Chantress (15 page)

A determined speaker, young and strong. After endless moments, the name came to me: Nat.

Had the ravens caught him, too?

I strained to open my eyes.

“Did you see that?” It was Nat again, a note of excitement in his voice. “She blinked. I’m sure of it.”

“So she did.” It was Penebrygg.

“That must be a good sign.”

“Let’s hope so, Nat. But I confess I’ve never seen a fever quite like this.” Penebrygg came closer. “None of us has.”

My eyelids were heavy as headstones, but at last I raised them. Yet when I tried to focus, it was like looking through a crooked piece of glass half melted by flames. In it, I saw sunlight picking out the crooked timbers of Nat’s bedchamber, and Nat and Penebrygg curving over me.

“Look! She’s coming round.”

“God be praised,” Penebrygg said heavily. “My dear, can you speak?”

I tried to make a sound, any sound, but I could do nothing but shiver and burn.

“I’ll fetch another blanket,” Nat said.

By the time he was back, I was able, with great effort, to murmur my thanks.

“She spoke.” I had never heard him sound so pleased.

“So she did.” Penebrygg patted my hand. “Well done, my dear. Well done.”

I struggled to speak again. I wanted to tell them about the book, to warn them—

“What’s that?” Penebrygg listened to my mumbling, then shook his head. “No, I can’t make it out. Can you, Nat?”

“No.” One word, but I could feel the strength of his frustration.

“Rest,” Penebrygg told me. “Rest and we’ll try again later.”

Although I did not want to obey, my eyes wouldn’t stay open. The hot darkness swept over me again. But this time, in the silence, a breeze came to cool me. And one by one the ravens took flight and left.

† † †

When I woke again, I was alone. But for the first time since the darkness had taken me, I was cool. All that remained of the heat was an ache in my neck and a faint prickling in my hands and feet.

Haltingly I sat up and touched the ruby that hung from my neck. Who had put it back over my head? Penebrygg, I guessed, since I couldn’t imagine Nat being willing to. Or had I myself grabbed it, in a last bid for self-preservation? Come to that, who had removed my gray skirts and bodice, leaving me in only my shift? Was that Penebrygg too? I tried to remember, but that only made my neck ache more. So I looked around the room instead.

To judge from the fading light, it was late afternoon. Nearly time, in fact, to shutter the window. Not sure yet whether my tingling limbs could be trusted, I waited for someone to come. But after a while, anxiety got the better of me, and I crawled out of bed, determined to close the window myself. I could not bear to be exposed to the Shadowgrims again.

The window was only a few feet from the bed, but even over that short distance, my feet betrayed me. I tripped, and my shift caught on the bedstead and tore. A fine picture I must make, I thought wryly.

I hoisted myself up and peered out the window. And then I stopped short. Out in the three-cornered yard, a black-clad figure was slipping into Aristotle’s shed.

A woman? Or a man in long black robes? The door closed too quickly for me to tell for certain.

I must warn Nat and Penebrygg.

I slammed the shutters closed and slipped into the gray skirts, which I’d spied at the foot of the bed. Tugging on the bodice, I rushed back toward the landing. Below, I heard a clatter of pots. They must be in the kitchen, then.

I headed downstairs, but my feet were clumsy and swollen. I stumbled down one flight of stairs, then skidded and nearly went flying down the rest. As I clutched at the rail, a feverish heat enveloped me, blurring my mind and making me forget my errand. My moments inside Scargrave’s head came rushing back, and I heard the flutter of ravens’ wings in the air.

And then, a new sound, a sane sound: Penebrygg’s voice floating up to me.

“You showed presence of mind in knocking away that book, Nat. That may have been what brought her back to us.”

“Who knows? Maybe I only made things worse,” Nat said, sounding discouraged. “That’s part of the problem with magic. You never know where you are.”

“No,” Penebrygg agreed with a sigh. “No, you don’t.”

“I knew trouble would come of her mind-reading,” Nat said. “But I thought it was the rest of us who would suffer. I didn’t think she would suffer too.” A pause. “And worse than anyone else.”

“It is only a temporary defeat, Nat.” To my surprise, it was Sir Barnaby who spoke. “You said she has woken and that she has even tried to speak. That can only be good news. Let’s hope we have her on the mend, and that she’ll be singing for us again soon.”

His words cleared away the sweltering fog in my mind.

I will never sing again. Not if it means going back into that darkness. Not if it means losing myself like that.

I pulled myself upright, determined to go tell them so. And then, with a shock, I remembered the woman in the shed.

I clattered down the stairs as fast as I was able and burst into the main chamber.

“Lucy!” Penebrygg exclaimed. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

I steadied myself against the wall. “There’s someone in Aristotle’s shed.”

Nat slipped out at once.

“I am right behind you,” Penebrygg called after him. “Sir Barnaby, will you guard the back door?” To me, he said, “Hide yourself, my dear. In the cupboard there, you’ll find a hidden door that leads to the cellars—a way out, should you need one.”

I was still trying to figure out how the cupboard mechanism worked when I heard the back door open. As I ducked down, the door clunked shut, amidst grunting and squawking.

“Do you see it?” It was Nat’s voice, low and urgent. “On her arm, there: the Chantress mark!”

Another Chantress? Here?

I crept forward and peeked out. Penebrygg’s back was to me, and he had a cudgel in his hand. Facing him, Nat held an intruder fast. I recognized the silvery hair and dead-white face of the woman from the alley—and I recognized, too, the mark on her arm, a bleached-bone spiral exactly like mine.

She twisted, her long necklace of bone beads clacking as she turned. Nat pulled back his hand in surprise. “She bit me!”

Penebrygg spoke in the most thunderous tone I had ever heard from him. “Who are you, madam? And what were you doing in our yard?”

In the candlelight, the woman’s eyes gleamed angrily. But she did not speak.

Sir Barnaby stepped into the light. I was shocked to see that he, too, was holding a prisoner, this one veiled by a hooded cloak. “Perhaps this one will tell us more.”

“Take off your hood,” Penebrygg ordered.

A trembling hand jerked it back.

I gasped.

It was Norrie.

“Do you have any idea how much I’ve worried about you?” Norrie clutched my shoulders, crushing me to her. “Nearly made myself sick with it, I did.”

My only answer was to sigh with relief. Norrie was safe. Norrie was here. My song had not killed her.

“The moment I heard you singing, my heart turned to water,” Norrie said. “I didn’t know what to do. What your mother would have said to me—”

“Why didn’t you give me her letter?” I tried not to sound reproachful, but the words tumbled out. “Why didn’t you tell me she was a Chantress?”

“Tell you?” Norrie pulled back. “Oh, child, I couldn’t!”

“But if I’d known—”

“I was to keep you safe, that’s what your mother said. And I wasn’t to let you sing until you came of age.”

“At twenty-one?”

Norrie faltered. “Well, no. Chantresses are fifteen when they come into their powers.”

“But I
am
fifteen.”

“So you are, child. So you are.” Norrie’s eyes watered, and for the first time since her arrival, I saw the weariness in her face. “And I did think to tell you on your birthday. But how could I send you back into the world that killed your own mother? For killed is what I knew she must be, when she didn’t come back. And I was right.” Her mouth trembled. “Sweet lady. She didn’t deserve what happened to her.”

I couldn’t bear to think about it. “But what happened to you? Are you all right?”

“I’m well enough, child. I landed in a field by Lord Scargrave’s country house in Ealing. A field where they used to burn witches, I’m told.” With a look of mingled gratitude and awe, Norrie turned to Nat’s captive, now released, though Nat looked ready to grab hold of her again, given half an excuse. “I was lucky your godmother found me there—and then found you.”

I blinked. “My . . . godmother?”

“Lady Helaine Audelin,” Norrie said, curtseying to the silver-haired woman. “The greatest Chantress of her generation.”

Gaunt to the point of emaciation, Lady Helaine stood erect as a queen, her gleaming eyes fixed on me. “So you are Lucy.” She tilted her head, as if tracing a resemblance. “You are very like your mother.”

Chantress she might be, but there was nothing musical in her voice, which rasped like a rusty chain.

Disconcerted, I said, “I—I don’t remember you.”

“No?” Lady Helaine did not seem particularly bothered by this. “Well, there will be time enough for us to become acquainted again, now that you are grown.” She waved an imperious hand at Nat, Penebrygg, and Sir Barnaby, who were standing behind her. “But first tell me this: These men, who are they? Have they mistreated you?”

Nat balled his fists. “How dare you accuse us—”

“My lady,” Penebrygg said at the same time, “we would never mistreat Lucy—”

Lady Helaine’s voice grated harshly, silencing them. “Let my goddaughter speak!”

“They’re telling the truth,” I said, startled by her high-handedness. “They’ve treated me very well.”

“You are certain? If they have done you any harm, they shall answer for it.” Lady Helaine had a combative look in her eye.

“They’ve given me shelter and kept me safe,” I said firmly.

“Very well, then.” Lady Helaine waved a regal hand at the men again, as if in dismissal. “You may leave us.”

“Leave?” I stared at her, not understanding. “Why should they leave?”

Nat’s hand went to his knife. “We’re not going anywhere.”

“My lady, we cannot leave you alone with her,” Penebrygg said, “not when we know so little about you—”

“I am Lucy’s godmother,” Lady Helaine interrupted. “Norrie will vouch for that.”

Norrie drew closer to me. “That she is.”

“There,” said Lady Helaine. “What more do you need to know?”

“Plenty,” Nat said hotly. “Everyone knows Scargrave’s killed all the Chantresses. If you are who you say you are, how did you escape from him? And how long have you been at liberty? And why haven’t you used your magic to destroy the Shadowgrims?”

I gazed at Lady Helaine in alarm, wishing I’d thought to ask such questions myself. Yes, Norrie had vouched for her. But how much did that mean, when Norrie was so newly arrived herself? What if Lady Helaine was deceiving her?

“My magic?” Lady Helaine repeated. Her glance skittered away from Nat to me, and for a moment, she did not look quite sane.

When I stepped back, she snatched at my arm, wild-eyed. “Do not leave me, goddaughter! If you only knew how I have longed to find you . . .”

I sidestepped her, and Nat darted between us, his knife out. Behind Lady Helaine, Norrie gave a little moan of distress.

But Lady Helaine had eyes only for me.

“You wish to know about my magic? My magic is gone.” Her hoarse voice cracked, then dwindled to a whisper. “The Shadowgrims devoured it all.”

† † †

“Having told you that, I suppose I may as well tell you the rest,” Lady Helaine said, with more self-possession than I would have
thought possible. Though brittle as glass, she no longer looked crazed.

We had adjourned to the attic with food and drink. Sir Barnaby, Penebrygg, and Nat had insisted on coming with us, and I was glad of their company. Lady Helaine might be my godmother, but she was essentially a stranger to me, and I felt the need for stronger allies at my back than Norrie, who was at present slumped beside me, half-asleep. She had never been one for late nights, dear Norrie, and once we had retreated to this dim, quiet chamber, she could barely keep her eyes open.

I, however, was wide-awake. I was chilly enough to need a blanket—a sign, I hoped, that the Shadowgrim fever had truly broken. Leaning forward over the crumbs of what had once been a full plate of smoked fish and cheese, I sipped at my peppermint tea. I was hungry to hear Lady Helaine’s story, and yet dreading it too. If a great Chantress in her prime had been unable to defeat Scargrave, what hope was there for me?

“It began with my cousin Agnes, of course,” Lady Helaine said with distaste. “A silly, soft-hearted fool, and that was before she was in her dotage. It was she who sang for Lord Scargrave, without a thought for the trouble she was making for the rest of us.” She nodded at me. “But your mother found out and came to warn me.”

“How did she know?” I asked.

“She wouldn’t say exactly, but if anyone would know the truth about Agnes, it was your mother. Agnes adored her, and your mother used to call her ‘Auntie Rose.’ Roser was her last name.”

Auntie Rose.
At the sound of the name, I felt the dab of a
doughy hand against my cheek, saw a wrinkled currant bun of a face peering into mine.
Auntie Rose.
How old had I been when we’d gone to visit her? Six? Seven?

“You’re just like your mother,” she’d said in delight.

Auntie Rose. Cousin Agnes. The woman who, with the best of intentions, had unleashed this horror on the kingdom.

With a sharp look at me, Lady Helaine continued with her story. “Your mother and I went to London to try and undo the damage Agnes had done, and we penetrated the Tower where the grimoire was kept. But before we could lay our hands on it, Lord Scargrave discovered us, and he ordered his filthy birds to attack.”

“All of them?” Nat asked suspiciously. “That’s not how he usually does it.”

“There was no ‘usual’ then.” Lady Helaine’s voice became rougher than ever. “The Shadowgrims were newly created, and Scargrave knew very little about them. Instead of going after us with one or two birds, he set them all on us at once.”