by Clay Held
“Hello to you too, Kate.” Nathan glanced over the banister, where the spark had ripped a portrait off the wall in its mad dash. “Keeping busy?”
“Someone’s let their pet loose.” Kate checked the hatchet in a small leather pouch that hung from her belt. “The little pest has been trouble all morning.” She smiled. “You haven’t answered me. Is the fairy yours?”
“I thought fairies weren’t allowed inside,” Simon said, his ears still hurting from crossing the threshold.
The woman eyed Simon suspiciously. “Of course they are, you just have to keep an eye on them. Why? Is it yours?”. Simon’s cheek flushed with red. “Oh, Nathan, please,” she said, after studying Simon a moment. “Another apprentice?”
“No,” Nathan replied. “Simon Warner, meet Katherine Merrimoth.”
Despite his frustration Simon managed a small, somewhat-polite, “Hello.”
Kate’s back stiffened slightly. “Warner,” she said. Then she stuck our her hand. “Katherine Anne Merrimoth. Born in a summer rain, raised in a drought.” She looked at Nathan. “Is he...”
“Tom’s son, yes.”
Kate started to say something else but the spark shot back up the hall, knocking a vase off a table and tearing between two men walking down the hall, their heated conversation momentarily disrupted. “Katherine!” one of the men bellowed. It was Sterling.
“Yes, Uncle,” she said. “I’m on it.” The fairy darted over both men’s heads before flying out a nearby window. Katherine laid her hand on the hatchet. “Pleasant seeing you again, Nathan.” A tiny smile wound across her face. “Joyous to meet you, too, Simon. Keep Nathan out of trouble.” She was off, down the staircase to find the fairy, hatchet in hand.
“Who was that?” Simon asked.
“Old friend,” Nathan said, watching Kate disappear out the front door after the fairy. He had a far-off look on his face for a moment. “Come on, we need to get going.” They started to approach Sterling and his companion when Simon noticed something: the man Sterling was speaking to looked familiar. Another minute of looking and Simon realized it was Frank the bread man, only instead of his Broomstick Bread delivery uniform, long emerald robes flowed from his shoulders. He looked away from Simon quickly, turning to excuse himself from Sterling and starting down the hall, away from them.
“Wait!” Simon broke into a run, but Sterling stepped in front of him, blocking his pursuit and giving Frank ample time to slip into a door further down the hall and out of sight.
“Young man,” Sterling loomed over Simon. “I will not have a guest tearing through our halls. You are only welcome here as a courtesy to Mr. Tamerlane, and I would thank you to stay with your host.”
“He’s right where he should be,” Nathan said, walking up. “Just a little anxious, that’s all. Can’t blame him, his guardian has been kidnapped, after all.”
Sterling’s face darkened. “I am not made of rock, Journeyman Tamerlane. I was just speaking with the head of the inquiry and he is expediting his inquiry. He expects to have a formal response by Hallow’s Eve.”
“Two days,” Nathan said. “Sam may not have that long.”
“I cannot create solutions,” Sterling said. “Only reveal those that are there to be found.”
“I know that man you were talking to,” Simon said. “Frank is--”
Sterling held out a stern hand at Simon. “Mancer Wisely is a well-respected member of the Freemancers, Mr. Warner, and I will expect you to honor him as such. He has done more, seen more than you can ever expect to come across hiding away in some tavern like a rabbit down a hole.”
“Forgive him, Archmancer,” Nathan said, throwing a side glance at Simon. “We’re only here to help.”
“An unnecessary task, one you’ll find no one from the Council has assigned to you,” Sterling said. “But since you have found it convenient now to return to us, Mr. Tamerlane, I would advise you take this splendid opportunity to speak with Marilyn about your back dues. Now, I have more grave matters on my mind. Good day to you both.” Sterling turned away from them, and before Simon could object, he had vanished, a small whish ringing through the air as it happened.
“Unnecessary, sure,” Nathan said to no one in particular. “Wouldn’t want to accidentally get anything done!” he shouted at the empty air. “Come on, we need to arrange for our rooms, then we need to get to the Archives.”
* * *
An ancient woman sat behind the counter in the Records Room. Nathan spoke with her in hushed tones, but she was unaffected by any of his charms. Finally, Nathan seemed to give in, producing a small leather pouch from inside his coat, taking out a small handful of silver coins and handing them over. “Thanks Marilyn,” he said. “I’ll have the rest in by the end of the month.” The woman accepted the coins, depositing them into a drawer behind the counter. She drew out a slender pen, writing quickly and gracefully in both her records book and Nathan’s grimoire. Simon asked Nathan about the money after they left the Records Room.
“Nothing’s free,” Nathan said. “We help the Freemancers, the Freemancers helps us. Right now, we get settled in our rooms, then we’re off to the Archives.”
Simon’s room was on the seventh floor, a floor he didn’t think possible, judging from his initial view of the house. Silverwood was much more than a house, Nathan had explained. “It’s like a person. Bigger on the inside then you realize,” he said while they climbed the stairs between the manor reading room and the kitchen. “Think of the main house as a focus,” he added, passing in front of a large window looking out over the forest. “Like the Gate. That location was special, our people built there. This place is special, we built here. Lot of magical energy courses through here, we just tap into it, and we work with it. It, in turn, works with us.”
Simon looked out the window. Off in the distance loomed another house, so similar to Silverwood it could be its brother. The same patchwork architecture, the same rooflines, every detail mirrored, but with boarded windows and creeping vine indicating it had been long since abandoned. The ground around it was spoiled with dead trees and grass, and overall it gave the impression of a deep, lasting sickness. “What’s that house?”
“The Grim House,” Nathan said slowly. “The first Silverwood, built on the wrong spot, you could say. Funny magic all throughout it. It’s been empty for about two hundred years or so.”
“Two hundred years?” Simon stared at the house. “It looks older.”
“Could be,” Nathan said, stopping in front of the door to his room. He handed Simon a key. “Get yourself settled, but be ready to go soon. Your room’s the second to last door on the right.” He stepped inside his room. “Lock your door when you leave. Turn the key very tightly. Even if someone manages to get into your room, they won’t be able to take anything.”
Simon examined the key, heavy and silver, turning it over and over in his hands. “How will it stop them?”
“Magic,” Nathan said, smiling. “It works on both sides. Lock in or lock out, you need the key.” Nathan stepped into his room, leaving Simon in the hall to find his room by himself.
A tiny silver 13 was emblazoned on the second to last door on the right. The key tingled in Simon’s hand as he stood in front of the door. The key clicked into the lock, and a small spark greeting Simon’s hand as he turned the doorknob. A low noise came from the other side of the door, like furniture was being thrown around the room. For a moment Simon was afraid to enter, but finally he opened the door, only to stare from the hallway. The room itself reminded Simon of his home above the Paw, the same worn wood floors, the same exact faded wallpaper, the same rusted locks on the tall windows, and over against the far wall, the same couch with the same large, fuzzy, orange pillows. Even a felt cat was resting on the cushions. Simon was overcome as he entered the room, and he stood there stupidly for a minute or so, taking in all the details that at once seemed both foreign and familiar.
“Not bad,” said a familiar voice. “Cozy, even.�
� Luke leaned against the door frame. “Guess you wouldn’t know, being a guest, but everyone’s room is different, you get what makes you feel at home. The dues have to pay for something, after all.”
“What’s your room look like?” Simon dropped his backpack behind the orange couch. “Pink and full of fairies?”
“Well, now, there’s no reason to be nasty,” Luke said, a wounded look flashing across his face for an instant. “Just trying to be neighborly, that’s all. I’m just trying to help out. You still seem lost.”
“I’m doing fine,” Simon said. “We’re on our way to the Archives.”
Luke raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Well, fancy that, then. I’m going that way too. Right off the North path. You want to head out together?”
“No thanks. I’m waiting on my host.”
“Just look at you,” Luke sneered. “The good little guest. I’m sure you’re just going to sit right there on your lumpy old couch and just wait for Boeman to walk right up with directions to where he’s keeping your guardian.”
Simon jumped up. “How do you know--”
“Word gets around, Stray. The walls have ears. People are talking about the apple of the Warner line. Not often a lost apple shows up. You’re big news.”
“I am?”
“One of the severed lines of descent just wanders in out of the woods? One of the original founding lines, the one that went about as rotten as you can get? Yeah, I’d call that big news.”
“What are you saying, rotten?” Simon asked.
Luke sat up. Simon couldn’t tell if the look of surprise on his face was genuine or not. “You mean you don’t know about your own family? The Warner line goes all the way back to the founding of Silverwood. There’s more than one Warner on that wall in the foyer. Every one of them good, until your dad. After he came along, well...” He chuckled. “This must be hard, right? Find out about all this, only to learn you’re the son of a bona-fide warlock.”
Simon gulped. “How’s that any different than anybody else?”
Luke’s face soured. “You really don’t know anything, do you? It’s in the eyes. They’re called the window to the soul for a reason. Warlocks souls are different. They’re...” he trailed off.
“They’re what?”
“Kind of...well, green,” Luke said. “You see it when they use their power. Their souls have gone rotten with power.”
“And green is bad?”
“Not always, but it’s an easy way to spot a warlock.”
Simon glanced at the mirror. He wondered what color his eyes might glow, if they even did. Could they? “So what did my dad do?”
Luke smiled. “Well that’s it. No one’s too sure where the damage stopped. The only real way to know what went down is to read the official transcripts of his trial.”
“He was on trial?”
“He was...until he fled,” Luke said. “Most figured he fled to his master’s hold out at sea.”
Simon stared at Luke. “How do you know all this?”
“Are you kidding?” Luke laughed. “Everyone knows the story of the Walking Shadow. The Fallen One. That’s why you’re such a big deal, Son of the Rotten. People want to see how far the apple has fallen from the tree.”
The apple. That’s what Nathan had called him. “Where are the transcripts?” he asked.
“Same place they keep everything else,” Luke said. “The Archives.”
Burning, sickening curiosity flared inside Simon. He stared long and hard at Luke. In five minutes he had learned more about his parents than all his time with Nathan, and really, how was Luke any less trustworthy than Nathan? At least this way he might actually get to learn something real about his parents. He thought another moment, then locked the door to his room. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Luke led Simon out through a door off of the dining room and cut through the gardens, whistling as they passed a small stone statue of two frogs sharing a tiny stone bench. Maggey darted out from under the statues straight to Luke and bobbed happily around his shoulder, whizzing around a few times in the air before settling down on his shoulder and winking back to sleep.
Simon got a clearer picture of the estate as they followed the North path away from the house. People hurried into and out of the house, most making their way to one of numerous smaller buildings around the estate. The Grim House sat far on the south end of the grounds, away from the other buildings, tucked inside its own small grove of twisted trees. The people walking by it all seemed to avert their eyes as they passed, not only as if the house wasn’t there, but as if they were trying to will it out of existence. A few young children, clinging to their parents’ side stopped to look and point at the house, only to be scooped up by their parents and hurried along towards any one of the smaller buildings that dotted the grounds. All around them the wilderness pressed in, held back only by the same ancient stone wall Simon had passed through that morning.
The Archives were almost as large and as complicated as the manor, and built in the same mixture of styles. It stood at the end of its own path, almost tall enough to blot out the morning sun, and stone gargoyles were perched high on several of the edges of the multileveled roof, silently peering down as the two boys entered.
“After you,” Luke said, standing aside to let Simon enter first. Simon rolled his eyes, then pushed the large door open and stepped inside, with Luke crowding in behind him. The front desk was right in front of them, semicircular and occupying almost the entire first floor. Staircases swept up either side to the second floor, where the walls of books began. Row after row of shelves faded into the distance, dozen of them, the back wall barely visible, and magnificent columns reached from the ground through every floor all the way to the ceiling. Small wooden walkways were visible among the shelves on the higher floors, some winding around several shelves, then some even turning and running in long stretches through the open air. There were at least a dozen floors, and every one was open in the middle, allowing a clear view of the stained-glass skylight at the very top. Visible shafts of colored light filtered down, and dust could be seen floating through the shafts of light. Simon and Luke stood in the pattern of light cast down through the skylight, which fell right in front of the circulation desk. Everything else was lit in yellow from the light coming through the large side windows, and the entire place smelled of pine trees and honey. Behind the counter was an office that appeared to occupy the rest of the modest first floor.
“Whoa,” Luke said quietly. “Lot of books.”
Simon shot him a suspicious look. “I thought you’d been here before.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah, that’s right. Plenty of times.” Luke started towards the counter ahead of them. “Just been a while. That’s all.”
“Can I help you boys?” A slender young woman appeared behind the counter. She had raven-black hair pulled behind her head into a ponytail, and a pair of glasses hung recklessly from her neck. She had bright blue eyes, and besides those and her dark hair, she looked strikingly like the young girl Simon had seen at the meeting. She had a tray on the counter in front of her, and it was full of tiny mechanical pieces made out of silver and brass. The pieces clicked and whirred quietly as they tried to assemble themselves into something Simon couldn’t even begin to guess. When he looked up from the pile of gears her eyes seemed to stab right through Simon.
“We, uh, hello,” Simon said, not at all as at ease as he wanted to sound.
“Smooth,” Luke whispered. The young woman’s eyes softened only slightly, the smallest smile slipping through.
“We’re looking for...” He looked at Luke, who gave no help whatsoever. “Something.” Simon felt his face grow hot.
She smiled. “A book, perhaps?”
“Yes!” Simon shouted abruptly, then shook his head. “I mean, no. Maybe. I need to know where I can find information on--well, on my, I mean--”
“Bloodlines,” Luke said, finally chiming in. “Next to Dark Bargains, right? Just po
int us in the direction, we can find it.”
“I don’t know,” the woman said coyly. “You have the right idea. I think you two could use an escort, perhaps?”
“I think we’ll be fine.” Luke straightened his shoulders, and put on his best smile. “No need for you to trouble yourselves with us.”
“Nonsense,” said the woman, never taking her strikingly blue eyes off Luke. “I’ll get my sister. Penny!” she boomed, her voice thundering off of every wall of the Archives echoing down all the shelves and back again. Her voice reached the top of the rafters and slowly died away, and silence filled the room again. “Hmph,” she said after no one appeared. “One moment.” The woman stepped away from the counter into the office behind her. “Wait right here please.”
“C’mon,” Luke said when she had gone. “We don’t need a babysitter. I know where we’re going. It’s this way,” he said, pointing towards a hallway leading down to the right. “Bloodlines are down here.”
“Not anymore, said a quiet, squeaky voice from above. The red-haired girl from the meeting spoke from a balcony overhead. It was the girl from the meeting earlier. “We moved the bloodline section last spring. It’s between the section on reanimation and Forgotten Lore now.” Climbing down a ladder she added, “Not too many people come looking for bloodline information. Most have their own records. You two don’t seem like you’re too...documented, are you?”