The House On Durrow Street Part 18

Ivy had heard there were illusionists who could hold an engraving plate in their hands and somehow transfer a scene they pictured in their minds onto the plate, from which copies of the picture could then be printed.

"May I?" she said, curious to see such a thing.

Mr. Rafferdy handed her the impression.

"Oh," she said again, but it was a murmur this time. She studied the image on the paper, rendered in fine shadings of ink. In it, three young men stood together, clad in regimental coats but with turbans upon their heads, arms around one another's shoulders. In the background were the blurred shapes of date trees and sand dunes.

Mr. Rafferdy was looking at her now, not the impression. "What is it?"

It took Ivy a moment to find her voice. She had seen an impression like this before, the day she entered the forbidden room at Heathcrest Hall. Indeed, the image was so identical it could only have been produced from the same engraving plate. She turned it over. On the back, written in faded ink, were the words The Three Lords of Am-Anaru The Three Lords of Am-Anaru.

"That's just what was written on the other one!" she exclaimed.

Mr. Rafferdy gave her a puzzled look, and she explained to him how she had seen this very same impression at Heathcrest.

"Wait a moment, can I see that again?"

She handed the paper back to him.

Now it was his turn to look astonished. "Yes, I'm sure of it now. I've seen paintings of him when he was young, in the royal army. It can only be him."

"Who do you mean?"

"My father, Lord Rafferdy. That's him on the right."

Ivy looked again at the picture. Two of the young men were grinning, but the one on the right had a more serious look about him, his dark hair curling down over his brow. Now that she knew it was Rafferdy's father, she could see the resemblance to him. She was about to remark on this when Lord Baydon entered the room.

"There you are!" he said, huffing for breath. "I knew it would not matter where I began my search, for I was confident you would be in the very first place I looked. My sister is wondering what became of you. What are you doing in here?" not matter where I began my search, for I was confident you would be in the very first place I looked. My sister is wondering what became of you. What are you doing in here?"

Ivy's cheeks flushed. "We didn't mean to...we were only..."

"We were only looking at an old impression we found by chance," Mr. Rafferdy said.

Lord Baydon clapped his hands. "Capital! I do so like looking at impressions. Uncanny things. They make me feel very queer, but in a pleasant sort of way. Do you mind?"

Mr. Rafferdy handed him the silver paper.

"Well, it's not chance at all you found this, Mr. Rafferdy. For there's your father, Lord Rafferdy, looking very young. There beside him is Lord Marsdel. They served together in the army long ago, you know. I couldn't join up with them. You wouldn't know it now, but I was very sickly as a young man, and had not the strength!" He patted his bulging waistcoat.

Ivy was intrigued by this news. "But who is the other man?"

"That would be Earl Rylend, of course," Lord Baydon said. "He whom your own Sir Quent used to serve, as I imagine you know. He and Lord Marsdel and Lord Rafferdy were all three inseparable when they were young. I remember how they used to come and go, always off on some adventure or another. How I wished I could go with them! They were such a merry band. Well, except for your father, Mr. Rafferdy. He was the solemn and sober one. I think they might have marched right off the end of the world in their travels if your father had not reined them in with his counsel. What did they used to call themselves? They had a name for their little band, but I can't quite remember it...."

"The Three Lords of Am-Anaru," Ivy said.

"Yes, that was it! But how could you know that, Lady Quent?"

She showed him the back of the impression, and explained how she had seen a copy at Heathcrest Hall with a similar caption.

Lord Baydon was delighted by this. "How marvelous! I suppose they each must have had a copy made when they were in the Empire, just after the war. I'm surprised they found an illusionist to make it. The Murghese don't go for that that sort of thing, you know." sort of thing, you know."

Ivy was surprised as well. Yet perhaps it was no great mystery. After all, wherever soldiers went, others followed to serve their needs in exchange for coin-the lure of profit proving greater than fear of war's perils.

"What a jolly band of rogues they were!" Lord Baydon went on. "Yes, the Three Lords of Am-Anaru-that was what they took to calling themselves after they came back from the south. I never did find out why. It must have been some place they went together when they were there. They had other names as well, one for each of them. What were they, now?" Lord Baydon shook his head. "I fear I can't remember. You might ask Mr. Bennick, if you can find him. I am sure he would know, for all the time he spent with Lord Marsdel or went out to the country to Earl Rylend's house."

Ivy gave a nod; however, she was quite sure she would never speak to Mr. Bennick again. She placed the impression back in the book, then put the book on the shelf.

Lord Baydon gave a cough, and Mr. Rafferdy took his arm to help him return to the parlor. As they went, Ivy glanced at the sphinx by the fireplace. Mr. Rafferdy said his father had a similar artifact at Asterlane. But if Earl Rylend had been in the Empire as a young man with Lord Marsdel and Lord Rafferdy, why had she not seen a sphinx at Heathcrest? Had the earl not brought back some memento of his journey south?

They were reunited with the others, and Captain Branfort, whose color was even higher than usual, looked very grateful for their return. Ivy decided it was time to relieve the good captain of his post, and so took a turn on duty at Lady Marsdel's side. At last the afternoon waned, and the hour came for Ivy to return to her sisters. Mr. Rafferdy offered to walk her out.

"I will look forward to our meeting next quarter month," he said.

"As will I," Ivy replied with a smile, "though I am sure I will see you in the meantime."

"In the meantime?"

"At Lady Crayford's house. But why do you look at me so? Surely you are going. I cannot imagine a fas.h.i.+onable party in Invarel to which Surely you are going. I cannot imagine a fas.h.i.+onable party in Invarel to which you you were not invited!" were not invited!"

"I am glad you cannot," he said, "for that means I am a.s.sured I will receive an invitation to any party you might throw. But as for the viscountess's affair-no, I was not invited."

Ivy might have thought he was making a jest; however, his expression was too solemn for that.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Rafferdy. I thought...that is, I believed you..."

"You need not be sorry, Lady Quent. The party will benefit far more from your your presence than mine. Besides, I have other business to attend to. Indeed, I am happy I received no invitation, as it saved me the inconvenience of writing a note declining it. In fact, I should write the viscountess a note thanking her for doing me such a kindness." presence than mine. Besides, I have other business to attend to. Indeed, I am happy I received no invitation, as it saved me the inconvenience of writing a note declining it. In fact, I should write the viscountess a note thanking her for doing me such a kindness."

He spoke these words with a mock seriousness that could only make Ivy laugh. She clasped his hand warmly, and told him she would look forward to their meeting next quarter month.

As the carriage pulled away, Ivy leaned back in the seat. How good it had been to see Mr. Rafferdy again! It had been far too long to go without the benefit of so special a friend. A smile still upon her lips, she turned to wave at him through the rear window of the carriage.

But the steps before Lady Marsdel's house were empty.

DUSK WAS FALLING by the time Ivy returned to the inn. According to the old rosewood clock, night had come a quarter of an hour sooner than the almanac predicted. Yet, as always, the right-hand face seemed in perfect accord with the heavens, for she looked at the clock just in time to see the last sliver of gold vanish as the black disk turned into place.

As improbable as it seemed, there was only one conclusion that could be drawn: whatever errors plagued the almanac of late, there was no fault in the workings of the old rosewood clock, just as the clockmaker's apprentice had said. She marveled, wondering what complex mechanisms resided within the clock that let it calculate, without the benefit of any timetables, just when a lumenal or umbral would begin and end. as the clockmaker's apprentice had said. She marveled, wondering what complex mechanisms resided within the clock that let it calculate, without the benefit of any timetables, just when a lumenal or umbral would begin and end.

"I am sure you could have told me more about how it worked, Father," she said softly as she touched the clock. And perhaps he would one day, if the treatments at the hostel had their intended effect.

She went to the small sitting room to let her sisters know she was back. Lily was thick in the midst of her latest book, and Rose had retired to her room. Even Miss Mew had no need for Ivy, curled up out of reach atop a wardrobe.

Being neither wanted nor needed, Ivy returned to the room she and Mr. Quent occupied. She had hoped Mr. Quent would be here by now, but he was not; he must still be at the Citadel seeing to his work. She knew that every day reports came from the lord inquirer's agents who kept watch on the Wyrdwood around the country, and that all of these must be read and responded to. In addition, work must be done to find funds and materials to effect repairs on the fortifications around every known stand of Old Trees.

Well, she hoped Mr. Quent would be finished soon. In the meantime, she could at last make an examination of her father's journal. It was her idea to go through it, to see if she could detect any evidence that there were hidden words upon its pages. She recalled how several times, when she was a girl, her father had written her secret messages using a vinegar for ink, and she had been delighted when the words appeared while holding the paper over a candle's flame, as if by magick.

"I'm sure you would not have used so simple a trick as that, Father," she said aloud, sitting at the small writing table where the box of Wyrdwood rested. All the same, maybe there was something she could detect if she looked closely enough at the journal.

She opened the box-it required the slightest thought to make the fine tendrils of wood unweave themselves-and took out the leather-bound book within. She opened to the first page, whereupon he had written the dedication to her. She read it again fondly, then turned to the next page. It was blank, as were those that followed. Not knowing where exactly to begin, Ivy thumbed through the pages, all of them fluttering by as white as snow. fondly, then turned to the next page. It was blank, as were those that followed. Not knowing where exactly to begin, Ivy thumbed through the pages, all of them fluttering by as white as snow.

A flicker of darkness.

Startled, Ivy ceased moving through the pages of the journal. Then, carefully, she turned back a page, then another, and finally one more.

The page was filled with words.

URSENTUS RISING, ANARES RETROGRADE IN BAELTHUS.

There, the deed is done.

I have hidden Tyberion. I do not believe they will be able to find where I have concealed it-though I know with utter certainty that some of them will try. However, it is not anywhere they would expect it to be. They will imagine it is now as far away from here as possible, for that is what they would do to keep such a thing secret; they would never think I would keep it so close.

I wish I might have guarded it with an enchantment. An aura of magick they would sense, and they would try to break whatever protections I might have placed upon it. I am a better magician than most of them, but even I could not make an enchantment to stop them if they worked in unison. Or at least, I could not do so without grave cost-one I may yet have to bear.

But do not fear, my dearest Ivoleyn. I hope it will not yet come to that! Tyberion is safe now. And they never knew about Arantus, for I hid it long ago. There is no chance they will ever seek it, for they do not know of its existence.

How I wish they did not know about Tyberion either. Would that I had never shown it to them! But I hardly understood the true nature of it when Mr. Bennick and I discovered it, and I was giddy with excitement at what we had uncovered. Nor did I apprehend the true nature of those within the order who had intentions besides the pure study of magick.

I can only be thankful for Mr. Bennick, who even then must have had some inkling of the intentions of the others. Why else would he have told me to show them only Tyberion, and to keep Arantus concealed? I am inclined to think the best of others. But Mr. Bennick has ever been of a more practical character, and he possesses a keen insight into the hearts and minds of other men. His advice has, I am sure, saved us from great grief. He is a friend of the deepest and truest sort, and I am fortunate beyond measure to know him told me to show them only Tyberion, and to keep Arantus concealed? I am inclined to think the best of others. But Mr. Bennick has ever been of a more practical character, and he possesses a keen insight into the hearts and minds of other men. His advice has, I am sure, saved us from great grief. He is a friend of the deepest and truest sort, and I am fortunate beyond measure to know him.

Well, that is all for now. I will write more when I can, my dearest little Ivy-little now, I say, though you are sure to be far from little as you read these words. Yet so you are at this writing, and even now I am sure you are nestled in your bed at Whitward Street, asleep beside your sisters. Thus I will close this journal, and leave this "awful magician's house" as your mother calls it, and come home to you all.

G.O.L.

Ivy stared at the page. She supposed it was possible that, for all her prior thumbing through the journal, she had somehow missed this page. Perhaps it had been stuck to the page that followed it.

Even as she considered this, she knew that was not the case. She was sure she had turned through every page of the journal before. Just as she was sure it was due to some magick that writing had suddenly appeared on a page that heretofore had been blank. Yet as astonis.h.i.+ng as this was, the words her father had written amazed her even more. For it was like hearing his voice in her mind, and being reminded of how he used to be, how he used to talk to her.

Yet it was more than that. To think he had considered himself fortunate to know Mr. Bennick-the same man whose betrayal would force him to cast the very spell he hinted about in the journal, the spell whose cost was his very mind. That Mr. Bennick knew others in the order were not to be trusted came as no surprise to Ivy, for she knew what her father could not-that Mr. Bennick had been conspiring with them all the while. He had tried to seize the Eye of Ran-Yahgren all those years ago. He failed, only later to scheme to use Ivy and Mr. Rafferdy to unwittingly unlock the house on Durrow Street so that the magicians of his order could enter to gain the Eye. the house on Durrow Street so that the magicians of his order could enter to gain the Eye.

Well, Mr. Bennick had been thwarted, and he had not gotten the artifact. As for the things that her father had described hiding, perhaps Mr. Bennick had never gotten them either. Perhaps he had warned her father about the other magicians in the order because he had sensed they were going to turn against him-something they must have done at some point, for why else would they have taken Mr. Bennick's magick from him?

As for the things her father wrote about hiding, she could only wonder what they were. Tyberion and Arantus-the names sounded familiar to her, but she wasn't sure from where. Her father must have intended to tell her more. And perhaps he had. An excitement rose in her, and again she turned the pages of the journal, going through them one by one.

It took her some time, but at last there could be no doubt. There was no other entry in the journal besides the one. Whatever enchantment had caused it to appear had not affected any other pages.

Ivy's excitement ebbed. Perhaps it was due to the ominous nature of the words her father had written, or to the fact that they reminded her of what she had for so long been deprived-namely, her father's company and guidance. Whatever the cause, a sudden loneliness gripped her. The darkness pushed in through the windows, and the one taper she had lit wavered, as if unable to withstand that ancient force.

Ivy shut the journal and locked it back in the box. Then she rose to light more candles, thinking not of the cost as she spread them all about the room. Then she sat in the midst of them, as if their gold light was an aegis against the night, and waited for Mr. Quent to return.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

ELDYN SAT AT his desk in the office of the rector, gazing at the blank sheet before him. He drew a breath, then dipped his pen.

The tip clattered loudly against the rim of the ink pot. He tried to blot it, but his hand gave a jerk, and dark drops struck the blotter, spreading outward in a violent stain. Eldyn set down the pen and grasped his right hand, trying to quell its shaking.

But it was no use. As soon as he let go, his hand began to tremble again, as it had ever since he saw that morning's edition of The Swift Arrow The Swift Arrow. A boy had been hawking them before the steps of Graychurch, and Eldyn had bought a copy. However, one glance at the front page and he wished he had saved his penny.

A GRUESOME E END F FINDS A ANOTHER I ILLUSIONIST, read the smallish headline near the bottom of the page. The article beneath was brief, but not without salacious details, as lurid pieces were a specialty of The Swift Arrow The Swift Arrow. It described how a young man who was known to perform at the Theater of Emeralds had been discovered in High Holy, dead and bloodied.

Before his remains were heaved upon the steps of the old chapel, read the article, the unlucky fellow's eyes were plucked from his skull. It was an act some might consider particularly awful, given that it was the victim's vocation to conjure wonders meant to be seen, though we might choose to differ and call it particularly fitting instead the unlucky fellow's eyes were plucked from his skull. It was an act some might consider particularly awful, given that it was the victim's vocation to conjure wonders meant to be seen, though we might choose to differ and call it particularly fitting instead....

Eldyn had read no more; he threw the broadsheet in the gutter and hurried into the church, down to the cool quiet of the room above the crypts. His hands would not stop trembling. Nor could he make his head concentrate on the work at hand. Instead, all he could think of was the sight of Donnebric before the Theater of the Doves, his face a dark, crusted mask. Now another young man had met a similar fate. Had he been indiscreet, as Donnebric had been? Is that why he deserved this all he could think of was the sight of Donnebric before the Theater of the Doves, his face a dark, crusted mask. Now another young man had met a similar fate. Had he been indiscreet, as Donnebric had been? Is that why he deserved this particularly fitting particularly fitting fate? fate?

"Is everything well, Mr. Garritt?"

Eldyn looked up to see Father Gadby standing beside his desk.

"I'm sorry, I..." Eldyn cleared his throat. "That is, I am very well, thank you, Father."

The rector's hands fluttered upward like a brace of pale, plump doves. "Well, we must praise G.o.d for the health he has granted us, so we are able do his work in the world. Yet I notice the pace of your own work seems somewhat reduced this morning, Mr. Garritt. Is something amiss?"

Eldyn could not speak of the real reason for his distress that morning. What would he say if the rector asked him why he had any care for illusionists? Instead, he grabbed a slip of paper at random from the box of receipts. "I just wasn't entirely certain what to do with this..." he glanced down at the paper, "... this note concerning the purchase of several red curtains."

He set the receipt on the desk so it would not reveal the shaking of his hand. The rector leaned over the desk to examine it.

"Why, this is signed by the archdeacon himself!" he exclaimed. "That it is in proper order is a.s.sured. Archdeacon Lemarck is aware of every detail about the keeping of Graychurch. There is not the smallest thing that is beneath his attention-not even the work you do, Mr. Garritt. You must record this exactly as it is written."

"I did not mean to question the judgment of the archdeacon in any way," Eldyn said hurriedly. "I wanted only to be certain the work I do reflects his will properly."

The rector smiled and smoothed a few wispy strands of hair over his pate. "Of course you do, Mr. Garritt! And your desire to make yourself his his instrument in all things is most admirable. We would all do well to trust the archdeacon's wisdom in every matter. Indeed, the Archbishop of Invarel-he who is highest above us all in this world, and closest to Eternum above-relies heavily upon the archdeacon these days. That is why we do not see him instrument in all things is most admirable. We would all do well to trust the archdeacon's wisdom in every matter. Indeed, the Archbishop of Invarel-he who is highest above us all in this world, and closest to Eternum above-relies heavily upon the archdeacon these days. That is why we do not see him here as much as we might wish. Though Graychurch is the seat of his archdeaconry, he is often at St. Galmuth's attending to the archbishop." here as much as we might wish. Though Graychurch is the seat of his archdeaconry, he is often at St. Galmuth's attending to the archbishop."

Eldyn was not surprised to hear this. It was said the Archbishop of Invarel was aged and frail, and that when he presided over high service in the cathedral his voice could hardly be heard above a mumble.

"There are some who claim the Church is a dusty relic of the past," the rector went on. "Yet you would not say such a thing if you heard the archdeacon give a sermon. What fire, what power there is in his voice. Why, if you saw him, you would think that one of the saints of old had returned to guide us from the shadows in which we have dwelled and back into the light! With men such as the archdeacon to lead us, I believe the Church's most glorious times lay ahead."

"I am sure you are right," Eldyn said.

"Of course I am right, Mr. Garritt!" the rector exclaimed. "Now, do you have what you need to proceed with your work?"

Eldyn a.s.sured him he did. Indeed, as the rector waddled away, Eldyn found he was able to hold his pen with sufficient stability to dip it and scribe a row of figures upon the page. He bent over the ledger, and for the next several hours he let himself think of nothing but ink and numbers.

THE LUMENAL WAS short, and as Eldyn walked back to the old monastery the sun slipped behind the b.u.t.tresses of St. Galmuth's, casting a gloom over all. No longer kept at bay by the industry of work, Eldyn's own gloom was free to return, and a new dread descended over him.

The article in The Swift Arrow The Swift Arrow said the murdered illusionist had worked at the Theater of Emeralds. Eldyn did not know any of the men who worked at that theater; its performances tended toward ribald burlesques that forwent symbolism in favor of obvious vulgarity. said the murdered illusionist had worked at the Theater of Emeralds. Eldyn did not know any of the men who worked at that theater; its performances tended toward ribald burlesques that forwent symbolism in favor of obvious vulgarity. Those Those were not the kind of illusion plays Eldyn liked. were not the kind of illusion plays Eldyn liked. However, there had been two murders of illusionists now, and the article had speculated that given the similarity of each case, they had likely been committed by the same hands. If so, was it not possible that the perpetrator would strike again? And what if it was not a stranger who was the victim, but rather someone Eldyn knew? However, there had been two murders of illusionists now, and the article had speculated that given the similarity of each case, they had likely been committed by the same hands. If so, was it not possible that the perpetrator would strike again? And what if it was not a stranger who was the victim, but rather someone Eldyn knew?

What if it was Dercy?

Only that was foolish. Dercy knew how to take care of himself. Was he not the one who had said Donnebric had behaved recklessly? Surely this other unfortunate illusionist had done the same. There was no use worrying; Dercy was far too clever to let himself fall into such a perilous situation.