‘How sad that she died so young,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ said Pillsbury, not meeting my gaze. ‘Very sad indeed. Uma was a lovely girl. Beautiful, and so full of goodness. As she grew up, it naturally became a topic of discussion and speculation as to whom she might marry one day.’
‘I’m sure there were many young men who would have been right happy to marry her,’ I said.
‘Oh, indeed there were. But you have to understand that although this was before the war with the Maladons, there was already unrest. The Maladons’ leader, the accursed Necro—’
‘Necro?’ I exclaimed. ‘There’s a Saint Necro in the town of True. It’s a place where people go to worship.’
‘Indeed?’ he said curiously. ‘Necro’s followers did worship him, though he was a foul man.’
‘You knew him?’
‘He came here, several times. You see, there were efforts to forestall a war. Talks, discussions, negotiations. The Janes and the Adronises and Bastion Cadmus were at the head of this effort. I well remember the bloke. His face, oh so pale and smooth, and his voice, so silky. But there was pure evil in him. I knew from the moment I laid eyes on him that these efforts to avoid war were doomed. Necro wanted to rule not only the Maladons, but everyone.’
‘And Uma?’
‘Well, Uma did find a young man whom she dearly loved. His name was Jason. He was, ah, Necro’s son.’
‘What?’ I nearly shrieked.
‘Blimey,’ said Delph. ‘That was a bit awkward, eh?’
‘More than a bit,’ conceded Pillsbury. ‘They kept their relationship a secret for a long time. But it was eventually discovered.’
‘And what happened?’ I asked.
‘At first our side thought it was a positive development, that it might help with a truce. That perhaps Uma and Jason, who was very unlike his devilish father, might come to power one day and ensure peace. But alas, that was not to be.’
‘Why not?’
‘Jason died,’ Pillsbury said simply.
Delph said, ‘How did he die?’
‘He was stabbed. His killer was never caught, but there were suspicions – that his father had had him killed. You see, Necro did not want a truce. He wanted war. He said that our side was responsible and swore revenge. It was all part of his plan.’
‘But to kill his own son?’ I said.
‘As I told you, Necro was evil. He would kill anyone if it meant his rise to power would continue.’
‘And Uma?’ I asked.
‘So very sad. She was found shortly after, along the banks of the river. It is thought that she could not bear the news of his death.’
‘Holy Steeples!’ I exclaimed.
Delph shook his head sadly. ‘’Tain’t right,’ he said. ‘Just ain’t right.’
‘Then what happened?’ I asked breathlessly.
‘War,’ he said simply.
‘And our lot lost,’ I finished.
His visor nodded up and down. ‘Yes, quite so. Our lot lost.’
As he finished speaking, I had only one thought:
We could not lose again.
11
A PAINTING COMES CALLING
Pillsbury had suggested we might like to see Jasper Jane’s workshop and we’d readily agreed – the sad story of Uma and Jason had left us in a sombre mood. Seeing my ancestor’s chambers was unnerving. They reminded me a great deal of Thorne’s laboratory back in the Quag.
The chambers sat in the very highest turret at Empyrean. There were tables and benches overflowing with odd devices, huge old books, and reams of parchments covered in spidery handwriting. Shelves and cabinets against the walls were crammed with bottles containing different-coloured liquids and jars with bits of things I didn’t recognize. Big bottles with tubing connecting them stood on one long table in the centre of the room. Little canisters I recognized as the flame boxes we used at Stacks were under some of the bottles. Animal hides and heads of unfamiliar creatures were nailed to the walls or seated on tall pedestals.
Harry Two let out a protesting howl when he saw the myriad animal heads. Delph just stared in silence.
Pillsbury said proudly, ‘Master Jasper had quite the active mind. Was always researching something or other. Would be up here all hours, days on end. I’d have to bring him his meals in here. And the smells.’ His metal body shivered. ‘They were memorable; I’ll leave it at that.’
I stared around, feeling oddly nervous. This room had belonged to a member of my family, a family I had never even known existed.
Pillsbury, perhaps sensing my unease, said, ‘May I leave you to it, Mistress Vega? I have a few things to attend to.’
‘Oh, right, yes, go ahead, Pillsbury. We’ll be fine.’
He gave me a comically deep bow – I actually thought he might get stuck halfway – and then he was off.
‘Blimey, Vega Jane,’ said Delph. ‘What do we do with all this?’
‘There might be some information here that could be useful. We just start looking.’
We had begun to search the chamber when a dishevelled-looking Petra appeared in the doorway.
She said crossly, ‘I’ve been looking all over for you two. I saw Pillsbury on the stairs. He said you were up here. Why didn’t you come and get me?’
I said, almost truthfully, ‘We thought we’d let you sleep in, Petra, after last night.’
She eyed me suspiciously. ‘Right, well, thanks. It was nice to have some extra rest.’ She looked around. ‘What is this place?’
I explained about my ancestor Jasper, and about Uma and Jason.
‘That’s very sad,’ she said at last. ‘You think there might be some answers here?’
I shrugged. ‘Who knows?’
We continued to search. We found many things; many obscure, inexplicable things. Some showed that Jasper, as Astrea Prine had already told me, was indeed intrigued by dark sorcery.
I found an old diary in a desk drawer. There was no writing inside it, so I thrust it into my pocket, thinking that I would make use of it with my own notes.
A mirror encased in silver was lying on Jasper’s desk and I held it up to my face. My hair was a mess and I smoothed it down.
And then my heart stopped.
Uma was inside the glass.
I nearly dropped it.
Her mouth was moving. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but then she wasn’t talking to me. She was talking to the figure who came to stand beside her.
He was, well, he was spiffing gorgeous. Tall and broad shouldered with long dark hair and the most amazingly beautiful blue eyes.
He actually looked a bit like Delph, come to think . . .
When I looked closer, I saw he had his arm around Uma’s waist. They looked at each other, so obviously in love, and I knew who he was.
Jason, Necro’s son.
The two tragically doomed lovers were right here in front of me.
As I continued to watch, they leaned towards each other and kissed. I felt my cheeks growing red.
Embarrassed that I was intruding on such a private moment, I looked away. When I glanced back, the glass was empty.
They were gone. ‘Vega Jane?’
The voice came from right beside me and I jumped, dropping the mirror. It hit the desk and shattered.
I glared at Delph.
‘Look what you made me do,’ I said crossly.
‘I was calling you and you didn’t answer. I thought something was wrong. Like you’d –’ he glanced down at the shattered mirror – ‘had magic done on you or something.’
I picked up the pieces of the mirror. ‘Sorry.’
‘What’s going on?’ Petra asked. ‘Find anything?’
I held up the pieces of the mirror. ‘I just saw Uma and Jason in this mirror kissing.’
Petra looked sceptical. ‘In that glass. You’re sure?’
I rolled my eyes. ‘You think I might have imagined a dead bloke kissing a dead woman who was on my bedroom ceiling last nig
ht?’
‘Maybe,’ she said, with a grin. ‘Come on, it must be nearly time to eat.’
We returned to our rooms to wash. Pillsbury informed us that lunch would be served in the conservatory, whatever that was.
When I came out of the washroom, I noticed it.
There was a painting hanging on the wall across from my bed that hadn’t been there before. As I drew closer, I could see who it depicted.
Alice Adronis.
Alice Jane Adronis, more precisely.
I had wondered why I had not seen a portrait of her until now; it was her home, after all.
I remembered the painting I had seen of her back in Astrea’s cottage in the Quag. She had been dressed fetchingly in a dazzling gown with a plunging neckline, her hair piled on top of her head, her features so sharply defined, her expression commanding. She was very beautiful, but I had been more captivated by the sense of strength and barely restrained power in her whole being.
In this portrait, Alice was in full battle gear, chain mail, helmet in one hand, the full-size Elemental in the other. This was Alice Adronis perhaps at her most comfortable, most natural. Most formidable. A warrior, about to enter a battlefield and fight to the death with every bit of strength, courage and cunning she had.
I had seen her do this very thing.
I had also seen her die.
I looked into her eyes, which seemed to hold flames in their centre. I knew that Alice would be unafraid of even Mr Endemen. She would battle him as an equal. She would win.
I said, ‘Pillsbury?’
An instant later he was standing at my doorway.
‘Yes, Mistress Vega?’
I pointed to the portrait. ‘Did you put that in here?’
He came forward and stared at the painting, bewildered. ‘No, I didn’t. I’ve no idea how it came to be here. But you should know – the house has its peculiarities. Things come and things go. Things turn up where they naturally should be. That’s the best way I can explain things. And now I must see to lunch.’
In another instant he was gone.
I slowly turned back to the painting and received another jolt. No. That was impossible.
I rubbed my eyes.
When I looked at the portrait once more, it was all as it should be. Alice stared back at me from the depths of the oils and canvas.
But for one moment, one chilling, electrifying, terrifying moment, I’d thought . . .
I’d thought that it was me in the portrait.
12
A CHOICE TO BE MADE
The conservatory turned out to be huge with glass walls supported by a metal framework. There was a door leading outside to the rear grounds, which now looked spectacular, with everything in bloom.
I said so to Pillsbury. ‘Well, the lads worked all night to get things up to scratch for you,’ he said proudly.
‘Where are they?’ I asked.
He pointed to another part of the garden. Through the window I could see marble statuary toiling away in the grounds. A rake was collecting grass clippings. Further back a scythe was mowing down weeds. Then a wheelbarrow came into view. It was full of twigs and dead leaves and was rolling itself down a flagstone path.
‘The outdoor staff,’ said Pillsbury proudly. ‘All fine lads.’
‘Please give them my thanks.’
‘I will indeed.’
Another door leading into the conservatory opened and in whirled what appeared to be Mrs Jolly. She was, as Pillsbury had said, a broom – but on the top of the broomstick, which fanned out to a good six inches, was set a pair of eyes, a nose and a mouth, which were not made of wood and seemed very similar in appearance to mine. She broke into a lovely smile that warmed my heart like a cosy fire.
‘Hello, luvs,’ she said brightly.
‘Hello,’ we all said back.
‘Your cooking is the best I’ve ever had,’ I told her.
She beamed as Delph ravenously eyed the cart she had pushed in. Even with the little lids on, the most wonderful aromas were escaping.
The lids came off and the plates rose into the air and then settled neatly on a table where napkins and cutlery suddenly appeared at three place settings. There was even food and water for Harry Two.
Petra looked dazed. After the life she’d led in the Quag, this must have seemed like the most wonderful world imaginable: a beautiful home, food prepared for us, servants galore and a safe warm bed in which to sleep without the worry of snarling beasts.
It would be very easy to live here forever, I thought.
‘Now, tuck in while it’s still hot,’ Mrs Jolly advised, and whirled out again.
Delph and Petra began to eat hungrily. I found myself hesitating, though.
‘What’s up?’ asked Delph in between bites. ‘Not hungry?’
‘No, it’s not that.’ I sighed. ‘I was thinking about everybody back in Wormwood. And those living in the Quag. They don’t have food like this to eat, except perhaps for Morrigone and Astrea Prine. They’re not living in such comfort either. Or safety.’
Delph looked stricken at my words.
Petra, however, shrugged. ‘So what? Everyone has a different lot in life. This is yours. That is theirs.’
I looked at her in surprise. She sounded cruel and uncaring.
‘We had nothing for the longest time,’ said Delph. ‘We crossed the Quag, where we were in danger every sliver. I think we might’ve earned a bit of comfort, eh?’
His words were eminently reasonable, but they made me more upset than Petra’s had.
‘I don’t want to forget where I came from,’ I said. ‘Even if you don’t seem to care.’
He looked hurt and I immediately felt bad. But I couldn’t take it back. So I got up and went outside and into the garden.
I found a bench in a secluded spot, out of sight of the house. I just wanted to be alone and to think.
I had to admit, I loved this place. I loved everything about it. I had never owned anything in my whole life. To be told that this magnificent place was mine . . . well, I just could hardly believe it. And yet a big part of me also didn’t think that I deserved it. After all, I hadn’t built it. I hadn’t fought in a war. It wasn’t really mine at all.
As I sat there, Harry Two bounded around the corner. He had no doubt sniffed me out. He sat next to me by the bench and I idly stroked his fluffy ear.
Just then, something was moving in my pocket. I yelped and shot to my feet, wondering wildly if it was a snake.
But then it came flying free and came to rest suspended in the air in front of me.
It was the blank diary that I had found in Jasper Jane’s room.
As I watched, spellbound, the pages started to flip open. They were blank.
A voice seemed to rise from the pages, like fog from the ground, and said, ‘At midnight, the fourth staircase, the third hall, the last door on the right.’
Then the book fell to the ground.
Harry Two and I looked at it, and then at each other.
I stared at it, making no move to retrieve it.
After a while, I slowly bent down and picked the book up. I flipped through the pages but they were still all empty.
My breath was coming fast and my chest felt tight and constricted.
Midnight? Fourth staircase, third hall, last door on the right.
I looked up at Empyrean. I calculated that this spot would be right near the top of the house, near Jasper’s old chamber.
And at midnight that was exactly where I was going to be.
I lay awake, heart pounding, listening for the large grandfather clock down the hall to gong the time.
When it hit the first stroke of midnight, I got up and crept from my room with Harry Two on my heels. I could have had him stay behind, but frankly I wanted some company. I had the diary in my pocket. I had brought it just in case it would be useful somehow.
We went quietly up the massive staircase until we reached the very top landing. Then we snuck down th
e third hall and reached the last door on the right.
I stared at the wood of the door, suddenly unsure of what to do. Finally, I reached out and turned the knob. It was locked.
I took out the diary, waiting for the voice to tell me how to proceed, but it was silent.
I thrust it back into my pocket and pulled out my wand.
I pointed it at the door; as soon as I did, it swung open noiselessly.
I crept into the room, Harry Two beside me. His hackles were up and a low growl was emitting from his throat. It was like he was trying to warn whatever was in here that we were not to be trifled with.
As we stepped fully into the room, the door shut behind us, and I heard the sound of the lock turning. I didn’t know why I was surprised. Pretty much every creepy room I’d ever gone into had a door that shut and locked behind me.
The room, dim before, now became fully lighted. As my eyes adjusted, I gasped.
The walls were filled with objects that left me weak-kneed.
Bloody clothing hung on one wall. On another was a whole line of weapons that were also bloodstained. One axe had a big chunk of metal taken out of it. A sword blade was broken in half. A dented shield hung next to a chain-mail helmet with a hole in the forehead. A breastplate had four large gashes in it. Everywhere I looked was the evidence of a battle hard fought.
And ultimately, as I now knew, a war lost.
I wandered the space for a very long time, hours it seemed. Around every corner I turned there was something new to see. The room seemed to go on forever.
That was when I saw it, at the far end, dimly lit. A coffin. Its top was open.
As I approached it, two tall bronze torches resting in holders on either side of the coffin burst into flame, allowing me to see that the coffin was made entirely of shiny metal. In Wormwood, we only used simple wooden coffins to bury our dead.
Harry Two and I drew nearer. A body of a man lay inside, surrounded by soft white cushioning.
He was pale, his eyes closed, his skin tight, his hands folded over his chest. At the base of his neck was a long darkened mark.
Vega Jane and the Rebels’ Revolt Page 7
