The House On Durrow Street Part 45

"I think it was to return the kindness she has shown in so faithfully laboring on your tableau to have it ready for tonight."

"The tableau is both of ours, which means Rose should have to show a kindness to me as well. I will tell her to give me the ribbon."

Now Ivy did lower the broadsheet, and she gave Lily a stern look. "A kindness rescinded is no kindness at all, but rather a cruelty. Besides, I think a blue ribbon would best suit your hair."

"It might best suit my hair, but it does not best suit me me," Lily said with a sour expression. "But I suppose you're right-I can't very well take the ribbon from Rose, for she would have to do her hair over again, and she will hardly be done in time as it is. It always takes Rose a hundred years to get ready for anything."

Ivy conceded there was some truth to this. If they were all going somewhere, she usually told Rose they were about to leave an hour before Ivy actually wished to depart.

"What of you, Ivy? You aren't even in your gown yet, and the party is hardly an hour away!"

"My hair is ready, and it does not take me an hour to put on my gown," Ivy said. "Besides, it is more than an hour until the party will begin. The sun has not yet set."

"I am sure that it has set," Lily said despite the apricot-colored glow that colored the panes of the window. "And wherever is Mr. Quent? I have not seen him yet."

"He will be here shortly," Ivy said, keeping her voice light.

Just after breakfast a note penned in a hasty hand had arrived at the house. It was from Mr. Quent. His trip had taken him longer than planned, but he had at last arrived in the city that morning. He had to make a report at the Citadel before he could return to the house, but he had a.s.sured Ivy that he would arrive in good order for Lily and Rose's affair.

"How can Rose and I be presented if there is no one to present us? There will be no party at all!"

"He will be here," Ivy said. "Have you ever known Mr. Quent to disregard a promise?"

Lily frowned, but she said nothing. Nor could she, for Mr. Quent always kept his word. All the same, Ivy could not help sharing some of Lily's despair. She had no doubt that Mr. Quent would arrive before the party began, but it would have soothed all of their nerves if he had been there already. Quent always kept his word. All the same, Ivy could not help sharing some of Lily's despair. She had no doubt that Mr. Quent would arrive before the party began, but it would have soothed all of their nerves if he had been there already.

These last days, the rapid approach of the party had induced a great deal of antic.i.p.ation and apprehension in the household-so much that Ivy could, to a great degree, forgive Lily's behavior. Rose, too, had been overcome more than once. Earlier that afternoon, Ivy had had to console her, for Rose had expressed a terror that she would not know what to say to people she met.

"No one ever caused offense by smiling nicely and saying 'How do you do,'" Ivy said, and this had seemed to rea.s.sure her.

Evidently there was nothing more to complain about, because Lily departed the chamber. Ivy looked down at the broadsheet in her lap. It had come into the house that morning, and all day she had been fascinated by the picture of the Evengrove on the front page. It was an illusionist's impression, and so perfectly was the picture rendered that she could almost see the crowns of the trees swaying above the top of the wall.

The news of the Rising at the Evengrove and the deaths of three of the king's soldiers had resulted in a sensation in Invarel. Yet for all the commotion, things in the city proceeded in much the same way as before, and Ivy had known there could be no talk of delaying her sisters' party.

Only everything wasn't the same. Or rather, Ivy wasn't the same. Ever since that day, she could hardly go an hour without recalling what it had been like to touch the rough bark of the Old Ash, to hear the voices of the trees, and to feel the vast and ancient will of the Wyrdwood-a will that she she had been able to alter and direct. had been able to alter and direct.

For the last quarter month, she had wanted nothing more than to speak to someone about what had happened. However, she dared not write about what had taken place to Mr. Quent for fear of who might see the letter. The only other person she could have spoken to about that day was Mr. Rafferdy. Yet she had not seen him since then, and while she had every expectation he would be at the party tonight, she doubted there would be any opportunity for them to speak together in private. All the same, merely to exchange a look with him was something she would be grateful for. at the party tonight, she doubted there would be any opportunity for them to speak together in private. All the same, merely to exchange a look with him was something she would be grateful for.

Ivy set the broadsheet down and rose from her chair, but she did not put on her gown just yet. She did not want to be in the midst of dressing when Mr. Quent arrived, for she wished to greet him as soon as he entered the house. With this thought, she left her bedchamber. The umbral had begun, which meant it was time to check her father's journal again. She could not count on getting another chance that night, for the party might go very late.

She descended the stairs, pa.s.sing bustling servants making the last preparations for the arrival of the guests, then proceeded to the library, which was dim and quiet. Soothed by the tranquillity, she sat at the desk, opened the Wyrdwood box, and took out the journal.

"I wish you could be here tonight, Father," she murmured. "How delighted you would be to see Rose and Lily all grown and ready to enter the world!"

Though she smiled, she also suffered a pang of regret. Yet she had every hope that she would bring their father home soon, and then they would all be together. Consoled by this thought, she opened the journal and turned through the pages.

And there it was, a little over halfway in: a page filled with spindly letters. Ivy read, at first in delight, but then in growing dread.

LOERUS IN AGNATHON RISING.

My dear, you are small as I write these words, and you think me to be infallible-stronger and wiser than any man. It is natural for a child to believe this about her father. However, as you read these words you are now a woman grown, and I fear I must inform you that I am as imperfect as any man. While I have often thought myself to be clever, I know now there is another much cleverer, for I have been most profoundly deceived!

I suppose I should have seen it, yet I was blinded by affection and loyalty. I always knew he had ambition; he never attempted to dissemble when it came to that fact. He comes from an old family, and he often made a jest that if a large enough number of his relatives were to perish, he would find himself a magnate of high degree one day. Now I wonder if he means to a.s.sure this event happens! I knew it was his aim to rise high, yet I did not know before to what lengths he would go to do it loyalty. I always knew he had ambition; he never attempted to dissemble when it came to that fact. He comes from an old family, and he often made a jest that if a large enough number of his relatives were to perish, he would find himself a magnate of high degree one day. Now I wonder if he means to a.s.sure this event happens! I knew it was his aim to rise high, yet I did not know before to what lengths he would go to do it.

Now I do. It was Gambrel who stole the key to Tyberion. And he intends to use it.

Yet for all his scheming, that is something he will not be able to do. Mundy, Larken, and Fintaur all knew of the key, as did Gambrel; Bennick and I needed their aid to help bind the enchantment to protect it, and we chose them carefully for that reason. Little did I know that Gambrel had sown the seeds of the spell's undoing in its very casting. He was ever a sly and subtle magician. Yet he does not know where Tyberion is hidden; that is something only I and Bennick have knowledge of.

Gambrel was aware of this fact, and he went to Bennick, thinking he could get the secret out of him. Being that most perceptive judge of character that he is, Bennick must have sensed Gambrel's duplicitous intentions. He gave Gambrel the impression that he would indeed reveal the location of Tyberion. And so, once Gambrel had stolen the key, he went at once to Bennick. Thus the theft was revealed to us.

Bless Mr. Bennick! Once again I am deeply in his debt. I hope that you have come to know him, Ivy. If you have, then I am sure you admire and trust him as I do. I will not make him out to be something he is not-his demeanor can be as sharp as his intellect-but he is the truest of friends.

Because of Bennick's foresight and actions, Gambrel's duplicity was revealed, and he has fled. Though he is a powerful magician-the best of us all, I have no doubt-still he cannot face the wrath of Bennick, Fintaur, Larken, Mundy, and myself all at once. Where he has gone to, we do not know. It does not matter. He may have the key to Tyberion, but he has no idea of Tyberion's whereabouts.

Even if he did-if he was to learn that it is in fact here in this very house-still he would not be able to reach it to place the key upon it. I am sure you are familiar with the Arcane Eyes all about the house, Ivy. I have warned them of Gambrel, and they know to watch for him. Should he ever try to enter the house, the eyes would raise such an alarm that his presence would be known at once Should he ever try to enter the house, the eyes would raise such an alarm that his presence would be known at once.

Again, I must chide myself for not realizing sooner what Gambrel's intentions were. I should have known that it was not merely out of polite interest that he made all those enquiries concerning my research into Waywrend Dratham and the Sword and the Leaf.

Well, even if the key is gone, Tyberion itself remains hidden and safe. Nor do any of the others, save for Bennick, know of the existence of Arantus. Thus its secret is well-guarded. You must know how important Tyberion and Arantus are. No one can ever be allowed to use them, for fear of what hideous powers might be unleashed through them.

These have been trying days, my dearest Ivy. I am greatly fatigued from all the magicks we have been forced to work. I am very glad you are safe in your bed at Whitward Street. I will make certain all of the eyes in this house are properly enchanted with all the correct wards, and then I shall come home to you, and give you a kiss as you sleep. Then I shall lay my own self down. I pray I shall not dream.

G.O.L.

Ivy set down the journal. Though the words her father had written had set her mind awhirl, there was no time to peruse the entry again in a slow and careful fashion to comprehend what it all meant. Instead, she took out pen, ink, and paper and transcribed the entry as hastily as possible, caring not if she made a spot or smudge as she went.

All the while, her thoughts worked as swiftly as her pen. So it was not Mr. Bennick after all who had taken the key to Tyberion! Yet surely he must have put Gambrel up to the deed-why else had Gambrel gone right to him after stealing it? Only somehow Bennick's scheme had gone awry, and Mr. Lockwell had discovered the theft before Tyberion could be used. While Gambrel still possessed the key, he had been banished from the house and could not enter, for it was under the watch of the arcane eyes. What's more, having been betrayed himself, Gambrel had no doubt refused to relinquish the key to Mr. Bennick. Thus Tyberion was and remained safe. Only what were Tyberion and Arantus? Ivy still didn't know. was and remained safe. Only what were Tyberion and Arantus? Ivy still didn't know.

Or did she? Maybe she had known all along.

Ivy glanced over the words she had transcribed. I should have known that it was not merely out of polite interest that he made all those enquiries concerning my research into Waywrend Dratham and the Sword and the Leaf I should have known that it was not merely out of polite interest that he made all those enquiries concerning my research into Waywrend Dratham and the Sword and the Leaf....

A thrill coursed through her. The Sword and the Leaf-what else could her father be referring to but the doors she had uncovered in the second floor gallery? Both of them had been hidden, the one sometime earlier than the other, Mr. Barbridge had said. Besides, what else did one open with a key in order to let something through but a door?

True, she had dismissed this notion earlier, for she had not observed a keyhole in either of them. But in the entry he had referred to the key not as a thing to be inserted into the door, but rather something to be placed upon it. Which meant, perhaps, that her notion of what the key should look like had been limited by conventional notions.

A great fascination came over Ivy. She wanted nothing more than to go back through the entries she had transcribed from her father's journal, and to delve once again into the history of Waywrend Loerus Dratham. However, such things would have to wait. How she would manage to keep her mind on a party that night, she didn't know! Only she must.

Ivy sprinkled sand upon the paper to dry the ink, and at that very moment she heard the distant sound of the door in the front hall opening and shutting. Had guests already begun to arrive? Then a moment later she heard the deep sound of a voice, and the thump of boots approaching.

Quickly, Ivy shut the journal in the Wyrdwood box and put it away. Then he stepped into the library. At once everything in the room seemed to shift a bit, as if to accommodate his solid presence, and all thoughts of keys and doors and magicians fled Ivy's mind.

Who moved more swiftly, she or he, was impossible to say. Within a moment, all distance between them was removed. Neither uttered a word. What could they say that a caress of the cheek, the touch of the hand, and a kiss of the lips could not speak far more eloquently? Within a moment, all distance between them was removed. Neither uttered a word. What could they say that a caress of the cheek, the touch of the hand, and a kiss of the lips could not speak far more eloquently?

"But you are trembling so!" he exclaimed at last.

It was true. A shuddering had come over her, and though she held him fiercely, and he fashioned a circle around her with the strength of his arms, she could not stop.

"Is something amiss, Mrs. Quent?" he said, his voice low with concern. "Are you well?"

"I am well now," she said, and her trembling began to subside. "You must forgive me. It is only that, since you've been gone, there have been...that is, so much has..." She shook her head. For the last quarter month she had wanted nothing except to be able to speak to him. Only now that he was here, words were beyond her.

He pushed her away a little, so he could look down at her, but did not release her from his grasp. "You say you are well, but I cannot believe it! I can see in your eyes there is something wrong, and I would know what it is so I can set it aright. I beg you, Mrs. Quent, tell me what has happened while I was gone."

"It's what happened at the Evengrove," she managed at last.

A heavy sigh went out of him. "The news came to me in the south. By then the Rising had been averted, and other inquirers were already at the wall to make investigations and keep watch. Thus I did not hasten my return and finished my business. I knew from the reports that there was no threat to you and your sisters, that you were safe here in the city."

"But I was there that day!" she cried, unable to keep the knowledge from him any longer.

"There?" He stared down at her, and his grip tightened on her arms. "Is this true-you were at Madiger's Wall the day of the Rising?"

She drew in a gulping breath and nodded. "I went there on an excursion with Lady Crayford. We were there when it all happened."

Even as she watched, his face went gray behind his beard. He released her arms and took a staggering step back. "Did you hear them?" His voice was low and hoa.r.s.e, and his brown eyes were intent upon her. "Did you hear the trees calling to you?" released her arms and took a staggering step back. "Did you hear them?" His voice was low and hoa.r.s.e, and his brown eyes were intent upon her. "Did you hear the trees calling to you?"

A terrible dread filled her, and she started to tremble. Did he think that she had caused the Rising?

"But it wasn't me!" she gasped, reaching out toward him. "I did not provoke them!"

He shook his head, then his expression of shock became one of anguish instead. In a swift motion, he moved back to her, taking her hands and holding them tight in his own.

"Of course you didn't! I would never have thought such a thing, Ivoleyn, even if I hadn't already known what caused the Rising. I read the reports, and I know it was a man who set a fire near the wall that caused the trees to lash out."

The relief Ivy felt was so acute it was like a pain in her chest, but it was a welcome ache. As they gripped hands, she spoke quietly of how she had come to be at the Evengrove that day, and what took place there-how she had called out to the trees, and they had listened.

"I should have known it," he said, wonder upon his craggy face. "From the report I read, I knew there was something peculiar about this Rising. Given the size of the Evengrove, the Rising should have continued to grow as more and more trees communicated their fear and anger to the others. Only it ended so suddenly. I had wondered how more people were not harmed. Now I know the reason. It was you you, dearest."

He released her hands and touched her cheek, smiling down at her. Only after a moment his expression grew troubled again, and with a heavy breath he turned away from her, and he leaned upon the back of a chair.

"You protected all those people at the wall that day. And where was I?" His shoulders slumped downward. "You were in grave peril, and I was halfway across the country."

She went to him, laying a hand on the broad surface of his back. "You were seeing to your duty."

"I am your husband," he said, his voice gruff. "My duty is to protect you. How many of them have I labored to keep safe at all cost? I went all the way back to Torland to make certain that she was protected." He bowed his head. "Yet I left you here, and so did nothing when you were in peril." protect you. How many of them have I labored to keep safe at all cost? I went all the way back to Torland to make certain that she was protected." He bowed his head. "Yet I left you here, and so did nothing when you were in peril."

These words filled Ivy with concern. Yet she could not help feeling a curiosity as well. "She? You mean the witch in Torland-the one who caused the Risings?"

"Yes, I mean her."

"But what protections could she have needed? She is in the custody of the Crown, is she not? You said you captured her."

"I did capture her." He turned around to gaze at her, and there was a strange light in his dark eyes. "I captured her, and then I let her go."

Now it was Ivy who stared, and who staggered a step back. "Why?" she managed to utter.

For a long moment he was silent. "I made a promise to her," he said at last, and as he spoke his voice grew steadier. "I promised that if she would cease to provoke the Old Trees, I would swear upon the authority granted me by the Crown that no harm would come to her."

Ivy listened, fascinated, as he described what happened in terse words: how, following hearsay and rumor, he had at last tracked her down to a grove of Wyrdwood deep in Torland, and how he called out to her again and again, until at last she came to the wall to meet him. He came near enough that she might have bid the trees to s.n.a.t.c.h him up and break him. Or she might have called to the rebels she had been harboring in the grove to bring their guns. Instead, she had listened to him.

"But I don't understand," Ivy said when he paused. "Why would she heed your words?"

"I think because something of my reputation proceeded me, and so perhaps she believed she could trust me. But more than that, I think she knew as I did that if the Risings did not end, more would come to harm."

Ivy shook her head. "More Old Trees, you mean?"

"No," he said, his voice low. "More witches."

Slowly, Ivy sank down onto a sofa, sitting on its edge.

"It is not only the work of the inquirers to investigate Risings, and to prevent them from happening," Mr. Quent went on, pacing before her now. "Much of our effort goes toward finding those women who have heard the call of the Old Trees, and getting them to safety-not only so they do not provoke the Wyrdwood, but so they are not harmed themselves.

"Nor is it only from the ancient forest that they face peril. While the matter of the Wyrdwood-and therefore the matter of witches as well-is under the purview of the lord inquirer, there are those within the government who have made it their purpose to seek out all threats to the Crown, and they have long desired to come into the possession of a witch."

Ivy shuddered. "You mean Lady Shayde."

He nodded. "Or more properly, her master, Lord Valhaine. I am loath to even think what they might do to a suspected sibyl who was delivered into their keeping-what methods they might use to try to draw knowledge from her, whether she was truly a witch or not. Thus the inquirers have always labored to be the first to any Rising, or better yet, to reach them before they can ever have a chance to occur-and before agents of the Gray Conclave can get there themselves."

Ivy tried to comprehend these words. "So that's why you went to Torland this time." She looked up at him. "To free the witch before Lady Shayde could get to her."

"She was already free. I went only to make sure she was safely away from the Wyrdwood-and in a place she could not be found."

Ivy felt a thrill that the witch had escaped. Only was that right? Should she not be horrified instead? "But people perished in Torland. And to let her go after what she had done-was it really the only way?"

He gave a grim nod. "It was the only way to achieve an immediate end to the Risings. If they did not cease, and quickly, it was only a matter of time until a woman who was thought to be a witch was brought to harm. And you know what would happen then." only a matter of time until a woman who was thought to be a witch was brought to harm. And you know what would happen then."

Ivy thought of Merriel Addysen. It hadn't been her intention to cause a Rising. It had happened against her will, after she was violently accosted by a pair of vagrant men. And then the stand of Wyrdwood was burned down while she was still within it.

"If she felt anger," Ivy said softly, "or fear or pain, and if there was a grove of Wyrdwood near, then it would hear her."

"Yes. And hearing such a thing would only cause the wood to lash out more violently. The witch I met with understood that as well. She had accomplished what she wished, I think-to remind people of the power of the ancient wood. But she knew further Risings would only put other women like her in peril, and so she agreed to depart. So you see, if I had not let her go, the Risings could only have grown worse, until people at last resorted to taking up ax and fire against the Wyrdwood."

"I can hardly be surprised they would!" she exclaimed.

"Yet at all cost, they must not do so." He rubbed his thumb over the scar on his left hand-all that remained of the last two fingers. "The more that the Wyrdwood is fought, the more it will resist-and the more women it will call to, summoning them to its aid."

Ivy could only shudder. How many women would hear such a call, and answer it? Some might be aware of their own natures. But others would not understand. They would listen to the Wyrdwood and heed it without knowing why. And they would find themselves in grave danger.

Just like Merriel Addysen. And just like Gennivel Quent, who had left a party at Heathcrest Hall to run across the moonlit moors-and then perished when she fell from the wall that surrounded a grove of Wyrdwood.

And yet there was hope. For were there not inquirers to keep the Wyrdwood from Rising up and calling to those women who could hear? Ivy knew he had saved Altania in Torland, but now she knew that he had saved her her as well-her and other women like her. The cold dread Ivy had suffered was now burned away by as well-her and other women like her. The cold dread Ivy had suffered was now burned away by a fierce love. She went to Mr. Quent, threw her arms around him, and held him with all her might. a fierce love. She went to Mr. Quent, threw her arms around him, and held him with all her might.

"You did protect me from harm," she said, pressing her cheek against his chest.

"But I was not with you!" he cried. "Just like that night at..."

His voice trailed off, but he did not need to finish. She understood. How could she not? He had been distracted at the party that night over a dozen years ago; he had failed to protect the first Mrs. Quent. Only he had not known then what he did now.

"You were not here," she said, holding him more tightly yet. "Only it doesn't matter. No matter where you go, the work you do protects me. It protects all of us."