by Sean Russell
Yes, Hayes thought, this is what comes of meddling in matters that were none of our business. We knew Eldrich might have an interest in what the church kept hidden in their archive.
Knowing one had acted the fool did not help. Hayes was also vaguely worried about money, of which he had none, and now that Erasmus was gone he did not know where it was to come from. Certainly this expedition would cost a pretty penny. He let go a long sigh—nothing could aggravate him for long that day, and surely he had more important things to worry about. Someone would pay, even if Kehler could not: Deacon Rose or Clarendon both had ample resources.
He put a foot in the stirrup and swung up onto his horse, the poor beast hardly more recovered from their flight through the hills than Hayes was himself. He had never fully recuperated from their ordeal in the cave and felt constant fatigue, as though he had aged and would never recover—and despite the cause, missing much of a night’s sleep had not helped.
Bryce stood in the door of the house watching their preparations—a darkly precise and intimidating man, and not just because he was the mage’s servant. Hayes could not wait to be out of the man’s sight, and away from this dreadful place.
Rose was on his horse, waiting. There would be no carriage for the priest this day. Hayes felt some satisfaction at this. Eldrich had shown so little regard for the priest and his church that even Hayes had been taken aback. The Farrellite church was a force around the Entide Sea, though one would not have thought so the way Eldrich had dealt with its emissary.
They all were mounted now, Kehler and Hayes taking the leads for their baggage horses. No one seemed ready to lead, so Hayes spurred his horse forward, glancing back once at the window.
“Kehler!” he hissed. “Look back. At the upper window.” But when he turned again, the figure was gone.
“What was it?”
“I could have sworn it was Skye. I . . .” Hayes shook his head. Perhaps it had been a trick of light, silvering the head of one of the servants. What would Skye be doing here? What in the world had the Countess of Chilton been doing? He had neglected to ask, so delighted had he been to find himself in such company.
Riding out the lane to the road, Hayes wondered if his memories would disappear as he crossed some invisible line back into the natural world, for certainly he had been in a dream world since he arrived—nightmare and dream.
But they emerged onto the road and began, once again, the descent from the Caledon Hills, and Kehler found he could remember every word of his conversation with the countess. After the terror of Eldrich, her company had seemed like an elixir.
“Perhaps I am dreaming,” he muttered.
“You look rather chipper this morning, Hayes,” Kehler said, his mood lightening perceptibly. “Has the escape from the house of Eldrich caused such relief?”
“That and a night of fair dreams. Do you not feel some sense of relief that we have escaped that terrible place no more harmed than we are?”
Kehler inclined his head to one side. He was making an effort to sound his usual self. “Perhaps a little, though I would feel better if we were not still doing the will of the mage. And I, for one, have had nothing but nightmares since our meeting with Eldrich.”
Hayes saw his friend shiver.
“I know; it was terrifying. For hours afterward I felt . . . as though . . . I cannot describe it. Do you know what I mean? It gave me the crawls to think that we had magic performed upon us. Eah! I can barely think of it.”
Kehler nodded. “Yes, better we had never met Lord Skye and started on this whole terrible business.”
“I will tell you, Kehler. It is odd, but I have begun to pine for my grotty rooms in Paradise Street, wax nostalgic for my days of poverty.”
This brought a genuine smile to Kehler’s anxious face. “Ah, yes. If only we could be impoverished again. . . . Wouldn’t that be grand? Flames, I miss the cramps from lack of nourishment.”
“And dodging creditors. Remember what fun we had!”
“Ah, yes, those splendid creditors, capital fellows. If only we could be poor again, how happy we’d be!” Kehler slapped a pocket. “Speaking of poverty, I haven’t a sou, have you?”
“Not a coin of any denomination.”
“Well then, our wish has been granted. HOORAY, WE’RE PAUPERS!” he shouted, causing Rose and Clarendon to look back at them, mystified.
The two friends laughed.
“I think we are a bit barmy from having escaped Eldrich,” Kehler said, “though I shan’t soon forget the fright of it.”
“You might be wrong, there. I was told that Eldrich seldom lets those who serve him go with their memories intact.”
“Who told you that?”
The countess had told him, but she had also asked him not to mention their meeting to anyone else. He did not know why but he was not prepared to break his word to the Countess of Chilton. “Well . . . Erasmus, I think.”
Kehler looked at him quizzically.
“Is this another fool’s errand?” Hayes asked quickly. “Is there any possibility that Anna is alive?”
Kehler looked out over the vista that had just opened up, the lowlands adrift in mist. “I would have said no, but if Eldrich has doubts—who can argue with a mage? All we can do is search, and hope this will be the last time Eldrich calls upon us.” He continued to stare at the distant lands. “Hayes? I’m dreadfully sorry for dragging you into all of this.”
Hayes felt a smile light his face; he couldn’t help it. “Oh, don’t start again. I hold no grudges.” He laughed.
Kehler stared at him intently. “You are odd today. Is there something you know that I don’t?”
“Only that we are away from the house of Eldrich, and, who knows, perhaps it is all a dream. Perhaps we will wake and find we never left Avonel at all.”
“You mean you’ll still be poor? What a pleasant thought, Hayes.”
Thirty-Seven
An ancient fishing boat acted as the ferry, its owner more ancient still. A life at the sea had weathered his features until they were not unlike the distant cliffs Erasmus could see looking out over the currently passive channel.
Anna leaned against the rail beside him, gazing off toward the island, her mood thoughtful and silent.
Across the twilit deck a few islanders gathered, speaking quietly among themselves, casting the odd questioning glance at the “come-from-aways.” Their interest unsettled Erasmus, but Anna seemed unconcerned—though at the moment nothing in her immediate vicinity seemed to draw her attention. Clearly, her thoughts were elsewhere.
Catspaws rippled over the slick surface of the sea, and the captain played these with skill and concentration, determined to get his passengers into harbor that night.
Anna touched Erasmus’ arm softly, and nodded toward the island. “There, do you see?” she said, keeping her voice low. “Among the trees?”
“With the slate roof?” Erasmus asked.
“Yes. Our honeymoon cottage, Mr. Townsend.”
They were playing at being newlyweds, thinking this would explain to the neighbors why they sought privacy—and perhaps even allow them a little of it—though Anna said the islanders kept much to themselves. She had also taken some care to turn them out in modest fashion; they might be gentlefolk but not of the wealthy variety.
Fishing wherries rounded the tip of the island, sails barely bellied in the soft airs, their motion slow as though tired from their day’s labor. The sky behind was awash in the deep hues of twilight, and a crescent moon hooked itself to the heavens. The stillness was absolute, broken only by the whispers of the passengers, who, respectfully, did not speak aloud.
It was entirely dark when they finally made their landing on the island. Erasmus borrowed a fisherman’s handcart and wheeled their few belongings up the starlit lane to Anna’s house, where they were half an hour lighting lamps
and opening shutters to let the soft air of evening in and the mustiness out.
Anna gave him a tour of the house, which upon inspection was not so small. It had, Erasmus thought, a certain rustic appeal, and he felt comfortable there immediately.
“I spent a year of my girlhood here, though I was hardly allowed the luxury of a childhood. Our situation was too serious for that. But even so, this is the house I think of as my childhood home. Odd, really when there were so many, and some quite a bit more civilized, but the magic of this place—and I am speaking here of the commonplace variety—was something I never forgot.”
“But where did you come from? How did they find you?”
“Halsey had his ways, I suppose, but he was a secretive man and would not say. I was an orphan, you know. I fancy my mother was a doxy, likely barely more than a girl herself. It is the common thing. But I exhibited some manifestations of talent early, and Halsey found me and brought me here. There was an old nurse who lived in the house then, a kindly woman who, though not fully a member of Halsey’s little band, was an adherent in some way.” Anna led him into a small room with a view out over the water toward the mainland. “She mothered me, as much as I was mothered. This was my sleeping chamber,” she said, turning in a circle.
It was not particularly girlish in its adornments, Erasmus noted, just as one might expect of a girl whose guardian was an old man.
“Wait until you see the view in the morning. I loved it even as a child, for it is . . . everything a view of the sea should be, and perhaps a little more.” She turned to Erasmus, putting her arms around his neck and gazing at him with very liquid eyes.
“I am only beginning to know you, Erasmus Flattery, and many of your looks are still a mystery to me. Are you anxious, Erasmus, or is it something else? Do you regret running off with me?”
“Regret, no, not in the least. But I find it difficult to believe it can be this simple to hide from Eldrich. To me, it seems we should be father away: Entonne, at least, and even more distant would be better. It isn’t four days’ journey from this place to Eldrich’s estates. Too close. Too close by many leagues.”
“Precisely. Would people not expect us to run, to get as far away as possible? Do you know there was a criminal haven in Avonel for years all but directly opposite the night watch’s station? The best place to hide is where you are least expected—beneath the night watch’s nose, or in the village nearest Eldrich’s home. Do you realize how long followers of Teller hid within the church? Over three centuries!”
“Yes,” Erasmus said, “but they were caught and burned, let us not forget.”
“But Eldrich will not last the decade, Erasmus.” Her arms had fallen to her sides, and she looked vulnerable standing in the center of this austere room. “Surely we can stay hidden that long. I will tell you a secret of this way of living, Erasmus: one might as well surrender to Eldrich as spend every moment in fear of apprehension. You develop the habits that keep you safe and then put it from your mind, otherwise it will drive you to madness. Believe me, our people learned much of this. You divide your life in two, very distinctly in two, and live your public life like everyone else. Otherwise you will arouse suspicion. You must acquire the proper habits and then learn to live as though nothing in your life were out of the ordinary.
“Almost no one visits this island, so to the locals you must be cordial, otherwise they will begin to talk. They will understand our desire to keep to ourselves, for we are gentlefolk and they are not, but if you begin to act though you fear discovery, in a twinkle the speculation will begin. We are criminals, we are adulterers run off from our families. It will go on and on.
“I will spread the rumor that you have been ill and have come here to recover, and work on a book of . . . natural philosophy? No, that is too much like the real you. Poetry, perhaps. You needn’t worry, no one will ask to read it.” She smiled at him, cajoling. “Trust me, Erasmus, and I will be your teacher in this, for I have been hiding from Eldrich all my days.”
Erasmus did not want to point out that Eldrich had trapped and almost murdered her once.
“Tomorrow I will go out to purchase what we need and you can stay here—to rest and recover from your illness. I will put forth our story—or let them draw it from me, bit by bit. By tomorrow evening everyone on the island will think they know our business, and we will be quickly forgotten.
“Do not forget; Erasmus Flattery and Anna Fielding died tragically of misadventure. There is no reason for anyone to be seeking us. The notable Erasmus Flattery is dead. His family will hold services for him within a fortnight, and your many accomplishments will grow in everyone’s mind until you are a genius of the rank of Skye. Already I wish I’d known you.”
She gave him a gentle shake. “It was a jest. You should laugh politely.”
Erasmus could not laugh. “I never believed I’d be free of him, not even if he died, for who could know what task I might be left? I still cannot quite believe it. Free of Eldrich? It is as likely as having an amputated limb grow back. You cannot know how I have been haunted by him—since I was ten years old. Haunted by my time in his house, wondering what my purpose was, why I had been taken there. Eldrich has hovered at the back of my mind all this time, like a terrible shadow. I am not quite sure how to make that shadow go away, how to banish it.”
Anna pressed him down into a chair, perching on the arm.
“It will take time. Do not expect it to go away overnight. The mages haunted the followers of Teller for centuries. We learned to practice vigilance without living in constant fear. Fear of discovery will gnaw away at you, Erasmus, if you let it. Be on your guard.” She went to the window and cast it open, looking out over the dark, still waters that bled into the shadowed land, the shoreline indistinguishable. “The mages hoarded their power with great care over the ages. They never numbered more than eleven at one time, and commonly there were fewer—nine, often; as few as six, occasionally—and now there is only one. One mage to hold the power, to complete the final tasks.”
“And what are the final tasks?”
She glanced at him over her shoulder, then turned back to the open window. “To leave no person or text that could seed a rebirth of the arts . . . and perhaps other things as well.”
“But what of me?” Erasmus said. “I have some knowledge of the arts—” But he stopped, the answer to his question obvious.
“Yes,” Anna said softly. “He trapped you in the cave with the rest of us. Deacon Rose, who is the church’s authority on the arts—the man who is tainted that the others may remain pure—young Hayes and Kehler. Even Clarendon, I suspect, is not without some knowledge. Banks, myself . . .” she drew a breath, “and all my brothers.” She reached out and put a hand on either side of the frame. “Imagine the skill it took to manipulate events so that we should all converge in that one place. One must stand in awe. But you, Erasmus, you thwarted him and discovered the way out. Pray that he thinks we are dead. That he completes his task, leaving us behind—and that he trains no other to stand vigil.”
This thought had occurred to Erasmus as well. “Would it not make sense for him to do that?”
“He will do it only out of utter necessity. It is a danger, leaving someone with knowledge of the arts. That person might be the one who maintains them so that the arts might one day be known to others. Others who have no allegiance to the original mages.”
“Then I will pray that he thinks we are dead, though to what gods I would appeal I don’t know, for I am a child of reason.”
He could just see her jaw move—a smile. “You are a child of magic, Erasmus.” She shook her head. “How can one be a man of reason when raised in the house of a mage? Our kind are capable of such contradictions. Are there not empiricists who remain within the church, though the church condemns many of the beliefs of these same men of reason?”
“Yes, though I have never thought of my
self as being like them.” He shrugged.
She turned to him, leaning back against the window ledge, half-sitting. “Have you ever wondered if you’re dead?” she asked earnestly. “I mean really dead, not merely conveniently dead, as we are. Perhaps when we die, we slip into a dream and our life continues on with us blissfully unaware. And that is what has happened. We died in the cave or in the gorge, or a hundred other points in our lives where we might have perished. And this is a dream.”
“Mine or yours?” Erasmus asked.
“Mine, of course,” she smiled. “But do you know what I mean? Has this only occurred to me?”
“No, in fact I have thought similar things myself. After all, we don’t know what happens after we pass through—and this is as sensible as many of the explanations that have been offered. Perhaps this is death, and life is what comes after.”
“You mock me, Erasmus Flattery,” she said, wagging a finger at him.
“Not really. It is not impossible that we are truly dead, and not just conveniently so, as you have said.” He gestured to the room. “Then this is the house of the dead, and that makes me, madam, a necrophile.”
This made her laugh, and she took two steps, landing softly in his lap. He could feel her smile as they kissed.
“And that, sir,” she laughed, “was the kiss of death.”
Thirty-Eight
She found Skye in the garden in the early morning. He lounged on a bench set for privacy behind a screen of lilac trees. As she appeared, he started, then quickly rose to his feet.
“Lord Skye,” she said, noting that he did not smile or look pleased to see her in any way. Why was this one man so immune to her charms? “I have wondered why we have not met.”
“I have been cautioned to avoid you,” he said. No greeting, nor did he make a leg.
This brought her up abruptly, but as she blocked the only exit from this small arbor, they stood there awkwardly. Certainly Skye would have fled if he could.