Unhonored (14 page)

“Unbreakable rules?” Ellis pressed. “What are the unbreakable rules?”

“The rules that forged this existence,” Finny replied. “Haven't you been paying attention? The rules of the Great War.”

“Perhaps you would like a biscuit?” Minnie offered. “You're looking a bit pale.”

“I'm sorry.” Ellis shook her head, trying to understand. “The Great War … the war in Europe?”

“Oh, nonsense, child!” Finny huffed. “The Great War of Spirits! The war between the two brothers for the souls of creation!”

“The governing rules of the formation of the Tween require the Gates in every Book of the Day,” Linny continued, her cold stare daring either of her sisters to interrupt her again.

“You said Gates.” Ellis leaned forward against the table, causing it to creak ominously. “There are more than one, then?”

“Oh, yes.” Linny nodded. “There are at least two of which we know. One is guarded by a creature called Uriel. We believe he, too, is a Soldier, for that is the Gate from which the Soldiers come. The other is watched over by a different creature we only know as Belial. Through them occasionally come warriors of the Great War to try and persuade one of us to choose at last between the brothers and thereby pass back through the Gate with them. The existence of these Gates—and an avenue of access to them—is a founding rule of the Tween and cannot be violated.”

“But it is often made very difficult,” Minnie added. “Merrick has gotten very clever at hiding them.”

“These warriors who came through the Gates were a nuisance but the Soldiers that came through Uriel's Gate brought an unexpected boon—each of them had lived a mortal life before they came among us. You, Ellis, were the first to learn this from them and with that knowledge you began creating Books of the Day that were dreams very much like the mortal world.”

“That's when you built this house, my lady,” Margaret said from behind her. “There had never been anything like it before.”

“Oh, my, yes! Not that I know anything about it, mind you,” Minnie cheerfully gushed. “But Merrick learned so much from you and, oh, what amazing Days were to be had! At first, different people were able to take control of the Days with their own Books but it was very quickly a battle between you and Merrick as to who could beat each other at their Day. It was a wonderful time with everyone wondering what new dark delight you would come up with for each new Day.”

“That is until you ruined it,” Finny groused.

“Ruined it?” Ellis exclaimed. “How?”

“You broke the rules, that's how,” Finny snapped back. “Somehow you cheated and broke the rules—the rules of the Gate of all things! All for that Jonas boy! All for a
Soldier,
of all the thoughtless…”

Linny put her long-fingered hand on Finny's arm. Finny glanced at her sister and then slowly settled back into her chair.

“They'll be coming soon,” Margaret urged. “We've got to leave, my lady.”

“But I have so many more questions,” Ellis protested.

“You know everything you need! All you need is Jenny and the Gate,” Margaret said quietly at Ellis's ear. “Find a Soldier and you're halfway home. Find Jenny and you can leave all this behind.”

“The Soldiers,” Ellis said to Linny. “They came in through the Gate so then they must know where the Gate is to go back.”

“Must they?” Linny asked.

“Why wouldn't they?”

“I would say”—Linny smiled without humor as she spoke—“that is entirely up to you.”

 

14

DOLLHOUSE

Ellis wanted to run but she held her steps to a quickened pace as she passed out the farthest door of the molding tearoom. The Disir sisters were just as disquieting here as they had been in Gamin—a symmetry that Ellis found reassuring on some deeper level. There was a consistency to the madness in which she moved.

Science is repeatable. Where there is consistency there is an underlying law.

She could not recall the professor's name but she remembered his words clearly. She reminded herself that there were rules to this Game. She needed time … time to think through the apparent insanity to find the rules that governed it.

Yet Finny said that she had broken the rules—supposedly unbreakable rules of the Gate that governed everything here, wherever “here” was or meant.

There is an underlying law …

“Which way does your ladyship wish to go?” Margaret demanded as much as asked. Their exit from the room had left them on a landing at the end of a hall that appeared to extend for miles into the distance. Stairs on their left spiraled upward while to their right they spiraled down.

“What?” Ellis remained distracted by her thoughts. Minnie had said that Merrick had gotten rather good at hiding the Gate and Linny had intimated that whether the Soldiers knew where to find the Gate or not would be largely up to Ellis. The house itself was created by her, if the Disir sisters were to be believed, but how could she possibly have done so? Even if the Gate were hidden from the rest of the souls here, wasn't it a fundamental rule that the Soldiers and demons
had
to be able to find their way out?

“Does your ladyship wish to go upstairs or down?” Margaret repeated, more urgently. “Which way?”

“I don't know,” Ellis blurted out in her frustration. She was trying to think and Margaret's badgering kept derailing her thoughts.

“But you're the mistress of the house,” Margaret insisted. “It's your Day!”

“My Day or not, I have no idea where to go in this madhouse!” Ellis shouted. It felt good to release the rage and frustration though Margaret shrank from it. “I haven't since I set foot in this place!”

“But I can help you,” Margaret suggested meekly. “Just tell me what to do. Anything and I'll do it.”

“But I don't know what to do or where to go,” Ellis huffed. “
That's
why I needed a guide, Margaret! That's why I followed Jonas.”

“Do you want me to fetch him for you?” Margaret said in a quiet, cautious voice. “Do you trust him to lead you through your own house?”

Ellis blinked.
My own house.

Ever since she had arrived in Echo House, the memories of her past had begun to rise to the surface of her consciousness. But she suddenly realized that it wasn't just the memories themselves that were returning to her. The house itself was memory, each place turning like the terrible waltz to form meaning out of its very walls.

“I didn't just create the house,” Ellis murmured in sudden, terrible wonder. “I'm still creating it.”

“Your ladyship?” Margaret asked, her voice still hushed.

“How is that possible?” Ellis said as much to herself as to her companion. She turned about on the landing, looking at the stairs and the long hallway as though they were new to her eyes. “Is this still my Day?”

“No, my lady,” Margaret said, shaking her head. “It is Merrick's Day.”

“And yet the house is changing to suit me,” Ellis said.

“Do you still wish me to fetch Jonas for you, my lady?” Margaret asked.

“No!” Ellis turned a sharp eye toward Margaret. The memory of the last moments of the waltz was still with her. The pain of the memory and the betrayal of her trust in him remained keen in her mind. “But we do need to find a Soldier.”

“Wherever shall we find one?” Margaret asked with a slight quiver in her voice. “They are such frightful things and Merrick said that they had been put away in the furthest reaches of the house.”

“Margaret, there must be a way to … wait!” Ellis held up her hand. “Did you hear that?”

“I heard nothing, my lady,” Margaret replied.

“Quiet, Margaret,” Ellis insisted. “Just listen!”

It was in the distance above them. It echoed down the stairwell and was muffled but the sound was light and bubbling.

A laugh.

A child's laugh.

“Come on!” Ellis said even as she rushed up the stairs. She could hear the hard soles of Margaret's ankle boots pounding up the stairs behind her.

The banister of stained wood had a deep red hue to it as though it were made of cherry. As she arrived at the upper landing she could see that the walls were covered in a bottle-green wallpaper that had since faded closer to sage in color. There was a skylight overhead that had just begun to rattle under a fresh rain, making the sound of pebbles tossed against the glass. The lightning flashes were still far off as was, also, the distant rumble of thunder. There was a stained glass window on the right side of the landing, the distant flashes of lightning illuminating the glass sailing ship on a storm-tossed sea. A second window at the head of the stairs was a double-hung window that was partially open. It was the kind of window that was typical of the exterior of a home but when Ellis glanced through it, she saw that it only looked into another room. It was a completely insane choice of placement but, as she reminded herself, what in this house was sane?

The high-pitched laugh was closer now, a bubbling sort of bright laughter coming from just down the short hall with warped floorboards and the same dull sage wallpaper curling away from the walls. Another double-hung window was at the end of the hall, rain now running in rivulets down its surface. There were two paneled doors at the end of the hall, both with peeling paint. The door to the right was slightly ajar, a dim, flickering glow coming from that room.

The light, quick laugh came again.

A baby's laugh.

Ellis stopped. Something inside her was screaming at her to run, to turn and walk away from what was ahead of her. She pushed down the fear rising within her and started with careful, soft steps down the hall.

Margaret followed hesitantly. “Your ladyship—”

“Quiet!” Ellis demanded sotto voce.

The warped floorboards creaked and shifted under her boots as Ellis forced her way down the hall. The sounds of a baby's delight were coming from beyond the slightly open door but she could not yet see into the room.

Ellis reached for the tarnished silver doorknob. The door gave way with reluctance. The sounds of the child silenced abruptly. Ellis knew what awaited her but she went in anyway.

“A nursery?” Margaret said as she followed into the room.

Ellis gave a deep sigh. “Yes. My child's nursery.”

The shades of the windows were drawn closed, keeping the room in darkness. Only the light from the struggling fire on the hearth illuminated their surroundings.

It was all just as Ellis remembered it. The empty bassinet sitting unused in the corner. The rocking chair sitting in perfect stillness by the fireplace, its shine now dulled by a thin covering of dust. A hamper and a changing table. The wallpaper that she had chosen. She had been so terribly critical of Jonas's handiwork when he first put it up and insisted he redo it to her satisfaction.

All for the child's sake.

Their child's sake.

Her child's sake.

“Where is it, my lady?”

Margaret's voice intruded on Ellis's thoughts as though from a great distance. “Where is what, Margaret?”

“The babe, my lady,” Margaret insisted as she glanced about the room. “You said there was a babe.”

“There was.” Ellis drew in a shuddering breath. “Jonas had been struggling to find work since his uncle had lost his shop to the banks but, hard as it was, we so looked forward to bringing another life into our lives. Most of the nursery furnishings we had begged or borrowed from what friends we had remaining to us. I was cut off from my family except for the endowment my father left me for my education and that we could not touch. We were both under a lot of strain in those days, but I think that our anticipation of the child kept us together.”

Ellis looked again with longing at the empty bassinet.

“It's exactly as I remember it the last time I stood here.” Ellis turned slowly in the middle of the room. “I, too, wondered where my child was, Margaret, even though I knew full well I had miscarried.”

“Is milady saying that this is a place from your life after you left the Gate?”

“Yes, a terrible, painful place.”

“But it's not just a memory, your ladyship,” Margaret said in earnest excitement. “I'm here, too. You made this place. You're changing the Day.”

“I can't see how,” Ellis said, her mind still fixed on the bright pain that the nursery brought to her recollection.

“What else?” Margaret asked in a rush. “What else do you remember?”

“I don't want to remember any more,” Ellis insisted.

“Please,” Margaret coaxed.

Ellis drew in another deep breath, trying to steady herself before answering. “I remember wondering what to do with the toys Jonas had purchased. We couldn't afford them but Jonas was giddy and unreasonable about…”

Ellis stopped, her eyes fixed on the corner of the room behind the door.

She remembered the dollhouse that Jonas had built for their baby and had set in that corner but this one was different from the simple construction she remembered. Though half buried in tin boxes, balls and tops, its silhouette was strikingly familiar.

It was the miniature image of Summersend … the cottage in Gamin where she had last seen Jenny.

A box at the base of the dollhouse caught her eye. Like the dollhouse itself, the box was out of place here and not as she remembered the nursery.

She reached down and picked up the box. The label across the front read “Toys made by the Disabled Soldiers & Sailors at the Lord Roberts Memorial Workshops, London, S.W.”

As Ellis drew open the top of the box, a strange smile came to her lips.

In the box lay six tin soldiers. Ellis noticed at once that despite the label on the box these tin soldiers were not British at all but were painted with Canadian uniforms and markings. She brought the box closer to her face, trying to see them better in the dim firelight of the room. She suddenly pulled back with a start.