Court of Shadows

by Madeleine Roux

  “Oh thank God,” he panted. “I couldn’t keep him there much longer, Louisa. Mrs. Haylam needs me—apparently the Breens are getting squirrelly. They checked Malton and Derridon and found nothing, of course. They’re becoming convinced we know something about Amelia. She wants them taken care of soon.”

  “No!” I pulled him toward the wall, lowering my voice to a whisper. “If Poppy tries to do anything, we all die, do you understand? Mary isn’t here to shield anyone.”

  Lee swore under his breath, nodding and leaving me as he trotted off toward the kitchens. “I’ll see what I can do. Did your, um, chore go smoothly?”

  “I found what I was looking for,” I told him resolutely. I very nearly said My feet are on the path. What had come over me? “Remember—tonight, nobody goes to the trial.”

  “Right. You can count on me, Louisa. We can keep them safe.”

  Then he was gone, pushing through the door and into the kitchens. I went on my way, too, rounding the corner and finding Father still tucked up in his chair, reading, his faithful spider companion wandering back and forth across his shoulders.

  “I have good news,” I said with top brightness. Of course, as he turned and looked at me I made a big show of checking the room for any listeners. It was stupid, but I needed him to think I was pulling off a grand scheme for him, not on him.

  His smile was wolfish as I approached, thin face dominated by that satisfied grin.

  “How did you do it?” he asked, giddily interested.

  I leaned over his chair, keeping a wary eye on his spider friend. “I nicked Mrs. Haylam with a knife while we prepared lunch. It was easy enough to get what I needed from Mr. Morningside after that.”

  Then I winked and he practically collapsed with laughter. I shivered, remembering the ugly echo of the spiders and snakes that seemed to laugh with him outside the pavilion last night. His eyes twinkled, and I could almost see the red pinpricks there, concealed by his guise.

  “I’ve hidden it in a safe location, and as soon as it leaves the house the Residents will realize it, so we must be careful. I will bring it with me to the Court and leave it under the table. Our table,” I said, making things up as I went. It was a plausible story and apparently one he believed. “Tonight, after the trial, I will bring it to you. I suggest you attend. What I have in store for Mr. Morningside will please you greatly. It will be a night to remember.”

  Another wink.

  “You are the sort of daughter every father hopes for and rarely gets,” he said fondly, chuckling again. With his spindly fingers he reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing a long, wide slip of paper. A banknote. “There will be more,” he said, handing me the money. It was for a bank in London, and the sum was more than I could digest. Ten thousand pounds. A girl could live off that for the rest of her life.

  “Enjoy it,” Father said.

  While you can, I added silently. I saw the coolness in his eyes as he handed over the note. He knew it would not be mine for long, that as soon as he had the book I would be useless and therefore a burden. I tucked the banknote away in my apron pocket, folding it and sliding it against the spoon.

  “I will wait outside the tent or risk being revealed,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t want them to know of my return too soon.”

  “Oh, trust me,” I said with a beaming smile. “Nobody will be looking at you, not when I make utter fools of our enemies. But it would be wise for you to conceal yourself. Listen nearby and you will hear me give the signal.”

  Father sighed and reached up for my face, touching his thumb to my chin. I went rigid to avoid recoiling and giving myself away.

  “My beautiful daughter, what did I do to deserve you?”

  Nothing, I thought, my smile cracking. And everything.

  If this was what a bride felt like on her wedding day, then I never wanted to be faced with marriage. But this was that permanent, that unavoidable—I had come to it, and my nerves were on fire.

  “Are you afraid, my dear? You’re trembling.”

  Mr. Morningside stood beside me, flickering in and out of his many faces, every color of skin, every possible combination of features. I tried to look at him, but I was racked with uncertainty, finding that courage was fleeting now that we were in the pavilion and the Court had reconvened. Instead, I looked straight ahead at the dais, at the empty spot where a third throne should be.

  Had I become a radical? A rogue element? I didn’t belong at the center of so much turmoil.

  “Yes,” I told him truthfully. “I’m terrified. Do you think anyone will believe us?”

  One of his faces smiled, and it bled onto all those that came into view next. “Take heart, Louisa, I will be the one Judged this night. We have done all that we can. Nobody will know where the third book has gone. You burned the journal, did you not?”

  “I did.” And I had. After our last meeting in the cellar library I had done as Mr. Morningside asked and tossed Bennu’s work into the fireplace. For a long time I watched it burn, feeling as if I had deeply hurt a friend I had never even met.

  “Good.” He stared placidly out over the milling crowd. “Then only you have the secret. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  I flinched. This was not only the night I betrayed my father, but the night I perhaps lost Mr. Morningside’s regard. Forever.

  “Just don’t forget our deal,” I said. “I did as you asked.”

  One of his less regal faces lifted a brow at me. “Getting nervous I’m going to slip your net, Louisa? We put it in writing.”

  “And you’ve never used a loophole to your advantage?” I asked with a snort. “You’ll really let them go?”

  One eye on a new face—a sly, handsome one—winked. “You will just have to trust me, won’t you?” He paused, and I thought perhaps the conversation was over, but then he said softly, “You didn’t actually hold up your end, you know.”

  I spun on him quickly. “What?”

  “The journal,” he drawled. “You skipped some entries.”

  “Because you told me to!” I cried.

  “Don’t panic, Louisa,” Mr. Morningside said with a chuckle. “I’m just pointing it out.”

  The shepherd sat low in his throne, his gold, liquid angels surrounding him, all of them in the midst of a heated discussion. The translated pages that Mr. Morningside had given him days ago were piled on the shepherd’s lap, his fist tucked up under his chin as he took counsel. I could hardly see any of it. My mind was spinning. According to Mr. Morningside, I had broken the contract, which meant he might not let us go at all.

  Suddenly, my pledge to help him against the shepherd felt far less important.

  Mr. Morningside said nothing about the bag hanging from my shoulder. He either didn’t notice it or didn’t care to comment. This was not a carpet in front of me but a precipice, I thought, wishing I could roll back time and do everything differently. I should have shut the door in my father’s face the moment he appeared. I should have trusted myself, and trusted that a man who’d run out on his infant daughter was not to be heard or seen or respected. I might have told Mr. Morningside Father’s secret, but selfishly I had assumed I could handle this all myself. Whether that was true or not was about to become painfully apparent.

  The tent was as dazzling as ever, the fairy lights bouncing and shining, everyone glittering in their dark, beautiful robes or their ivory gowns. Even the angels burning on the stage were lovely, suffusing the back half of the pavilion with their light. The crowd of onlookers drank and laughed, though they stayed largely relegated to their own kind; no brave mingling would happen on that night.

  “Let us begin.”

  The shepherd’s voice boomed out over the crowd and everyone fell silent. I took the moment of distraction to break away from Mr. Morningside. He had already begun to walk toward the dais anyway. Dodging toward the long, empty trestle table with the black pennant, I stuffed the book in the flour sack under the table and then just as swiftly fell into step
behind Mr. Morningside. We reached the empty space before the stage and I heard the tent flaps rustle. I glanced over my shoulder and gasped.

  It was not Father, as I’d expected, but Chijioke. He ducked into the pavilion and searched the crowd with his glowing red eyes. I tried to turn away, but he had spotted me and began weaving his way toward us, pushing people out of the way when they did not move fast enough for his taste.

  “What are you doing here?” I whispered, slapping his arm lightly. “Get out of here. Now.”

  “Ha. Lass, the moment Lee told me we were to stay shut up in the house I knew you were going to do something stupid. The only thing I want to know is, just how stupid are we talking here?”

  I shook my head subtly, for the shepherd was talking directly about the translations and eyes were beginning to seek me out in the crowd.

  “Leave, Chijioke, I’m begging you. Nothing good will come of this trial. I’m trying to protect you.”

  “Are you in some kind of trouble?” he whispered.

  “I am in every kind of trouble.” I took him hard by the shoulder and inched away from Mr. Morningside. “They’re calling me forward. Look at me. No! Look at me. Chijioke, when the commotion starts you need to get out of here.”

  “Louisa Ditton, come forward.”

  The shepherd’s dog had summoned me, and I gave Chijioke’s shoulder one last squeeze before ripping myself away. He tried to grab my hand but I was gone, pushing through the thin barrier of people between me and the empty floor, going and taking my place, for good or bad, next to Mr. Morningside.

  I felt a chill ripple across the air and knew without looking that Father had come. His eyes were on me. I clasped my hands together to keep them from visibly shaking.

  “I have reviewed these journals,” the shepherd began. He looked as weary as I did, but his eyes were alert, bouncing back and forth between me and Mr. Morningside. “They are most interesting. They are also incomplete.”

  “Where is the book, you snake?” It was Sparrow, obvious from the venom in her voice. She prowled to the edge of the stage, pointing at us. “Your precious Changeling pet weaseled her way out of telling me the truth of it, but that will not happen again.”

  “Save your accusations for me, Sparrow; this girl has done nothing but comply with my requests—requests that serve us all,” Mr. Morningside said calmly, almost cheerfully, in fact. He plucked another sheaf of papers from inside his coat and strode to the dais, handing them up to Sparrow. She snatched them out of his hand with a grunt, taking a glance before passing them to the shepherd.

  “That’s the good bit,” he said with a chuckle, rocking back onto his heels. The crowd murmured with interest, and I could feel them surging closer to our backs. “We now have the location of the third book, and once it is recovered, another Court can be convened to decide what must be done with it.”

  “A pyre is its rightful fate,” Sparrow muttered. There were sounds of both agreement and dissent in the crowd. “Perhaps the Black Elbion should go on it, too, Beast.”

  That drew cries of agitation from the audience. The shepherd was reading the documents and quickly, flipping through page after page after page, his eyes jumping up and down. His expression grew gradually more somber, until he reached the end, and melancholy turned to anger.

  “What is this?” He drew his eyes up slowly from the page, settling them not on Mr. Morningside but on me. “Girl, you swear that this is what you read in the journals? Do not lie to me.”

  I swallowed hard and drew back my shoulders, staring directly into the face of a god and lying. I had gotten good at it, apparently, after all that practice with Father. It didn’t feel good to lie, not when I was growing more and more worried that Mr. Morningside would break our bargain. “I swear it’s the truth.”

  “It is,” Mr. Morningside said at once.

  The shepherd gradually shifted his unseeing gaze to Mr. Morningside, squinting. “The resting place of the third book, the secret location we have agonized over for centuries, is Stoke-on-Trent? Is that really true?”

  “Absurd!” Sparrow shouted. The flames of her body leapt, erupting higher as she stalked over to the throne, trying to read over the shepherd’s shoulder. “This is a diversion! A trick! Morningside knows the real location but wants it only for himself.” She dropped down to her knees suddenly and clasped her hands around the shepherd’s knee. “Let me invoke the Right of Judgment. Please, let me do it. You know it is right.”

  He drew in a long, slow breath. Beside me, Mr. Morningside fidgeted, but I suspected it was just a show. Still, when I happened to look at him, I did notice a sheen of perspiration on his many changing faces. Was he truly nervous? Did he doubt that our plan would work?

  While the shepherd deliberated and the crowd grew more and more agitated, I risked a glance over my shoulder. Father was outside waiting somewhere. Just knowing he was close made me tingle with fear.

  “Very well.” The shepherd stood, and as he spoke, I could see tears of regret sparkling at the corners of his eyes. “Step forward, sir; the Right of Judgment has been invoked. You will give us the truth, and no lie will go unpunished.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I saw his knees tremble as he took his position, kneeling in front of the stage with Sparrow’s shining golden form poised above him.

  There was no way of knowing what was under the shifting glitter of her face, but I knew in my heart that she was smiling. For my part, I could do nothing but squeeze the life out of my hands as I waited for it all to be over. The pavilion had become deathly silent, with only the faint pulsing of the portal behind the stage providing any sound at all. Even the crickets and frogs outside had gone quiet, as if the whole world sensed the grave significance of this moment.

  Mr. Morningside chuckled as Sparrow, with great dignity and solemnity, took him by the chin, tilting his head upward.

  “Give us a kiss, darling,” he purred.

  “You’re disgusting,” she muttered. “I’m going to enjoy watching you squirm.”

  “As if there was any doubt of that at all,” Mr. Morningside laughed. “Do pardon the brandy on my breath; it was a tense night, you see.”

  Sparrow ignored him, but she was rattled, a slight jitter in the hand that held his chin. Then she leaned down and brought her mouth close over his, and as I saw his eyes roll back and his body go slack, I felt a pang of empathy, remembering how terribly her Judgment had hurt. Was that what I looked like when she did the same thing to me? It was awful. If I did not comprehend the circumstances, I would have believed him dead. Occasionally his body jerked this way or that, the whites of his eyes flickering, the crowd reacting to each tiny twitch.

  I turned and found Chijioke in the sea of faces, pressing my lips together tightly as if I could silently apologize for what he had to witness. If he only knew what I’d done, that Mr. Morningside had every possibility of passing this test. That we had rigged the game. That I was now as complicit in his devilish schemes as the Devil himself.

  The silence was the hardest to bear. Sparrow’s voice must have been screaming through his head, but we heard none of it. The shepherd watched intently from his throne, leaning forward, elbows on his knees as he, too, reacted to every spasm of Mr. Morningside’s body.

  The tension grew, a thick white beam of light stretching from Sparrow’s open golden mouth to his; a high, whining sound, like a bird holding a shrill note, emanated from the light. It became so loud, so piercing, that most of us held our hands over our ears. I thought my head might explode as the beam of light intensified, too bright to look at, and the sound ripped through my brain like a razor.

  “Ah!” The spell was broken at last, and Mr. Morningside’s eyes rolled back into place. He gulped for air, falling to the ground and panting.

  “No!” Sparrow shouted, stomping out a tight circle. “He . . . He must be lying! He must be! Can’t you see this is some trickery? How did you do it?” she bellowed. “HOW DID YOU DO IT?”

&n
bsp; “Enough, Sparrow, leave him be. You have had the truth from him,” the shepherd thundered, slicing his hand through the air. He no longer looked like a dowdy old farmer, but a wise and commanding elder. “We must accept Mr. Morningside’s answer, unlikely as it may be.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief and watched Henry climb to his feet. He fixed his coat and cravat, giving Sparrow a shaky but cocky bow.

  “A real treat, my dear. Let’s do it again sometime.”

  “Then we will depart at once for Stoke.” Finch spoke up, going to his sister and leading her back up onto the dais. “This is a great gift of knowledge. We cannot punish him for sharing it with us. He has accomplished what none of us could, and surely that establishes his competency. He did not have to share this at all but he did. That, more than anything, proves his allegiance to our ancient agreement.”

  The crowd seemed largely to share Finch’s sentiments. Mr. Morningside began to swagger back toward me and I took him by the wrist, squeezing hard.

  “Honor our agreement,” I whispered. “Do it now. Tell me the contracts are dissolved.”

  “Not right now,” he replied with a shrug. “We should be celebrating. . . .”

  “I need to know that you’re going to keep your promise.”

  But Mr. Morningside laughed me off. Perhaps he did not see how serious I had become, or maybe he did not care. “It’s in writing, Louisa, what more can I say to you?”

  “You can say you won’t back out through a loophole,” I shot back.

  “Clearly you do not know me as well as you think you do, to even imagine I would promise such a thing.” He was laughing again and it made my blood boil. I was lying and scheming for him and this was how he treated me? “A bargain was struck, Louisa. I will say no more on it.”

  “No,” I said. I dropped Mr. Morningside’s wrist and turned. It lacked the conviction I wanted, and nobody noticed me moving toward the stage. “No!” I shouted it this time and the clamor died down. Mr. Morningside’s smile abruptly faded and he sneered at me.