The Blue Flames, page 12
“Yes, indeed. But a story for another time.” He tried to gently usher her back towards the door. “Now, if you will excuse me . . .”
She waltzed effortlessly past him and made for the door to the front room. “Strange. I could’ve sworn I heard you speaking to someone.”
“Mrs. Mullins!” Spindler cried, leaping to stop her from turning the door handle, but all too late. Jeremy started back as she came bustling through the door.
“Well! And who might this be?” she said.
Spindler followed fast on her heels and shot Jeremy a look of apology. “This is my cousin, Rupert. He’s visiting from Billington. Looking into starting up a newspaper of his own and came to see how I run my operations. Rupert, this is my landlady, Mrs. Eliza Mullins.”
“Delighted to meet you, Rupert,” she said, extending her hand with a rosy-cheeked smile. “It’s always nice to spend time with one’s family, isn’t it? I’m so glad you’ve come to keep our dear Spindler company for a few days. Curious though. I can’t say I’ve seen you in the building.”
Jeremy made no attempt to answer, still shocked by the lady’s blunt intrusion.
“He’s staying in the hotel,” Spindler said. “We’ve been working quite late into the night and he prefers a room to himself at the end of the day.”
“So it’s you who’s been keeping my favorite tenant away,” she replied, finally letting go of Jeremy’s hand. “Still, I must admit I am relieved to see you here, Rupert, and not a guest of the female persuasion. Forgive my bursting in here like this but Mr. Spindler does rely on me to keep him honest.”
She smiled at Spindler and patted his cheek with a lace-gloved hand. It was even harder for him to summon a smile this time.
“Well,” she said, turning her attention back to Jeremy, “as you are here for a little while, you simply must meet my lovely daughter. She’s always keen to make new acquaintances. Oh, and speaking of Imogen, I must tell you what an absolutely splendid time she had at the theatre with you last week, Mr. Spindler. You are a gentleman to ease the burden placed on the heart of a mother with an unmarried daughter. She talked unceasingly when she returned home, thrilled to the brim to have been treated to such a pleasant evening by such a pleasant young man.”
“It was my pleasure, ma’am,” he said with a small, embarrassed smile. The landlady’s daughter had barely spoken a word the entire evening. Every courtesy he had shown—opening the door for her, pulling out her chair at dinner—had been met with apprehension and hesitation. She seemed embarrassed by the gestures and had hardly looked him in the eye. Their conversation had been mostly one-sided, his questions receiving no more than one or two-word answers at a time. It was easily one of the most awkward and uncomfortable evenings he had ever spent.
“I do hope she may have the privilege of spending many a future evening in such excellent company as yourself, Mr. Spindler,” the landlady continued. “Of course, daytime is equally agreeable.”
Spindler began to answer, but she placed a hand on his arm to interrupt.
“Oh, but of course I understand how busy you are. One doesn’t become a successful businessman going out to the opera every night.”
“No, indeed, Mrs. Mullins. Now if you’ll excuse us—”
“So I got you tickets to the theatre in Avery.” She pulled two small cards from her handbag. “They’ve got a marvelous comedy featuring there this month. Very popular. You’ll enjoy it immensely.” She shoved the tickets into his hand, ignoring his stuttering sounds of protest, and stepped back towards Jeremy. “And you, Cousin Rupert . . . you can be a fourth to our merry party! My date for the evening! Oh what fun it will be! Do say you’ll come!”
Spindler bit his lip to keep from smirking. “He, uh, doesn’t really care for the theatre all that much.”
Jeremy gave the smallest shrug. “Not really.”
“Oh, how disappointing. But never mind. We’ll simply have to make arrangements for another time. Perhaps dinner tomorrow night.” She gasped. “Or the Winter Dance at the town hall! Oh, it’s a lovely party, Cousin Rupert! I cannot allow you to miss that. We’ll discuss all the details later. Now about those theatre tickets, Mr. Spindler. It’s set for the first of the month. That’s a Sunday. Traffic may be heavier than usual so be sure to bring the coach early with plenty of time for travel. Remember to wear your finest attire. Oh, and of course a nice dinner beforehand would be best. We’ll be waiting at six o’clock sharp. You’re a saint of heaven, sir! Imogen and I are indebted to you, as always! Until we meet again, gentlemen!”
With her mission accomplished, she flashed them a smile, waved her fingers, then breezed out through the front door and slammed it shut behind her. Jeremy collapsed into a chair and ran his fingers through his hair. Spindler stared in disbelief at the tickets in his hand.
“She did it to me again.”
“Hard luck,” Jeremy said with a small grin.
Spindler tossed the tickets onto a cabinet and leaned against it. “Not only is she a shameless busybody, but a hostage-taker as well—one dinner at a time. And if that weren’t bad enough, she’s seen you.”
“So? She bought your story.”
“Which she will now spread throughout the entire town. In a few days, everyone will know you’re here.”
Jeremy considered this for a moment. “They’ll know Rupert is here.”
He stood and returned to the printing room. Spindler followed, shaking his head.
“Maybe we ought to leave town. Say we’re going on a trip to visit another relative or something like that.”
Jeremy stood in front of the press, gazing at the levers and plates. “Moving is dangerous. Unless you can stay put while doing it.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Show me how to use this.”
“What? No. We’ve got more important things to do. If we use what you know with what resources I have, maybe we can actually get somewhere! Find out what’s really going on!”
Jeremy seemed not to hear him and began rolling up his sleeves. Spindler slumped his shoulders in defeat. The Colonist was right. If they were going to maintain the ruse, they needed to make it look convincing. Besides that, after a few more days, Jeremy might actually start to trust him. He had only to wait.
“All right,” Spindler said. “All right. Food for labor. Suits me. It’s the only way I can afford an assistant, anyway. Oh—talking of money, what do you fancy doing with that purse of silver we took from the drivers?”
“You’re a newspaperman. You can find people, right? Track down addresses?”
“I can. If they’re not Colonists.”
Jeremy bit his lip for a moment as he stared at the floor. “The families of those wagon drivers . . . give it to them.”
Spindler raised his eyebrows. “You sure? All of it?”
Jeremy nodded. “All of it.”
Chapter 15
In the Garden
As soon as Riva opened her eyes, she knew it was morning. She had no proof, of course. The crushing weight of the sea enveloped the underwater prison in eternal darkness, save for the scattering of enchanted lanterns. It was more a feeling, as though the sun had risen in her heart a little, peeked its head through the storm clouds of grief and sorrow. She closed her eyes again and took a deep breath, trying to picture the daylight in her mind and remember its warmth. There was comfort in knowing it was still there, somewhere above her.
She pushed herself upright. It was cold in the cell, as always. She tried—as she did every day—to summon the smallest bit of warmth through enchantment. But as soon as she set her mind to the task, a hazy cloud moved over her thoughts, muddling and confusing them. Whatever serum Dr. Tyrus had injected her with did its work well, somehow reading the signals of body and mind to know whenever a mere thought was attempting to become something more.
Pale light spilled across the floor as the door to her cell was opened. The warden of Stalikos entered, holding a small bowl of watery porridge.
“Time to eat, love! And make it quick. You’ve got visitors.”
“Visitors?”
Hadwin shoved the bowl into her hands. “You know, guests? Callers? People to see you? On second thought, scrub that, you can eat later. Let’s not keep them waiting.”
He grabbed the bowl back and hurried her out of the cell. Two guards followed behind as they moved down the corridor. Riva shivered in her thin dress and tried not to think of all the eyes that were watching them through the windows of the other cells.
They soon came to a solid door near the center of the complex. She shivered again as she turned to the warden. “Who are they? These visitors? If it’s Lord Drystan, I have nothing more to say to him.”
The warden pushed the door open. The sight inside took her breath away.
It was a garden—more beautiful than any she’d ever seen on the surface. Roses glistened with dew in the morning light. Curtains of flowering vines draped down archways and trellises. Sunflowers and snapdragons swayed in the breeze. Riva stepped through the door, disbelieving her own eyes. The sun, only imagined moments before, now smiled down on her from a windswept sky of white clouds.
“I’m . . . still asleep, aren’t I?” she said. “This can’t be real.”
“Oh, it isn’t,” the warden answered. “It’s the work of a very gifted group of Entrians. Does the job, though, doesn’t it? Almost like the real thing until you bump into the walls. Quite the shock if you’re not expecting it. But you keep to the path. It curves around that hedge and comes to a fountain. Your guests are waiting for you there. Go on.”
She heard the door click shut behind her. Turning back, she saw only a flowering hedgerow standing six feet high. Not even the guards remained. Anxiety began to gnaw at the pit of her stomach. It felt like a trick. Something nasty was probably waiting for her; a griffin or a dragon, like in the old tales, preparing to toss her an impossible riddle and then gobble her down at the first mistake. But she gathered her nerves and finally forced herself to walk the small winding path.
She rounded a perfectly-manicured hedge and found herself facing a beautiful granite fountain, flanked by a handful of blossoming cherry trees. A woman sat on a bench with her back to Riva, staring at the fountain. Everything about her spoke to elegance—her posture, her clothing, even the style of her hair, a cascade of gold swept back with a pearl clasp. The woman, feeling she was not alone, turned to look behind her.
“Riva!” she cried, rising from the bench.
With a gasp, Riva rushed forward into the woman’s waiting arms. If her eyes were to be believed, it was her mother, Athalia.
“Mum! Is it you? Is it really you? This can’t be real! It can’t!”
“It’s me, my darling, it’s me,” the woman answered, kissing her head and holding her daughter’s face in her hands.
Riva covered them with her own, tears rolling down her cheeks. “It’s not a trick? You’re not some kind of illusion?”
“No. No, I’m here, Riva. Really and truly.”
It was her voice. Her perfume. Her smile. Riva needed no other proof, and for the next glorious minute they simply held one another, looked at one another, shared tears which made it all but impossible to speak. Her mother laughed for the joy of it.
“Look at you! All grown up! So beautiful! And even taller than I remember.”
“How did you get here? When?”
“Last night. I stayed at an inn on the surface. They wouldn’t let me see you ‘til the morning. Oh, darling!” She embraced her again. “Are you all right? Are they treating you well?”
“Well enough for prison, Mum. Is Father here, too?”
The smile faded slightly from the elder woman’s face. “No. He remained in Ciras.”
From Riva’s face, the smile dimmed far more. “He’s still angry?”
Athalia stroked her daughter’s hair. “He’s confused, Riva. So much has happened. So much is changed. He doesn’t know what to think. What to feel. You were lost to us for six years, and in all that time we never knew whether you were dead or alive from one moment to the next.”
They sat together on the bench near the fountain. Fish slipped beneath the water like slivers of gold and silver. Riva grasped her mother’s hand.
“I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. Nor Father, if he’d ever believe that.”
“I know. I know you meant nothing malicious by it. But . . . you did not think, Riva. You did not consider the consequences.”
A pained expression crossed the young woman’s face. “Did they imprison you?”
Athalia sighed and covered Riva’s hand with hers. “For a short while, yes.”
“Father, too?”
“Yes. But I wasn’t referring to our misfortune. Only yours.”
“Mine? Mum, my only misfortune has been the separation from you. I still have my dignity, my self-respect. Not to mention the love of the dearest friends in the world.”
A frown creased Athalia’s brow. She lifted her daughter’s chin with a tender hand, looking earnestly into her face. “I could believe you if all else was not against them. It is said they have strange powers. Powers over the mind and will . . .”
Riva shook her head, but her mother continued.
“You look like her. Sound like her. But the Riva I knew would never have done something so dreadful. Oh, dearest, what have they done to you? How did they ever make you believe their lies?”
“I know it’s hard for you to understand,” Riva said. “Maybe impossible. But they took care of me. They were honest and kind and compassionate, even though I was the last sort of person they wanted walking into their midst. I admit, I didn’t think things through. I was acting on impulse and emotion. But it could’ve ended far worse than finding myself among such good and noble people.”
Athalia’s face fell into sorrow. “Far worse? Riva, you are in Stalikos.”
Riva was stunned. Sitting in a wondrous garden under a bright blue sky, she’d nearly forgotten the prison. She glanced down at her dirty, bedraggled clothes.
Her mother put a hand on her arm. “It was bad enough, waking up that awful morning and finding your crest jewel on the pillow. But to think of you in here . . . it is unbearable. And when we heard another Colonist was killed a few days ago, it nearly drove us mad not knowing if it was you.”
“Abner,” Riva said. “Abner Hart was his name.”
“Whatever their names, they need to come out into the light and answer for themselves. If they are innocent, let them proclaim it to the Elders, in sight of God and the people. They will have justice if they are deserving of it.”
“Is the world really so black and white for you? You think the Elders can’t be misled or deceived? You think our people are infallible?”
“I think you are bewildered. I think you are tired and sick, and that you have been in such a state of fear for so long you cannot see things clearly. Forget right or wrong for now. Where were you? Hiding in holes and caves? Catching rides with pirates?”
“No, Mum, it was nothing like that.”
“Did they make you do things for them? Stealing and raiding?”
Riva sighed, reluctant to answer. “Well, we had to survive—”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake . . .”
“We weren’t off killing people in their beds if that’s what you’re getting at!”
Athalia shut her eyes for a moment, then clasped Riva’s hands again. “I don’t want to argue. Even if the worst was true, I couldn’t bear to part with you again. But I must know. Do you intend to be open with the Elders? Will you tell them what they want to know?”
“And have them capture my friends and bring them here?”
“Think, Riva,” Athalia said, her gaze growing stern as well as desperate. “It is far better they be found by the Entrians than some of the others out there looking for them.”
“It is better they not be found at all. Besides, I couldn’t tell the Elders where they are, even if I wanted to.”
“Why not?”
“They rarely hang about in the same place for more than a few days. So it’s no good asking me. No use. And that’s the truth.”
“Is it now?” another voice replied.
Riva glanced up as a man rounded the hedge. He was tall, very well-dressed, and wore his crest jewel proudly beneath his stiff collar. He raised an eyebrow at Athalia as if in question. She glanced at Riva, almost in shame, then answered with a nod.
“She’s telling the truth.”
Riva frowned, looking between them. “Who is this?”
“Riva, this is Chief Prosecutor Pallaton,” Athalia said.
The young Entress pulled back, aghast, and turned her furrowed gaze on the man. “You used her? To get answers from me? That’s why you brought her here?” She stood from the bench and looked at her mother. “That’s why you came?”
“It was the only way they would let me see you,” Athalia replied. “They said it was a chance for a full pardon if you confessed all you knew.”
Riva’s cheeks flushed with anger. “And you believed them?”
“Riva!” Athalia cried, her eyes fierce but her voice tinged with pain. “You are my only child! The very light of my heart! Would you really ask me not to lift a finger to try to save you when I could?” She glanced away as her eyes filled with tears again.
Lord Pallaton sauntered to a low wall encircling a bed of tulips across from the bench. He sat and laced his fingers over his knee. “I shouldn’t be too hard on your mother if I were you. Your parents have had a difficult time of it since you abandoned them. The Elders ordered they be put under constant watch in case you tried to contact them or return home. Not an easy thing for anyone to endure.”
Riva glanced back at her mother in surprise. Athalia only looked at Pallaton in reproach.
“In fact, you should be proud of her,” Pallaton continued. “She’s done well. Knowing now that the Colonists remain on the move, we will adjust our search tactics to adapt. And the more you tell us, the better it will be for you. As well as your parents.”
Riva shook her head. “But you know now. You know I can’t tell you where they are or where they’ll be. What else can you want from me?”
