by Ilana Waters
A regular room? Would that be better or worse? No more freezing garret, but more pairs of eyes on me. And I’d lose access to the secret passage, as well as any chance of seeing Dym.
Catron paused in thought. “No,” he said finally. “Let her stay where she is. She may stir things up if we put her nearer to the general population. That one seems like trouble, if my instincts are correct.”
The orderly snorted. “Don’t need instincts to see that. Breakin’ into people’s offices. What’s the world comin’ to, eh?”
“Indeed.” The sound of shuffling papers indicated Catron wasn’t that engaged in the conversation.
“I know it’s not my place, sir, but wouldn’t it just be easier to, you know, perform that there final procedure on the patients straight off?”
Another pause, then Catron spoke very slowly. “If we performed it on them straight off, it wouldn’t be the final procedure, now, would it? And no, it’s not your place.” It was the tone of a man trying very hard to keep his patience.
“I know, sir, I know. It’s just an awful lot of ’ard work, this is. Them shock treatments is bad enough. Bringin’ these girls in and out, then ’avin’ to take care of ’em when they can’t wash themselves no more. Doin’ that final procedure first could save us a lot o’ time.”
I could only envision the withering look Catron was giving Flack. “Don’t be stupid. Can you imagine the public outcry if I had an asylum full of patients who received the final procedure? Most of my clients want their girls cured, or at least compliant. The final procedure is only for the very worst cases. And she would certainly be one of the worst. The most power hungry, the most unpredictable. As for taking care of patients, that’s your job. So, I suggest you do it. Now, if you will leave me in peace, I have a great deal of work ahead of me. Work which does not involve explaining my methods to simpletons like you.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, Doctor. I didn’t mean to put you off.”
Catron sighed. “I must say, the thought of it is tempting. In the best-case scenarios, those who survive the procedure become remarkably calm and docile. You’d hardly know they had feelings or emotions at all. It would mean fewer willful females in the world. We’d be doing all of Hartlandia a great service.”
“You said ‘best-case scenarios,’ sir. Just curious, what ’appens in them worst ones?”
“What can I say?” Dr. Catron replied. “Not all patients’ bodies are meant to withstand the procedure. Then there are those who succumb to complications. Even with all the advents of modern medicine, it can’t be helped. But none of that matters. All that matters is finding her. We must find her!” His voice grew louder, more adamant than I’d ever heard him. The floorboards in the office creaked; I thought Flack must have taken a wide step back.
“We cannot let her mission in this world come to pass!” Catron continued. “We must find and remove the source of her power.”
“Are you sure she’d be only seventeen or so, Dr. Catron?” Flack asked in a quieter voice. I imagined he didn’t want to upset his employer any more than he accidentally had. “We could expand the search, admit them females much older—or much younger.”
“No. All my prognostications indicate she arrived roughly seventeen years ago. Yet, we keep trying and trying, with no luck.” Catron’s voice grew tighter. “It’s beyond frustrating.”
“Don’t worry, Doctor,” said Flack soothingly. “We’ve got an asylum full of—what do you call ’em—‘viable candidates’? And new admissions every day, too. She’s sure to be ’ere somewhere.”
There was a long pause before Catron finally replied. “You’re right, Mr. Flack. With enough diligence and hard work, we’ll find her.” He repeated his final thought:
“We’ll find her.”
Chapter 8
Later that night, I sat on my bed, making charcoal sketches in the few blank pages in the back of the Book. I hated to despoil what might be a sacred text, but it would have been too hard to steal sheets of loose-leaf from the schoolroom. The staff’s eyes were vigilant, especially around me. At least I’d managed to get some charcoal out of my otherwise useless fire grate.
After Flack left Catron’s office, Nurse Cutter came to pick me up. I managed to leave with her before Catron discovered I was eavesdropping, but only just. As Cutter and I turned a corner, I heard Catron’s door click shut, and his footsteps echo down the opposite corridor. I ruminated about what I had overheard for the rest of the day.
So the goddess Catron seeks is an actual person? Can a goddess even be a person? What’s her mission and the source of her power? I drew a picture of Rose, Laura, and the front hall’s stained glass window. Could she really be somewhere at Silver Hill?
What might it be like to meet a goddess? I drew some more detail on the image of the stained glass. Pity I couldn’t do it in color. She must be very beautiful. I added some length to the hair of the figure in the window. But what if she was a dark goddess? I might not be so keen on meeting her, then.
Then there was the matter of the “creature” the two men had mentioned. I had no evidence they were talking about Dym, and no reason to feel frightened for his safety if I did. Yet, I felt I had a duty—or more like a compulsion—to warn him.
Most sinister of all was the “final procedure” they’d gone on about. I put down my charcoal and looked out at the cloudy night. What could they be doing to girls that would leave them in worse shape than Thomasina? That might possibly end in their deaths? I wished I had some way to find out.
Although I wasn’t much for writing poetry, I’d found the afternoon’s events perversely inspiring. For some reason, they reminded me of a neighbor’s garden near my home that I watched every spring for signs of life. Will life ever return to Silver Hill? Or will all that ever takes place here revolve around pain and death? I scribbled the following in the back of the Book:
“Growing”
‘Someday this pain
will be useful’?
I hope to the gods
that’s true;
because I am heartsick
and discontent
to watch the undeserving
make off
with my happiness.
A neighbor’s trellis vine
every year the same—
turns bare brown
to green to rose,
yet I never expect
the flowers.
I pray hard
that all the good
of my life
will suddenly burst forth
into bloom.
It might not have been Keats’s “Endymion,” but that was all right. No one would see it but me.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed something white and fluttering. My heart skipped a beat. Could it be a ghost? A real, live ghost right here in my room? Well, it wouldn’t be a live ghost, of course. That would be contradictory. Still, meeting a ghost would certainly be interesting.
I sighed and went to investigate. Why couldn’t I be afraid of things like normal girls? As I got closer, I realized it was just the sheet I’d placed over the entrance to the secret staircase. But there was no wind in the room, so I couldn’t tell what had made it move. I pulled the sheet back, pushed the door in slightly, and watched as it swung out. I held my candle in the stairwell, but it didn’t flutter. The breeze hadn’t come from inside the staircase either.
I hesitated only a moment before grabbing my shawl, closing the door, and heading down the stairs. Maybe the moving sheet was the garden’s way of beckoning to me. Or Dym’s, I thought.
Either way, I decided it was a call I had to answer.
#
It had been over a week since I visited the garden. Not much had changed, though the dead vines did seem greener than I remembered. The pond was less frozen, but the water couldn’t be suitable for swimming yet. Still, it felt good to be outside instead of trapped indoors all day. Especially after overhearing Dr. Catron and M
r. Flack. Apparently, the inside of Silver Hill was even more dangerous than I had imagined.
I walked towards the pond; I knew the way now. The vines gave me no more trouble and parted easily, almost as if they were bowing to me. I walked over the gray, cracked pavement stones, stopping only to move the errant branch out of my way. Then I felt something small and soft beneath my foot. I looked down to find a dead rat lying on its side.
Most other girls would have shuddered with revulsion, but I just cocked my head and looked at the rodent. I was surprised to find anything living (well, formerly living) in the garden. The moon peeked out from between gray clouds, and I focused very hard on my discovery.
It worked. The rat slowly got off its side and stood on all fours. It yawned, as if awakened from a long sleep. Then it took a few wobbling steps towards a large, dead tree. It tottered several more inches and fell on its side again. Try as I might, I could not reanimate it a second time. I went over and nudged it with my boot. It was definitely—permanently—dead.
Incredible. Even though my second attempt failed, I couldn’t help but be a little giddy. I’d never reanimated anything as big as a rat before. A few insects and a mouse or two, yes. But never a rat. It was grotesquely impressive. I smiled as I walked the last few yards to the pond.
I looked all around, but didn’t see Dym. I even peered towards the far ends of the moat on either side of the garden. Nothing.
It was silly to come, to think he’d be here. I walked the perimeter of the pond twice, just to enjoy the night. Not because I was hoping he’d show or anything. I was about to turn back to the asylum when I heard a splash . . . and a voice.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the goddess herself.” Dym smiled and swam to the edge of the pond where I stood. Once again, his body was only visible from the waist up. Why he swam shirtless in freezing water, I’d never know. But he looked as beautiful as I’d ever seen him, though I’d only seen him once.
“Goddess?” For some reason, hearing him say that made my heart leap. But I wasn’t sure if it was in a good way or a bad way. “What did you mean by that?”
Dym shrugged. “It was just a figure of speech. Beautiful girl, moonlit night.” He raised his eyes to the heavens. “Almost ethereal, don’t you agree?” Then he said:
“Yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
’Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms.”
“More Keats?” I asked, and he nodded. I had to admit, Dym had a fine voice for poetry. It seemed to reach inside and reverberate within. And he put just the right emphasis on the words, drawing the listener into Keats’s world. If Dym was looking for a career, he could easily be an orator.
The swaying feeling wasn’t quite as bad this time when I was near him. It was distant, like the sounds of the sea one would hear walking along a beach. I wondered if the swaying had served its purpose. Was it trying to tell me something about Dym the first time I’d met him?
“You know, I still can’t understand how you keep getting into Silver Hill’s garden,” I said. “Even if you used the moat to swim around back, you’d have to get through the forest and across the moors. That’s an awfully long way through some very wild country just to go for a swim.”
“What can I say?” Dym did the backstroke towards the center of the pond and stayed there for a few moments. “I’m fanatical about fitness.”
“Riiight,” I said. Then I tilted my head. Though Dym was now in the middle of the water, he wasn’t moving his arms to keep afloat. It almost looked like he was standing in the water. But the pond couldn’t be that shallow if it was the same depth as the moat. Moats often went down as far as thirty feet to discourage intruders. So, unless he was over thirty feet tall, Dym would sink to the bottom.
Curiouser and curiouser.
“Why do you swim all the time?” I asked. “I mean, truly. Are you training for something?”
“You seem to think swimming is awfully hard work. I, on the other hand, find it relaxing.” He floated back towards the edge of the pond where I stood, hardly moving his arms at all. He must have some very powerful legs underneath there. I tried not to think about them too much.
Instead, I shrugged. “When I was in school back home, some of the girls used to sneak out to the Crazy Raven in town to relax.”
“I’m afraid I don’t frequent pubs,” Dym replied. The moonlight seemed to play on the waves in his hair, making them shimmer and shine.
“You don’t drink?” Most boys I knew liked to brag about how much liquor they could hold, whether it was true or not.
“Oh, I drink, all right.” He smiled wryly. “Like a fish.”
“But you don’t get your spirits from a pub. Do you raid your parents’ liquor cabinet, then?”
“No, no.” Dym’s shoulders shook in silent laughter. Whatever private joke he was having at my expense was grating. “Where else do you go with your friends to have fun?” he finally asked. “When you’re not sneaking out to the Crazy Raven, that is.”
“Friends? Fun? I, ah . . .” I couldn’t think of an answer that didn’t make me sound like a recluse. “I like to be by myself a lot.” Good one, Seluna. Nothing reclusive about that.
But somehow, Dym seemed to understand. “I assumed as much. I’m a bit of a loner, too. That’s why I like it here. Nice and quiet.”
“But you don’t come every night,” I said. “You mentioned last time it was only ‘once in a while.’ ”
“No, I don’t come every night. Only when I feel . . . the need.” He held my gaze for several long moments.
“The need? Oh.” I hastily looked away. “Because you think something’s going to happen. The intuition thing again.”
“And it appears I was right.” Dym smiled. “For here I am again, conveniently on the same night as you.” I didn’t mention to Dym all the nights I was down here during my solitary confinement. I didn’t want him to think I’d been seeking him out.
“I’m actually glad you returned,” he continued. “I wasn’t sure you would. I’ve been thinking about you, wondering how you were.”
“Really? I’ve been thinking about you, too,” I said, perhaps too quickly.
“Ooohhh?” Dym drew the word out, making it several syllables long.
I blushed, hoping the darkness would hide my reddening cheeks. “Not that often,” I said. “More like your swims. Just every once in a while.”
Dym slowly closed and then opened his eyes. With my keen vision, I couldn’t help but notice how green they were. Not a drab, diluted green. This was a fierce, deep, wild green. How could I have missed it?
“I’m flattered to be in your thoughts at all,” he murmured. Then, louder: “But something’s got you troubled again. I can tell.”
“More intuition?”
“Maybe. Or it could be the fact that you’re frowning. Either way, why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”
Damn. Dym’s a hard boy to stay annoyed at. And why didn’t I realize I was frowning?
I felt a crick in the back of my neck. I’d been leaning over my sketches for at least an hour before coming here. Now, I was leaning down to look at Dym. It was too much leaning. I knelt by the edge of the pond so that we were nearly face-to-face, and the feeling in my neck eased. Our heads were so close, they were almost touching. I could see the veins around his temples, the water droplets coming off his eyelashes. I forced myself to focus on the conversation.
“I found . . . something,” I confessed.
“Something?” Dym pro
pped his chin up on his palms, putting his elbows on the edge of the pond. Now, our heads were even closer. “My, how very interesting, and specific.”I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him like a child. I secretly wanted to, just so it could accidentally land on his lips.
“I found what I think is a witch’s grimoire, some of it in Old Hartlandian. It had to have been written several hundred years ago.”
“Really? What’s in it?”
“Lots of different things. Like a spell for something called ‘Drawing Down the Moon.’ ”
A smile played at the corner of Dym’s mouth. “Sounds intriguing. Anything that can help defend you against this Catron fellow you mentioned?”
“Nothing that I can see so far.”
“Hmmm. That’s not good. Any luck getting a release date, then?”
“Unfortunately, no. If anything, the situation at the asylum’s gotten worse.” I explained what had happened since we last spoke. I started with Rose and Laura, how they’d been shocked. Then I moved on to Thomasina, and how it seemed some girls weren’t ever leaving Silver Hill.
Dym looked alarmed. “Not leaving Silver Hill? What do you mean?”
“Some are staying on as permanent residents. I don’t think they have much choice in the matter. Others . . .” I briefly went over the disappearance of Geraldine, then the conversation between Dr. Catron and Mr. Flack.
“It seems Catron is looking for a ‘creature’ of some sort. He didn’t say exactly what kind. All I could find out was that one had been spotted near here—a male with dark skin.” I waited a moment to see if Dym had any strong reactions. But all he did was nod slowly.
Maybe I’m wrong about the creature being mortal-like at all. For all I know, it could be a brown bear or something.
“Did he say anything else about this creature?” Dym asked.
“I have to warn you, it’s rather disgusting.” I put down my candle. “He said if he could just open up the creature’s head, he might be able to find some kind of goddess.”