Chantress (17 page)

“You are sure?” Nat asked.

“Yes. It is how our magic works.”

The mood in the room lightened considerably. Penebrygg and Sir Barnaby traded hopeful glances.

“Then we can begin to make plans,” Sir Barnaby said. “Lady Helaine, how long will it take to teach your goddaughter the song?”

“At least six months, I should imagine. And quite possibly more.” Lady Helaine ran her hand along the long strand of beads that hung around her neck. “Her progress will depend on how gifted she is, and how disciplined. But she is very inexperienced—and
what little experience she has is of exactly the wrong sort. So one cannot expect miracles.”

This withering assessment took the wind out of my sails.

“Can she sing the song anywhere?” Sir Barnaby asked.

“No. She must hold the grimoire in her hands.”

I thought of the book I had seen, bound fast to the wall, when I was in Scargrave’s mind. My hand and his hand, blending . . . No! I must not think of that. I must stay myself, with no blurring at the edges. I forced myself back to the present, to the smoky room, and my godmother’s rasp, and the reassuring bulk of a slumbering Norrie against me.

Sir Barnaby tapped his fingers against his chin. “So we must find a way to send her into the Tower of London undetected—and into Scargrave’s Chamber in the White Tower, where the grimoire is kept. That will be a challenge.”

“It will be,” Lady Helaine agreed. “But I may be able to help there as well. Among the few song-spells that I remember is one for concealment.”

“A spell of invisibility, you mean?” Penebrygg asked.

“Nothing quite so powerful as that. The song makes it unlikely she will catch people’s gaze, but those who look carefully in her direction can usually see something—a glimmer, perhaps, or even a ghostly outline—and they may be able to track her down. But still, the song will help her, especially if she can be taught to move carefully and quietly and to seek shelter wherever possible.”

“We’ll have Nat train her, then,” Penebrygg said. “He’s done plenty of work for us at the Tower, and he knows his way around
its secret places. What do you say, my boy? Will you teach her everything you can?”

“I’ll do my best,” Nat said, and for a moment, I saw enthusiasm in his eyes. Had he forgiven me, then, for reading his mind?

Perhaps not. Before I could respond, the guarded expression returned to his face.

But why should I have expected anything else? And what did it matter anyway? He wasn’t here to make friends, and neither was I. We were here to win a war. And to him—and to everyone here—I was merely a tool in that war.

“But, of course, your chief tutor will be Lady Helaine,” Sir Barnaby said to me. “And while you are pursuing your lessons, the rest of us shall be planning a general uprising, to take place when the grimoire has been eradicated.”

“Destroying the book won’t be enough?” I said, surprised.

“Not if it leaves Scargrave still alive and in charge of the King,” Sir Barnaby said.

“It might not,” Lady Helaine said. “Scargrave has used the book’s powers for so long that he’s almost become bound to it. You can hear it in his voice. Destroying it may well destroy him.”

“A welcome development, if it happens,” Sir Barnaby said. “But we must be prepared to take matters into our own hands.”

“It does seem a pity that we must destroy the book, though,” Penebrygg said, his face wistful under his floppy cap. “I wish we could at least read it first. Who knows? There might be some good songs in there along with the bad, something worth saving—”

“No.” Lady Helaine’s voice was rough but insistent. “There is
nothing in that book but evil. And the Shadowgrims are the least of it. We will be better off when it is gone.”

“I’ll agree with that,” Nat said emphatically. “But it’s a wonder to hear a Chantress take such a stand against magic.”

I bristled. “You think we don’t know bad magic when we see it?”

“Do you?” Nat said, and I was taken aback to hear more worry than antagonism in his voice.

“Of course we do,” Lady Helaine said. “This book is beyond redemption. It must be expunged. And in any case, there is no room in the song for half measures: It is all or nothing.”

“Very well, then,” Penebrygg said. “We have our answer.”

“It is settled, then.” Lady Helaine fixed her glowing eyes on me. “I will teach you how to sing safely, goddaughter. And you will destroy the book.”

I nodded.

Lady Helaine turned to Sir Barnaby. “Now conduct us to your refuge, so that we can begin our work.”

† † †

The place Sir Barnaby had in mind turned out to be a set of rooms in the labyrinthine cellars of Gadding House, some distance from the chamber where the Invisible College had met. But it was too late to go there that day; it was past curfew, and although Sir Barnaby had a pass that allowed him to travel almost anywhere he liked, the rest of us were too big a crowd to slip through the streets unnoticed. We set up makeshift beds for Norrie and Lady
Helaine in the attic, and we agreed that we would leave the next morning instead.

When I woke, it was still dark, and I was sure I would be the first one down to the kitchen. Yet when I wandered down the stairs, I smelled porridge. I opened the kitchen door and saw Norrie at the hearth, stirring the pot.

At the sound of my footsteps, she spun around, hand on her heart. “Lucy!”

“Did I startle you? I’m sorry.” I gave her a gentle hug and reached for the porridge ladle. “Let me do that.”

On the island, Norrie would have shooed me away. Here she surrendered the ladle without another word and settled on the kitchen bench.

“You shouldn’t be cooking for us,” I said. “It’s too much to ask. Especially when you’ve only just arrived.” I gave the thickening porridge a good paddle.

“I thought my mind might be easier if my hands had something to do,” Norrie said quietly.

I shunted the pot away from the fire and came to kneel beside her.

Even after a night’s sleep, she looked a good ten years older than she had on the island. Her skin was dull; her eyes were buried in wrinkles. But what upset me the most was how lost she looked. But why shouldn’t she? I had taken her away from her home.

“I’m sorry,” I said awkwardly. “I’m sorry for dragging you here.”

“Hush, child.” She shook her head with weary kindness. “The time had come. I see that now. And probably it’s for the best. Though I admit I do miss my garden. It’s not a very green place, London. I’m glad we’ll be leaving for the country soon.”

She had been asleep when we’d made our plans last night, I realized. “Norrie, there’s something I should tell you . . .”

As I explained how we would be living in the Gadding House cellars, Norrie paled. “We’ll be living underground?”

“They think it’s the safest possible place.”

“Maybe so. But I’m not much of a one for cellars, child. Or for caves, or anywhere under the earth. Gives me the creeps, it does.”

“Oh, dear.” I couldn’t bear to be parted from her again, especially when we’d only just found each other. “They thought it was the best place, you see. A regular house is too dangerous, and they don’t think they can get us out of London. Though if it were you alone, perhaps—”

“No, no. I want to be where I can watch over you.” Norrie patted my hand. “Never you mind me. I’m tired, that’s all. It’s been quite a while since I ever was in a cellar, so perhaps I’ll feel differently this time. And this is quite a large cellar, didn’t you say?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And there will be lights?” Her voice quavered.

“Of course.”

“Then I’m sure I’ll be fine. You’re not to worry about it.” She gave my hand a last tremulous pat and stood up. “Now, how about some of that porridge?”

For a brief while, it was like being on the island again, just
the two of us sitting on a bench together, eating our breakfast. By the time we finished our porridge, Norrie looked stronger and more herself, I was glad to see. Strong enough to put up with a question or two? I wasn’t sure, but I thought it was worth testing the waters. There was still so much that I didn’t understand.

I set down my spoon. “Norrie, did you ever read the letter my mother gave to you, the one you put in the bay tree pot?”

“Never. It was for you, not me.”

I sat back, disappointed. I had hoped Norrie had read it, and that it might have some advice for me. “Did she ever talk to you about her magic?”

“No.” Norrie scraped halfheartedly at her trencher. “To tell the truth, child, I didn’t want to know.”

This was difficult for me to understand. “You weren’t curious?”

“It wasn’t any of my business,” Norrie said. “I was there to look after you, wasn’t I? Not to help her cast spells. And anyway, magic makes me nervous, and your mother knew that. Kind soul that she was, she took care not to practice it around me. Except at the end, when she needed to hide us.”

“What was that like? The song that brought us to the island, I mean.” When I saw the look on her face, I added quickly, “Unless it’s too hard to talk about.” I’d made things hard enough for her already.

“No.” Norrie took a deep breath. “You’re old enough to have answers now. And I’m done keeping secrets. It never works out the way you think it’s going to, anyway. I saw that clear as day the moment I came in and saw you singing.”

Norrie was done with keeping secrets? I could hardly believe it. “So what was it like?” I asked again.

“It was horrible.” Norrie stared at the floor. “A whirlwind of singing and howling and wind and water, and things pulling at our hands, trying to part us. It was worse even than when you brought me back. I kept my eyes closed and held tight to you both till it was over.”

Frustration gripped me. I had forgotten so much. “Why don’t I remember?”

“She didn’t want you to.”

“Oh?” This had never occurred to me.

“It was too much for a child to carry, she said. And if you remembered, she thought you might put your life in danger by singing. So she sang a song of forgetting to you. She feared it might take too much away—that you might even forget her—but she said it had to be done.”

After years of blaming myself for my bad memory, it was a shock to learn it was my mother’s magic that had done the damage.

“Can it be fixed? Can I get those memories back?”

“I’m afraid not. They were gone for good, your mother said.” Seeing my expression, Norrie added, “I’m sorry, child. She meant it for the best.”

A wave of loss crashed into me. My mother had wanted so much to protect me, I understood that. But at what price? My memories of her—and of my own past—were like a smashed stained-glass window, cracked and skewed and missing half the pieces.

“I don’t remember Lady Helaine, either,” I said, measuring the losses.

“Well, no,” Norrie said. “You wouldn’t. But that’s nothing to do with your mother. You only met Lady Helaine the once, right after you were born, when she and your mother made your stone. As far as I know, you never saw her again.”

“I didn’t?” The surprise of this distracted me from my sadness. “She didn’t mention that.”

“She probably didn’t want to bring it up right at first,” Norrie said. “But the truth is, she and your mother didn’t get along very well. Nothing to do with you,” she hastened to add. “Their first falling-out came long before you were born.”

“What was it about?”

“I don’t know. Might have been anything—or nothing. Lady Helaine’s a bit high-handed, as you’ve seen. And your mother was a strong-minded girl who didn’t like to be told what to do. It’s hardly a wonder they didn’t always get on.” Norrie eyed me sternly. “But just because your mother argued with Lady Helaine doesn’t mean you should. She’s a wise woman, your godmother. There’re plenty of us who respect her. And your mother did too, at bottom, or else she’d not have gone to her when she heard about the ravens.”

Norrie stacked our trenchers and took them over to the sink.

Following her, I asked, “If Lady Helaine never came to visit us, then how did you know who she was?”

“Oh, I knew her years and years ago,” Norrie said. “When she and I were young. She’s much older now, but she has the same
bones, the same eyes, the same . . . presence. She’s not the sort of person you’d confuse with anyone else, is she?”

“No.” Proud Lady Helaine and down-to-earth Norrie—how on earth had they met each other? “Did you grow up together?”

“Heavens, no. I was a serving girl from the village, working at the big house for your mother’s family, and she was a grand young lady who came to visit now and again. She made quite an impression. A great beauty, she was, and the men and boys used to follow her about. Some said it was magic that drew them to her. I don’t know about that, but I did once see her turn invisible right before my eyes. Made me go all queasy, it did.”

I heard footsteps in the hall.

Evidently Norrie did too. “But that’s enough for now,” she said. “Answering questions is one thing, gossip another. I shall have to mind the line. Now be a good girl, and fetch me those trenchers up on the shelf there.”

As I pulled them down, Penebrygg and Nat came into the room, followed swiftly by Lady Helaine. My time alone with Norrie was over, at least for now.

Once we reached Gadding House, however, I was determined to ask more questions. Answers, gossip—I was eager for whatever Norrie could give me. My memory was riddled with gaps, and I wanted to fill in the holes.

After breakfast, we embarked for Gadding House in two separate groups, the better to pass unnoticed. Nat, Norrie, and I set out first.

“We’re in luck,” Nat said, right before we stepped into the gray street. “The fog’s so thick, it’ll keep prying eyes at bay.”

Even so, it was a harrowing trip. The creeping mist made me shiver with cold, and the talk I overheard in the sullen, stinking streets chilled me even more:

. . . Ravens’ Own . . .

. . . guards at the gates . . .

. . . Chantress-hunters everywhere . . .

I was afraid that we might lose Nat in the fog, but this time he stayed close, only a foot or so away from me. He took Norrie’s arm when she began to flag, and she seemed to draw strength from him—enough, at least, to get us to the apothecary shop.