by Jeff Wheeler
ALSO BY JEFF WHEELER
The Kingfountain Series
The Poisoner’s Enemy (prequel)
The Maid’s War (prequel)
The Queen’s Poisoner
The Thief’s Daughter
The King’s Traitor
The Hollow Crown
The Silent Shield
The Forsaken Throne
The Legends of Muirwood Trilogy
The Wretched of Muirwood
The Blight of Muirwood
The Scourge of Muirwood
The Covenant of Muirwood Trilogy
The Banished of Muirwood
The Ciphers of Muirwood
The Void of Muirwood
The Lost Abbey (novella)
Whispers from Mirrowen Trilogy
Fireblood
Dryad-Born
Poisonwell
Landmoor Series
Landmoor
Silverkin
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2018 by Jeff Wheeler
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by 47North, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503902329
ISBN-10: 1503902323
Cover design by Mike Heath | Magnus Creative
To Jennifer
CONTENTS
START READING
CETTIE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
A certain type . . .
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
SERA
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
Just as thoughts . . .
CHAPTER NINE
CETTIE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SERA
Some think that . . .
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CETTIE
They say that . . .
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY–ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY–TWO
SERA
One of the . . .
CHAPTER TWENTY–THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY–FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY–FIVE
CETTIE
It is not . . .
CHAPTER TWENTY–SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY–SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY–EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY–NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY–ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY–TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY–THREE
SERA
Most speculations end . . .
CHAPTER THIRTY–FOUR
CETTIE
CHAPTER THIRTY–FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY–SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY–SEVEN
SERA
CHAPTER THIRTY–EIGHT
Even the ancient . . .
AUTHOR’S NOTE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
There are many worlds. Yet we constantly separate ourselves, by degrees, from the others. We create arbitrary distinctions to set ourselves apart. But let me speak first of the two main worlds that orbit each other. There are those who live in estates and cities that have mastered the clouds and sit on their perch of air to overlook the vast landscapes below. That is the upper world. The world of the wealthy. The world of the gifted. The world where the Mysteries hold sway. The other world is darker. There are neighborhoods of extreme poverty. Winding alleys and street urchins and gangs. This is a world of fog. It is a world of coughing, sickness, and pestilence. It is a world where industry beckons the ambitious to risk their all—and where the mighty and rich descend in shame after their fortunes have been ruined by games of chance and power. These are very different worlds. And yet, they are much the same.
—Lady Corinne of Pavenham Sky
CETTIE
CHAPTER ONE
THE GIRL WHO CAN SEE THEM
Cettie of the Fells. That was what people called her. She had small glimpses of memory of the time before, but they were so far back that, try as she might, she could wring no details from them. One of the memories was of an officer in his regimentals, so she had always fancied that her birth father was a captain of a sky brigade. She had the vague impression of a long brown mustache and sideburns, of thick wavy hair the color of chestnuts, and of eyes the color of clouds. It was a brooding face, a sad face. He’d given her up to another, however, and when she was three or four, her new guardian died. The rent collector found her not long after, half starving, determined not to go outside and ask for help for fear she’d be taken away. And for good reason. The magistrate promptly delivered her to a cruel woman who only accepted Cettie’s deed for the payment she’d receive in exchange. That first woman had given way to another and then another and then her current guardian, Miss Charlotte, but they were all the same—they made the children they took in work, and they punished them. Everything since had been a blur of misery. It had all brought Cettie to this moment, darting through the streets of the Fells, searching for a glimpse of her missing friend.
Cettie and Joses were Miss Charlotte’s eldest wards, and, together, they took care of the younger children in the household. They were rarely given food by their guardian, so Joses stole to feed them. He’d never been caught before, but he’d been away for much too long this time. What if the authorities had found him?
The streets were chaotic and crowded. The Fells brimmed with businesses of every shape and sort—smelters, glass makers, linen weavers—as well as factories that made sugar, factories that hewed wood, and factories that hacked animals into bits. Some of the meat fed the factory workers, who in turn fed the factories with their wits and brawn. The rest was crated and boxed and hefted aboard sky ships to ascend to the manors in the clouds, where cooks would prepare it in feasts to be hewed and slurped by the rich.
Cettie had heard people whisper tales that the Fells had once been a thriving industrial center with happy inhabitants, but she only knew it as a smoky, crowded series of mismatched tenements—a place where everything was part prey and part predator. After the sun went down, even the officers were afraid to walk the streets.
And the dark was coming, but she still hadn’t found Joses.
A gnawing feeling of dread and desperation overpowered the hunger in her hollow ribs as she tramped through the streets, searching for a sign of her friend’s dark hair, for the subtle swagger she’d recognize in an instant.
A shadow passed overhead, and she looked up quickly. It wasn’t a cloud blotting the light; it was a sky ship—a zephyr, the smallest kind. Nimble and quick, they were notorious for their use by agents of Law, but they were also sometimes used to transport people or letters from one end of the Fells to the other. As this one passed, she craned her neck to watch it go by. She had no idea how the wooden hull, the spars, and the side sails managed to float through the air. It
was a magic of sorts. One of the Mysteries.
A heavy body slammed into her and knocked her to the ground. The impact stunned her, but she hastily came to her feet before someone stepped on her fingers, tore her tattered dress, or collided with her again.
“Watch yerself!” scolded a worker angrily. She retreated from him, lest he take a swing at her. Even so, as soon as she was a good distance from him, her gaze found the zephyr again. It was one of her dreams to steal aboard a sky ship and be taken to one of the floating manors. Though none of them were located directly above the Fells, she’d heard people from the City speak about what it was like to live underneath the upper class’s hulking sky manors. They hovered over the City in an interconnected maze, leaving the area below in shadow come noonday. There was a risk that whatever magic upheld the manors might fail and those living below would be crushed, yet people still swarmed to live in the City, willing to take that risk in the hopes of a better life.
Cettie had never set foot outside of the Fells, but she dreamed of leaving. If she proved herself capable and useful and a hard worker, she hoped to one day qualify for the lottery and earn a position at one of the floating manors.
The slant of the sun on the street warned her that time was running out. Maybe Joses was already back at Miss Charlotte’s? Could they have missed each other? Cettie hated being away from the younger children for so long. No doubt some of the littlest ones were already crying for want of food, and if their guardian awoke from her drunken stupor, there would be beatings. If she didn’t make it back, what would happen to them? That settled things in her mind. She whirled around in the middle of the street, starting back through the throng. It was hard to soothe hungry children, and even as she walked, she scanned the cobbles for a dirty farthing. But there was nothing to be found, and she already knew there wasn’t a scrap of food in Miss Charlotte’s dwelling.
She glanced back once more to look for Joses, only to discover a boy following her. He was probably sixteen, and he was much taller than her. He had the look of a gang member—feral eyes, grimy coat and cap, and a dangerous air. She had nothing to steal, but gangs were always looking for novices. Others who could be trained to take the risks while they reaped the rewards. She hastened her steps, her breath coming fast and hard.
She lived in a busy area, and the noise and commotion made her ears ache. After several blocks, she risked another backward glance. The young man was still trailing her. He met her gaze this time, a sort of acknowledgment to her that he was indeed following her, seeing where she’d lead him. Well, Cettie had no doubt that Miss Charlotte could thrash a sixteen-year-old boy well enough. She’d not want to lose any of the income the children’s deeds brought her.
She almost stopped midstride when she saw a zephyr hovering over the row of tenements. Was it the same one she’d seen overhead earlier?
A crowd had gathered in the street to gawk at it. A few people pointed fingers. Some hurled curses. The law was not respected in certain places within the Fells. Yes, the lawyers and tradesmen within the city center thought highly of it—after all, the law upheld their rights and protected their wealth—but in the tenements the officers could be brutal and cruel. A sick feeling replaced the nervous one.
The zephyr was hovering over Miss Charlotte’s.
Cettie heard shouting the moment she opened the door. Miss Charlotte was in hysterics. The men speaking with her were trying to be civil, but it was clear they were losing patience.
“If you don’t produce the deeds, ma’am, then you cannot prove your words. Stop wailing and fetch them.”
“When my husban’ gets back, he’ll not stand for this! Can’t you wait till he gets back?”
“We cannot wait. It will be dark soon.” A sigh of exasperation. Cettie heard the crying children through the holes in the walls. No doubt they were terrified by the fuss, especially if Joses had not returned to comfort them.
Cettie approached the stairs carefully, trying to keep her ripped shoes from making a sound. Miss Charlotte snuffled and devolved into tears again, her words garbled by her emotion. Cettie peeked around the corner and saw several officers of the law gathered around the sofa, wearing their dark jackets with gold stripes and gray cloaks. Their boots were high and glossy.
One of the officers turned and saw her. “There’s another one!”
She did not run. Instead, she walked into the room, trying to stand up straight even though she was starting to tremble. She had never encountered an officer before. They were tall and strong, and they’d come in a zephyr!
“How old are you, lass?” one of them asked. He had sandy-brown hair and a mustache.
“I don’t know. Twelve, I think,” Cettie answered. She took pride in using proper words. She knew she would need to speak well if she hoped to work for one of the wealthy households.
“You live here?” he pressed.
She nodded. “What is the problem, sir?”
“At least you’re not hysterical,” the officer grumbled. “Did you come from the street just now?”
“I did,” she answered simply.
“Let me see your hands. Are you hiding anything behind your back?”
Cettie hadn’t realized her hands were behind her back. She unclenched her fingers and displayed her dirty palms.
He frowned. “Do you have any pockets? Any money?”
“I have nothing,” Cettie said. “Why are you here?”
“Don’t be impertinent,” another officer snapped impatiently.
“Easy on her,” said the first. “At least she’s sober. So you live here? You know this woman?”
Cettie nodded. “She’s my guardian.”
“Don’t listen to her!” Miss Charlotte snarled. “Send her up to quiet the little uns. That’s all she’s good for. I’m the mistress of this house. You wait until my husband gets back. I don’t know where the lad went. I can’t afford no advocate. You can’t—”
“Shut it!” the officer with the mustache said, turning and yelling at her. “You get the deeds. Bring them to me right now, or I’ll arrest you and take you to the Ministry of Law, so help me. Do it!”
Miss Charlotte cowered and started sobbing again, but she crept back toward her rooms to do the man’s bidding.
“I will go quiet the children, if you please,” Cettie said gently, hoping he wouldn’t yell at her next.
“Hold,” the mustached officer said. He held up a black-gloved hand and gave her a serious look. “A boy was caught stealing. Said he did it because you had no food here. Not a crust. Is that true?”
Joses. Cettie’s knees were knocking, and her throat was too thick to speak. She felt like crying. They’d caught Joses. That meant she’d never see him again. But she would be truthful. Maybe the officers would bring the children food. Maybe they’d even take pity on her friend.
She nodded.
The man frowned again, and she feared another outburst. “The lad’s name?”
“Joses,” Cettie choked out.
The two officers looked at each other, and one nodded. “What do we do, Lieutenant Staunton?” he said. “The magistrate left for the City.”
“I know,” said the mustached officer gruffly. He cast his eyes around the squalid place. “We need someone to act here. The children are starving. The woman has drunk away all her money.” He pursed his lips. “I’ll go up to Fog Willow. Fitzroy will come oversee this mess. He’ll know what to do.”
“You won’t be back before dark,” said the other nervously.
“Just barricade the door after I go. We’ll come through the skylight anyway. I’ll leave four men with you here and take Benson and Ricks with me.” He craned his neck, as if just then noticing the wailing of the children. He turned to Cettie. “Go comfort them if you can, lass. What was your name again?”
“Cettie,” she answered.
He looked at her long and slow and jerked his head for her to leave. Cettie hastened up the rickety stairs. There were two rooms in the attic. One
had the skylight the officer would use upon his return, and the other was where the children slept, as far away from their guardian as possible.
If Miss Charlotte heard any whimpering, she’d march up the flights of stairs and thrash every one of the children, even if only one of them had been suffering. Cettie reached the room, and the children mobbed her immediately, frightened out of their wits. Officers had come in through the skylight. They were yelling at Miss Charlotte. Where was Joses? Did she have any food?
She felt as if the flood of concerns would knock her down. There was no food to give them. Some hadn’t eaten in several days, including herself. Her bony arms and ribs were a testament to the famine. One of the little girls stroked Cettie’s dark hair. The lights did not work upstairs, and the sun was failing. It was getting darker and darker.
“Come kneel down on the floor,” Cettie offered in a whisper. She knelt first and drew them around her, hugging each one. She tried to explain that Joses had been caught stealing. There wasn’t any food, but she hoped the officers would bring some. Looking into their desperate faces, she tried to smile. She felt like sobbing.
She hummed a popular dancing song for them. The shadows got thicker. The whimpering began to subside.
Joses was gone. He’d be locked behind an iron grate in a cell and left to die. No one other than her would remember him. No one would feed him. The thoughts pounded against her mind over and over as she hummed, trying to keep the young ones calm. Some sniffled. A little boy fell asleep on the floor at her feet.
How long would the officers be gone? The man with the mustache had said they were going to Fog Willow, one of the sky estates. What she would have given to just see a glimpse of it . . .
You’ll never see one. You’ll die in the Fells like the rest. Maybe Joses is the lucky one. Starving to death is quick. Painless. Like falling asleep. Fall asleep, Cettie. Fall asleep.
She heard a buzzing sound in her ears. The darkness of the room suddenly felt oppressive. The little girl she was hugging began to shudder and whimper.
“Shhhh,” Cettie soothed, feeling a malevolence stir in the dark. It was the tall one, the tenement ghost who had haunted her for years. The one without eyes. Of course it would come to her on a night like this, when the suffering at Miss Charlotte’s house was the most acute. Its whispering voice loved to taunt her, to choose the words that would torment her most. None of the other children could see the ghost. Or hear it.