by Jeff Wheeler
Stephen narrowed his gaze. “I’m sorry, Aldermaston. But she stays with me.”
“I implore you to see reason. You cannot simply take her away when—”
“I can, and I will,” Stephen said. “If they want her, tell them where to meet us. Gimmerton Sough.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
GIMMERTON SOUGH
They did leave Muirwood Abbey, but not before the Aldermaston pressed a new chain into Cettie’s cupped palm with an entreaty to wear it at all times to protect herself from the Myriad Ones that would seek to reclaim her. Gratitude burned in her heart as she clenched the chain and symbol in her fist. She didn’t feel worthy to put it on, but she honored the Aldermaston’s request, nonetheless.
She and Stephen boarded the tempest, and he offered her the helm with a look of encouragement.
“Come, Cettie,” he said. “We both know who is the better pilot.” Once again, she was struck by how much her almost-brother had matured in her absence.
The peaceful feeling that suffused the abbey and its grounds had melted away the negative emotions that still plagued her. It was like a terrible night was ending, brought to heel by the first rays of dawn. She stood at the helm, her hands gripping the spokes of the wooden wheel mounted there. All it did was give the illusion of a ship—the power came from elsewhere.
It came from the Knowing.
Her mind whispered to the Leering, We must away.
The tempest vaulted into the sky, making Stephen grip the handrail in surprise. A smile spread on his mouth as the tempest began to rush with the breeze, leaving the grounds and the majestic abbey awash in colors painted by the sinking sun.
As they raced to Gimmerton Sough, Cettie revealed her story to Stephen. She told him of the poisoner school in Genevar. Of the Leerings that summoned serpents should anyone attempt to leave the walls. Of the young women she had met, each snatched from a life of misery and despair. Of the tests of courage, combat, and duplicity she’d faced, guided by her father, a kishion, and the garden keeper named Jevin. She ended with the information of how she’d discovered Rand Patchett, who they’d known, had in truth been Will Russell.
Stephen listened with uncanny patience. He’d changed so much since Father’s death. There was stone dust on his jacket, and his hands were callused from working at Dolcoath mines. Even his pose, hands clasped behind his back, made him look more like his father. The son had finally accepted the mantle of his master.
In return, Stephen shared the news about their family. Lady Maren’s health had declined since news of her husband’s death. Not sickness—just a deep melancholy that was getting worse. Anna had been restored to good health, but she too grieved for Father. She was anxious to see Cettie again, to embrace her as a sister. Phinia and her husband, Malcolm, were expecting their first child. If it was a boy, they would name him Brant.
The tidings brought joy to Cettie’s heart, but she couldn’t banish the memory of Will’s threats. Corinne would seek revenge for her betrayal. Fog Willows needed protection, and she said as much. Stephen assured her that the Ministry of War would supply watchmen and keep the estate under guard.
“Can you tell me what’s become of Adam?” Cettie finally asked, her heart twisting with pain. She’d saved requesting news of him for last.
Stephen’s expression became more somber. “I haven’t seen him recently, Cettie. He runs a hospital in the Fells called Killingworth. The empress bestowed it upon him. They say he works day and night, that he accepts any patient, even those who cannot afford to pay. He’s still trying to find the cause of the cholera morbus. He has some notions about the air and has connected some of the Leerings in the hospital to Fog Willows—with our permission, of course. He claims there are certain airs that are lighter than others. I don’t understand it, but then the Mysteries of Wind were never my strong point. I’m sure you’d comprehend it.” He smiled at her.
Cettie clenched the spokes of the helm. She so desperately wanted to see Adam. At least to apologize to him and to return the book of drawings she’d smuggled away from the poisoner school. Perhaps Will had stolen it on one of his visits. Or maybe even her father, the kishion, with his mask of invisibility. A powerful longing filled her heart at the mere thought of Adam, but she had no expectation that he’d take her back. She didn’t deserve it.
It was strange and wonderful to be talking to Stephen in such an open, frank manner. He had truly accepted her as family.
“Father would be so proud of you,” she told him, feeling it in her heart.
His lips pursed, and he looked away, shrugging slightly. “I never did much to make him proud,” he said softly. “I wish it were otherwise.”
“If the Myriad Ones can see us . . . can torment us,” Cettie said, “then why wouldn’t the ghosts of those we love also be able to see us?”
He looked at her and smiled. “Perhaps you’re right. The night is upon us. I think we’re almost there.”
They were indeed. Cettie recognized the feel of the estate as they approached—the same darkness she’d sensed soon after the Patchetts had taken up residence. Zephyrs patrolled around it, and still more were fixed in the docking yard. They were Ministry of War ships, Cettie saw, bearing the paint and colors of the admiralty.
“Of course they arrived first,” Stephen said, gazing warily at the ships. He didn’t need to speak his fear aloud—Cettie knew they were taking a risk. “Let’s get closer.”
As Cettie maneuvered the tempest toward the docking yard, two of the zephyrs peeled away from their orbit of the estate and rushed at them. Cettie felt the tempest’s Control Leering pulse as the other ship tried to wrest control of the vessel away from her, but she shoved her will against theirs and prevented it.
Identify yourself.
“They’re hailing us,” Cettie said to Stephen.
He put his hand on the wheel, joining his thoughts with hers.
This is Stephen Fitzroy of Fog Willows.
Do you have the girl with you? Is that her at the helm?
Stephen frowned. It is.
Land your tempest in the docking yard at once.
We will obey.
Cettie’s unease grew, but she slowed the tempest and carefully maneuvered it down to the docking yard as she’d done so many times before. The zephyrs hovered above them, and she saw some blue-jacketed dragoons approach on foot with arquebuses in their grips. The weapons were aimed at the tempest, at her.
Stephen unfurled the rope ladder and climbed down to meet them, showing a brave face despite their aggressive approach. Cettie followed him down and was instantly surrounded.
“We’ll be taking her into custody,” said the lieutenant, who bore the rank on his shoulders.
“Have you found the empress?” Stephen demanded. He stood between the soldiers and Cettie, his hands raised defensively.
“She doesn’t appear to be here,” the lieutenant said. “We’re conducting a search of the grounds.”
“Who is in command?” Stephen asked.
“Colonel Forsgren.”
“Take us to him at once,” Stephen said in a tone of command.
The lieutenant hesitated, looking at Stephen as if to gauge how seriously to take him, but then he nodded. Surrounded by an armed escort, they crossed the yard and entered the manor.
Though Cettie knew she was in danger of being revealed, and arrested, that was not the main source of her uneasiness. The manor was alight, and yet she felt great darkness there, much like the time she’d visited at Mr. Batewinch’s behest to clear the house. As they crossed the threshold, she sensed a prick of awareness on the back of her neck and saw a Myriad One half-hidden in the shadows. It eyed her balefully, hatred emanating from it like a furnace. She was grateful she’d put on the chain earlier.
As they marched down the corridor, Cettie glanced back to see if the creature followed them. It did not.
They reached the sitting room, where the keeper of the estate, Mrs. Rosings, conferred with a gray-ha
ired officer with the markings of the colonel rank. As soon as Cettie looked at Mrs. Rosings, she saw the woman’s nostrils flare. A smug little smile pressed on her proud mouth. She recognized Cettie, as well she should, but there was more to it. It was a cunning look.
“Colonel Forsgren,” Stephen said, nodding. “A word, if you please.”
“Good evening, Lord Fitzroy. The trail is cold. I’ve men searching the estate, but we’ve no sign of Her Majesty. The keeper tells me that Mr. Batewinch disappeared mysteriously the other night on a zephyr. He hasn’t been seen since, and she has no idea where he went. I’ve ordered a hunt for the man. Sadly, I don’t think we’re any closer to finding our empress. I was about to disband the search.”
Cettie felt a discordant note in the colonel’s words. She recognized the sound, the feeling. A kystrel was at work. Cettie gazed at Mrs. Rosings, feeling her certainty grow.
She leaned over to Stephen and whispered in his ear. “The keeper has a kystrel.”
A look of annoyance flashed across the colonel’s face. “Is something amiss?”
Stephen glanced at Cettie and then turned back to the colonel. “Colonel, arrest this woman.” He gestured at Mrs. Rosings. “She’s part of the plot.”
Anger pulsed into the room. Cettie felt a wave of blackness smash into her mind. As if Stephen’s words had summoned them, the Myriad Ones began to draw in from the corridors, converging on the room from many sides.
“Young Fitzroy, I see no reason—” Forsgren began.
Cettie was not going to wait for the trap to spring. She stepped forward suddenly, grabbing Mrs. Rosings by the left hand. With her thumb on the top of the hand and her fingers digging into the fleshy underside, she twisted the woman’s arm, making her gasp in pain. A look of hatred swelled in her eyes. Cettie felt the woman’s fingers and discovered the hidden ring, the one she was using to alter her appearance.
Cettie twisted the ring off, and the illusion melted away.
The image of Mrs. Rosings was gone.
It was Mrs. Pullman.
Cettie looked into the face of her nemesis, the woman who had tortured her during her early days at Fog Willows. The woman’s craggy skin, drawn taut with dislike, and the fury blazing in her eyes showed she remembered Cettie well—and hated her still. A gasp of shock came from Stephen’s mouth. Colonel Forsgren stared at the woman in disbelief and confusion. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked.
“Mrs. Pullman!” Stephen said. The two had been close once. The old keeper had won him over with her solicitous behavior, hoping to make him into his grandfather’s image. In her absence, he’d fashioned himself after a much better role model—his own father.
“Let go of me!” Mrs. Pullman snarled.
Cettie released her, watching as the old woman chafed her bony wrist.
The light from the Leerings flickered, and the cloud estate jolted in the air. A decorative table fell over with a smash. Shattering noises came from beyond, and dishes were jostled out of place. Cettie felt the magic that had suspended Gimmerton Sough in the air for centuries begin to fail. The harmonious song, which was imperceptible to the others in the room, became discordant and began to fade into silence. When it did, the estate would fall.
The feeling of downward motion rattled everyone, causing grunts of surprise and looks of alarm. Then the lights from all the Leerings winked out, plunging them into complete darkness. Screams of terror erupted from the household servants. The estate was sinking, reminding Cettie of the day of the Hardings’ ball. The Hardings had lost their remaining fortune in a failed speculation, something that had caused the whole estate to jolt alarmingly, but it had been saved by Lady Corinne and her husband, who’d bought the manor. Of course, they’d engineered the whole thing apurpose. Cettie had been but a child then. She’d not understood the Mysteries at all.
“We’re sinking!” Colonel Forsgren shouted. “To the zephyrs!”
“Where are they? I can’t see anything!” Cettie didn’t know the man’s voice, but there was no mistaking his panic.
Standing by Stephen, she reached for his arm and felt it in the pitch black. He squeezed. They began to plummet in earnest, the feeling making Cettie’s stomach lift in her chest.
“We die together, little one,” Mrs. Pullman said in the dark, audible despite the screams that now filled the still air.
Cettie felt the Myriad Ones in attendance now, raging through the dark sitting room, feeding on the terrified minds of the victims about to perish.
Would there even be enough time to flee to the sky ships? In the dark?
Cettie squelched the feeling of panic rising in her gut. She could save the manor. She knew she could. Closing her eyes, she sought out the Command Leering. Obey me, she thought. Brighten.
A muted glow emanated from the wall Leerings, hidden behind translucent panes of glass. In the dimness, she saw the frantic faces of the people gathered around her. Only Mrs. Pullman looked resigned. Had she known she was to die? Was this her final act of revenge?
I am the keeper here, Mrs. Pullman thought, her words sharp as razors in Cettie’s mind. The lights began to fade.
Cettie saw the keeper’s key fastened to a strap around the old woman’s frail waist. Moving forward, she knelt and grabbed for the key. Mrs. Pullman’s fingernails raked across her hands as she fought to keep it in her possession.
You took it from me once! You won’t again!
Cettie felt the manor’s fall accelerate. The lights flickered, off and on, off and on, and shouts and screams continued to pierce the gloom. Some officers were staggering, trying to find a way out—a way back to the ships—but they could not keep on their feet for long. They would never make it in time. Mass chaos filled the flickering interior of the manor, and the Myriad Ones flitted from shadow to shadow, feasting on the despair. Despite the painful gouges on her hands, Cettie wrapped the strap around her own palm and tugged, trying to break the cord.
Mrs. Pullman’s thoughts crashed against Cettie’s. It’s mine! Mine!
The Leerings faltered again, plunging them into blackness. She felt someone brush past her, and suddenly Mrs. Pullman’s thoughts grew confused.
Get off! Get off! the old woman shrieked in her mind.
The cord snapped, freeing the key. Cettie heard it thunk against the wood floor and begin to slide away.
Light! Cettie pleaded, invoking the Leerings again.
The pale illumination that resulted was enough for her to see Stephen grappling with the old woman, holding her away from Cettie. Mrs. Pullman’s nails were tipped in blood, and her long fingers groped to scratch at Cettie again.
On the floor, sliding away from them, was the keeper’s key. Cettie lunged after it, sliding a pace before she grabbed it up.
Squeezing the metal in her hand, Cettie bowed her head and beckoned the Control Leering to obey her. To halt the descent of the mansion. She invoked her memories of the Hardings—Sir Jordan’s booming laughter, Lady Shanron’s joyful parties. The dancing and gaiety that had been enjoyed by so many. She felt the Leerings throb to life in response. Her memories of the time before, when Gimmerton Sough had been a true home, seemed to feed the Leering. The lights became blindingly bright. Cettie focused on her order, willing it to hold firm. Then she felt Stephen’s will join hers, adding his thoughts to invoke the Control Leering to obey them. The fall began to slow, but Cettie knew they might be too late to stop it from happening.
Slow, slow, slow, Cettie pleaded, invoking the Leerings, commanding them in the name of the Mysteries.
“What’s happening?” someone shouted.
“It’s slowing!”
Cettie felt the power of the Leering fade again, displaced by the power of Mrs. Pullman’s kystrel. The discordant tune was harsh in her mind. The lights began to fade. The key was in her hand, yet it struck her that a key was little more than a symbol, a delegation of authority. The key had made it easier for Mrs. Pullman to control the estate, certainly, but the real power came from
her kystrel.
“Stephen!” Cettie cried out. “The kystrel! Around her neck! Hurry!” A cluster of Myriad Ones gathered around her. A prickle of gooseflesh crept up her arms as their dark energy closed in on her, the flashing lights illuminating them.
Fear started to press in on her, but she remembered what Maderos had said to her. She was a tool of the Mysteries, and the Myriad Ones would control her no more.
Banirexpiare! she thought at them, invoking the maston word of power.
The Myriad Ones screeched in painful obedience. Their shrieks were like storm winds inside her mind.
“No!” Mrs. Pullman groaned.
Cettie turned and saw Stephen yanking on the old woman’s medallion. Magic pulsed out of the kystrel. Mrs. Pullman was using her force against him, trying to compel him to obey. Cettie knew how kystrels worked. The old woman was flooding him with the feelings of his childhood, reminding him of the little favors she’d done for him, the preference she’d always shown him. She had been a mother-like figure to him while Lady Maren had so frequently been ill. His eyes were wild with conflict.
“Take it!” Cettie begged him. “Remember, Stephen. Remember. She poisoned Mother.”
He locked eyes with her, frowned, and then broke the chain. As the links snapped, Mrs. Pullman slumped to the floor, exhausted, weeping.
There was no more resistance from the Control Leering. Cettie used the Leerings beneath the estate to see the ground rushing toward them. So close. Too close. She blinked with terror, using all her will to slow their descent. Power rippled inside her. Every Leering in the manor joined together in a unity of purpose.
Cettie felt the slowing sensation, but in her heart she knew it was too late. Stephen drew away from the old woman and crawled to her amidst the tumbled furniture. His hand closed on hers, and he bowed his head, lending her every ounce of his will.
It wasn’t enough.
Cettie felt the collision as the base of Gimmerton Sough impacted the grassy plain beneath it. The jolt sent everyone sprawling. Dust and debris began to rain down on those who hadn’t made it out of the chamber. Cettie and the others began to cough. Groaning timbers sounded like thunder. At any moment, the ceiling would collapse on them.