The House On Durrow Street Part 36

As usual, Rafferdy found it impossible not to return Coulten's grin. "Aren't those acts the same thing? But no, I was not anxious to get to a.s.sembly so much as I was to see you. I was hoping you would all be here."

"Why shouldn't we be?"

"After recent events..." Rafferdy cleared his throat. "Well, I didn't feel I could be entirely sure."

Lord Eubrey affected a scandalized look; indeed, he was so convincing that Rafferdy wasn't certain he was acting.

"How now, Rafferdy-are you saying you thought we might have been involved in the business at the Ministry of Printing?"

Now that his fears had been revealed, Rafferdy was rather embarra.s.sed by them. "Forgive me, it was ill of me to think that anyone in our circle might have been involved in such a thing."

Coulten let out a merry laugh. "There is no need to apologize, Rafferdy! Indeed, I'm delighted you thought that we are of sufficiently devious and dastardly character to have possibly been involved in such a matter. It allows me to fancy that I am more intriguing than I am, and I have always wanted to be notorious. How about you, Lord Eubrey?"

"I concur. It's very amusing to think that I could have been out in the black depths of the umbral sneaking around and working wicked spells, when in fact I was at home and fast asleep in my bed. I fear that truth incriminates me more than could any involvement in the affairs at the Ministry, as it proves beyond doubt that I am criminally dull." I fear that truth incriminates me more than could any involvement in the affairs at the Ministry, as it proves beyond doubt that I am criminally dull."

Rafferdy was grateful for these good-natured comments from his companions. "On the count of dullness you will never be convicted, Eubrey. I have seen you at tavern, and can attest to that! Besides, I can only think there are better ways to prove one possesses an interesting character than to blow up buildings. The magicians who did it should have chosen otherwise."

"What makes you believe it was magicians who did it?" Coulten said. He was no longer smiling.

Rafferdy shook his head. "All the reports say magick was involved. There was the preternatural color of the flames. There was also the fellow they found who..." He clipped his words short. He had no wish to describe the dreadful impression he had seen in the broadsheet.

Lord Eubrey shrugged. "Perhaps it was magick. Or perhaps it was something else. I do not know of an arcane society or magickal order that would wish to call such attention to itself."

Rafferdy was not one to overly subscribe to the notion of logic, but Eubrey's words had an air of reasonability about them. Did not the group to which they belonged go to great lengths to keep their meetings secret? Magick had started to come back into fashion these days, but that did not mean its practice was considered entirely acceptable.

What was more, from what he understood, it was the habit of arcane societies for each to keep its research and accomplishments unknown to other such orders and groups. A society could attract the best talent to its ranks only if magicians thought it possessed insights into the arcane that could not be gained elsewhere.

"Well, perhaps they were intoxicated," Rafferdy said. "Or maybe things went awry."

"Perhaps," Lord Eubrey said. His dark eyes glanced away, then back. "Or perhaps whoever did it, it was their wish to make it appear appear as if magick was involved." as if magick was involved."

This statement baffled Rafferdy. Who would wish to make an act look as if magick had caused it when it hadn't, and for what purpose? Before he could voice his question, an audible hiss whispered around the chamber, as of many breaths being drawn in at once.

"If it was the perpetrator's goal to bring the practice of magick under suspicion, then their deed has done so," Coulten said, his typically jovial tone now low and sober. "Look there."

Rafferdy turned to follow Coulten's gaze. While they had spoken, magnates had continued to enter, and the Hall was now nearly full. All had ceased their progress in finding and settling onto the benches, and instead they were still, watching as another figure entered.

Like the magnates, this figure was clad all in black, though not in a robe; rather, she wore a black dress that was gathered tight about the neck and wrists. The gown was fashioned of some stiff material that hardly seemed to move as she walked. She wore a small hat with a veil that obscured the upper part of her face. All that was visible were a pointed chin and a pair of lips. These latter were so dark they were a blue-black against her talc-white skin, and they were ever so slightly curved to offer the suggestion of a smile.

As all looked on, the Lady Shayde ascended the steps behind the High Speaker's podium. With deliberate motions she took a seat that afforded her a view of the entire Hall-or rather, one that afforded all a view of her her.

Sounds filled the Hall again as the magnates returned to their conversations and to the task of finding their seats, though the din was more subdued than it had been before.

"Now the White Thorn comes to watch us," Lord Eubrey said.

Rafferdy could not tell from his expression if he was alarmed or intrigued. Perhaps it was a bit of both, for Rafferdy himself was interested by the appearance of the White Lady-even if he had no wish to be subjected to her sharp gaze. He knew what it was like to suffer her attention, and he hoped never to do so again.

"Look there at the Magisters," Coulten said. His grin had returned, and a light danced in his blue eyes. "So much for their prideful airs. They are no different from the rest of us now!"

Rafferdy looked down at the benches where the members of the Magister party customarily sat. At first he did not notice what was altered about them; certainly their haughty expressions were no different than before. Then one of them, a young lord with a large nose, took out a handkerchief to wipe that prominent proboscis, and Rafferdy saw what had changed.

The young magnate was wearing gloves. Rafferdy looked and saw the same was true for all of the Magisters. Each of them wore gloves upon his hands. There was not a House ring to be seen.

Had Lord Farrolbrook adopted this same affectation? Rafferdy supposed that must be the case, for he could not imagine the Magisters doing something their proclaimed leader did not. Only, as Rafferdy searched among them, he saw no sign of the fair-haired lord. This was odd, for had not Lord Farrolbrook crowed that the other Magisters would not take their seats until he took his? Yet they were all of them seated now.

Even as Rafferdy wondered at this, Lord Farrolbrook strode into the Hall, his pale, flowing hair as notable as his elaborately ruffled robe. He moved at a pace that, while still stately, had a slightly hurried cadence to it. He made a bit of a stumble as he stepped on his hem, then adjusted the ornate garment as he took his place among the Magisters.

"I daresay Lord Farrolbrook had difficulty getting into his robe today," Lord Eubrey said with obvious delight. "Perhaps he is still getting accustomed to wearing such singular attire."

Rafferdy glanced at Eubrey. "What do you mean? I thought Farrolbrook always had a penchant for such ostentatious clothes."

It was Coulten who answered. "Actually, it is a recent affectation. He did not used to dress so outlandishly, though his father always had a penchant for such attire-all ruffles and gores and frills. It was dreadful stuff-a costume out of some moldy old play, you would have thought. Then, when the elder Lord Farrolbrook pa.s.sed on a bit over a year ago, our Lord Farrolbrook quite suddenly adopted his father's mode of dress. Though at least he seems to have had new robes made, so even if they look as dreadful as his father's, they don't adopted his father's mode of dress. Though at least he seems to have had new robes made, so even if they look as dreadful as his father's, they don't smell smell as dreadful." as dreadful."

Rafferdy supposed it was not unusual for a son to more closely emulate his father once the elder man had pa.s.sed. Was not Rafferdy himself doing something he had never thought he would now that his own father was gone-that was, taking a permanent seat in a.s.sembly? It was a peculiar fact that parents sometimes had greater influence over the behavior of their children after they departed the world than before.

As Rafferdy watched, Lord Farrolbrook rearranged the frills and ruffles of his robe. His cheeks seemed bright, and his hair was not quite so smoothly arranged over his shoulders as usual.

"I imagine you're glad that you aren't sitting down there next to him, Coulten," Eubrey said, nudging their companion with an elbow.

Rafferdy gave Eubrey a curious look. "Why might Coulten be sitting next to Lord Farrolbrook?"

"Because he almost joined the order that Farrolbrook and a number of the other Magisters belong to, that's why."

"I did no such thing!" Coulten protested. "I never received an invitation from the High Order of the Golden Door, and nor did I wish for one. I merely had a few conversations with Lord Farrolbrook, that's all." Coulten looked at Rafferdy. "He approached me shortly after I took a seat in the Hall of Magnates, for we are both descended of House Myrrgon."

Eubrey clapped him on the back and grinned. "Fortunately for Coulten, I came to his rescue and convinced him to join our little society instead."

A pounding noise rang out, drawing their attention to the front of the Hall. The High Speaker was exacting a stern punishment upon the podium with his gavel, and the Grand Usher was waving his overlarge golden key at the offending magnates like a herdsman flicking a switch at errant cows. Gradually all took their seats.

"So how long do you think the Stouts will wait before they bring it up?" Eubrey whispered to Rafferdy's right.

"I'm sure they will show great patience on the matter," Coulten replied from Rafferdy's left. "That is, they will wait at least an entire minute before they start blathering on about it."

"Before they blather on about what?" Rafferdy asked.

Eubrey stifled a laugh. "If it's a minute, it's only because it will take Lord Bastellon that long to straighten that greasy old wig of his and heave himself to his feet. See? I told you-there he goes already."

Even as the High Speaker was setting down his gavel, a thickset old lord in a matted wig rose to his feet-with surprising alacrity despite his bulk-and bowed toward the High Speaker.

"The Hall recognizes Lord Bastellon," the High Speaker said in a distinctly pained tone.

"My fellow magnates," Lord Bastellon began, then coughed several times to clear his throat. "These are times fraught with peril and consequence. And as our body convenes again for a new session, I call for a debate to be opened upon the matter of-"

Another series of coughs ensued. As the old Stout worked upon the phlegm in his throat, the Magisters leaned forward on their benches, as if eager to leap to action.

"-upon the matter of each and every sort of action that must be taken to ensure the future safety and prosperity of our nation!"

A murmur went about the Hall. The Magisters leaned back on their benches, and several of them affected looks of annoyance.

Coulten gave a soft laugh. "Well, old Bastellon isn't as much of a lump as he looks. He's learned from his mistake, it seems."

"How so?" Rafferdy whispered back.

"Remember what happened the last time Lord Bastellon brought up the subject of the king's writ of succession?" Eubrey replied. "The Magisters closed the debate as soon as it was opened, then called for a vote, knowing the Stouts didn't have the yeas to carry the measure."

"So why don't they do the same this time?"

"That's just it-they can't. Bastellon has called for debate not on the matter of the writ of succession, but upon every matter that affects the future of Altania. The Magisters can't very well close debate on debate on that that issue, for then nothing at all could be discussed for the remainder of the session. Which means the Stouts will be free to bring up the writ of succession. They can't call for a vote on it-that would require bringing the specific measure up for debate-but at least they can speak about it now. Really, I'm surprised the Magisters let them get away with it." issue, for then nothing at all could be discussed for the remainder of the session. Which means the Stouts will be free to bring up the writ of succession. They can't call for a vote on it-that would require bringing the specific measure up for debate-but at least they can speak about it now. Really, I'm surprised the Magisters let them get away with it."

"Farrolbrook must be losing his edge," Coulten said.

Eubrey gave a sniff. "If he ever had one. Just because a blade is brightly polished doesn't mean it's sharp."

Coulten grinned. "I think that goes for all of the Magisters!"

"Indubitably," Eubrey said, tugging the wrists of his fawn-colored gloves. "I've learned that the high magus of at least one society populated largely by Magisters has approached our own magus in hopes of forming a brotherhood of orders. No doubt they simply need help working any kind of magick. I doubt most Magisters could formulate an enchantment to bind shut a hatbox!"

"Well, that would be more magick than I have seen worked at gatherings of our own society," Rafferdy observed dryly.

So far, the meetings Rafferdy had attended had been ponderous with discussion about magick and light on the performing of actual spells. There were the doors that led to the secret room beneath the Sword and Leaf, of course, which could only be opened by speaking the prescribed runes. And there were the enchanted journals by which messages were pa.s.sed among members of the Virescent Blade. However, other than those things, Rafferdy had not seen the working of any kind of magick at the meetings of the society.

"Oh, there is magick done within our society that far surpa.s.ses the opening and closing of hatboxes," Eubrey said. He leaned in close and placed a hand beside his mouth so that his words would not carry over the tumult in the Hall. "Coulten can attest to that fact, for he's seen through the Door."

"Only just the once," Coulten said. "But Eubrey here has peeked in three times now. Haven't you, Eubrey? No doubt the next time, you'll be handed a gold robe and get to step through."

It was generally Rafferdy's aim to appear bored with all things. However, these words sent a thrill through him. There was only one door his companions could be referring to. Rafferdy had seen it each time he had attended a meeting in the secret chamber beneath the tavern; or rather, he had seen the curtain behind which he knew a door stood. That was, However, these words sent a thrill through him. There was only one door his companions could be referring to. Rafferdy had seen it each time he had attended a meeting in the secret chamber beneath the tavern; or rather, he had seen the curtain behind which he knew a door stood. That was, the the Door. Door.

The Door was one of three doors in the chamber. The first was the one that opened into the interior of the Sword and Leaf. The second one Rafferdy had not yet been through, but he knew it was the door behind the tavern that many of the members of the society used to enter the meeting chamber.

Then there was the third. Rafferdy had never seen anyone pa.s.s through the Door; the initiates were always dismissed before it was opened. Only the sages-those who had been admitted to the innermost circle of the society-were allowed to pa.s.s through the Door. However, those initiates who were candidates to be raised to that higher rank were sometimes allowed to stay in the chamber after the others had been released, and to peer through the Door as it was opened.

What lay beyond, Rafferdy could not imagine; perhaps it was nothing at all, and was merely meant to arouse curiosity to encourage new members to stay in the society.

Except he doubted that. Sometimes, during their meetings, Rafferdy would feel a draft of chill air and catch a queer, metallic odor. At such times, he would look up to see the black curtain that covered the Door stir ever so slightly, as if under the influence of a breath of strange air.

"So you have seen magick performed beyond the Door?" he said, unable to prevent an eager tone from creeping into his voice.

Eubrey winked at him. "You know we can't tell you what's beyond it. Our tongues would be turned to slugs if we tried."

"Don't worry, Rafferdy." Coulten put a hand on his arm. "You're sure to get a peek beyond the curtain soon. You're the sharpest new magician we've gotten in a long while. The sages have their eyes on you, I'm sure of it."

Rafferdy laughed. "How can you know? They're always wearing hoods!"

"In the outer room, yes," Eubrey said. "Not beyond the Door. But if you do not feel you've seen enough magick, Rafferdy, then make a date to come on a little excursion with me next quarter month."

"An excursion?"

"Yes, it's not very far from the city. A ride of no more than half a middle lumenal. Coulten is coming with me."

"For what purpose?"

"I really don't think I should say anything more about it," Eubrey said, then gave a subtle nod.

Following Eubrey's gaze, Rafferdy looked across the Hall. The Lady Shayde sat above the High Speaker's podium, her white hands folded on her black dress. Her eyes were still hidden behind her veil-yet were no doubt watching all the same.

On the floor of the Hall, Lord Bastellon proceeded to drone on, and various magnates after him, but Rafferdy heard nothing they said. Instead he fidgeted with the House ring on his finger and wondered just what sort of magick it was that Eubrey intended to do.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX.

IVY WOKE IN the colorless light before dawn. The umbral had been brief, and its few hours had offered her scant rest. Her dreams had been vague and fitful-shapeless, gloom-filled interludes haunted by wordless murmurs and the sighing of a distant wind.

At one point, she had awakened certain she heard the sound of voices speaking in cadence, like the sibilant whispers of priests across an empty cathedral. She nearly sprang from the bed to throw open the chamber door. However, it must have been a phantasm from her dreams. Surely Mr. Quent would have awakened as well if there had indeed been noises intruding through the door. open the chamber door. However, it must have been a phantasm from her dreams. Surely Mr. Quent would have awakened as well if there had indeed been noises intruding through the door.

Mrs. Lockwell is greatly relieved to have departed the house on Durrow Street, her father had written in an entry that had recently appeared in the journal. Our new abode on Whitward Street is much more to her liking. She complained that the old house was always watching her, and she claimed that she often heard noises-particularly a far-off soughing. I confess, I have not noticed such things. But then, neither my sight nor my hearing is so keen as hers, and it may be that over the years I have grown accustomed to such qualities that must be characteristic of any house inhabited for so long by those who study the arcane. Besides, I do not think it is so very ill if a house has life to it. And this house-the house you now inhabit, I hope-has more life than most dwellings, I think Our new abode on Whitward Street is much more to her liking. She complained that the old house was always watching her, and she claimed that she often heard noises-particularly a far-off soughing. I confess, I have not noticed such things. But then, neither my sight nor my hearing is so keen as hers, and it may be that over the years I have grown accustomed to such qualities that must be characteristic of any house inhabited for so long by those who study the arcane. Besides, I do not think it is so very ill if a house has life to it. And this house-the house you now inhabit, I hope-has more life than most dwellings, I think.

Ivy had loved her mother dearly, but even Ivy had to admit that Mrs. Lockwell had not always been the most logical of beings. She had been given to frights and starts. Surely dwelling in an old house, one p.r.o.ne to creaking and filled with the peculiar trappings of generations of magicians, had impressed itself upon her senses. As for Ivy, had she not seen something herself yesterday-something that no doubt had found its way into her dreams and affected them?

Therefore, she would not do as her mother and ascribe to fact what logic told her must have been imagined. All the same, she moved her arm beneath the bedclothes, reaching for the solid presence of her husband.

Her hand found only the smooth flatness of the linen sheet.

Ivy sighed. Though the hour was early, Mr. Quent was already risen and gone-off to the Citadel, no doubt. She wished she had some urgent purpose as he did to propel her from bed, or that she had the ability to go back to sleep. However, neither was the case, so she would rise early herself, and for no reason at all.

She drew her robe over her nightgown, then moved to the window to push the drapes aside. Ivy glanced at the garden below. Nothing stirred in the pallid light. This did not surprise her; she had not expected to see anything there. Then again, she had not expected anything yesterday morning either, when shortly after breakfast she looked out a window in the front hall to see had not expected to see anything there. Then again, she had not expected anything yesterday morning either, when shortly after breakfast she looked out a window in the front hall to see him him standing on the other side of the gate. standing on the other side of the gate.

The expression on his onyx mask had been flat-neither frowning nor smiling. He had said nothing, and had stood there for but a moment. Then he turned and departed in what seemed a great haste, his elaborate cape billowing behind him like black wings.

Why had he bothered to show himself so briefly? She did not know. Perhaps his purpose had been simply to remind her of his presence. In which case he had succeeded, and she was sure she had to look no further for the source of her ill night's visions than the sight of the man in black.

Well, if he could not be bothered to tell her why he had shown himself, she would not be bothered to think of him.

The sky was brightening by the time she finished readying herself for the day and went downstairs. It was still too early for breakfast, and Mrs. Seenly was not yet in the kitchen, so Ivy poured herself a cup of cold tea from the pot on the stove, then proceeded to the library.

A quick glance at the almanac showed that the night had ended nearly half an hour sooner than it was supposed to have. However, as always, the old rosewood clock was unerring, and it let out a chime just as the first pink rays of light fell through the library's windows. On the right face, the black disk had turned just enough to reveal a sliver of gold.

Ivy sat at the writing table, took out the Wyrdwood box, and opened it with a touch. Making her usual careful perusal, she turned the pages of her father's journal. It was her hope that she would find something he had written about the man in the black costume. In his letter, he had told Ivy to trust the stranger, but how could she trust someone who revealed so little? She could not know his purposes, or what he wanted of her. Some words on the subject from her father would surely help to a.s.suage her unease.

As she turned the last page, Ivy sighed. All of the pages in the journal were blank today. She returned the book to the box, then took out the small piece of Wyrdwood that Lord Rafferdy had given her. Even though it had been shut away in the box, there was a warmth to it, as though someone had just been worrying it in their hand. took out the small piece of Wyrdwood that Lord Rafferdy had given her. Even though it had been shut away in the box, there was a warmth to it, as though someone had just been worrying it in their hand.