“Same as it ever was,” said Cook.
“And you’re the same as you ever were,” said Sara. “Have you put something in it?”
“What do you mean?” said Cook, doing a very good job of looking innocent and affronted.
“I mean, did your box of medicines survive the fire?” said Sara.
“Yes,” said Cook. “But on my honour, I haven’t dosed the tea.”
“Because it would be very like you to see us so reduced and deduce we needed a little help with our resting, wouldn’t it?” said Sara. “It’s not like you haven’t done it before …”
“It would be very like me,” said Cook, and she reached over and took the tea from Sara and drank half of it in one mighty gulp, and then for good measure she cut a wedge of ham and ate it, giving Sara a look that said “See?.”
“But it wouldn’t be like me to take my own medicine and put three of us to sleep at the same time now, would it? Not with our numbers so depleted. Mind, if you can’t sleep, you tell me and I’ve just the powder for that.”
Sara held her eyes for a beat, then nodded and drank.
“That’s good,” she said. “Hot and bitter, just as it should be.”
She looked at the plate in front of her and allowed herself to inhale.
“And that smells good too.”
She cut a piece of ham and ate it.
“My grandfather would roll in his grave if he saw me eating this,” she said.
“Your grandfather didn’t know what he was missing. And he was notoriously inconsistent in the superstitions and beliefs he adhered to himself,” said Cook. “Don’t think he’d begrudge you a decent breakfast in the circumstances. Now, tell us what you need to.”
Sharp and Sara took it in turns to tell of their adventures behind the mirrors, both so caught up in the story and in devouring the breakfast that neither noticed Cook pouring a powder into her own tea cup and swallowing it with a quick grimace.
When the story reached the point where Sara told of having glinted the mass drowning of the members of The Oversight as they fell into the trap laid for them by The Citizen, Cook shook, reached over and took her hand.
“Are you sure, Sara?” said Cook. “All of them?”
“I counted their bones,” said Sharp. “And it took their rings.”
He laid the handkerchief bundle he had brought all the way from the hellhole beneath Paris and untied it. A tumble of gold rings, set with incised bloodstones, spilled across the scrubbed deal tabletop.
Jed stood on his back legs so that Hodge could see the pile. He was silent, as was Cook.
“Eighty-five,” said Sharp. “As many as went into the mirrors. Tally them up if you don’t believe me. Trapped and drowned.”
“I saw my mother die,” said Sara. “I saw her die making sure that none of us ever got lured into that same trap. I glinted and saw The Citizen make some ritual pact with the outer darkness. He sacrificed a Sluagh to do it. And we know that those who have been washed in that darkness on the other side do not die on this side, or at least do not die as others do. So we will put things back in order, and then we will find this enemy who I believe must still walk and work against us behind the scenery, and then we will destroy him.
“How will we do that?” said Hodge.
“First we will sleep on it. Then we will go amongst our enemies and smite them hip and thigh,” yawned Sara.
“We’ll find them and kill them,” said Sharp.
“Turn executioners?” said Hodge.
“But Law and Lore,” began Cook, “they should be brought before The Smith’s court and without The Smith …”
“Law and Lore can only be executed if we remain,” said Sara, visibly fighting the tide of sleep trying to suck her into insensibility. “First we must survive. I have seen the face of the darkness and it has seen me. We can flinch and fail, or fight and flourish, for I fear the bloody time is upon us.”
Hodge shook his head.
“If the danger is so great, we must scatter, gather new members and rebuild.”
“If the danger is so great, we cannot scatter,” said Sara. “We cannot desert our posts. We must make a stand.”
“I agree,” said Sharp.
“A last stand is a glorious thing until it’s over,” said Cook. “Then it’s just a defeat, same as any other.”
Sharp opened his mouth to object, then found himself taken over by a yawn.
“No one needs a dead hero,” said Cook, and as she spoke she pointed at Ida and Charlie. “And you two better take this in too, because you’re young and too foolhardy for your own good.”
She turned back to Sharp and Sara who were both clearly struggling to stay awake.
“Dead heroes are off the job. And the job never dies. So the hero, the real hero is the one who endures, who keeps at it even when they’re losing. Heroism isn’t a grand gesture: it’s grinding, unacknowledged commitment and endurance. Heroism’s doing the boring stuff that needs getting done. Even if it means walking away from a fight they’re doomed to lose so they can fight another day, when they might win. You want the other kind of hero, all puffed up and shiny, go to the music hall or a parade.”
“Cook’s right,” said Hodge. “With The Smith gone north, we haven’t even had a full hand.”
“If Lucy Harker had stayed,” began Sara, shaking herself free from another yawn.
“Lucy Harker was never going to stay,” said Hodge.
“You do not know that.”
“I know her destiny lies elsewhere,” said Cook. “Not apart from ours, but away from it.”
“How can you know that?” said Sara.
“Because she said so,” said Cook. “And we make our own destiny. That’s what freedom is, Sara. That’s what we fight for.”
Sara’s head was bobbing as if she was drunk but desperately trying to stay alert.
“We fight for others’ freedom. We are different. We are sworn and bound by an oath. We stand by our word,” said Sara.
And then Sharp caught her as her head bobbed forward and she slumped against the table, fast asleep.
“Thing about oaths, Sara-girl, is you got to know when to break them,” said Cook.
“You did dose her tea then,” said Sharp. “You lied.”
“Not her tea. The ham,” said Cook. “And not so much a lie as a bluff.”
“Was a lie really,” said Charlie. “Not a bluff.”
“A bluff is a lie. Stands to reason the other way round must be true too,” said Cook. “And don’t talk back. And given her state, a bluff is better than a bloody battle; there’s no way she would have taken the medicine and the rest she needs without fighting. She’s never known when to slow down. Just runs and runs until she hits a wall. And then she takes ten times longer to get back to normal than if she just paced herself and rested like a normal person.”
“Sara Falk a normal person?” said Hodge with a snort. “Wish you good fortune with that.”
“And my ham?” said Sharp, again fighting a yawn.
“Your tea,” said Cook. “Half what I gave her. You always heal faster.”
He stared at her, then nodded.
“You’re right,” he said. “She would have fought you like a catamount. And she is spent. As am I.”
He turned to Charlie and Ida.
“Please carry her to a bedroom upstairs. I fear I cannot trust myself not to drop her.”
“Room at the end of passage,” said Cook.
“I can sleep in the stable,” said Sharp.
“You will sleep in The Smith’s bed and do as you’re told,” said Cook. “Ida, take his arm and make sure he doesn’t take a tumble on the stairs. Charlie can manage Sara on his own.”
She watched as they left the room, then began clearing the plates off the table.
“She called him Jack,” said Hodge, raising an eyebrow at her. “She hasn’t called him Jack since they were little nippers.”
Cook grunted non-committally and turned
back to the fire.
“I’m just saying,” he said. “This’d be about the worst time for that sort of thing.”
“It’s always the worst time for that sort of thing,” said Cook. “Take it from someone who’s had the glory days that Trousers and Charlie there hopefully still have before them: the fragility’s all part of the joy and the sadness of it.”
CHAPTER 16
ARMBRUSTER AND MAGILL
After it had been confirmed that Lucy’s ring was the genuine article, the circle had broken into small groups, presumably to discuss the new turn of events and its implications. Lucy and Cait were asked to sit and wait.
Cait stared into the fire and said nothing to Lucy, which was ominous.
The Guardian left the room with a knot of people which included Mrs. Tittensor and the two travellers in the fringed buckskin jackets who had validated the ring, Armbruster and the one he’d called Jon, who had smilingly introduced himself as Magill before absenting himself.
The Proctor went to a table in the far corner of the room which was laden with jugs and glasses, and came back with a glass for each of them.
“You’ll be tired and thirsty after all this,” he said. “Have a drink. It’ll refresh you.”
Lucy watched him drink from his glass. His eyes caught hers. He stopped drinking and held his glass out to her.
“Here, swap if you think it’s a trick. But on my word, we’re past that now. It’s refreshment pure and simple.”
Lucy was thirsty, but she was still Lucy, and so she accepted his glass and swapped it with her own.
The drink was sweet and sharp, with a decided bite to it. She couldn’t decide if it was strangely delicious or mildly disgusting.
“Switchel,” said the Proctor. “Don’t you have it back in the old world?”
“What is it?” said Lucy.
“Water with vinegar and sweetened up with plenty of longlick,” he said. “And a goodly amount of ginger for the kick. Refreshing, ain’t it?”
“Longlick?” said Lucy.
“Molasses,” he said.
She finished the glass and nodded.
“Thank you,” she said.
Cait held her glass as if she’d forgotten it was in her hand, eyes still anywhere in the room except the bit that had Lucy in it.
Lucy was about to encourage her to try the drink when the door opened and the Guardian led the others back in. The circle reconvened, and she smoothed her dress before addressing Lucy and Cait.
“Please make yourselves comfortable, for we have talking to do,” she said. “We are agreed that you have authority to operate here, and a right—a customary right—to our help.”
“Right—” began Cait.
“Not you,” said Mrs. Lonnegan. She pointed her finger at Lucy.
“Her.”
Cait opened her mouth again. And then closed it.
“Sister Lonnegan is correct. You will have to stay and be regulated to our ways and satisfaction,” said the Guardian. “Unless the official representative of The Oversight, as a recognised entity, takes responsibility for your actions. And you in turn take an oath to be governed by her.”
Magill said something low that only Armbruster heard and smiled at.
“Mr. Magill thinks we are too concerned with rules and strictures,” said the Guardian. “Is that right, Mr. Armbruster?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Armbruster. “That’s about the size of it.”
“Mean no offence,” said Magill. “It’s just a matter of taste, though I see your hearts are in the right place and you likely mean well enough.”
“It’s just that we do things a little more rough and ready out in the territories,” said Armbruster. “I’ll allow we aren’t used to all this sitting and talking and circling round things.”
“Not used to roofs either, come to say,” said Magill. “We spend more time under the sky than indoors, as you know. Hope you’ll pardon our rough ways.”
The Guardian swung her grey eyes towards Lucy.
“Do you mind their rough ways?” she said.
“Me? No. At least … I don’t know the gentlemen well enough to know,” said Lucy. “Why ask me?”
“Because we’ve undertook to take you west with us, if you want it,” said Magill. “If you’re set on following the baby you come so far to find, that is.
“Of course, you’ll have to control your friend,” said Armbruster, still dabbing at his nose. “She’s got a punch like a mule kick and a fist like a pine knot, and I’ve taken to liking my nose the way it’s always been.”
“I should explain,” said the Guardian. “You two ladies are not the only visitors to our circle this evening. Brother Armbruster and Brother Magill have come here from the very edges of the Great American Desert to make us aware of things they have found which concern us all. They are not part of our circle as such, being affiliated to the newer Western Remnant which presently bases itself in the proud river city of St. Louis.”
“You have more than one Remnant?” said Lucy. She was aware that Cait was being unusually silent.
“We have a greater circle of which this small, and if I might say it without pride, original circle is both progenitor and part.”
“So. The fisherman Graves and his wife. They went west?” said Cait.
“Far west, and kept right on going,” said the Guardian. “Truly I do not know where, for the place they have set their feet towards is unmapped territory outwith the bounds of these United States, on the other side of the Great American Desert, up and over the Stoney Mountains, way beyond the Continental Divide.”
“Why’d a fisherman go so far from the sea?” said Cait. “This sounds like a story that doesn’t have a lot of sense in it.”
“It has sense and a lot of sorrow,” said the Guardian. “You’ve not been here long enough to taste the atmosphere hereabouts, but sadness came with the great gale a year ago. We’ve been cod fishers here for more than two hundred years. You’ll have smelled the drying fish as you came along the shore, no doubt. Anyway, cod fishers we’ve been—”
“To the devil with the cod: tell me about the child,” said Cait. “Why’d they take the child from here and go inland?”
“I’m getting there,” said the Guardian. “Shortest route’s not always the best one. So, cod fishers we’ve been here, and none more so than the Graves family. They’ve been casting nets out at the Grand Banks off of Newfoundland for generations. Seawise men with salt for blood. September last but one there was a blow out on the Banks with winds like no one ever seen before, nor like to see again. Waves like running mountains they said, those that came back. Eleven boats went under the sea-green shroud in one day, that was sixty-six men and boys now lying fathoms deep and gone for ever. Samuel Graves watched his father and his wife’s father, three of his brothers and two of hers just eaten by the sea in about as many seconds as it takes to tell it. He was saved by luck and brought home to shore a hollowed-out thing. Worse, his wife was pregnant, but the news of all her family gone, for her mother died young—why, it puts her into such a decline that two days later she falls down the stairs and loses the baby, as I told you.”
“And that’s when this Tittensor woman comes to you with her sad story about a stolen baby she doesn’t need because she’s carrying one of her own making,” said Cait.
“It wasn’t like that,” said Prudence Tittensor, her hand spread protectively over the great curve of her stomach. “I’m not a bad person.”
“Sam and Hetty Graves were broken by the sea,” said the Guardian. “They heard talk of the great wagonway opening up to the west and decided on a new start. They sold their house, their father’s chattels and headed for St. Louis with a plan to turn farmer, as far from the hungry Atlantic as they could.”
“So they weren’t running away to hide with their stolen baby?” said Cait, not bothering to hide the disbelief and the disgust in her voice. “Well, that’s convenient, is it not?”
“It’s the tr
uth,” said the Guardian. “They heard talk of the new road, the Oregon Trail, and decided to venture all on an inland voyage and stake all on a new voyage on the Willamette.”
“You’ll never find them,” said Prudence Tittensor, and then she held up a hand to stop Cait interjecting. “I don’t say it with any pleasure. But it’s the truth. There’s a tide of humanity starting to head west, and they’re lost in it.”
“It’s true, ma’am,” said Armbruster. “It’s a big country out there and you could spend a lifetime trailing a man and never find him.”
Cait stared around the room. She looked absolutely exhausted by the news.
“Lucy,” she said. “I thank you for your help, but I think we must part now. You may go where you will, but I have no choice.”
Lucy knew she meant she was going west. There was an implacable look in her eye. More than that, Lucy knew that something had broken between them. It had broken at the precise moment when she had disobeyed Cait and told her to sit down. It had happened when she showed the ring.
“I have told you twice now, we cannot let you operate alone,” said the Guardian. “The Glint claims assistance by right of her ring. The Oversight we can help. A fiagaí? We cannot allow that, now you have come to my notice.”
“Truth is, you think about it with your head on straight, you really don’t want to be going west,” said Armbruster, cutting through the Guardian’s dogged repetition. “I mean, if you’re set on it, we’ll take you, but it’s no place for a woman on her own.”
“We’ve had letters from those as took the trail last year,” said the Guardian. “They say the going’s hard as hickory and you suffer like a thole pin.”
“She won’t be on her own,” said Lucy. “I’m going too.”
She knew she was going to mourn this later on, but right now she was just trying to stay in a game whose rules and boundaries she only vaguely understood. And there was something else, something to do with the lost baby. Something she’d had a lot of time to think on on the voyage over.
“The devil you are,” said Cait. “We’ll part friends, but we’re done with, you and I. I’ve no need of a pupil that can’t do what I say. That was the rule we set.”
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