Chantress (10 page)

“Will you show me?” I asked Nat.

He hesitated. “I suppose we can take a quick look.”

I followed him over to the desk.

“Look at the shadows.” He ran a careful finger along the parchment page, and I saw them: very faint lines of writing running under and over the heavy black words of the new text.

“I can’t read every word,” he said, “but there’s a mention of
Selenanthus
midway down the page that’s worth a closer look. It may identify a moonbriar stand we don’t know about.”

“More moonbriar trees?” My stomach clenched. “Do you think Scargrave knows about them?”

“Probably not,” Nat said. “That’s why we stole the book—so that he wouldn’t find out. And if the trees do still exist, we’ll do our best to uproot them before he even knows they’re there.”

He sounded confident, but it was clear to me that the situation was a desperate one: a game of cat-and-mouse, with the cat having every advantage.

Yet somehow, as I looked at Nat, and then back at Penebrygg, despair was not what I felt. What bloomed inside me instead was hope, and with it a great desire to be useful.

“What can I do to help?” I asked.

“Ah! I was hoping you would ask that.” Penebrygg gave me a great smile and tipped his spectacles back in place. “We’ve done well to keep one step ahead of Scargrave. But now that you are here, we may perhaps dream bigger dreams, and vanquish him entirely. Depending, of course, on what magic you can do.”

“Very little,” I said in a small voice. It was all very well to want to help, but what, really, could I offer them?

Penebrygg’s kind eyes met mine. “Do not underestimate yourself, my dear. You may not know your own strength yet, but that does not mean it is not there—buried deep, perhaps, but there.”

His confidence was like sunshine on a cold day, and I could not help but be warmed by it. And yet knowing he had such faith in me was daunting, too, for I had no idea how to fulfill it.

“Perhaps we could start with the ruby,” Penebrygg suggested. “We know from our experiments last night that it has magic in it—Chantress magic.”

It seemed a reasonable place to begin. I pulled on the chain till the ruby slipped out of my bodice. It caught the brilliant morning light, dazzling as a sunrise. The three of us stood still for a moment, as we had the night before, watching it sparkle.

“Extraordinary,” Penebrygg breathed. Even Nat seemed mesmerized.

Penebrygg tore his eyes from the ruby and looked at me. “If you take the stone off, do you hear music?”

I lifted the ruby over my head with some reluctance. It was becoming easier to remove it, but I still felt fearful when I did—at least until I heard the singing.

“It’s still there,” I reported. “Very quiet, but there.”

“Marvelous,” said Penebrygg.

“But I haven’t the faintest idea what it’s
for
,” I said helplessly. “For all I know, it’s music that would burn the house down, or . . . or turn us into cats. It’s too soft and mixed up for me to hear much of anything.”

“I have something that may help.” Penebrygg pulled forth a tightly capped glass vial from his sooty black robes.

Nat looked at it in dismay. “Moonbriar seeds? You carried them through London?”

“Only a few of them. And I was quite careful.”

I stared at the dark contents of the vial. “I thought the Invisible College wanted to destroy moonbriar seeds.”

“As a rule, yes,” Penebrygg said. “After much debate, however, we decided to keep a small amount back for experiments. Sir Barnaby thought I should bring a few of them here, so that we
can test your powers. From what we have read, we think they may prove very helpful.”

“But are they worth the danger?” Nat asked sharply.

“We shall see.” Penebrygg held out the vial. “My dear, open this, and tell me if you hear anything.”

With great care, I lifted the stopper, half-afraid of what I might hear. “Why, yes. Yes, I do.” The music was clear and distinct, with a complex but identifiable melody.

As Nat gave me a wary glance, Penebrygg bent forward, eyes lighting up behind his spectacles. “That’s exactly what Sir Barnaby thought might happen. He has an old treatise on magic that says that most Chantresses find it difficult to understand the music of ordinary objects. Songs sung by objects with magical properties—like moonbriar—are stronger and easier to interpret.” He rested his hands on his knees. “Can you tell what the song is about?”

Fearful of getting carried away by the music, I was loath to listen too intently. To my relief, however, the moonbriar’s music proved less overpowering than the song I’d heard on the island. A hint of its meaning blossomed in my mind as I listened, and I looked up in astonishment.

“I think it’s a song for reading minds,” I told them.

Nat froze.

“That’s what Sir Barnaby and I believed it might be.” Penebrygg rubbed his hands in excitement. “A Chantress who can read minds—what a terror that will be for Scargrave!”

“What a terror for everyone,” Nat murmured.

“She is on our side, Nat,” said Penebrygg. “Do not forget that.”

Nat did not appear reassured.

Penebrygg turned to me. “Of course, we do not know yet if the song works. Tell me, my dear, would you be willing to sing it?”

“I’m not sure.” The memory of losing Norrie was all too raw. “If I make a mistake—”

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Penebrygg said. “Do your best. That is all we can ask. But you must sing softly. Scargrave has forbidden all music, for fear that it might give cover to Chantresses, and we wouldn’t want to draw the attention of his spies. For he does have spies—human ones—during the day.”

Sing and the darkness will find you.

“There, there, my dear. No reason to look so terrified. The windows here are shut fast, and the streets are noisy, and the lady whose house wall adjoins our own is quite deaf. If you sing softly, you should come to no harm.”

I looked at him and then at Nat, who eyed me back warily.

Well, if Nat had misgivings, so did I. But what was I to do? They were depending on me to save them. How could I do that without exploring my powers?

I closed my eyes, the better to concentrate on the music. The delicate melody danced round and round in my head. With a deep breath for courage, I let myself sing it—very quietly.

When I was done, I stayed still for a moment, trying to sense something beyond my own apprehension and eagerness. Nothing.

I opened my eyes.

“Can you read our minds?” Penebrygg said. Beside him, Nat stood braced as if for a fight.

I shook my head. “Nothing’s changed.”

Penebrygg shared my disappointment, but Nat looked relieved.

“Never mind, my dear,” Penebrygg said. “Sir Barnaby warned me the song itself might not be sufficient. He suggested you try touching the person whose thoughts you wished to divine.” He held out his gnarled hand. “Here. Tell me if you can read my mind now.”

Without much hope, I took Penebrygg’s outstretched hand, closed my eyes, and sang the song again. This time, when I finished, something was different. The song seemed to circle round and round in my mind, ebbing and flowing with my own breath. As it resounded inside me, my own thoughts poured out like water, and a new awareness seeped into me.

“I see a man,” I said, still hearing the music in my mind. “He has a long chin and an even longer nose, and his dark hair brushes his shoulders. He does not smile.” The man walked toward me, as lifelike as if he were in the room with me. “His eyes burn into me, but no . . . no, he is not looking
at
me, but
through
me. He is ambitious, uncompromising. And . . . and . . .”

Old,
the thrumming said. And yet the man looked young. Were his clothes old? His shoes? What could it be? I gripped Penebrygg’s fingers more tightly. “Ah, I see.” I almost laughed at the absurdity of it. “His name is Oldville.”

I heard a gasp. The image shimmered and vanished, and
with it went the music. I opened my eyes. “Did I say something wrong?”

Penebrygg had let go of my hand and was staring at me, his eyes awestruck behind the glimmering glass. “Dear Heaven. It worked.”

I felt rather awestruck myself. “I was right?”

“Right? My dear, you were little short of miraculous. That was Isaac Oldville to the life. Don’t you agree, Nat?”

Nat nodded, tight-lipped.

Penebrygg strode about the room in excitement. “Oh, what will Oldville say when he hears? What will everyone say when they see you perform?”

I wasn’t sure I’d heard right. “Perform?”

“Why, yes. This afternoon, when the Invisible College meets. Oh, but won’t they be amazed!”

“But I’ve only done it once,” I said. “I don’t know if I can do it again.”

“Practice, my dear—that’s what you need,” said Penebrygg briskly. “We shall devote the rest of the day to it. But we’ll need to keep our strength up. Nat, my boy, could you fetch us some more rolls and cheese from the larder?”

He wasn’t looking at Nat, but I was. With an expression like thunder, Nat glared back at me, then turned on his heel and walked out.

I practiced the rest of the morning. As I had suspected, the incantation itself was only half the battle; it was equally important to sustain the song inside me after I was no longer singing out loud. When I failed to do that, I saw nothing at all. And if I let the song inside fade, the images I saw wobbled and vanished, and I had to go back to listen to the seeds again. Their melody was intricate enough that I worried I would misremember it and make some terrible mistake.

“You’re hungry,” Penebrygg said after I lost the song three times in a row. “Pass her a roll, Nat.”

Nat did, in silence.

But that was the only way he helped. Although Penebrygg was eager to have him participate in our mind-reading experiment, Nat refused, saying he needed to work on the palimpsest.

Penebrygg looked at him in surprise. “Passing up a chance to experiment? That isn’t like you, Nat. Come now: It’s high time
Lucy honed her skills on something other than my own aged brain.”

“You’ll have to find someone else,” Nat said, retreating behind his desk. “I don’t want any part of this.” He bent his head over the palimpsest.

“I’m afraid he’s out of sorts today,” Penebrygg said softly, almost apologetically, to me. “But no wonder—every time I woke last night, he was pacing about the house. I doubt he had more than three hours’ sleep. Let us practice some more, and then I shall see if I can persuade him to rest.”

As we continued to work, I became increasingly adept at the magic. Soon I could sustain the music in my mind long enough to read Penebrygg’s thoughts several times before I needed to sing the song out loud again. Dipping into Penebrygg’s head became almost as easy as dipping into a book, and I could identify the image in his mind within moments: a clock; an apple; the River Thames.

“Let’s try one more.” Penebrygg offered me his hand, and I shut my eyes, the better to concentrate.

Again the image appeared almost instantly, and I began to describe what I saw. “A portly man with a long face and elegant manners. His right foot seems to pain him, and he is leaning heavily on an ivory cane.” Gadabout? Was that his name? No, not quite, but I had it now. “Sir Barnaby Gadding, the leader of the Invisible College.”

“Yes,” Penebrygg said, but I hardly heard him, for I was still deep in the music. For the first time I felt for myself his satisfaction at my progress. Wanting to impress him still more, I pushed myself to go deeper into his mind. “It pains you to see Sir Barnaby
hobbled by gout. Fortunately, he has been improving of late.” I probed further. “You and Sir Barnaby have been friends for a very long time, and you esteem him greatly. You believe, however, that sometimes his curiosity gets the better of his judgment—”

Penebrygg pulled his hand from mine, and the stream of thoughts ceased.

“Well done, my dear, well done.” The words were hearty enough, but when I saw his face, I wondered if I had done something wrong.

“Should I not have said all that?” I asked.

Penebrygg pushed his spectacles back. “You did exactly right, my dear. It is merely that your acuity is, well . . . quite startling. But, of course, it is good news for us. The Invisible College will be most impressed.”

So I hadn’t displeased him. That was a relief.

Penebrygg caught sight of the nearest clock. “My goodness, is that the time? I’d say another round of refreshments is in order for both of us.” He looked around for more rolls. “Hmmmm . . . we appear to have finished everything off. Perhaps Nat—”

But Nat had fallen asleep at his desk, the pen slack in his fingers.

“Best to let him be,” Penebrygg decided. “I shall go downstairs myself.”

“Let me help you,” I said, rising.

“No, no, my dear. There is no need. You must be tired too, after your exertions. Rest until I come back.”

Penebrygg was right: I did feel tired, and it was a comfort to sink back into my chair after he left. When Nat mumbled in his sleep, however, I sat up straight, my senses alert.

What was that he’d said? Something about Scargrave?

I rose and went toward the desk where he lay, his troubled face half buried in his arms. Even in his sleep, he looked angry. Angry with me, no doubt. He hadn’t liked me from the start, and my mind-reading abilities had only made matters worse.

But why did the mind-reading bother him so much? It was almost as if he had something to hide.

He mumbled again, and I tried to make out the words.
Grim?
Or perhaps . . .
Shadowgrims?

I looked at Nat again.
Did
he have something to hide?

Nonsense, I told myself. He couldn’t be hiding anything. Not when Penebrygg trusted him so completely.

But what if Nat had been corrupted? What if, unbeknownst to everyone, he was now working for Scargrave?

All at once, I became very aware that the mind-reading song still reverberated inside me. If I touched Nat now, I might be able to see far enough into his mind to know the truth. His fingers dangled in front of me, long and muscular and calloused from the pen.