The House On Durrow Street Part 11

The other gave a wave of a gloved hand. "Oh, I am sure of it. I know far more people in this hall than I care to." Again she smiled at Ivy. "Yet not so many as I wish to. Nor do I hew to that decrepit maxim that two people, though they are sure they would find each other agreeable, must not speak to each other, and must each pretend the other does not exist, until they can dredge up some mutual acquaintance-however distant or detestable-to link them together in an introduction."

Ivy could only concede the other's point. "I admit, it is something of a peculiar custom. Yet imagine if as you walked down the street any person might accost you in order to introduce themselves."

"All manner of rude and horrible people already do. It is only the finer people who adhere to the rules of proper society and restrain themselves. Which means that manners cannot protect me from the legions of the ill-behaved; rather, they can only serve to prevent the people with whom I wish to speak from speaking to me. Therefore I will have none of it, and I will be the rude person who accosts you you." She held out her hand. "You must now, whether you wish it or not, consider yourself acquainted with Lady Crayford of Armount Street."

Ivy listened to this last speech with great amus.e.m.e.nt-until the other's final utterance. A lady was introducing herself to her! And not merely any lady, for Ivy had heard the name on several occasions as Lily read about famous parties in The Comet The Comet or or The Messenger The Messenger. This was a viscountess and, according to Lily, one of the most fashionable beings in all of Invarel.

Ivy nearly faltered, her head abuzz; but she had come to meet a king today, so she must consider a viscountess, however beautiful and renowned, to be an object of less dread. She took the other's hand and made a curtsy, though Lady Crayford, with the gentlest pressure, pulled her upward before she could sink very low. and renowned, to be an object of less dread. She took the other's hand and made a curtsy, though Lady Crayford, with the gentlest pressure, pulled her upward before she could sink very low.

"I am Mrs. Quent," Ivy remembered to say at last.

"There, it is done," Lady Crayford said with a pleased look. "We have introduced ourselves, and neither the Citadel nor the edifice of society has come tumbling down upon us. I presume that is Mr. Quent over there?"

Ivy followed her gaze. Mr. Quent had turned away from the window and was now speaking with someone she did not know-a striking man with gray at the temples, clad all in black.

"Yes, that is him in the blue coat," she said.

"I suppose he is not from Invarel."

Ivy could only smile. "He is from County Westmorain."

"A country gentleman-I had thought as much. He looks as if he could toss three lords at once with his bare hands. Men in the city have all become such fine things. They are exceedingly nice to look at, I grant you, yet it seems these days they wear more lace and powder than I do." She looked again at Mr. Quent. "I imagine he has never worn a bit of lace since infanthood. How you must admire him!"

Ivy was not one to display an overt pride, but all the same a warmth filled her. "I do admire him. Though I am sure you will never see him toss a single lord, let alone three."

Lady Crayford sighed. "How unfortunate. I'm sure some lords in the city could do with a little tossing. Speaking of which, I see that Lord Valhaine is monopolizing your husband. Come, let us take a turn about the hall while you wait for your audience."

Ivy glanced back at the tall, imposing man her husband was speaking to; his dark eyes were intent upon Mr. Quent. So that was Lord Valhaine! Ivy supposed she should not be shocked that the two men were acquainted. It was public knowledge that Lord Valhaine was concerned with all possible threats against the Crown, so he could only be well aware of the work of the inquirers. Still, it startled her to realize Mr. Quent was familiar with men such as the king's notorious Black Dog.

As Mr. Quent indeed appeared occupied with Lord Valhaine, Ivy could find no cause to deny Lady Crayford's request, so she allowed the viscountess to lead her in a tour about the hall. As they went, Ivy's companion pointed out the various objects of art all around. Despite her professed ignorance of the Citadel's architecture, she could utter the t.i.tle of every painting and statue, as well as who created them and what they symbolized.

"You are an expert on the subject of art," Ivy said, both astonished and delighted at Lady Crayford's knowledge.

The other gave a small shrug. "I am audacious enough to consider myself something of a painter. I'm dreadful, of course, but like most amateurs I find great amus.e.m.e.nt in expounding upon the works of others, as if I could have done any better."

"I am sure your works are not dreadful at all," Ivy said. "A painting made by one possessed of such insight must have something of interest to behold in it, no matter the level of skill with which it was wrought."

Again Lady Crayford laughed. "Where have you been hiding yourself all this time, Mrs. Quent? I would that I had made your acquaintance ages ago! I will repeat your words to my husband the next time he wonders why I waste so much time daubing a brush against canvas."

With that she took Ivy's arm, as if they had been friends for the longest time, and continued to lead her about the hall. So fl.u.s.tered and thrilled was Ivy that she could only follow along, like some charmed creature, listening to her companion's interesting and amusing expressions.

A man in black attire pa.s.sed them, and as he did his eyes lingered upon Ivy, to the point that she became painfully aware of herself and was forced to look away. It was, she realized with a start, Lord Valhaine.

"Do not be concerned about the looks of others," Lady Crayford said softly. "You are sure to get many stares today."

"I cannot imagine why I should receive many looks, unless it is because I appear odd in some way. I am sure I am n.o.body important."

"On the contrary, you are exceedingly famous," the viscountess said, and her violet eyes sparkled. "Indeed, I can conceal it no longer, and must confess my horrible crime. You see, I did not encounter you by chance today. Rather, I sought you out, knowing you would be here, and then inflicted myself upon you. Do you see how awful I am? My husband a.s.sures me that I scheme in the most devious ways, and now I am revealed to you in all my villainy."

Ivy's astonishment brought her to a halt. To think she had been the object of a viscountess's plans was beyond her comprehension.

"There, you are repulsed!" Lady Crayford said triumphantly. "I cannot blame you. Yet how could I not concoct a means of encountering the heroic Mr. Quent, savior of the realm in its recent time of troubles, as well as his new wife, Mrs. Quent, whose beauty is said to be exceptional, and which I have now discovered far exceeds any rumors? Though in a moment you will be Mr. and Mrs. no longer, but rather Sir Sir and and Lady Lady."

At last Ivy reacted, and it was not out of repulsion, but rather great discomfort. "How presumptuous you must think us! You must believe that we aspired to this, that we somehow sought out such a reward."

Lady Crayford tightened her hold on Ivy's arm. "No, I detect that you are far too sensible, Mrs. Quent, to want something so silly as to be made a lady. Also, because I am an artist and can detect such things in a profile, I can see Mr. Quent is too n.o.ble in his character to ever want for a n.o.ble t.i.tle. Thus it is perfectly clear it has all been forced upon you."

She turned to face Ivy, taking Ivy's hand in her own. "How amusing it will be for all of those who so desperately cling to their t.i.tles to witness someone receiving one he would no doubt willingly give up. Yet that is not possible, for it is to be bestowed upon him whether he wishes it or not, and upon you. And here comes the steward for you now, I see. Farewell, Mrs. Quent. When I see you next, I shall call you Lady Quent!"

Ivy had only time for the most hurried farewell. Then Mr. Quent was there beside her, along with a man who was introduced to her as Lord Malhew, the king's steward. Having just become acquainted with a viscountess, Ivy could only take her meeting with a lord in stride. Nor was there much time to form a proper reaction to anything, for in moments they were taken to an antechamber off the hall, and there, before she hardly had time to draw a breath or formulate a thought, they were presented to His Most Glorious Majesty, Rothard, King of Altania. to her as Lord Malhew, the king's steward. Having just become acquainted with a viscountess, Ivy could only take her meeting with a lord in stride. Nor was there much time to form a proper reaction to anything, for in moments they were taken to an antechamber off the hall, and there, before she hardly had time to draw a breath or formulate a thought, they were presented to His Most Glorious Majesty, Rothard, King of Altania.

Perhaps it was the smallness of the room that made the king look small in turn. Or perhaps it was that his garb, while fine, was too large for him-or rather, it had been cut for a larger man. He did not so much sit on his chair as he was crumpled upon it. He wore no crown, but only a silk hat as if he was cold. A few courtiers sat about the perimeters of the room, but their gazes were not derisive as Ivy had feared, merely bored.

The king did not look at them as they approached and paid their obeisance with a bow and a curtsy. However, as the steward read from a proclamation-declaring that Mr. Alasdare Eulysius Quent of County Westmorain was to be granted the Baronetcy of Cairnbridge and all of its holdings and incomes in return for remarkable service rendered to the Crown in containing the recent Risings in Torland-the king raised his head. While his shoulders remained hunched, and a tremor could be detected in the motions of his hands, his eyes were a keen gray.

"I am told that the Risings in Torland were the most extensive since those recorded in ancient times." His words were hoa.r.s.e but precisely enunciated. "Lord Valhaine says that the lives lost numbered in the hundreds."

"Regrettably, that is so, Your Majesty," Mr. Quent said. "I confirmed the figures with him only a few moments ago."

The king nodded. "He also tells me that the devastation could have been far worse had it not been for your efforts in securing the person of the witch who instigated this, and that she might have caused every stand of Wyrdwood in the west of Altania to rise up. The disaster this would have caused-not only in terms of life and property, but also in its effect on the minds and hearts of my subjects, and on their confidence in the strength of their government-would have been of the gravest proportions. For averting this disaster, you have my grat.i.tude, and the grat.i.tude of all of Altania." have been of the gravest proportions. For averting this disaster, you have my grat.i.tude, and the grat.i.tude of all of Altania."

Mr. Quent drew a visible breath. "I did only what I must."

"As do all great men." The king seemed to straighten a fraction in his chair. "It is not a man who makes himself great. Rather, it is circ.u.mstance that permits him to be so, if it is in his being. There are many men who might be great who dwell in times of peace, and so their true nature is never shown. But circ.u.mstance has revealed your your true nature, Mr. Quent. Therefore I bestow this reward upon you. It is hardly enough, but I presume you will not refuse it. So come, and claim your due." true nature, Mr. Quent. Therefore I bestow this reward upon you. It is hardly enough, but I presume you will not refuse it. So come, and claim your due."

Mr. Quent dutifully knelt before the king and kissed his ring. The steward placed a slender sword in the king's hands, and aided him in lifting the blade and tapping Mr. Quent on each shoulder. When he rose, the steward declared that he was now Sir Quent, Baronet of Cairnbridge. Ivy felt her heart flutter in her chest. Such pride and admiration she felt for her husband could hardly be borne.

Nor was she the only one affected. The various courtiers no longer seemed dull. Rather, they watched with interest, and many of them even stood and clapped. And if Mr. Quent bore the whole thing soberly, it only made him seem more the worthy hero.

Then it was finished. It was time for the king's next audience. The whole affair had taken no more than five minutes.

As they departed, a startling thought occurred to Ivy. Here in this room was the very king whose approval they required for the pet.i.tion to release her father from Madstone's. But there had been no time to ask His Majesty about the matter, nor could it have been deemed in any way appropriate to have used this occasion to do so. However, even as she considered this, she realized Mr. Quent was discussing the very topic with the steward.

"I will be sure to inquire as to the status of your pet.i.tion, Sir Quent," Lord Malhew said as they paused by the door.

"You have my thanks," Mr. Quent replied.

The steward nodded, then they departed the room. Ivy was beyond words, yet she knew that Mr. Quent could detect the grat.i.tude in the look she gave him. beyond words, yet she knew that Mr. Quent could detect the grat.i.tude in the look she gave him.

As they entered the hall, Ivy looked about for Lady Crayford but did not see her. It was just as well; by the purposefulness of his gait, Ivy knew her husband was ready to depart. She took Mr. Quent's arm-or rather, Sir Quent's, she thought, giddy now-and they walked across the hall.

"Well, I suppose that went well enough," she said when it was clear he was not going to speak without prompting. "Though I confess that I was, on the whole, a bit disappointed."

"How so?" he rumbled.

"For one thing, I thought there would be fanfares of trumpets."

"You thought no such thing!"

She could feign seriousness no longer, and she smiled at him. "Perhaps not. But you'll forgive me if, in my ignorance, I thought-or rather, I dreaded-that the ceremony would be grander in scale."

"I am in no way surprised it wasn't. It can hardly be considered an exceptional happening for another baronet to be added to the rolls. Like lords, they are already as common as fleas on a hound."

"Well, then, let us hope Altania does not get an itch and shake them off, lords and baronets all."

"She may yet," he said, and despite the fact that Ivy had been making a jest, his tone was grim.

Before she could wonder what he meant, she caught a glimpse across the hall of a tall, slender woman. Was Lady Crayford still in the keep after all? However, as Ivy turned, she saw that the woman was not dressed in an apricot gown. Instead, she was clad all in black. For a moment, Ivy was aware of onyx eyes set in a pale face. Midnight blue lips curved upward, though the expression did not seem to be a smile. Then the woman stepped behind a column and was lost from view.

Startled, Ivy realized she had just seen Lady Shayde, servant of Lord Valhaine and mistress of the Gray Conclave.

"What a sad and pitiful creature," Mr. Quent said quietly.

Ivy glanced up at him. He spoke as if he knew her. Though, now that she considered it, she supposed she could not be surprised that he was acquainted with Lady Shayde. If in his work he had come to know Lord Valhaine, then surely he had encountered the Black Dog's famed White Lady.

Her husband tightened his hold on her arm. "The stones of this place hold the night chill," he said. "Come, let us go back out in the sun."

They did so, walking through the doors of the Citadel out into the day, and so Sir and Lady Quent made their entrance into the world.

CHAPTER NINE.

ELDYN AWOKE TO warm light. The radiance seemed to surround him, to buoy him, as if he was floating in a golden sea. He stretched and gave a great yawn, then blinked his eyes to clear the sleep from them. As had been the case nearly every morning for the last half month, it was not his chamber in the old monastery near Graychurch he saw as he opened his eyes, but rather, a small, neatly kept room above the Theater of the Moon.

"Well, there you are at last, you layabout." Dercy looked down at Eldyn, leaning on an elbow. "Someone must have given you too much to drink at tavern last night. I was beginning to think I would have to hasten the dawn along even more swiftly to wake you."

He made a motion with his hand, and the honeyed light brightened around them. Eldyn sat up in the bed and looked at the small window in the opposite wall. Through a gap in the curtain he could see a strip of slate gray sky. He let out a groan.

"The sun's not even up yet. This light-it's all your doing."

"So it is," Dercy said with remorseless cheer.

Eldyn lifted a hand to his head. It was still fogged, and there was a thudding between his temples which he supposed was his own heartbeat, but which felt more akin to a drum being beaten in his skull.

"I could still be sleeping if it weren't for you."

"You were the one who told me not to let you oversleep."

"I was drunk when we got here last night. As you know perfectly well, since you were the one who compelled me to imbibe that last pot of punch. So you can't hold me to my words. I didn't know what I was doing."

Dercy's grin broadened. "On the contrary, you knew exactly what you were doing."

A warmth came over Eldyn, and this time it was not from the golden light. He had not drunk so much that he could not remember clambering up the stairs to Dercy's room, laughing as they stumbled through the door and fell onto the bed. Despite his best efforts, his frown vanished, replaced with a smile.

"You're still wicked for waking me," he said.

Dercy's sea-colored eyes were serious. "Of course I am. As the Church likes so well to remind us, all illusionists are wicked." He tapped a finger against the smooth, pale skin above Eldyn's heart. "Except for you, of course. You, my friend, are very, very good."

He climbed out of bed, then gave Eldyn a wink. "I'll go downstairs and get us a pot of coffee from Cook."

Eldyn laughed. "You're going down there without a st.i.tch on? You'll get the pot thrown at you."

"Really? Why would Mrs. Murnlout be angry to see a fine-looking man dressed in fine-looking clothes?" Dercy crossed his arms, and suddenly he was clad in a white shirt, buff breeches, and polished brown boots.

"You're not seriously thinking of going down there like that."

"Why shouldn't I?"

If Eldyn concentrated, he could see through the illusion. One moment Dercy was clad in a young gentleman's garb, and the next he wore naught but what G.o.d had granted him. However, the glamour was exceedingly well-crafted. The cook would not be able to see past it, not like Eldyn could. he wore naught but what G.o.d had granted him. However, the glamour was exceedingly well-crafted. The cook would not be able to see past it, not like Eldyn could.

That is, as long as Dercy kept weaving the phantasm.

"Go on, then," Eldyn said, still laughing. "But if I hear a scream and a crash from below, I'll know you let the illusion slip. Nor will I come with a pair of breeches to rescue you!"

While he waited for Dercy's return, Eldyn entertained himself by summoning illusions. The golden light Dercy had conjured vanished when he left the room, but Eldyn brought it back with little more than a thought and a flick of his finger.

He twisted his hand, and the light shrank into a brilliant sphere like a tiny sun. He gave a toss with his other hand, and a moon-pale sphere lofted into the air. With a nod he sent the two spinning in circles, each giving chase but never catching the other.

The phantasms came easily to him, as they always did now. The first time he had crafted a real illusion had been that night a half month ago, when he had come to this room with Dercy after the awful sight at the Theater of the Doves, and without even thinking about it he had conjured a forest. Ever since then, he had been able to sculpt light just as he had previously woven shadows.

Why he could do it now, why he could craft true illusions when he could manage no more than a mere glamour before, he did not know. Dercy thought that perhaps the shock of what they had witnessed that night had caused him to forget his own fears of failing.

"A fright can cure the hiccoughs," Dercy had said. "So maybe it cured whatever was amiss with you. Sometimes the only way to accomplish a thing is to get so rattled that you forget about even trying. You simply do it."

Eldyn could only admit that what they had seen outside the Theater of the Doves that night had gravely affected him. He would never forget the scene of the two illusionists before the theater door, the elder weeping as he clutched the body of the younger. Donnebric's face had been crusted with blood; yet somehow, to Eldyn, it was the pale, cracking mask of Gerivel's powdered face that truly signified death. to Eldyn, it was the pale, cracking mask of Gerivel's powdered face that truly signified death.

All the same, Eldyn was not as certain as Dercy that it was due to shock that he was suddenly able to accomplish what had previously been beyond him. After all, had not something else occurred that very same night that had altered him in the most profound manner? He had drawn aside a curtain, revealing an aspect of himself he had never known existed.

Except he had had known what lay beyond there-or had an inkling of it, at least-hadn't he? How many times at university had he kept his nose firmly planted in a book when his homely but witty friend Orris Jaimsley showed up at the library at St. Berndyn's College with a pair of pretty young women in tow? Yet Eldyn always quickly set his book down if Jaimsley brought along his handsome Torlander friend, Curren Talinger, instead. known what lay beyond there-or had an inkling of it, at least-hadn't he? How many times at university had he kept his nose firmly planted in a book when his homely but witty friend Orris Jaimsley showed up at the library at St. Berndyn's College with a pair of pretty young women in tow? Yet Eldyn always quickly set his book down if Jaimsley brought along his handsome Torlander friend, Curren Talinger, instead.

However, no matter what Eldyn might have felt, acting upon such feelings was not something he had ever allowed himself to consider. His father had never taken him to a church, but Eldyn had never wanted for priests to hear proscriptions against that sort of behavior.

Your mother was a witch, and I know what they say of a witch's son, Vandimeer Garritt had told him more than once while drunk and sneering. But I won't have it. I'll make a man of you, or I'll break your neck trying. Either way, I'll not suffer some mincing prat for a whelp of mine! But I won't have it. I'll make a man of you, or I'll break your neck trying. Either way, I'll not suffer some mincing prat for a whelp of mine!

Only now Vandimeer Garritt was dead and in the ground. And while the disapproval of society endured, Eldyn found it difficult to keep such thoughts firmly in mind. Every time he was with Dercy, and felt the warm touch of his hand or the delightful roughness of his beard, any fretfulness Eldyn might have had regarding the opinions of others was immediately forgotten.

In sum, now that the curtain that had concealed that part of himself had been opened, Eldyn could not seem to close it again. And was it not possible that whatever it was that gave him the ability to craft illusions had been concealed behind that curtain as well? Whatever the reason, he could now conjure any number of illusions-real phantasms, like those one might pay a quarter regal to see on Durrow Street. well? Whatever the reason, he could now conjure any number of illusions-real phantasms, like those one might pay a quarter regal to see on Durrow Street.

True, there were yet many things beyond his grasp. Those illusions that required careful detail, such as a human face or the fine clothes Dercy had manifested, were not yet within his ability. Like a painter who must learn to control his brush with ever finer motions to achieve the effect he desires, so Eldyn would have to learn to control his own art. For now, he could only paint with the broadest strokes of light. All it would take to improve, though, were time and practice.

With this thought in mind, Eldyn laced his hands behind his head and gazed up at the two spheres-one silver, one gold-that chased each other around the room. He concentrated, making them brighter yet....

"I see you're conjuring your own version of our play."