The Midnight Charter

by David Whitley

  Beside the Count was a desk covered in papers and curious brass instruments. As he watched, the Count held out one of these papers.

  ‘Read, boy,’ he said, in a voice of distant thunder.

  Mark frowned, almost blurring the letters with his concentration.

  ‘Pri… principles of Astrology,’ he said, trying not to sound as if many of the words meant nothing to him, spelling them in his head first and dragging out their syllables as long as he dared. ‘The First House of Libra,’ he continued, growing in confidence, ‘can be found within the con… stellation…’

  ‘Enough!’ The Count thrust his hand towards him.

  Mark flinched instinctively, but then saw that he held a quill pen, a few pieces of feather still attached to the far end.

  ‘Copy this,’ the Count said, gesturing to a diagram.

  Mark hesitated. It showed a strange, angular box drawn around a roughly circular set of dots. He reached forward to dip the pen in the ornate inkwell, just as he had seen Lily do, and put it to a sheet of parchment. The ink pooled out, blotting through, but, all too aware that the visitors had come forward to look over his shoulder, he persevered. The diagram was beginning to take shape when Mr Laudate gave an impatient hiss, so loud it made Mark jump, tearing the parchment.

  ‘With all due respect, Count Stelli,’ he said, glaring at Mark, ‘this was not part of our arrangement. I was prepared to agree to the girl, without once meeting her, purely because her letter to you suggested that she had some intelligence. But it will take months to train this boy to the appropriate standard.’

  ‘Months that we have in abundance, Laud,’ the Count said, a hint of the usual thunder in his tone. ‘So strange that the young, who have so much time, are always so keen to rush.’ He rose from his chair stiffly, one hand on an ornate cane. ‘Or would you rather do it yourself?’

  Mark thought he caught a brief look of fear in Mr Laudate’s eyes and he wondered just what this ‘training’ was for. Then a rap from the cane on the stone floor brought his attention back to the Count. The old man’s eyes peered out from his face, surveying him up and down.

  ‘I think it is time to draw up your contract properly, Mark,’ the Count said. ‘Your arrangement with my former servant simply to exchange places is not sufficient for a future apprentice.’

  ‘Does the boy have the talent?’ Mr Laudate asked, his voice trembling.

  Mark thought he must be angry and turned to leave, but Mr Prendergast stepped forward and patted Mark on the head. He smelled of perfumed oils.

  ‘The boy can read; that is a good start. And the Count does not grow any younger. He has no family to carry on this noble business.’

  Mr Laudate looked up sharply.

  ‘I thought…’

  ‘None,’ the Count agreed, with a look at the young man that dared contradiction.

  Mr Laudate returned the stare for a moment, then turned away. Pretending he hadn’t noticed, Mark went back to his work, filling in the last of the dots.

  ‘Sir?’ he said, holding up the paper.

  The Count took it, studied it intensely and then held it up. Through the window behind him, Mark saw the night sky in all its blackness. Then he saw them. The five stars in a rough circle, scattered across the darkness – the stars he had been drawing, capturing something so vast on a scrap of parchment. The thought made him smile.

  ‘It will do for now,’ the Count muttered. ‘We can continue when my guests have gone. Leave us now and sleep until the sun rises.’

  Mark stepped backwards, away from the stern look of the Count and the jowly smile of Mr Prendergast. He felt his step lighten as he reached the stairs. Snutworth, who had clearly been listening at their base, clasped his hand and shook it in congratulation, but Mark barely registered him.

  He walked down to his room, his head filled with stars and visions, his thoughts a mass of twinkling lights. Somehow, the stars alone knew why, the Count had taken him as his apprentice. Already the letter he would write to Lily about it was forming in his head, though maybe he would keep secret the part about the role being meant for her. There was no need to spoil the wonderful news – that his days as a kitchen servant were over before they had barely begun. He was apprenticed to the greatest astrologer in all Agora and one day, if he fulfilled his duties and performed whatever project the Count and his guests were preparing him for, then maybe… just maybe…

  It was not until later, as he was falling asleep, that another image rose into his mind. It was only then that he remembered Mr Laudate as he descended the steps. If he hadn’t been so thrilled, so full of the future, he might have wondered why the red-headed man had looked at him strangely, with something almost like pity.

  Chapter Six

  THE VIOLINIST

  Lily opened her eyes and the night sky stretched above her. For a few peaceful seconds she lay still, staring at the stars spread out in all their splendour. Then, as usual, reality intruded on her thoughts. Her coat was covered in mud and her feet were still sore from running across cobblestones. She thought that perhaps she had slept for a little while, because her hair lay across her face. And she was cold, so cold. Her breath misted in the air before her.

  Shakily, she rose to her feet. She felt an instant stab of sadness, which caught her unawares, and tears filled her eyes. She closed them and took a couple of deep shuddering breaths.

  ‘It’s just a side effect… something to do with the machine,’ she whispered to herself, fighting the urge to howl with grief. Deliberately, painfully, she began forcing the emotion to fade, just as she had every other time she’d felt like this.

  ‘There isn’t time,’ she hissed, clenching her fists. There was never time. That was what made it so hard. But she hadn’t cried since her first night at the book-binder’s and she was not about to start now.

  Gradually, as always, her feelings subsided. Lily gave one last brush to her coat, blinked hard and looked around.

  She had not chosen a bad part of the city to collapse in. She was far from the Sagittarius District, with its winding alleyways. Here, the ancient houses stood tall against the chill night sky. She had no idea how far she had run or what time it was. In fact for once the stillness was what struck her. There was not a sound to disturb the night air. Lily breathed deeply. For a moment, a glint of happiness flared in her brain. But when it faded, it left behind something that felt more genuine, more natural. Hunger.

  She cast her eyes around and spotted a piece of bread lying in the gutter. She reached down without a thought to pick it up and was about to put it in her mouth when she stopped, feeling something shift in her hands. She held the bread up to her eyes. There were tiny worms living in it. She felt a cold chill even as she found herself still considering eating it. Maybe by the time Miss Devine’s machine went into reverse her capacity for disgust had already gone. She shuddered at the idea and hurriedly threw the bread down, trying to think of something else.

  She soon wished she had not. As she walked, her footsteps seemed to echo, disturbing the shadows. Things shifted and scuttled in the darkness. In every corner she thought she saw thieves lurking, thieves who would turn all the more dangerous when they found she had nothing to steal. She couldn’t call for the receivers – she had broken a contract by running away. If they found her now, it was prison, at least. Her only hope was that the doctor would not report her missing before she got back to him. She began to run, but the shadows seemed to whisper to her: Damaged goods… debtor… debtor…

  Then, at the edge of her hearing, something stirred. It was so faint that Lily barely knew if she was imagining it. It hung on the night air like a scent carried by the breeze. Music.

  Intrigued, Lily followed it.

  She had heard music before, of course. At the orphanage she had sung dull songs in praise of Agora along with everyone else, and once at the bookbinder’s one of the men had brought in a guitar and some raucous voices had been raised, until she was sent off to another room because it ‘w
asn’t suitable’. But this was different. It wasn’t a voice, there were no words and yet it sang, ebbing and flowing on the wind.

  Eventually, Lily arrived at a run-down house on an old square. In the moonlight, she could just make out that there had once been designs on the flaking plaster that covered the façade of what had been a grand and beautiful house. Now bare beams were exposed and an ancient wooden door hung ajar. But it was from within that the haunting sound still came.

  Lily hesitated. She was cold, dirty and far away from her master. Her brain, working feverishly, told her to turn round, find out where she was, get back to the doctor and seek his forgiveness before he gave her up for lost.

  Her hand had other ideas. It pushed at the door.

  Inside, the house seemed too bare. Spaces on the walls bore the ghostly outlines of paintings that had once hung there and an old chair that should have been part of a set stood alone in a corner.

  Lily moved forward, willing her feet not to dislodge anything, not even to press down on the floorboards, which might cry out at any moment.

  Another room – a sitting room this time, to judge by the sofa with three dusty cushions – and there, at the far end, another door, wide open. Silently, Lily crept closer. The tune, which swelled and rose, was coming from within.

  Lily peered through.

  Beyond, in the moonlight, she saw a little courtyard, its walls covered in withered ivy dusted with frost. At the centre, a muddy trickle of a fountain gurgled into a mossy basin. And sitting on the edge of that basin, wrapped in black shawls, a woman, her hands caressing some kind of instrument, which she held up to her chin. Her hair seemed silvery, although much of that could have been the moon, and she stared into the distance, her dark eyes set on something only she could see.

  Lily stood mesmerized as the music filled the courtyard, a simple tune, its only accompaniment the rustling of leaves. Dimly, she remembered an illustration she had once seen in a book. This was called a violin.

  Lily felt something bubble up inside her. This was nothing like what had happened before, when the emotions had been forcibly dragged out of her. This feeling of melancholy grew from within, stealing up on her as she listened. All other sensations were blotted out.

  She felt a hand on her wrist.

  She nearly cried out, but something in her stopped it. Perhaps because it would have interrupted the music. Instead, she stiffened, turning as slowly and silently as she could.

  Her eyes met another pair, at about her height. She took in a pale, curious face, blue eyes and short, red hair. She opened her mouth, but the figure raised a white finger to her lips, shaking her head. Lily understood. As quietly as they could, both of them stepped backwards across the room, out of the sitting room and into the hall. The figure, Lily could now see, was a girl her own age in a shabby white nightgown. She closed the door and the music was now muffled, though it could still just be heard. She then turned to face Lily and, to Lily’s amazement, her face broke into a smile.

  ‘What do you think of Signora Sozinho’s playing?’ she whispered.

  ‘Amazing,’ Lily replied truthfully.

  This seemed to please the girl.

  ‘You’re privileged, you know that?’ Her voice was hushed but breathless. ‘She never gives concerts any more. Around here they only know her as the violin-maker… She hates anyone to hear her. Lucky for you I left the door open or…’ The girl stopped, her head on one side. ‘You’re not a thief, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good. I have a bell to ring and a whistle to blow if you are, but there’s not much to steal here anyway. We don’t even have any more of the Signora’s violins at the moment, she’s playing the last…’ The girl seemed to have another idea. ‘But maybe… are you one of her fans, from the old days?’ She looked her up and down. ‘You don’t look old enough to remember, but I’ve been wrong before. She might sign something if you come in the morning… I…’ The girl stopped, shaking her head wistfully. ‘Sorry… I don’t get the chance to talk very often. There’re no other servants here. You a runaway?’

  It took a moment before Lily realized that a question had been asked. She began to nod, then changed her mind.

  ‘If I can find my way back to the Sagittarius District, then I won’t be much longer,’ she said.

  The other girl frowned.

  ‘I should turn you in, you know,’ she whispered cautiously. ‘You did break in. And you got a concert for free. There’s some in the high houses of the Leo District who would trade everything they owned to hear the Signora play.’ The girl studied her again. ‘Would you fight me if I tried to run for help?’

  Nervously, Lily considered. The girl did not look unfriendly, but she was the one with the power. After a moment’s thought, Lily nodded.

  ‘I’d have to,’ she said. ‘It would be my only chance.’

  The girl thought about this for a while.

  ‘The Signora would never forgive me for that. She hates to be interrupted.’ Then the girl gave Lily a broad grin and said brightly, ‘So I’ll just have to show you the way back. We’ll go via the Central Plaza.’

  Lily waited while the girl got dressed in a dark heavy dress that looked rather too old and large for her. She could hardly believe it. It must be a trap of some kind, she thought. The girl must be planning to take me to the receivers. More than once she considered bolting there and then, trying to find her own way back. But then the girl opened the door and smiled, and Lily saw it: that same look that Dr Theophilus had at his best moments, one of warmth and trust. Marvelling at her luck, not quite believing that anyone, let alone another servant, would help her for nothing, Lily quietly slipped out of the front door. The girl followed her, closed the door and laughed.

  ‘Good job you chose the one night this week it isn’t raining,’ she said as they began to walk. ‘I don’t share the Signora’s love of all weathers. I truly believe she doesn’t feel the cold. If it had been wet I’d have remembered to lock up the house and you’d be drowning in the streets. It becomes like the river down here in the depths of the Virgo District. I’m from Taurus myself. We’re so much drier over there, but it’s bad news in the summer. My name’s Ben, by the way, short for Benedicta. What’s yours?’

  ‘Hmm…’ Lily found herself distracted. Something about that music had lingered in her mind. ‘Er… Lily, short for… well…’ That was odd. For just a moment, she felt sure she had been going to say something. But as far as she knew Lily was the full length of her name. ‘Short for nothing. Just Lily.’ Seeing that Benedicta was about to launch into another speech, she got in first. ‘That music…’

  ‘Wonderful, isn’t it?’ Benedicta enthused, stepping lightly through the uneven streets. ‘You wouldn’t think that she’s never played it before an audience. Why keep something like that to yourself?’

  Lily frowned.

  ‘I thought you said she had fans…’

  ‘Of course,’ Benedicta said, ‘she was a singer once. The best in the city. She and Signor Sozinho were heard all over Agora. Before we were born, everyone would have known about them.’ Benedicta sighed. ‘If it was anything like the violin… They said she could make even the debtors smile.’

  ‘What happened?’ Lily asked softly.

  Benedicta winced, as if unsure whether to answer that question. For a few minutes they walked in silence until, with sadness, Benedicta went on.

  ‘An admirer happened. One who got too friendly with the Signora… until Signor Sozinho found out. The divorce… it took everything. The Signora so wanted to keep the old house that she had been brought up in and he let her. But he took everything else. The money, the paintings… and her voice.’ Benedicta touched her throat. ‘He took that too… She’ll never sing for anyone else again.’

  The morning before, Lily would have been shocked by that. Now, thinking back on her day, she could easily believe it. It was far easier to accept that than to believe that this red-headed stranger, who spoke to her as if the
y had known each other for years, was real and not some guardian spirit.

  ‘She earns a living by making violins,’ Benedicta continued. ‘Not enough to support that old house. She should have an army of servants working in it, but she can only afford me. I have a knack for languages, even sign language.’ She paused.

  They had reached the ornate arch that marked the edge of the district, this one bearing the symbol of a young woman draping herself over clouds. Ahead lay the bridge to the Central Plaza, which was eerily quiet at this time of night.

  ‘But even I don’t know what she means when she plays that violin. That language doesn’t use words.’ Benedicta bowed her head. ‘I used to love to hear her play, when I first came, but after I learned her story… I still listen, but it hurts. I can’t imagine what it’s like for her…’

  For a moment, Benedicta closed her eyes, her easy cheerfulness gone. Then, shaking off her gloom, she brightened and turned back to Lily with a smile. ‘Sorry. My brother says that I talk too much. You can make your own way from here, can’t you? The Signora doesn’t like me to go out after dark.’ Then she grinned. ‘But she doesn’t mind visitors during the day, though, if you like.’

  ‘Yes,’ Lily said, smiling, ‘I know the way.’ She hesitated, wanting to hug this strange creature, partly out of gratitude, partly to check that she was real. ‘Thank you,’ she said instead. ‘Thank you, Benedicta.’

  ‘No trouble. Goodnight, Lily,’ Benedicta said, looking up to the east. ‘It’ll be good morning soon.’

  Lily nodded, but before she could say anything else Benedicta had smiled, turned and vanished back into the ancient streets.

  Lily found her way back to Miss Devine’s shop in a trance. Deep in thought, she barely noticed the figures huddled in doorways or heard their racking coughs until she saw the glittering walls of the glass-maker’s once again. Outside the shop, the doctor had waited, tall and imposing in his black coat in the darkness. Lily looked up at him.