The Elemental Detectives, page 23
“I raised the plague monster from the Serpentine,” she said. “And you still think you can defeat me?”
She spun suddenly towards Madam Blackwell, crook lifted high. The ground cracked, and shards of ancient stone lifted in the air and skittered around the charnel house. Marisee shrieked as a spike from a slab caught her cheek. Water erupted through the cracks in thin, spitting columns, flickering like fire. One by one, they rose around Madam Blackwell until she was caught in their cage.
“You cannot hurt her!” Turnmill shouted. “She is the Keeper of Wells!”
The young man in the wig moved quickly, though his limbs seemed to jumble around him. Robert was reminded of his own legs, when for a while they hadn’t felt like his own. Had the Shepherdess given him, Robert, extra strength to make sure he arrived here to fulfil his promise? The young man leaped towards Turnmill, and in one quick movement he had twisted Turnmill’s arm behind her back, while his other hand held the meat hook at her throat. Turnmill’s skin was smudged with sand where the metal touched it.
Marisee ran towards her grandmother, tugging at the chain with the baby’s number around her neck.
“Please, Grandma! Let me show her!”
“No, Marisee.” Madam Blackwell’s face was still and angry. “You must not.”
Marisee turned towards Robert. Tears streamed down her face. “Robert! We can’t let her have the Freedom!”
“No.” He shook his head. “We can’t.”
And they should not. Marisee didn’t understand what it was like when people close to you were hurt. He had seen children whipped, men drop to the ground because their bodies could take no more work. And his own … his own what? Someone he knew had… The memory blurred again.
The water cage closed around Madam Blackwell. It reminded Robert of the dead pirates that were displayed in gibbets at Execution Dock. Unlike the iron cages, the water moved, constantly spinning. It bound her ankles together, pressed against her cloak, making it ripple, until finally, it hung like a noose from the roof of the water cage.
Marisee grabbed Robert’s shoulders.
“She did this to the nurse in the Hospital chapel,” she said. “She hanged her with a rope made from water. The nurse would have died if Turnmill hadn’t come. Help me stop her!”
“Your grandmother can stop me herself with ease,” the Shepherdess said. “All she has to do is give me the Freedom.”
“No,” Madam Blackwell said. “I will not. It is not yours.”
The watery noose lowered, slipping over Madam Blackwell’s head. She gasped.
“Robert!” Marisee was shaking him.
“Robert?” A calmer voice. He had thought that the Shepherdess had forgotten him, but now he felt her power turn on him. “Are you wavering?”
“Robert!” He wished she’d stop shouting at him. If you do what she wants, she will control London. She will turn everyone into sleepwalkers and—”
The Shepherdess slammed her crook into the ground. A jet of water burst out from between the stones next to Marisee. It twisted around her, sending her tumbling to the floor. She cried out in pain as silvery threads bound her wrists and ankles. Robert started towards her. The Shepherdess stepped in his way. His head filled with the smell of the damp earth at the back of the woodshed after a rainstorm, horses’ hooves churning up the verges in Hyde Park. His thoughts were muddy. The real world seemed to be spinning around him and away.
“There was a boy,” the Shepherdess said. Her words merged into the splash of flooding water. “He was a frightened boy who was treated badly.”
Robert’s eyelids drooped. He was standing beneath an orange tree laden with fruit. Why? Did he like oranges? He thought that he did, but he couldn’t remember why. The thought of them filled him with sadness. It made him think of Mama and… The trees smudged into mist and he was back in the charnel house.
“You have many memories.” The Shepherdess still stood between him and Marisee. “But the tithe-master was paid his fee. You have a brother called Zeke. He comforted you when you were frightened and then you lost him.”
Robert had a brother? The Shepherdess was speaking the truth, Robert knew it. Zeke. Robert couldn’t remember the name or the face, but there had been someone with him in Barbados, someone who had told him stories and counted fireflies with him and sometimes just held him close when the world was full of terror.
He looked at Madam Blackwell in her watery gibbet and Marisee lying on the floor.
“Help us, Robert,” Marisee whispered. “Please.”
Turnmill was watching him too, and the Boar.
“The girl doesn’t understand,” the Shepherdess said. “She has a home and her grandma and all of her memories. You have the Hibberts and their cruelty. Remember the painting in the chapel, Robert. The king.”
The king who had looked just like Robert.
“You remember him, don’t you?” the Shepherdess said. “Give me the Freedom and I will change the world so that you can be a king, Robert.”
He wouldn’t have to sleep in the corner of the kitchen. He wouldn’t be beaten by Mrs Wandle or paraded in ridiculous clothes in front of Lady Hibbert’s friends.
“What about Lizzie?” he said. “And Marisee and Madam Blackwell?”
“You have the power to choose what happens to them.”
“They won’t be hurt?”
“It’s your choice.”
It was Robert’s choice. He could choose to keep them safe. And even the poor villagers who had been forced to attack them. There would be no more families sleeping below the hulks of shops or begging on the Strand for a few pennies for food. He would make the Hibberts leave that mansion and open its doors and many rooms to anyone who needed them.
He walked over to Marisee and kneeled down on the wet stone next to her.
“We can make London better,” he said. “We can make sure that what happened to Sally Blake will never happen again.”
Marisee tried to wriggle free from her binds. “You mustn’t listen to her! Who can you trust? Her or me?”
Marisee still didn’t understand. Hopefully she would.
“She has the Freedom.” Robert pointed at Marisee. “It’s in her hand.”
The wrist binds pulled tighter. Marisee screamed and her hand flew open. The golden box fell at Robert’s feet. He picked it up and walked towards the Shepherdess. Robert heard the swill of voices around him: Marisee’s, Madam Blackwell’s, Turnmill’s, even the Fleet Ditch boar speaking in his human voice. All of them were shouting, “No!”
But who were they to tell him what he should do? They didn’t know him. The Shepherdess knew more about him than they ever would. The pitted gold box was light, but he held it as if it was full of wild things.
“Here.” Robert held out the Freedom.
The Shepherdess plucked it from his palm. She smiled and closed her eyes.
“Thank you, Robert.” She opened her eyes again. The green was as sharp as blades. Suddenly, Robert knew it. He should have known all along. The Shepherdess dealt in dreams. What she had promised him was just a dream. She had never planned to give him power at all. She nodded, as if she had read his thoughts.
“No!” He lunged forward to grab back the Freedom.
She twisted away from him and banged her crook on the ground.
“Sleep well,” she said.
He opened his mouth to shout, but his words were muffled in a thick cloud of yellow. He saw the musician drop to the floor, and then the young man, and he tried to fight it, but it was too strong.
The world fell away from him and there was just darkness.
THE CHILD
Marisee was shaking. She was cold and wet and frightened.
“Come.” Grandma bent down to help her up. Her bindings were gone.
Marisee just wanted to crawl into a corner behind the pile of bones. She would stay there until she became bones too.
Grandma held Marisee’s face between her hands and kissed her forehead.
“It isn’t your fault, honey,” she said.
“Yes, it is!” Marisee had never shouted at Grandma before. She hated doing it, but couldn’t stop herself. “I let Robert take the Freedom! I brought him here even though I knew I couldn’t trust him!”
She allowed herself a quick look at him, then looked away again. When the Shepherdess disappeared with the Freedom, he had flopped to the floor. He didn’t move. The sick yellow mist wafted around him, but unlike the sleeping musician and the young man, Robert wasn’t smiling. Who knew where he was in his dreams? It wasn’t making him happy. Good. Tears prickled behind her eyes. She tried to swallow back her fury, took Grandma’s hand and stood up.
“I suppose he’ll never wake up again,” Marisee said. “Not unless the Shepherdess wants him to destroy something for her.” She shrugged. “That’s what he deserves.”
“No, honey,” Grandma said, gently. “He doesn’t deserve that. This boy made a mistake, but he did it because he truly believed he was doing the right thing.”
“It doesn’t matter what he believed,” Marisee sniffed. “He still gave the Shepherdess the Freedom. Everyone we know will fall asleep and never wake up.”
Grandma smiled. “Perhaps not.”
Marisee stared at her grandmother. “Have you been keeping more secrets?” she asked.
“Madam Blackwell!” Turnmill was bowed over the mound of mud by the wall. “I think it’s time!”
Grandma ran over to Turnmill. The edges of the mound were crumbling into the water left from the Shepherdess’s attack. The boar was snuffling around it as if searching for something lost. Grandma kneeled by the mud and placed her ear against the dirt.
“You’re right!” she said.
Why did Grandma sound so excited about a pile of dirt when any moment soon, the London they knew could be pulled apart? Grandma yanked Marisee down next to her.
“Listen!” Grandma said.
Marisee’s tears were gone. Her fury was taking over. They did not have time to kneel around a pile of mud. “Grandma! We have to find the Shepherdess and…”
Grandma wasn’t listening. Her eyes were closed and her smile widened. It was like she was a sleepwalker, but enchanted by her own spell. She opened her eyes again.
“This may never happen again in your lifetime,” Grandma said. She curled an arm around Marisee’s shoulders and drew her closer to the mound. “Listen.”
Marisee would listen, just for moment, if it made Grandma happy. Then she would say what she had to say. She placed the side of her face against the mud. She had expected cold clay. It was warm and soft like skin.
“It is time,” Grandma whispered. “You can come out now. You’re ready.”
Marisee’s eyes widened. Who? “Grandma? What’s in there?”
Grandma held her finger to her lips. Marisee nodded.
The girl uncurled from her sleep. The mud slid from her body and settled back around her. The water shifted, lapping against her eyes and into her nose.
It’s time.
She rolled herself back into a ball and the heavy warmth reshaped itself. She knew what was supposed to happen next. She was supposed to open her eyes. She had been in darkness for a long time, but she had heard them when they’d whispered to her. You are safe, Sally. You are safe.
She could hear them talking.
You can come out now.
She knew what she must do. She must slowly stretch. Her fingers, her toes, her feet, her arms.
It’s time.
She must break through the crust of gravel and clay that held her in. She would feel her skin grow dry again. She would feel cold then heat, but she would not be the same. Her eyelids flickered. The weight of the sand on her lashes sealed them closed. She was happy here.
You’re ready.
Memories sometimes snaked through her sleep. They were jagged and cruel, but distant. She was already safe. She didn’t need to wake. But they were calling for her.
It’s time, Sally, it’s time.
The earth hummed with it. The water whispered in her ears.
It was time.
She gathered up her strength and forced her eyes to open. It made no difference. She was still in darkness. She fluttered her eyelashes to try and shake them free from dirt, but her eyelids were too heavy and she let them close again. Her throat was blocked with grit. She flexed her hands, her fingertips scraping the earth shell surrounding her. She balled her hands back into a fist.
Time!
She punched. The earth shook then split into damp clods. Strong arms grabbed her and she was pulled free.
Marisee stared at the girl lying on the shattered mound of mud and gravel. She was about the same age as Marisee. She was wrapped in a thick blanket, her bare toes poking out from the edge. Her forehead was scabbed with mud. Her eyes were closed, but her chest moved as if she was breathing. How could she be breathing? There would have been no air in the mound.
“Sally Blake.” Marisee shook her head in shock. “Has she been here all this time?”
“Fleet managed to carry her as far as the vault of lost things,” Turnmill said, “but she was too sick to take her further. I found Sally there, hovering in that Solid place between living and dying. I didn’t expect her to live. I tended her and dressed her and brought her here. It’s a peaceful place.” She sighed. “Well, it is peaceful when a furious water spirit isn’t trying to blast it into matchwood. I planned to sit with her in her last moments. No one should die alone.”
“But she didn’t die.” Madam Blackwell stroked Sally Blake’s hand. “Something else happened.”
Turnmill nodded. “When her skin grew grey, I thought that her time had come. But I was wrong. Very happily wrong. Fleet’s magic had made a shell for her. It grew thicker and thicker every day until Sally was sealed inside. We had no idea what would happen next, but we were prepared to wait.”
Marisee wondered if Sally Blake had known what was happening to her. Had she slept all that time, or had she been awake in the dark?
“How long have you known, Grandma?” Marisee asked.
“Only since yesterday,” Grandma said. “After Turnmill knocked at our door, she brought me here to safety. There was no need for me to know before then.”
“The fewer people the better,” Turnmill agreed.
That was at least one secret that Grandma hadn’t kept from Marisee.
“Perhaps I wouldn’t even have noticed the mud piled against the wall,” Grandma continued. “But when Turnmill touched it this morning, she felt the warmth. She told me about Sally. She was sure that whatever was going to happen, it would be soon.”
“Does Lady Walbrook know about Sally?” Marisee asked.
Fleet Ditch snorted so hard a flake of mud fell from the mound.
“We felt it was best to keep this to ourselves,” Turnmill said. “Lady Walbrook wouldn’t have let Sally rest. She thinks anything she doesn’t understand is a threat to the Chads.”
“She was right about this threat, though.” Grandma waved her arm around the shattered paving stones and puddles of water. “When I visited Walbrook on Friday morning, she told me that something bad was coming. I don’t know if she suspected that it was another Chad. Walbrook would never speak ill of her own people, but she said that she’d posted a lookout to keep watch and warn me if danger was close.”
“Poor Sadler,” Marisee said. She would never forget the terrified pony dissolving into sand. “He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”
Grandma looked confused. Of course, she didn’t know. Marisee and Turnmill swapped a look, a silent agreement that they would tell Grandma about that later.
“But you disappeared,” Marisee said. “You sent me off to fetch marmalade and when I came back, you were gone. All I had was that note.”
“That was my fault,” Turnmill said. “That lullaby… I felt its dangerous magic ripple through the air. I peered out from the well on the village green and saw the sleepwalkers. I knew they were coming for Madam Blackwell and the Freedom.”
Grandma hugged Marisee to her. “I’m sorry I left you so quickly, my darling.”
Marisee sniffed. She would not cry.
“I had been worried for days,” Grandma said. “I did nothing. There was the rag seller, and the rock doves, and then when I heard that lullaby and felt its power – I knew I had to leave. Turnmill brought me to the safest place she knows. She brought me here.”
Marisee disentangled herself from Grandma’s arms. “But now the Shepherdess has the Freedom anyway.”
“No, honey,” Grandma said. “Not yet. We still have some time.”
“But the golden box,” Marisee said.
“It’s just an empty golden box… It used to hold the Freedom, but no longer does.”
Marisee looked from Grandma to Turnmill. “But then … where is it?”
Grandma smiled. “Sometimes it’s best if you hide things in plain sight. The box was just the vessel. The real magic of the Freedom is in the mix of the four elements: Dragon fire, Chad water…”
“Magog clay and Fumi air,” Marisee finished. She looked at Grandma, mouth open. “Is it—?”
“Sally’s waking!” Turnmill said.
Grandma took Marisee’s hand, and they crouched next to the mud-covered girl.
Sally Blake’s skin glistened except where the mud stuck to her. Slowly, her eyes opened. They were deep brown with no white around them. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. Turnmill reached a finger into Sally’s mouth and pulled out a cake of mud.
Sally gurgled, then coughed.
“Thank you.” It was a girl’s voice, hoarse and unused.
Sally pushed herself into a sitting position. Her arms were so thin, her face too. Her hair was clumped with mud, her eyebrows, even her eyelashes. She drew the blanket tightly around her.
“I don’t understand,” Marisee said. “Is she … is she like me? A human girl? Did she sleep for ten years?”
“No,” Grandma said. “Well, yes. She was a girl and perhaps is still. But we think that Fleet’s magic has made her something more.”
Sally Blake was definitely more than a girl. As Marisee watched, Sally’s face became plumper. She shook her head and the earth dropped from her hair. The mud shrank away from her skin and scattered like raindrops. She rubbed her fingers together and a spark of silver shot out from her palm.
