Soulstar

by C. L. Polk

  “We need to call a meeting. Fast,” Jacob said. “But first. Winnie’s been after me to have you for dinner. Will you bring your spouse?”

  “We’d be happy to. When?”

  “Tomorrow night,” Jacob said. “I’ll let Winnie know you’re coming.”

  We shook hands. I smiled. But I didn’t want to stroll inside the palace and try to be courteous to people who despised me as much as I did them.

  Zelind would be home late tonight. Maybe I could purloin a loaf of bread for us to sneak off and enjoy, the way we did when we were young.

  I avoided the palace and took my hired sleigh home.

  * * *

  Zelind and I put on our boots and walked to a modest apartment building perched on the side of King Philip Hill. Soft golden candlelight glowed in the windows, and the pianochord’s music spilled through the glass.

  “Duke is here,” I said.

  “His name is Duke, or there’s a duke upstairs?”

  Khe watched me with the half smile and raised eyebrows of someone who just tried to make a joke.

  “Duke isn’t actually his name, but his name is Gersham, so he prefers Duke.”

  “Hold on. Duke Corbett?”

  “The same.”

  The music led us up the stairs to an open door, so we let ourselves inside, shedding our outside shoes for knitted slippers. Althea bustled out of the kitchen to take our coats and ask, “Will you take a brandy?”

  I glanced at Zelind, who nodded.

  “Yes, please,” I said to the woman who cooked and cleaned for the Clarkes.

  “Robin!” Jacob called, and he waved us inside the large chamber that served as a retiring room and a library. We took a place on a sofa surrounded by tall bookshelves, and Zelind took the corner closest to Emma, the young woman Jacob had taken in from the asylum. Perched on her knees was her baby, Cora, who was fascinated by a corner of the room. Nothing particularly bright resided there; what could she be looking at?

  Emma was watchful too, and where her baby was just fixated, Emma was tense. She turned her gaze to me and, after a moment, tried to smile.

  Zelind went to her instantly. “What did you see?”

  “They’re haunting us,” Emma whispered. “We can’t run far enough. They’re everywhere.”

  “The ghosts?” I asked. “They are everywhere. They’re all over Aeland.”

  Her already pale face was pinched. “They look at me,” she whispered. “They know what I did.”

  She was haunted by more than just ghosts. I tried a question Miles would have asked a patient at the hospital: “Have they said so?”

  She stared at me, and for a moment I feared what she would say.

  “Do you think your friend Miles could talk to her?” Jacob asked me. “She’s terrified of the dead. We don’t know how to help.”

  “I can ask Miles,” I said. “Where’s the ghost?”

  “Gone. They come and go,” Jacob said. “Once I got used to it, I hardly notice. But Emma…”

  I turned to Emma. “They come to you because you have the power to speak to them. Have you ever tried?”

  Emma shook her head. “Never.”

  “Well, let’s try that.”

  “After dinner,” Winnie said, and trailed a gentle hand over Duke’s shoulder to get his attention.

  Duke was one of those white Aelander men who had been unfairly good-looking in youth, and beauty, being so used to his presence, lingered on in the fine bones of his face even after years. The lines at the corners of his eyes matched his charming smile. A sweep of snowy white streaked the center of his carefully styled hair. And he had a way of focusing so completely that he made everyone’s hearts flutter when confronted by the full force of his fascination.

  He gathered me in a gentle hug. “How happy I am to hear of your reunion, my dear. And this is khe?”

  I stepped back and lifted my hand in introduction. “My spouse, Zelind Thorpe.”

  “I am delighted,” he said, shaking Zelind’s hand. “Both by your freedom and your devotion. I am Duke Corbett.”

  “I know who you are,” Zelind said. “I saw you at the Riverside Music Festival of ’61.”

  Duke turned that devastating smile on my spouse. “Oh Solace, you’ve heard of me. I’m soaring.”

  “Duke’s being modest,” I said. “But we should eat before it gets cold.”

  Althea had simmered her clear-brothed crab-and-vegetable soup, roasted a pork shoulder, and used an herb blend on skirrets that made tasting one after the other an experience. I ate the green things on my plate, as it was my duty and they were nutritious, but Althea had managed to add something that made winter greens and broiled hazelnuts tastier. She dashed between kitchen and dining room, bringing dishes, serving, and then waiting to see how she would be needed. Jacob and Winnie hardly noticed her.

  Winnie led the conversation, and it pleased her to speak of the theater, as she had once been on stage until she and Jacob had married and she became a politician’s wife—a particular sort of unsung hero, to my mind. And if Winnie wanted to talk about stage plays, then we would talk of plays until the dessert came—a rich, elegant custard, the sugared top crackled and brown from broiling in the oven. Coupled with hot whiskey toddies, it was a perfect ending.

  “I don’t know if Robin told you of the King’s promises at his coronation, Zelind.” Jacob mentioned it casually, as if the event hadn’t burned him.

  “She did,” Zelind said. “I’m of mixed mind about it. What do you think?”

  “It’s not enough,” Jacob said. “The national pension. It’s an insult.”

  “They didn’t pay us at all in the asylum,” Zelind said. “So that’s an improvement, at least.”

  “Back pay,” Jacob said. “It’s a slap in the face.”

  “It is,” Zelind said. “But how can I expect more than that?”

  “And this contest to replace aether. As if he could just sweep the atrocity of it under the rug—”

  Zelind glanced away. I watched kher, but Zelind wouldn’t look at me.

  “There isn’t a sum in this world that would make up for what happened to us,” Zelind said. “But that’s going to be the reason why we won’t see a cent beyond the pension.”

  “The fight for reparations is going to be a hard one, even with the threat of the Amaranthines’ displeasure hanging overhead. Severin’s trying to buy time.”

  Duke toyed with his spoon, trying to scrape the last morsels out of his custard pot. “And he’ll use the resistance of his government to justify doing as little as possible. Snowglaze thirty-five is election day! You could watch the time go by on a wristwatch. He doesn’t want to change a thing.”

  “It might be a good idea to raise awareness and make it clear that the fight’s not over yet.” I still had a bite of custard, and I savored it. “More actions. Make people understand the fundamental violation of witches’ rights.”

  “I have a different idea in mind.” Jacob accepted a second toddy from Althea, barely noticing that she’d had one ready the moment he’d finished his first. “We’ll do all that, of course. But I realized during the King’s speech that we had an incredible opportunity in front of us, and I mean to seize it.”

  “What do you mean to do?” I asked.

  Jacob grinned. “We’re going to have an election. A true democratic election, Uzadalian style.”

  I sat there with my mouth open. That was huge. That was organizing on a national scale. That was completely mad.

  “In a month?”

  “I’m sure you can handle it,” Jacob said. “You hustled the witches out of imprisonment so fast the doors are still swinging shut. This may be the greatest challenge I’ve set you so far, but—”

  He wanted me to organize it? I shouldn’t be surprised. I led the organizing of everything, and when the lights had gone out and I couldn’t attend school, I had turned my attention to the movement and all its many projects. I had done hard work, and the witches were probably f
ree because of it. But this burned my ears. He wanted a national project organized and managed by me. He wanted a near impossible task, and he assumed I would do it. How did he think I could manage that and work for Grace?

  I thought back. Had I even told him about it? Had Grace? Maybe he didn’t know. But my next words spoke themselves, rather too close to the truth to be gentle:

  “What makes you think I’m going to organize your election without you even asking me first, Jacob?”

  Everyone went still as deer who’d just heard a human voice in the wood. Emma hardly even breathed. Even the baby on her lap stopped trying to grab everything in sight and stared, as babies do, unsure of whether she should cry or not.

  Zelind touched my hand, a gentling gesture.

  Jacob just gave me a quizzical look. “I’m asking you now.”

  Really! Jacob was my friend, but this was too much. “Oh, forgive my confusion.”

  He left the hint on the floor and kept talking. “We have to find a candidate for each electoral riding. Hopefully a person of sound reputation. I don’t know how you’re going to determine that, but you’ll come up with a way—”

  He wasn’t listening. I set down my fork and placed my folded hands on the table. “No.”

  Now Jacob caught the danger that had everyone quivering. He picked up his toddy and cocked his head, as if I were doing something peculiar. “Is there something wrong?”

  “Plenty,” I said. “You didn’t ask me to do this, first of all—”

  “I said I’m asking you now.”

  “You have a funny way of asking,” I said. “Secondly, I didn’t hear you offering me a salary to organize this for you.”

  “It’s volunteer work,” Jacob said. “I’m not getting paid either.”

  I ignored that. “Grace Hensley, however, is paying me.”

  “Grace Hensley! What for?”

  “She wants to know what we want, so she can try to twist the King into doing it for us,” I said. “She’s paying me, and my contract will be up in time to go back to school. So thank you for asking me, but I regret to inform you that I don’t have time to run your election project.”

  “But this is important,” Jacob said.

  “Jacob, dear,” Winnie said. “Robin’s already dealing with a full plate, as she said.”

  “But this is vital,” Jacob insisted. “If we don’t take this opportunity now there won’t be another one for five years. Imagine it! Everyone in Aeland casting their vote. Everyone in Aeland given a voice. It would show everyone what the people of Aeland really wanted—and how big money and power kept the decisions hoarded to themselves. How could you—”

  “I think it’s a lovely symbol, Jacob. I really do,” I said. “But even if I didn’t already have a job I’m excited about—”

  “We’ll find a way to pay you,” he said.

  “Not fifteen hundred marks a month, you won’t.”

  “So I’ve lost you to the Chancellor’s pockets,” Jacob complained.

  “Only my labor, which you assumed you could have for free. I still think it’s a good idea. I simply am not available to organize it.”

  “Then what can you do?”

  “I can help you convince the others,” I said. “At the meeting tomorrow. I’ll come up with a list of people you can ask to organize the action.”

  “They won’t be as good as you.”

  “I know. But they’ll still be good.”

  “Will you at least come to the next meeting? Will you help me convince the others to do this before you leave me for Government House?”

  I shook my head. “You don’t have to put it that way, Jacob. I’ll come to the next meeting. It’s at the studio?”

  “Yes.” Jacob glanced away from me and frowned at something behind me.

  Cora squealed and pointed. Emma made a noise high in her throat.

  “He’s back,” she said. “He’s come back.”

  Now I saw who had been disturbing Emma, and this was a ghost I recognized—he had helped us turn the storm back, the one in the old college jacket.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “We’ll speak of this later.”

  I stood up, and Emma screamed as the ghost came closer, making me shudder as he tried to grab my arm. His fingers passed through my flesh, leaving a sensation like cold water creeping over my skin.

  “I remember,” he said. “I remembered you. Help me find her.”

  SEVEN

  The Princess Mary Hotel

  We finally made it home—Zelind, me, and Cortland Brown, the ghost who had frightened Emma at dinner. We barely made it inside the front door when Joy zipped toward us, shaking her finger at the apparition. She even hovered a few inches off the ground to loom over the other spirit.

  “You just turn around and go back. There’s nobody for you here.”

  “It’s all right, Joy.”

  Jean-Marie looked up from wiping polishing paste off a portrait of Great-great-grandfather Walter. “Who’s that?”

  “Cortland Brown. He was one of the first ghosts to help with the storms. What took you so long to find me, Cortland?”

  “I forgot. I forgot until I saw her. You have to tell her. You have to tell her it’s going to be all right.”

  I sighed. “And you want to do this now. But I need at least a full night’s sleep before setting off on a folly. Zelind, do you—”

  “I’ll be fine here,” khe said. “But take Jean-Marie. She could use the fresh air.”

  “It’s likely to be a bit of a goose chase,” I said. “It depends on how solid the ghost’s memories are, so I could be gone all day.”

  “Jean-Marie’s frustrated by all-day lessons. Take her. She should see what Deathsingers are supposed to do.”

  “All right.” I turned to the ghost. “I’m Robin. What’s your clan name? Clan Brown of the Sure Winds?”

  He shrugged. “Clan Brown of the Sheltered Harbor.”

  “Sheltered Harbor,” I said. “I didn’t know there were—” I closed my mouth. That was rude.

  He slumped. “The clan dwindles.”

  “Robin,” Zelind said. Khe held kher scarf in one hand, kher expression rumpled with intrigue. “The Bays had dealings with the Browns of the Sheltered Harbor. I know where you can start your goose chase.”

  The next morning, Jean-Marie and I pulled winter bicycles out of the shed and pedaled along the long, straight streets. My cousin was still scared of taking a spill, balanced on two tires, but she had picked up the trick of riding after a few lessons from Amos. I kept a sedate pace with my heart pounding at the thought of our destination—or rather, the neighborhood that housed our first place to look.

  We came to a street where the windows were more likely to be covered with boards than expose their shining, expensive glass to breakage. We locked our bicycles to a track, then locked them to each other, and turned to regard the gray stone building across the way.

  “This is it,” Cortland said. He stopped in front of the tall, ornate iron fence that blocked us from passing under the arched breezeway. Just beyond its shadows, snow piled so high it made the space indistinguishable. Was it a driveway? A courtyard?

  “This isn’t the way in,” I said.

  “Yes it is,” Cortland protested. He tried to grab the gate latch, and his hand passed right through.

  “It used to be. It’s not the way in now.” I looked left, then right, and pointed. “That way.”

  Cortland bristled. “That’s the service entrance.”

  “You’re welcome to glide through the front doors, but my flesh and blood needs to use the service entrance.” I set off along the only sidewalk cleared of snow, turned into the alley, and pulled the half-rotted bell cord in front of a paneled set of double doors.

  Cortland followed me, but he looked sulky. “What’s happened to this place?”

  “It shut down … must have been eight years ago, now. I’m sorry, Cortland. It was still going when you were alive?”

  “I died
here,” he said. “All of this happened in eight years?”

  Jean-Marie hadn’t stopped staring at the building. “It’s beautiful.”

  “It’s a wreck,” the ghost complained. “The Princess Mary was the finest hotel in Riverside, and the service the best you could get in the city. What happened to it?”

  “I don’t know everything,” I said. “But I have heard that the hotel was too hard to keep up.”

  “But Nolene was supposed to take care of that,” Cortland said. “What happened to her? What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, and tried the door handle. My insides shivered when it opened.

  “Ahoy,” I called into the darkness. There was a light ahead, a dim lamp flame, and I cast a globe of light on my fingertips to shine as we stepped inside.

  The light touched crates filled with trash next to twenty-gallon jugs of water and shelves and shelves of stable staples. We moved closer to that other light, but Jean-Marie sped impatiently forward, headed for the threshold.

  We caught up with her quickly. She studied the floor, covered in colored tiles that built the image of water lapping on a sandy shore speckled with seashells and tiny crabs. She touched the walls, feeling the grain of hand-carved panels, the wood so pale it made me think of bones.

  “It’s so beautiful,” Jean-Marie said.

  “It’s a shadow of itself,” Cortland muttered. “What happened to this place?”

  He sped ahead, stopping as he stared. “Aunt Minnie? She’s still alive?”

  He had found someone? “Ahoy,” I called. “Ahoy, it’s Robin Thorpe of the Peaceful Waters.”

  “Ahoy yourself,” came the thin, reedy voice of a woman who had accumulated many years of life. “Come in here where I don’t have to shout the walls down.”

  “Come on.” I tugged Jean-Marie’s arm, and she followed me past the seashore-tiled floor and into what must have been a custodian’s apartment.

  Jean-Marie had plenty to gaze at in here, even if it was shadowed with the light of a single lamp and the flickering glow of a hearth-fire. A woman with a cloud of snow-white hair and papery, dark brown skin sat straight and poised in a lightly padded chair, a froth of lace knitting puddled in her lap.