The House on Durrow Street

by Galen Beckett

  “It cannot be the tavern where who used to go?” he said.

  But at the same time she said, “Forgive me, Mr. Rafferdy, I must go to my sisters.”

  Before he could ask more, she disengaged herself from his arm and vanished behind the curtain.

  Rafferdy stared a moment, his mind as blank as the white drapery. Then he turned and wended his way back across the gallery. As he went, his startled mind calmed a degree and began to assemble useful thoughts. Dratham—she had mentioned that name at Madiger’s Wall, he recalled now. He was the man who had built this house centuries ago, and who had belonged to a magickal order that met beneath a tavern on Durrow Street.

  “There you are, Rafferdy!” Lord Coulten said, slipping through a knot of revelers to come upon him. “I was wondering if you wished to join me in asking some of these excellent ladies to dance. But I say, you look awfully confounded. Is something amiss?”

  Rafferdy leaned in close to Coulten, so his voice would not carry. “Tell me, do you know of any taverns on Durrow Street beneath which other orders of magicians might meet?”

  “Well, I can’t speak about other orders,” Coulten said with a frown. “There is only ours that I know of.”

  Now Rafferdy was startled anew. “What do you mean, our order?”

  “Don’t you know?” Coulten said, only then he let out a laugh, his cheeks brightening. “Of course—you always make a habit of coming in through the tavern proper. You like a nip of rum before our meetings, don’t you, Rafferdy? Can’t say I blame you.”

  “What are you talking about?” Rafferdy said, growing perturbed now. “What don’t I know?”

  “About the other door, the back entrance to our meeting room.”

  “What’s there to know? It’s the back door, so it must be in the alley behind the Sword and Leaf.”

  Coulten waggled a gloved finger at him. “Haven’t you been paying attention to the sages, Rafferdy? A magickal door doesn’t have to behave like a usual one. Just because one side of a door is on the inside wall of a building doesn’t mean the other side of it has to be on the outer wall. It can be … well, it can be anywhere at all.”

  “Anywhere?” Rafferdy said, and at last understanding dawned upon him. “You mean like Durrow Street.”

  “Now you’ve got it!” Coulten said, his tall head of hair bobbing as he nodded. “I’m not sure exactly why the outside of the door is on Durrow Street. I suppose it was put there long ago, when arcane orders were all considered a bit more dodgy than today.”

  Now that Rafferdy considered it, this arrangement made a great degree of sense. Anyone who saw magicians entering the door wouldn’t know where it was that they were really meeting, and without the correct runes they would not be able to follow. They could tear apart the building that contained the door and still not discover the room where the magicians gathered. It was a clever way to keep their meeting place secret in a time when magickal societies were frowned upon or even outlawed.

  “So our order does meet beneath a tavern on Durrow Street,” he said.

  “Or a tavern reached from Durrow Street, I would say. But why is it so interesting to you of a sudden?”

  Rafferdy didn’t know how to answer that, and before he could think of what to say, the music rose to a crescendo, rising above all conversations. Then the musicians ceased their work, and all in the gallery turned toward the north end as a deep voice—one which could only belong to Sir Quent—thundered out over the room.

  “Permit me to introduce to you,” he intoned, standing beside the white drape, “a scene of the Annunciation of Cassephia and Hesper.”

  And the white curtain fell.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  IVY FELT LIKE a leaf afloat on a windswept sea. Her wishes were of no consequence, and as the revelers surged all around her, she could only go where the ebb and flow of their movements took her.

  “Your sisters’ tableau was magnificent,” someone told her. “What a surprising and charming sight,” said another. And exclaimed someone else, “How lovely the Miss Lockwells looked!”

  Though Ivy’s thoughts were awhirl in her head, she managed a smile and a thank-you to everyone who approached her. Yes, the tableau had been all the doing of her sisters, she assured them, and she agreed it was remarkable how very well it had turned out.

  In fact, it was more than remarkable; it was extraordinary. The tableau had been a far greater success than Ivy had ever imagined it would be. She had not seen Lily’s and Rose’s final preparations, for they had kept the tableau secret from all in the house but themselves. Even so, she had been confident that their scene would be met with at the very least polite approval, and perhaps even some amount of genuine delight.

  What occurred when Mr. Quent pulled the rope and the curtain fell was something else altogether. Ivy could not say what it was—the illumination of so many candles and lamps, or the way it reflected off the jewels and finery of all the partygoers—but the light in the gallery had appeared to gather about the little stage like a gauze, imbuing all the trappings upon it with a pearlescent sheen and granting them an astonishing verisimilitude, as if they had indeed been just raised up from the sea.

  The light had wrought no less of an effect upon Lily and Rose. Dressed in their classical Tharosian costumes, their cheeks and lips tinted coral pink, they were the very image of young goddesses. As the curtain fell to reveal the scene, a gasp had passed through the gallery like a zephyr, followed by a rising gale of murmurs, which quickly broke loose in a storm of hand-clapping that went on and on. All the while Lily beamed upon the stage, never straying an inch from her perfect pose; while Rose, clearly dumbfounded, wore an expression of sweetness that was so natural, and so unaffected, even the most skilled actress could never have hoped to duplicate it.

  In all, the scene rivaled any of the tableaux Ivy had ever seen at Lady Crayford’s house, and perhaps even surpassed them all. For what could ever be more marvelous to behold than youthful and innocent beauty?

  All these thoughts, however, passed fleetingly through Ivy’s head, as she was swept to and fro. Instead, it was the words Mr. Rafferdy had spoken to her that kept returning to her mind.

  Given my duties, I have not had an occasion of late to meet Mr. Garritt at the Sword and Leaf.…

  How strange that he should happen to speak such a thing tonight! Her father had used the same words—the Sword and the Leaf—in the entry she had read in the journal just before the party. From her father’s words, she had realized that her earlier hypothesis, which she had previously dismissed, was in fact true: Tyberion and Arantus were the two doors that had been discovered in this very gallery. Then, as if somehow knowing what it was she had read in the journal, he had appeared to her, the man in the black mask.

  Such had been the way he had spoken the command—or rather, how it had sounded in her mind—that for all the suspicion with which she had regarded him and his motives of late, she did not question. Besides, it could not do any harm to conceal Arantus, and she now had no doubt that great harm could arise if it was revealed to the wrong persons.

  You must know how important Tyberion and Arantus are, Mr. Lockwell had written. No one can ever be allowed to use them, for fear of what hideous powers might be unleashed through them.

  For a moment a dread came over her. What if there was someone in this crowd of people around her who sought to use the doors? Only that could hardly be possible. Almost everyone who had been in the Vigilant Order of the Silver Eye was either dead or locked away in Madstone’s. Mr. Mundy remained, of course, but she would recognize the toadlike little man on sight, and from what her father had written in his journal, Mundy had remained true to Mr. Lockwell, as had Fintaur and Larken. As for Mr. Bennick, he was in all likelihood far away in Torland. Besides, he no longer possessed any magickal ability with which he might open the door.

  Though it was his intention to alter that fact, she was sure. Last year, Mr. Bennick had sought to gain entry to the house, in or
der to deliver the Eye of Ran-Yahgren to members of his order—no doubt in the hope they would restore his magickal abilities to him in return. Had it been his intention to tell them of the doors as well? Or had he intended to keep them secret and use them himself once he had regained his power as a magician? Ivy could only imagine it was the latter case, before she and Mr. Rafferdy had thwarted his plans. And anyway, he did not possess the key to either of the doors.

  The only other magician who had known of Tyberion was Mr. Gambrel himself, for he had fled and escaped after his duplicity was revealed. However, her father had made this treachery known to all the arcane eyes in the house. If Gambrel were ever to try to enter here, they would surely raise an alarm. But they were all of them closed, or silently observing the party.

  Which meant the doors were safe.

  So why, then, had the man in the black mask told her to hide Arantus? And why had he not told her to hide Tyberion as well? Ivy didn’t know, for he had vanished as soon as he spoke that single command. Besides, there would not have been time to arrange a way to conceal both doors. She had gone at once to Mrs. Seenly, directing her to have the servants move the stage for the tableau—quickly, before the first guests arrived. Then she had hurried back to her room to finish dressing for the party.

  She returned to the gallery just before the first guests began to enter. To her relief, the servants had just finished moving the stage, concealing the leaf-carved door at the north end of the gallery. Mr. Quent noticed this change and asked her why she had had it done. Quickly, she had told him how she had seen the man in the mask again. It was clear from his expression that this news troubled him, but there was no more time to discuss it, for by then the first guests were arriving. The gallery rapidly filled, and in the excitement of the party, thoughts of the journal, the doors, and the man in black were driven from Ivy’s mind.

  Only then Mr. Rafferdy had mentioned the Sword and Leaf, and it had all come back to her.

  Yet what did it mean? Her father had written that Gambrel had been interested in Dratham and the Sword and the Leaf. Only what did that have to do with the establishment where Mr. Rafferdy met with his fellow magicians? That tavern was not on Durrow Street, so it could not be Dratham’s.

  More people called out to Ivy, approached her, spoke to her, and she was buffeted this way and that about the gallery. She looked for Mr. Quent, craving the solid anchor of his presence, and also for Mr. Rafferdy—for she wanted to ask him more about the Sword and Leaf. However, she could find neither of them. At one point, she caught a fleeting glimpse of Mr. Garritt from across the party, only to see him and his handsome, blond-haired friend exit down a corridor that led from the gallery. She hoped Mr. Garritt was not leaving so soon, for she wished to speak to him more.

  Despite her efforts, she was unable to move in that direction. Instead, a surge in the flow of the partygoers, followed by a sudden ebb, deposited her near to her sisters. A bit of the shimmering light still seemed to cling to the two of them. Or perhaps it was they themselves who were glowing. A number of young men had gathered around them, paying them great attention.

  Lily seemed to be captivating half a dozen of them at once, successfully engaging them all in bright conversation, while Rose spoke to the young men in turn, saying to each “How do you do?”

  Ivy smiled at this scene, and the tumult of her thoughts began to calm. This was what mattered most tonight. The sight before her now was everything Mrs. Lockwell could ever have hoped for; indeed, it could only far exceed what had been even her loftiest fancies.

  “I wish you could see how beautiful Rose and Lily look, Mother,” she said quietly to herself. “And how handsome all of the young men are! You would be so pleased.”

  “I have no doubt that she would be pleased,” spoke a gentle voice.

  Startled, Ivy turned around to see Lady Crayford standing beside her.

  “You must forgive me, Lady Quent,” the viscountess said, her violet eyes concerned. “It was not my intent to impose upon your private thoughts. I had been biding my time, hoping for a chance to speak with you. When I saw that for a moment you were not being monopolized by others, I thought I would be so bold as to seize my chance and approach you.”

  These words shocked Ivy. “But you must never wait your turn to speak to me. For whom could I ever wish to speak to more than you? I cannot imagine such a being!”

  “You may soon find that not so difficult a thing to conceive,” Lady Crayford said, smiling now. “This may be the Miss Lockwells’ party, and the young men are no doubt captivated by them. Yet for many people here tonight—for the most consequential people, I would say—there is only one person they wish to speak to.”

  “You mean my husband.”

  “No, Lady Quent. I mean you.”

  Ivy did not know what to say to these words; she was baffled by them.

  “I know you are in great demand,” Lady Crayford said, “but will you walk with me for a few moments?”

  “You need not even ask!” Ivy exclaimed.

  Indeed, she suddenly had a desire to speak to no one else at the party save for Lady Crayford; and if they walked together arm in arm, and kept their heads close to each other, they might hope to go uninterrupted for a little while.

  “I would be horribly envious, of course, if you were not so dear to me, Lady Quent.”

  This thought seemed so absurd Ivy could only think her companion was making a jest. “For what reason could you be envious of anyone?”

  The viscountess sighed, though her smile did not diminish. “It does seem very ill of me, doesn’t it? But you see, I still recall what it was like to make my first entrance in society. The grand affairs, the people, the conversations—everything was so bright, so novel in the beginning. Alas, it is a fact that things can only be new once. Therefore I envy you that pleasure I once had, and which now lies before you.”

  “Well, if one can expect to find novel things at each circle of society,” Ivy said, “then surely you have much to look forward to as well.”

  Lady Crayford gave a shrug. “I cannot say. It is true that my husband is something of an ambitious man, so perhaps it will be as you predict.”

  “But is he not here tonight?” Ivy glanced around them. “I was hoping he would be able to come.”

  “As was he! I fear that something has conspired to keep him away. Yet he sends his regards to you, and also his assurance that he will call on you very soon.”

  “Then I will look forward to it.”

  “I believe you have a great deal to look forward to, Lady Quent,” the viscountess said, and now her smile took on a mysterious aspect.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Only that my husband has told me of the whisperings he has heard.”

  Ivy could only stare. “Whisperings?”

  “The viscount may not attend Assembly or make a habit of frequenting parties, but he is very clever in his manner of gaining knowledge. He has learned that your husband is almost certain to be nominated for the post of lord inquirer. And for that to happen, yet another title must be bestowed upon him. While that might seem extraordinary, these are extraordinary times, and as history has shown us, one certain way to rise is to be a great man in a time of great troubles. Who can say what other titles and ranks will be granted to your husband if Altania continues to face dire times?” Her violet eyes were bright as she regarded Ivy. “So you see, Lady Quent, you have much to look forward to indeed.”

  Ivy hardly knew how to respond to these words. “I do not harbor any hopes for myself in that regard,” she managed to say at last. “Already I find myself in a position I could never have conceived even a year ago. Yet if such a thing is bestowed upon my husband, then it will only be because he earned it through his own merits.”

  Lady Crayford hesitated a moment, then gave her head a slight shake. “No, that is not entirely correct, Lady Quent. He has risen through his own actions, yet I do not believe his actions would be enough to gain the reward
s I speak of were you not at his side. You are part of what makes Sir Quent a thing of such charm and fascination. While his deeds might call for the bestowing of new titles, it is your presence that assures he will be gladly welcomed into those higher ranks.”

  “My presence?”

  “Do not look so astonished! Everyone wishes to be close to you, Lady Quent. You are the talk of all Invarel. There are countesses and earls and even dukes who greatly desired an invitation to this affair tonight. They would never admit to it, of course. To do so would be to reveal they wanted a thing they could not gain, which no one who wishes to maintain their position in society would ever willingly do. But you must trust me that it is true. So do you see? Your husband’s rise would be impossible without your own; rather, it entirely depends upon it.”

  Now Lady Crayford lowered her voice, so others could not possibly hear. “And with your assistance, your husband can only rise higher. With the perils that our nation faces, and the importance of his service, can you not expect him to become an earl, a marquess, or even more? Yet he is so modest! It will be up to you to assure he strives to place himself in a position best able to aid Altania in her time of need. Without you, I fear Altania may be deprived of its most likely hero. You must encourage him to reach as high as possible, so that he will have the necessary vantage to see what needs doing and the force to have it done. It may not be a natural thing for him, but if you encourage him, I know he will do it.”

  Ivy wanted to say this could not be the case, but she was dumbfounded. Except it was not simply shock that kept her from protesting. Her father had always encouraged her to place reason before sensibility, and Ivy could not deny that there was a logic to what Lady Crayford had said.

  Mr. Quent was not a man to seek out power or position. However, if she was able to encourage her husband to strive toward higher positions, would it not be to his benefit? Earlier that evening, he had suggested that there were those in the government who might turn against him if the truth of all he did in Torland was revealed. Yet if he was in a greater position of authority than they, they could not possibly challenge him. And if it was within her power to help him achieve such a thing, how could she not do so?