by Prue Batten
‘Nicholas, do you know where it is in the orchard?’
Nicholas nodded and pushed his horse off down the first row.
‘Wait.’
Nicholas pulled his mount up and turned to see Poli’s concerned face.
‘Can you use it if you are half-mortal?’
Nicholas shrugged.
‘Hell’s teeth! Have you never tried?’ At which Nicholas shook his head and Poli blasphemed and asked, ‘Are you armed?’
Nicholas pulled a stiletto from his belt.
Poli seemed to calm down and so Nicholas jerked his thumb and grinned, kicking his horse on.
They trotted down the first row, bent around a corner into the second, the perennially falling blossoms glancing off the horses’ manes. The trees were twisted together, espaliered to form row after row of an organic whole. Hundreds of years of growth had thickened trunks and twined branches into a dense hedge and as the men clicked their mounts to hurry on, Nicholas had the sensation that he was riding through a maze as he could barely see glimpses of the surrounding country. He twitched his reins and his horse turned into the third row and he knew, for Phelim had told him the story at night, a story for his ears only and one that even Isabella didn’t know, that they entered the portal at that minute.
He had always found it odd that Jasper had sited his house so close to a portal, neither in the mortal world nor out. But then Jasper used to say in his wise way that it allowed him to keep an eye on the doings of mortal and Other. Nico smiled as he remembered the old man; his aspersions, his dry humour.
What now Jasper? How do I know which way to go to get from Trevallyn to…
‘Nicholas? We need to get to Veniche? What do we do?’ Poli’s voice echoed the dilemma.
Nicholas could almost hear Jasper’s voice in reply.
‘Well then young Nico, which way is Veniche, do you think? For the Gates are nothing if not logical.’
He tapped the horse into a trot again.
Of course. It’s no different. Due west.
‘You go west? Are you sure? Are we through the gate?’
Poli’s voice bounced behind.
The undulations of the hills swept them ever further away from Nicholas’s past, the trees directing their footsteps until they fetched up against a swathe of water. The orchard had given way to water beech, crack willow and graceful birches and the shore of the river was sandy and broad enough to contain a beached punt. The two men dismounted and leaving their horses to graze at the edge of the woods, they stood looking at the battered boat.
Poli sniffed appreciatively.
‘Water. At least I’m at home on that. I’m presuming we leave our mounts and embark because there’s no sign of a track leading anywhere-else.’
Nicholas nodded, looking up at the sky. The sun was high and he was conscious that they would now be missed and he wanted to hasten, to remove any chance of his family casting out their coils of concern.
He turned about, pulling at Poli’s sleeve and together they ran their stirrups up the leathers and knotted their reins underneath so that nothing was trailing. Removing the map book from the saddlebag, they led the horses back to the espaliered lanes, smacking them on the rumps to send them off.
‘They’ll be alright?’ Poli watched as his bay disappeared into the shadows.
Nicholas’s answer was to return to the boat and begin pushing it to the river. Poli’s hands closed over the stern and they worked together, Nicholas grabbing the worn rope that served as a painter. The river gurgled around them, placid and innocent and yet Poli looked askance.
‘Dangerous?’
Nicholas shrugged.
As dangerous as the lake, as dangerous as any waterway in Eirie.
As he thought, so there was a harsh chunter from the other bank and then a splash and both men watched spray sparkle in an arc and without a second thought, Poli jumped in and grabbed the punting pole.
‘Let’s go!’
*
The river flowed westerly and the current propelled them forward as if it had its own agenda. Nicholas nudged Poli and indicated the pocket where the map-book and the shifu paper were concealed, believing now was as good a time as any to plan the journey.
Poli pulled out the book, tucking the shifu underneath. It crackled as he opened it, the binding growling with age.
‘See here,’ he opened out a page which unfolded like a concertina, displaying the frilled and furled edges of the world of Eirie. ‘Look. The Pymm Archipelago. Now,’ he grabbed a frayed piece of hemp from the bow rope and laid it across the map in a vertical line. ‘North.’ Then he moved the hemp slightly to the left. ‘North west.’ He indicated the furthest reaches of the map, where the serrated teeth of the Goti Range zigzagged across the paper. ‘Furthest north by northwest shows nothing. At least nothing of which we know and certainly nowhere from which any man has returned.’
Nicholas sighed.
‘But,’ said Poli, cheerfully. ‘So what? That note was written by someone who knows that there is a farthest north by northwest and I have always felt a spirit of the explorer lay dormant inside me.’
The strength of his optimism was like a fresh sea-wind for Nicholas. Slowly he could feel the despair that had smothered his life dissolving with gentle pressure and he grinned. He pointed at the sides of the riverbank and was gratified to see Poli’s expression.
The river had begun to widen, to lose the soft ripple of a rill from the wooded vales of Trevallyn. The definition of the riverbanks began to alter, the vertical lines of the trees becoming blurred. The colours changed – from the verdure of a forest to a smattering of ochre here, a smudge of watermelon there. The sky remained unsullied blue but earthly angles and planes began to harden and even Nicholas could only wonder.
Buildings began to emerge from the watercolours – elegant structures with balustrades of quatrefoil carving. Here and there copper cupolas shone amongst the dross of terracotta tiles. The men drifted down a narrow, looping canal and Nico swore he heard a seaman’s oath drift from behind as their plain punt metamorphosed into an open black gondola, a vessel of sweeping lines and which manoeuvred itself between the mooring poles and channel-markers and carried them into a wide stretch of water.
‘Aine, the Rio Grande! This is Veniche, my home,’ Poli whispered.
Nicholas looked around.
I don’t think so.
There was no crack in the façade of beauty that surrounded them, no reality. As gondolas floated by, curtains were drawn aside and faces of incomparable beauty gazed back. Women’s eyes peeked above opened fans and then as the boats moved on, a skein of laughter would float behind.
Nicholas knew that his and Poli’s gaucheries were on their sleeves for all to see. At the long, opened windows of the palazzos or on the balustrades, men and women watched, their faces masks of studied indifference. But Nicholas suspected they were being measured for amusement, be it a mere game or something more terrifying where a life might be at stake.
The nix was fresh in his mind but as he pulled at Polis’s sleeve, the man turned and spoke under his breath.
‘This place is rotten. We have to get out of here.’
The prow of their gondola banged against the dock of an elegant palazzo as another gondola floated toward them, black shadow stretching across the water, and something in its intimidating presence stirred Poli. He grabbed Nico’s shoulder, the strength of the grasp threatening Nicholas’s newfound optimism.
‘Quickly, jump, damn you Nico, jump!’ said Poli, ‘I think I know this place. It’s the Ca’ Specchio. Or its twin.’
Their own craft had knocked the pontoon and begun to drift backward and urgency flooded Nico’s legs as he threw himself over the widening gap to the dock. They pushed their shoulders against the massive black double doors of the palazzo and eased themselves inside. A chequerboard marble floor stretched to the stair and the gloss on the tiles, the perfection of the flowers in the gargantuan urn in the centre of the hall,
the light with its eery purity, the breath of the welkin wind that licked at their necks as they slammed the doors shut, was enough to tell them that they were still in Færan. The excited chatter of folk arriving at the dock, of shouts and uncontrolled laughter raised goosebumps on Nico’s arms and he leaped for the stair, Poli on his heels.
Somewhere in his memory was a story about a ballroom…
*
As they dived through polished doors at the top of the stair they heard the baying, braying voices of the Færan who followed.
‘A drag hunt!’
‘After them.’
‘I want the blonde one!’
A male voice shouting above the rest, ‘I shall have the dark one, he shall know me!’
And the crowd cheering.
Nico and Poli flew into a chamber that echoed. It lay in gilded and frescoed miles ahead of them, the walls full of mirrors. Nicholas led off with Poli following, their feet tapping as Nico searched for a particular mirror, one among many. He ran close to the wall, waiting for the frisson, waiting, waiting. Around the edge of the room he sped, an image alongside of he and Poli running for their lives.
The doors flew open and the sumptuously silked pack yelled, ‘View Halloo!’ and someone blew a hunting horn. But Nico heard only a vague sound as the frisson finally manifested up his forearm and into his shoulder. Poli yelled above the horn as the crowd bore down on them, ‘You feel it?’
The story of the ball flashed rapidly through Nico’s mind, as fresh as if Jasper had told it yesterday. As Phelim had done many years ago, he grabbed his companion and launched through the mirrored panel by his side. Half of him expected it to shatter, for them to be torn into shreds by the glittering shards and left to bleed on the floor of this magnificent chamber. But the half of him that was Other had no concern, knowing the mirror would bend and flex and eventually open to allow them to proceed through the portal to mortal Veniche.
A second and they were through, leaping across the mirror-image floors and through the twin doors, down the stair and out the entrance of this twin Ca’ Specchio.
‘This is the real one,’ Poli yelled as they dived for a waiting gondola. ‘I can smell it!’
Chapter Seventeen
Isabella
‘You don’t? Why?’
A flame of hope began to smoulder as Ming Xao looked back at the crowd and the sky shattered into flashes of sparkling dragons and pagodas.
‘The Han is a blinkered country. We move no further forward. We receive no inspiration from interaction with other cultures to think ourselves forward. We trade under the guise of the Raj. All this secrecy…’
A crashing clash filled the air as another dragon burst into life above them and Isabella jumped.
‘Why don’t you leave then?’
‘I am the heir.’
‘But what good is a ruler who doesn’t care for the people he governs?’
‘I do care. It’s just that I would prefer to examine cultures beyond ours in order to govern knowledgably. I’ve seen a fraction of what is out there. Our traders bring me back a little.’
‘A little is not enough, Ming Xao. Not enough to be enlightened. Leave and see for yourself. Let them find someone else to govern in your stead for a time.’ Isabella spoke softly. ‘Ming Xao, the world of Eirie is vast and diverse. You have an idea of what is out there,’ she gestured with her arm. ‘Imagine what it would be like to explore for yourself.’
‘Only those of imperial blood can govern.’
She snorted.
‘Oh come now. Correct me if I am wrong, but I doubt even you are fully imperial. How could you be if your mother,’ she heard the intake of his breath. ‘I’m sorry. I mean your Lady Mother, the Empress Consort…she must surely be from outside. I was told no indigenous Han woman has lived here for hundreds of years, that the Han women were cursed and unable to give birth and died out, that foreign women like myself were brought in to breed. That certain babies were kept, others…got rid of. That the men are not pure. Well how can they be?’ Her words petered out. ‘I’m sorry.’
Ming Xao took her arm and guided her down the steps of the pavilion. At the bottom, a servant kowtowed. Ming Xao spoke quietly to her and she left.
He turned back to Isabella.
‘I told her to take a message to Their Imperial Highnesses to tell them I am escorting the Lady Ibo to her apartments as she has become fatigued.’
‘I see. Well, thank you…’
‘It gives me a chance to talk to you away from listening ears.’
They moved along the path to the wing of the palace that housed Isabella’s apartments, the sounds of the fireworks slightly diminished by the buildings.
‘I apologise if you think I am rude,’ she began, ‘but…’
‘I don’t think you are rude. What you say is a truth and it has given me food for thought.’ He turned to her and his voice became filled with life. ‘Ibo, are you tired? Would you like to see my observatory?’
He seemed about to add something else but stopped as she answered.
‘No, I am not tired.’
Now.
‘And yes, I would like that.’
She knew that she had planted the seed of an idea in his mind and she wished to cultivate it.
With urgency.
They hurried along the many dragon halls to the library doors meeting no one, the guards and palace staff outside watching the Lantern Festival celebrations. Ming Xao swung the doors open then locked them behind. Isabella followed him as he walked to a circular stair, hauling herself and her heavy silk robes after him.
‘Would you like some rice wine or tea? I can provide both. I often spend the night here and am self-contained.’
Indeed as Isabella looked around, she could see a divan with cushions, rolled, padded quilts and a small kettle on a hob with coal underneath. Ceramic ginger jars no doubt contained tea.
‘Tell me, Ibo. Have you been planning to escape?’
Isabella sat with a thump. Was this what the Fox Lady meant when she said, ‘Tonight is the night your plan begins to unfold.’
Ming Xao approached her, placing a celadon cup in her palm with great care.
‘Be careful. It is hot.’
She sipped, playing for time. But he sat opposite with his own cup and his eyebrows rose, indicating that she answer him.
Can I?
He was such a gentle man so she nodded and then turned away, embarrassed. She walked to the other side of the room to the open window and the little parapet where she could gaze at the stars.
Her plan was to leave before her marriage, and that was in two days.
How could she tell him that?
When she turned to look at him, he was at his kettle, topping up his cup, whereupon he beckoned her to follow him into the small ante-room in which was another aperture and tables full of star-gazers’ maps and equipment.
‘Ming Xao, you were going to say something to me in the gardens before we came here. What was it?’
‘It is no matter.’
Isabella felt opportunities slipping through her fingers like sand.
‘It is important.’ She grasped his hand. ‘Please.’
He sighed and was silent, looking up at the stars. When he spoke, he almost whispered.
‘I thought we could leave here together. Sneak away. Leave a letter for my honoured parents and go.’
Isabella’s heart soared but she remained quiet, sensing that if she pushed her point home at this juncture, all would be lost. As it was…
‘But my responsibilities are greater than my desires and I must stay and fulfil my obligations.’
How do I answer this?
Isabella thought very carefully, shaping an argument that might convince him.
‘Ming Xao, will you let me offer an idea?’ She proceeded quickly before he could answer. ‘With the greatest respect, we can still go. Your heart is not here at the moment. You can leave a letter of explanation saying that you seek the wi
sdom necessary to rule in the Emperor’s style. That wisdom only comes from knowledge and knowledge must be sought far and wide. You could even ask His Imperial Highness to appoint a Regent until you return from your travels. You can explain that you take me with you as your guide and your helpmeet,’ she held up her hand as he interrupted. ‘Just think on it.’
He walked to the door, the yellow of his heavy robes crackling in air that was pregnant with suggestion. He moved with precise little steps, standing in the shadow of the wall where Isabella was unable to detect the expression in his eyes. Even his spectacles were in shade.
‘Tell me Lady Ibo, and do me the courtesy of being honest. This suggestion of yours is not about me at all, is it? In the short day I have known you, I can’t believe that altruism is your motivation.’
She winced at the truth of his words. For all that this slight, effete man seemed lost in his foraging for knowledge amongst books and specimens, she realised there was a strong core through him. The man was uncannily aware, perhaps a born leader.
‘Your observation does you credit, Ming Xao. I suspect that when you take up your inheritance, the Han will have an emperor of exceptional ability who can meet others on equal terms and relate with more wisdom than he actually realises he has.’
‘Ibo, don’t prevaricate.’
‘I get my freedom.’
‘Yes of course, but you are a very strong and, if I may say, wily woman. You already had a plan to secure your freedom, did you not? Why pull me along with you? I will surely slow you down.’
‘Well since we are being so exceptionally honest, let me answer. I would be slowed to a stop not inches from the Han Gate in the Small Wall.’
‘Ah, the chasm.’
‘The chasm indeed.’
‘And you think I could get you across.’
‘Yes.’
He laughed softly.
‘You are right. By the Celestials, Ibo, you provide a powerful argument.’
She nodded, her heart crashing with excitement. ‘We would have to declare we are going on a day-long expedition for your specimen collecting. And you would indeed have to leave a letter for their Imperial Highnesses.’