GRAPES IS FOUND. ELSWYTH RECEIVES HER MOTHER’S BOOK. AUNT ANNE BREWS A POTENT TEA.
n the uppermost step of the stoop lay Grapes, panting shallowly. Elswyth was leaving the house, to see if any response had been received at the telegraph office, when she found her sister’s dog collapsed there. The greyhound was mottled wet and weak with illness.
Without hesitation, Elswyth knelt down and wrapped her shawl around his head. He whined pitifully and she pressed him to her chest. Her first thought was to go and find Louisa upstairs, but then she realized what a shock it would be for her to see her favorite pet in such a state.
She sat with his head on her lap for some time and tried to feed him both biscuits and water. He would eat nothing. He licked his paws, which seemed permanently curled under, perhaps broken. He cried sometimes and fell in and out of sleep. Elswyth was no nurse, and she could not decide whether it was dangerous or vital for the hound to sleep. He certainly could not be bled.
She instead mustered all her strength to lift him into her arms and carry him back behind the house, to Aunt Anne’s cottage. As skinny as he was, he was not light.
Her aunt opened the door warily at first but, when she saw the dying hound and the state of her niece, she quickly ushered them in, and Grapes was laid out on the kitchen table.
‘Can you save him?’ Elswyth pleaded.
Aunt Anne set to work, mumbling under her breath while running her ancient knotted hands over his belly, pressing here and there, trying to feel what was happening inside the dog. Her face was wrinkled in concentration.
When Louisa was little she couldn’t properly say the word ‘greyhound.’ Her attempts sounded rather like ‘grapes’ and so that became the dog’s name.
‘There is little hope. I would try to give him our restorative elixir, but the only store is at the Auspicium. It is too late. He has simply wandered too far from home.’
‘What good is your alchemy then?’ Elswyth pulled at her aunt, who was rubbing the dog’s ears, trying to comfort him. ‘Get away!’ she said. ‘Leave him be.’ Elswyth stroked his head gently and spoke to him of times they had shared in the past, the bright days of spring coursing on the wide lawn, and of Louisa’s great love for him. Aunt Anne stood behind her, watching. It wasn’t until she could no longer feel a trace of his breath that Elswyth allowed herself to cry.
It was still in the cottage for some time.
‘The soul is like a bird,’ Aunt Anne said presently. ‘It can travel along the sky, through paths of its own making. It can see through the night everything that is below, and augur some things that are yet ahead. If these paths were known to you, you could have found this dog before his injuries took him.’
Elswyth whimpered softly.
‘That is what my Sisters and I teach in the Auspicium. I have just traveled along the Nightway. I have been to see Mr. Thomas.’
Elswyth gave her a look from under furrowed brow. ‘Do not tease me with your fairy stories today, I beg of you.’
‘He has received your telegram.’
At the shock of this, Elswyth sat up. ‘How did you…’
‘He will answer it. And return to you. You must wait for him.’
Elswyth dried her cheeks with a small handkerchief. ‘You have seen this?’
‘More than seen—read. Here it is written.’ Aunt Anne pulled the copy of The City-State from her bookshelf. ‘Your mother knew what would come to pass, and she wrote it all down. Perhaps it is time you revisit the story, so that you might know as well why it is that Mr. Thomas will return.’
‘And you told this to him?’ She took the book from her aunt.
‘He will read it as well. I have ripped out the last four pages, and they are with him, even now. Along with the letter, they wait in the envelope that he bears southward to Texas. When he opens it, he will know what to do. You, too, must read to the end.’
‘Why did Father send him away?’
‘Elswyth, you must come to the Auspicium. We guide a whole flock of souls. Our walls ring a Garden of Paradise. In the center is a ladder to the sky, a road between life and death.’
‘You deal in death, then.’ Elswyth’s head rose.
‘If necessary,’ her aunt said. She spoke cautiously. ‘The length of life’s thread is for the fates to spin, measure, and cut. It is not for us to interfere. However…’
‘However?’ Elswyth’s heart leaped in her throat.
‘Lengthening takes a long time. And patient practice. It is the life of a vestal virgin. You must set your soul in accordance with nature. That is what the Auspicium is for. You cannot court men for the rest of your years. Nor ride a steed. You must drink daily of the elixir of life and leave the comforts of society behind. The lengthening of life is a difficult undertaking. Not so the cutting of the thread.’
‘I am afraid.’ She smoothed Grapes’s fur with her hand.
‘Perhaps you should begin with your mother’s book.’
‘I will read it,’ she promised. ‘Straightaway.’
‘Good. It is also expected that knowledge is shared between Sisters. You have known that Mr. Buell is cousin to Mr. Thomas?’
At the thought of these two men, and the marriage proposal, Elswyth’s breath caught in her throat. She nodded.
‘It was unforeseen. But no matter now. Though he carries the blood, he is not a suitable replacement. I expect you agree.’
Elswyth nodded again, fortifying herself. She lifted Grapes and slid a large sheet underneath him. She wrapped him tenderly, taking great care in arranging his limbs. When he looked peaceful she said, ‘Tell me what the Auspices know of death.’
Rather than answer, Aunt Anne set the kettle to boil and her clawlike hands crept along the high dusty cupboards, taking down jars. Bones, feathers, shifting white sands, a live glowing moth, these all festered inside the glass jars.
‘I know a liquid that compels the blood to flee from the veins. I have ingredients enough for a single man’s dose. I’d guess you have a man in mind. It is untraceable by doctors, but you must take care not to be discovered administering it.’
Elswyth nodded grimly as her aunt neatly dropped a writhing scorpion into the boiling waters.
‘If you use this phial of poison, you become a practitioner of the alchemy. I will consider your life dedicated to our ways, and will expect you to undergo the full initiation, married or not.’
Aunt Anne sealed the phial with a small blackened cork and handed it to Elswyth. Fear rose in her heart.
21/9/43
ALONG THE CAMINO REAL
Dearest Elswyth,
The chilled air this morning necessitates a blanket around my shoulders. The climate has changed. It seems that even in the south winter must pay his annual visit. The dark red spot of Antares is high now and Scorpius has chased Orion’s protection from the heavens.
I have seen no birds. I am woeful and alone. I have lost d’Etre. Late last night he was spooked by coyotes. Their terrible cries are like the screams of children. I awoke on the ground and reached for my sabre as they circled closer around us. I feared we would both be eaten. For the first time since leaving the Rodriguez estate, I was glad that I had remained steadfast in my refusal to allow Abril to accompany me.
So afraid was I for my own safety, I could not keep an eye on d’Etre. In a flash, the coyotes were all about us. I stood and shouted and waved my blanket to scare them. They nipped at d’Etre and he startled and pulled his stake from the ground. Before I could grab hold of him, he was lost to the night, running a new race to his certain death.
I swung my sabre wildly and though I did not strike a coyote, the clamor scared them off. I hope they won’t catch d’Etre. He is fast.
All morning, I hung close to the road, looking in wider and wider circles for d’Etre. All I discovered was the grave scene of some murdered wagoners. They were so poorly buried that hungry creatures had scratched up their bones. The skeletons lay exposed and rotting in the open sun. I will spare you furt
her description.
Midday, I saw two Mexicans on the road. They had one burro slung heavy with sacks of eggs. I bought two dozen, the little money I have out here being worthless compared to some nourishment. I asked them in the best Spanish I could muster if they had seen my animal and they had not. They had no other news except to say the Indians were attacking on some length of the river. We then parted ways.
Perhaps I should’ve asked to ride with them back to Albuquerque, where I could procure another mount from Rodriguez, but it seems I have come far in the wrong direction. The Mexicans said El Paso del Norte is not far from here, and I could make it with a few days’ walk. I was surprised, as I thought the mountain pass was south of here.
I have found that somehow Abril slipped the Nightway map in my sack! I sorely wish that I had a map of these lands instead, but this one of the clockwork sky is oddly comforting. It must be from this part of the world. The stars are fixed, but many of the asterisms it illustrates are foreign: desert creatures, on entirely different ellipticals.
I long for d’Etre. My heart is heavy indeed, as he had become my sole companion in these dark days. I cannot stop myself from thoughts of your growing belly and wedding date. If I cannot find another steed within a few days, your deadline will impossible, even with the letter undelivered. Time is about to run out, and I press myself forward and look to the skies for any sight of flying guides.
I must admit despair follows me closely. I wonder if you have not surrendered yourself already. I wonder if it is Buell’s child or someone else’s, and how you could come to be in such a predicament. I do not care what has transpired, and I take your telegram as a call for help. I am trying to return to you with honor.
Yet some thoughts are dark. Your father suffered me to live in his home, and had perhaps deemed to see an end to that arrangement. He must have known the sort of desert march he was banishing me to.
I follow the only map I have. The stars are now my traveling partners. Above me the teapot, Sagittarius’s asterism, dips its fine spout into the spangled waters of the Milky Way, pouring a cool cup of healing tea. What I wouldn’t give for the terrestrial equal, with a bit of milk—how I like it best—to revive my weakened limbs.
Besides Spanish daggers this desert teems with snakes and black insects, death always at the heel. The fates have closed all possibilities to me but to walk.
Each Step Is Yours, Zadock
FAM. SCORPIONES
GEN. CENTRUROIDES
21.9.43, 11:45, 95 deg., 5 knots, few clouds
Desert country, far from water
Scorpion. Large, black. Poisonous, I would wager. Scorpio is now one short month from ascending the throne of the Zodiac, and I see his great pincers come over the horizon every eventide when I attempt to find my way by the stars. He is a water sign. I cannot now make a map, but feel I can at least find my way as long as the stars hold. Thinking to endure what is before me, I must continue to ask myself: What is a moment in the face of time?
MR. GRAY GIVES A GALA PRESENTATION. ELSWYTH TELLS HIM OF THE TELEGRAM. THE WAITING BEGINS.
eeping her composure through the entire evening had been difficult. Elswyth’s thoughts kept returning to Grapes. She had stowed the body of Louisa’s grayhound in a large wooden trunk in the cellar. She remembered her mother’s coffin and the day it had been lowered underground. Now that it had stopped raining, she was faced with the task of burying Grapes in the garden.
That grim undertaking would have to wait until tomorrow. It was an important night for her father—the night of the gala. There were wealthy donors and patrons milling about at a reception in the museum’s main hall, though it was not quite finished. She would have to make excuses to society about her sister’s illness. Louisa couldn’t be introduced that night, as many expected. A good number of the concerned were awkward young men in garish getups. Mr. Buell lurked conspicuously in the back.
Elswyth had spent the evening running from the hall to the kitchen, supervising the incompetent help her father had hired. Nearly as bad were the dancers employed to flit about the gala lifting stuffed birds on sticks, as though they were flying.
Elswyth kept Aunt Anne’s phial of poison in her pocket and fingered it nervously. Would it be better to wait till she and Mr. Buell lived together? Her gown felt especially tight about her midsection. She waited until the kitchen was emptied of staff, occupied by duties elsewhere. She uncorked the phial and held it over a cup of tea, but before she could pour it out a thundering applause broke the still air, startling her back into the present.
It was her father’s presentation. She had missed it.
She raced into the main hall just in time to witness the dawning disaster. Her father was concluding his speech, accompanied by many fine large lithographs, on his plans for the Museum of Flying. He had just finished demonstrating his careful taxidermy and preservation techniques as well as touching briefly on the subject of the mechanics of flight, and what might be learned from a museum dedicated to all things that flew. The next part of the program was Elswyth’s speech, meant to finally sway the hearts of the patrons and secure their much needed support for the year to come.
Her father called her name nervously from the lectern, scanning the crowd. She stood in the back, still wearing her apron, frozen in the shadows. She had spent all hours, day and night, in her room reading The City-State. She continually cried, at times for her mother, at times for Louisa or Grapes, and at times for herself. With all that had transpired, she had entirely forgotten to write her keynote address.
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