“No. You’re altogether different from me. I can sense your power just sitting here beside you. It pours off you like heat from a bonfire. Even my parents know you have the Gift, and they have no powers of perception at all.”
“But how could they possibly—even if it were true?”
“Tell me, when you came to our house, how did they welcome you?”
“Like this,” she said, holding out her hands. “I thought it was a Harrowsgode greeting.”
“Well, it’s not. No one touches hands here without consent. For most people it means nothing; but for those with the Gift, it’s like water running downstream—their spirit flows out of them, revealing their secrets. To take their hands without permission is like going through their underclothes or reading their private letters. We only touch those we love and trust.
“It’s disgusting what my parents did. They were testing you because they sensed you had some of William’s fire, and they wanted to be sure. They didn’t think you’d know the difference.”
“Your mother trembled when she took my hands.”
“I’ll bet she did. I’m glad. I hope it gives her nightmares.”
“Jakob! Marguerite!” They’d finally been missed.
“In a minute, Father!”
“Quick, Jakob—what about Tobias? Will they keep him from leaving, too?”
“Tobias? The friend you mentioned before?”
“Yes. He came with me on the journey.”
“And they let him into Harrowsgode?” He was astonished.
“I lied and said we were betrothed. I refused to come without him.”
“Oh, Molly!” He shook his head. “No, they will not let him leave.”
That was the least of it, Jakob suspected, but he wouldn’t say any more. He’d heaped enough grief on her already, and there was nothing she could do to help her friend.
“Come inside!” Claus called again.
“We have to go, Molly. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”
“All right. But promise you’ll make me the cup, and as quickly as you can. I’ll figure out the rest. Will you do that for me, please?”
“Of course I will. But it won’t change a thing.”
“They can’t force me to stay here. I won’t let them.”
“Oh, little cousin, you have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
“Really, Jakob?” She raised her chin with such childish defiance, it almost made him laugh. “Well, neither do they!”
14
Watching
HE ARRIVED AT the house before dawn. Lights were already glowing in some of the windows—servants, most likely, making preparations for the day ahead. At sunup the porter came out to sweep the steps, and not long after that a servant left, a basket on her arm. When she returned, the basket was so full she needed both hands to carry it. After that nothing much happened for a while.
Then Claus Magnusson came out with his two daughters. The younger one gripped her father’s hand, skipping and bouncing along as they made their way down the street. The older one walked gracefully beside them, her shoulders back, her head held high, and her eyes wide with interest. She reminded him of Molly—they had the same boldness, the same strong spirit. But while the Magnusson girl was confident and serene, Molly was fierce and full of fire.
Well, they’d led very different lives.
He continued to wait.
Mornings came slowly to Harrowsgode, the mountains and tall buildings casting long, cool shadows till the sun was well up in the sky. But by midday the cobbles would be shimmering with heat, and warm currents of air would begin to rise, the ones that lifted his wings and allowed him to soar so effortlessly through the sky.
But not quite yet. The River District was deep in shadow still.
At last something unexpected: a man was approaching the house. He had gray hair and wore academic robes. The raven felt sure that he’d come to visit Molly. A tutor perhaps?
He’d been avoiding the windowsills, which were narrow for a bird of his size, but he needed to hear what the man said. Clapping the air with his great black wings, he rose and circled once, marking a spot on a sill to the right of the entry door, calculating the angle and speed of his descent, then sliding in with a little sideways hop so that he stood pressed close against the window glass. It wasn’t comfortable, but he was steady.
The man looked up for a moment, startled by the sound of wings; then he looked down again as the door opened.
“Dr. Larsson to see the lady Marguerite,” he said.
The porter bowed and ushered the man in.
15
A Little Outing
THE TUTOR, GEROLD LARSSON, was older than she’d expected, and more distinguished in appearance. He looked as if he ought to be teaching at the university, not giving private lessons to someone like Molly.
“Dr. Magnusson tells me that you were never taught your letters,” he said. “Can this possibly be true?”
“Yes,” she said as if it were a matter of pride. “I was taught nothing at all.”
“Then we shall have some catching up to do.” He said this with relish, as if helping ignorant girls catch up was the thing he liked most in the world.
“I’d rather you taught me Austlinder. I have great need of speaking and no need whatsoever for reading and writing.”
“I think you’ll find, once we get started, that knowing how to read and write is surprisingly useful. But we will do both, never fear.”
There was a thump and rustling at the window just then, and both of them turned to see a raven clinging precariously to the narrow ledge.
“Shoo!” Dr. Larsson shouted, clapping his hands.
With a flutter of wings, the bird disappeared from sight.
“Why did you do that?”
He seemed surprised that she should ask. “Birds are filthy creatures,” he said as if stating the obvious. “They leave their droppings on the window ledges and down the sides of the house.”
She went over to the window and looked down into the garden, searching for any sign of the raven. At last she heard a froglike croooawk—and there he was, half hidden in a lilac bush.
“I like ravens,” she said without turning around. “And they’re not filthy.”
“I’m sorry, Marguerite. I didn’t mean to offend.”
“They’re beautiful birds.”
“I suppose they are.”
“Stephen says they’re very intelligent.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that too.”
“They court by dancing side by side with their sweethearts in the air. And they mate for life.”
“Well, once you’ve learned to read, you can study books on natural philosophy and learn all there is to know about ravens.”
She finally turned away from the window and found him waiting with a gentle smile.
“Excuse me, my dear, but I’d be very grateful if you’d take a seat. Courtesy requires that I remain standing as long as a lady does, and I have very troublesome knees.”
“Oh,” she said, “I didn’t know.”
She walked around the little desk and plopped herself down behind it, then waited while Dr. Larsson lowered himself cautiously into a chair. He massaged his knees for a minute, then looked up at Molly and thanked her.
“Now, I believe there’s no better place to start than at the beginning—with the letters of the alphabet. I’ve asked for our meal to be brought in on a tray at twelve-bells. After that we might move on to a bit of language study, using the skills—”
Only now did Molly understand that he planned to stay all day. And no doubt he’d be back again tomorrow and the day after that, leaving her no time to find Tobias and work out a plan or to roam about Harrowsgode searching for a way to escape.
“Master Tutor,” she said, interrupting his flow of words, “I really don’t think I could learn anything at all today. I’ve been traveling for a long time and didn’t sleep well last night. I’m bone-tired, and my wits are like curdled
cream. Maybe you could come back later—next week, perhaps.”
“I quite understand. But let me make an alternative proposal. Suppose we put off your studies for today and go on a little outing instead? There are many things in Harrowsgode that will amaze you, but there’s one particular sight that stands above the rest and is positively not to be missed: the Great Hall of Treasures. It’s not far from here, and we needn’t stay long—though once you get there and see it, you may want to.”
“What is it—the Great Hall of Treasures?”
“Exactly what the name implies: a beautiful building with priceless treasures on display. Anyone in Harrowsgode may go there. You don’t even have to pay.”
“What sort of treasures?”
“Every kind you can possibly imagine—and countless more you cannot. In my opinion, the library is the greatest treasure of all, but that will not interest you just yet. We’ll peek in so you can say you’ve seen it, then move on to the treasures.
“The library is in the center of the building and is very large. The treasure-house wraps around it on all four sides. There are rooms dedicated to paintings from all over the world, and one room filled with marble sculptures. There are works in silver and gold, artifacts from ancient times, new inventions, musical instruments, native costumes from distant lands, tapestries, and curiosities from every age and corner of the world. I promise you will be astonished.”
“I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“Nor has anyone else who hasn’t been to Harrowsgode. What do you say? Would you like to go?”
As she stood gazing up at the building, Molly realized that she’d seen it before. It was when they’d just come out of the narrow canyon and were standing on the rim, looking down at Harrowsgode. It was the city’s most distinctive feature, so grand and imposing she’d thought at first it must be a cathedral, though it didn’t really look like one. Enormous at the base, it rose story by story, each level smaller than the one below: a sort of giant’s staircase capped by five domed towers.
Leading to the entrance was a broad staircase, which they now began to climb.
Dr. Larsson asked if she’d lend him her arm, as she was young and strong and he was old, with troublesome knees. He held it firmly, just as Alaric had, but the experience was altogether different. This was not the intimate thrill of touching the king of Westria; she felt a tingling in her arm rather like the sensation of clasping hands with Claus and Margit, only very much stronger. She didn’t think he’d done it on purpose, as her relatives had—but surely he must feel it. And if what Jakob had told her was true, he must even now be reading the secrets of her heart. Molly turned to look at him, but the only expression she saw on his face was the occasional wince at the pain from climbing the stairs.
“Going down is even worse,” he said as if reading her mind. “They really should build a ramp, maybe with some sort of pulley system to haul pathetic old fellows like me up and down the stairway.” He gave her a wan smile. “I think I’ll write a note to the Council suggesting it.”
At last they reached the landing and Dr. Larsson released her arm. They waited a moment while he caught his breath, then he gave her a quick little nod.
“Shall we go in?” he said.
Large buildings, in her experience, were usually dark. But the entrance to the Great Hall of Treasures was astonishingly bright. And looking up, she saw why. The stout walls that held up the enormous structure were straight ahead of her. The entry hall, and the corridors that extended beyond it on either side, wrapping all around the building, were simply an elaborate porch. Since nothing rested on top of it, the ceiling could safely hold countless skylights, as well as a string of small, angled windows placed where the wall met the ceiling on the outer side. She’d never seen anything like it. And all that glass—it must have cost an absolute fortune!
Dr. Larsson had gone to speak with one of the officials, who wrote something on a small slip of paper and handed it to him. Now he returned. “A pass for the library,” he explained. “We’ll just take a very quick look, I promise. But you cannot come here and miss the finest thing in all of Harrowsgode, perhaps even the world—the wisdom of every land, and every age, gathered in a single place.” He said this with such high emotion that Molly almost laughed.
“Just wait,” he said. “You’ll see.”
The library door was as stout as a castle gate and made of dark, gleaming wood, reinforced by masses of astonishing ironwork: cunningly wrought vines curling into spirals, sprouting leaves and delicate whorls touched up here and there with spots of gold.
A guard kept watch beside it. And even though he’d seen his fellow official write out their pass, he made Dr. Larsson show it anyway.
“There was a library like this in ancient times,” he said as the guard was pulling out his keys to unlock the door. “Nearly two thousand years ago. It had the finest collection of manuscripts in the world. The greatest minds of the age flocked there to give lectures, and read, and discuss what they had learned. It is said that carved upon the walls was an inscription: ‘This is the place that cures the soul.’”
The guard had the door open now and was waiting for them to walk through. Once they were inside, he shut and locked the door behind them. Molly was just wondering why they were so protective of a room full of books when anyone might walk in and look at the treasures—but then she looked around and understood.
The place was immense, supported by thousands of stone pillars, each as broad and high as the oldest tree that ever grew. Running along both sides of these rows of columns, as far as the eye could see, were bookshelves, so tall that ladders had been provided for reaching the upper shelves.
This was no dreary tomb of dusty books. It was alive, like a hive of bees, humming with the soft voices and quiet footsteps of scholars. They sat at tables, books laid out before them, talking with one another. They wandered through the stacks and climbed the ladders.
Against her will, Molly felt the tremendous power of the place: all the knowledge of the world collected in that very room, and all those scholars scurrying about, drinking the knowledge in as bees suck nectar.
The place that cures the soul.
“I want to show you something of special interest,” Dr. Larsson said, guiding her past more shelves holding an inconceivable number of books until they finally reached the heart of the library. Here was a great stone box, a room within the room, its marble-clad walls rising to the ceiling on all four sides. High above the level of their heads the box had barred, unglazed windows, probably to let in light and air.
“This is the sanctum sanctorum,” he said, showing his slip of paper to the guard at the door, who was not so fastidious as the first one had been. He merely glanced at the pass before fishing out his key. Once he’d unlocked the door, though, he followed them inside and was joined a moment later by a second guard.
“What do you keep in here?” she asked. “The crown jewels?”
“Oh, dear, no. Those are on display in the Hall of Treasures. The documents in here”—he indicated the rows of locked cabinets—“are of much higher value. They’re truly priceless, irreplaceable, the rarest of the rare.” Then, to the first guard, “The Pinakes of Callimachus, please.”
The man unlocked one of the cabinets—there were no open shelves here—and took out a scroll. He handed it to Dr. Larsson, who carried it to a small, round table where light-stones were already glowing. He unfurled it for Molly to see.
“This is a copy. The original is also here in this room, but we never handle it. Old papyrus scrolls are extremely delicate.”
Molly nodded.
“Remember the famous library I was just telling you about? Well, this is a list of all the books it contained. If you were an ancient scholar and you wanted to read a certain work by a particular author, you could look it up on the list to see where it was kept. It’s an extraordinary document, the very first of its kind.”
“What happened to it?” Molly asked,
staring down at the tiny writing, the unfamiliar letters. “The library, I mean. Is it still there?”
Dr. Larsson straightened, allowing the scroll to wind itself up again, and said with a strange, fierce dignity, “There was a war. It burned. Everything was destroyed.”
“Oh,” she said. “That’s very sad.”
“‘Sad’ is too small a word to describe such a terrible loss.”
“But why didn’t this burn up?” She pointed to the scroll on the table.
“The Pinakes was in constant use. There were many copies, widely distributed. A few of them survived.”
He returned the scroll to the cabinet, then nodded to the guard, who nodded back. She thought they were about to leave. But the guard, having finished locking the cabinet, now crossed the little room and opened yet another door. She hadn’t noticed it till now since it was small and matched the cabinets around it. A quick glance told her that the space in which they stood wasn’t square. On the other side of that wall there must be yet another room, holding the rarest treasures of them all. She looked up at her tutor, brows raised in question.
“You shall see,” he said, ushering her through the door.
It opened—how unexpected!—onto a spiral staircase.
She heard the turn of a lock and looked behind her. Both guards had entered and were standing with their backs to the door.
“You will forgive me one day,” Dr. Larsson said. “I’m sorry. But we can no more afford to lose you than we could these precious scrolls.”
“I don’t understand.” She looked up the stairway lit from above by a warm golden light. “What is this place?”
“Why, didn’t you know? It’s Harrowsgode Hall.”
16
A Plan
RICHARD LEANED HIS RAT-STAFF against the wall and took off his official cloak. “Bad news, I’m afraid,” he said. “The barrister’s been arrested.”
Tobias groaned. “It’s because of me, isn’t it? Because he let me into the city.”
The Cup and the Crown Page 10