Mark heard a shuffle behind him as the jailer entered the cell. He felt a spark of anger and, without looking round, snapped, ‘Can’t you just leave us alone a little longer?’
There was silence.
‘Mark…’ Benedicta said slowly. ‘This is the friend I was telling you about.’
‘The jailer?’ Mark said disbelievingly. ‘When did you come across him?’
‘I meet all sorts of people at the Almshouse, Mark,’ Benedicta said, keeping her eyes fixed on the jailer. ‘Some just need a bed for the night. Some need food or attention or medicine. Some we can help to find a new job, to stop being a debtor.’ She paused and then, weighting each word carefully, said, ‘He used to be a fisherman.’
Mark froze. He could hear nothing but the sound of his own breathing. His mind was racing, trying to think what the jailer looked like, but he had never seen him out of the half-lit gloom.
He turned.
The jailer stood illuminated in the light falling from the window. The hardness of life had added more lines than two years should, but now Mark looked into his face, now he really looked with clear eyes, there was no mistaking him.
‘Dad…’
‘Son.’
Mark stood, barely feeling the emotions struggling inside him. The last time he had seen his father, the man had seemed like a giant. Now they were the same height.
‘You… you sold me.’ Mark’s voice was empty and strained.
‘I thought you’d be safer in the care of a doctor,’ he said, his voice trembling. ‘I thought I was going to die and leave you with no one. Then, when I saw how great you had become…’ He dropped his hands to his side. ‘Who’d want an old debtor like me spoiling their dream?’
Mark stepped forward. A storm of emotions was waiting beneath the surface, straining for release. But for now he just stood and looked at his father’s face.
He heard the rustle of a skirt. Benedicta was next to them. She grasped Mark’s right hand in hers and, with her left, took his father’s right hand. Gently, she brought them together and then stepped away.
Mark clasped his father’s hand. It was solid and real. Then he squeezed it, tighter and tighter. His vision began to blur. And then he pulled him closer.
He felt the tears stream down his face as if they would never stop. He felt his breaths come in great shuddering gasps. He felt his insides twisting with sadness and regret.
He felt the warmth of his father’s embrace.
And that was worth something.
Chapter Twenty-four
THE DIRECTOR
The doors of the Directory were vast – two great slabs of ancient oak, carved with baroque representations of all twelve signs of the zodiac, with the scales at the top, picked out in gold leaf. Around them, sculpted angels held scrolls of pure white stone that poured down the supporting pillars and spread out to touch the grey solidity of the walls. And above, piercing the overcast morning sky, the towers stretched away until they vanished from view. It was breathtaking. Even the courts could not compare with it for grandeur. And it was as if it were invisible.
The square before it was near deserted. Those that did walk past kept their faces huddled in their collars, their eyes fixed on the ground. Even the occasional receiver seemed to flinch away, as if those doors shone like the sun and would burn the eyes of those who sought their splendour. But Lily looked straight at it, the appointment scroll clutched tight in her hand, her borrowed cloak tight round her shoulders, and the great building stared back, its presence flooding the square and filling the sky.
Lily turned to her companion. Laud was not keeping his eyes averted. He stood, his shoulders squared, his jaw tightly set, looking at the Directory as if his gaze would make the marble crack. His eyes didn’t move, not even when she came to stand next to him.
‘Are you all right?’ Lily asked haltingly. ‘You didn’t have to come with me.’
‘Couldn’t let you come alone,’ Laud said, his voice clipped and strained. ‘Not here. Benedicta wanted to come too, and if Mark hadn’t looked as if he was going to come out of his fever today then I couldn’t have said no.’ A shadow of amusement crossed his face. ‘The first time I’ve been happy with something that Mark’s done for a long while.’
Lily stared up at the Directory of Receipts. She could see now why the passers-by averted their gaze. The longer she looked at it, the larger it seemed to be, as if it was pushing itself forward to emphasize its importance. It impressed itself upon her eyes like the stamp of a signet ring.
She turned away, disturbed.
‘It’s only a building, Laud, no matter what the legends would have us think,’ Lily said, not sure who she was trying to convince. ‘I mean,’ she added with an attempt at a grin, ‘you don’t really believe that they can just make people disappear? That’s impossible…’
‘It happens,’ he said coldly. ‘It happened to our parents.’
Lily stepped back, her hand rising to her mouth. All her forced jollity froze in her throat and she couldn’t speak. In the end, it was Laud who broke the silence.
‘Ten years old,’ he said, ‘that’s how old Benedicta was when they went through that door. Special debts, they said. We searched every prison in the city but we couldn’t find them. We never cried. We had to look after Ben, register her as our property.’ Laud made a bitter sound that was nearly a laugh. ‘I was thirteen, and already a father to my sister.’ He walked away, not looking at Lily. ‘I can’t let her see another person she cares about go through those doors.’ He dug his hands deep into his pockets. ‘It looks like everyone leaves us in the end.’
Lily found she was biting her lip so hard that she tasted blood. She reached out her hand and pressed it against his sleeve. She touched the outline of the scar on his arm through the fabric, still raised and lumpy after Pauldron’s attack. Her mouth was dry, and guilt dripped coldly down her spine, but still Laud wouldn’t look at her.
‘If there was another way, anyone other than the Director himself to ask,’ she began, but Laud stopped her, turning round and putting his hand on hers.
‘I know,’ he said, his voice quieter. ‘And there’s no point in trying to talk you out of it.’ He met her gaze, his expression holding the same burning intensity that she had seen once before, when they had stood on the roof of the Almshouse that terrible night. ‘But I doubt if any secret is worth it.’
And for a moment Lily felt the urge to reconsider. It would be so simple to turn back. She could continue her apprenticeship with Theo. She could be useful at the Almshouse. She could help people one at a time and see the good she did.
She could stay, and never know who she was, or what might happen.
She looked back at Laud.
‘Tell Mark I’m sorry I missed him,’ she said.
Laud nodded. There was another expression on his face now – a look of pain, but far gentler than the scowl he usually wore.
‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘I’d like to see them try to make you disappear.’ A ghost of a smile crept on to his lips. ‘You’ll be back at the Almshouse dispensing the secret of eternal life by sunset.’
Lily smiled too. It lasted no more than a couple of seconds, though it felt longer.
And then, without either of them noticing when he had arrived, there was a third person present: a receiver, and a familiar one.
‘Miss Lilith,’ Inspector Greaves said with a small bow, ‘you are expected within.’ He turned to Laud. ‘The appointment is for one only, Mr Laudate.’
‘I understand, Inspector,’ Laud said brusquely, stepping away, turning his back on the Directory.
Lily looked over to the inspector, who regarded her with curiosity.
‘Are you ready, Miss Lilith?’
Lily glanced sideways at Laud and then turned to face Greaves, the Directory looming behind him.
She nodded and stepped forward.
For a second, as they passed each other, Laud’s hand brushed hers and their fingers interlocked. N
either of them looked at each other. There was nothing more to say. She took another step and felt his hand fall away.
Greaves went ahead, across the square, as the two receivers on guard hauled open the vast doors. Lily followed, gazing into the shadows beyond.
As she crossed the threshold, a sudden pang gripped her from within. She turned back, hoping to catch Laud’s eye, but it was too late. Quietly, without fuss, the doors had closed behind her.
The Directory smelled of parchment and ink, overlaid with the strange, all-pervasive scent of age. In that, it reminded her of the bookbinder’s – a temple to the written word. As she followed Greaves down the wood-panelled corridors, the windows were fewer and further between, until he was forced to take an oil lamp from the wall to light their way.
Just as they were passing a small side door, almost invisible among the panelling, Lily heard voices approaching them from further down the corridor. To her surprise, the inspector stopped dead, his expression troubled. Then, in one purposeful movement, he opened the door, which led into a dark storeroom, and motioned Lily inside. Instinctively, she obeyed, knowing that she had to be quiet. The inspector shut the door behind her.
For a few minutes, she waited in the dark, listening to the tap of footsteps outside on the stone floor. Every now and then she heard muffled greetings from Greaves. She could not be sure, but at one point she thought she heard him address someone as ‘My Lord’.
Once the footsteps had died away, the inspector opened the door.
‘My apologies,’ he said, as Lily emerged back into the corridor.
‘What was that?’ she asked pointedly.
The inspector looked as if he was not going to answer, but then he sighed.
‘Your presence today could cause some… difficulty if it were widely known.’
‘But surely if the Director has authorized it,’ Lily began, but Greaves held up a hand to stop her.
‘There are some who disagree with the Director about you, Miss Lilith. If they saw you here…’ He looked straight at her. ‘I was instructed to ensure your safety. I have already almost failed once. I do not intend to again.’ He turned away. ‘We’re nearly there. Shall we keep moving?’
Surprised and silenced by this new knowledge, Lily nodded, and they continued to walk.
Sometimes they passed a door ajar and Lily would snatch a glance inside to a vast hall filled with the sound of scratching quills, or perhaps a library stretching down into the earth. The stone floor was polished with age, but an endless coating of fine dust overlaid everything.
Lily looked up at the face of the inspector. The lamp cast strange shadows, deepening the worry lines on his craggy face. He turned his head.
‘Are you all right, Miss Lilith?’ he said, sounding genuinely concerned.
‘Yes, of course,’ Lily said.
The truthful answer would have taken too long, but as the corridors grew grander, and paintings began to dot the walls, she could not tell whether the tension that was now spreading through her, from her deepest thoughts to the tips of her fingers, was caused by fear or excitement, curiosity or dread. Here, in the half-light, she almost expected to see the fabled book, where it took only the stroke of a pen to remove a person from existence. In a building with so many legends attached to it, anything seemed possible.
And then they were standing before an ordinary doorway in an anonymous corridor. Greaves knocked and the door opened.
Inside a woman was framed by lamplight from the room beyond. A woman whose skin was as dark as Lily’s.
‘Miss Verity, this is Miss Lilith,’ Greaves said, gesturing to the woman. ‘Miss Lilith, this is the Director’s personal secretary.’
Miss Verity extended her hand.
‘Please, call me Rita,’ she said, in a voice that was making an effort to be welcoming. Had it not been for the awkwardness of the woman’s hand as she shook it, Lily might have believed her.
‘Lily,’ she said, returning the favour. She felt the hand in hers relax a little.
‘The Director will see you at the twelfth hour. Please come in.’
Cautiously, Lily entered Miss Verity’s office. She noticed the coffee cups, chipped but clean, clustered on an antique desk. Saw the ebony door on the other side of the room, its brass handle shiny from use. Saw the piles of papers still to be sorted in an otherwise immaculately tidy room. For some reason, Lily knew that it was today’s work, and today’s alone, that had been left undone.
Miss Verity and Greaves had a brief conversation in the doorway, their voices hushed. Lily could only make out some thanks for escorting her, before Greaves bowed and left, closing the door behind him. Miss Verity moved over to a coffee pot.
‘Would you like some coffee?’ she asked, her voice formal and tense. ‘Or perhaps some tea… I think we might have some here somewhere.’
‘That’s kind of you, but no, thank you,’ Lily said.
Miss Verity fiddled with a strand of black hair that had fallen out of its tight braid. Her eyes flicked to a wooden chair in the corner.
‘Please, sit down,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Unless you’d like another chair…’
‘Everything’s fine, really,’ Lily said soothingly. ‘I prefer to stand.’
Miss Verity nodded distractedly and began to shuffle some papers on her desk. There was something unsettling about the secretary. Lily found herself watching the woman as she moved about the office, peering into the cubbyholes of a large bureau, glancing at the wall-mounted clock that ticked away the seconds to the meeting. At first she had thought it was nothing more than the lamplight playing tricks, but, as Lily continued to watch, the feeling grew stronger. It was in the way she moved, the way she spoke – looking at this woman was almost like gazing at herself after twenty more summers had passed. As she thought about this, a strange and wonderful thought forming in her brain, Lily caught Miss Verity staring back at her.
‘Is something wrong?’ Lily asked, feeling odd as she did so. It was she who was the intruder in this world and yet she felt almost calm, the constant ticking of the clock pushing her ever closer to the appointed time.
Miss Verity looked back at her, clutching a new pile of papers to her chest. She breathed out.
‘Forgive me. I didn’t know what to expect from you.’ She put down the papers and stepped round her desk. ‘I’ve read about you in the files, but –’ she reached out a hand to touch Lily’s face, a faraway look in her eyes – ‘that’s only facts. It couldn’t prepare me…’
The clock struck twelve with a sonorous clang. Miss Verity withdrew her hand, the moment broken, and smoothed down her dress. In an instant, the nervousness was gone, suppressed with the tiniest shudder. Her tone, when she spoke, was one of simple efficiency.
‘The Director of Receipts will see you now.’
She reached out to the handle of the ebony door and turned it. The door opened inwards. Lily looked towards Miss Verity, feeling a sudden sense of loss, but it was as if any trace of the woman who had reached out for her had vanished, leaving only the Director’s secretary in her place.
Confused, fearful, but determined not to show it, Lily stepped through the open door.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. A moment for the marble floor to gain its quiet gleam and for the starry ceiling to come into focus. A moment for the portraits of past directors in their gilt frames to swim out of the shadows and glare down at her with haughty eyes. A moment before she saw the pool of light halfway down the room where four burning candles stood on an ancient desk.
She heard the click of the ebony door closing behind her and the scratching of a quill stop. The figure at the desk looked up.
‘How pleasant to meet you at last, Miss Lilith. Please, come forward.’
His voice was quiet, but it carried through the vast office and seemed to resonate in the air. Lily walked forward.
The man behind the mahogany desk came into view. His dry, withered hands lightly brought together,
his thin lips half-smiling, his white hair swept back from a face that bore a look of quiet power. His eyes glimmered in the candlelight. Lily felt herself stepping more reverently. She found that she wanted to bow, but inwardly stopped herself. This was just an old man. He didn’t shine in glory or touch the sky. His ceremonial robe was in black and gold, but faded and slightly fraying. Even his signet ring, dully gleaming on one finger, was not golden. It was made of iron.
The Director’s gaze moved over her. Lily had the strange feeling of being catalogued. And then he spoke.
‘Aren’t you going to bow?’ he said calmly, without a trace of annoyance or anger. ‘It is customary.’
‘Do you want me to?’ Lily replied coldly.
The Director raised an eyebrow.
‘Not particularly. The bowing accomplishes little. It is the choice that interests me.’
‘Then no.’
The Director nodded, seeming satisfied, and picked up a long quill from his desk. With practised ease, he dipped it into a brass inkwell and began to write on the parchment in front of him.
Lily stood. All she could hear were the sounds of her own breathing and the relentless scratching of the quill. The Director seemed barely to acknowledge her presence. Suddenly she felt a flash of anger and pulled the appointment scroll out of the pocket of her apron. She dropped it on the desk in front of him.
‘I am quite aware of that, Miss Lilith,’ the Director said, without looking up. ‘I, after all, agreed to the time.’
‘Then why bother to see me if you are busy?’ Lily said, trying to keep her voice level as her fists clenched.
The Director looked up placidly.
‘I am not, Miss Lilith. I am merely passing the time until you see fit to tell me the nature of your business here.’
Lily glared, thrown off guard. She tried to catch a spark of triumph or contempt in those aged, sunken eyes, but saw nothing. The Director was giving nothing away. Consciously, she slowed her breathing, regained her composure.
The Midnight Charter Page 27