“If you can do anything . . . ” Ilona’s face said it all. Her eyes were wet with tears.
“I’ll try, but I’m not sure what I can do.”
I took the seat Ilona vacated and touched Larien’s hand. It felt cool and oddly lifeless. It was unsettling to see him there, so still, so quiet. He looked like a corpse until I saw the shallow rise and fall of his chest.
“Can you find his spirit and summon it back into his body?” David asked.
“Summon?”
“That’s what I was trying to do. There’s a thread between body and soul that hasn’t yet been broken, though it’s stretched almost beyond bearing.”
I took Larien’s hand more firmly and pictured everything I knew that made him Larien. I remembered him in our household in Plymouth, glamoured to look like a rowankind, elbows on the kitchen table, eating supper and laughing with Ruth, one of our servants. I remembered him around my mother, always so charming, and then that day when I’d hidden in her bedroom, afraid of getting caught for some minor misdemeanor, only to witness them together beneath the sheets. I was too young to understand what was happening at the time, but later I’d realized what I’d seen and thought if my mother had taken brief comfort from it, then it was no bad thing. Of course, I hadn’t known about David until later. She’d done her best to cover up the birth of a bastard who, as far as she knew, was half-rowankind. It was only after I discovered David was my brother that I met Larien in his true form, as a Fae lord.
All these images were Larien. I hadn’t thought he’d cared much about David except as an heir, but he’d stepped in front of a deadly spell to save him. Maybe this Fae wasn’t such a cold fish as he seemed.
Larien.
I summoned his spirit.
Larien.
I hoped I hadn’t gotten this wrong. I didn’t want to pull his spirit out of his body. I needed to tempt it back in.
Larien.
The third time was the charm. His spirit didn’t come from his body, but toward it. Behind him, holding his hand and trying to draw him in the opposite direction, was a small gray creature, all head, arms, and legs on a tiny body. It looked pinched and malevolent.
I didn’t know how old Larien was. I knew he’d been on the Council of Seven for over two hundred years, but I suspected he was a lot older than that. His spirit told me I was right. It wasn’t visibly old, but there was something about it that spoke of age and experience.
“Who calls me?”
“Rossalinde.”
“Why?”
“To draw you back to your body before it’s too late.”
“It’s already too late.” He glanced at the small gray thing and took a step toward where it was trying to pull him.
“No, it isn’t. It’s not yet your time. Your wife and son are waiting for you.”
“I’m sundered.”
“Not yet. Not quite.”
I leaned forward and put my hand over that of the gray thing to try to pry Larien’s hand from the creature’s grasp. It pulled its hand free and then tried to yank my hand away from Larien’s. I held tight. With my free hand, I pulled on the thread running between Larien and his soul. “See. There’s yet a tether.”
I pulled again.
Closer.
Again.
The gray thing tugged at Larien’s elbow.
I kicked it away. “Begone.”
Was it my imagination? Was it getting smaller? It made one more attempt; when I wouldn’t let go, it bit my hand. Its teeth were needle-sharp.
“Owww! Enough!” I shook it loose and slapped it on the side of the head before grabbing Larien’s hand again.
Now I felt as though Larien’s spirit was looking over my shoulder at his own body.
“There’s still breath in it,” he said.
“It’s your breath. Take it.”
With a rush that made me dizzy, I felt the spirit and the body rejoin.
Larien gasped a deep breath. His eyes flew open and he sat upright. “I’m back,” he said.
I let go of his hand and rubbed my own where blood was oozing from a ring of teeth marks.
Ilona touched Larien’s face briefly, then took my hand. “That needs treating immediately,” she said. “You mustn’t let it fester.”
“I can ask the Lady—”
“No. You’ve done us a great service. Let me help.”
Without her calling for anything, a young rowankind brought a bowl of water and some cloths.
“Thank you, Ema.” Ilona smiled at the girl. “Please bring the winterwood casket.”
Winterwood was ensorcelled wood. The Heart of Oak had a sliver in her keel. It wasn’t used casually. I wondered what was so precious that Ilona kept it in winterwood. When Ema brought the casket, big enough that she needed to carry it in two hands, I saw a row of small pots. Ilona selected one and opened it.
“This may tingle,” she said as she smoothed on a salve with a violet tint. “Don’t wash it off for at least a day. I’m afraid the bite may leave a scar.”
“What was it—the gray thing?”
She shook her head.
“Something I’m glad you separated me from,” Larien said.
44
Freeze
LARIEN DIDN’T QUITE say thank you, though it was obvious he now felt as though he owed me. If I needed a favor, I only had to ask. That was the way it worked with the Fae.
I regarded my bite mark, hot and inflamed, but no longer bleeding. It was beginning to tingle as Ilona had warned. I rejoined Corwen to take George, Lord Stratford, and Mr. Pitt back to their waiting coach by way of Richmond. I was pleased to see their feet didn’t grow again when they left Iaru. Lord Dax’s reversal of the effect seemed to be permanent.
“How’s your gout, Mr. Pitt?”
“Perfectly absent, thank you.”
“Do you really think you can persuade Parliament to disband the Mysterium? You weren’t simply saying that, were you?”
“I’m not saying it will be as easy as this.” He snapped his fingers. “But I’ll see the king today, and we’ll talk.”
“If only we’d met you a few months ago. We had the devil of a time speaking to the king, and even then it didn’t get us anywhere.”
“It helps being the former first minister.”
I fancied from the way he spoke that he was planning to be the next first minister as well. Good luck to him.
We said good-bye to Lord Stratford, Mr. Pitt, and George at their coach and returned to town in a mood of cautious optimism. When we arrived back, the Thames was still frozen. A huge frost fair was in full swing. Corwen and I looked at each other and took the bridge instead of the ice.
The following day nothing happened.
In its own way it was as stressful as our visit to the Fae or having to tell George Pomeroy his beloved Lily was a part-time wolf. We resisted the temptation to send messages to Lord Stratford or Mr. Pitt, having to trust they were both doing what they said they’d do and let them get on with it.
While Corwen went across to the Red Lion to check on the horses, I took the opportunity to check on Diccon’s spirit, languishing in the brandy flask. I hoped he was unaware of the passing of time. I uncorked the flask and poured Diccon out. He grew to his own size and shape, though he was still as insubstantial as morning mist.
“How are you, Diccon?”
“I’m very well, madam.” His speech was slurred as if he was literally drunk on the brandy fumes. He couldn’t really be drunk. Spirits didn’t interact with the real world in such a way, but suggestion and imagination could prove powerful. If Diccon liked to think he was drunk, it might help him to pass the time.
“How far can you range and still come back to me safely?” I asked him.
He looked puzzled.
“For instance, can you see w
hat’s happening in the room below?”
“I don’t kno—” He knelt and pressed his ghostly head to the floor, then pushed it through the floorboards. His whole body disappeared after it. I wondered if I’d asked too much of him, but he returned a few moments later.
“Oh, my! There’s a lady and a gentleman. She has her skirts up to her waist and he has his trousers down to his knees, and they’re . . . ” He paused, and I swear his face reddened. “Basket-making, ma’am. Making feet for babies’ socks . . . the beast with two backs.”
“I get the idea, thank you, Diccon. If you can tear yourself away, can you see what’s in the room next to them?”
He disappeared through the floor again. After a few minutes I began to fear I’d lost him, but as I was contemplating disturbing the two lovebirds below to see if Diccon had voyeuristic tendencies, he floated back up through the boards.
“What did you see?”
“Not much. It was over in three thrusts, he paid her, and that was that.” I noticed his drunken slur had disappeared.
“I didn’t mean that. Did you manage to see the room next door?”
“It was empty. The bar downstairs is doing a rattling trade, though. My mam used to keep a sweet house before he came.”
I didn’t need to ask who Diccon was talking about.
“Are you ready to go back in your flask?”
He sighed. “Are you still looking for my body and the thief what took it?”
“I am.”
Without another word he slid back into the flask.
I hadn’t told him the hunt for Walsingham had slipped a little down our priority list in view of the Fae’s threat, and that things had taken a very unexpected turn with the involvement of Mr. Pitt.
Corwen, Lily, and I were all dangerously exposed now, and our only safety lay in the Mysterium being disbanded and magic being decriminalized. Did we trust George, Mr. Pitt, and Lord Stratford? The answer was mostly yes, but for that small amount of doubt, we paid our bill at the Town of Ramsgate and signaled for Hookey to send over the Heart’s boat. At least we’d have warning if redcoats turned up in force to arrest us. I didn’t really think they would, but I wasn’t going to risk my life or Corwen’s. And Corwen had already taken George to one side and suggested he send Lily to the Heart, just in case. If all else failed, we could make a fast exit downriver.
Lily arrived in the afternoon, having taken a boat from below London Bridge. George came with her, although he didn’t stay since he’d been pressed to take some invitations to his grandfather’s colleagues in the Upper House, inviting them to a meeting.
“Do you know what progress Mr. Pitt has made?” Corwen asked.
“I don’t, but I do know he saw the king last night and this morning spoke to both Mr. Addington and Mr. Fox.”
I wondered what the results of those meetings were.
“I’ve never slept in a hammock before,” Lily said as I showed her where we three would sleep. I’d refused Hookey’s offer of his cabin but had taken up Mr. Rafiq’s offer to hang a sail across a corner of the hold. Since our crew was down to thirty, there was much more room in the hold than there used to be in the Heart’s privateering days.
It was Lily’s first time aboard a sailing ship, so she wanted to know everything and was still asking questions when I helped her into her hammock.
“Remember. Don’t try to turn over suddenly.”
We finally got some sleep while Hookey organized watches throughout the night, but our worst fears didn’t come to pass.
I wondered whether there would be more Fae changes in the night. So far, they’d done something every other day, and it had been two days since the Thames had frozen. What next?
By the time we’d crawled out of our hammocks the following morning, the broadsheets were being shouted from every corner. Calamity had struck. All Kentish hops had withered and died overnight and were discovered at dawn, crumbling and blowing away on the wind. Kent supplied hops to most of the brewers in the country. At a stroke, growers and breweries alike were ruined.
“I suppose we should be glad it’s not wheat,” Corwen said.
The dire harvest of 1800, which had brought the country to the edge of famine and led to bread riots, was still in recent memory.
“It’s not wheat yet,” I said. “But it so very easily could be.”
With two days to go before midsummer’s day, we didn’t know what the Fae might visit upon us.
* * *
On the 20th with one day to go before midsummer, George arrived by boat and climbed aboard the Heart straight into Lily’s waiting arms. When he’d had time to extricate himself from her embrace, we retreated to Hookey’s cabin.
“How goes everything?” I asked.
“Mr. Pitt has an excellent following in the Commons, though Mr. Addington is not yet convinced. Surprisingly, Mr. Fox and his followers are not dead set against Mr. Pitt in this, though I’m sure it wouldn’t take much to make them mortal enemies again, at least in Parliament, so Pitt has to tread carefully.”
“What does the bill cover?” Corwen asked.
“It’s a bill of two halves. Firstly, there’s the disbanding of the Mysterium and an end to the licensing of witches. It also eliminates punishment for the use of non-registered witchcraft.”
“That’s good for me,” I said, “but what about the rowankind and the goblins?”
“In addition, there’s the element which gives rights to all magicals, including but not limited to witches, rowankind, goblins, hobs, and shapechangers.” He grinned. “I reminded them to add in the last one. It’s called the Disbanding of the Mysterium and the Recognition of Magic and Magical Personages Bill. A bit of a mouthful, but Parliament has never been brief.”
“Does that cover everything?”
“I hope so. It’s been drawn up very hastily. Normally, bills take weeks to get the wording exactly right, but I’ve read a draft copy and I think it’s comprehensive. If this passes through Parliament, magic will no longer be illegal though the bill does say crimes committed by magic are still crimes and will be dealt with as such. The law of the land is still the law of the land.”
“Fair enough.” I began to feel hope for the first time.
But early in the morning of midsummer’s day I woke shivering. It was barely light outside, so it couldn’t have been much after four in the morning. Dawn came early and dusk late at this time of year.
“Quick, get up!” I shook Corwen awake.
Lily was already rolling out of her hammock. “Ooh, cold.”
“This doesn’t feel like June,” Corwen said.
I rummaged in the Fae valise and pulled out several layers of winter clothing and a woolen redingote to top them all. A thick rime of frost crunched beneath my boot soles as I climbed the companionway. On deck all was quiet, too quiet.
A spectral scene met my eyes. The Heart’s standing rigging was draped with sparkling icicles. The river itself was frozen from shore to shore; all down the river and against the landing stages ship after ship was frozen solid in the ice. The buildings on the river’s edge had fared no better. Glass windows had acquired a thick layer of frost, and roofs were white with frost so dense that I thought it was snow until I bent and touched my fingers to the ice crystals on our own deck.
“Smell that,” said Corwen, coming up behind me, buttoning his caped coat.
“What?”
“Exactly. This river has a stink of its own—mud, salt, rotten fish, and ordure—now it’s so cold there’s nothing. The river’s filth is under the ice. I can’t even smell soot from the factory chimneys.”
“I can’t see any movement on shore,” Lily leaned over the ship’s rail.
“Anyone with any sense will be indoors,” Corwen said.
“What about those who don’t have a roof over their head?” I said. And th
en my brain caught up with itself. “Who’s on watch?”
I set off for the bow of the ship, skidded on the ice, and took each step a little more cautiously. Sitting on a coil of rope, a frosted blanket wrapped around his shoulders, Windward looked like a statue. I knelt beside him, fearing the worst, but he seemed to be asleep. I shook him, and he muttered but didn’t move. I shook him again, and he opened his eyes, but they were wild and staring. He didn’t seem to know me.
“Lily, ring the ship’s bell, wake everyone. Corwen, give me a hand with Windward. He’s not even shivering. This is bad.”
Swearing, Hookey staggered up on deck, saw what we were about with Windward and came to help.
“Get him into my cabin,” he yelled. “Billy!”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
“Warm some blankets as best you can and bring hot water. Make sure everyone’s awake and well wrapped up.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
The Greek had arrived on deck at the first stroke of the bell. He helped us carry Windward to Hookey’s cabin, wrap him in what dry blankets we had, then chafe his hands and arms, legs and feet to get his blood flowing. Billy arrived with blankets and a warm fire-clay brick which had been on the back of the stove. We wrapped it in a blanket, so it didn’t burn him and placed his arms round it for him to hug to his chest.
“Need warm,” the Greek said. “Bunk. Huddle.”
This was a major speech for the Greek, but we followed his meaning. The Greek climbed into the narrow bunk, and we manhandled Windward into his arms so that the two were lying like spoons. The Greek put his burly arms around Windward, pulling the fire-clay brick closer. We piled extra blankets around them both. If that didn’t help, nothing would. Extreme cold was a killer.
“Is everyone up and mobile?” I asked.
“Cold and shivering, but up and awake,” Hookey said. “Billy’s cooking porridge, and there’s water boiling for tea.”
“No rum in it, today,” I said. “Alcohol makes you feel warm, but it doesn’t warm you in these temperatures.”
Rowankind (3 Book Series) Page 39
