Chantress Fury

by Amy Butler Greenfield

  The King, haggard but alert, touched iron with me, then drew me into a small alcove filled with yet more crates, six Turkey carpets, and an ivory-inlay writing desk. “Your captive—has she been found?”

  “I’m afraid not,” I said. “But my men are still doing their best to trace her. And I may have found another clue that will help us.”

  “A clue?” He looked hopeful.

  “Yes. Here, let me draw it for you.” With the pen and paper he offered me, I sketched out the joined snakes. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

  “No. Not at all.” His blue eyes clouded. “Should I have?”

  “Not necessarily.” I folded up the sketch and tucked it into my sleeve, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “Don’t let it worry you. I’ll work it out. But perhaps you could tell me what’s going on elsewhere? I hear there’s been another sighting of a kraken.”

  “Three at least, by now,” said the King. “The only bright spot is that it seems that the attacks are slacking off elsewhere. As far as we can tell, we’re bearing the brunt of things here in London.”

  Was that because our enemy was bent on destroying the country’s seat of power? Or was there another reason? I thought of how the sea serpent had honed in on my singing, how the kraken had come to just that part of the river where I had been working magic, how the river kept calling to me.

  Could it be that I was the target?

  The King was skeptical. “If you’re the target, then why aren’t all the monsters lining up outside Whitehall? And what about those mermaids that came before, and the attacks at Portsmouth?”

  The Lord High Admiral huffed up to us, holding up his iron ring. “Your Majesty, if I might have a word?”

  “Of course.” The King gestured for him to speak.

  The Admiral coughed, glanced at me, then shook his head. “In private, Your Majesty.”

  “Very well.” The King motioned for us both to follow him.

  The Admiral stayed where he was. “In private, Your Majesty.”

  “Yes, yes, we’ll find somewhere,” the King said, not catching his meaning.

  The Admiral skirted around me and barked into the King’s ear. “I want to speak to you without her.”

  The King stopped still. So did I. So did half the clerks and secretaries in the room. The Admiral may have meant to be discreet, but his voice carried.

  “You wish to speak to me without the Chantress?” the King clarified.

  The Admiral gave a curt nod. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  The King frowned. “Whatever you wish to say to me can be said to her as well. There are no secrets between us.”

  “I’m not so sure of that, Your Majesty,” the Admiral growled. “She let the mermaid escape, didn’t she? And now another captive of hers has slipped the net. And there’s some strange talk at Court and in the city—”

  “Enough.” The King silenced him. “I trust the Chantress absolutely. You will speak before us both.”

  It was a stirring defense, and I deeply appreciated it, but the Admiral remained stubbornly silent. Glancing around, I saw that he wasn’t alone in doubting me. Some of the clerks and secretaries were watching me with suspicion. They might not be holding up crosses, but they’d been swayed by the gossip about me.

  Insisting that the Admiral speak in front of me would not help my cause. I curtsied to the King. “You are very kind, Your Majesty,” I said, “but I must ask your leave to go. I have much to attend to.”

  I wasn’t sure the King would accept this, but after a moment he nodded. “Very well. We are grateful for all you are doing to defend us, Chantress.” As I left, he called after me, “Please take care. We would all be lost without you.”

  I nodded because he expected me to. But I knew it would take more than being careful to defeat our enemy—and to prove to all the doubters that I really was on their side.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  FLOOD TIDE

  I meant to do another round of scrying that night, and then hunt up Gabriel, talk to Captain Knollys, and look for Nat again. But as soon as I opened the door again on my dark and cluttered rooms, exhaustion and grief washed over me. It had been a hard day by any reckoning—and the hardest part had been what had happened with Nat.

  Was there any way to fix things between us? I wanted to believe there was, but I wasn’t sure. Some things couldn’t be unsaid. Some things couldn’t be mended. And maybe this was one of them.

  I pushed the door shut behind me, desolate to my bones.

  A rest, that was what I needed. I let myself lie down on one of the mattresses. Only for a minute, and then I’ll build a fire and find a bowl for scrying.

  The next thing I knew, Norrie was shaking me awake, touching her hand to my iron bracelet. “Lucy, you need to get up.” Her voice was full of alarm. “The waters are rising.”

  I blinked. The room was still dark, but the sky outside was deep gray, not black. Pushing myself up from the mattress, I tried to slough off sleep. “The river’s rising?”

  “Since sometime after midnight,” Norrie said. “Slowly at first, but faster and faster now. It’s come up at least two feet in all, and it shows no sign of stopping. And here it is Allhallows’ Eve. Not a good omen, that.”

  “What time is it now?”

  “Just before six. The order’s just gone out—we have to leave Whitehall.”

  I was fully awake now. “They can’t hold the palace?”

  “No. And they may not be able to hold the rest of the riverfront, either,” Norrie said somberly. “Already Whitehall is practically an island, and it’s only going to get worse from here. We all have to go to higher ground.”

  And here I’d been sleeping all this time. Hurriedly I smoothed back my hair and shook out my gown.

  “Nat’s the one who’s organizing us all,” Norrie said. “It’s like moving a mountain, but he’s doing it.”

  I winced. Merely hearing Nat’s name was enough to bring the pain rushing back.

  Fortunately, Norrie didn’t see. Turning away, she grabbed a basket from the top of a pile and started stuffing it with clothes, candles, and other necessaries. “I came here to get a few things before we left,” she told me. “They want to move the refugees up to Marylebone, and they’ve asked the Queen and me to go with them. We have to leave right away. I didn’t know you’d be here; I thought you’d already gone. Someone said you’d left earlier, with the King and Sir Barnaby.”

  “No. I saw the King late last night, but I had things I needed to do here.” And I’d left them all undone—the scrying, seeing Gabriel and Captain Knollys and Nat.

  I looked up to find Norrie looking back at me. “Child, are you all right? Do you need me to stay with you?”

  “No. No, I’m fine. Just worried by the floods. And about you. Will you be all right, going up to Marylebone?”

  “Of course. Which isn’t to say I wouldn’t be happier if you were coming too, but that’s for your sake, not mine.” She set her full basket down by the hearth, then leaned down to pick up a piece of paper. “What’s this?”

  For an awful moment, I thought it was another copy of the broadside. But of course it was much too small for that. As I came up to her, I saw it was the sketch I’d made for the King, showing the two snakes. It must have fallen out of my sleeve when I’d been asleep.

  “Just a drawing,” I told Norrie. And then, because I thought I might as well ask: “Do you recognize it?”

  “I should think so.” Norrie had already turned back to her basket. “It’s those snakes from Audelin House.”

  “You mean Lady Helaine’s place?” I was torn between excitement and consternation. Audelin House had been deeded to me along with the rest of my godmother’s property, and for a long time now Norrie had been trying to get me to visit it. She’d had it in mind that I might someday want to set up my own household there. But by her own reports the house was in sad shape, so it had seemed an unlikely plan to me, and I was so busy on the
few occasions I was in London that I’d never actually gone to see it. “You saw them there—just like this, in a circle?”

  “I have indeed.” Norrie rose to get another basket. “And you would’ve seen them too, if you’d gone there with me. All over, they are, tucked away in the strangest places. I first saw them years ago, back when your godmother still lived there.” She smiled, remembering. “The footmen said there were secret doors behind some of them, but I think they were just pulling my leg. It’s just decoration, I expect—some kind of family crest, or maybe an old Chantress symbol. Not a very nice picture, is it? But it does stick in the mind.”

  Secret doors? I snatched up my cape. “I have to go there, Norrie—right now.”

  Norrie swung around, basket in hand. “To Audelin House? Lucy, you can’t. It’s too close to the river. Likely it’s flooded already—or if not, it soon will be.”

  “Even if it’s half underwater, I still need to go.” I was frantically filling a sack of my own now: candles, tinderbox, a ball of twine . . . anything that might be useful for exploring an abandoned, half-flooded house. “Those snakes could be the key to everything.”

  “I don’t see how,” Norrie said.

  “I don’t see exactly how either. But I saw them, Norrie. I scried and saw them, so I know they’re important. If I could just figure out why, I might be able to stop this flooding and save us all.”

  Norrie still looked worried, but she stopped protesting. She knew that scrying had saved my life before; inscrutable though it was, it wasn’t something to be ignored. “You’ll need the keys, then.” She reached for her chatelaine and slipped them off—two iron keys, dark and heavy and fearsomely notched. But instead of handing them over, she held them tight in her hand. “Please don’t go alone, Lucy. It’s dangerous out there. Talk to Nat. If he can’t go himself, I’m sure he’ll find someone to go with you.”

  I couldn’t possibly go to Nat, not after what I’d said last night. When I saw him next, it needed to be when we were alone and I could take back my hasty words. I couldn’t go to him when he was in the thick of things, surrounded by others, and ask him for a favor. But I had to accept that Norrie had reason on her side. Going in company would be safer. “I promise I’ll find someone.”

  She gave me the keys. “And do be sensible, child.”

  “Of course.” I hugged her, then flew to the door, only to turn back on the threshold. If Norrie could help me unlock one mystery, perhaps she could help with some others. “Norrie, did Lady Helaine or my mother ever talk to you about a wall—a wall between the worlds?”

  “No.” Norrie shook her head slowly. “No, I can’t say as they ever did. But do remember, child, they’d not have shared any Chantress secrets with me.”

  True enough. I blew her a kiss and went on my way.

  The moment I stepped outside, I realized everything had changed. It wasn’t raining anymore, but the sky glowered, ominously gray, and even in this inner courtyard I could smell magic everywhere, mixed in with the dank and tidal scent of the Thames itself. The river’s everyday melodies of mischief and exuberance were now a mere froth above deeper and stronger and more malevolent tunes. Some of this music I recognized as being the river’s own, or songs I’d heard from the sea—from currents that pulled unwary swimmers down, from depths that kept tight hold of whatever they found. But there were new songs here as well—strange and opaque melodies that I could not even begin to understand.

  Part of the difficulty, of course, was that I couldn’t hear them properly. The whole palace was in an uproar, and there were too many competing sounds. Trumpets called men to order. Guards bellowed. Everywhere people were calling out in panic and commiseration, lugging sacks and baskets with them.

  Skirting past them, I went down to the guardrooms to find someone to go with me to Audelin House. I was dismayed to find the place empty. All I could do was leave a brief note to let Knollys and my men know where I was going, but I couldn’t be certain they would get it. Had they too been told that I was already with the King? Had they gone there to meet me? Or were they out helping with the evacuation? I didn’t know, and I couldn’t spare the time to find out. If I wanted to make good on my promise to Norrie, I’d be better off going straight to Gabriel—provided he hadn’t left yet.

  Like Nat, Gabriel had rooms away from the river, so he’d stayed put during yesterday’s upheavals. When I reached his rooms, his door stood open. Inside, Gabriel was handing two books to his agitated valet.

  “My lord, the time is growing short,” the valet pleaded.

  “I don’t care, Quittle. We can’t leave these books behind. You’ll have to—” Seeing me, Gabriel broke off. “Chantress, I thought you’d gone already.”

  “No.” Like Quittle, I was worried about the time, so I didn’t stop to explain myself but merely touched my iron bracelet to his hand. “I need to go to Audelin House. Will you come with me?”

  “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Of course.” He turned to Quittle, who was wedging the desired books into a bulging bag. “So you can get them in? Excellent. Take all the bags to Cornhill, and I shall meet you there later.”

  “Cornhill?” I repeated.

  “Yes, we’re all going there, the whole Council,” Gabriel said. “Didn’t you hear? The King is assembling us in one of the Crown properties there.”

  “I’m afraid the message missed me.”

  “You and plenty of others, I expect. Whitehall’s a nest of confusion this morning.”

  I nodded. Cornhill made sense as a destination, though. It was the highest point within the London city walls, a district favored by goldsmiths and bankers.

  “Never mind. I’ll take you up there after we’ve been to Audelin House.” Gabriel donned his overcoat and ushered me out the door. “Let’s go—and on the way, perhaps you could explain why you have such a pressing need to see the place?”

  I did explain, as briefly and quietly as I could. Not that there was much danger of anyone overhearing. This part of the palace had emptied out already, and the few people we saw on the staircases and in the galleries were in too much of a hurry to eavesdrop.

  “Well, I can see why you have to go,” Gabriel said when I’d finished. “But if that fails, I think you ought to look again at alchemy. Anyway, I’m glad you came to find me.”

  Gabriel knew a shortcut to the stable yards, where a temporary causeway linked Whitehall to the higher ground near Charing Cross. The small crowd there was too anxious to pay any attention to us, but once we were safely across, Gabriel drew me aside. “From now on, you’d better keep your hood up and your face down.”

  I looked at him, puzzled. “Why?”

  “Haven’t you heard? There are broadsides all over London blaming you for this. People don’t know whether to pray to you or burn you.”

  “Burn me?”

  “There’s been some ugly talk like that, yes. Not from most people, of course, but I’d just as soon we didn’t attract attention.” He surveyed me. “You’ve got some kind of a wrap on under that cloak, haven’t you? Maybe you could try pulling it up over your mouth.”

  Silently I did as he suggested.

  “Much better,” he pronounced. “We shouldn’t get any mobs screaming for your blood now.”

  Maybe not, but still I felt tense as we joined the crowds heading for Charing Cross and points north. I breathed more easily once we left the pack and headed east into the maze of streets that led to Audelin House.

  These streets were very close to the river, and for the most part they were deserted. But when we rounded one corner, I heard wood splintering and glass breaking and men shouting and singing.

  “Looters.” Gabriel pulled me back. “Let’s go a different way.”

  Twice more we had to change our route, but soon we were approaching Audelin House.

  Although I had never been inside the house before, Norrie had pointed it out to me a number of times, so I recognized it as soo
n as I saw it: an imposing residence of stout timber and fancy pargeting, so large that it took up the entire end of one street. At first glance, the house looked very grand, with carved beams and a double bay of oriel windows that jutted out from the front. It was only when you came closer that you saw the cracks and the fallen-away plaster and the boarded-up windows.

  The house stood at the very edge of the flood. Even now, the river was lapping at the muddy street in front of it. Quite possibly its cellars were already awash. But the situation was better than I’d feared it might be.

  I went forward and pushed my keys into its immense old locks. They took some convincing, and Gabriel and I had to push hard at the heavy door, but finally it opened. As we stepped inside the dark entryway, a damp, moldering smell enveloped us.

  Behind us, I thought I heard shouting, coming from somewhere not too far away. And I heard something else, too. Something much closer. Something I was desperately trying not to listen to.

  Come to me, the river called.

  I swung the door closed, and Audelin House swallowed us up.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  AUDELIN HOUSE

  The house seemed impossibly dark at first, but pinholes of light picked out the edges of a door ahead of us. After I found the latch, we walked into what once must have been the grandest room in the house.

  “Once,” of course, was the critical word. It had been only a decade since my godmother had lived here, but it felt like a hundred years. Would she have recognized it? Would she have wanted to? Chunks of ceiling plaster now covered the floor, and the paneled walls that weren’t scorched were pockmarked and splintered.

  The place had stood empty ever since Scargrave had arrested my godmother and seized the house as attainted property. He’d ransacked every corner for contraband magic and Chantress secrets. And when he’d finished, he’d had its contents burned.

  People don’t know whether to pray to you or burn you.

  There had been a great deal of burning in those years. Books. Buildings. Even sometimes Chantresses themselves, and those who were thought to have truck with them. Judging from what I could see of the walls and floor, one of those bonfires had been right here in this room.