The Conspiracy of Magic

by Harriet Whitehorn

  They had eaten a meal in the late afternoon before saying goodbye to Riven. Then Masha had led them up to the top of the house and taken them over the slippery roofs, which Cass had found terrifying, to the undertaker’s premises. He was a man of few words who had ushered them into empty coffins that were lying on the back of his cart, and after asking them to shut their eyes, he had placed silvers on their closed lids. He’d told them in a whisper that there were hidden air holes and the lids were not nailed down, so not to worry about suffocating but they must keep as still as possible. He’d taken their packs and hidden them in the front of the cart under some sacking.

  They lay there with the noise of other coffins being loaded on beside them, which were presumably full of actual dead bodies, Cass thought, and she had to fight the overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia that threatened to engulf her. It took every bit of her willpower not to jump up and out of the coffin.

  What saved her was remembering a trick that Idaliz had taught her, of taking yourself out of a situation by using the power of your imagination.

  I am on a boat in the Far Isles, Cass told herself, laughing with Rip as it speeds across the bright blue sea. I can feel the cool saltwater splashing on my skin, the warmth of the sun, the hot wooden planks of the deck beneath my feet. Look, there are fishes jumping out of the water, the volcanoes of Ra are ahead of me, how beautiful they are…

  Imagine it, imagine every detail of it, she told herself, as the cart drove slowly through the city, jolting over the cobbles. The boat is coming into a harbour, the prettiest in the Longest World with white stone buildings covered in purple ischus flowers. There is an inn there that serves the most delicious crabfish fritters… But Cass could not ignore the fact that the cart had come to a halt, probably at the city gates. There was the muffled sound of voices, which came nearer, and she felt the cart move under the weight of one or more people getting in the back. The Far Isles vanished entirely and Cass’s stomach contracted with nerves as she listened.

  “Here, I’ll open this one for you,” the undertaker said.

  “You’ll open all of them for me,” a young voice replied. A soldier, Cass guessed, trying to control her panic.

  “As you wish,” the undertaker replied. Cass heard the sound of wood moving and the coffin lid being lifted next to her. From all the coughing and spluttering, Cass realized that there must be an overpowering smell. It reached Cass a moment later and she had to struggle not to gag.

  The soldier swore and to Cass’s immense relief, said, “Enough, old man. Take them away.” The cart rumbled through the gates and out of Enzit on its way to the graveyard, which lay at the lake’s edge, a mile or so out of the city.

  Once they had reached the deserted graveyard, the undertaker helped them out of the coffins and handed them back their packs. People were so kind, Cass thought, as they thanked him. They risked so much for strangers and, as with Riven and Masha, Cass felt her thanks were inadequate.

  “I think we should skate as far as we can tonight,” Dacha said.

  “Agreed,” Cass replied. They made their way to the lake edge and put on the skates Riven had given them. The weather had turned fiercely cold again so there was no fear over the strength of the ice.

  It was a clear night with a sliver of moon reflecting silver off the frozen lake. The lights of Enzit were clearly visible behind them but the lake’s shore was shrouded in darkness. In the murky light Cass could see little of the landscape but every so often the shoreline would be broken by a grand staircase leading down to the ice, or ornate piers with carved wooden pillars jutting out, flanked by boathouses.

  “What are these places?” she asked Dacha.

  “They are the lake entrances of the grand summer houses of the rich merchants of Enzit. You’ll be able to see them in the light tomorrow.”

  Dacha and she held hands for stability and speed. “We’ll find some sticks to use as poles tomorrow,” Dacha had said but Cass was glad of the comfort. There was something about the vast sleeping mansions that she found eerie and they made her feel twitchy and on edge, as if someone or something was about to come charging over the ice at them, like in a nightmare. It was only when the dawn came that she could see the buildings clearly, set back behind neglected ornamental gardens. They looked like abandoned relics from another world with their gaudy painted façades and shuttered windows.

  They skated on, trying to put as many miles between them and Enzit as possible. Will Nym and Zirt leave us alone now? Cass wondered wearily. Surely they have more important things to worry about with the invasion of Metrete?

  They passed a couple of tiny villages and saw a few people on the ice. Cass regarded them apprehensively but they didn’t seem to stare back with any curiosity. They were instead preoccupied with the state of the ice along the lake. They greeted them always with the same words. “Is the ice strong?”

  “The ice is strong,” Dacha replied in an Enzit accent.

  They eventually stopped around midday, when they both felt they really couldn’t go any further. They ate some food and slept for a few hours in a disused boathouse. Cass woke up cold and stiff and alone and she felt a twinge of alarm. But then Dacha appeared, looking cheerful

  “I’ve made us some sticks,” he said proudly. He had sawn some oars in half. “It’ll make us much quicker. Come on, let’s get going.”

  While they had slept a blisteringly cold wind had picked up and when they looked behind them they saw an ominous bank of grey cloud massing at the head of valley. Dacha stared at it, frowning. “That looks like snow,” he said with a sigh. And he was right, it was.

  A fierce blizzard blew in, roaring along the lake like an animal and engulfing Cass and Dacha in a matter of minutes. Cass pulled her scarf up over her face to protect it from the stinging cold.

  “We’ll have to find shelter,” Dacha called to her and they made their way off the ice and into the woods.

  “There’s a house,” Cass shouted at Dacha, struggling to make herself heard over the wind. “I saw it ahead when we were skating.”

  “Let’s go and look at it,” Dacha cried.

  The house and garden were separated from the woods by a high wall but as luck would have it they could see an iron gate set in the wall, not far from them. The gate was shut and very stiff but not locked, and with some pushing and shoving they got it open and made their way into the garden. It was grandly laid out with walks lined with high hedges, providing some shelter from the wind.

  “Shall we just stay here?” Cass asked, thinking that some of the hedges were so thick and ancient that they could crawl inside them and it would almost feel like being in a building.

  “I think we should go and see if we can get into the house,” Dacha said. “There are no lights on – I don’t think anyone is there and it must be warmer than spending the night in a hedge!”

  Cass laughed. “You’re right, let’s go and check.”

  They made their way on to the wide lawn in front of the house. The wind was screaming across it, hurling fine snow in their faces that burned like acid. They hurried up to the broad terrace that ran along the length of the mansion, where there was a line of French doors giving on to a large empty room. Cass and Dacha frantically tried the handles of each in turn. They were all locked.

  “Nothing else for it,” Cass said and shoved her elbow, well protected by her coat, into the pane of glass, knocking it out cleanly. She put her hand through the void and turned the handle. After a bit of shoving the door gave way and opened. They almost fell inside.

  The pair found themselves in a huge and magnificent room, with a high, coffered ceiling and elaborate wood-panelled walls. It felt so quiet and hushed that when Cass spoke it was in a whisper. “The ballroom, I presume, sire,” she said to Dacha.

  “Most certainly, Your Ladyship,” he replied, also whispering. “Let’s see if there is somewhere a little cosier. We’d better check none of the servants are around too.”

  After they had walk
ed through a couple of empty rooms, Cass said in a normal voice, “Well, if they are, they aren’t doing a very good job with the dusting.”

  Dacha burst out laughing, looking at the thick even layer that covered the floorboards like carpet, only disturbed by their footsteps. “I don’t think anyone else has been here for several years.”

  “Shall we try and find the kitchen before the daylight goes entirely and see if they have left any candles or firewood?” Cass suggested.

  There was the end of a stack of firewood by the dusty kitchen range and after digging around in the dressers they found some candles. Cass went into the larder and returned triumphantly clutching an old tin of tea and a couple of jars of jam, the only things not devoured by mice or rotted away.

  “Now where shall we eat this feast?” Dacha asked, lighting the candles with his tinderbox.

  “Let’s go and explore,” Cass said, and carrying as much firewood as she could she led the way back up to the hall. There was a grand marble staircase that wound up past a vast window to the floor above. Cass could see that the wind appeared to have died down but the snow was falling as furiously as ever.

  They walked through a couple of large empty rooms that weren’t particularly inviting. But then they came across a small room lined with books, which had a sofa in it. “Perfect,” Dacha replied. “We can even use a few books to get the fire going.”

  This seemed almost sacrilegious, but then Cass found copies of some of the most boring books that she had had to read at Mrs Papworth’s Academy. “Really we are doing the world a favour burning these,” she said, handing them to Dacha.

  The paper was beautifully dry and the fire was soon crackling merrily away. Dacha had brought a small copper pan and a couple of china cups up from the kitchen. He melted some snow from the windowsill in the pan and made some tea. Cass laid out all the food they had left on the floor in front of the fire. Four biscuits, a small amount of cheese and six strips of dried meat. Not much, she thought, looking at it with a pang of concern.

  Dacha, seeing her expression, said cheerfully, “With the jam that is a feast fit for a Veraklian gold merchant. We will get some more food tomorrow. Now, let’s eat and drink this tea.” He handed her a cup. “It will make you feel better.”

  Cass took it from him and after a few sips and bites of food she did indeed feel more cheerful.

  “This jam is delicious,” Dacha said with his mouth full. He studied the label. “Rumberry jelly and this presumably is the Zama Estate. It says Drezen, so hopefully that means we are not too far from a village. I have silvers so we should be fine to buy some food tomorrow,” he repeated in a reassuring voice.

  Cass nodded, tiredness overtaking her. She scrambled on to the dusty sofa. “We mustn’t sleep for too long,” she muttered as she dropped her head down on to a cushion and shut her eyes.

  Cass never knew how long she did sleep for but when she woke up, the candles had gone out and the fire had burned down to a few glowing embers. The snow had cleared and the moon was shining brightly in through the windows. She looked out at the snowy garden, peacefully mysterious in the moonlight. Dacha was fast asleep, stretched out on some cushions on the floor in front of the fading fire.

  Cass was just wondering whether to wake him when she heard a noise, a sort of scrabbling noise like an animal, and to Cass’s amazement a small dog appeared in the doorway of the room. It stood for a moment staring at her and then came over and started to nudge at the back of her legs as if it wanted Cass to go with it. Expecting the dog’s owner to appear at any moment, Cass dived into her bag and retrieved her knife. But no one came and there were no other noises, so she went over to Dacha and shook him awake.

  “There’s a dog,” she hissed at him.

  Dacha looked at her as if she were mad. “Where?” he asked.

  “Right here,” Cass replied. “And it wants me to go with it.”

  “There must be someone living here,” Dacha said, jumping up and shouldering his bag. “We need to get out of here.”

  Cass grabbed her pack. She scooped up the jam, the tea and the last of the biscuits and stuffed them in it.

  When they left the room, the dog assumed they had finally relented and decided to be led by it, and it bounded ahead of them down the stairs. They followed, heading back to the ballroom. But when they got to the bottom of the stairs and had a clear view into the room, they both froze. For the ballroom was full of people dancing, silently.

  They were dressed in old-fashioned clothes and Cass, who had been subjected to hours of dance classes by Mrs Potts, instantly recognized they were dancing the four-way quadrille, a dance fashionable a hundred years previously. But despite the dancing, Cass could see that the dust on the floor remained unaltered. Her skin shivered with fear and all her instincts told her to run but she was rooted to the spot. Dacha, however, had no such issue and grabbing Cass’s hand he pulled her towards the grand hall and the huge wooden front door.

  They flung back the bolts and Dacha grasped the door handle to pull it open. Cass half expected it not to move, to be held by invisible forces, but it swung wide open.

  Cass and Dacha charged out, sprinting over the snow, running as fast as they had ever run in their lives. They only stopped when they reached the lake. They scrambled to slide the blades into their skates so that they could get as far away from the house as possible.

  “So being an obtuse clearly doesn’t stop you from seeing ghosts,” Dacha panted.

  “Clearly not,” Cass replied. Between gasps she added, “I’ve never believed in them before.”

  “I assume you do now,” Dacha replied with a bark of mirthless laughter as they skated on into the night, not stopping properly until the dawn had broken and the world was once again flooded in daylight.

  They ate their final bits of food but by midday they were ravenous. When they came to a village, Cass waited while Dacha went off to try and buy something to eat. He came back quickly with some bread and cheese and a few wizened apples.

  “That’s all I could buy, I’m afraid. It’s the end of winter and no one has much in the way of food left,” he explained.

  They eked it out for the day and the following day repeated the exercise at another village. Here Dacha came back with even less. “It won’t kill us,” Dacha said. “We shall just be rather hungry.”

  Over the next three days they played a game, planning all the food they would gorge themselves with when they got back to Minaris, but then Cass decided it was making her even more famished. At least they were making good progress, she told herself, trying to be cheerful although the truth was that she was starving and exhausted. The weather turned milder and the snow from the blizzard melted. Small puddles of water were forming on the ice. Cass noticed that hardly anyone else was skating, and people started to shout warnings at them from the shore to watch out, the ice might break at any time.

  When they stopped for the sixth night after they had left Enzit, they ate a tiny meal of stale biscuits and jam and made a meagre fire. Dacha said, “We have to get some proper food tomorrow, and the ice is melting fast. I have a suggestion. The next village along is Wyza, which is where the road loops down. It’s much larger than the other villages and I think we could risk staying at an inn.”

  The thought of eating a hot meal, being able to wash and sleeping in a bed almost brought tears to Cass’s eyes. “But won’t we be too conspicuous?” she asked.

  “I agree with Masha that Vegna and Nym’s focus will be on sending as many troops as they can to Metrete. I doubt there will be more than a handful of soldiers there, if that. Anyway, let’s wait and see – we should be there by the middle of the morning.”

  Wyza was set further back from the lake than the other villages, so they had to leave the ice and walk up a track to reach it.

  “It looks more like a town than a village,” Cass remarked as she caught sight of the buildings ahead.

  “I agree,” Dacha replied. “Do you think that means it might
have a really good bakery with pies?”

  Cass gasped. “And sugar buns? They might have sugar buns.”

  “Stop!” Dacha said. “My mouth is watering unbearably. It’s like torture, and besides, we must stay focused. I may be wrong about the amount of soldiers.”

  “I agree. The thought of food, any food, is too distracting,” said Cass.

  They made their way through the streets, heading towards what they hoped was the main square, where they were most likely to find an inn and shops. They asked a boy for directions and he told them the square was just around the corner. Thank goodness! Cass thought as they turned abruptly into it and both stood stock-still, transfixed by the sight that greeted them. The square, which was huge for a town of that size, was jammed full of soldiers, standing around in groups, talking and smoking.

  “Just act normally,” Dacha hissed at Cass.

  “But what in the Longest World are they doing here?” Cass muttered back.

  “I don’t know and I can’t think straight until I’ve had something to eat. There’s a baker’s just here,” Dacha murmured and they both dived into the shop.

  The man looked at them wearily. “I only have some rye biscuits and they cost three silvers.”

  It was a ridiculous amount for dry biscuits but Dacha handed it over.

  “I thought the army was headed to Metrete?” Dacha said to the baker, sounding as casual as he could while he handed the silvers over.

  “Were they?” the baker replied disinterestedly. “All I know is that they have taken my bread and paid me a pittance for it. Anyway, what brings you two to Wyza?”

  “Your famous biscuits,” Dacha joked and they walked as calmly as they could out of the shop. They partially hid themselves in a deep doorway, and were both so starving that they shovelled a couple of biscuits into their mouths hardly pausing to chew them. They were stale and tasteless but neither of them cared in the slightest.