A Sliver of Stardust

by Marissa Burt

  Jack grunted in reply as the wind accompanied them, carrying Wren on toward the sound of running water. The tunnel bent round to one side and then spilled out into a glorious cave, bright with the late-afternoon sun. Wren stood at the tunnel mouth, blinking at the light streaming in from a high opening at the far end of the cave. Stairs had been cut into the rock, leading the way up and out, where Wren could see green foliage covering the entrance.

  But it wasn’t the outside that left Wren standing speechless. Nor the glistening rainbow of blues and purples that covered the cavern walls. It was the waterfall, spilling down from a rocky ledge near the cavern’s roof, falling into a pool that steamed with the opal mist of the Crooked House and rushed merrily out of sight. The path they were on led to a stairway that curved behind the waterfall, where Wren could see the faint outline of an opening, a shape that looked remarkably like the doorways so pervasive in the Crooked House.

  She left Simon trying to convince Jack that the plant that coated the walls here was the same as the lichen-like substance near the meteorite and made her way carefully over the slippery stone, the words of the dream rhyme echoing through her head. You’ll find the wings that you seek down beneath the sea. She slipped under the waterfall, the icy spray cold against her skin after the warm wind. There was no weathered green paint on this door. Instead, it was charred black with the remnants of a carefully lettered sign that had two lines of text. Wren worked hard to make out a c and an a, n and then some barely legible scratches before the archaic English letter that looked like a cursive f. “Cana? Candi?” she murmured. The sign said Can-something or other. The word on the first line was hard to decipher, but there was no doubt about the second line. Wren read the clear unmistakable letters out loud: “Boggen.”

  She took a deep breath and stepped through the rough doorway. Scraps of what must have once been rugs covered the stony floor, and other clues to human existence dotted the room: a few pieces of splintered wood, some tottering chairs and empty barrels.

  Near one wall, a tarnished pan hung above the remains of long-cold ashes, and next to it, some rusted pots that must have once held coal. Wren poked through them, surprised to find a large intact piece amid the dusty remnants. It was difficult to see anything in the fading daylight that filtered through the open door behind her. She pinched some stardust and wove a wobbly starlamp that revealed a stash of fat squatty candles. Candles! That must be what the sign had said. Wren held one up, squinting. It seemed to be made of a dark purple wax that had withstood the wear of time and elements.

  Wren took one and tucked it into her pocket. Maybe it was nothing, but if this was in fact a room Boggen had used, she guessed Mary would want to see it. She raised her head and scanned the room. A sheen of stardust caught her eye and she went over to what appeared to be a workspace carved into the stone walls with a mural painted above it. She moved closer. It wasn’t a piece of artwork at all. It was a star map.

  Wren stood breathless before it, the familiar horizon lines crisscrossing over constellations and galaxies she had never seen before. Between each point, someone had drawn what looked like a giant web, tracing a pathway through the atmosphere.

  “What’s that?” Simon’s voice cut through her thoughts as he entered the room, his starlamp sending shadows scurrying over the map.

  “It’s what Mary’s been looking for. Give me your notebook,” Wren demanded, rummaging around the candle in her cloak pocket for a pencil. “A star map, remember? This has got to be one of Boggen’s labs, and I’d bet anything Mary hasn’t seen it yet,” she said as she copied down the markings, taking care to write exactly what she saw.

  Jack whistled as he joined them. “Well done, Wren. Won’t the Council be pleased at what you’ve found?”

  Wren froze. The Council. The ones who suspected her of being in contact with Boggen. She glanced up at Simon, who seemed to be thinking the same thing.

  “We all found it, Wren. We were right here with you.” Simon swallowed nervously. “We don’t think you’re helping him.”

  Wren felt better to hear that, but she noticed Jack wasn’t agreeing. Instead he made his way around the room, clattering together the pots as he went. “Rusty old pans.” Jack dipped his hand into the pot where Wren had found the candles and pulled out the coal. “Old rocks?” He tossed it from one hand to the other and pocketed it. “Boggen really was wicked, wasn’t he?”

  “That’s nothing,” Wren said, returning to her notations. “This is what we’re looking for. It’s not just a star map.” She scribbled faster, leaning the notebook up against the workspace to draw the lines that encircled the unfamiliar constellations. “It’s a guide for space travel.”

  “Hey, Simon,” Jack said, laughter in his voice. “Don’t you want to come collect a sample of this?” He pointed at a pile of animal droppings.

  “Bats, I’d wager.” Simon eyed the pile of poop thoughtfully. “I do have an extra specimen bag.”

  “Gross, Simon,” Wren said, scanning the mural to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. She’d covered six pages with markings. They’d have to tape them together to see the full mural, but she’d managed to get it all down.

  “Don’t forget that,” Jack said, coming closer to point at a symbol in the corner.

  It was the confirmation Wren didn’t really need. She carefully copied the flame in her book, neatly labeling it in capital letters: THE MARK OF THE MAGICIANS.

  TWENTY

  Jack and Jill went up a hill

  To bring a pail of water;

  Jack fell down and broke his crown,

  And Jill came tumbling after.

  We’ve got to let Mary know we found a star map in Boggen’s secret lab,” Wren told Jack and Simon as they hurried back the way they had come. It hadn’t taken nearly as long to return through the rock formations, and now they raced up the tunnel. “Or at least find Baxter and Liza.” Wren led the way across the bridge over the Opal Sea. She had decided to try the amphitheater first, and so intent was she on looking for Mary that she didn’t see Elsa beelining toward them until it was too late.

  “Apprentices! Stop!” Elsa’s face was creased with displeasure. “Who gave you permission to leave your work? Why are you in the Council’s quarters?” She narrowed her gaze at them. “Alone.”

  Wren managed a weak “Um,” her mind whirling fast to think of a believable reason, while Jack choked out a nervous laugh. Simon said nothing at all, and Wren wondered how long they had before Elsa started talking about floggings.

  Instead, Elsa began to list the new rules she was proposing to the Council, limiting apprentice activity even more. “For your own protection, of course.” Her mouth creased into an unpleasant smile. “Until I speak to them, why don’t you come with me. I’d like to see what these other Fiddlers are teaching you.”

  “Or we could go talk to the Council now,” Wren said desperately. If they were lucky, Mary might be in there.

  “Apprentices disturb the Council?” Elsa raised one eyebrow. “I think not. I will take charge of your training this afternoon.”

  “But you have that meeting.” It was Jill who came to their aid, popping out from behind Elsa. “With the cook, remember?”

  Elsa scowled at her. “Blast the cook.”

  “Beg your pardon, Fiddler Elsa,” Jill said from Elsa’s side, giving a perfect little bow. “But perhaps these apprentices could join my work detail until you are available. I will keep an eye on them.”

  “Yes,” Elsa said thoughtfully. “You could watch them. An excellent idea, and one I can’t believe I haven’t thought of before.” She pinched Wren’s ear in one hand and Simon’s in the other and pushed them toward Jill, barking at Jack to follow close behind. “The old observatory, Jill. Don’t forget the deep-cleaning supplies, and work there until I come for you.” She pointed toward a green door. “Well? What are you waiting for?” she hissed. “Only undisciplined apprentices take their time.”

  No one said anything until a whole
level was between them and Elsa’s furious face. Jill led them to an exterior door and cracked it open, pausing to listen back the way they had come, and then hurried through. “The observatory is at the top of the Crooked House,” Jill said. “It’s ancient. Hardly anyone goes there now. Not since the new one was built on the other side of the cliff.” She hooked the bucket of cleaning supplies she was carrying over one arm and began climbing a rough switchback stairway that cut across the face of the Crooked House. She smiled at Wren, the first genuine smile Wren had ever seen from her. “You can talk freely out here. None of Elsa’s spies to overhear what we’re saying.” She told them how most of the upper floors were abandoned, left over from when Magicians and Alchemists together filled up all the lodgings in the Crooked House. It seemed to Wren that the fresh air had worked some kind of magic on Jill. Her expressionless eyes became animated. Her cheeks flushed with a more healthy-looking color, and that smile kept blossoming across her face.

  “Why are you helping us?” Simon’s voice was very quiet. “You don’t even know us.”

  “I know Elsa,” Jill said. “I know what she’s capable of, and I know what she’ll do to you if she can get away with it.” She paused, her fingers hovering around her collarbone as if she was remembering something that she once wore on her neck. She shook her head. “But that’s not why I did it. I want you to help me.”

  “What can we do to help you?” Jack asked. “We’re only apprentices, too.”

  “Yeah,” Jill said, and her voice suddenly sounded brittle. “But you came from out there. You’re not from the Crooked House.” She clenched her jaw. “I’ve seen you get flying lessons. I’ve heard you talking about gateways. Elsa forbids me from knowing anything that I could use to escape. I want you to teach me what you know.” She gathered her unruly curls into one thick bundle and tugged on it. “So that I can leave this place and be free in your land.”

  “We can’t promise anything,” Jack said, giving Jill a half smile. “All we can do is try.”

  “We can do more than try.” Wren reached out to squeeze Jill’s hand. “We’ll figure something out. There’s no way we’ll leave you here with that woman if you want to go. Where did you used to live anyway?”

  “Here.”

  “No, I mean before you came here. Like when you had a family.”

  “Here,” Jill said, and some of the deadness was back in her voice. “I was born here.”

  “I didn’t know that someone could be born a Fiddler,” Wren said, carefully picking her way over a crumbling part of the path. Simon stopped to jot something down in his notebook, but Jill picked up the pace, almost as though if she walked faster, she could avoid the questions.

  “Well, you can,” she said in clipped tones. “Most of us are. I only know one other apprentice who came in from the wild before you three.”

  “Hmm. So Fiddling has a genetic link?” Simon was somehow able to navigate the narrow path and take notes at the same time. “Is everyone in your family a Fiddler?”

  “I don’t want to talk about my family,” Jill said, and shut her mouth with a snap.

  “Hmm.” Simon chewed on his pencil eraser. “It must be a recessive gene, because neither my dad nor Wren’s parents have any idea what a Fiddler is.” He squinted out over the valley. “But my mom? Hmm, I wonder.”

  “Hmm,” Jack said. “I wonder if the sound of all your wondering is getting annoying. Hmm. Oh, wait! No need to wonder. It is.”

  “What’s your problem, Jack?” Wren jumped to Simon’s defense. “Don’t be a jerk.”

  “What about your parents?” Simon said as if Jack hadn’t been rude. “Either of them Fiddlers?”

  “Don’t know, don’t care.” Jack stumbled and reached out for the cliffside to catch his balance. “And before you get all wondering about them, don’t bother. I sure don’t.”

  Wren chose her words carefully. Jack hadn’t ever talked about his parents before. Maybe that was why he was being so snappish with Simon. “Wouldn’t your relatives have told you, though?” Wren asked, making sure she stepped around the uneven spot Jack had stumbled on.

  “I don’t have any relatives,” Jack said.

  “I mean your grandfather. Wouldn’t he have said something?”

  “My grandfather?” Jack said, and he sounded confused for a moment as he paused in front of a small gap in the stairway. Jill was already out of sight around the next switchback. Jack took a step back and then hopped over the opening.

  Wren followed, stopping on the other side to make sure Simon didn’t try to walk across it with his nose buried in his notebook. When he had joined them, she turned to Jack. “Yeah, your grandfather. Maybe that’s why he’s such a conspiracy theorist. Maybe he knows something.”

  “Oh, right,” Jack said. “Grandpa. He knew stuff all right, but not about Fiddling being genetic.” He took a deep breath. “Hey, look, we’re nearly at the top!”

  The uppermost stairway ended with a rickety old ladder that dumped them out onto a grassy hilltop. Jill was waiting for them, and Wren plopped on the grass next to her to catch her breath. From where they sat, a knee-tingling view of the entire valley spread below them. Peering down, Wren couldn’t make out the exterior entrances to the Crooked House, but she could see the falcon mews way below.

  Above, the first stars began to twinkle in the dusky twilight. Wren strained her eyes to see if she could recognize any of the constellations, but they all looked strange. Thin streaks of aqua played near the horizon, the first faint glow of the aurora that had become an everyday sight to her now.

  Jill sighed and got to her feet, picking up the bucket of cleaning supplies and interrupting the stillness of the moment. “Break’s over. Time to get to work.”

  The old observatory looked like it belonged in a collection of historical monuments. The crumbling limestone foundation, chipped and worn by many years on the cliff top, stretched up into a faded cylindrical tower that was topped with a glass dome. Even from where Wren stood, she saw places where the windows were cracked and broken. A stone balcony protruded from one side, with a stand that held a monstrous old telescope.

  Wren felt glad Elsa didn’t know how much she loved astronomy. Otherwise, there was no way she would have given her a punishment that actually felt like a prize.

  “I can’t wait to see what’s up there,” she said as Jill wrestled open the warped door. “I bet there’s all sorts of ancient equipment from—well, how long has the Crooked House been around, anyway?”

  “No one really knows,” Jill said, leading them up a narrow stairway. “The Crooked House has expanded over the years, of course, but the main part—the summoning room and Opal Sea—it’s always been here. Ever since the Crooked Man built it. Or that’s what legend says, anyway.”

  “The Crooked Man?” Wren said, but forgot what she was going to ask when she followed Jill into the glass enclosed room, where a giant gyroscope perched in the center.

  “Amazing,” Jack said, sliding onto the tottering stool in front of it and reaching up to spin the frame. “It’s still functional, even.”

  “And there’s an armillary sphere.” Wren pushed past Simon, who was sketching the equipment in his notebook, to examine something that looked like a globe balanced inside of a star. “Astronomers in medieval times used these to make models of the heavens.”

  “Sapiens dominabitur astris.” Jack poked his head out from behind the gyroscope. “‘A wise man can rule the stars.’” He brushed the hair back from his forehead. “Maybe they did.”

  “We really should start cleaning,” Jill said, nudging Simon, who was now copying down the markings on a huge compass. “Elsa won’t be happy if she doesn’t find us working. Here.” She shoved a can of wood polish and an old rag at Jack and a bottle of glass cleaner at Wren. “Clean while you look. I stuck my neck out for you, and whatever else happens, Elsa has to find this room spotless.”

  “Right.” Wren grabbed a rag out of Jill’s bucket and began wiping things down
. At first, she tried to hurry through the cleaning so she would have extra time to explore, but then she found that she could do both at once. She squirted some of the cleaner on a leaded-glass bookcase where someone had cataloged astronomical tools.

  Wren wiped the moisture off, examining each item as it came into view. She’d seen some of the equipment before, at amateur astronomy meetings back home. Some, she’d seen online or in journal articles. And some, she’d never seen at all.

  “Check this out,” she said to no one in particular. “They have a backstaff.” She leaned closer. “And a celestial globe. This is amazing.” The cabinet was locked, but she could see gyroscopes and sundials and something that looked like a cross between a candelabra and a microscope. Brass scales and a stone mortar and pestle. “No wonder people used to think Fiddlers were magicians.” She read the little placards that talked about ways the equipment was used by early astronomers. A few items were unlabeled, their white cards blank but for an estimated date and the italicized words No known use. That and the flame of the Magicians.

  “Look at this!” Wren called Simon over to show him the markings.

  Simon lowered his voice. “I think we should ask Jill about the star map.”

  Wren glanced over at Jill, who was vigorously polishing glass lenses on a large telescope. “Why? How would she know anything about the Magicians?”

  “Why would an apprentice not want to talk about her family?” Simon said.

  Wren shrugged. “Tons of reasons. They could be mean or dead or something.”

  “Or something,” Simon said. “Or Magicians.” He leaned closer, his cloth making a little squeaking noise on the glass as he worked. “Why do you think everyone is always talking about her and whispering? Why doesn’t she have any friends?” He stopped scrubbing. “There has to be some reason she’s stuck with Elsa as a mentor.”

  Wren chewed on her lip. Simon could be right. “Do you really think we can trust her?”

  “Are you kidding?” Simon said. “She’s confided her escape plan to us. She’s probably the only person in the Crooked House besides Mary, Baxter, and Liza who we can trust. Besides that, we are wasting time cleaning up here, and for what? To wait for Elsa to come punish us?” He gave Wren a rare direct look. “You know we should be trying to find Mary. If we tell Jill, maybe she can help.”