“Not quite how I would put it…”
“… and then to give him an object so powerful that he will, no doubt with your instruction, be able to move back and fore as he pleases.” Mistress Flyte began to pace the room, her agitation obvious.
“Look, I don’t see that I’m doing anything particularly reckless. Fairfax had the astrolabe once. He used it. He is a Spinner. None of that is new. And I don’t intend teaching him to use it better, even assuming I’d be capable of doing that. The deal will be to take him to the astrolabe, to reunite him with something he had once before anyway. I don’t see that I’m doing anything wrong, not if it frees Samuel and secures the safety of his whole family.”
“Then you underestimate your adversary. Tell me, truly, what do you believe Fairfax will do if he obtains the astrolabe?”
“What he has always done; look after number one. Make himself richer. Improve his standing with the king. Make sure he’s never on the losing side again.”
“And you think he can achieve all this without it being at anyone else’s expense?”
“At the moment he’s trying to do just that at Samuel’s expense. What’s the difference?”
“None, save that you will not know who it is he cuts down on his way to the high position he is determined to claim as his own.” Mistress Flyte sat down again, mastering her emotions, regaining her more customary composure. “But that is a small matter and for your own conscience. There is a greater issue at stake here. Something that goes beyond your own personal wishes, or even the safety of a handful of innocent people.”
Xanthe felt weary. “Mistress Flyte, believe me, I’ve thought long and hard about this. I’m doing the best I can to make things right.”
“Your motives are sincere, that I do not doubt. However, your reasoning is limited and your understanding of the situation lacking in insight.”
Xanthe frowned. “I had hoped that you would support me.”
“How can I support an endeavor that may enable an unscrupulous, amoral, dangerous man to harness the manner of power we are discussing? You cannot have considered the consequences. Given such a gift, Fairfax would not simply spin time, he would twist it! Once he realized what was within his grasp he would never be content with his current modest ambitions. Why should he? Nothing would be beyond his reach. No one would be able to resist him. He would be able to move through the decades, through the centuries, distorting and corrupting, giving no heed to the consequences of his deeds, caring only for his own advancement.”
Xanthe was beginning to see, beginning to understand. “Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.”
“The ability to spin time has to be governed. It must only be used responsibly, for the good of all, to assist those who have suffered an injustice, to allow good to triumph. Fairfax would burn those precious laws to cinders.”
“OK, maybe he would, or maybe he’d just get rich quick and enjoy the high life. I don’t know. I can’t say. What I can say is that I came here to do something, and there is only one way for me to do it. Why do I suddenly have to be the keeper of this whole Spinner thing? I didn’t ask for it. Nobody asked me if I wanted to be dragged through time, putting myself in danger, risking being marooned and separated from my family, with nothing to gain but heartache. It’s not my choice.”
“The chatelaine sang to you. As did the chocolate pot.”
“Exactly, they called to me, not the other way around,” said Xanthe, allowing her own anger to show now.
“And you answered that call.”
“Because I heard someone in distress. Because I’m a human being.”
“Because you are a Spinner.”
“Well, let me tell you, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be!” she shouted, jumping to her feet. “It’s made me lie to everyone I care about, it’s making me risk everything. And there’s no guarantee I will succeed. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“I assure you I do.”
“How can you? Nobody could, unless they were…”
“… a Spinner.” Mistress Flyte turned her face up to Xanthe, her eyes bright but her expression calm. “Precisely.”
“You?” Xanthe felt as if she was losing her already flimsy grasp on what was real and what wasn’t. “You are a Spinner too?”
“I was. Many years ago I chose a different path.”
“But you have done it? You have traveled through time yourself?”
“Please, sit.”
Xanthe forced herself back into her chair. “That’s why the chocolate pot brought me here, isn’t it? It brought me to you.”
“I was once, as you are, a youthful, inexpert, and reluctant Spinner. The gift came upon me in much the same way.”
“You connected with lots of different things? Not just one like Fairfax?”
“I did. And those things often led me to dangerous places, to frightening times, to situations that asked much of me. I was not always willing to give what was needed,” she said, looking briefly sorrowful, making Xanthe wonder what sacrifices she had made. “Over time I came to see that I had a responsibility. That I had been chosen to join a group of individuals, most of whom would never meet, whose task it was … is … to use their gift to fight against injustice. To protect the innocent. To assist those who need us.”
“But you gave it up? Eventually you stopped spinning. Why? What was it that was asked of you that finally made you say no?”
Mistress Flyte gave nothing away now, the inscrutable expression firmly back in place. “This is not the moment to discuss my history. All you need to know is that you cannot, you must not, enable such a man as Fairfax to grow in strength as a Spinner.”
“If he’s so bad, why was he given the gift in the first place?”
“Not all scoundrels are born that way. Some are formed by their experiences. Fairfax once had allegiances and sensibilities far closer to those of the Applebys than you might expect.”
“Yes, I do remember Samuel saying something about that.”
“Feeling the roughness of a noose around one’s neck might well effect a shift in a man’s character, don’t you think?”
Xanthe shrugged. “So what do you suggest I do? Appeal to his better nature? Hope there is still something of the better person in there I can reach? I have to say it’s not a plan I’d want to stake my life on. Or anyone else’s.”
“If you insist on taking Fairfax forward to the moment he last had the astrolabe in his grasp…”
“Assuming that’s possible, given all the things he’s changed.”
“Indeed. If you succeed in this course of action, you cannot bring him back to this time with the instrument that will allow him dominion over time. He is not a person to be trusted with that gift. He will use it badly, as in truth he has already attempted to do.”
“Actually, I have had a bit of time to think of this myself. At home. It’s easier to think clearly there, somehow. My mind works better there. Then. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at that. I’m not going to thrash about blindly like I did before and end up making things worse. Again. This time will be different. For two reasons. First because I have come up with a plan.”
Mistress Flyte raised her eyebrows expectantly.
“I thought about it, and if I can succeed in taking Fairfax to the moment just before his execution, then I reckon I can influence his return journey too. He might be using the astrolabe, but what if there was a way I could send him out of harm’s way?”
“Have him arrive somewhere other than the abbey?”
“Somewhere, or some when.” She reached into her bag and took out a small velvet pouch. Opening it, she dropped the contents into Mistress Flyte’s outstretched hand. A single silver coin fell into her pale palm.
“How do you plan to use this?” the old woman asked.
“Look at the date.”
She held the coin close to the candle beside her chair, turning it slowly in her fingers, examining every part of the inscriptions
it bore. At last she gave a little gasp and then looked up at Xanthe, smiling.
“You are proving yourself worthy of the name of Spinner already, child.”
“I’m a quick learner,” Xanthe said, shrugging off the compliment. “Do you think it will work?”
“It is possible,” she nodded. “Although there are words that might help you; things that Spinners use to help control and direct their travel. Such things need to be particular to the person and the task, however. It would be no good my simply telling them to you. They have to be right for you and for this journey.”
Now it was Xanthe’s turn to smile. “I might just have something that could help with that.” She reached into her bag again and slowly took out the Spinners book. “This is the second thing that makes me believe I can really help Samuel this time. That makes me know that this time, things will be different.”
Mistress Flyte’s hands flew to her mouth in astonishment.
“You have it!”
“It was … waiting for me.”
The old woman’s face was aglow. “I knew it would find you,” she said, nodding slowly. “Now you are equipped.” She sank back in her chair with what Xanthe saw to be a mixture of fatigue and relief.
“Will you help me understand it? I don’t have much time and I really need to understand it. You say there are words in here that could give me some control, make my plan work.” She opened the book and leafed through it, scanning the pages once again for anything that might seem relevant. “It’s just that it’s really hard to know where to start. There are so many stories.” She held the book out for her host to take.
Mistress Flyte shook her head. “I do not need to read it.”
“You don’t want to take a look?”
“I know well what is within its covers, for I had many years to read it. For a long time it was in my keeping, now it is in yours. It finds its way to the one who has most need of its wisdom.”
“Can you tell me how best to use it to deal with Fairfax? I bet he’d love to get his hands on it!”
“It would be of no use to him. It would not reveal itself to someone unworthy.”
“Really?” Xanthe thought of how the book had resisted being copied in any way, but the words inside it, on its own pages, were clearly legible.
Mistress Flyte picked up her little china bell and rang it. Although the sound was thin and light, Edmund must have become attuned to it over time, above the low hubbub of the chocolate house, for he was soon pounding up the stairs and appeared, slightly out of breath, at the door. He looked surprised to see Xanthe sitting by the fire, but also, she thought, pleased. He grinned at her before nodding at his employer.
“Mistress?”
“Edmund, you were a keen scholar, I recall. You can read, can you not?”
“Indeed, mistress. My father saw to it I applied myself to my letters until I was accomplished.”
“Quite so. Xanthe would like to hear you read. Would you be so good as to read us a short passage from her book?”
Puzzled, but ever eager to please Mistress Flyte, Edmund took the book from Xanthe and turned to the first page. He frowned, searching further into the book. “Alas, mistress, I can find no words here. Shall I fetch your Bible?” he asked, passing the book back to Xanthe.
As she took it from him she could clearly see the text on every page, and yet to Edmund they had all appeared blank.
Mistress Flyte dismissed him with a light wave of her hand. “No matter. Another time. Thank you, Edmund, you may return to your duties.”
As soon as he had gone Xanthe spoke up. “He couldn’t see any of it, could he?”
“Edmund is too simple in his thinking, too limited in his intellectual scope; he is not up to bearing the weight of such knowledge. As for Fairfax … you are aware of what manner of man he is. Not all who have the gift that enables them to spin time remain worthy of it. Fairfax is too self-serving and ruthless. Only those worthy in all ways can see what lies within. He has proved himself to be a poor custodian of the gift.”
“Power corrupts. I get it.”
“Ha! For the most part, Lord Acton was never able to convince me of the value of his political philosophies, but I will allow the truth of that statement.”
“You spoke to the actual Lord Acton? If I remember my school history lessons he lived in the early nineteenth century!”
“Now is not the time for my history.”
“But wait, Fairfax is a Spinner.”
“As I said, not all who are wicked begin so. There was a time when he showed promise, when he cared more for the fortunes of others. Alas, he has chosen a dark path to tread.”
“I … I showed it to someone in my own time,” she admitted, thinking suddenly of Harley. “Someone trustworthy,” she insisted. “He could read it. Does that make him a Spinner too?”
“Not necessarily. In fact, it is highly unlikely. There are so very few of us. No, it is more likely that he has sufficient wit and wisdom, sufficient sensitivity to the subject, and sufficient integrity to be permitted limited access to these words. You consider him a helpmate, perhaps?”
“You could say that.”
The old woman shifted slightly in her chair, wincing at the movement and effort involved, and Xanthe was reminded of how badly she had been injured.
“I’m sorry, Mistress Flyte, I know I’m tiring you, but I have to know.…”
She held up a hand to silence further questions. “You seek to understand what is written by looking, that is to be expected. Of an ordinary person. But think, child, how is it that the special objects make themselves known to you?”
“They sing to me.”
“Precisely. You hear them. If you would know which story is right for you now, which tale will tell you what you need to know, then you should not look, but listen.”
Xanthe paused for a moment, stroking the cover of the book. The cool leather felt warmer under her hand now, not because of the proximity of the fire, but rather due to some mysterious activity within the book itself. As if it was stirring. Xanthe closed her eyes and did her utmost to still her mind. She opened the book carefully, letting the pages fall how they would, making no conscious effort to choose a particular chapter or story herself. At first she heard nothing, but then, gradually, a whispering began. She quelled alarm, recalling the mournful cries and entreaties of the people she heard calling to her as she traveled through the blind house. This voice, however, was different. This was not a clamoring crowd, but a single, bell-like voice, growing from a soft whisper to a bolder, richer sound. Each word was spoken clearly, confidently, with authority. It was a woman’s voice, not one she recognized, and the accent and sentence structure suggested the west of England, probably in the late eighteenth or early nineteenth century. Xanthe gasped as the speaker addressed her by name, drawing her attention to her story in the book, telling her how she too had needed to travel with another, to direct that travel specifically.
“There is no room for error in such an endeavor,” the woman warned. “All must be prepared and done so with the utmost care, for to misstep could result not in failure alone, but in calamity. Bind the accompanying traveler to yourself with these words. Likewise send him to the time and place of your choosing using these words once more, and do not omit any, lest the spinning fall short of what is required. For so it happened to me, and I paid a great price for my want of perfection.”
She spoke on, recounting her tale of losing sight of her fellow traveler, of the two of them being separated by centuries, and of how long and lonely was the road back to each other. And then she gave Xanthe the words that she must speak at the point of departure. Xanthe listened closely, fearing that she could not possibly commit them exactly to memory. The moment the voice fell silent she opened her eyes and checked in the book. As she had hoped, it lay open at the exact page of the story, and there were the few, precious lines, precisely as the woman had said them.
She looked up at Mistress Flyte. “Did
you hear her?” she asked.
“No, child. The book is for you now.”
Xanthe felt deeply moved. She had not thought before about what it meant to be chosen. She had seen only the difficulties and challenges of being pushed and pulled back and fore through the ages. Now, having heard someone from the book speak her name and talk to her directly, not only to say she must do something but to help her, to guide her, to trust her with such a rare knowledge—now she felt that somehow, as astonishing as it might sound to anyone else, she belonged. On asking the old woman for ink and paper Xanthe was directed to Mistress Flyte’s small desk in the corner of the room. Xanthe quickly wrote out the lines she needed from the story, tucking the paper into her bra. She smiled at her host, closing the book and handing it to her. “Will you look after it for me, please? Until I return.”
“Until you return,” she agreed slowly, taking the book and holding it to her heart.
Xanthe picked up her cloak and swung it around her shoulders, hitching up her bag once more and setting her broad-brimmed hat on her head. “I’ll say goodbye to Edmund, and then I have a stagecoach to catch.”
For once she felt determined, in control, and focused. A state of mind that was lessened slightly when she remembered she needed money and had to ask Mistress Flyte to buy the silver thimble off her. The old woman agreed, and as she closed Xanthe’s fingers around the coins, she held on to her hand, just for a moment.
“Godspeed, young Spinner,” she said to her. “Remember, you would not have been chosen were you unequal to the task.”
“Maybe it’s the being chosen that makes a person good enough for it, don’t you think?” She slipped the money into her skirt pocket, taking care not to mix it up with the special coin she had brought for Fairfax. The fire crackled and spat and, outside, the wind had begun to moan. At the door Xanthe hesitated, turning, and asked, “Do you think he will go for it? Fairfax, I mean. Do you think he will agree to return to that moment? It’s a terrifying thought, surely; to face your own death not once but twice.”
Secrets of the Chocolate House Page 26