Lord Milton held up his hand. He was sitting behind a desk, overflowing with papers. ‘Sharra, I’m rather busy.’
‘But this is important.’
‘I’m sure you think it is, but I’m afraid the Settlement is almost certainly more important than your argument with Ivory.’
‘But –’
‘But nothing, Sharra. I realise I must accustom myself to the knowledge that my daughter and my wife will never like each other, but for the sake of all of us you must learn to be more tolerant.’
‘But she’s sending me to Camden!’
‘That is a very good idea. You’ve never been in a position to see how another Hold works and it will be a good learning experience for you. You are the senior daughter of the house now and you have responsibilities.’
‘She’s going to tell you what I did and you won’t understand.’
Milton pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. He took a deep breath and then looked up. ‘Enough. You cannot run to me with your petty squabbles. And at a time like this. I thought you would understand how important this Settlement is. I do not have time for this.’
‘For me?’
‘You are old enough to deal with such things yourself. You need to make allowances for Ivory. She misses her daughter very much.’
‘But she blames me for everything.’
‘Go next door and wait for Gareth. I have arranged for you to work in the way-station for a few days. I hope seeing behind the workings of the Hold will give you more insight not only into what we do, but how each of us must play a helping part.’
‘But, Father –’
Lord Milton pointed at the door. He looked old, tired and angry.
‘But you don’t understand what I’ve done. I must tell you.’
‘Leave!’ Sharra had heard her father speak to the apprentices in this tone, loud and authoritative, but he had never before used it to her. She stayed frozen for a moment, too surprised and confused to reply. Milton pointed at the door again. Slowly, Sharra turned and made her way into Gareth’s office. It was just as well she knew the way well as her vision was blurry with tears.
Sharra cried hard in the empty office. No one came and eventually she dried her eyes. When Gareth did finally open the door she was sitting composed and silent on a small stool lost in her thoughts.
‘Sharra?’
Sharra shook herself. Gareth was bending over her in concern. ‘Are you ill?’
‘I was thinking.’
‘Ah, that explains your pallor. The unusual activity has made you tired,’ said Gareth.
Sharra managed a half-smile.
‘Right, come on. I’m taking you down to the way-station.’
Like everyone in the Hold Sharra knew the way-station existed deep beneath the Hold. For as long as she could remember she had fallen asleep to the floomph-floomph sounds of the pipes carrying Maps beneath the floor. She knew the way-stations were the Hold’s primary way of sharing information on the latest Shift, but she had never been allowed below ground. So despite the worries she found her heart skipped faster in a good way and that there was a small flutter of excitement in her chest when Gareth swung back the final heavy leaded door to the main way-station chamber.
Sharra hadn’t known what she expected to see. She only knew it was not this.
She and Gareth had exited out on to a high platform with a guard rail. Below them lay row upon row of long tables at which at least twenty apprentices were sorting canisters. Rising from the tables in a giant lattice were a series of pipes of various sizes. All across the pipework there hung small lights that shone downwards on to the tables. The metal glinted and shone, but much of the room remained in darkness. Sharra had a feeling she was in a huge room. She tried to trace the pipework, but it was too dazzling. She thought each pipe came down in more than one section of the table. The room was unexpectedly hot and windy. The apprentices’ voices rose in a low murmur to them.
Sharra started forward to head down the metal steps. Gareth held her back. ‘Wait. A shipment is due.’
She looked up at him about to ask what he meant when a bell rang shrilly. The apprentices immediately ran from their tables to the far side of the room. Sharra leaned over the rail and peered down into the gloom. Someone brought up another light and she saw there was a round hatch, taller than a man, in the wall. A light in the wall above the hatch glowed red. The apprentices waited. It turned green and they swung the hatch open. There was a loud hiss and rush of warm air. Even high above the room Sharra felt the breeze on her skin.
The hatch was flooded with light and, held inside a giant golden net, lay a large cylinder. Sharra’s heart skipped a beat; it was so coffin like. But one of the apprentices went forward and opened up the top of the capsule. He began pulling out cylinders of various sizes and the others took these away in baskets and boxes to the tables. The operation was smooth and well practised. Within a very few minutes the cylinder was emptied. Work continued inside the hatch. Sharra craned over the rail to see what they would do now, but Gareth caught her by the collar. ‘It’s easier if we take the stairs.’
As they descended it grew hotter and windier. Once on the ground floor Sharra could no longer see the main hatch. Most of the room was obscured by the pipework lattice that reached up above their heads into the darkness. It twisted and turned and coiled. Every few seconds there was a floomph-floomph of a cylinder entering a pipe. Except instead of the gentle noise Sharra had heard from above here there was a sharp popping edge to it that made her want to stick her fingers in her ears. The apprentices didn’t appear bothered by it. They moved quickly up and down the tables, clearing them and sending cylinder upon cylinder on its way. From the low murmur of voices they obviously even managed to carry on conversations with their neighbours.
‘I’ll never be able to do this,’ said Sharra.
Gareth beckoned to a young man with a green tunic. ‘This is Willium. He is floor supervisor for this shift and he’ll show you how it all works. I’ll collect you later.’
‘Gareth, no wait . . .’
‘He won’t be able to hear you,’ said Willium as they watched Gareth climb the stairs. ‘Voices don’t carry well over the sound of the pipes. Don’t worry, we’ll start you on something simple. Everyone finds it confusing at first.’
He led Sharra to the far end of the first table. ‘Look, you’ve only got three minor uploaders here. One for the Cartography Halls, one for Lord Milton and one for Dame Ivory.’
‘Ivory gets Maps?’
Willium laughed. ‘It’s not just Maps that come through here. Though that’s the vital part of our work. The senior personnel at each Hold are allowed limited use of the pipe system for messages. It’s meant to be for vital information only, but if there’s space in a major capsule then none of the Lords tend to object if the odd personal message sneaks in. Even Gareth occasionally hears from his cousin in Silvern Hold.’
‘Gareth has a cousin?’
‘Did you think he’d grown from an egg? Now look, the cylinders will be delivered to your table today. All you need to do is sort them by mark, open the uploader like this, return the lever and it’s away. Only one at a time, mind or you’ll jam the system. There’s another major capsule due in from Weven any minute, so I’ll leave you to it.’
Sharra nodded. ‘I think I’ve got it.’
‘I don’t need to say that we never open the cylinders, do I?’
‘Of course not,’ said Sharra.
It seemed to Sharra that the moment she was down to her last six cylinders another basket load appeared. Now Willium had disappeared there was no one to talk to, so Sharra settled into a rhythm, clearing her section of the table as fast as she could. She barely registered the boy who was delivering them to her. She had managed to get it down to three when a basket was dumped on her table.
‘Drat it! I thought for sure I’d beat you this time.’
‘Aye, you’re not doing bad,’ said the boy.
‘But you should take a stretch now and then if you want to be able to stand upright tomorrow.’
Sharra straightened her back and let out a little whimper of pain. ‘You’ve been hunched over for a good few hours,’ said the boy.
‘I have? It doesn’t seem like any time at all.’
‘Aye, that’s what it’s like when you get into the flow. I’ll see you in a wee while.’
Sharra worked on with no sense of time. She was deep in deciphering a particularly badly etched seal when Willium tapped her on the shoulder. ‘You need a break. Come with me.’ He escorted her to an area at the back of the room where there was a small table and a large pot of hot tea. ‘There’s even biscuits. That must be in your honour.’
‘My honour?’
‘It’s not often Lord Milton’s senior daughter comes down to the way-station. There’s never been another woman working the floor.’
‘Oh, I didn’t know.’
‘Did you enjoy it?’
Sharra blew on her tea. ‘Yes, I did. I’ve been falling asleep to the sound of the pipes since I was little, so to actually see them was special. But it was more than that, there’s something about sending all those messages . . .’ she trailed off under his steady gaze. ‘I’m being silly.’
Willium shook his head. ‘No, you’re not. There’s an excitement to it. Knowing you’re passing on information that could warn of Shift, or will form the basis of a new diplomacy.’
‘And that it’s coming in here from all over the world,’ said Sharra.
‘Well, from the Holds. But yeah, you get it. That surprises me, but when I saw how fast you were working. You were trying your best.’
Sharra nodded. ‘It felt like I was part of something. Doing something good.’
Willium grinned. ‘But I bet your back aches now. If you’re going to stay with us for a few days you’ll have to learn to make time for tea.’
‘I’m staying?’
‘Gareth said it was down to me. He suggested you could work down here for five days. I’d be happy to take you on permanently, but I reckon you’ll have other Hold duties to attend to.’
‘Thank you. I’d like to stay as long as I can.’
‘I suppose I should have expected as much from Milton’s daughter. Your father is an extraordinary man.’ He leaned in closely. ‘Just so you know, all of us down here are behind him. None of us support the old guard; we think your father is right. There needs to be changes. We’ve got to stop squeezing the last drop of resource out of the world. We need to plan for tomorrow. Restore the balance if we can. You do know what I’m talking about?’ Willium’s face suddenly grew wary. ‘I know he can’t tell you everything, but I –’
‘Yes,’ said Sharra quickly not wanting these confidences to stop, ‘we are close.’
Willium sighed with relief. ‘Thank the world for that. I thought I’d just landed myself in it.’
‘It’s a pity about Ivory,’ ventured Sharra.
‘That he trusts her so much?’
Sharra nodded.
‘She did him such a service by marrying him that he can’t see that she’s switched her allegiances back to her first husband’s Hold.’
‘Camden?’
‘Why else would she marry her daughter – not even marry, but sell her daughter off to an idiot like Gory? I hate to be the one to say it, but the rumour in the Halls is she didn’t back him for the Central Archive. It’s hard to put your trust in a man whose wife is eager to betray him.’
Sharra set her drink down. The teacup rattled in the saucer and she realised her hands were shaking. She licked her lips. ‘Why does Ivory hate me so much?’
Willium leaned back. ‘I need to get on.’
‘You know something, don’t you?’
Willium sighed. ‘I know for your own safety your father should have told you the truth about your mother long ago instead of forbidding the entire Hold, on pain of expulsion, to mention it before you.’
‘But that’s ridiculous,’ said Sharra.
‘Yes. But he is Lord of the Hold.’
Chapter Six
Sharra woke early. Despite her heavy covers she was cold. Everyone else was still asleep. To her left a child snored softly and lightly. She swung her feet out of the bed, and winced as her soles hit the freezing stone floor. She pattered quickly over to the window, and wiping the pane with her sleeve, looked out. She could see nothing but white. Fog and mist filled the air.
Today she would not be returning to the way-station, but venturing out into the freezing landscape outside. Trust Ivory not even to let her have one day late in bed after all that work before she shipped her off to do more Hold chores.
Her trunk had been taken away while she slept. She dressed quickly and hurried down to the kitchen where travellers always had breakfast. Marnie gave her hot rolls and a sweet, thick, hot cordial.
‘Made from Dame Ivory’s own herbal chest,’ said Marnie. ‘She knows how you don’t do well travelling.’
‘Is she back from the Central Archive already?’
‘No, sweets, but she left the herbs in a little bag for me to make up. I reckon how with this new change in her husband and her daughter’s fortunes she’s trying to reach out to you at last.’ Marnie hugged her around the shoulders. ‘Everything is going to work out, you wait and see.’
‘It tastes disgusting.’
‘Nonsense. It’ll be bone cold in that old carriage. You need something warm inside you. To think of you going out and playing the fine young Lady at Camden. Your mother would have been so proud.’ Marnie rubbed a hand roughly across her eyes. ‘And you so like her. I don’t care what folks say and mind you don’t care either. Your father loved your mother and she loved you, poor wee mite that you were. She’d be so happy to see you grown. We all never thought you’d make it, but she never lost faith. But there they say a mother always knows with her own.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘World bless you, love. Course you don’t. Just an old woman’s ramblings. You do us proud at Camden now. Drink up, the carriage’ll be here any moment.’
Sharra obediently took another sip, but when Marnie turned back to tend the main kitchen fire, she tipped the tea into one of the dog’s bowls.
Sharra finished her roll quickly. No one appeared to tell her the carriage was ready, but when she heard the clank of horseshoes on the cobbles outside she got up. From amidst her pots Marnie called a cheery farewell. ‘Sorry, I can’t come out to the bridge, love, but breakfast will burn. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of folk there for you.’
Sharra made her way down to the front of the house. The courtyard was clear of mist, but long before the edge of the estate the world disappeared back into white. Her carriage stood in the place of departure, below the empty farewell bridge. Sharra blinked back tears. It was early enough that Settlement business had not begun and she had hoped at least Milton would be there. Even little Clem waving goodbye would have been a welcome sight. After she pulled the door to Sharra ventured further out and looked up at the great structure that was Milton Hold. It rose vast and impersonal above her. The door opened suddenly and Gareth shot out and almost stumbled on the icy courtyard.
‘Oh good, you’re still here.’ Gareth embraced her.
‘I don’t have to go?’ asked Sharra.
‘Of course you do. I’m here to give you your father’s fond wishes. He is very proud of you and will see you soon. He wanted to come down himself, but Central Archive business prevented him, so he sent me. I trust I’m not too disappointing?’
Sharra reached up and hugged Gareth. She had the sudden doubt her father had remembered she was leaving at all. If her departure had been remembered surely there would have been others on the bridge? Only Gareth had remembered. She kissed him on his woolly cheek. ‘Thank you.’ Even by the dim foggy light Sharra fancied she could see Gareth blushing. He offered her his arm and escorted her to the carriage.
Four outriders in the
livery of the Hold surrounded the vehicle. They tugged their caps at her as she passed. Their horses snorted clouds, dark eyes rolling with excitement as they skittered beneath their riders eager to get moving in the cold. The driver opened the carriage door for her and extended a gloved hand. She saw his face as she stepped up on the plate. It was the driver who had snuck away at Frangelli for ale all that time ago. He was too close as he helped her into the carriage and she could smell his breath. It was foul, but smelled of onions rather than ale.
Sharra sank back into the cushions. The door was shut and fastened. One of the outriders raised his arm, signalling them to go, and the carriage lurched into motion. Sharra rolled down the window and waved to Gareth until he was a dim, blurry figure in the fog.
When Milton Hold disappeared into the fog, Sharra sat back and rolled up the window once more. It made little difference. The cold snuck in at all the misfitting corners of the carriage. Her stomach lurched unpleasantly. The vehicle had seen better days. Sharra tried not to take it personally. She knew the best carriages would be reserved for the journey to the Central Archive. Instead, she clenched her fists and concentrated on not being sick. How on earth was she going to survive days travelling like this?
It was touch and go for longer than Sharra thought possible, but she didn’t lose her breakfast. Instead she gave up on dignity and found a way to wedge herself across the seat to minimise the swaying. When, what felt like an eternity later, the carriage stopped, it took her by surprise. The door opened and the startled driver found her lying in a heap on the floor.
‘We’re stopping here, ma’am. I thought you might like to use the facilities. It’s a common place, but they’ll have a necessary.’
Not waiting for the man to offer her a hand, Sharra scrambled out blushing. The world was still blanketed in fog. She was barely able to see the path beneath her feet, but someone had lit a lantern by the inn door and she groped her way towards it.
Inside it was no more than a large room with a bar along one wall, a staircase leading up at one side and a couple of doors in the opposite wall. But there was a huge hearth fire and it was wonderfully warm. Sharra ignored everything but the fire. She stood in front of it soaking up the golden light and felt blood returning to her fingertips. Her jaw felt very sore and she realised her teeth must have been chattering for hours. A man, who looked as if he would be more at home on a boat, came out from behind the bar. He made her an awkward half-bow.
The Map Maker's Daughter Page 8
