If she is determined to do this, I’ll certainly not stop her. I circle her waist with my hands and lift her up to the cart. Slender as she is, she’s oddly heavy. My face heats at her closeness.
“Thank you,” Olivia says. She hitches up her skirts and climbs toward the back of the cart as if she were stepping onto a ballroom floor. I help Truffler and Vespa, and then Bayne and I are scrambling up as well. The rest of the Elementals and the humans who managed to land safely take other carts or walk.
Bayne removes his jacket and spreads it for the women to sit upon. “I fear there is little other comfort I can offer at present.”
“It’s enough comfort now to know that we are alive,” Olivia says. Vespa takes her hand. I think we’re all trying hard to pretend the danger’s over, even though we know it’s just beginning.
The ride is long and painful. Each time the cart goes over a rut or hillock, it feels as if the cart jumps six feet. My bottom feels every jolt in the road.
Luckily, the view makes up for it.
In the distance a ring of mountains poke their heads into the clouds. The sea cliffs rush toward them, and their meeting has spawned a broad hill crowned by a city that glows eerily white. The city rambles down the hill in tiers, and the palace disappears from view as we come under the gates. Bayne spreads his hands as we enter. “Scientia, the City of Knowledge.”
My eyes bug out of my head. I’d glimpsed it from the sky, of course, but I mostly was keeping my eyes closed then and hoping I wasn’t about to die. Piskel peeks out of my collar and whistles long and low.
We enter under a giant clock tower, its face lit by myth and flanked by the wings of the Ineffable Watchmaker. Enclosed within it is a station, and now I understand some of the tracks and lines I couldn’t make sense of from the air. “This is the speed trolley,” Bayne says. “I was going to suggest we take one of these if it’s still in operation, but no matter.”
Despite the fact that myth is likely still the source for their energy, I admire the trolleys as they pull soundlessly out of the stations and climb through the steep streets to their various destinations across the city. I think again about how I wanted to convert the boiler in the warehouse to something other than coal. If only the same could be true here. What could we create if we could find the proper source of energy?
There are, in fact, levels of streets, and our oxcart naturally descends to the lowest (and slowest) level. Above us on raised tracks I can see things that look like individual train cars whizzing by, many of them brightly colored or sporting wings.
“Another luxury of Scientia that New London never got around to having,” Bayne says when he notices me looking up open-mouthed. “Probably a good thing too. Air-cars are quite dangerous, especially when . . . well, there you have it.”
I watch in amazement as a car departs from the track and leaps the spaces between buildings for several seconds, its beetlelike wings outspread, before being joined with a track going the opposite direction.
“They’re trying to make them completely free-flying, but they haven’t figured that out yet,” Bayne says. “It’s a system of powerful magnets and mythcurrent that makes it work. But sometimes,” he says, bringing my attention back down to the street and the rusted hull of an air-car nearby, “it doesn’t work so well.”
I keep watching the air-cars, wishing I could ride one and at the same time feeling guilty for wanting to. I can’t imagine the enormous amount of energy those tracks must need to propel, release, and receive the cars.
“Can be very good for shipping, though,” Bayne says.
I nod. I can imagine a system of these coming up from the docks at Vaunting Harbor all the way up to New London.
People are lining the streets, but they do not throw flowers or shout greetings. They’re likely more interested in what we have in our pockets than who we are. It reminds me very much of Lowtown in the olden days, with its hexshops and gin palaces, rag-and-bones dens and dollhouses (as Nainai would sometimes call the brothels). Their glances at us are furtive and their voices low. There is none of the boisterous joy that had risen up in the New London we’d rebuilt. These people are either cowed and afraid or up to no good.
Olivia seems to notice because her expression is grim. She pulls her collar closer over the bandage just after I spot a bit of blood seeping through. I want to say something but decide it would be best not to call attention to it here.
“The oldest bit,” Bayne says above the din of the streets, “is the white palace you saw on the crown of the hill. That’s where I grew up. When my family came here before the destruction of Euclidea, they renovated some of it. The rest is haunted, and we never go in there. The livelier districts are here in the lower rings anyway, which were built after my family came to live in the palace.”
“Have you been visited by any of the ghosts?” Vespa asks.
“I’ve often thought I saw a black wolf walking the halls deep in the night. Once I think he even looked at me with amber eyes, but that could also have been the New Year wine talking,” Bayne says.
I’m glad of the sunshine; at the mention of the black wolf, it’s as if a deadly chill reaches down from the crown of the hill to seize me. “That’s where the Tinker King lived, isn’t it?”
“The Architects believed so, though the research was admittedly thin,” Bayne says.
“We always told stories that when we first came into this world, our leader, Blackwolf, who became known as the Tinker King, reigned here, long before the scattering of the clans and the coming of New London,” I say. “Most of us just thought they were bedtime stories meant to make us feel better about our plight. It’s hard to believe that they’re true.”
I don’t mention Nainai’s fondest dream—the clans reigning here again. I loved her stories, but her daydreams made me uncomfortable. Why was the Forest not enough? And what did I have to do with it? She always told me I was destined for greatness. I see very little greatness in my circumstances now.
I always thought when Nainai said such things that she meant I would save my people from the Refineries or find a new place for us to live. I suppose I did help free the Elementals, but that has become more of a curse than a blessing these last few days. As for my people, I know where they are now. Far behind me with Ximu’s army.
Everyone falls silent, as if they pick up on my mood.
At last the massive white gates of the Bone Palace block out the sun, and the oxcart pulls into the shadowed recesses of the palace’s inner court. Bayne and I leap off the cart and help the others down.
Despite the austere ivory of the palace exterior, the courtyard glimmers with a multitude of tiles from palest blue to rich navy. Interspersed here and there are wider, broader tiles with the Wyvern emblem of the Grimgorns. Fresh water splashes from a basin, quiet and refreshing after our long, harrowing journey. This is the newer part of the palace; I have the distinct feeling that the old has been thoroughly covered by the new where it has been allowed to do so.
No one is there to greet us—not Sir Reynard or any other servant. After a few moments Bayne says to the driver: “If you would be so kind as to wait here, I’ll send someone to help unload the rest of your cargo. Meanwhile, refresh yourself and your charges.”
The driver nods and hunkers down next to the cart.
Bayne turns toward us, and the expression on his face is carefully neutral. “This way.”
But Olivia puts her hand on his arm. “I want to tell you something before we go farther.”
“Your Majesty?”
She takes the note from the Phoenix from her pocket. “I think I understand the code. Whoever built the Phoenix wanted us to know that things are not as they seem, and that we may be in grave danger.”
“From whom?” Bayne says. His words are clipped.
She shakes her head. “It doesn’t say. And it’s only signed ‘NT.’ Does anyone in your household bear those initials?”
“Not when I was here, anyway,” Bayne says
“What should we do?” Vespa asks. She’s got Truffler by the hand, and Piskel is floating around her. She looks as lost and vulnerable as we all feel.
Bayne runs a hand through his hair and shakes out ash. “There’s not much we can do,” he says. “We must just go forward and take the adventure that comes to us.” He looks around at all of us, and then finally Olivia nods.
“All right, then,” she says. “Onward.” That one word is quite possibly the bravest I’ve ever heard.
Bayne leads us. I try to pay close attention to the route, but I have to give up after what seems like half an hour of wandering through courtyards and long halls. I’m generally good at this sort of thing, so it annoys me that the Bone Palace is already getting the better of me.
We’re about to pass through yet another elaborate courtyard when a young man extricates himself from a group of well-dressed people standing under a tangle of vines.
“Bayne!”
The family resemblance is obvious, though the boy’s coloring is different—light brown hair instead of dark, hazel eyes instead of blue—but the nose and chin are the same.
Bayne’s face twists as if he wants to speak, but he doesn’t. Yet when the boy embraces him, his arms go round him.
“Arlen, you should not,” Bayne whispers.
The boy holds him all the more tightly before stepping away.
I’m just beginning to wonder if the note is mistaken when a shadow separates itself from the others under the arbor.
The young man who walks toward us is so familiar, he makes my stomach twist. And yet he is so unfamiliar that I can’t be sure of what I’m seeing. I watch all the blood drain out of Vespa’s face as the man gathers his brocaded coat about him and smiles uncertainly at us.
He walks right up to Vespa, as natural as if they were just passing on the street. He holds out a gloved hand on which rests a giant ring carved with the Wyvern crest of Grimgorn. Vespa recoils like a spitting cat, refusing to take his hand.
He says in a calm, remarkably kind voice, “Charles Waddingly-Grimgorn, ducal Regent, at your service.”
CHAPTER 18
I know who you are,” Vespa said. She did not give him her hand; instead, she looked like she might strike him. “I know what you are.”
Bayne was white with fury, too flabbergasted to speak.
Syrus put himself between Charles and Olivia.
Charles regarded all of them with a rueful smile. “I expected this. And I am very sorry for the shock. But I am not at all what you think, Miss Nyx.”
Piskel started toward him with armfuls of curses, but Bayne clapped a hand around him in the air. He buzzed inside Bayne’s palm, shrieking.
Vespa said, “If you are not the Grue, then what are you?”
“Myself again, thankfully.”
“Explain yourself,” Bayne said. “How came you to wear the ducal seal of Grimgorn?” He was still white as a sheet, his eyes glittering. One hand trembled as he held Piskel, as if he would incinerate Charles on the spot.
Charles answered Vespa. “I went to Old London, as you witnessed. There is precious little magic there, so the Grue was starving for want of it. But there are pockets of it here and there, I suppose. An old country doctor, of all people, helped purge him from me at last.”
“But . . . I saw it eat your heart that night outside the Manticore’s prison,” Vespa said. “I saw you become it.” Her voice was still barely above a whisper of horror.
Charles nodded. “Truthfully, Miss Nyx, I had only been in your father’s employ a few short months before the Grue found me in the basement and offered me power or death. I am ashamed to say I wasn’t man enough to die. There was so much I wanted to know and do; I so desperately wanted to live!
“As to how I came to be Regent, that is an even sadder tale, which I shall relate over supper. I am glad you accepted my invitation, Majesty, so that I might explain these things to you in person.”
He bowed to Olivia, but she stood still as stone, glancing between Bayne and him.
“Sir Reynard,” Charles called. The seneschal detached himself from where he had been waiting under the arbor and came to Charles’s side.
Again the rueful, almost sheepish smile overtook Charles’s expression. And then the smile faded, and a look of true sorrow crossed his face. “I am very sorry for the pain I must have caused you. All of you,” he said, locking eyes with each of them in turn. “I don’t expect that we can be friends right away, but I shall endeavor to do better by you hereafter. Especially you, Miss Nyx. Especially you.” He tried to hold her gaze, but she wouldn’t allow it. She stared hard at the floor.
Bayne opened his mouth to speak, but Sir Reynard interrupted before he could say a word. “My Lord Regent will tell the rest of his tale after you’ve had a chance to rest. For now, please, let me lead you to your quarters. And if you have need of anything, we will be happy to accommodate you. Welcome to Grimgorn.”
Charles bowed to them. None of them returned it.
“This way, please,” Reynard said, smiling an unctuous smile.
Arlen looked like he wanted to say something to Bayne before Sir Reynard led them off, but Charles held him still. Bayne shook his head ever so slightly.
Vespa found it hard to walk or breathe, so stunned was she by the sight of Charles.
“Did you see him?” she asked Bayne. “Did you hear what he said?”
Bayne looked aside at her. “Yes and yes.”
“Do you believe him?”
Bayne was silent. Their shoes echoed on the marble floors.
“What should we do? How can we possibly stay here?” She clutched at his sleeve.
He nodded toward Reynard, whose ear was tilted toward them. “Wait,” he mouthed.
Vespa managed to keep silent, though everything she wanted to say nearly choked her. How could any of this be? How could they believe a word Charles said? How had he gotten here, and how by all the false saints had he become Regent of Grimgorn? And what could they do about any of it? She was absolutely incredulous. He could no more be telling the truth than . . . than the Grue could.
And yet she’d sensed no magic about him. She hadn’t even had the faintest wrong feeling whatsoever except her own very horrified feelings at seeing him walk up to her wearing the trappings of a Duke. She had sensed no duplicity in his eyes, which she had noticed, rather oddly, were similar to the color of her own. Perhaps a bit more hazel. She had always thought his eyes like cesspools. And his hair had funny golden curls that she’d not noticed before either.
She made her hands into fists and marched alongside the others, trying not to think about it. But it was nearly impossible not to. What in the name of Darwin and all his Apes was going on here?
The expressions on the faces of the servants they passed were difficult to read, but wherever they went, whispers followed. Vespa glanced at Bayne and saw a muscle in his jaw twitch at the latest group of whispering courtiers.
Olivia dropped back and took Vespa’s arm. “Penny,” Olivia said. She smiled at her, and Vespa returned it as best she could.
“It seems a rather grim place,” Vespa said, looking aside at a mosaic of a wolf engaged in a battle to the death with a spider that resembled Ximu. “Who knows what we’ve walked into?”
“We must have strength and courage, my friend. That is what you’ve taught me,” Olivia whispered. She squeezed Vespa’s arm. “Strength and courage.”
Reynard led them each to quarters in very different wings of the palace. Vespa didn’t miss the fact that this was a way of keeping them isolated from one another, an easier way of keeping abreast of them all separately. She didn’t like it. Something was very wrong here, and she was certainly starting to suspect why someone had sent the note via the golden Phoenix! She especially worried about Olivia. It was obvious how terribly vulnerable she was now. What would keep Charles from taking advantage?
Vespa shook her head and looked around the room she’d been given. It was beau
tifully appointed, with a carved bed draped in swathes of peach and teal silk. The pillows were embroidered with fine designs of fish and shells. There were statues of well-endowed mermaids and leaping dolphins in raised frescoes all along the walls. There was a basin with cool, clear water over by a colonnaded window and a tray filled with cherries and apricots from the orchards of Scientia.
And in a cut glass and mirror-encrusted chest was a bottle of what looked like some ruby cordial and a tray of delicate cardamom and nutmeg–scented cakes. Vespa didn’t hesitate. She poured herself a glass of cordial and stuffed herself with cakes and cherries until she thought she might be sick.
She considered that it probably wouldn’t take much to poison her, if that was the route Charles chose to rid himself of her at some point, and she laughed aloud.
Add it to the list, she thought. With everything that had happened in the past week—rescuing Syrus, the discovery of Lucy ruling the shadowspiders, the destruction of New London, the explosion of the airship just as they arrived in Scientia, Charles—she found herself sobbing. She had never thought when she had dreamed as a child of being the first female Pedant that it would be so terribly lonely.
She dashed the last few tears away and inwardly scolded herself for being self-indulgent. Syrus had risked much to get her the dream interpretation book, despite all he had been through. She needed to figure out what it meant. If, as the interpretation book had said, the dream meant that she was about to enter into a new level of magic, she really wished that said new level would hurry and arrive.
Then and again, she’d never expected to have to carry twenty people and Elementals to the ground safely after an airship exploded all around her. She hoped the Elementals were being settled in whatever accommodations were best for them; the dryads would need to be taken to the orchards or gardens as soon as they’d had an opportunity to put their feet in a tub of water and drink. She would have to find them as soon as she could.
She pushed through twisting curtains onto a balcony that looked out over the city and beyond to the Winedark Sea. She half smiled to think she’d always wanted to find adventure on it. After witnessing the Kraken devouring the rest of the ship, she doubted her interest in discovery would survive such a vision.
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