Storm Glass (The Harbinger Series Book 1)

by Jeff Wheeler

  “I won’t go back,” Cettie said, shaking her head.

  “You will. Because I said you will. It seems your parents are tired of negotiating with that fool advocate Mr. Sloan. They will get more from the master if they first have you in their possession. Each deed contains a recapture clause for the child’s parents that is viable even if the deed has been paid off. Not even Sloan and Teitelbaum can deny them their right.” She gave Cettie a savage grin. “Your mother’s right is the strongest.”

  Cettie gazed at Mrs. Pullman. “You know where my mother is?”

  “Of course I do,” Mrs. Pullman said. “I’m the one who sent her away, too. To a place she was never found. Where she will never be found.” The hatred in Mrs. Pullman’s eyes made Cettie quake with dread. “I have many connections down below, child. People with power. People who owe me favors for bringing their friends or family to work here. A zephyr is coming. Lieutenant Staunton is fulfilling his final duty before his promotion. When I come back to fetch you, you will come peacefully. Or there will be bruises. It makes no difference to me.”

  Mrs. Pullman carried her lantern to the door. She withdrew her set of keys and unlocked it. She gave Cettie a cunning look before shutting and locking the door again.

  There was no doubt in Cettie’s mind that Mrs. Pullman would fulfill her threats. She’d clearly been planning this for some time. Fitzroy was already far away, still bound for Lockhaven, and it could take days for news to reach him. Lady Maren and Anna were likely fast asleep; they wouldn’t notice she’d been taken until it was much too late for them to intervene. She shook like a leaf in a storm and felt like dissolving into tears. But tears wouldn’t help her solve her problem.

  She had to do it on her own.

  As she stood trembling, she calmed her breathing using the techniques Raj Sarin had taught her. She needed to calm her frenzied mind. After a few minutes of practice, she felt her wits beginning to return. What should she do?

  First, she decided to change into the dress. If she wandered the streets and alleys of the Fells in one of the gowns from the manor, she would stand out as an easy victim. Wearing her shift, she’d be even more vulnerable. So she snatched the tattered dress and hastily put it on. She remembered how loose it had been on her thin frame when she’d last worn it. Now the sleeves squeezed her arms and shoulders, and the hem exposed too much leg for anyone’s sense of propriety. Had she really grown so much since coming to Fog Willows? She could hardly believe it.

  There was a hole in the elbow, and many of the seams were stretching to the bursting point. The shoes were falling apart and felt tight and jagged against her feet. They’d once belonged to her, but now they felt like a stranger’s. Cettie parted the curtain that faced the landing yard and saw her own reflection. It brought back painful memories, and again her mind started to take flight into reckless panic. But she breathed deeply and calmed herself. She saw the zephyr had positioned itself below the landing platform instead of above it. Mrs. Pullman probably intended to shove her off the edge.

  Cettie bit her lip, trying to think. The door was locked. The garret held no exit. But what about the windows? Mrs. Pullman’s room was full of windows that faced every direction. She hurried to the one opposite the landing yard and tugged on the lever. She heard the noise of footsteps coming up the stairs and recognized Mrs. Pullman’s heavy, deliberate step. The handle was difficult to move, but she put all her strength to it and tugged it loose. She pushed open the window, and a gust of icy wind struck her.

  Even though the wind stung her eyes, she squinted and gazed out. The tower housing Mrs. Pullman’s room was at one end of a long ridged roofline leading back to the main house. The roof’s stone shingles were very steep and likely slippery. Leaving the tower, she’d be on a sharp angle and have to climb up to the ridgeline leading to the main house. That was flat and narrow and would be easier to traverse. If she could make it to the main house, she could try to wake a servant by hitting one of the upper windows, or maybe she could break it with her shoe.

  She glanced back at the door. In her mind, she made the decision that she wouldn’t willingly go back to the Fells. She didn’t want to be swallowed up like Christina.

  Cettie climbed out the window. The wind blew sharply against her, making her suddenly dizzy and fearful. The shingles were damp and slick. She doubted herself. Now that she was outside, the cold began to suck at her, making her fingers and cheeks numb. And she had always been somewhat afraid of heights, so her precarious position was terrifying. Clinging to the window frame, she edged her way along the roof to the next one. Fear stabbed her again; there wasn’t much to grab on to, and the wind was blowing at her, making her unsure of her balance. But she made it past the second window and then the third. The ridgeline of the roof was just ahead. The spine looked very narrow upon closer examination. If she ran toward it, she thought her momentum might carry her to it. Then she could dash along the spine.

  The wind whistled in her ears. She gazed at the dim horizon and saw just a strip of yellow from the rising sun. It was barely visible against a backdrop of clouds. Had another storm been brewing during the night since she had last taken a reading on the storm glass?

  Cettie judged the distance to the roofline and made her decision. She could be there in three steps. If she kept herself light on her feet, she would make it.

  Cettie took a deep breath, wishing she had Raj Sarin’s abilities, and started a dash for the ridge. The shoes she wore were too smooth and slipped on the shingles. She crashed onto the roof, clawing for the roofline with her fingers as she began to slide down. Her stomach lurched as her speed increased. She tried to grab anything, but there was nothing to grip. She was sliding toward the edge, scraping her palms and shins as she went.

  She spread her arms wide, trying to hug the roof, and the descent slowed. She was sprawled halfway down the roof, and her body was still sliding. She gasped for breath and realized each spasm was tugging her lower. The only way she could manage to stop the downward slide was to calm her breathing.

  Pure panic erupted inside of her. Her fingertips struggled to grip the shingles. Her elbows throbbed. She didn’t know how long she waited there, breathing shallowly, silently hoping she wouldn’t fall off the roof and plummet off the estate. The wind lashed around her, making her colder and colder.

  Hearing a noise, she looked up and saw Mrs. Pullman leaning out the window with confusion. Then, looking down, she spied Cettie on the roof. A look of exasperated anger wrinkled her features even more.

  “Go ahead and fall, child!” Mrs. Pullman sneered. “Is that what you want? To kill yourself?”

  Cettie shook her head no and felt herself slide even farther. She was terrified and pressed herself against the roof. Now she wished she’d tried another way.

  As she hung there, too afraid to move, the wind picked up its viciousness. Mrs. Pullman stood at the window, muttering to herself, no doubt about Cettie’s stupidity. She wasn’t sure how much time passed like that, with her clinging to the roof with aching fingers.

  The sky was getting brighter and brighter, revealing the details of this place that had become her home. She saw Mrs. Pullman waving, and then a shadow fell over her. It was the zephyr.

  The creak of ropes sounded. She heard a man grunting as he climbed down. Then a sturdy pair of boots landed next to her on the roof.

  “Come on, lass. Enough trouble.” She recognized Lieutenant Staunton’s voice. His strong hands gripped her waist and hoisted her off the roof and slung her over his shoulder.

  “Hold tight. I don’t want to drop you. It’s a long way down.”

  She looked into his face, her mind full of anger and helplessness. She opened her mouth to accuse him of betrayal.

  But her throat tightened, and no words at all came out. Just like Lady Admiral, Cettie’s voice had been taken away.

  CHAPTER THIRTY–THREE

  CETTIE OF THE FELLS

  With anguish pounding against her heart like thunder, C
ettie watched the Fells come into view beneath the sleek zephyr. She was sick inside and not because the sky ship lowered at a precipitous rate. Gripping the edge of the railing and shivering because of the wind whipping through her threadbare dress, she saw the dismal tenements loom closer, the pocked gray walls stained with chimney smoke. Even worse, she remembered the persistent tenement ghosts. What little protection Mrs. Pullman had allowed her in Fog Willows would be stripped away.

  And, to make matters worse, she had no voice.

  Lieutenant Staunton paced, his expression betraying the agitation of his mind. He was pursuing his own interests, of course, getting the captain’s post he had always wanted. But Cettie could feel something raking against his mind. An inner part of her whispered that his actions were tormenting him.

  “More to the starboard,” Staunton barked in command. The pilot obeyed, and the zephyr lurched to the right.

  “Aye, sir,” he replied.

  How much had the pilot been told? Probably nothing. He was just following the commands of his superior. He may have felt some pity for Cettie’s fate, but he likely did not know what had been arranged. The zephyr was not approaching the business district of the Fells, where the factories and government buildings and law offices were located. No, they were headed into the tenements. If she was being brought to her father and stepmother, as the old keeper had implied, she imagined they would be easier for Fitzroy to find. People changed dwellings often, and there was no way to follow a trail without effort. Besides, if they were truly taking her to her mother, Fitzroy would have little hope of finding her. After months of searching, he still didn’t have a lead on the woman. By the time he learned of Cettie’s disappearance, she might be locked in a cesspit cellar, unable to cry out if he searched for her.

  She had to take action. Even without words, she could still communicate.

  Walking up to Staunton, she tugged at his sleeve. He flinched and turned, looking down at her with a clenched jaw. She gave him an accusing look and shook her head no. Then she pointed back to the sky, back toward Fog Willows.

  Her demand made him wince. “I can’t, lass,” he whispered, scraping his nails through his hair.

  She stomped her foot and pointed again, staring at him with mingled fury and determination.

  The zephyr shuddered and jolted up suddenly, making her stomach thrill. She felt a growing awareness of the craft. Something told her it had felt her thought of command . . . and it had responded to it.

  “Jaggers!” Staunton yelled.

  “The controls are fighting me,” the man called back. The zephyr shuddered again but continued its descent.

  Cettie leaned into the thought, into the demand, that they return to Fog Willows. The zephyr started rattling.

  “What’s going on, man!” Staunton said, whirling around and striding to the helm.

  “She’s kicking against me,” the pilot said in confusion.

  “It’s the girl,” Staunton muttered. He turned and gave Cettie a sharp look. “Stop it!”

  Cettie had no intention of stopping it. She felt the core of the zephyr, an inner intelligence that directed its motion, direction, and speed. It was receiving conflicting orders, growing confused by the wills pressing at it.

  The zephyr bucked, knocking Staunton and Cettie off their feet. The pilot groaned, cursing under his breath.

  “I’m warning you, lass,” Staunton said angrily, struggling to grip the railing. Cettie felt the weight of his thoughts join the pilot’s, and the descent became controlled once more.

  “Sir, what is going on?” demanded the frightened pilot.

  “Hold fast, Jaggers. Fix your purpose.”

  Cettie stared at the pilot and pushed her thoughts past him into the middle of the zephyr. Closer to the rooftops. Closer.

  The ship began to buck again, more violently this time, and both men groaned as it dipped furiously. The motion shoved Cettie against the side of the railing. She glanced down, seeing the peaked rooftops and broken shingles.

  “We’re going to crash, sir!” Jaggers yelled. “I’m losing control of her!”

  Staunton’s eyes blazed with fury. He struggled to his feet, swaying from the bucking of the zephyr, and pulled himself hand over hand along the railing ropes toward her.

  “Enough!” Staunton shouted, striking Cettie across the face so hard it made her vision black out for a moment. She collapsed onto the deck boards, dizzy with nausea and confusion. The world was spinning around her, and she fought to stay conscious. If she failed, she’d have no idea where they landed, no idea how close she was to the city center.

  Her cheek stung and her cheekbone throbbed. Looking up, she saw Lieutenant Staunton towering over her, his face full of fury and fear. The zephyr was rising again. The pilot had regained control.

  “If you try that again,” he warned her savagely, looking ready to kick her while she lay crumpled on the floor.

  Cettie closed her fist and drew in a calming breath as Raj Sarin had taught her. There was no way she could fight two grown men and win. She had no illusion about that. But she refused to accept her fate, refused to go along docilely. She would do all that she could to free herself. She would not be lost to the Fells like Christina. Cettie was determined to be found.

  She slowly got to her knees, preparing herself. The zephyr was rising again. She didn’t have a moment to lose. Cettie struck Lieutenant Staunton in the groin as hard as she could. His eyes widened with shock and instant agony, and he bowled over, issuing a hissing gasp. She slapped him across the face with a blow that stung her hand and then raced down the back of the sky ship.

  She didn’t pause as she reached the edge of the railing. Clambering up the back, she saw the nest of roofs below, sinking farther and farther down. Her mind went black with terror at the thought of jumping. Many of the roofs below had skylights . . .

  “No!” Staunton moaned, gazing at her in horror.

  Jaggers shouted in shock. “Lieutenant, she’s going to—!”

  His words were cut off as she jumped.

  Cettie watched the roof rush up to meet her. The thrill of falling lasted only moments. She feared she might miss the edge of the roof entirely and plummet down five stories to shatter on the street below. But she struck the wooden shingles with her knees and elbows, just a few feet from the dirty glass of a skylight.

  The bone-jarring crash of the wood exploded in her ears, and suddenly everything was dark. The roof caved in on impact, and she plunged into the attic of the tenement, landing in a heap of broken wood and splinters. The attic was dusty and full of rats, which squealed and scattered upon her intrusion. The wind had been knocked out of her, and she lay writhing and struggling to breathe. Looking up, she saw the huge hole in the roof and was amazed she hadn’t shattered all her bones. The pain and shock of her abrupt landing began to lose its sharpness, and her breathing returned. Slow and calm, slow and calm, just as Raj Sarin had taught her.

  No doubt Staunton would circle back and leap down into the hole after her. No doubt his reward depended on delivering her into her “parents’” hands.

  Scrambling to her feet, ignoring the pain, Cettie searched for the attic trapdoor and found it. As soon as she yanked it open, she could hear the commotion coming from below.

  People called out in concerned shouts. There was a woman in the room just below, gazing up at the ladder as Cettie hurried down it.

  “And jus’ who in the Fells are you!” the woman demanded in her thick accent.

  Cettie couldn’t have responded if she’d wanted to; her tongue was still blocked from speech. The woman grabbed at her arm, and Cettie jumped down the rest of the way to avoid the reach. She ran to the door and opened it, trying to plunge into the dark corridor. Trying to get out. The woman managed to grab Cettie’s hair and yank her back. Cettie whirled and kicked the woman’s knee. The woman bellowed in anger as her hand slipped out of Cettie’s hair, and Cettie fled down the hall, shouts and cries following her. A few doors opened
, confused dwellers poking out their heads.

  “Stop her! Stop her!” the woman bawled.

  Cettie reached the narrow stairwell before anyone could try, and soon she was flying down the steps. Sounds and yells erupted all around her, but she kept her breathing focused and quickly reached the lower levels.

  A man in a dirty cap was coming up from below. “Oy, there, what’s all the ruckus?”

  Cettie pointed back up the stairs and pressed against the wall to let him pass, giving him a fearful look as if she were running away from something terrible. The man grunted and started to jog up the stairs, nodding to her as he passed. To him she was just another waif with a bruised cheek. In the tenements, people minded their own business. They didn’t trust one another. They stole from one another.

  She hated the Fells. And now she was back there. Maybe forever.

  After reaching the ground floor, she walked hastily to the main door and hurried out into the street. A crowd had gathered, a mixture of tradesmen and starving beggars, but most were pointing at the sky. Looming in the gap above them was the shadow of the zephyr.

  A man grabbed Cettie by the arm, and she nearly brought the heel of her hand into his nose, but he was looking at her in concern.

  “Are you all right, miss? You’re bleeding something awful.”

  The fabric of her dress had been slashed at the elbows and forearms, and streaks of blood were coming down her arms. Her chin stung as well, and when she dabbed her wrist against it, she saw the red smear. Her knees and shins throbbed as well. But she couldn’t stop here, not so close to where Staunton would come looking.

  She shook her head no and wrested her arm out of his grip.

  “Did someone hurt you?” he asked her. “Can I bring you to a doctor?”

  His sympathy made her long to trust him. But she dared not trust anyone, not even a potbellied old man with stubble for hair beneath his soiled cap. She thought of Adam Creigh, who wanted to be a doctor so he could improve life for people in the Fells. The thought of never seeing him again drove a spike of pain through her chest.