to faint.