Mirror Sight (43 page)

Zachary must have sensed her hesitation, because he said, “I order you to do as they say, Captain. I feel that it is right.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said. She bowed as he left the chamber. It was his final word on the matter.

The three Eletians remained behind and were all looking up. She followed their gazes to the lighted stained glass dome. Even with the scaffolding in the way, she could clearly tell the difference between the panel Master Goodgrave had cleaned and the ones he had not yet gotten to. The colors of Lil Ambrioth kneeling before a moon priest were brilliant, her green cloak never before so vibrant, King Jonaeus’ crown no longer dim, but a shining light. The uncleaned panels were subdued by comparison.

“The leaf you seek,” Somial said, as if pronouncing a vision of his own, “will be revealed to you in the panel of victorious battle.”

“What?”

But he was bowing away, his two companions after him. How did he know? Before she could ask, they were gone.

She gazed back up at the dome—not at the newly cleaned panel, but at the one that depicted Lil and her Riders in an aspect of victory over their enemies, the mountains rising behind them and the storm clouds of war receding. That was where she’d seen the symbol of the four-fold leaf, and it made sense that if more clues were to be found about the League’s major ally in the Long War, then it should be in that panel. She would leave a message for Master Goodgrave to clean that one next.

Then she would write the messages as relayed to her by Somial. And commanded by Zachary.

Karigan, I do not know what you would say to all this,
she thought. Then revised,
Or perhaps you, of anyone, would.

She decided to join Fastion up above and inspect the dome from that angle. As she left the records room, of all the oddities this evening had brought, she wondered why Eletians traveled in threes, or multiples of three.

It was one mystery among so many.

K
arigan barely listened as her two visitors prattled on and on about Dr. Silk’s dinner party the night before, evaluating the dress of this lady or that.

“And oh, those women of the Capital!” Mrs. Downey exclaimed. “No sense of decency among the lot of them with those short veils of theirs.”

Mrs. Greeling nodded in agreement. The two appeared to carry on the conversation quite adequately without the least input from Karigan, which was just fine with her. It had been this way all morning, since just after breakfast—ladies calling on her as if her appearance at Dr. Silk’s party had immediately rendered her acceptable to society. She assumed what lured them to the professor’s parlor were equal measures of curiosity about his reclusive niece and a desire to inspect her worthiness as a possible match for their sons. A number of callers had looked her up and down most intently, as if judging livestock suitable for breeding.

She thought that it was probably the professor’s Preferred status, more than anything else about her, that had drawn Mill City’s matrons, but they would want to make sure she was not defective physically and able to produce heirs for their sons. Female mental capacity, she guessed, was not terribly important in the empire. They would look past Kari Goodgrave’s madness if it meant aligning with a family as important as the professor’s.

Karigan’s own thoughts were immersed in the visit of Cloudy the cat in the very early morning hours, and so she became deaf to the indignation of Mrs. Downey and Mrs. Greeling over short veils and low necklines. Even now, in her mind’s eye, she could see the message Cloudy had borne, the loops and curves and angles of the handwriting that was so familiar to her, that of Captain Laren Mapstone. She’d sat there on the bed, stunned, staring at her own name written in faded black ink. The paper was yellowed, coarser in texture than that produced by the empire, indicating it was of some age. How had anyone known to send it to her? How had it come to her over so many years? Was it even real, or had someone forged the message, and if so, to what end?

She became aware of Lorine and Arhys entering the parlor, bringing in more trays of tea cakes and a fresh pot of hot water. Arhys was pouting and glared at Karigan before she tromped out of the room with a toss of her head, apparently jealous of all the attention Karigan was receiving. Most likely, Arhys would have loved sitting in the parlor sipping tea with the matrons of Mill City.

“—and he has co-opted the slaves from mill three of my husband’s cotton mills to work on that excavation of his,” Mrs. Greeling was saying. At some point the conversation had moved from veils to Dr. Silk’s project.

“His and four others,” Mrs. Downey replied, “so he can operate the site all day and night.”

“I do not know how my husband shall make up for the lost labor,” Mrs. Greeling said. “It is setting us back—and the cost to replace the slaves and the time it takes to train them to the work?” She shook her head at the hopelessness of it all.

“It is the emperor’s will,” Mrs. Downey replied, gazing into her teacup.

They could, Karigan thought, hire
paid
labor, but such a revolutionary idea would reap accusations of sedition. The empire’s foundation was built on the backs of its slaves, allowing a very small elite class to live very well, like the two ladies before her. Like the professor. That much was clear. The discussion turned abruptly from that depressing theme back to the less controversial trivialities of the party and its entertainments.

Karigan sank back into her own thoughts. The message had been very direct and very like the captain.

Karigan,

Go to the Heroes Portal at midnight.

L. Mapstone, Capt., HMMS

 • • • 

She could almost hear the captain speak the words, see her fold the paper, and still Karigan was assailed by all the questions. How had the captain known she’d receive the message? What did it all mean, and why now? Why not when she’d first arrived? One point she was certain about was that Cloudy could only be a tomb cat, like her friend, Ghost Kitty. Somehow the tombs had survived Amberhill’s catastrophic weapon after he’d turned on his own king and country. The tombs had survived with at least some members of its caretaker community intact; enough that someone knew to send Karigan a message in the future.

Karigan had dealt with ghosts, had confronted monsters and Mornhavon the Black. She’d witnessed strange magic and had moved through time before. Still, the simple message from her captain, brought to her somehow through the passage of years, rattled her. Little ripples formed in the cup of tea she held in shaking hands.

It also gave her hope. Someone knew she had not died in Blackveil. Someone knew she had come forward in time. At the Heroes Portal, would someone tell her how to get home?

“Well, it has been very charming to visit with you, Miss Goodgrave,” Mrs. Downey said. She and Mrs. Greeling were rising from their chairs and dropping their veils over their faces.

They were leaving at last, thank the gods.

After Grott showed them out, she told him absolutely no more callers. She could not take it anymore. She paced back and forth in the parlor, wondering what to do with herself until midnight, because she had to do
something
or go truly mad.

Decisively she turned on her heel and headed out of the parlor and down the corridor. She would go to the stables to visit Raven. She’d ensure he was ready to go tonight and that her Tam Ryder outfit was in its usual place, and then she’d work out her route.

“Miss Goodgrave!” Mirriam intercepted Karigan at the back door. “Grott says you do not wish to receive any more callers. You should be grateful these ladies are willing to make your acquaintance.”

Grateful because I’m supposed to be mad, and they are willing to overlook such an embarrassing deficiency?
Karigan wanted to snap that she had better use for her time, but she held her tongue and said, instead, “I am very tired.” At least it was true. How could she have slept after Cloudy’s visit?

“But several of them have eligible sons, and from Preferred families!”

So she could become breeding stock. “I am not interested.”

Mirriam sputtered in astonishment, and before she could say another word, Karigan was out the door and striding across the yard.

 • • • 

Later, at supper, the professor glanced at her more than once. Karigan felt she must exude restless energy. Raven had certainly picked up on it earlier, circling in his stall and digging at his bedding. Now she pushed legumes about her plate. Had Mirriam reported her agitated behavior to the professor? Perhaps he’d put it down to her concern for Lhean.

She had sat still long enough, after seeing Raven, to study the city maps in the professor’s library and to select a route for her midnight excursion. No streets or developments appeared to venture near the vicinity of where she remembered the Heroes Portal to lie. The area still seemed to be rural, which no doubt helped maintain the secret of the tombs. This would be her first time heading out into the city—the city and beyond—on her own. The fact she had confronted many frightening situations as a Green Rider, not least of all becoming lost in Blackveil Forest, did not make her any less nervous about sneaking out into hostile territory in the deep of night. Alone. Yes, that was what this future was—hostile territory.

She had considered taking someone into her confidence and asking him to accompany her. Luke? Cade? But she immediately dismissed the idea. This was
her
business and no one else’s, and it was her duty to keep the existence of the Heroes Portal a secret.

When Karigan excused herself before she finished supper, the professor asked, “Are you not feeling well, my dear?”

“I’m fine, Uncle, just a little tired.”

She returned to her room, and Lorine helped her change into her nightgown early. When left on her own, Karigan took out the mirror shard from its hiding place, along with the note from Captain Mapstone. She stared long and hard at the words and handwriting, confirming for herself once again that this was, in fact, real and not a hoax. It had to be. She had to believe. Even if it was a trap of some kind, she could not ignore the summons. She had to go.

She gazed at the mirror shard, but it produced no vision for her.

When the bell struck ten hour, she swung her legs out of bed and crept to the door. She had to be especially careful—this was an earlier hour than when she usually slipped out to meet the professor to go to the old mill, and there was always the chance someone in the household was awake, notably the professor himself. However, as she made her way, she encountered no one. Light might glow in the crack beneath a bedroom door, but no one emerged.

Once she let herself out the back door, she knew the stable would be the next challenge, for Luke and the stable boys had rooms there. She worked up a few excuses in case she was caught.
I’m sorry, Luke, I couldn’t sleep and wanted to see Raven.
Or,
I’m sorry Luke, but it seemed like a good night for a ride . . .
Right. Very convincing.

When she entered the stable with the light of a very dim taper to guide her, Raven whickered sleepily at her.

“Shhh,” she admonished him.

She let herself into the tackroom and the wardrobe where her Tam Ryder garb awaited her. She changed quickly, stuffing her braid into the cap. She froze when she thought she heard a door groan open, expecting Luke to come at any moment and demand what she was about. She strained to listen, but heard nothing more than the movements of horses and the settling noises of the building itself. Still, she crept out of the tackroom, looking around carefully. When she saw no one, she went to Raven to groom and tack him. She had groomed him earlier in the day and now only had to brush a light layer of dust off his coat. He was fully awake now and nuzzled her for treats.

“Not now, silly,” she whispered, and she set the saddle on his back.

Karigan prayed her luck held. It was one thing if she was caught by Luke, but as she led Raven out of the stable, she knew it would be quite another if she were spotted by an Inspector. She’d brought the bonewood with her but did not think it would be much of a defense against a gun or mechanical.

She led Raven down the drive and mounted. He pranced and tossed his head, full of high spirits. The silver of his tack jingled, and to Karigan it sounded like an alarm ringing in the quiet of night.

“Settle down,” she murmured.

Raven whickered.

She leaned down on his neck and whispered to his twitching ear, “Tonight you are a Green Rider horse, and we are on an important mission. Understand?”

He quieted.

Good,
Karigan thought, and she squeezed him forward.

He promptly started prancing again, behaving like the energetic young stallion he was, his neck handsomely curved. She sighed, made another short prayer, and they were out on the street. She looked carefully this way and that. A clammy mist hung in the air, turning the glow of streetlamps hazy, droplets turning into sparks and embers as they passed through the light. A little fog would be helpful. If only she had her brooch and her special ability worked. She could disappear and none would note her passage.

She held Raven in, peering down streets at every intersection. There were a few others out—street sweepers, cabs rumbling by at a trot, amorphous shapes in the mist. She followed the route Luke had taken when they’d gone to the Scangly Mounds that one day. When she looked over her shoulder toward the Old City, the light of Silk’s worksite at the summit boiled and wavered in the thick air. It would be her beacon and help her keep her bearings as she sought the foundation of the small mount—where the Old City,
her
Sacor City, had been—and searched for the Heroes Portal.

As she continued on her cautious way, Raven’s hooves clopping all too loudly on the street, she wondered if, instead of stealth, they should actually move along as if she had business to attend to. The cabs certainly did, as well as other carriages she saw out and about. She paused, thinking it over, and in the silence heard the mechanical
click-clack
of an Enforcer tapping its way down the street on its spindly, metallic legs, accompanied by the footsteps of an Inspector. Karigan backed Raven into an alley and peered around its entrance. A sickly glow hovered around the mechanical, its looking-glass eye rotating on the orb of its body. The Inspector swung a club at his side. The mechanical made a sharp
bleep
and turned down a side street.

Relief settled over Karigan, but Raven mouthed the bit, so she decided they would trot through the city and try to leave it behind as fast as possible, come what may. She was tired of caution, and the message Cloudy had brought made her decide that the time of waiting and inaction was over. They set out at a ground-eating trot.

In the center of town there was a little more traffic, and she felt less conspicuous. She slowed Raven to a jog to accommodate others on the street, even passing another Inspector and his mechanical patrolling shop fronts. The Inspector didn’t even glance her way, more interested in the window displays. Once away from the town center, they picked up their pace again along Canal Street, past silent mills with darkened windows. Fog wisped along the surface of the canal’s black water. Soon they clattered across the bridge that spanned the canal, then the second that crossed the river, and she urged Raven to a canter through the poor neighborhoods on the other side.