Part 50 (2/2)

Ivy gasped, leaping to her feet. She looked all around, but the square was suddenly empty of all save pigeons. Then a gray flock fluttered up from the cobbles, and in their place stood a figure all in black.

She hesitated, then moved toward him.

”Home,” she heard his voice speak, though as before his mask was motionless. ”You must go home now.”

”You mean to the house on Durrow Street?” she said, finding she could speak. ”I'm on my way now. That's why I'm here.”

He shook his head. Now the black mask was drawn down in a scowl. ”No,” came his voice. ”Home. You must go now!”

She halted, a chill pa.s.sing through her despite the morning sun. ”What is it? What's wrong?”

Another flock of pigeons flew before her. She stepped back, away from the gray flurry of wings. In a moment they were gone.

So was he. People moved through the square again. Water danced and sang in the fountain.

”Home,” Ivy murmured.

Then she was running across the square, looking for the nearest cab available for hire.

I T SEEMED TO take an eternity to reach Whitward Street. She clawed at the seat each time the driver halted the horses to let some cart pa.s.s by on a narrow street. In truth it was but half an hour. All the same, the carriage had hardly rolled to a stop before she paid the driver and leaped down to the street without his help. She stumbled, caught herself, then ran through the gate, up the steps, and into the house.

”What is it?” she said upon finding the housekeeper in the entry hall. ”What's happened?”

The woman looked at her with a sour expression. ”What's happened? The master is away, and the young misses have taken over the parlor when it isn't their allotted time, that's what's happened!”

Even as she said this, Ivy heard the rumble of dreary piano music emanating from above.

”Nothing else has happened, then?” It didn't make sense-he had told her to come here. ”Are you certain that's all?”

The housekeeper frowned at her. ”That's all that's happened that concerns me. Though I suppose you might want to know that a letter arrived for you while you were out.”

She pointed to the sideboard, then disappeared through the kitchen door. Ivy stared after her, not knowing what to think. Then she went to the sideboard and picked up the post.

In an instant she was opening the topmost letter, for it was from Mr. Quent, and she could not break the seal and unfold it quickly enough. How she wished he were here in person! Yet even this part of him was a blessing. She read the first lines eagerly.

Her elation vanished, and she sagged against the sideboard as she read on. The paper trembled in her hand like a pale leaf before a storm.

My Dearest- You have told me you think me to be a man of good sense and solid judgment. Know that your sentiments, however lovingly intended, are wrong. I have been careless-even reckless. That I should have told you this long ago is now as plain to see as this ink upon the page.

Yet it did not occur to me that I had any need to do so! Never did I think that he would return to Invarel-not after what happened years ago. Yet he has done just that, and I have been thoughtless not to warn you. I only hope he has not approached you. Surely it would be brazen of him. He must know what risk he would expose himself to by attempting such a thing.

I rea.s.sure myself that he has no doubt kept far from you, and your father is nowhere that he might reach him. All the same, I must caution you, for I have just learned in a missive from Lord Rafferdy that Mr. Bennick has indeed returned to Invarel after many years of exile in Torland. Heed these words, dearest: you must have nothing to do with him! He is dangerous-a deceiver and a traitor. While I am to this day not certain of the particulars, I believe-no, I will say I am certain-that it is because of Mr. Bennick's actions that Mr. Lockwell suffered his awful fate.

They had both belonged to the same arcane order of magicians, your father once confided in me. Shortly after your father fell ill, I questioned Mr. Bennick, and he was sly and secretive. Nor did he show any sort of remorse at what had befallen Mr. Lockwell, who had purportedly been his friend.

Despite his dissembling, I was able to glean a few things from him. He had been working an enchantment that Mr. Lockwell had implored him not to. However, the spell went awry, and as a result something terrible would have taken place (though what, I cannot imagine).

Before this awful happening could occur, Mr. Lockwell intervened. He managed to undo whatever it was Mr. Bennick had achieved. However, the effort required was great, and the cost to your father grievous. His mind was broken-irrevocably, or so Mr. Bennick told me. Alas, of all the things he said to me, this was the only one I fully believed as the truth!

So you see, you must have nothing to do with Mr. Bennick. He is no longer a magician-his power to do magick was taken from him by his order. Why, I do not know; as a punishment for what he did, I suppose. Regardless, you must not think because his power is gone that he is no longer dangerous. He knows other magicians, and that he might one day seek to convince them to attempt again that thing your father once prevented him from accomplis.h.i.+ng is something I suspect.

You must do nothing that might offer him any help. If there are books or papers of your father's he ever comes seeking, do not give them to him. My work here has been difficult, but it is at last near to its completion. There is no need to reply-I will return before any letter can reach me. Until then, keep yourself safe, dearest. I shall be with you soon, but know that either near or far, I am ever- Yours, A. Quent With shaking hands, Ivy folded the letter. Dread had brought clarity to her like cold rain was.h.i.+ng down a fogged window. One by one she fit the events together in her mind, like the pieces of one of Mrs. Baydon's puzzles, until the picture became clear: the ring he had given Mr. Rafferdy, the article about the new planet he had sent to her, his invitation to give Mr. Rafferdy lessons in the art of magick. He was no longer a magician, but he had said himself that just because he no longer practiced magick did not mean he no longer possessed an interest in it.

The Vigilant Order of the Silver Eye had taken his magickal talent from him. Yet in his letter, her father had said he believed there was more than one traitor in the order. What if Mr. Bennick was able to deliver to them something they wanted? Were there not some in the order who might reward him by giving him his magick back?

He had told Rafferdy that, once taken away, a magician's talent could never be restored, but Ivy could not believe that. He had only wished to frighten Mr. Rafferdy into studying with him. He had needed Mr. Rafferdy, just as he needed Ivy. He had used Mr. Wyble as a way to arrange their introduction, then had used them both in turn.

He had known Mr. Lockwell, had known about the riddle, and had sent her the article to help her solve it. Then he had taught Mr. Rafferdy the very spell included with her father's letter-the spell that must have undone what Mr. Bennick had tried to achieve years ago-knowing that understanding it would induce them to use the key and open the door to the house on Durrow Street. Once the door was open, he would bring others from the order there, and deliver to them what they sought....

Upstairs, the music ceased. A moment later a slim figure appeared at the top of the stairs.

”Ivy?” Rose's voice drifted down. ”Is that you? Are you coming up to sit with us in the parlor? It was Lily's idea to go in. It's not our proper time, but it's good to be in there again. It makes me think of what it was like before. Won't you come sit with us?”

A pang pa.s.sed through Ivy, then she cleared her throat and forced her voice to be light. ”Not just now, dearest,” she called up. ”There is...I have an errand I must do.”

Ivy put the letter in her pocket, and she felt the iron key there. She could only believe Mr. Bennick knew everything they intended. No doubt at that very moment he was on his way to the house on Durrow Street.

And so was Mr. Rafferdy.

She gripped the key in a fist. Then Ivy was out the door and into the swift-pa.s.sing day.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX.

T HE BELLS RANG out with the dawn.

To others in the city they signaled the end of night, the coming again of lighted times, but to Eldyn the music of the bells meant nothing. He had not slept, and the sun-however bright its rays-had no power to dispel the darkness that pursued him. The moment he stepped out the doors of St. Galmuth's, the shadow would be there, waiting for him.

Rosy light spilled through a stained-gla.s.s window, illuminating the small side chapel where they had spent the night, off the west transept of the cathedral. Sas.h.i.+e stirred on one of the pews where she lay curled up beneath Eldyn's coat, but she did not open her eyes.

Eldyn wasn't sure to whom the chapel was dedicated. Given the bronze staff in her hands, the figure on the altar might have been St. Alethyn, protector of orphans or cripples. Or it might have been St. Soph.e.l.la, renowned for smiting infidels with her rod. Eldyn hoped it was the former rather than the latter.

Last night the rector had shown them to the chapel as darkness fell, though not before the priest at the doors of the cathedral had nearly cast them out. It seemed charity was no longer freely given at St. Galmuth's-not when the number who needed it would have filled the catheral many times over. Dread had seized Eldyn, and he had glanced over his shoulder into the gloom behind them, looking for a prowling shadow and twin amber sparks. Sas.h.i.+e had whimpered beside him.

Fortunately, from his days at the church of St. Adaris, Dercy was familiar with the ancient rules. He had demanded to speak to the rector, and as they waited he instructed Eldyn on how to speak the request for sanctuary; when the rector arrived, Eldyn did so. Even so, the priest might still have cast them out, but the rector would not have it.

”I do not know how it is in the parish you came from,” the old rector had said in his thin voice, ”but the laws are remembered here at St. Galmuth's. The first soul to request sanctuary after the fall of night must be granted it for the remainder of the umbral. They will stay here tonight, and, if he will hear it, they can make their case to the archdeacon tomorrow. He will judge if their plight warrants the protection of the Church.”

Eldyn and his sister were let inside, though to Eldyn's dismay Dercy did not come with them. All the same, as the great doors closed with a boom, Eldyn's fear receded. In here, no evil could find them.

However, as the light strengthened, so did Eldyn's dread. The old rector might still adhere to the ancient ways, but what of the archdeacon? What if he was not moved by Eldyn's plea? Or worse, what if he would not hear their case at all? He watched the warm light fall upon the altar. Others might have seen it as a sign of hope, but to him the ruddy illumination stained the pale statue of the saint like blood.

The tolling of the bells ceased, and as their music faded he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see Dercy enter the chapel. The young man held out his hand, but Eldyn gripped him close in an embrace.

”Thank you,” he said as they broke apart.

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