“Lady Murmur,” he said with a nod, hoping to simply pass.
“Carter,” she said, smiling, reminding him of a fox. Only the fangs were missing. “I understand there has been trouble in the house.”
“Somewhat.”
“If only your father were here. He would know what to do. A pity he did not train you. If we can help, let us know. Despite Duskin’s earlier, regrettable words, he wants only what is best for Evenmere, as do I.”
Duskin, scowling, did not look like he wanted the best for anything.
“Thank you,” Carter said, striding past them.
“Oh, Carter,” she called, forcing him to turn. “We have not heard how things went in Naleewuath.”
“They went well,” he said, and continued to his room, determined to ignore her if she spoke again.
Once behind his door he sat down on the bed, fists clenched, wanting to pound the dresser. He blew his breath out, the anger burning in his chest. “Calling me back like a child! As if the whole house were not abuzz with the news of Naleewuath!” As a lad, when she had treated him as a vagabond, he had not known how to respond, had not realized her remarks, cast like stones from behind her smile, were meant to draw blood. Respect for his father and naivete had kept him from retaliating. She, who had been his parent, had used her position of power for spite. What further mischief did she intend?
He forced himself to relax. Weariness prevented him from remaining angry long. He went to the window; it was raining still, soft drops against the pane, though the wind had abated. The Bobby stood beneath the lamppost, head down, heedless of the storm.
Carter cast himself upon the bed and fell into a deep sleep. Though he feared slumber with his enemies all around, he dreamed only ordinary dreams, visions of Hope and Murmur, Enoch and Glis, with the Tigers of Naleewuath chasing themselves round and round a tree, in an ever-narrowing circle, until at last there was nothing to be seen of them at all.
* * *
When Carter awoke, the room was dark, save for a narrow sliver of light slipping beneath the door, and it took him a moment to know where he was. He sat on the side of the bed and lit the lamp. Squinting against the flames, he discovered by his pocket watch that it was after ten o’ clock. He moaned softly at having slept the entire day away, rose, and went down the stairs in time to meet Hope ascending.
“Hello,” the lawyer said. “I was just coming to make certain you were alive.”
“I was more washed out than I thought,” Carter said. “Has Enoch been pacing the floor?”
“No, he understood. He has a great deal of confidence that you can find another passage to the Towers.”
“I wish I did. Now that I have the Word of Secret Ways, where should I speak it? Or do I just stand in the middle of the house?”
“I don’t know, but come eat a late supper. A bit of food for thinking might help.”
They passed through the dimly lit corridor into the dining room, where the butler’s assistant served up heavy slabs of roast beef, with steaming potatoes, gravy, and fresh-buttered bread. The plates and glasses, which reflected tiny suns beneath the lamps, were all of emerald, made darker by the dyed malachite tablecloth. Ladybugs circled leaves upon the handles of the silverware. Finding himself suddenly ravenous, Carter set to at once, while the fireplace cast shadow-monsters of him and Hope against the far wall.
Just as he was finishing his meal, one of Glis’s men burst into the room, a naked sword in hand. “Sir, we must rouse the house! The anarchists are attacking from the library!” The man was gone before Carter could frame a question, so he turned to the butler’s assistant. “Go spread the word, boy. Tell all the house to arm themselves.”
Wide-eyed, the lad raced away, and the two men rushed quickly after, down the shadowy length of the transverse corridor to the library doors, where nearly all of Glis’s force was already assembled. Several of the men struggled to hold the doors shut against the heavy pounding of an instrument from the library side, while Glis made preparations for a charge. At the captain’s signal, the warriors stepped back, flinging the doors wide, and the whole company pushed through the portal, shouting, swords and pistols flashing. An answering roar, as of many men, rose from within. Shots rang out, steel clashed, and soldiers screamed. Carter drew near and glimpsed countless figures within the library, silhouetted against the moonlight flowing through the high windows, in a room otherwise dark. He heard animal snarls like those of the black beast in his dream, when Brittle was slain.
All but five of the white knights had poured into the chamber. Carter moved up beside them just as a man in gray mail, shrouded in a hood, leapt through the doorway, a mace in one hand, a pistol in the other. He swung his bludgeon at Carter’s head, but a knight parried the blow with his sword. The assailant shot Carter’s savior in the stomach, and the man toppled to the floor, doubled over in pain. Another soldier stepped forward and killed the attacker with a quick thrust to the throat.
Carter knelt beside the fallen knight. “Lay quiet,” he ordered, but to his surprise the man waved him away.
“I’m well, just winded. The gun kicks hard.”
“You’ve been shot,” Carter said, but to his surprise, he saw the bullet had not penetrated the armor. He had no time to consider the forging of mail capable of deflecting a shell, for another assailant burst through the doorway. While his comrades engaged the enemy, Carter helped the knight up, then retreated, certain he could do nothing without a weapon.
A handful of servants appeared, armed with pistols, rifles, a mattock, and even an ancient blunderbuss. Carter and Mr. Hope both took pistols, though the lawyer turned green and held it as if it were a viper.
“Stand three paces behind the knights,” Carter ordered the men. “Be careful not to shoot any of our comrades, but watch for anyone trying to break through.”
Scarcely had he spoken, when a heavy, gray figure bounded out the doorway into the light. Five shots erupted as he stood revealed, and he dropped to the ground, bloody with holes. Carter was relieved to find the enemy’s armor less resistant to bullets than the plate of his allies.
Two others rushed the door, and the knights downed one, but the other broke through and charged straight at the Steward. Carter raised his pistol, and saw the man’s features clearly—sky-blue eyes, sculpted nose, square, handsome chin—before he fired, point-blank into the face. The anarchist reeled away. Carter felt the blood drain from his own cheeks; he had never killed anyone before.
As quickly as they had charged, Glis’s knights poured back into the corridor, their captain at the rear. A dozen of the men forced the doors shut.
“Bring a table!” Glis bawled. “The doors won’t hold them!” Seeing Carter, he sprang to his side. There was blood on his left shoulder, though Carter could not tell if it was his own or another’s.
“There must be half a company in there,” Glis said. “We can’t hold this position. You are the Master; you must speak the Word Which Seals to barricade the library doors, else we are lost.”
Carter felt his face pale. “I haven’t yet learned that Word.”
The captain opened his mouth but said nothing, then set his jaw in firm resolve. “We can expect no other aid, then. The messenger I sent returned moments ago, unable to break through. I need as many of your staff as you have. Once they hew down the doors they can only come at us a few at a time. We will make them pay for every inch.”
“My people are coming,” Carter said.
The table was brought forward and nailed into place with sledgehammers and long spikes, its top flat against the facing. Just as the work was completed, the library doors shuddered and began to splinter from the blows of many axes. A hole appeared; a face popped up, only to be driven back by a pistol blast. The axes struck again and a large upper portion of the door fell away. The anarchists pressed against the table, while the white knights thrust their swords around it to force them back.
A horn sounded, and the attackers suddenly melted away,
but a moment later a heavy battering ram made of wood and iron broke the table in half, sending the knights reeling. Glis ordered his men forward, but it was difficult for them to resist the press. More and more gray forms filled the doorway. Carter thought they must break through at any moment. He took careful aim with his pistol.
Before he could fire, a tremendous explosion rocked the house, a detonation originating within the library. A flash of light, blinding bright, shot through the doors, and the concussion blew the combatants off their feet. Carter found himself tossed backward against the corridor wall.
Dazed and winded, he stumbled up and saw smoke billowing from the library. Not a single anarchist remained standing, though a few vainly sought to rise; those who had been at the door were gone, utterly vaporized. Several white knights lay moaning, but Captain Glis was already on his feet, helping others to stand. It was he who first looked into the library.
“Someone bring a light!” he ordered, and Chant, who Carter had not noticed previously, hurried from the crowd of servants, lamp in hand. Carter joined the captain, and together, surrounded by their men, they entered the room.
The carpet, the stones, the shelves, were scorched, as if a great heat had passed over them, but the books were untouched and nothing was truly damaged, except for the glass in the high windows, which was completely blown out. Helmets and broken swords lay on the floor, and the smoking remains of the battering ram, but no sign of the men could be found.
“What’s happened?” the captain asked, incredulous.
“Some power was released,” Chant said. “We have been saved, but I don’t know how. Did they attempt to use a weapon they could not control, or do we have unknown allies? Whatever the answer, we have been spared this night. Here again, here, here, here, happy year! O warble unchidden, unbidden! Summer is coming, is coming, my dear, And all of the winters are hidden.”
“Something is certainly hidden,” Carter said. “Questioning the survivors may provide answers. But I am sick of lacking the strength to serve as Steward. If only I had known the Word Which Seals!”
“But how were they able to enter the library?” Chant asked. “There are powerful wards against it. It is one thing to send a dream, another to appear in person.”
Carter stopped, struck by a suddenly realization. “There is only one answer. When I was a child, when the Bobby came into the yard, it was because he was invited.”
The Secret Ways
While Captain Glis constructed a new barrier for the library doors and prepared the night watch, Carter searched down the butler’s corridor, past the shadowed back stair, through the men’s corridor, until he found Enoch in the servants’ hall, which served now for a temporary hospital. The room was all of paneled oak, with a wide border at the top of its high ceiling, carved with apples and daisies, milkmaids and dashing horses. Rose petals were etched around the borders of the polished floor where pallets were now being laid; servants scurried in every direction, scouring for supplies, escorting the wounded and tending their injuries, fetching lanterns to brighten the begloomed hall, all a bedlam of shouted orders and the cries of the hurt. Remarkably, only one of Glis’s men had died, though five others were wounded, and three of the servants. The old Windkeep had played his part in the fight and received a long, but shallow cut across his shoulder, which one of the maids, tsking in pity as she worked, was dressing with a white bandage. The old Hebrew gave Carter a fierce grin.
“Did we give them a battle?” he asked.
“One we would have lost if not for the explosion. What did you think of it? Did the anarchists misuse some weapon?”
“Would it have killed only them? That was power aimed with intent; it scarcely harmed our forces. We have a friend. What will you do next?”
“On that I need your counsel. I am ready to use the Word of Secret Ways, but I don’t know how. Where should I speak it? In what part of the house should I stand? Also, this battle has shown me I need to command my father’s full authority to survive. I need his Lightning Sword, his Tawny Mantle, and the Master Keys. I need all the Words of Power. Only then will I have a chance. What would you advise?”
Enoch thought a moment, wincing as the woman tightened the bandage. “Where to speak it? A good question. Anywhere? Everywhere? Experiment! But doing so will tax your strength. I do not know. Your father took his things with him. Find him, find them. As for the remaining Words, they will be revealed to you in their proper time. Am I helping? No. You should ask these questions to the beast in the attic.”
“You know of the dinosaur?”
“He is a dinosaur now? My people called him Behemoth. He has watched the wide world for a long time. He knows much.”
“In our last encounter, he told me not to return unless I knew the Words of Power. Are four enough?”
Enoch shrugged. “Four, five, who can say? I am certain he will recognize your authority. But you must be careful. He is very old. He thinks his own thoughts and speaks the truth he sees, but a truth other than that of men. A wrong word and he will kill you. Is this good advice? You should have gone to Chant.”
A dread fell upon Carter as he thought of ascending the steps to the monster’s lair, yet his need was great, and he considered Enoch the wisest of men. By the time Hope came tramping up, he had made his decision.
“I am going to visit Jormungand,” he said to the lawyer. “You could come partway, if you want to see him. Enoch has offered enough comfort to make me long for company.”
“Tonight?” Hope’s face was suffused with excitement, the battle having worked an unexpected change in him. A fierce light burned in his eyes. “But I hoped to bring you more information on the beast, and my research has turned up nothing.”
“Then I must go, trusting in the best,” Carter said. “Time is short, and I have slept the day away. I have already conferred with Glis; he has things in hand.”
“I’m ready,” Hope said. “You know, at first I was frightened when the men charged through the library doors. I knew it was a deadly business, but I found it more of an adventure than I expected.”
Carter slapped him on the shoulder. “Good. Your stout heart can bolster mine. The monster up there terrifies me. We go at once.” Carter lowered his voice. “But while I have you here, I want you to know I suspect a traitor in our midst.”
Hope raised his eyebrows. “Do you? On what grounds?”
“I believe the anarchists couldn’t have entered the library unless invited. Chant agrees.”
“Your father’s old question!” Enoch said. “Who left the gate open to the yard?”
“Precisely,” Carter replied. “I will not voice my conjectures at this point, but we must all keep alert. Speak of this to no one else. We will discuss it further when I return. Are you ready, Mr. Hope?”
“I am.”
They bid Enoch farewell, delaying only long enough to speak with the other servants who had been wounded; neither were badly injured, a housemaid with a broken collarbone, trampled in the press, and a footman with a cut to the thigh, both quite happy to recount their part in the battle to their new lord. Before Carter and Hope departed, they were surprised to discover Chant meticulously removing shot from the shoulder of one of Glis’s men, working with a calm professionalism while the patient grunted in pain. The Lamp-lighter glanced up and gave Carter a wink with one rose-pink eye. “We’ll lose no more tonight.”
“You appear experienced,” Carter said, grimacing at the sight of the open wound.
“I hold a degree in medicine. I had the eagle in my bosom erst: Henceforward with the serpent I am cursed. A dreary business. I practiced a number of years until I found more useful work.”
“Amazing,” Hope said, and they left him to his task.
Back down the men’s corridor, up through the servery into the dining room they went, into the transverse corridor; the lamps were still lit, and two of the knights stood watch at the library doors, while servants hammered heavy lumber across the shattered ope
ning. As they ascended the main stair, Carter glanced up at the carved eagle upon the banister, taloned power wrapped in the shadows of the upper reaches, sighting down its beak, merciless, murderous, a symbol of the hunter and the house itself; he gave an involuntary shudder.
“What is it?” Hope asked.
“I was thinking about the wounded. Why is blood so unmoving in a fireside tale, yet so dreadful in real life?”
“Because in real life it could happen to us.”
They reached Carter’s room, where they lit two lanterns. Carter peered out the window, but since Chant had been unable to light the lamps, he could not see if the Bobby still lurked beyond the house. Lightning thrashed across the sky, and he thought he detected a black form beside the lamppost, head tilted back, staring at their window. The flash passed too quickly for certainty, but he drew the curtains before turning to the fireplace.
He depressed the brick, half expecting the mechanism not to operate, but the entire mantel slid away with a groan, revealing the small room and the narrow stairway. As if in answer, the thunder rolled above the house, sounding like water poured across a hot pan, and the rain beat harder against the panes. The secret chamber stood foreboding as a tomb, the dust already obscuring the footprints from Carter’s previous visit.
“I must have been an unobservant child,” he said softly. “It’s remarkable that I never found this during all my boyhood.”
“More than remarkable if you played in your room much. I daresay you weren’t meant to find it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everyone speaks of the house as if it had a will. Perhaps, somehow, it does. Perhaps a “fate” is a better description. Shall we enter?”
As the two men left the bedroom and climbed the steps, the noise of the storm died into silence, as if they had entered another world. Carter supposed the high attic ceiling insulated against the din; in the hush their boots resounded heavily on the boards.
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