The House On Durrow Street Part 29

"Yes," he said with a grave nod. "Rylend told us that was its name, and he insisted we take it from the cave."

So the earl had in fact brought something back from the south, Ivy realized. Only it was not an old stone sphinx. Rather, it was the crystalline orb that now was locked in her father's secret study upstairs. Fascinated, she listened as Lord Rafferdy recounted the rest of the tale.

Removing the artifact was a great labor. However, after much wresting the four of them brought the orb out of the cave-wrapped in cloth so that the Murghese porters could not see what it was. The thing was loaded upon a camel and taken back across the desert. Not long after that their time in the royal army was done, and the Three Lords of Am-Anaru-as they styled themselves after the expedition-returned to Altania, along with the elder Mr. Quent. The artifact went with them and entered into Earl Rylend's keeping.

Only something else went with them as well, and as Lord Rafferdy recounted the events of the following years, Ivy shuddered to consider its nature. Was the cave truly cursed, as the Murghese porters had claimed? Or was it simply some ancient poison or contagion that had lingered on the air within, waiting long eons for someone to breathe it in? Either way, the result was the same. All four who entered the cave were afflicted.

The first symptoms began to appear in the years after their return to Altania: a wasting of the flesh accompanied by violent trembling, a difficulty of breath, and lurid hallucinations. They discovered that the effects of the malady could be greatly ameliorated through the application of treatments both medical and magickal, and so the four were all able to maintain enough of their health to fas.h.i.+on lives for themselves. through the application of treatments both medical and magickal, and so the four were all able to maintain enough of their health to fas.h.i.+on lives for themselves.

As the years wore on, the effects of the affliction grew harder and harder to keep at bay. The elder Mr. Quent was the first to succ.u.mb, some twenty years after their return from the Empire. Earl Rylend wasted and died a number of years later. After that, the Eye of Ran-Yahgren should have pa.s.sed into Lord Marsdel's possession, for Rylend had made the other two men swear they would see to its safekeeping. However, by then Lord Marsdel was very ill and could not take it. As for Lord Rafferdy, he knew he did not have the magickal faculties to guard such a thing. But Earl Rylend had often had magicians at Heathcrest Hall, and during Lord Rafferdy's visits there he had come to know one of them whom he trusted.

"It was my father," Ivy said.

Lord Rafferdy nodded. "While I did not always care for the magicians Rylend a.s.sociated with, I felt differently about your father. As did Sir Quent, who recommended his character to me. Thus we saw that the orb was given into Mr. Lockwell's care. Not long after that, Lord Marsdel succ.u.mbed. Of the four of us who entered that cave, only I have continued to endure all these years, and no doubt far more robustly than I should have."

His hand moved inside his coat pocket, as if he touched something within.

"Yet at last the curse of that place has found me," he went on, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can stave off the curse of Am-Anaru no longer. I have but a few more things to do. And this is one of them."

He withdrew his hand from his pocket and, trembling, held something out toward Ivy. She hesitated.

"Go on," he said, as if the words caused him great pain.

Slowly, she reached out and took the thing from his palsied fingers. Even as she did, a rasping breath escaped him, and he slumped on the bench. At the same moment, Ivy let out a gasp.

She gazed at the object in her hand. It was small enough to fit easily between a thumb and finger, thick as several regals stacked together, and triangular in shape. However, its edges were not sharp; rather, they were pleasingly smooth, as if polished from being rubbed for countless years. The thing it most resembled was a worry stone, but one made of wood. easily between a thumb and finger, thick as several regals stacked together, and triangular in shape. However, its edges were not sharp; rather, they were pleasingly smooth, as if polished from being rubbed for countless years. The thing it most resembled was a worry stone, but one made of wood.

That it was a piece of Wyrdwood she was certain; there was no mistaking it. She could feel the memory of life within it, like the subtlest resonance.

"But what is it?" she asked.

With great effort, he raised his head. "I haven't the faintest idea. All I know is that it was very important to your father. He asked me to keep it safe for him. I confess, I could have returned it to you long ago. I should have done so. For the most selfish reasons, I have delayed discharging my duty. You see, I think it has somehow helped to preserve me all these years. How else can I explain how I endured so much longer than the others?"

"Then you must keep it!" she cried, holding it out toward him.

He shook his head. "No, nothing can preserve me now. Besides, if some goodness indeed abides within this thing, then you will have need of it in the times ahead. Perhaps that was why your father asked me to give it to you. Perhaps he thought it would-"

His words were lost as a fit of coughing wracked him. Hastily, Ivy tucked the piece of Wyrdwood into the pocket of her dress, then put an arm around his shoulder, supporting him. In the coolness of the front hall she felt a heat emanating from him, as from sun-warmed stones after evening fell.

At last his coughing subsided, but he appeared spent from the exertion, and he was unable to speak. He motioned toward the door with a shaking hand, and Ivy understood. She rose and went outside, hurrying down the walk and waving until she caught the attention of the driver. The young man leaped down from the bench of the carriage, and moments later the two of them dashed into the front hall.

To Ivy's relief, Lord Rafferdy had not fallen from the bench. Indeed, he was able to speak now, and he told his man it was time to depart. The driver helped him to rise, and slowly they made their way from the house back to the four-in-hand. The driver opened the door and, with practiced motions, helped the older man inside. way from the house back to the four-in-hand. The driver opened the door and, with practiced motions, helped the older man inside.

"Thank you, Lady Quent," Lord Rafferdy spoke from the dimness inside the carriage, "for indulging me today."

Ivy had to draw a breath to steady herself, lest she be overcome with tears. "What will you do now?"

"I must go to my son," he said. "Time grows short, and night is falling. Farewell, Lady Quent."

The driver shut the door and climbed back to the bench. Then, with a flick of the reins, the four-in-hand rattled away down the street. She watched it go. And it was only when the carriage was out of sight that, recalling his final words, Ivy thought to look up at the sky.

The sun shone high above; it was broad daylight.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

ELDYN TURNED A silver coin in his fingers, its two faces catching the sunlight that slanted from the window high above his worktable beneath Graychurch. First a laughing moon came into view, embossed on one side of the coin, then the mien of a stern, fiery-maned sun appeared on the other. Again and again, over and over-moon then sun then moon again.

But never the two of them at once.

A weary smile curved upon Eldyn's lips. These days, he knew more than a bit what it felt like to be two things in constant alternation and never both of them at the same time. He had been aware from his prior calculations that his schemes would make him a busy man. However, it was one thing to total up a number of hours and quite another to actually expend the sum.

His work on the ledger at Graychurch required a meticulous application of concentration as well as ink, and it was endless. There were days when his hand was as cramped and stained as after a s.h.i.+ft sitting with the other clerks at the tables of Sadent, Mornden, & Bayle.

Evenings found him being taxed in other ways that, while far more engaging, made more than just his scribing hand ache. Eldyn had never imagined that performing in an illusion play would be so demanding an enterprise. When he finally discovered the ability to conjure phantasms, they had come to him with little exertion-especially when Dercy was present to encourage him. However, the glamours he conjured had never been of a size to fill a room, let alone an entire stage.

What was more, he had never appreciated how much the players at the Theater of the Moon moved about during their performances. Seldom did they stand in one place as they worked their craft. Instead, they rushed, leaped, and clambered across the stage as they enacted the Sun King's pursuit of the silvery youth.

Eldyn had known this, of course; he had seen the play at the Theater of the Moon dozens of times. Yet it was not until he was onstage himself, following Master Tallyroth's directions to run house left or hurry downstage, all the while maintaining the illusory existence of a dozen pearlescent stars or ripples of blue light that surged like ocean waves, that he fully appreciated how physical the roles were.

As he was an understudy, it was his task to learn not just one part, but several of them, for there was no telling who he might need to replace some night due to an illness or injury. So far such an occasion had not occurred-and Eldyn hoped it would be a good while before it did.

True, after a month of rehearsing, he felt he had grasped the basic requirements of the roles to which he had been a.s.signed. He knew his cues and how to position himself on his mark, and he had practiced the required illusions over and over, so he could form them with sufficient detail and symmetry to gain Master Tallyroth's approval.

This was a thing that was not easily won. The slightest deviation from the prescribed form-a wave that was too greenish, or a comet whose tail was not just the right length-would result in a critical observation.

"A star should generally twinkle rather than glow, don't you think, Mr. Garritt?" the master illusionist of the Theater of the Moon would say, an arch expression on his powdered face. Or, "A squarish cloud might be interesting, I concede, but as nature cannot really be improved upon, I always suggest one does not try." think, Mr. Garritt?" the master illusionist of the Theater of the Moon would say, an arch expression on his powdered face. Or, "A squarish cloud might be interesting, I concede, but as nature cannot really be improved upon, I always suggest one does not try."

Though gently uttered, these admonitions provoked Eldyn's resolve to do better more than any shouted rebuke. He would redouble his efforts, willing the phantasms into more precise forms with every repet.i.tion. By the end of the rehearsal he would be trembling and damp with perspiration. However, if Master Tallyroth gave him an approving nod (and so far he always had), then it was more than worth the effort.

Performances were no less strenuous than rehearsals. It was the duty of an understudy to help the other illusionists apply the necessary tints and powders to their faces, and to a.s.sist them as they changed in and out of their costumes. Eldyn also served as a stagehand, helping to move about those parts of the set that were not fas.h.i.+oned of air and light but rather of lumber and cloth and metal and paint.

There were, in fact, a large number of these. Watching the play gave an impression that everything one beheld was as ethereal as a dream. In truth, a great deal of what was onstage was physical rather than phantasmal, and after an evening of pus.h.i.+ng and turning various platforms and flats on cue, the ache in Eldyn's back would attest to their very real bulk.

Despite their exertions, the players were always ready to venture to some drinking establishment as soon as the theater closed. In the past, Eldyn had always wondered how, after giving their all during a performance, they could go to tavern and conjure more illusions simply for the joy of it. Now, though he had yet to perform for an audience, he had begun to understand. Previously, his perception of Siltheri was that they were free and merry, even a bit wild; toil and drudgery were not for such fey beings, he had thought.

His experiences as an understudy had changed that opinion. After so many hours of rigorous practice, crafting illusions to the master's exacting ideals, it was not so much a whim he and the others experienced as it was a desperate need to fas.h.i.+on something free and foolish and delightful. Thus as the drink flowed so did the phantasms, until at last punch and coin purses and energy with which to conjure were all thoroughly depleted. others experienced as it was a desperate need to fas.h.i.+on something free and foolish and delightful. Thus as the drink flowed so did the phantasms, until at last punch and coin purses and energy with which to conjure were all thoroughly depleted.

After that, Eldyn would stumble with Dercy back to his room, arm in arm, laughing all the way. Within they found other, no less vigorous activities to engage in, and no matter what had happened at theater or tavern that night, or how exhausted they were, it seemed they always discovered the needed reserves.

At last he would make one final effort-rus.h.i.+ng home in the small hours of a long night, wrapped in shadows, or in the swift, silver dawn of a short day, in order to be back to the apartment before Sas.h.i.+e rose.

Once she did, he would spend an hour listening to her chatter as they took their breakfast. Then it was time to go to Graychurch to begin his labors anew. If during all of it he had any bit of free time to himself, then it was spent reading a snippet of the Testament, to make sure he continued to rehea.r.s.e for a different sort of performance in his future-one far more important and demanding than any illusion play.

While he sometimes felt expended from it all, this was hardly an issue. Coffee imbued him with the power to do his work in the morning. The energy of the stage filled him and buoyed him up in the evening. Rum and his exertions with Dercy brought him back down so he could sleep for a few short hours. So the lumenals and umbrals pa.s.sed swiftly and in a most agreeable manner, and this, Eldyn had begun to think, must be what happiness felt like.

"Counting your savings, are you, Mr. Garritt? Usually our Lord in Eternum frowns upon the coveting of wealth. However, I am sure you are eager to know how close you are to gaining your portion to enter the Church. And since it is for such a holy purpose that you are ama.s.sing a sum, I am also sure that He would make an exception in this instance."

Eldyn looked up to see Father Gadby standing beside the table, clad in a ca.s.sock whose length and width were of similar proportions.

A sudden alarm caused his heart to miss a beat. The coin he had been turning was not a quarter regal but rather one of the silver coins that was used by the theaters of Durrow Street. Such coins were granted to the players to give to their friends, or were pa.s.sed out by the madams of theaters to court favored guests, for nothing was so good for a theater's business as to have famous people attend its play.

Eldyn forced himself to draw a breath. He could not imagine Father Gadby would recognize the true nature of the coin. How would a priest know of such things? All the same, with a deft motion, he spirited the token into a pocket.

"I am not counting my fortune, Father," he said, affecting a smile. "Rather, I am counting the good fortune with which I have been blessed."

Father Gadby clasped a plump hand over his heart. "You have been blessed indeed, Mr. Garritt. To have won the favor of the archdeacon-why, it is hardly less than to have won the favor of Eternum itself! But then, it can only be due to divine notice that you then were directed into his his awareness." awareness."

Now Eldyn's smile was no longer an illusion, but rather a genuinely felt expression. "So I believe, Father Gadby. Though why I have won any notice at all, I confess, is a thing beyond me."

"It is beyond any mortal man, Mr. Garritt. However, the eyes of Eternum see all, and they have perceived in you something that deserves so particular an attention."

A warmth suffused Eldyn-a glow not unlike the radiance he had experienced on the occasion of meeting Archdeacon Lemarck. Despite all the debts against his soul-those heaped upon him by his father, and those he had earned by himself-somehow he had been deemed worthy to receive such gifts. That the divine was anything other than the most benevolent and forgiving of forces, he would never again doubt.

"I shall let you return to your work, Mr. Garritt. One day you will help to wrest men's souls from the grasp of sin, but for now it is that wicked ledger upon which you must force a more holy order."

The rector moved to the other end of the long room and there proceeded to busy himself with the usual tasks that occupied him throughout the day-these being chiefly the moving of pieces of paper from one heap to another and then, after some consideration, back again.

Eldyn returned his attention to the ledger before him. He had let himself be distracted by daydreams, and the beam of sunlight from above was moving with a perceptible speed across the table. He would have to hurry if he was to be out of receipts before the lumenal was out of hours.

A SUDDEN GALE had clotted the sky with clouds, casting a pall over the world, by the time he walked from Graychurch to the old monastery. However, the bells of St. Galmuth's were not yet ringing, which meant the sun had not set on the lumenal. SUDDEN GALE had clotted the sky with clouds, casting a pall over the world, by the time he walked from Graychurch to the old monastery. However, the bells of St. Galmuth's were not yet ringing, which meant the sun had not set on the lumenal.

Or rather, the sun was not yet supposed supposed to have set. An article appearing on the front page of all the broadsheets a few days ago confirmed what had already been the subject of conversation all over the city for the half month prior. The almanacs were in error. The tables printed in them-and reprinted daily in the broadsheets-which for so long had reliably predicted the duration of lumenals and umbrals, could no longer be trusted. to have set. An article appearing on the front page of all the broadsheets a few days ago confirmed what had already been the subject of conversation all over the city for the half month prior. The almanacs were in error. The tables printed in them-and reprinted daily in the broadsheets-which for so long had reliably predicted the duration of lumenals and umbrals, could no longer be trusted.

The discrepancies had been small at first, such that people hardly detected them; or if they were noticed, they were ascribed to a faulty clock or a misreading of the almanac. Though minor, the variances had begun to compound. A few seconds of disparity became a minute, then several minutes, then more. So far, the greatest amount the almanacs had been in error had been not much more than a quarter of an hour. Yet the variances were only likely to increase as time went on.

According to the article he had read in The Swift Arrow The Swift Arrow, the Royal Society of Astrographers had convened to discuss the matter, and they had determined that the movements of the celestial spheres that contained the moon and the eleven planets had become altered from their previously immutable patterns. The cause of this was almost certainly the new planet, Cerephus, and its increasing proximity in the sky. of this was almost certainly the new planet, Cerephus, and its increasing proximity in the sky.

The changes had been subtle, but the heavens were large, so even the smallest deviation in their movements resulted in a significant effect. It was like a great clock in which one gear was sped up or slowed down, causing all of the other workings in the clock to change in accordance. The astrographers were laboring to calculate revised timetables, and the king had bid them to pursue the matter with all possible haste. However, they would likely have to observe the new motions of the heavens for some time-perhaps even years-before they could rework their calculations. In the meantime, there was no telling how much things might change.

This was a cause of some concern. Much commerce depended upon a reliable foreknowledge of the length of umbrals and lumenals. Even the theaters on Durrow Street would not be unaffected, for how would they know when they needed to be ready to open their doors if they did not know when evening was to fall?

Eldyn could imagine a great deal of inconvenience resulting from this unpredictability. That said, he did not see how it would cause any real harm to not know the exact length of days and nights. Perhaps it would be better if men were not so slavishly devoted to the clocks that divided their lives into sharp little slivers. Besides, if one wanted to know how the day was progressing, could one not simply look upward?

He did so now, watching the clouds roll before another gust of wind. Then he ducked into the old monastery just as a few large, cold drops of rain began to patter to the ground.

Upon entering the apartment, he found Sas.h.i.+e sitting by the window, reading a book in the dim gray light. She seemed not to have heard him enter, for she remained intent upon the book on her lap.

As usual, her lips moved slightly as she read. She wore a plain gray s.h.i.+ft, and her hair was not loose as she usually wore it, but rather pulled back in a tight knot. It was not, he thought, a flattering style. No doubt she had put it up to be out of her way as she worked at some dusty task set for her by the old verger.

He shut the door behind him, and she looked up at the sound. Seeing him she smiled, and the expression imparted to her face a soft loveliness that could not be diminished by a dull dress or a harsh arrangement of her hair. Eldyn smiled at her in return.

"I'm glad to see you're back from the church already," he said. "It's beginning to pelt down rain out there. If you were coming back now, you'd have gotten very soaked."

She appeared to think about this a moment, and a slight frown creased her brow. "It can only be G.o.d's choosing when it rains. So I could not complain if I got caught in a storm, for it would be His will."

Eldyn resisted an urge to frown himself. Why would she ever think G.o.d would wish something ill to happen to her? "Well," he said, making his voice cheerful, "then it's clear, in His benevolence, that He wished you to be warm and dry today."

Now her smile returned even brighter than before. "I suppose you must be right, dear brother. Oh, but of course you are! You are wiser than I in such matters, and will soon become far wiser still."

Despite his misgivings, her approval could only please him. He took off his coat and laid it carefully over the back of a chair. "Did you happen to encounter Mr. Fantharp as you came in?"

She shrugged. "You mean the tallow seller? No, I did not."

"I met him on my way out this morning, and he expressed some concern that he has not seen you of late. I a.s.sured him you were very well, and that he must have simply missed your comings and goings. As you know, he is a busy man, for he does very well in his trade. It was kind of him to ask after you, don't you think?"

"I suppose so." Sas.h.i.+e opened the book on her lap and continued to read.

Eldyn's compulsion to frown returned. He had done everything he could to encourage Sas.h.i.+e to take an interest in Mr. Fantharp's attentions, but so far to no avail.

He moved across the room to her. "Are you reading from the Testament again? You have been very diligent with your study of it lately."

"Far less than you, I am sure!" she exclaimed. "I fear I must read things several times before I begin to comprehend them even the littlest bit. But I am a woman, and so must work harder at such things, as Father Prestus reminds me. I am sure understanding comes far more easily to you you, brother."

He merely nodded. In truth, he had been too busy to read much of the Testament of late. But he would.

As for Sas.h.i.+e, lately he had begun to think that she was perhaps reading too much of the old book. Some of the words written by the ancient prophets could be alarming in tone, especially to an impressionable young mind that might tend to interpret them too literally. Was it this Father Prestus who was encouraging her to make such a study of it? Eldyn kept meaning to find the priest and speak to him, but given all his duties both day and night, he so far had not had the chance.

Well, he would do so soon. And tomorrow, if time allowed, he would go to a bookshop and find something more frivolous for Sas.h.i.+e to read. He could only think it would be good for her spirits to look at something lighter in tone-the latest romance, perhaps.

For now, she seemed intent to keep reading from the Testament, and as the last of the daylight would soon fail, he did not make an issue of it. Besides, he was too tired to strike up an argument. He could bring up the matter of Mr. Fantharp later. Perhaps he would suggest inviting their neighbor to attend the next Brightday service with them. Surely his sister could find no objection with that idea, and he was sure Mr. Fantharp would readily agree. No doubt being close to each other at the church would lead them to a natural and engaging discussion on the topic of the day's sermon, and thus help to acquaint them with each other.

Pleased with this scheme, he sat at the table, intending to pour himself a small cup of wine to ease the aches in his hand and shoulder. As he did, he saw that a note had come for him. Immediately he recognized the handwriting on the front as belonging to Rafferdy.

Last month, Eldyn feared he had angered his friend. It wasn't until the day after he had gone to the Theater of the Moon to accept Madame Richelour's offer that he recalled he was supposed to have met Rafferdy at the Sword and Leaf the evening prior. In the excitement of his encounter with the archdeacon, the engagement had gone right out of his head. However, that was no excuse; he should not have shown his friend such disregard. The next day, he had sent a long note to Rafferdy that, while not going into the particulars, apologized profusely for failing to show up for their appointment. until the day after he had gone to the Theater of the Moon to accept Madame Richelour's offer that he recalled he was supposed to have met Rafferdy at the Sword and Leaf the evening prior. In the excitement of his encounter with the archdeacon, the engagement had gone right out of his head. However, that was no excuse; he should not have shown his friend such disregard. The next day, he had sent a long note to Rafferdy that, while not going into the particulars, apologized profusely for failing to show up for their appointment.

Several days pa.s.sed, and Eldyn had begun to fear his friend was indeed perturbed with him, perhaps irrevocably. At last a reply from Rafferdy had arrived. It had been brief, and by its appearance hastily written, but it had a.s.sured him not to worry, that he was in no way insulted or annoyed. Eldyn had been greatly relieved.

Since then, Eldyn had exchanged several notes with Rafferdy, but so far they had not managed to find a time to reschedule their engagement. Eldyn's duties by day and night consumed nearly all of his hours, and Rafferdy was occupied with attending a.s.sembly and taking care of his father's business. Yet hopefully they would find a time soon when they could meet. Eldyn missed his friend's amiable chatter; and now that he thought about it, it had been some time since Rafferdy's last message. Eager to see his friend's latest proposal, Eldyn broke the seal and opened the note.

His hopes faded with the last of the daylight outside the window. No, it was not possible Rafferdy would have time for drinks at tavern and frivolous talk anytime soon. His responsibilities would now be greater than ever. His father, Lord Rafferdy, had pa.s.sed from this world.

It had happened earlier that month, after a sudden and precipitous decline in the state of his health. Now Rafferdy had returned from Asterlane, where he had been setting his father's affairs in order. There was still much to do, and a.s.sembly remained in session. However, he hoped to be able to see Eldyn at some point, and would write again when he had time.

Gold light pushed back the gloom. Eldyn looked up as Sas.h.i.+e set a candle upon the table.

"You look very solemn, dear brother. Is something amiss?"

He folded the note and set it aside. He would write a reply to Rafferdy tomorrow. In the meantime, there was no reason to burden his sister with ill news about a person she had never met.

"No, nothing is wrong, dearest. I was just giving my eyes a bit of a rest, that's all."