“Did you hear that, Griffin? They don’t even have electricity,” I said smugly. “I, for one, have always been in favor of modern progress. Our house has been wired for several years now, due to my insistence.”
“That reminds me, Whyborne,” Christine said. “With the baby coming, we’ve decided to install a telephone in our house. I’ll be able to contact you any hour of the day or night.”
“Oh dear lord—”
Griffin elbowed me hard. “Please, keep your voices down.”
We found ourselves in a wide hall, which ran level, though with a definite curve. Diluted sunlight filtered through an oriel window, but it was nearly blotted out by the thick storm clouds which had gathered. The floor was paved with dark gray flagstones, covered by a long carpet down the very center. The walls and ceiling were also of somber stone, lined with ancient iron sconces and candelabra. Beyond the window, the sea heaved restlessly, gray waves reflecting the low clouds.
Rupert led the way cautiously down the hall. Portraits of Endicotts lined the right side, which must have been pressed against the rock of the island, as it had no windows. I was no expert in the art of portraiture, but the first appeared to be from the Tudor era and showed a rather martial looking man posing with a halberd, the point of which was thrust into a dead octopus. I supposed the octopus was meant to symbolize the ketoi who had been killed and driven off Carn Moreth.
Christine leaned close to me. “A shame Mr. Durfree and Mr. Farr aren’t here to see the paintings. They’d expire from joy.”
“Or kill one another over some trivial disagreement,” I whispered back. Or, given that Griffin was convinced they were lovers, do something else to settle their dispute. I tried very hard not to consider what form such a settlement might take.
From there, the portraits lessened in age, depicting increasingly recent relatives. A pair of identical twin men stood in one with their arms around each other. “Zachariah and Jeremiah,” Rupert said in a low voice as we passed it.
Zachariah. My great-great-great grandfather, who had murdered his brother, fled to the colonies, and taken a ketoi woman for a wife. So much for Supra alia familia.
Had Zachariah hesitated before ending his brother’s life? Had there been an instant when fate might have fallen in either direction? When he might have chosen not to strike, returned to Balefire and his ordinary life, rather than slay his brother, flee to the colonies, and marry a ketoi?
And if so, was this one of the moments when the maelstrom, sharing the same arcane energy that even now swirled around us, weighted the outcome?
Last February, I’d confessed my fears about the maelstrom to Griffin. That it wasn’t moral in the way we were. That it collected terrible people like Blackbyrne, or Fear-God Whyborne, to it. Encouraging one brother to murder another surely wasn’t beyond its capability, considering what some of the old families had done.
I could drive myself mad, wondering what was chance and what was part of some design.
The island topography must have widened enough to allow side rooms to be built, because doors began to appear to both the left and right of the main passageway. Some of them stood open, and I glimpsed bedrooms and parlors, drawing rooms and dining rooms. A layer of dust covered everything, and cobwebs hung in the corners. An air of desertion seemed to cling to the place, as though no one had walked here in some time.
“Where is everyone?” Hattie asked. She kept turning her head to the right, and I guessed having a blind spot had put her even more on edge.
Rupert only shook his head. I couldn’t help but wonder what this place must ordinarily look like, brightly lit and with people moving around, talking and arguing and living their lives. Or did it always have a layer of gloom about it?
We hadn’t gone far before Rupert opened one of a pair of large doors. We followed him into an enormous library. Light streamed in through the windows, illuminating floating motes of dust and warming the leather bindings of what must have been thousands of books. Like the rest of the house, the furniture was dark and brooding: tables that looked to have been used by generations of scholars, a worn rug over the gray flagstones, and heavy exposed beams crossing the high ceiling.
We shut the door behind us; unfortunately it had no lock. “We’ve been lucky so far,” Rupert said. “Why whatever has sensed Dr. Whyborne’s presence hasn’t raised the alarm, I cannot guess. We shouldn’t assume the situation will remain the same for long, which is why I want to use the secret passageways to reach the crèche.”
He went to one set of shelves and began to run his hands over the titles, though what he was looking for I had no idea. There came a strange rustling and chittering from behind one of the desks. A rat?
Horror swept over me—what sort of damage might the thing have already inflicted on the books here? “You’re always going on about subtle magics,” I said to Rupert. “Don’t you at least have something to keep vermin out of the library?”
“We don’t have time for this, my dear,” Griffin said.
“But the books—”
“I’m afraid he’s right, old fellow,” Iskander said.
I scowled but turned toward the shelves Rupert was busy inspecting. He reached out and pulled on a book, and there came a muffled click.
More rustling. And a chitter that sounded more like laughter.
I spun, just in time to see a brown form streak from behind a chair, heading in the direction of the door. Though covered in brown hair and possessed of a naked tail, its forepaws looked more like hands, and the face that leered back over its shoulder at me was disturbingly human.
Rat thing.
~ * ~
I let out a cry of alarm, even as I spread a layer of frost over the floor. The rat thing’s hand-like paws slipped, and though it didn’t fall, it was forced to slow to stay upright. One of Iskander’s knives whistled through the air with deadly accuracy. The point slammed into the rat thing. It let out a squeal of agony and went into convulsions.
“Good show!” Hattie exclaimed.
Iskander drew his other knife and went to finish off the thing. “We’ve encountered one of these creatures before. It helped the Fideles back in Widdershins, when Bradley Osborne was trying to take over Whyborne’s body.”
“Nasty bits of work, they are.” Hattie joined him, nostrils flared in disgust at the sight of the thing. “Seen one a few years back, when we killed a sorcerer who was causing trouble in Dartmoor.”
“They serve Nyarlathotep,” I said uneasily. “He brings them from the Outside to tutor human sorcerers in magic. That was why Bradley had one.” Surely this must be evidence that the Fideles were indeed the ones who had taken Balefire.
There came a soft click, and the section of shelves Rupert had been working on swung open. “Hurry. Someone is bound to have heard all that commotion. Hattie, hand me that lantern if you would. Dr. Putnam-Barnett, I think it’s time to put out the torch so as not to set fire to anything in the walls.” Hattie passed him a lantern from one of the desks, and he held it up. “Dr. Whyborne, if you’d be so kind?”
I lit the wick with a thought. “Watch your head,” Rupert advised me, then ducked into the secret passage.
As he’d warned, the passage was both low and narrow, forcing me to walk hunched over. Once the doorway closed behind us, we had only the light of the single lantern to guide us. “Hold onto one another,” Rupert called back softly. “I wouldn’t want anyone to get separated from the group. And do be cautious—there are steps where the passage climbs the hill.”
Mother entered behind me; her claws snagged in my clothing when she set her hands at my waist. We made our way as quietly as possible, but the passage was narrow, and it was hard not to bump into the sides with an elbow. Cobwebs brushed across my face, and the scent of dust in my nose made me want to sneeze. I squeezed watering eyes shut and tried to resist the urge.
The passage narrowed and widened, climbed up and down. Every so often, we passed a concealed door or peephole. Ruper
t took the opportunity offered by the peepholes to sneak a glimpse into the rooms, no doubt searching either for invaders or members of his family. Each time, he closed them again with a disappointed shake of his head.
Where was everyone? Had all the surviving Endicotts been transformed? And what of the Fideles, assuming the rat thing meant they were in fact here? Had their numbers been so vastly reduced during the struggle to take Balefire that there weren’t enough remaining even to patrol the halls?
The longer we went without encountering signs of life, the greater my unease grew. The emptiness seemed to take on an air of malice, as though some vast thing crouched over Carn Moreth, patient as a spider as we worked our way toward the center of its web.
Rupert came to a halt at one of the doors. It had a peephole set into it, so he looked through before reaching for the latch. “We’ve arrived at the crèche. I don’t see anyone,” he said in a low voice. “But we have to check.”
God. If we found nothing—or worse, some sign that the children had been among those consigned to the subterranean passages beside the adults…
The door swung open and Rupert stepped out. I followed, and Mother emerged after me.
A woman lunged from where she had stood concealed just to one side of the hidden door, and swung an iron poker at Mother’s head.
Chapter 31
Griffin
“Back, abomination!” the woman shouted as she brought the iron poker down.
Whyborne barked the true name of fire, and the poker went red-hot in the woman’s hand. She let out a shriek of pain and dropped it onto the carpet beneath us; the scent of scorched wool joined that of burned skin.
“Katherine, no!” Rupert grabbed her arms. “As impossible as it sounds, the ketoi is with us.”
“Rupert?” She blinked at him, eyes going wide. She looked to be middle-aged, her graying hair swept into a bun, clad in a somber black dress that hung loosely enough about her frame to suggest she’d lost weight recently. “You came for us. Oh God, you’re really here.” She flung her arms around him. “It’s over. This nightmare is over.”
I lowered my sword cane. Clearly, Katherine hadn’t thrown in her lot with the Fideles.
Rupert hugged her back. “Katherine. Thank heavens you’re alive. After what happened to the others, I was beginning to fear everyone had been…”
She drew back. “The others? What do you mean?”
Hattie emerged last from the secret passage, shutting the door behind us. “You don’t know what happened to them? Earnest and Charlie and the rest?”
“I’m not allowed to roam,” she said. Her eyes widened at the sight of Hattie’s face. “What happened to your eye? And who are these…people…with you?”
Rupert gestured to Heliabel. “Katherine, this is our cousin, Heliabel Whyborne. She and our other cousin, Percival Endicott Whyborne, have come to help, along with their companions.”
Katherine glanced warily from their faces to Rupert’s, obviously struggling whether or not to believe him. “Since when do abominations help us?”
“Since the world is in danger,” Heliabel said coolly.
“Never mind all that,” Hattie said impatiently. “What happened to the little ones? Are they…alive?”
Katherine turned away from us. “Children, you can come out.”
One by one, wary faces appeared: from behind furniture and doors, within cupboards, and under chairs. Hattie clutched at Rupert’s arm, as though to keep from collapsing. I felt a wave of relief wash over me also, as one fear slowly let loose its stranglehold. I’d tried not to think about the possibilities: that we’d find the crèche empty…or worse, filled with smaller versions of the horrors we’d faced below ground.
But they were all right. Frightened, obviously, but none of the children seemed sick or too thin.
“You remember Rupert and Hattie,” Katherine said to them. “And these people are apparently here to help.”
A boy with brown skin had the courage to step out in front of the others. He looked from one of us to the next, clearly uncertain as to whether we were trustworthy.
The fear in all their eyes wrung my heart, so I went down to one knee, to be more on their level. “Hello,” I said with a smile. “My name is Griffin. Are you Sadik?”
He nodded mutely.
“I have a message for you from your mother.” I kept my voice as light as possible, as though they’d been separated by a routine business trip rather than six months of terror. “We met her in Old Grimsby. She misses you very much, and she can’t wait to see you again.”
God, I hoped she hadn’t died at the barrier, or drowned in the sea after. I’d been unable to note what happened to the boat she was in, too concerned with our own survival at the moment to worry overmuch about anyone else’s.
“Th-thank you, sir,” the boy said in a shaky voice.
More children closed around me now, clamoring to know about their parents. I wished I had answers for them. Some might have lost one or both during the assault on the barrier, and though I hated to offer words that might prove untrue, at the moment I rather suspected they needed reassurance of some kind.
One young girl toddled up to Heliabel, finger in her mouth, eyes wide as she stared up. Katherine made a move to intercept her, but Rupert put out a restraining arm.
Heliabel crouched as I did. She looked fierce and wild in this place, with its ancient tapestries and soft carpets. Her jewelry glittered in the light of the lantern, and the tendrils of her hair rippled around her shoulders.
“Hello, little one,” she said softly.
The girl took her finger from her mouth. “You’re pretty,” she lisped.
Heliabel smiled, careful not to show her teeth. “Thank you. So are you.” She paused, tilting her head. “I have a grandson about your age.”
“Is he pretty, too?”
Her eyes darkened. “I’ve never seen him. But his mother was very beautiful, so I imagine he is too.”
Whyborne cleared his throat. “Miss Endicott—Katherine—we need to ask you some, er, difficult questions.”
“Come with me.” She beckoned us to one end of the room. “Children, entertain yourselves for a few minutes.”
We congregated near the window with her. The waves heaved far below the oriel window, gray as iron beneath the cloudy sky. Lightning danced on the horizon, accompanied a few seconds later by a growl of thunder.
“What happened?” Rupert asked without preamble. “How did Balefire fall?”
Katherine shook her head. “I don’t know the details. I was here, as usual. It seemed to be an ordinary day, much like any other. Then I heard the distant sound of fighting. I told the children to stay put, locked them in here, and ran to see what I could learn. I met Earnest in the corridor. He…he told me the Keeper had gone mad. Earnest and some others were going to stop him.”
Rupert’s skin took on an ashen hue. “What had he done?”
“I don’t know. Earnest didn’t have time to say, just told me to lock myself in the crèche and protect the children.” Katherine closed her eyes. “I never saw him again.”
“He’s dead.” Hattie’s voice was flat with suppressed emotion. “So is the Seeker. And Charlie. And a lot of others.”
“Charlie. No. I thought…but let me continue.” Katherine straightened her shoulders, as though gathering her courage. “I did as Earnest told me. At first I believed we were under attack from the ketoi. That Justinian had done something to the barrier to allow them to pass inside, perhaps. I wish to God that had been the case. But it wasn’t.”
“He’d let in the Fideles?” Rupert suggested gently.
“Fideles? No.” Katherine gave him a puzzled look. “There aren’t any outsiders here, not that I know of. No, this was Endicott against Endicott. Those loyal to Justinian, fighting against those who refused to join him.”
God. No wonder we’d seen nothing of the cult. They’d never been here to begin with.
Rupert sagged, as thoug
h he’d received a blow. “But that means…what we saw below…if the Fideles didn’t do that to them…”
I couldn’t imagine his shock, to discover people he’d known all his life, his own family, had turned on one another in such a horrifying fashion. “I’m sorry,” I said.
Katherine looked uneasily from Rupert to Hattie. “This is the second time you’ve hinted at something terrible.”
“Unspeakable,” Rupert said hoarsely. “At least for now. I don’t want to say anything within possible hearing of the children. What happened when the fighting ended?”
“Justinian came here.” Katherine rubbed her arms as if for warmth. “He said things were changing, and there would be a period of adjustment. That if I took care of the children and did as I was told, everything would be fine. But if I roamed too far, or asked too many questions, or tried to leave the manor, I’d come to the same end as everyone who defied the family.”
“Defied the family?” I exclaimed, incredulous. “Was that his excuse for all of this?”
“I was afraid, but I went along with things for the sake of the children.” The lines on her face seemed to grow deeper as she recalled the months since. “Each day, I’m allowed to go to the kitchen, prepare food for the children, and bring it back. Once a week, I go to the laundry. At first, Charlie went with me, as a guard. When I dared to ask him what was happening, he only said Justinian was doing what was necessary to keep us safe.”
“Funny idea he had of safety,” Hattie muttered. “Stupid sod.”
Katherine stared blindly out the window. “Later, Charlie let other things slip. That we were cut off from the mainland, and no one outside knew what had happened here. That Justinian had a plan, but our enemies would do anything to stop us, including foment treachery among our own ranks.”
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