Rufus’s mouth hung open and his eyes were glazing over. Lin grabbed his leg. “Maybe you should just come down from there.”
He snapped to. “No, it’s fine. It says you should come up, Lin. It wants to help us. But . . .” He turned to Clariselyn and Ursa Minor. “But it says it can’t carry all of us. Not with a bad leg. Not if we’re to catch Teriko.”
“No.” Lin shook her head. “Out of the question. We can’t leave anyone behind out here on this hellish moor.”
“I will carry you, my lady,” Ursa Minor said. “I will carry both you and the little boy home to Sylveros.”
Clariselyn tightened her grip on Frostfang. “The caravan sled is right.” Her voice sounded like hardening ice. “Go. Catch the parrot and take back my soul. Minor and I have Frostfang. We will bring Isvan home.”
“No,” Lin said dully, but she knew they were right. Either someone went after Teriko, or no one did. She put her forehead against Minor’s flank. “I’m so sorry we brought you into this.” To the broken boy in his arms she said nothing, but she hoped he understood. I’m so sorry for not saving you.
“I will get him home,” Minor rumbled. “And an Ursa always keeps his word.”
Rufus pulled Lin up, and she settled in behind him, arms gripping tight around his flanks. Immediately, the sled unrolled its runners into legs and began clawing its way along the mountain slope. Lin looked back uneasily at the bear and at Clariselyn Winterfyrst, now the last of her people. “Do you think they’ll make it to the Palisade?”
“Did you see that dead troll inside the glacier?” Rufus answered. “I don’t think Clariselyn should be underestimated, either. The sled has great respect for her.”
“I hope you’re right.” Lin rested her head against Rufus’s back. Since she had spent the final dose of the Observatory magic, the jittery thrumming in her arms and legs had stopped and she felt strangely quiet inside. “Rufus?” she mumbled. “I don’t think the Rosa torquata chose right when it gave me the key. Everything breaks all around me. I don’t care that the name of Twistrose never lies.”
“And I don’t care what you say, little one. The night is not over. They’ll make a statue of you yet.”
“But Rufus?” She reached up to scratch the fur behind his ear. “I’ve been thinking about that thing Fabian said at the Palisade. That Rufocanus is meant as a reminder? Well, Rufocanus means redback vole, just like Vulpes means fox. You lived your whole life in a human house, but that’s not where you belonged. You’re not just a Petling, Rufus. You’re a Wilder, too. I think that’s what Teodor is trying to tell you.”
Rufus didn’t reply. But he leaned against her hand.
• • •
They hurtled through the brush. Lin hid her face in her hands to avoid the whipping branches. She had expected the sled to strike across the moor, but instead it kept climbing upward through the woods. “Shouldn’t we be going the other way?”
“I may be holding the reins, but I’m not in charge here,” Rufus said. “The sled goes where it wants to.”
Halfway up the mountainside, the sled turned. The legs curled up into runners.
“Oh, rats,” Rufus mumbled.
The sled set off down the rime-covered moss, rattling and creaking with every rock and root, while the wind howled in their ears.
Lin closed her eyes. Suddenly her belly pressed down on her legs, and the rattling from the sled softened. When she dared to look the moor was a sea of frost, not in front of them, but below them. The caravan sled could not only crawl like a spider and glide like a sled. It could also fly!
But only barely. They could feel how much it struggled as they climbed into the sky on treacherous currents. Rufus hunched down, clinging hard to the reins. He must be very frightened, but he didn’t complain.
Not until he spotted the Nightmares. Then neither of them could keep from crying out.
All over the Cracklemoor snow trolls were marching in ragged bands. They weren’t alone. Lin saw wood trolls with bark-and-sap armor, river trolls on many-jointed legs, and sand trolls with glass carapaces. There were other shapes, too, tall, thin marionettes with scythes for arms, red sleepwalkers with flapping robes, and insect-filled man clouds that changed and shifted with the wind.
Down on the dark ice of the Crackle Creek, Clariselyn made a small, white speck on Ursa Minor’s back. No Nightmares had discovered them yet, and as long as they kept to the dell, Lin thought they might be safe enough. She had given them all the acorns they had taken from the cold oak. But bane or no, Lin feared they might never get through the Whitepass.
Between the steep walls of the pass, the Nightmares had gathered in squares. They lined up before the enormous hedge, blocking the Caravan Road.
“They’re getting ready to attack!” Lin cried above the wind as the sled crossed the border, high above the Palisade.
“I think you’re right,” Rufus yelled. “If this Blood Lord is controlling them, he must have a plan.”
Operation Corvelie. For the first time since they had gone through the Palisade gate, Lin’s thoughts turned to the Margrave, and Teodor’s desperate departure to protect the final guard rune. It was the word Corvelie that had set him off. What was it? What did it mean?
They cleared the Whitepeaks, and the Sylver Valley fell away below them. It seemed so peaceful and innocent, with Sylveros as a sparkling necklace by the lake. The sled struggled hard now, and turned its nose downward, diving for the river. Right before they dipped below the treetops Rufus called, “Lin! There!” He pointed toward Sylveros.
Far away, so far it was like a drop of ink on a clean sheet, Lin glimpsed a soaring, blue figure outlined against a white dome.
Teriko had arrived at the Observatory.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Lin Rosenquist found herself standing at the broad Observatory steps. In the star shade behind the columns towered a fortified door with bronze falcon heads. Rufus clutched her hand.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Lin turned to him. “What?”
“We know they’re only trying to lure you here, back into Figenskar’s claws. And what if you turn up in the mirrors again? What if the magic is too much for you?” Rufus prodded the wound on the tip of his tail. “I should go in alone.”
“No.” Lin squeezed his hand three times. “No more leaving each other. What’s to keep Figenskar from attacking me out here while you’re inside? And what kind of Twistrose would I be if I didn’t show up for my final test? We go in together.”
Rufus flashed his cleft-lipped grin. “I knew there was a reason I wanted you for my travel companion.” He planted his heel in the door. It gave a shuddering boom, but though the sound must have rolled through the corridors and galleries, no one came to remove the bolt.
“The workers must have gone down to the Great Square,” Lin said. Since they had no time to run around for support, she had hoped to bring the news of the falcon messenger’s murder and win at least some of the workers over to their side. But they were on their own. Even the caravan sled had left them, to go back and help Clariselyn and Minor.
“I don’t care about the workers. I want Figenskar, and I just know he’s still in there.” Rufus swished his tail. “Let’s try his private entrance.”
They snuck around to the back, to the low, square wing that housed the chief observer’s office. They didn’t even have time to try the handle before they heard a noise on the other side of the door. A scraping, jangling noise.
“He’s coming!”
Rufus spat in the snow. “Let him!”
A familiar shape appeared in the doorway, holding a great key chain. Not Figenskar, but a portly guinea pig with a vest and wild bangs that had overcome the pomade once and for all. Marvin placed a rounded claw over his mouth.
“Hush or he’ll hear!”
• • •
&nbs
p; The chief observer’s office was lit only by the embers in the fireplace. Marvin’s horn-rimmed glasses reflected the wavering glow as he ushered them inside. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you.” The Rodent’s voice kept rising into squeaks, and he was constantly running his fingers over the key chain. “Here I was, wishing desperately for someone to come to my aid, and who should knock on the door but a Twistrose and her Sylvering?”
“Calm down, Marvin,” Lin said. “We will help you if we can. What is going on?”
“It’s the chief observer. I think he has lost his mind!”
Rufus steered Marvin over to Figenskar’s desk chair and made him sit down on the red silk cushion. “Where is Figenskar?”
“In the hall, on the floor.”
“And Teriko?”
“I haven’t seen him. This is awful! I shouldn’t say anything. He is my boss, I . . .”
Rufus caught Lin’s glance and nodded at the door to the corridor. Lin hurried over to listen for footsteps.
“Just tell us what you saw!” Rufus said.
Marvin began picking at the sign on Figenskar’s desk. “We were closing down, extinguishing all the mirrors. Apparently, it’s not safe to stay in the hall on Wanderer’s Eve. We’ve been having fluctuations in the mirror magic all night. Something to do with the celebration?” The last he said to Rufus, rushing through the words.
Rufus shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Oh. I was the last one here, and I was making a final round of the gallery, when suddenly all the mirrors rekindled around me. Soon after, the chief observer entered the hall with some sort of glowing object.”
Lin and Rufus exchanged looks over Marvin’s fat neck. The snow globe.
“Figenskar sat down on the floor, and began to hum and chant an old song. He seemed quite disturbed. Confused, even.”
“What sort of song?” Rufus said.
“I didn’t know it. Something about a grave. Or Margrave? Yes, I think that was it. Margrave.”
Lin and Rufus frowned at each other again. What was Figenskar up to?
“I retreated as quietly as I could,” Marvin finished. “Thank goodness he didn’t hear me.”
Rufus wrinkled his snout. “Why didn’t you just leave?”
“I was about to! But my key only fits the front door, which I couldn’t get to without passing through the hall, so I needed Figenskar’s master key chain. I had just found it when you arrived.” He looked up, lips trembling. “Do you have any idea what has gotten into the chief observer?”
“Not really,” Rufus said. “But we do know what that shining object is. We’ll just have to find a way to take it from him.”
Marvin sprang to his feet. “Wait! I mean, you can’t just march into the hall! I told you, the chief observer isn’t himself. He could be dangerous!”
“We’re two against one, and that’s the best odds we’ve seen all evening,” Rufus said. “Even if Teriko shows up, I think we have a fair chance.”
“You must promise me to be careful,” Marvin said. “You still have Lin’s index card, I hope?”
“We do.” Rufus patted one of the pockets of his scarf.
“Thank goodness for that,” Marvin sighed with relief. He shuffled over to Lin and gave her a stiff and awkward hug. His fur scratched her cheek. “Good luck, Lin Rosenquist. You are a very courageous human child.”
He turned to Rufus.
“And you, Rufus. I’ll never forget how you stood up to Mr. Figenskar up on the Memory balcony.” He squeezed Rufus tight. Rufus patted his shoulder, rather embarrassed.
“Not to worry, Marvin. Lin and I know what we’re doing. We’ll be fine.”
Reluctantly, Marvin let go. He fished a handkerchief out of his vest pocket and dabbed at his eyes.
“I daren’t come with you. Please forgive me! I’m not a true hero like you.”
Rufus grew a little taller. “Don’t say that. You’ve been a great help. If you want to do more, it couldn’t hurt to let the right people know what’s happening here. Find Teodor at the House or in Peppersnap Nook, and if you can’t, try Doctor Kott.”
Marvin nodded, too choked up to speak.
“All right.” Rufus flung the ends of his scarf over his shoulders and turned the doorknob. “Ready?”
Lin attempted a deep breath. “Ready.”
They stepped into the corridor. The lamps were out, but an indigo blur seeped through the glass windows at the end.
“Farewell,” Marvin croaked as he closed the door behind them, glasses shining blue.
“Poor guy,” Rufus said. “He seemed quite disturbed himself.”
They sidled along the corridor, trailing long, undulating shadows. Lin could feel the magic from the Observatory hall like humming high voltage wires. At the double doors, they tried in vain to peer through the buckled glass. But they could hear Figenskar screeching above the sighing rush of the mirrors.
“Thorns of gold through flesh and marrow! Thorns of gold through flesh and marrow!”
Rufus pushed at the doors. But they moved only half an inch before hitting something large and heavy on the other side. Lin couldn’t get as much as a hand through the crack.
“Now what,” she whispered.
“I don’t know. If only we could see what is going on in there. . . .” Rufus tried the handle to the gallery entrance. It opened without a sound. “Come on, let’s do what a cartographer would do. Let’s get an overview.”
In the pitch-black stairwell, Lin’s back itched and tingled. It was as if someone hovered behind her, waiting for the perfect moment to attack. Rufus must have felt it, too, because he kept turning around, tickling Lin’s face with his whiskers. The first balcony door—the one for Luck—stood ajar, inviting them into the flickering light.
As they crept to the edge of the balcony and spied out through the banisters, it became clear why the Observatory hall was tinted blue. The glass dome that had shone with such brilliance earlier in the evening was now dead, the Earth night sky gone. The only light came from the mirrors. They were empty, and so was the whole hall. Nobody soared under the dome, nobody scribbled names on cards. On the great stone floor, there was not a soul to be seen.
Except for one.
Figenskar sat crouched on the floor with his back turned and his tail in a coil. He rocked back and forth, gloating over something that Lin couldn’t see, and all the while he cackled and yowled: “Thorns of gold through flesh and marrow!”
Rufus rose silently to watch through the telescope, then sat back down to whisper into Lin’s ear.
“It’s Clariselyn’s snow globe all right. We have to get down there.”
Lin glanced around the hall. The double doors were blocked by one of the counters, that’s why they wouldn’t open. But the curtains on the Memory balcony were sturdy. Maybe they could tie them together to make a rope?
Suddenly the door to the Strength balcony slammed and Teriko hopped out. Lin ducked, sure that they were discovered. But the parrot didn’t even turn an eye in their direction. He jumped up on the banister, spread his wings, and cawed at the dome: “Ready! Everything is ready!”
Figenskar stopped singing. His tail uncoiled. In one fluid motion he straightened his back and rose, and when he turned toward them, there was neither madness nor weakness in his face, only menace. In his hands he held the snow globe.
“Excellent,” Figenskar said. “Tonight, lieutenant, you have truly earned your treat.”
“Treat!” Teriko screamed.
The snow globe sparkled bravely, golden white and silver milk, but its light all but drowned in the blue mirror radiance.
“I hear rumors that Isvan Winterfyrst is dead,” Figenskar drawled. “Dead and lost on the Cracklemoor! That suits me rather poorly, I will admit. But what is killed is dead, hmmm, Teriko? We will just have to trap another spar
row. And this time it won’t slip through our claws!”
Figenskar tossed the globe lightly into the air, catching it with one paw. “Since Isvan is no more, this is the only remaining Winterfyrst snow globe. Of course, it has not escaped my notice that a certain pair of Rosenquists have desperately sought a Winterfyrst tonight. It must be important, or the Brotherhood would never have called a Twistrose. So they need this snow globe.”
He paused to scrape his claw against the fragile glass. “Which is why they have no choice but to come here, to Figenskar in his own den. They have shown a remarkable talent for worming in and out of places that are forbidden to them, so I assume that they have found a way. Hmmm?”
He gazed around the hall. Was Lin imagining it, or did he linger on their balcony for a heartbeat? He raised an arm toward the gallery.
“Well? What are you waiting for? This is your cue!”
To Lin’s surprise, he was neither pointing at them, nor at Teriko. He was pointing at the Memory balcony, where a face emerged from the shadows. “I . . . I’m right here, Mr. Chief Observer.”
Marvin.
He looked like he was about to throw up, but instead he turned on the projector. In his hand he held a small, gray square. He fed it to the machine. It whirred. It clicked. A bright, dust-speckled ray streamed across the hall.
Rufus turned to her. There were sickles of white at the edges of his eyes.
“What is it?” Lin breathed. Rufus didn’t answer. He grasped at his scarf, rummaging desperately through the secret pockets. In the Memory mirror, a blue image was rising out of the murk.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Figenskar cried. “The time has come for a final game of cat and mouse! I give you . . . Lindelin Rosenquist!”
Rufus seized her by the hood and hauled her away from the railing, as if that could save her.
The Twistrose Key Page 20