“He couldn’t have gotten those flowers from the Dire Realms.”
“No, but … I don’t know. Alair wasn’t clear about it … only that by going to what he calls his ‘special place’ Ed attracted the attention of an evil Dire Lord.”
“So Ed mustn’t go back there again. And how do we stop him, I wonder.”
“It may be safe for him to go back,” Kyla said slowly.
“May be. And we’re supposed to trust Alair.” Furious, Marta jumped to her feet. They’d put Ed in grave danger, and now it seemed they couldn’t protect him. This whole visit to Carey had become a disaster.
“It’s not just Alair,” Kyla said. “Remember the third voice. Claid is protecting Ed.”
Marta stared at Kyla for a moment and sank back onto the bed. “So the third voice was Claid’s,” she said. “I wondered about that.”
Kyla nodded. “Does that bother you?”
“No, why should it?” Marta snapped, unwilling to discuss her personal feelings. “I’m just sick of this whole mess! I wish I could talk to Claid.”
“I wish you could, too,” Kyla said quietly. “And maybe you will—through Ed. But Ed will have to get comfortable with the idea first.”
“I don’t think he will. The voices frighten him.”
“Alair says he can keep Ed from hearing any voices until he’s more ready. To do that, though, he’ll have to cease his own communication. If Ed doesn’t hear those voices, I won’t hear Alair’s.”
“Are you willing to allow that? And is Alair?”
“Alair is. He didn’t give me much to say about it.”
The mage hadn’t changed much, Marta reflected. “So we’re on our own from here on?”
“We have our power. That won’t be blocked.”
“Maybe it would be better if it were.” She headed for the door. “I’m going to get Ed to give me another reading lesson. One of us might as well do something useful.”
With the spell book concealed in a gunnysack, Jerome groped his way downstairs. He would not risk a light, though the others had retired more than two hours ago and should be asleep. He carried a lantern, but even when he was outside and away from the house he did not light it. The half-moon was high and bright; he could find his way through the darkened streets by its light. Better not to risk anyone’s seeing him.
Everything was playing into his hands. He had the spell book back and would hide it where it would be found in Abigail Dormer’s possession. Earlier, Hardwick had told him of his daughter’s plans to open a school in her home so that the girls being taken out of Abigail Dormer’s school could continue their education. He hadn’t needed Hardwick to tell him what that would mean for Abigail. It would destroy her. All because of Simple Eddie. It would seem natural for her former support of the fool to change to hatred and murderous rage, providing a motive for killing Eddie.
He fingered the keys in his pocket as he walked and thought. He’d stolen those keys from Ed, and tonight he’d use them to get into Abigail’s school and plant the spell book where she'd find it. Then he’d put the keys back with Ed’s things. When the book turned up in Abigail’s possession, he could easily link it to the wonder workers, and link them in turn to Simple Eddie. Jerome would plant the suggestion that Eddie had stolen it from the women and taken it as a gift to Abigail in an attempt to win his way back into her good graces and persuade her to protect him. Instead, the theory would go, she had killed him.
Given the current state of hysteria throughout town regarding Simple Eddie, that theory might make Abigail a heroine. More likely, the town would seize on her as a release for their rage and she would be punished, perhaps put to death. Jerome did not particularly care which way events went, so long as he was not implicated, and he did not intend to be. On the contrary, he could foresee several ways of advancing himself as the matter unfolded.
When Eddie turned up missing, he would tell Kyla and Marta that he saw their protégé sneak out at night with a large, leather-bound book. He would describe how, concerned and curious, he followed Eddie to Abigail Dormer’s home, saw him knock on her door, saw her answer the knock. Not close enough to hear the conversation, he observed them apparently arguing until she accepted the book from Eddie and drew him inside. After waiting awhile and not seeing Eddie leave, Jerome returned home anxious and puzzled.
Yes, it made a good story, he decided as he neared Abigail’s school. The fact that, for whatever reason, he had found the book in Eddie’s room proved that Eddie had access to the book, and that would make Jerome’s story more plausible. No doubt he'd have to provide other details as events unfolded, but he was satisfied that he could fit them all into the framework he’d devised.
The house converted into school building would be easier to break into than Abigail’s home, so it was there Jerome decided to hide the spell book. As he’d hoped, he had no problem finding a key to fit the front door. He slipped into the corridor, where he dared at last to light his lantern.
By its orange flame he found his way to Abigail’s office, easily identified because it was the only locked door along the hall and he found no other office. He tried each key on Ed’s ring until one opened the lock. Inside, he slipped behind the desk and looked into the drawers. The bottom drawer was large and had ample room for the spell book. He put it inside and closed the drawer. The deed was done.
He relocked the office door, exited the way he had entered, and locked the door behind him, leaving no traces of his visit. Pleased with himself, he returned home, hurried quietly to his room, and prepared for bed, ready to dream of his coming successes.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
PUZZLES AND PREMONITIONS
After a restless night Kyla lay in bed watching the morning sunlight sneak in around the curtains. Even before Marta’s revelation yesterday, the enforced inactivity had been fraying her nerves. To be cooped up like this, unable to step outside long enough to exchange a caress with the wind and glean a bit of gossip from it was becoming unendurable. She was not even permitted to stand near enough to a window to allow a timid breeze to waft inside and lave her face.
She’d offered to do chores, help with the housework, cook, anything to relieve the boredom. Mother Esterville refused to allow it. Guests did no work in her house. Kyla couldn’t make her understand her need to work off pent-up energy. The woman was adamant, and Kyla, like Marta, was forced to spend the hours between meals either cooped up in her room or in the attic shrine listening to Mother Esterville’s endless devotions.
Marta, at least, had found a way to occupy her time. Letting Ed teach her to read was a stroke of brilliance. It afforded both Marta and Ed a needed distraction. Kyla had been a bit hurt that her own offers to teach Marta to read had never drawn any interest, but Marta’s new enthusiasm delighted Kyla.
With Marta spending so much time with Ed, the tension between her and Kyla might have eased if Ed hadn’t heard those voices. Now she and Marta were both under an added strain, making them snappish and quick to find fault. Already she missed her conversations with Alair.
She couldn’t blame Marta, really, for her doubts about the mission. As for herself, she believed in it as strongly as ever, but with no word from Alair, she had no means of reassuring Marta.
She consulted the clock on the wall shelf. An hour until breakfast. She closed her eyes, willing herself to fall asleep, or at least get a little rest before having to face another difficult day.
She did slip into a dream, filled at first with confused images: a sobbing woman clutched on either side by giant hands that were tearing her in half; Ed beset by snarling beasts with human faces; Marta ripping open her own breast, wrenching out her heart, and casting it from her with bloody hands. Kyla tried to wake, to escape the horrid images. She felt herself moan and toss, but the images persisted. Alair’s face loomed in front of her, but as she glided toward it, it split into two faces, then four, then eight, then hundreds, thousands of identical faces. Bodies formed behind each face, and though
the faces all remained Alair’s, the bodies were those of men, women, and children. They screamed at each other, and when they acquired hands they struck at each other and hurled bolts of magic back and forth until the air sizzled. Kyla stepped back, gasping for breath—and stepped into a bright and airy classroom where a young woman stood before a group of seven schoolgirls ranging in age from six to nine.
The thousands of battling Alairs disappeared. The classroom scene was peaceful, a welcome refuge. An older girl was helping the two youngest practice their letters. Two others did sums on a slate, while the teacher listened to a recitation by a sixth. The seventh, a red-haired girl of about nine, was reading a book.
Just as Kyla was enjoying the peaceful scene, the red-haired girl slammed her book shut and jumped to her feet with an angry cry, shattering the peace. “I don’t like this school,” she shouted at the startled teacher. “I want to go back to Miss Abigail’s school. I can’t learn here. You don’t teach the way Miss Leah does.”
The young woman paled. “Veronica, I won’t tolerate that sort of behavior. I realize this is a change for you, but your parents want you here. They have only your best interests at heart.”
“My parents don’t know anything,” the girl said, stamping her foot. “How can I learn with these little ones? This book is too easy, and you’re not as smart as Miss Leah.”
“That’s quite enough, Veronica,” the teacher said. “You will sit and resume your reading, or your parents will be informed of your behavior.”
“I won’t sit down.” The girl stuck out her tongue. “Tell my parents, I don’t care. This isn’t a real school, and I won’t stay here.”
“You’ll do as you’re told, young lady.” The teacher advanced on the young rebel.
The girl stretched her hands in front of her as if to protect herself. But it was the teacher who needed protection. Flames shot from the girl’s fingertips, seared the woman’s face, ignited her hair and clothing. She had time only for a single scream before the fire blackened her skin, melted her flesh, charred her bones, and reduced her to a pile of ash before the horrified gazes of her students.
Kyla awoke screaming. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. With a sickening jolt she knew that the nightmare had been too clear, too vivid to be anything but a glimpse of a possible future. One that could become reality if she did not prevent it.
She had to find that school, warn that young teacher, and take in hand the talented and untrained girl before her childish temper made her guilty of murder.
Kyla knew only the girl’s given name—Veronica—and the name of her former teacher, Miss Leah. And that the girl had gone before to Miss Abigail’s school, where Ed had served as janitor. Where her present school was and who the endangered teacher might be, Kyla had no idea. She would have to learn, and quickly. She had no way of knowing how far in the future the dream-scene might be, but she strongly suspected the danger was imminent.
Alair, she sent, I need your help. You’ve got to lead me to that woman and that young girl. You’ve got to protect me when I leave this house.
The Power-Giver gave no answer. Only silence greeted her pleas for his advice and help.
After breakfast Marta went with Ed to his room, eager for the chance to ask him privately whether he’d heard any more voices. After her talk with Kyla she’d gone back to him and told him of the Power-Giver’s promise to silence the voices, though she had kept the rest of her conversation with Kyla to herself.
She did say, “Maybe you shouldn’t go back to what you call your ‘special place.’ It might be dangerous for you.”
“No, that can’t be.” He became agitated. “That’s my safe place. I made it up. There’s no danger there.”
“There probably isn’t, but … well … I just think it might be better if you didn’t go there again, at least for a while.”
“It’s a pretty, peaceful place, Miss Marta. I’m sure it’s safe.” His hand twisted his hair as it always did when he was agitated. She had to calm him.
“Look, Ed, drop the ‘Miss.’ I’m just Marta. And, all right, go to that place if you have to. You do have protection. I don’t think you need to worry. Now, how about giving me another reading lesson?”
As she hoped, that suggestion comforted him. He jumped up, got the primer from the shelf, and brought it to her. She felt the tension drain from him as he pointed to the words and made her repeat them after him:
“Come let us go forth into the fields. Let us see how the flowers spring. Let us listen to the sweet birds; let us walk through new grass.” As she read the words, she thought how like Ed's description of his "special place" that paragraph was. Almost she wished she could go there with him. But she said nothing, just continued reading until the lesson ended and it was time to go.
After Marta left, Ed put the primer back on the shelf. A confusion of feelings haunted him. He sat down on his bed, ran his hands through his hair, twisted his hair around his fingers, pulled it until his scalp ached. Nothing seemed to help.
He enjoyed teaching Miss Marta to read. It made him feel important and useful, gave him a sense of pride. She learned fast; already they had gone through half the little book. She’d mastered the sounds of the letters and was beginning to pick out whole words herself without hearing him say them first.
The pleasure of helping her wasn’t just because of her success. He enjoyed sitting close beside her. Many times, as they bent together over the book, his arm would rub against hers and sometimes his hand closed over hers to guide it to a word or phrase. At such times peculiar sensations flooded through him, he became flustered, his face burned with a rush of heat, and he slid away from her. She was so pretty, with her wide-set dark eyes that sparkled when she read a sentence right and that turned stormy and shadowed when she got mad like she had when she couldn’t find the spell book. He longed to stroke the smooth velvet of her cheeks.
He yanked his hair until he cried out with pain. He shouldn’t be thinking such things. This was wrong, and he was evil, just as they said. To want to press his lips against the dimple in her chin—
No! He jumped up and paced the room, his heart beating wildly. He’d never had feelings like these.
He wanted to go on with the reading lessons, could scarcely wait for the next one. Yet he didn’t dare let Miss Marta see how she affected him. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her or make her mad.
He could go to his special place and stay where no one could ever find him. But Marta told him he shouldn’t go there. He didn’t really believe that his beautiful world could hold any danger for him, but he couldn’t ignore Marta’s advice.
He’d run away, except he didn’t want to be found by the search parties that patrolled the area. Perhaps, though, if he sneaked out late at night, he could avoid being seen. He’d head out of town, maybe follow the railroad tracks to the next town. He could even jump on a freight car and hide until the train had taken him far from Carey. He’d never done such a thing, but his pa had often spoken of men who “rode the rails” and implied that he’d done it himself once or twice.
Maybe he could see Miss Abigail first and tell her he was sorry for making so much trouble for her. If he went to her house on his way out of town, though, she might try to hold him and turn him over to the police. It was hard to imagine Miss Abigail doing such a thing, yet he couldn’t blame her if she did.
He made up his mind. He’d sneak from the house tonight after everyone was asleep, make his way to Miss Abigail’s, tell her how sorry he was, and bid her goodbye. He owed her that. Then he’d head for someplace where he could start a new life. Miss Kyla and Miss Marta had taught him that he wasn’t as stupid as everyone thought; he could do lots of things. Not magic things. He didn’t want to do magic. But he’d been a good janitor. Where nobody knew him he could find a job and maybe live like a normal person, and no one would call him Simple Eddie anymore.
It would be hard to leave Miss Marta, but better for her if he did. She was so beautiful
. With a sigh, he closed his eyes to better picture her lovely face. He studied that fascinating vision until Mother Esterville rang the supper bell.
Abigail reviewed the figures in the ledger, her finger tracing the neat columns. Thanks to her policy of refusing refunds, she’d have enough money to pay the teachers this month. She couldn’t leave them penniless. After that, unless something happened, she’d have to dismiss them and close the school. At Dorey’s age she wouldn’t find it easy to get another job, and what the woman would do after using up her savings Abigail didn’t want to think about.
Today’s withdrawal of three more girls brought home how little choice she had. The few remaining students were frightened and discouraged and had little enthusiasm for lessons. The teachers, except Leah, were dispirited. Leah retained her sunny outlook, but how much of that was feigned to help Abigail keep her spirits up, only the gods knew.
Abigail totted up the figures again. After she paid the monthly salaries she’d have little left. Enough, she judged, to buy two train tickets to an east-coast city and pay living expenses for three or four weeks, if they lived frugally. That would give them time to advertise for students and set up classes in a rented room. She wished she could share Leah’s optimism with regard to opening a school in another town. Leah was probably right: they could succeed. But Abigail’s roots were here in Carey. This school building and her home had been family property for many decades. It hurt to think of leaving.
She took only vague notice of the sounds of remaining students moving through the hall, going home for the day. She’d forgotten to ring the dismissal bell; Leah must have given approval to the others to dismiss, understanding Abigail’s preoccupation. She began gathering the ledgers to put them away when a knock on the door interrupted her. She left the stack of ledgers and opened the door. Urcelle Brexner, who taught the ten- and eleven-year-olds, stood outside, twisting her hands. Abigail invited her into the office and pointed her to a chair.
Bringers of Magic (Arucadi Book 2) Page 12
