“I saw enough tonight,” the hooded man said. “The Overlord will not listen. I was right to train my people in the use of force. Yes, Professor. There is a militia.”
“Professor Huss is right,” the woman said. Her dress was spattered with blood and her hair was pulled back from a face that was weary but determined. She looked back to the hooded man. “He cannot stay in the school. He will come with me. When he is well I will send him to you.” Another look passed between them, a look with something gold and fiery in it. “You must not come here again until the echoes of tonight have stopped sounding.”
The words sounded strange in Nicolas’s ears. As he looked at the hooded man, his head filled with voices. Every sound in the room grew faint, as though he was moving far away, and other sounds took their place.
“It is the peace of death we break…”
“Rise up! Blackness no longer!”
He heard the sound of fire roaring and swords clashing; the sound of horses as though there was thunder in their hooves—horses as of giants. He heard the battle cries of men, rising from a thousand throats all at once.
The sounds faded. Nicolas was back in the stone room once more. Maggie seemed to have noticed that something was wrong. Her hand rested on Nicolas’s shoulder. He turned to look at her but quickly shied away from the question in her eyes.
The decision was made. There was nothing more to be said. The hooded man stood for a long minute at the table, looking down at the pale face of the boy. He touched the boy’s forehead and smiled sadly; looked up at the woman and drew a deep breath.
Then he turned and was gone. Everyone went with him except the professor, his student, the woman, and the boy. And Nicolas and Maggie.
“Jerome, take the boy to his refuge,” Huss commanded. Jerome, the student leader, looked at him questioningly. He motioned to the wall against which Nicolas and Maggie were huddled. Huss chuckled.
“I am not afraid to be left alone with them,” the professor said. “And you will be back soon to avenge me if I am wrong to be unafraid.”
Jerome nodded unhappily, but said nothing. He bent down and picked the boy up gently, cradling him in his arms. The woman put her hand on Huss’s shoulder.
“Thank you for everything,” she said, and she and Jerome left the room.
Huss turned to Nicolas and Maggie.
“Now we are alone,” he said, looking at them both in turn. “And you have something to say. Speak.”
* * *
Chapter 8
Revelations
Maggie reached into her coat and brought out the scroll. She held it out, mutely. Jarin Huss took it with a puzzled expression on his face.
He unrolled the scroll and stood for a long time, perusing its contents. Maggie saw a shadow pass over his face, followed by a strange elation. One thing was certain: the scroll was not an indecipherable puzzle to him. He knew what it meant.
After a long while, Huss looked up from the parchment and fixed his eyes on Maggie.
“And who are you, young woman?” he asked.
“My name is Maggie Sheffield,” Maggie said. “That is, I…” She closed her eyes. “I represent the Council for Exploration Into Worlds Unseen.”
“Oh?” Jarin Huss said, his expression conveying more surprise than he meant it to. “Well, this is a noteworthy meeting, isn’t it?” His forehead wrinkled in thought. “This is hardly the place for a noteworthy meeting. Do come with me, Maggie Sheffield. And…?”
“Nicolas Fisher.” Nicolas shifted his feet uncomfortably under Jarin Huss’s steady gaze.
Huss nodded as though the name meant something to him. “I see. You are also welcome to come with me, Nicolas Fisher. Now, let us go.”
Huss removed a torch from the wall and led the way back down the damp corridor. The room behind them fell into darkness as they left.
Jarin Huss said nothing as they walked, and neither Maggie nor Nicolas felt leave to begin a conversation. They followed until they had emerged from the ground into the strong light of the moon. Huss took them through the courtyard to the high front door of the old house. He pulled a key from his robes and fit it into the lock, turning it loudly.
They stepped into a room which might once have been a grand entrance, but which was now grey and drab and falling to pieces. Wide doors led into other rooms, probably sitting rooms, but in the darkness Maggie could not see them well. Across from the door, a tall staircase led to the upper floor.
Huss did not bother to light any lamps, but held onto his torch. They climbed up the long staircase to a wide loft that overlooked the entrance. At the top of the stairs they were greeted by the grey-eyed stare of a cat perched on the banister. When they had all passed by, the cat silently dropped from its place and padded after them.
At the end of the hallway, Huss pushed open a door into a small room. He extinguished the torch and lit lamps all around the room, filling it with warm light. He finished by touching a match to an oil lamp that squatted on an oak desk covered with open books and papers. The room, Maggie thought, resembled the professor himself in its aged and scholarly warmth.
Bookshelves lined three walls, lending the rich colours of book bindings to the glow of the oil lamps. Against one wall, the cat had made itself comfortable on a small bed with high posts. At the foot of the bed a window looked down on the street, and the lights of the castle could be seen. Huss stared out the window for a moment and then drew heavy gold curtains across it. Maggie was glad that the castle and the disturbing scenes connected with it were shut out of the room.
Between the bed and the desk, an old table with charmingly curved legs sat, surrounded by four chairs. Huss pulled out one of them.
“Here, sit and be comfortable,” he said, taking his own advice. Maggie and Nicolas awkwardly obeyed. Maggie was trying very hard to think of what she was going to say. Nicolas seemed overawed by the room. Books and papers were foreign and intimidating to him. He found himself longing suddenly for Bear and the outdoors.
Huss took the scroll from his robes and laid it out on the table. Maggie looked down at the strange letters and shivered. There was something about the open scroll that felt wrong. It seemed an obscenity that ought to be kept hidden in the presence of decency. She felt stupid for thinking so, as the professor didn’t seem bothered. She raised her eyes to him as he spoke and tried to forget that the scroll was there.
“I was not aware that the Council for Exploration Into Worlds Unseen was an operative body again,” he said. “I am very surprised to hear it.”
Maggie looked away from his steady eyes and said, “It isn’t, sir. That is, there is no council in operation, but I do come from it… them.”
Huss smiled faintly.“Suppose you just tell me who sent you? That might be easier than trying to explain the existence or lack thereof of a council which has not been together in forty years.”
“I was sent by Daniel Seaton,” Maggie said. “In the interests of John and Mary Davies. And although Eva Cook didn’t want me to come, in a way I represent her more than the others.”
“I see,” Huss said, now clearly amused. “So you are the whole council unto yourself, are you?” He chuckled and tapped the scroll with a long finger. “And where did you get this?”
“From Old Dan—Daniel Seaton,” Maggie said. “He brought it to Mrs. Cook and me before he died. He said he had taken it from a woman called Evelyn.”
The effect of Maggie’s words on the professor was profound. He shot halfway to his feet, then sank back down, muttering something to himself. After a moment he returned to his surroundings and said, “Daniel is dead, then?”
“Yes,” Maggie said, sorry that she had not broken the news gently. “He said he had been to the Highlands of Bryllan to try and take the scroll to Lord Robert Sinclair, but he had not been able to get in to see him. On his way back to Midland, he fell sick. When he came to us he was dying.”
“And he sent you to me?” Huss said.
“He said you wo
uld want to see the scroll. He thought it was very important.”
Huss nodded. “What have you to do with Eva Cook?” he asked. “Who, I assume, is the Eva Brown I once knew.”
“I live with her,” Maggie said. “I am her foster child, one of two. She and her husband, who is now gone, took me from an orphanage when I was ten.”
Nicolas was looking at Maggie strangely, but she did not notice.
“And John and Mary?” Huss asked. “You are here in their interests as well?”
“They are also dead, sir,” Maggie said. She spoke the words carefully this time, aware that Huss did not expect to hear them. She saw the strain and sorrow on his face as she spoke, and was sorry for it. “They fostered me for three years, until I was thirteen, when they died in a fire. It was a tragic accident.”
“Was it?” Huss asked, his voice terse.
Maggie sought to meet Huss’s eyes, no longer awkward, reaching out to meet him in the pain he shared with her. For a moment they looked at each other with an understanding of mutual loss.
“I had hoped you could tell me,” Maggie said at last.
Instead of answering, Huss stood and walked to the window, his hands clasped behind his back. He stood and stared at the drawn curtains for a long time. Nicolas tried to catch Maggie’s eye, but she was watching the professor intently and did not spare a glance for him.
Jarin Huss turned and smiled wanly at Maggie. “I am quite sure they were murdered,” he said. “Just as I am quite sure Daniel was murdered. Just as I am quite sure that Mrs. Cook is not safe, and that I am not safe, and that you are most certainly not safe.”
“If she wanted safety she would’ve stayed at home,” Nicolas said, “instead of risking her life to get you that piece of paper. Now are you going to help her, or aren’t you?”
Huss raised an eyebrow, but there was no irony in the gesture—only comprehension. “They have come after you already, then,” he said.
“Who has?” Maggie asked. Huss did not answer, and Maggie stood in frustration. “Who has?” she asked again, leaning over the table toward him with her palms on the wood, fingertips nearly touching the scroll.
Huss bowed his head and looked suddenly very weary. “Them,” he said. “The Order. The scourge of mankind.” He sat back down at the table. His legs seemed to have lost the strength to hold him up. “You will be safe here for a few days at least. Goodness knows we can’t give it back to them.”
The door to the study opened with a bang. Maggie jumped up in alarm. She found herself facing Jerome.
“Oh,” she breathed, and sat back down, her heart racing.
“I frightened you,” Jerome said. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be,” Nicolas muttered. No one seemed to notice.
“This is Jerome,” Huss said, “my apprentice—the future leader of the Underground University of Pravik, which is of course a very deep secret—one you shall both be careful to keep. Jerome, this is Maggie Sheffield and Nicolas Fisher.”
Jerome nodded courteously to them and said to his master, “The boy is sleeping safely in Libuse’s home.”
“Thank you,” said Huss. He sounded exhausted.
“Is something wrong?” Jerome asked.
Huss smiled thinly. “Everything is wrong, Jerome, and everything is right. Our gain is our snare, as it always is.”
His words made no sense to Maggie or Nicolas, and they glanced at each other, a bemused smile on each face. It was the first time Maggie had looked at Nicolas since entering the room. He knew it acutely, though she hadn’t noticed.
Jerome noticed the scroll, and he came to stand by Maggie. “I assume this has something to do with it,” he said.
“You should never make assumptions,” Huss said. “But as it is, this time you are right.” He shook his head and muttered, “I fear it will draw them like a magnet.”
“Let them come, whoever they are,” Jerome said. “We will hold them at bay.”
Huss smiled and patted Jerome on the cheek as though he was a little boy. “You’re very brave,” Huss said. “As brave as you are ignorant. But perhaps bravery is better than cowardice, even if it is brought on by stupidity.”
“Will someone kindly tell us what is going on?” Nicolas asked. “Maggie brought that thing to you, and we both put our necks on the line to do it. We ought to know what’s happening.”
“Of course,” Huss said. “In the morning.”
“What?” Nicolas sputtered.
“In the morning,” Huss repeated. “I suppose we have one more night in which we may sleep safely. I will explain all that I can in the morning. I confess I wasn’t prepared for you. I want some time to think.”
Maggie thanked him, but Nicolas did not seem to have heard. He was staring at Jerome with his ears full of voices, and his face was dismayed.
They were ushered to two small rooms down the hall. Both rooms were dusty and cobwebbed, but the linens were clean and the beds, while old and a bit springy, were comfortable enough. Maggie fell asleep quickly. Nicolas lay in bed and thought about the woods, and about Bear, and the Gypsies, and things that he could hear and no one else could.
* * *
As she slept, Virginia saw the black-cloaked shadow that moved from car to car, peering into the compartments. She saw it, and she knew why it had come.
She opened her eyes and found that she could see, although a mist over her eyes made every form uncertain and blurred the mute colours of the train. The crystal dragons etched in the window glass stood out with strange clarity, glinting through the mist. She saw Mrs. Cook beside her, slumbering deeply. Across the compartment, Lord Robert and Pat were also sleeping.
It was best, she thought.
She stood and left the compartment. Her fingers lingered long on the door. Those inside would never willingly let her go, she knew that. Just as she knew that she had to leave, that she could not endanger these who had given so much for her. She felt a pang of guilt nonetheless, and sorrow at leaving them.
She bowed her head and walked away slowly. It would not do to meet her adversary here on the train. If she did, others would be placed in danger. For one fleeting moment she felt an urge to run back and beg the laird to protect her. But the words of the King were to her both a prophecy and a command: “My enemies hunt you, and you must face them.”
Face them she would, then. The courage of the King returned to her and she steeled herself for the battle ahead. “Do not forget who I am. Do not forget who you are. Remember me…”
Virginia walked from car to car until she had reached the end of the train. She pushed open the door and found herself standing on a small platform, protected by an iron rail, while the cold night wind whipped at her clothes and hair and stung her eyes.
Through the mist she could see the forest rising all around, choking out the track that wound endlessly back the way they had come. She hesitated only for a moment. She could feel danger approaching. Once again a vision flashed before her eyes, of a dark hand reaching out to open the very door behind her.
With a deep breath Virginia flung herself over the railing. Even as she did, the mist faded away and she was blind again.
* * *
Maggie walked in dreamland that night. She saw herself in the Gypsy camp, surrounded by bright caravan wheels and the stillness of the forest at night. A full moon was glowing brightly. A low fog hung about the wagons. They were moving although it was night, and she was driving a wagon of her own.
She felt the closeness of someone beside her, and she turned to ask a question of Nicolas. But it was not Nicolas with her—it was Jerome. She was startled, even in her dream, but somehow it was good to have him near.
He reached over and gently took the reins from her hands, pulling the wagon to a stop. “We will miss our chance if we keep going,” he explained in his deep voice. He stood on the seat of the wagon and pulled her up beside him. Together they looked up at the moon. Across its pale face they saw a great flock of shining white
seabirds winging silently toward them.
The birds were slender, yet each was bigger than the wagon. Jerome seated himself on the neck of one of the birds, and she felt a nudge as another lowered its head for her to climb on. She did, and the birds lifted into the air with a motion smooth and white as cream.
The birds flew high above the earth until they seemed surrounded by stars. When Maggie looked down the earth was a dusky colour, streaked with the glowing silver of rivers, lakes, and the seas themselves.
The birds flew over the glistening sea, farther and farther south, until Maggie could see a ridge of snow-covered mountains ahead. The birds’ wings beat in great, sweeping motions. They rose up over the tops of the mountains. As the ridge dropped away beneath them, a light burst over it with such brilliance that Maggie covered her eyes with her hands. She looked to the side, and then she saw that the bird carrying Jerome was continuing up over the mountains, and the one carrying her was dropping away, back toward the sea and the north.
Maggie cried out something that she could not understand and reached for Jerome. His eyes met hers and she saw silver tears in them, but he smiled, and turned his face back toward the brilliant light—and the dream was over.
She sat up in bed and clutched the sheets under her chin, wondering why the dream—beautiful as it had been—troubled her so much. She played the scenes in her mind until she could not bear the silence of the room anymore. She got up and walked on bare feet to the bedroom door. When she opened it she was looking into Jerome’s face.
He was standing across the hall from her door, leaning on the rail, fully dressed. His head was bowed and his eyes were closed, his breathing deep and regular. He had a sword strapped to his side, and one of his hands rested close to the hilt. She looked at him curiously, and a smile played on her face.
His eyes opened quite suddenly. He looked up at her, and said, his voice only a little sleepy, “Why are you smiling?”
“Why are you standing there?” Maggie asked.
“Because I think you need protection,” he said.
She rubbed her arms. “Why do you think so?”
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