The Blue Flames, page 56
“Go, Isaac!” Ambrose cried above the noise. “Hurry!”
This time, Ink had to pull Caradoc along. The birds began to swoop down from the trees, flying so close Ink could feel the air from their beating wings.
“I’ll come back!” Caradoc cried to his father. “I promise!”
“I know,” Ambrose said.
He raised the shaking pistol to his temple. A wall of furious screeching birds blocked him from sight.
“Come on!” Ink shouted.
With all his might, he pulled Caradoc through the doorway.
Chapter 53
Ink Makes Another Deal
They fell to the snow-covered ground of Fenmire. Ink pushed himself up and looked around. The Middling House stood a few yards away, its front door firmly shut. There was no longer any sound of humming or shrieking birds or rumbling thunder. All was silent again. Beside him, Caradoc rolled onto his back and laid his forearm over his eyes. Ink had a hundred questions but knew it wasn’t the time to ask.
The artifact had fallen between them, still covered in thick black sap. Ink peered closer at it. A series of runes had been engraved on one side. Streaks of gold twisted across the cylinder’s glossy black surface like marble veining. Two caps were set at either end, both etched with gold.
Before he could puzzle over the strange object any longer, a sound interrupted his thoughts. It was laughter. Caradoc was laughing. Quietly, at first, but louder and more bitterly every moment. He lifted his left hand and held it a few inches from his face. A thin stream of blood ran down his arm from the gold strands of the Spider Key. He raised his right and looked at the black sap on his palm, as thick as tar.
“Twelve years,” he said. “Twelve years I’ve been waiting for this day. Tracked down every rumor. Studied every word on the subject. Even took this damned Key. And it didn’t work. It didn’t work.”
Still laughing, he sat upright, then clenched his left hand into a fist, making the blood run faster and thicker, as though he were squeezing juice from an orange. Red drops dotted the snow beneath him. Ink felt a stab of fear as he watched. Caradoc’s laughter weakened to a chuckle, then stopped altogether as he shook his head.
“I first heard about the Middling House in prison. It was only a ghost story then. Another myth made out of someone’s nightmare. Even so, there was this tiny, irrational part of my brain that wondered—what if my father really was trapped in such a terrible place? Over four years that worry grew so loud and so insistent I could hardly bear it. But part of the story also said the Librarian of Mastmarner was involved. That she possessed an object of special power able to grant safe passage through the house, and even free those inside. By the time I was released, I’d made up my mind to go and find out for certain.”
He rested his arms on his raised knees, still dripping blood.
“Simon tried to talk me out of it. Even if it did exist, he was convinced no good could be gained by my seeking it. And he was right. After all this time, all my preparations and precautions, all the painful lessons learned . . . and it didn’t work. It was all for nothing. Except to prove a nightmare real.”
Everything was clear now. This was the reason he’d become a Keyholder and sought the house in the first place. Not to confront the Mistress. Not to find the Crypt and bend the Spektors to his will. He hadn’t even done it for any kind of righteous honor gained in expelling evil from the world. Every wound he’d suffered, every scar formed by those wounds, all the night terrors and sleepless hours, being cursed by the Mistress, and giving up his chance for a normal life . . . he had done it all for his father. And it hadn’t worked.
Ink had never felt so terrible for another person in all his life.
He reached into his pocket for Fetch’s handkerchief, then edged closer to Caradoc until he was sitting right beside him. He took him by the wrist and attempted to wrap the handkerchief around the bloody Key as best he could. When he had tied off the ends, he drew up his own knees and sat with his arms on them in just the same manner.
“I get why you didn’t want anyone else along,” he said. “I wouldn’t have, either. I promise I won’t tell the others.”
Caradoc nodded, then reached down and tried to wipe the black sap from his hand in the snow. Most of the sludge came off, but a dark, oil-like stain remained on his skin. With a dejected sigh, he picked up the curious black cylinder and examined the runes.
“First Language.”
He tugged at the caps on either end. Neither moved. He tucked the artifact under his arm and tried again with greater force.
“Damn,” he muttered.
“D’you think it’s what we were looking for?”
“Yes. This is the type of container rolls of parchment are kept in. Except they’re not usually made of black stone. There’s probably an enchantment keeping it sealed shut as well.” He tossed it back to the ground in frustration.
“Well,” Ink said, “it must’ve been left in that tree for a reason. Your dad said someone meant you to have it.”
“Yes, and with my luck this entire business is just another way for the Mistress to torment me. The same reason she led me to believe she was here at the Middling House. Because she knew my long-cherished hope would be dashed to pieces.” He glanced up at the few remaining stars lingering at the break of dawn. “Until her appearance at the Tinderbox, I’d actually given up the idea of finding this place. My first duty was to Riverfall and everyone on it. Personal quests had to be set aside. But the moment there was talk about the house again, the old hope was revived.” He bowed his head and rubbed a hand across his tired eyes, then let out another deep and weary sigh. “We should head back. The others are probably going off their heads wondering where we are.”
“Aw, let ‘em go off,” Ink replied. “We don’t always have to rush from one thing to the next, you know. We can sit here as long as we like. All day if it makes you feel better. Maybe not in sight of that house, though.”
Caradoc looked at him with a furrowed brow, as if coming to a dire realization. “Good God, Ink . . . you’re going to need sleeping tonic for the rest of your life.”
Ink blew out an exaggerated scoff. “What? For that? Naw, that was just a lot of cranky birds and peculiar trees. And seeing spirits ain’t nothing new for me. At least them back there were a lot nicer than the ones I’m used to dealin’ with.”
“But you know now. You’ve seen that such a place exists. You’ll be tormented by that knowledge forever, suffering the very pain I’d hoped to spare you all.”
“I have seen it. But it’s no worse than knowing about the Spektors, or possessions, or curses and black spells. It’s all just more of the same.”
“You don’t really believe that.”
“I believe we ain’t gonna stop the Mistress by spending every waking hour worrying about all them people back in there. But this scroll—? Sweet mercy, that’s heavy!” He had just attempted to lift it with a single hand. Both were required. “This scroll? This could be all we need! If it’s really like Bash said, and it holds the secret to striking her a blow—or doing even worse damage—then it was worth us going in there! This could change everything!”
A bird screeched overhead, causing both Ink and Caradoc to flinch and duck their heads. It was only a crane swooping low towards the bay, but the timing of its appearance felt a little too deliberate to be a coincidence.
“We weren’t to speak of it aloud,” Caradoc said.
Ink shoved the container towards him. “Here. You hold on to it.”
He took it and stowed it inside his coat. “I hope you’re right, Ink. I really do. Though I can barely summon the energy for another hope.”
Ink got to his feet. “I know how to fix that.”
“You do?”
“Yep. With a wonderful invention called breakfast. I know I said we could sit here all day if you wanted, but the fog should be lifting over the bay by now. Maybe we can get home.”
Caradoc stood and looked back in the direction of their camp. “I can’t begin to imagine what kind of state the village is in. Maybe there’s nothing left.”
“Even if that’s true, we’ve been in tough spots before. You said so yourself.”
“I left the lantern, too. We’ll have to stick to the shoreline to find our way back.”
“Well, that’s perfect! A sunrise walk along the beach! You see? Things are lookin’ up already. What? Why are you staring at me like that?”
“It’s this new optimist streak of yours. I can’t decide if I like it or if I should be concerned.”
“Just think about breakfast, all right? That’s our guiding light today. Now come on.”
Ink had been right. The fog was indeed beginning to clear from the bay, and from the beach as well. They were able to keep a steady course along the rocky ridge running parallel to the sand, looking down on the water from ten feet above as they went. Caradoc walked with slow, heavy steps. Ink had to fall back several times, affecting his bright and cheery manner simply to urge him forward.
Of course, an affectation was all it was. He knew the circumstances were dreadfully grim. He also knew the Middling House would haunt him for years to come—the horde of screeching black birds, Fen Pitman’s wide brown eyes, Ambrose loading his pistol. But he wasn’t willing to add to Caradoc’s guilt by admitting as much. The man was barely holding it together even now.
When they had gone about two miles, the path dipped behind a large, moss-covered ridge, blocking their view of the bay. They went on behind it for another half mile, turning ever more southward and navigating a route strewn with loose rocks and chalk-like outcroppings. When the end of the ridge finally came in sight, Ink felt a strong and sudden urge to stop. Caradoc nearly ran into him.
“What’s wrong?”
“I dunno. I got this feeling. A really . . . strange feeling.”
Something was pulling him towards the beach on the opposite side of the ridge. They were still a few miles from camp. Why should he need to stop now?
“Wait here,” he said. “I’ve gotta check something.”
Before Caradoc could reply, Ink turned and scrambled up the ridge, keeping his head as low as possible. The dawn had brightened, burning away even more of the fog. A decent amount still hung upon the ridge, however, providing much-needed cover. As soon as Ink’s eyes crested the top, they fell on the sight of a large host of people swarming the beach. His heart jumped into his throat as he quickly pulled the hat from his head.
They were setting up camp. They had weapons and supplies and fancy canvas tents. In the distance, a familiar airship hovered over a high outcropping. Tethering lines were anchored into the rock. There was just enough sunlight to read the name glittering across the bow.
ADRASTEIA
Ink ducked down behind the ridge and clapped a hand over his mouth.
“What is it?” Caradoc asked, whispering as loudly as he dared.
Ink risked another glance over the ridge and looked closer at the faces. Yes. There was Lord Pallaton, looking as stern and self-righteous as ever, directing barrels and crates to the far end of camp. And there, right in the middle of things, was Lady Madara, the old viper herself, gazing out across the beach with her arms folded, predictably sullen and cross.
Seherene was nowhere to be seen. But as Ink’s eyes swept the camp again, he felt his gaze inexplicably drawn to a large tent on the far left side. It didn’t look any different from the rest, but he had the keen feeling she was there. He turned and scrambled back down the ridge.
“It’s the Entrians! They found me!”
“What?”
Caradoc turned and clambered up, keeping low as Ink had done. He only needed half the time Ink had taken to get a good look at the situation. When he was satisfied, he hurried back down and wiped a bead of sweat from his scarred temple.
“Fifty. I counted fifty.”
“That’s practically an army!”
“Did you recognize any of them?”
“Lord Pallaton. He was one of the lawyers at Riva’s trial. I didn’t actually see Seherene but I’m sure she’s in one of the tents. Her mother’s out there, too.”
Caradoc rubbed an anxious hand over his face. “If they come any farther down the beach, even a mile south, they’ll see our camp. They’ve probably already spotted Riverfall out there in the bay. We can’t go back to it now. We’ll have to escape further inland. Find somewhere to hide.”
“Are you joking? They’ll know we’re here! And they’ll comb through every grain of sand ‘til they find us! There ain’t no point in hiding!”
“We don’t have a choice.”
“Of course you do! You’ve got me, haven’t you? I’ll go down, I’ll sneak into Seherene’s tent and try to talk her into meeting with you. Alone. Then you two can discuss things. Try to come to a peaceful arrangement that don’t end in all of us getting killed.”
“I am not letting you waltz into that camp.”
“Sneak,” Ink corrected. “It’s just sneaking. I’ve done it a thousand times. And besides, this is our only chance to make a deal. It’ll be too late once they find us. And they will find us.”
Caradoc paced back and forth with a hand on his hip and rubbing his beard with the other. “She’ll clap you in irons as soon as she sees you.”
“No, she won’t. She likes me.”
“She what?”
“She likes me. She’s had plenty of times to hurt me by now, or lock me up or whatever else, but she didn’t.”
“And you think that’s because she likes you?”
“Yeah. And anyway, I’ll be straight back again if she so much as raises her voice. I’ve been dodging cops for a long time. This won’t be no different.”
“Except those are Entrian cops.”
Ink shrugged. “So I just run a little faster.”
Caradoc stopped pacing and rubbed the back of his neck. “All right, let’s say I agree to this insane plan. Why do I have to meet with her? Why not you while you’re in there? Or Simon or Delia or Jeremy?”
“Plenty of reasons. First of all, we don’t have time to run back and fetch any of the others. Second, her setting eyes on you will prove that the Colonist on the top of their warrant list is actually here, which will sweeten the pot seeing as you’re the one she wants the most. Third—and this is even more important—you’ve spent the last decade persuading Spektors to betray their oaths to the Mistress. If you can do that, it means you’re the most qualified person alive to try and make a fair deal with her. And I’m pretty sure she’ll be a bit more reasonable than a Spektor. Though maybe not by much at this point.” Ink sighed, then held out his hands. “I think it’s worth a try. Hiding’s only a temporary fix. But you meeting with her . . . might actually save our lives.”
Caradoc put his back to the ridge and folded his arms. Gulls began to cry overhead, the noise of which mixed with the shouts and calls coming from the beach. He glanced at Ink again.
“Is her mother really that bad?”
Ink answered with an overdramatic nod that was almost a bow. “She has a shrine dedicated to Darian in her house. A shrine. She practically prays to the man. She ain’t gonna settle for any Colonist coming out of this alive.”
After another pensive moment of thought, Caradoc chuckled to himself in exasperated disbelief. “What a day this is.”
He raised his head and looked inland. Enough of the fog had dissipated to bring more of the island’s landscape into view. Of note was a prominent hill which loomed in the distance, crowned by a thick copse of snow-covered trees. Caradoc pointed towards it.
“There. I’ll meet with her there at the top of the hour. And it must be only the two of us inside that wood. You are going straight back to camp to tell the others what’s going on. Don’t let them start wandering off to look for me.” He held up a finger for emphasis. “If in fifteen minutes you haven’t returned to tell me whether or not she accepts, I will give myself up to them then and there for your release. Agreed?”
Ink tossed his hat to Caradoc, who barely caught it in time.
“Agreed. See? You’re a natural at this. Oh—you wouldn’t happen to have that necklace, would you? The one that lady gave you? Might help things if I showed it to her.”
Caradoc searched through his coat. From an inner breast pocket he pulled the sapphire pendant fashioned in the likeness of a blue flame. He looked at it, still uncertain, then finally handed it to the boy with eyes full of worry.
“Be careful, Ink. Please. I don’t think any of us can assume what she’s capable of.”
Ink pocketed the pendant with a nod. “I’ll be careful. But as we’re on the subject . . . you don’t think there’s any chance she might bewitch me, do you?”
“Only if she’s been practicing black spells.”
“No. Not her. Never.”
Caradoc did not look convinced. If anything, Ink could tell he was on the verge of changing his mind about the whole plan. In the end, however, he only raised his finger again.
“Fifteen minutes.”
Ink nodded.
He took his time creeping down towards the beach. Every footstep was chosen in advance. Every inch of the route re-evaluated at every moment. The rising sun bore down on the face of the ridge, leaving only the smallest shadows in which Ink could hide himself. Fortunately, the Colonist-hunters were too busy making preparations and raising more tents to notice. Closer to the base of the ridge, he was able to take cover behind a scattering of boulders. Only a few dozen feet beyond them, Madara and Pallaton stood close together in deep conversation. He couldn’t hear what was said, but a minute later Pallaton nodded and stepped towards the center of camp.
“You have one hour to finish preparations!” he shouted. “Take what food and water you need now! Once the hunt begins, no one rests until we have them in our custody!”
