I am well, Mrs. Kearsley, Bess Spoke. And I refuse to give in to fear. But…yes, I am afraid.
Mrs. Kearsley’s connection with Bess quivered with the woman’s distress. Mr. Hanley doesn’t want to alarm you, Miss Hanley, but your dear mother isn’t well. She took to her bed upon receiving your news.
Bess’s breath caught. I feared something of that nature. Thank you for not concealing it.
I know you too well not to know you’d want the truth, Miss Hanley.
It was true. Mrs. Kearsley was the first person Bess had ever Spoken to, and the kind housekeeper had guided Bess through the growth of her Extraordinary talent. Please tell Father to reassure Mama. I am unharmed, and Miss Emrey has the War Office’s Seers attempting to locate me, and I will reach Lima soon.
Mrs. Kearsley did not respond for a moment. You are not being overly optimistic, are you?
I do not want to alarm you all.
Mrs. Kearsley’s laugh shivered down the connection. Miss Hanley, please do be honest with me. Let us share your burden.
Her words shamed Bess. There was no point in concealing her fear from her parents and Mrs. Kearsley. Very well, she Spoke, feeling her eyes ache with unshed tears. I do not know what I am to do, but I hope and pray for the best.
Mr. Hanley wants to know if there is anything he can do for you.
Now the tears began falling in earnest. Nothing as yet, she Spoke, her heart aching at her father’s characteristic desire to help in any circumstance. Ask him to give my love to my brothers, and assure them there is nothing to fear.
We will fear for you regardless, Mrs. Kearsley replied. I will Speak with you again in the morning, unless I have heard from you before then. Do not fear to wake me if you have news.
I will do so, Bess said, and the connection ended. She ran her muddy hand in the stream to rinse it, dried it as best she could on her gown, and let herself weep.
Chapter 6
In which Bess meets the natives
When she ran out of tears, Bess wiped her eyes and once more listened to her surroundings. The sound of the tide seemed louder than it had half an hour ago. Bess peered into the distance, but could not tell if the tide was coming in. She stood and half-walked, half-slid down the incline toward the surf. She had not been paying attention before, as preoccupied as she was with Speaking, and now she wondered what else she might have missed.
She tested the sand with her bare feet. It was smooth and hard and damp, not dry and loose. That meant she was standing below the high tide mark. She backed up to where the incline began, digging her toes into the sand, and concluded the tide would reach almost to where she had sat to drink from the stream. Her heart gave a frightened lurch as she pictured herself backed against the cliff with the inexorable waves flowing toward her and over her.
No, she thought, I am not helpless. I simply must climb to the top of the cliff. The idea that she, mostly blind and hampered by her gown, might make such a climb was daunting. But she had no other choice.
She scrambled up to where she had been sitting, then examined the slope as it rose beyond her. This close, she could see it was covered with a scruff of grey plants like a fibrous web, not quite grass and not quite moss. Tiny white flowers bloomed here and there, five-petaled and delicate. Bess reached high and found handholds, pulled herself up, and began climbing. Her foot came down, not on the scrub, but on her gown, and she lost her foothold and slipped downhill. She tried holding her gown above her knees as if she were ascending stairs, but found she could not make progress with only one hand. Nearly weeping in frustration, consumed once again by the image of the tide coming in, she worked the ribbon of her bodice free and used it to tie up her skirt. It made an awkward bundle in front of her, but she once more tackled the slope and finally made progress.
Sweet fragrance wafted around her as her body crushed the tiny flowers in its passage. Heights did not disturb her, as they were as blurry as everything else. She had no idea how high she climbed and did not care. Then her reaching hand came down on nothing but air, and she somewhat gracelessly slid over the edge of the cliff and crawled a few feet from it before getting to her feet. She felt obscurely proud that she did not wobble from her exertions.
At the cliff’s top, the sound of the surf was more distant, and the wind blew more loudly, rustling her skirts and tangling her hair further. The sun had definitely come out, because she felt its rays on her face, and she turned into the wind so her waist-length hair streamed behind her like a banner. Her head ached and her eyes burned from the sunlight, which soon enough would become unbearable, but at that moment, she felt too relieved at having achieved her goal to care.
Despite the warmth of the sun, she still felt cold, battered by the wind that whipped her damp skirts around her legs. She sat, hoping to minimize her exposure to it, but the chill persisted. She could not remain there, no matter what Clarissa had said. She needed to find shelter quickly.
She turned her back on the wind and surveyed the land that stretched out before her. It was still as beige as the cliff side had been, though a green streak showed where the stream flowed. That would give her a guide to follow. Feeling slightly relieved, she walked inland beside the stream. Her bare toes welcomed the fresh greenery, which did not appear to be grass, but more of the web of plants that had covered the cliff. After a few dozen steps, she stepped out more confidently.
She hoped to see a darker blotch that might indicate trees, but the landscape continued unvarying. It felt like walking through a dream world, one in which everything was unformed and permanently out of reach. Had it not been for the gentle smells of water and crushed plants and the pain of stepping on the tiny stones near the stream bed, she might have believed herself truly dreaming. She began counting steps for lack of any better way to measure time, but gave up when she reached one thousand.
Finally, realizing there was no shelter to be had, Bess sank down beside the stream and drank more water. It only barely dispelled the gnawing hunger in her belly. The wind had subsided, her gown was mostly dry, and her hair fell stiffly down her back. It was as good a place as any to wait for the Seers to find her.
Now that she had stopped moving, her body’s various aches called for her attention. Her legs were sore from unaccustomed exertion, her arms ached from fighting the waves, and her head-ache had grown worse thanks to the loss of her spectacles and their protection from the sun. Exhaustion caught up with her, and she lay down and pillowed her hands beneath her head. With her eyes closed, she could welcome the sun’s warmth, and in moments the lullaby of the stream carried her off to sleep.
When she woke, the world was dimmer. She sat up and found the sun’s golden light shining directly into her eyes, slanting low across the ground. Sunset. Fear shot through her. She could not travel in darkness, she had no food, and she did not know where she was. Clarissa, she Spoke, what news?
There was no response, though Bess could feel the open connection between them. It frightened her more than a complete absence would have. Finally, Clarissa said, The Seers have Dreamed your location.
It was such a relief Bess felt tears come to her eyes again. Then they can send someone to rescue me.
Not immediately. Bess could sense Clarissa’s reluctance to Speak. It will take time, and you must remain where you are.
How much time?
Again there was silence. A day, perhaps more.
Bess’s heart beat faster with fear, and she commanded herself to remain calm. That is not so very long, she told Clarissa. I can wait.
But…you said you have nothing to eat.
A little hunger will not be so dreadful. Bess immediately regretted her flippancy. She was by no means so certain of her capabilities as that. Just…send the Bounder quickly.
We will, Bess. I promise. Now I fear I must leave you. Be safe.
Clarissa ended the connection before Bess could say anything ill-advised about her safety. Bess hugged her knees and watched the sun set, her eyes fixed on a
point to its right. The wind had died down somewhat, and she no longer felt as cold as she had, but she was still uncomfortable. She tried not to think about the chill darkness might bring.
More seabirds swept past, close enough that their raucous cries trailed along after them. Bess had heard no other wildlife and hoped the predators did not come out at night. She thought about asking Maria what creatures prowled the Peruvian coasts, realized Maria was likely abed—it was some six hours later in England—and decided she did not want to know the answer.
She turned and sat with her back facing the sunset, hoping to absorb more of the warming rays. Eastward, the world had already gone blue and grey, and the green streak of the river was invisible. It reassured her that she could still hear it flowing along its channel, lapping at its banks with a pleasant liquid sound. She had gone beyond the sound of the surf, but the wind’s presence had not abated, and it whistled in her ears so constantly she stopped hearing it until it died away briefly and then returned. The mad urge to move, to walk inland until she reached a place where the wind did not blow so fiercely, was difficult to ignore. She reminded herself that the Bounder would not know where to look for her, and hugged her knees more tightly.
Ahead, in the darkness, something moved toward her.
Bess gasped and scrambled to her feet, straining to see. Whatever it was moved slowly but without stopping, not approaching her directly, but at an angle. “Who is there?” she stammered. The creature, whatever it was, did not respond. “Are you human? What are you?” she shouted.
Another moving blur appeared, this one ahead and to her left. They moved like animals, silent and creeping low to the ground. Bess took a step backward and nearly fell into the stream. The creatures slowed, but never stopped moving. Her heart hammering in her chest, Bess turned and fled.
Only a sliver of sun was left above the horizon, not much more than a bright line of light. Bess ran only a handful of steps before tripping and landing on her hands and knees. The scrub was not nearly so soft when she was scrambling across it, her breath rasping in her throat, her knees and palms abraded from her terrified flight. She missed her step, and her hand slid off the edge of the riverbank, plunging her arm into the water and throwing her completely off balance.
Then hands grabbed her, wrenched her upright and immobilized her. A blurry face, dark enough nearly to blend into the twilight, hovered just outside her range of vision. Panic-stricken, she sent a blast of shrill, unformed Speech into her captor’s mind, and his grip on her loosened. She wrenched away and nearly fell over the man’s companion, who pushed her to the ground. She readied herself to strike at him the way she had the other, and a blow struck her across the side of the head, sending white sparks filling her vision. A terrible pain surged through her head, and she swayed, dizzy and truly blind. Desperately, she gathered herself for yet another blast of offensive Speech, and something else struck the back of her head, and everything went dark.
Bess came to herself in warm darkness that smelled of dust. Her head pounded with a dull ache, radiating out from the side of her skull, and a metallic taste filled her mouth. She sat up and moaned as the pain spiked behind her eyes. Feeling along her head, she found no wetness, just a lump at her left temple that twinged when she touched it. She let her hand fall and breathed in deeply, then sneezed from the dust in the air. The sound was explosive in the quiet dark, and she froze, fearing drawing the attention of something hiding nearby, but nothing moved.
She breathed as quietly as she could and listened for some clue as to her surroundings. The air was still enough, and the surroundings dark enough, that she was certain she was indoors. She heard no birds or insects, so the place was not open to the outdoors. It was warmer than the coast had been, but Bess did not like to draw conclusions from that, as she believed the storm had made the coast cooler than it normally was. Her chest hurt, and she found it difficult to draw a deep breath.
She stood, wobbling slightly, and waited until she regained her balance, then stretched out her arms and took a few careful steps into the darkness. Her fingers brushed a rough surface after she had taken only five steps, and she stopped, feeling along the wall. Fine, irregular grooves indicated the spaces between stones, barely perceptible to her sensitive fingertips. The stones were not the regular, oblong shapes she was accustomed to, but they fit together tightly despite having six or seven corners each.
Bess used the wall to orient herself and walked more surely, mapping out the dimensions of the room. It was quite small, only ten paces along one side and fifteen along the adjacent one. She could perceive no exits. Her heart pounded fiercely, and she felt a shriek building in the back of her throat. This was a tomb. Somehow a Bounder had left her in this sealed stone box to die.
She made herself take one step after another, closing her eyes and pretending the room was large and well-lit, and turned another corner. At the third wall, her hand reached empty space. She felt along it; it was definitely a door opening. When she sniffed, she breathed in marginally cooler, fresher air. She closed her trembling hand on its edge and calmed herself. Not trapped; there was a way out.
She hesitated. She still saw no light, and she might only be leaving one prison for another. But she instinctively felt she could not stay where she was. She leaned against the wall and Spoke to Clarissa. Clarissa, I apologize for waking you, but my situation has changed. Clarissa, what time is it?
There was no reply. Clarissa, Bess repeated, then, feeling guilty, projected a blast of nonverbal Speech that was enough to wake the dead.
Bess. Clarissa sounded concerned rather than angry. What is wrong?
I have been kidnapped by I know not who. Please, tell me the time.
After a pause, Clarissa said, It is after eight o’clock in the morning in Lisbon. What do you mean, kidnapped?
Bess related the events leading to her waking in this room, and added, I hesitate to leave, but I cannot imagine I will learn anything if I stay here.
Take care. The Seers will again attempt to locate you. I must go, Bess. I will Speak to you later.
The hollow feeling of a terminated Speech connection had never made Bess feel so bereft. She closed her eyes and tried to calm herself. Staying here might be safe, but the idea made her impatient with herself and her cowardice. She was a veteran of the War Office, she had endured a siege, and she had dared this ocean voyage. Daphne would tell her not to let a little setback like this thwart her. Of course, Daphne was an Extraordinary Bounder and would not have been shipwrecked in the first place, but the principle was sound.
With one hand on the door frame, she stepped through, feeling in front of her with her other hand. Almost immediately, her fingers brushed another stone wall directly opposite the door. A breeze tickled her face, warm and smelling of dirt rather than dust. She turned left to face into it and walked in that direction, trailing her fingers along the wall for balance; her head still ached, and she felt unsteady.
Her fingers found a corner before she ran face-first into another wall. This time, the breeze was stronger, and the darkness to her right had a different quality to it, that of a night sky rather than a stone warren. More quickly, she walked toward it, and soon found herself outside. It was still possible, given the limits of her vision, that she was simply in a vast cavern with walls and ceiling too far away for her to perceive, but the smell of good earth carried on the night breeze suggested otherwise.
Light flared, and two figures appeared out of nowhere. Bess squeaked in surprise and took a step backward. The shape of their bodies, the breadth of their shoulders, suggested they were male. They were tall and dark, wearing knee-length robes in elaborate patterns that blurred before her. The lights were a couple of torches, smelling of oil and burning cloth, and in their light Bess could see the men’s faces were dark, but could not make out their expressions.
Aside from stepping in front of her, they made no move to accost her, and Bess refrained from blasting them with Speech. It might still be an o
ption in future, but she determined not to assume anything about these strangers. Though they had kidnapped her, so perhaps some assumptions were in order.
The man on the left said something and pointed back the way Bess had come. Bess turned around and saw the door she had exited was one of several in a long wall, or, more accurately, was one of a number of dark blotches in a grey-gold expanse that was probably torch-lit stone. “I would rather not return, if you don’t mind,” Bess said, crossing her arms over her chest and once more hoping her tone would convey her meaning when her words could not.
The two men glanced at each other. Then the man on the right stepped around Bess and walked through the doorway, stopping at the corner that led back to the chamber. The man on the left again said something—the same something, Bess realized—and gestured. Bess hesitated. That chamber had felt like a tomb, but these men clearly had something in mind, and she did not believe she would benefit from ignoring them, not when she had no alternative to offer. So she followed the man back into the chamber, with his companion pacing a few steps behind her.
When she entered the chamber again, she drew in an astonished breath. In the torchlight, the walls were a riot of color, amber and green and crimson in patterns that suggested intricate art. Along one wall—the wall she had not explored, having come to the doorway first—lay a thick pallet with a red blanket folded at its foot. Bess walked over to it and discovered a strangely shaped pottery vase nearby. She crouched to examine it. It had a flat bottom, two handles on opposite sides, and a rounded top with a sort of clay pipe extending from it. It smelled of fresh water. This was clearly not a cell. It was guest quarters.
“I see,” she said, though she really didn’t. Possibly they intended to show her hospitality, whoever they were, but she had still been kidnapped and that made this, yes, a cell, however well appointed.
One of the men pointed at the pallet and then pillowed his head on his hands, miming sleep. “I understand,” Bess said, nodding, and stretched out on the pallet and covered herself with the blanket, which turned out to be woven of a very soft wool. The man nodded in return. “Please—leave the torch,” she said when the two men made as if to leave. She pointed at one of the torches, then at the ground. She could not see their faces well enough to know what they made of her gestures, but after a moment, one of them wedged the torch into the wall—a bracket that blended with the stone, no doubt. Then the two left.
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