by Jeff Wheeler
But Cettie could.
CHAPTER TWO
BRANT FITZROY
Cettie couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t seen ghosts in the Fells. One of her earliest memories was of one of them. Her guardian at the time—the one who had died—had fallen down drunk one evening, snoring loudly and obnoxiously. Cettie had curled up in the corner, unable to sleep because of the noise. The first sign of something amiss was a telltale prickle on the base of her neck, followed by a buzzing sound, almost like the drone of flies over spoiled meat, except deeper and more resonant. She sat up and stared at her guardian, only to see something hovering over him, leaning close as if smelling his breath. This thing was an outline of a person more than anything—a collection of sinewy shapes made of dust motes. And then it began to choke her guardian. The man’s snores had cut off, and he’d fought for breath.
The ghosts hadn’t started bothering Cettie until she was seven or eight years old. Some of them moved from shadow to shadow, slinking and crafty. But the tall one always strode into a room confidently, and the others seemed to give it deference. Whenever Cettie moved to a new dwelling, the tall one found her. As if it came looking for her. This had been going on for four or five years.
The other children started to whimper again. She went about her work, trying to shake off the feeling of threat and fear that came whenever her ghost did. She gathered the littlest ones around her, trying to help them lie down on the wooden floor in a circle around her. She smoothed their hair and whispered promises that food was coming.
“I can’t sleep, Cettie,” mumbled little Alice. “I’m cold.”
“I’ll hold you,” Cettie promised, hugging the child close. All along, she kept an eye on the tall one, the one with no eyes. One time it had reached out a hand and touched her chest, its invisible claws passing through her skin and bones. Oh, the coldness, the numbness, the terror she’d felt . . . the sensation had lasted for days. The ghosts didn’t attack little children. So Cettie surrounded herself and Joses with the young ones each night. It was the only thing that seemed to keep them at bay.
They will all starve. And when they are dead, who will save you from me? You cannot save them. You cannot save yourself.
Alice snuggled against her. Darkness was all around them, but somehow she saw the tall one even better in the dark. Cettie began to hum again, trying to comfort herself and the children. Although the dancing music had no words, she sometimes added them as she went along.
“I’m afraid, Cettie,” whispered James in the darkness. “Is Joses coming back with food?”
Still humming, she reached over to caress his head. It was all she could do. Joses wouldn’t come back with food . . . he wouldn’t come back at all. She squeezed her eyes shut. Should she have encouraged him to stay home instead of wandering the streets looking for a way to steal food?
It is your fault. There were no ghosts here until you came. You are one of the night. And when you die, you will be like one of us. You are one of us already.
Go away! Cettie stopped humming and repeated the thought over and over in her mind, trying to drown out the ghost’s twisted mind. She didn’t want to die. To be trapped in the Fells forever as a ghost that could only be seen by some.
She wasn’t sure how long she wrestled against the being in her mind. She knew the sun would rise eventually—it always did. And when the light came, the tall ghost without eyes would sink into the floorboards. It lived in the cesspit, she believed. A place where it was always dark and fetid. She hated emptying the chamber pots down there. It was the only job she begged Joses to do for her.
When light finally filtered into the room, it wasn’t the slow rise of dawn—it was a bright flare that stabbed at her eyes from the other attic room. Still, it made the ghost hiss and retreat into the shadows. The skylight. The thought was accompanied by the sound of boots landing on the roof. The officers had returned.
Some of the children had fallen asleep and no doubt dreamed of honeyed cakes drizzled in syrup. Others were still too hungry to sleep, and they scrambled to the wall to peer through the ripped chunks in the plaster. Cettie set Alice aside and rose; her knees pained her from the way she’d been sitting. Half crouching, she walked to the wall and peered through one of the gaps. She recognized the mustached officer. He was looking up, talking to another man, someone who wasn’t wearing the uniform of the law.
The newcomer, an older man with lots of silver in his hair, looked like a banker—one of the upper crust. He had on a long coat and polished brown boots with gleaming buckles. He came down the ladder from the skylight, gripping the rungs with bare hands, which surprised Cettie. She’d thought everyone in the upper class wore gloves. The man blocked the light, which put him in shadow for a moment, and Cettie tried to adjust her position to see. The noise from the attic must have alerted Miss Charlotte, because the woman promptly let out a wailing cry that filled the entire house.
Footsteps in the stairwell announced another officer, one holding a frosted-glass lantern. He strode up to the lieutenant and the new arrival.
“She’s come to and is begging us not to take the children away,” the officer said. “Apparently there is no husband brave enough to return with all of us here. She has the deeds, smudged as they are, and earns her bread caring for these tramps. I had them checked with the ministry. It’s legal. She has the right to care for them.” He gestured toward the room where Cettie was watching from a hole in the wall. “Not much to live on, but she says she’ll starve if we take them all away, Lieutenant Staunton.”
“She does nothing but buy more drink,” Staunton snorted angrily. “I don’t believe her. The children are clearly neglected.”
“Neither do I, but it’s already causing a ruckus in the street. Many have stepped forward and offered to take the children, but they’ll likely end up back here again if we allow it. This lot looks after their own.”
Staunton grimaced. The bright light pouring from the skylight suddenly winked out. Cettie squinted, trying to see. Only a single lantern remained to light the dark. She felt the tall ghost moving toward her once again.
The lieutenant turned to the silver-haired gentleman. “We can’t hand over the children to strangers, Vice Admiral,” Staunton said. “What do you advise?”
“Let me see the children,” the newcomer said. There was something about his voice. It wasn’t gruff or impatient or scolding. There was hardly a word fit to describe it, but it was almost . . . gentle. Early on in life, Cettie had learned to quickly discern whether an adult could be trusted. Most of them couldn’t be. But something deep inside her whispered that maybe this one was different.
“Back to bed,” Cettie whispered to the other children gathered at the wall. “Be still. Be quiet.” She felt the ringing in her ears again, louder this time. But the ghost with no eyes was no longer focused on her. A hissing noise was coming from it. She felt a whorl of hatred inside the being, directed at the newcomer.
But there was no time to process the information or make sense of it. She didn’t want the officers to know the children had been eavesdropping—surely such an act would be punished—so she hurried to get the little ones settled around her again.
Through the walls she heard Staunton say, “This way, Vice Admiral.”
None of the children had blankets, but there were a few dirty sheets, and Cettie covered as many of them as she could before the officers arrived. The door creaked open, and the dim light from the lantern shoved away the shadows. It was not bright enough to make Cettie wince. Nor was it bright enough to send the ghost away. The feeling of animosity pulsing from the being made her shudder.
Cettie had witnessed enough in her short years to know ghosts could affect humans, sometimes even hurt them, as had happened with her guardian. Only the younger children were safe. But until now, she hadn’t realized ghosts could be affected by the living in return. The newcomer, who was clearly a military man because of the rank she’d heard mentioned, looked outraged b
y what he saw. Then he met Cettie’s eyes. He spoke to her, singling her out from the rest.
“Have they had anything to eat all day?”
It made a spark light up in her heart. It was a tiny spark, but it was enough to embolden her.
“Indeed not, my lord,” she answered, bowing her head, trying to please him. He looked startled by her words. She was trying to think of something else to say, a way to be useful to him, when he suddenly whirled around and began marching downstairs, no doubt to confront Miss Charlotte.
The officers followed the one called Fitzroy. The children continued to murmur, and Cettie told them that if they were good, the nice man would bring them food. That little spark of hope in her heart had built into a blaze. Something told her the man would help them. She left the circle of children and quietly stepped into the hall. She could hear the voices down below as Fitzroy tried to get Miss Charlotte to answer simple questions. The woman was still hysterical.
Moving quietly, Cettie stepped into the other room. She gazed at the ladder and then up at the open skylight. Without any forethought, she padded up the rungs and poked her head out the window, feeling her tattered skirt sway around her legs. It was a cold night. The breeze made her dark hair blow into her face, and she brushed the strands away. There was a rope ladder leading up to the floating zephyr.
Cettie bit her lip and squeezed the top rung of the skylight ladder. She didn’t see anyone aboard the airship, but that didn’t mean it was empty. Wouldn’t the pilot of the vessel have remained behind? It hung just above the sloping rooftop—so close she imagined she could touch the bottom if she jumped high enough. Was this the chance she’d been waiting for? She’d dreamed of stowing away aboard a zephyr and going to a cloud manor. Clearly that was where the vice admiral was from . . .
She hesitated. If she snuck aboard, she’d surely be caught. Maybe Lord Fitzroy would take her with him if she asked? What harm could come of asking?
She felt the presence of the tall one in the room and hurried back down the ladder. It didn’t need to use doors or hallways. It could pass through the cracked walls.
“Go away,” she said in her most threatening voice. She didn’t feel fear at the moment, just a blinding determination to escape the Fells.
Cettie left the room and rushed to the head of the stairs. She could hear angry words from below. Miss Charlotte wasn’t pleased. Then Cettie realized that Lord Fitzroy was asking about her.
“I’ll ask you again, ma’am. Who is the waif that puts the other children to bed?” he said.
“Her? I know who ye means, milord. Nothing fears her. Not her, milord. Saucy she is. Not even a thrashing will break her.”
“What is her name?”
“Cettie,” said Miss Charlotte with a hint of savageness in her voice. It made Cettie frown with anger. Should she hurry down the steps and try to defend herself? No . . . be patient. He’ll come back up. That’s where the sky ship is. “She taint like us, milord. She taint. She’s not from this world. Not that un.”
Cettie had never tried to be part of the Fells. Although she wore a ragged dress and her shoes had gaping holes in them, she’d always attempted to speak with dignity in the hopes of attaining something better.
Fitzroy was quiet for a while. The quiet seemed to unnerve Miss Charlotte, who started to gibber for forgiveness, for another chance to tend the children.
No! Cettie wanted to scream. Don’t believe her!
“I will come back here in three days,” Fitzroy said solemnly. “If there are not beds and blankets for those children, if there isn’t food to spare in your larder, then I promise you, woman, by the Mysteries, your deeds will be revoked, and I will put you in prison myself. Do not test my patience in this. You’ve treated these children with shameful neglect. Beware when I return if I do not find all well here. Do you understand me?”
Miss Charlotte was gibbering again, but this time in relief. She was praising his name, invoking blessings on him, and weeping openly.
“Staunton, those children need to eat tonight and again in the morning. I will cover the expense. See it is done. I will not allow them to go hungry another moment.” Fitzroy sounded disgusted.
“Yes, sir.”
Then Cettie heard the march of approaching footsteps and retreated into the room, once again surrounding herself with the children. She knelt on the hard floor, pressing her mouth with her fingers, wondering what she could say. If she could get herself into a better situation, perhaps she could help Joses and ensure the little ones were well fed. And the tall ghost would undoubtedly leave, too. It would come looking for her, but surely it would not find her in one of the cloud manors. Her mind whirled frantically. Could she convince Fitzroy to take her away? Would he consider it? Hope blazed so brightly inside her that she leaned into it, even though her life experiences had taught her not to trust in miracles.
As the sound of the steps reached the top floor, the light from the zephyr came flooding back on, bathing the next room in radiance.
Please come back, she thought with desperation. Don’t leave me here. Please come back.
Fitzroy didn’t leave. He went straight to the cramped room where Cettie sat huddled with the children. He stood in the doorway, illuminated by the light from the next room. Cettie stared at him, trying to think of what to say. Could she ask to be his servant, to polish his boots? Surely he already had five servants who did that . . .
The ghost without eyes was there in the corner, seething at him. It was afraid of him. It hated him.
That only made her more eager to go with him.
Cettie hugged Alice and smoothed her hair, still searching for the right words to make her plea. Please take me with you, she thought. Don’t leave me here.
Slowly, Fitzroy squatted down, bringing himself closer to their level, watching them all shivering. He lowered his head, and Cettie felt something stir in the room. It was deeper and warmer than the buzzing sound that accompanied the ghost; it felt almost like music. A warmth filled her heart, and she felt a pulse of . . . something fill the room. The tall one hissed and fell through the floorboards, as if a trapdoor had opened beneath it.
The warm feeling spread across the floor, over the walls, and even around the window frame. The whimpering of the children ceased at once. Those who were awake stared at Fitzroy in wonder. Even the sleeping children looked more at peace.
Fitzroy stood slowly, almost weakly—as if what he had done had exhausted him. His hands began to fidget, and he clasped them behind his back to still them. He gave the children a sad look and turned to go.
Cettie still couldn’t believe what she had witnessed. The man had driven the ghost away. “It’s gone now,” she said.
Fitzroy stopped, lingering at the doorway. “What, my dear?” he asked in his gentle way.
“You made it go. It’s gone now.”
The bright light coming from the other room shadowed his face, hiding his expression from her, but his voice sounded worried. “Did you . . . did you see it?”
She slowly nodded.
“I’m coming back in three days,” he promised. “I’ll look in on you.” His voice sounded raspy, as if he were struggling with his emotions. “I promise. I’ll not abandon you.”
Then he started walking down the hall toward the window and the rope ladder.
No! Cettie felt the blazing hope in her chest start to dim. No, he couldn’t leave her behind. This man could keep her safe from the ghosts. She would do anything to go with him. She’d do the lowliest of jobs in his manor.
Cettie rose from the ring of children and went after him. She had no idea what to say or what to do, but the need to leave this place was overpowering. This was her chance.
A boldness seized her. Without thinking, she caught hold of his hand and stopped him. He turned, not angry, just surprised. There was a strange look on his face—at once pained and wistful.
The words came gushing out of her mouth. She hadn’t planned what to say.
“Will you please adopt me?” she begged, clinging to his hand.
In their touch was unseen energy, binding them together. He seemed so familiar to her in that moment, as if she’d known him all her life. As if she’d held his hand a hundred times before. What a queer feeling, like the entire future had spilled out before them, shocking in its intensity, its reality. They both felt it. She could see it in his eyes. For a moment, they just stared at each other, caught in a singular moment that defied explanation.
“If I can,” he whispered hoarsely.
CHAPTER THREE
FOG WILLOWS
Cettie of the Fells was flying in a zephyr.
She wasn’t afraid—it was something she had always imagined doing, and rather than alarm her, the lift and sway of the vessel excited her. But she was still reeling from the scene at Miss Charlotte’s house. She wasn’t sure what had possessed her to ask that man to adopt her—or what had possessed him to answer as he had. The wonder of it had pulsed through her as she climbed the very rope ladder she’d eyed from the attic room.
Although she didn’t know why she’d asked such a brazen thing, perhaps she’d done right to speak up. If she hadn’t, she likely wouldn’t be riding a zephyr into the sky in the middle of the night with a vice admiral. She would finally have the opportunity to set foot in one of the mansions floating in the sky.
The wind was bitingly cold, but she was too intent on soaking in every detail of the journey to pay it any heed. The interior of the zephyr consisted of a single aisle split by small weather-beaten benches on either side. There were rope handholds fastened to brass rings throughout. At the back of the zephyr was a narrow door that led to a compartment. The pilot was situated above that section, in a railed-off area. He stood in front of a big, anvil-shaped helm, and while the wheel didn’t turn, he clung to the spars protruding from it. The pilot had some ropes hooked to his belt with loops, connected to the railing behind him. On the opposite end, at the front of the ship, a small ladder led up to the prow. A man crouched there, watching the path ahead. Cettie looked off the side of the ship and saw two more spars sticking out, angled like fish fins. Her fingers, gripping the rope handhold at the edge of the railing, were so cold they were numb. Her teeth were chattering, but she didn’t care.