The Barghest came to a halt before the guards. The shouting stopped, and the head Barghest stepped in front of the pack.
“We bring with us the Heir of Fiske,” it growled. “One of her companions is in mortal danger, in need of immediate healing.”
“That’s them, then?” said a voice. “Not much to look at it, is they?”
Tired as Lottie was, those words ripped fresh rage from her.
“It’s nothing to joke about!” she shouted, blinking against the torchlight and straining to keep both herself and Fife upright. “What’re you all standing about for? My friend needs help.”
“Don’t tell me that’s ’er!” cried another guard. “This gangly ickle thing? Nothing but a girl. Did Gem even know what she looked like? Couldn’t have.”
The head Barghest gave a bone-rattling howl that sent the guard stumbling back.
“Do as the Heir of Fiske commands!” it snarled. “Have you no deference, sprites of the Wolds? Have you no respect left in your bones? Had we arrived in Thistlebram, we would have had a proper greeting.”’
“Calm yourself, Captain Barghest!”
This was a new voice, wholly unlike the others.
A woman appeared amidst the guards, one hand raised in a peacemaking gesture. She wore a long green robe, and her face was hidden in shadow. The guards bowed as she passed. Then the Barghest, too, bent before the woman in green. Lottie nearly lost her balance at the shift of her Barghest’s haunches. When she’d recovered, she saw that the woman was walking straight toward her and Fife.
“Do not worry,” the woman said, her voice sharp but soothing. “You’ve found a haven here. I will tend to him.”
“Please,” said Lottie. “You’ve got to. You’ve got to.”
Black fog bordered her vision.
I’m fainting, Lottie thought.
And the world vanished.
CHAPTER TEN
The Healer of the Wolds
LOTTIE WOKE inside a cave.
Only this cave wasn’t a spooky, dank place like the caves she’d seen on television shows about hiking and spelunking. Its walls were a clean ivory color and decorated in velvet drapings. Overhead, the ceiling arched high, bordered on all sides by stalactites—some thick as tree trunks, some thin as freshly formed icicles. They shimmered in the light of an iron chandelier.
Lottie found herself in a four-poster bed, big enough to accommodate four Lotties. She was swallowed in a sea of heavy blankets, and her clothes—periwinkle coat and green scarf and the blue dress she’d been wearing beneath—were all gone. In their place was a nightshift that was blissfully soft on her skin.
For many minutes, Lottie blinked at her surroundings, trying to make sense of them and salvage memories that might tell her how she’d come to be in this place. When that proved unsuccessful, she focused her efforts on the present situation. Though the ceiling here was high, the room itself felt very small. Lottie spied an exit: a narrow opening carved into the wall, just between two tapestries.
“Hello?” she called. Her voice bounced around the room in an eerie trill. “Is anyone here?”
With difficulty, Lottie shoved the blankets off. She slipped out of bed, cautiously setting one foot down, then the other. The floor was uneven, made from slabs of rock, but the rock wasn’t cold like Lottie had expected. In fact, it was almost too warm to walk comfortably upon.
“Hello?” she called again, poking her head out the doorway.
Any words she had left to say wilted on her tongue. Lottie was struck dumb by the sight before her. She had never seen a room so vast, so cavernous as this. It was ablaze with the roaring firelight of a half dozen fires and, on top of that, two-dozen more iron chandeliers. Stalactites shone overhead in a crowded chorus of sharp edges and sharper points. Some hung so low that they touched the cave floor, forming majestic columns. The walls here, as in Lottie’s bedroom, were covered in velvet drapes colored green, gold, and black. Massive bronze racks ran the length of one wall—some stacked with spears, others with swords.
There were people in the room, gathered near the fireplaces. They were dressed in leather vests and thick-furred dresses, and many of them were holding pewter tankards. Still other figures swept through the room carrying bundles of dishware, linens, and occasionally weapons. Lottie was about to call out to one of the sprites hurrying past, but she was stopped short by the sight of a green-hooded figure standing by her side.
“Wha—!” Lottie cried out, stumbling away. “How—how long have you been there?”
The hood cast the figure’s face in shadow, but Lottie could make out a set of red lips. Those lips turned upward, amused.
“Are you rested now?”
It was a woman’s voice. Lottie frowned at its familiarity, and then at last the memories returned to her. She remembered arriving at a gate, remembered the pack of Barghest and Fife’s injury and—
“Fife!” she said. “My friend, Fife. I have to see him. I have to know if he’s okay!”
“Fife is quite well,” said the woman. She placed a hand on Lottie’s back that Lottie was too nervous to shake off. “I’ve been tending to him myself. He lost much blood on your journey here, but the good thing about halfling blood is that it staunches well. Had he been a full-blooded sprite, and had he not been such a fighter, I’m not sure he would’ve survived. But as is, he’s stable. Still frail, mind, and in need of recovery, but your friend is out of danger.”
Relief swept Lottie into a happy haze. She sighed, loud and long. She felt like hugging the woman in green, even though she still had no idea who she was. And then her happiness gave way to another panic.
“Ollie,” she whispered. “Adelaide—you’ve got to send out a search party! All along the Lissome, down southward. My friends, Oliver and Adelaide, and—and, oh, Dorian and those Northerlies—and they could be freezing or starving or—”
Memories of the River Lissome and the ice crawler attack came back to Lottie, crashing into her with stinging clarity.
“That’s been taken care of,” the woman replied. “I sent out a troop of my best soldiers the moment you arrived and your friend Eliot told me the news. More than that, I’ve sent a half dozen more gengas, including my own, to scout the area. We’re doing all we can to recover the others, and I have high hopes we’ll find them alive and well.”
“Really?” Lottie asked.
“Really.” The woman sounded so confident, Lottie wanted to believe her. “And if Dorian Ingle survived that attack, I’ve no doubt he’s doing everything in his power to bring your friends here safely. He always fulfills his duty.”
Lottie’s heart settled down—not nearly at ease, but a little reassured.
“And how are you faring, Lottie?” the woman asked. “You’ve been my patient, too, you know, these past two days. No girl your age should endure such troubled sleep as you have.”
“Two days? I’ve been asleep that long?”
“You had an extremely strenuous journey,” said the woman. “Not to mention, the halfling’s blood put you in a deep sleep. Your body was hard at work trying to set things aright.”
“Please,” said Lottie, “you’ve got to take me to Fife and Eliot. Oh, and where’s Trouble?”
“Trouble?” said the woman.
“My genga.”
“Of course! We found him while we were drying out your clothes. He’s been flying about the court ever since. He spent many hours by your bedside, too, so there’s no need to make that sad face. As to your friends, I can take you there directly. Though are you sure you wouldn’t like something to eat first? I don’t want to see you waste the strength you’ve replenished.”
“No one else has shown up, then?” Lottie asked, thinking of her Barghest. It had promised to meet them when they docked. Where was it now?
“Just you,” replied the woman. “Now, I really advise that we get you some hot foo—”
“No,” Lottie said. “I need to see Fife and Eliot first. Then I’ll eat or rest or
whatever else it is I’m supposed to do.”
The woman sighed. Under her breath, she muttered, “How very like a Fiske.”
With her hand still on Lottie’s back, she guided her through the massive room and toward a hallway—a long stretch of cave free of stalactites, with narrow openings cut into both its walls.
“Where are we?” Lottie asked as they walked. “Who are you?”
“Many know me as the Healer of the Wolds,” said the woman, keeping her voice low.
“Wolds?” said Lottie. “You mean the Northerly Wolds? Is that what this place is?”
“No,” said the woman, who sounded like she was stifling a laugh. “Goodfellow’s grace, Lottie, don’t you know where you are?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking you,” she said crossly.
It was then that Lottie became aware of an odd phenomenon occurring around her. As the woman in green led them down the hall, those passing by reacted. They moved well out of her way, their heads bent. Some stopped what they were doing entirely to curtsy or bow.
Lottie peered up at the woman, trying to make out more of her concealed face.
“Are you some kind of royalty?” she asked.
At that, the woman really did laugh. “I’m no royalty. I told you, I’m a healer.”
A suspicion pinched Lottie’s nerves. “Wait. Are we in the Northerly Court?”
“Certainly not the most attractive part,” said the woman, “but we’re in it, for sure and certain.”
Lottie stopped in her tracks. “You mean to say, those Barghest took us straight to the Northerly Court? We were that close?”
The woman turned to face Lottie. She hesitated. Then she raised her hands and pushed back the hood from her face.
Lottie didn’t know why the woman wore a hood at all, because her face was a beautiful thing to behold. It was delicate and dark-skinned, and her brown eyes shone like kindled firewood. Her hair was short and curled and colored black.
“I guess,” said the woman, “you haven’t heard many tales yet about the Northerly Court. Or about Rebel Gem?”
Lottie stood still a moment more.
“You’re Rebel Gem,” she said softly, her certainty strengthening as she spoke the words.
The woman, who really didn’t look much older than Lottie, smiled in reply.
“Come along,” she said. “I thought you wanted to see your friends.”
Lottie walked on.
“I thought you were a man,” she said. “Like, a really old man. With a beard.”
The woman—could this really be Rebel Gem?—snorted in amusement.
“Fair enough,” she said. “There are plenty who think that. Most Southerlies do. Plenty of Northerlies, as well.”
“But why?” said Lottie. “You’re the head of the Northerlies. Shouldn’t people know who you are?”
Rebel Gem came to a stop outside one of the hallway’s door-like openings.
“You’ll find what you’re looking for through here,” she said.
All Lottie’s confusion and curiosity were momentarily forgotten. She ran through the opening, into a bedroom much like the one she’d just left.
“Fife?” she said. “Fife!”
For there he was, sitting up in a canopied bed, his black hair askew in every which way.
“Hallo, you!” he said, grinning as Lottie hurried to his side. “We thought you’d fallen under a sleeping spell. Really, we did.”
When he said “we,” Fife nodded at the other side of the bed, where Eliot sat cross-legged in an armchair, fast asleep. A book rested on his stomach, its spine cracked.
“He’s been reading to me, that one,” said Fife. “It’s frightfully boring, but he’s been so good about keeping me company, I haven’t the heart to tell him so.”
Lottie smiled affectionately at Eliot.
“Here,” Fife said, patting the edge of the bed. “Sit with me, if you’d like. It only hurts when I’m the one moving.”
“Are you in a lot of pain?” Lottie asked, carefully crawling onto the bed’s edge.
“It’s not so bad,” said Fife. “Rebel Gem’s been tending to me.”
“I know,” said Lottie. “She brought me here.”
Lottie looked to the dark doorway. She didn’t know if Rebel Gem was still there, listening, or if she’d left them alone.
“Okay,” said Fife. “I swear, everyone down in Southerly territory says she’s a man. Didn’t you think she was a man?”
“That’s just what I was saying!”
“You mean you told her that to her face?” Fife said, gaping. “Sweet Oberon, you’re brave.”
“I don’t know if bravery’s got anything to do with it. Mrs. Yates always said I was a very rude person.”
“Whatever you call it,” said Fife, “I like it.”
Lottie cast another look at Eliot. Guessing her thoughts, Fife said, “He hasn’t been coughing. That is to say, he seems all right.”
“Good,” Lottie murmured.
Her mind stirred with the memory of what she and Fife had argued about back on the boat.
“Fife,” she began, but he cut her off.
“Look here,” he said, “I know what you’re about to say, but it’s entirely my fault. I was acting like a right loon back there. I was—well, I dunno, I was angry and hungry and an all-around dog about the whole thing.”
“I shouldn’t have called you a splinter,” Lottie said. “And what you said about me was true: I have been only thinking about Eliot.”
“That’s not—”
“No,” said Lottie. “It’s true. He’s been my only friend for so long, I got used to him being the only person I cared about. I think I’m still learning how to be a good friend to you.”
Fife smiled. “I’d say you’re doing a pretty all right job. Eliot told me how you dragged me all the way here.”
Lottie laughed. “That’s not what happened.”
“What I mean,” said Fife, “is that you do care, and it was rotten of me to say otherwise.”
“So, we’ve made up then?”
Fife grinned. “We’ve made up then.”
“Lottie!”
Eliot had woken from his doze. He quickly set aside his book and threw himself on the bed, crawling over to where she sat.
“Oi!” cried Fife. “Careful, would you? Mind the invalid.”
Eliot wrapped Lottie in a hug.
“I was worried,” he said. “Fife and I thought you’d fallen under some sort of—”
“Enchanted sleep,” Lottie finished, smiling. “So he told me.”
“Have you met Rebel Gem? She’s wonderful.”
“Eliot’s in love with her,” Fife said in a stage whisper.
“I am not! I just said she was elegant, that’s all. Not what I expected, either. I mean, I thought Rebel Gem was some bearded, old guy. And why’re you making that face, Lottie?”
“Oliver and Adelaide,” she said, new worry springing to her heart. “We were just on opposite sides of the bank, and now—now we have no idea where they are.”
“We’re worried, too,” said Eliot, “but Rebel Gem says she’s sure they’ll turn up all right. She sent out a whole bunch of soldiers and gengas to look for them.”
“So she says,” said Fife.
“What? You don’t believe her?” Lottie asked, dropping her voice, for she still wasn’t sure if Rebel Gem was the sort of person to eavesdrop or, worse yet, send spies to eavesdrop on their conversation.
Fife shrugged. “I’m not too keen on authority figures. In my experience, they all turn out to be liars. She’d just better have sent out her best sprites, that’s all.”
Lottie thought back to that awful night in the boat. She thought of Reeve, slumped unconscious, and Dorian standing tall before the ice crawler, sword in hand. She thought of the burning chill of the water as she’d jumped in and of Adelaide’s cries from the opposite bank of the Lissome.
“Yes,” she said. “She’d better have sent
out her very best.”
The three of them had not been talking long when there came a knock at the doorway—though far heavier than a knock ought to have been, and particularly confusing since Lottie knew there was no proper door leading to the room.
“Who is it?” Fife called.
A boy, no older than Lottie, emerged from the shadows outside the room. He was dressed in a vest and long, ratty-looking pants. He carried a bronze staff in one hand; this, Lottie realized, had been the source of the strange knocking noise.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” the boy said, “ ’s only that supper’s being served.”
“Don’t be shy,” said Fife, motioning him to come closer. “It’s just Lottie.”
The boy’s eyes didn’t meet Lottie’s when she looked at him. He had a tight face, very thin around the cheeks and jaw. His hair was pure white.
“He’s been helping take care of me,” Fife said. “Bringing in drinks and soups and chocolates. But no cake. They don’t make cake up here. Isn’t that tragic?”
“Beggin’ your pardon,” the white-haired boy said to Fife. “Rebel Gem says how you’re still to rest, but I’m s’posed to bring her to the suppin’ lawn.”
Lottie didn’t particularly like the way the boy said the word “her,” as though it were more like the word “grub” or “slime.”
“Can’t I just have supper here?” she said.
“Rebel Gem insists. You’ll be able to visit your friends again soon enough.”
The white-haired boy’s eyes finally met hers. Lottie recognized their expression all too well; she’d seen it every day back at Thirsby Square, on Mrs. Yates. It was mostly indifference, but there was just the smallest taint of real hatred there, too. Lottie was shocked. She’d never met this boy before. Why would he look at her that way?
“Don’t I need to change?” she said, motioning to her nightshift.
“We’ll stop by the launderers on the way there, and you can pick up your old clothes. Now c’mon.”
The boy was already through the dark doorway when Lottie turned and made a face at the others, as though to say, Do I really have to leave with him?
The Doorway and the Deep Page 14