The Cup and the Crown (14 page)
Now he’d even chosen a mate. They’d been courting since the spring, flying together, dancing through the air, dipping and rising in perfect unison. When he returned—
if
he returned—they’d find their own little spot of land. He’d defend it, and together they’d raise their young, feeding them and keeping them safe till they were fledged and ready to go out on their own.
But that would have to wait until this final task was done. For now he was just one of the countless birds that circled Harrowsgode Hall. Rooks in particular congregated there, but so did jackdaws, ravens, and crows.
He’d been watching the entrance for a long time—since Molly had first gone in—and she still had not come out. This troubled him, because the man—the one who’d driven him off the ledge and had later escorted Molly to Harrowsgode Hall—had left within an hour of their arrival. Why would he do that? What did it mean? The raven was sure he hadn’t missed her.
He continued his vigil till the building was shut for the night and the people who worked there had gone home for their dinners. Disheartened, he left Harrowsgode Hall and flew back to the Magnussons’ house.
At least he knew where her bedroom was. He’d found it that morning. After the tutor had so rudely shooed him away, he’d circled the house a few more times. In one of the rooms, where a servant was making the bed, he’d spotted something familiar: Molly’s comical straw hat perched on top of the wardrobe.
He returned there now and was preparing himself for a tricky landing when he saw that the window was open. He perched on the sill and looked inside.
The room was dark; the maid hadn’t attended to the light-stone yet, which was surprising in a household like that. You’d expect the staff to be highly trained and quick to . . .
what was that?
He stuck out his head and blinked. Over in the shadows, blending in with the carpet and difficult to see—if you weren’t a sharp-eyed raven—was a bit of dark blue ribbon. He stared at it for a moment, tilting his head thoughtfully. Then he had a brilliant idea.
He could see Tobias inside the house. He was seated across a table from an older man with a large nose, presumably the ratcatcher. Their heads were together, studying something. The raven tapped on the window glass.
Tobias looked up, squinted, then looked down again.
The raven signaled a second time:
tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap
.
The little dog that rested at their feet jumped up and started barking. The ratcatcher turned in alarm.
“It’s just a raven,” Tobias said, going over to have a look.
“Then leave it be,” the host said. “Stop it, Charley! Come here!”
But Tobias ignored him. He leaned down and stared through the window.
“Richard, hold the dog. I’m going outside.”
The raven flew down from the windowsill and waited. Tobias came out, and for a moment he just stood there staring. Then the raven hopped forward, dropped the ribbon, and hopped back.
Tobias picked it up.
“This is Molly’s,” he said as if speaking to himself. Then he stared at the raven some more.
Oh, come on, Tobias. You can figure it out!
He nodded and made another little hop.
Please, don’t be such a dullard!
“You brought this to me on purpose.”
The raven dipped his head.
“Talking to birds now, are we?” It was the ratcatcher, standing behind Tobias. Inside, behind the closed door, the dog still barked.
“As you see, Richard.”
“Should I be concerned—for your sanity, I mean?”
“Not at all.” He held up the ribbon; Richard took it.
“Crikes!” he said. “Is this the magical raven that led you here?”
“I’m rather sure it is. Now will you please—?”
“Sorry.” Richard stepped back, but he didn’t go inside. “I’ll let you finish your conversation.”
Tobias ignored the remark. “Did Molly send this to me?” he asked.
The raven thought quickly. The answer was
Not really
. But he dipped his head anyway to get things started.
“Do you know who I am?”
Dip.
“Am I Matthew?”
Nothing.
“Am I Stephen?”
Nothing.
“Am I Tobias?”
Dip, dip, hop.
“Crikes!” whispered Richard.
“And do you know where Molly is staying?”
Dip.
Tobias turned to Richard, then back to the raven. “If I asked you to take her a message, could you do it?”
Dip, dip.
“Will you wait till we’re ready?”
Dip.
Tobias stood and turned to Richard. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s an amazing stroke of luck, and we should go finish that letter right now.”
18
Dusk at the Magnussons’ House
ONCE AGAIN THE RAVEN
stood on the window ledge, peering into Molly’s chamber. Tied carefully around one of his legs was a slender strip of paper—the message from Tobias. He’d come to deliver it, but the room was still dark and empty. She must be at dinner, then. He’d just have to wait.
After a while the door opened and the servant came in, carrying a small silver pitcher. She went to the light-stone on the bedside table and poured a slow stream of coldfire over it; the room was now filled with a strange, greenish light.
The maid went over to the wardrobe and took out Molly’s blue gown. She laid it on the bed and began to fold it with care. Then she picked up the traveling bag, opened it wide, and packed the gown away. In the same methodical manner she folded and packed the kirtle, shift, underlinen, garters, and stockings. Finally, she went back for the satin slippers and tucked them in at the sides.
For a moment the girl stopped and leaned against the wardrobe, her hand over her mouth. The raven saw that her cheeks were wet with tears. But she didn’t rest there long; she sucked in a deep breath and went back to her work, gathering Molly’s few personal items from the nightstand—her comb, some hairpins, the small leather box that held her earrings—and setting them on top of the other things in the bag. At last she closed and fastened it, reached up for the straw hat, and set everything down outside the door.
Was Molly going somewhere?
Now the girl was folding back the coverlet, exactly in half, smoothing out any wrinkles. She folded it in half again, and again, till it formed a neat strip at the foot of the bed. Then she removed the linens from the bed and set them outside the door on the floor beside Molly’s bag.
The raven felt the feathers rise all over his body. How had he been so slow to understand? The maid was closing up the room! Something had happened to Molly.
The girl noticed him then. She wiped her eyes and went over to open the window.
“Be that a message for my lady?” she asked, pointing to the strip of paper he carried.
The raven nodded his head.
“I’m sorry. She’s not here. Nor will she be returning.”
The raven cocked his head, and she seemed to understand.
“She’s gone to Harrowsgode Hall, that’s what Master said. I don’t know where exactly, and it’s a great, large place. But I think you can find her; she’ll have a window, wherever she be.” The girl smiled then. “I’m glad she has a little friend. She touched my heart when she were here, even such a very short time.”
And then, softly, “I’m sorry, but I have to close the window now.”
Downstairs, the family was at dinner. Claus and Margit had been doing their best to warm the chill in the air, but they had not been successful. Laila was solemn and glum, speaking only when addressed and in as few words as she could manage without being rude. Even the subject of corpuscles couldn’t draw her out. Jakob wouldn’t speak at all. And little Sanna, no longer sparkling, had turned as fierce and tenacious as a bulldog.
“But
why
?” she kept wailing, refusing to be hushed or even to lower her voice. The servants had long since been told to leave the room.
“Because she must learn,” Claus said. He was repeating himself, but then Sanna kept repeating herself too. “She’s not had your advantages. She’s almost grown, yet she cannot so much as read or write. And she’s one of
us
, Sanna, with a special gift!”
“But why couldn’t she stay here and go to school?”
“She’s too old. Would
you
like to go to school with crawling infants?”
“She could have a tutor.”
“And so she will. She’ll have the very best tutors to be had, at Harrowsgode Hall.”
“Will she see Laurens there?”
“I would imagine. Of course. They’ll both be Magi.”
“Will she come back and visit?”
“Yes, darling.”
Laila snorted.
“Stop that,” Claus said. “It’s disgusting.”
“
You’re
disgusting!” Jakob muttered under his breath.
But he hadn’t said it softly enough. His father heard, and he looked as though he’d just been slapped. Claus jumped to his feet, red-faced and trembling, not caring that he’d overturned his chair. Eyes fierce with anger, he lunged toward Jakob, his hand raised to strike.
“Papa!” Laila screamed. “Don’t!”
Claus froze, and Laila hurried around the table, laying her hands protectively on her twin brother’s shoulders.
“Come with me, Jakob,” she said, glaring defiance at her father. “You, too, Sanna. We’ll go to the kitchen and get some honey cakes like we used to do—remember? Then we’ll eat them in the garden and watch the stars come out.”
MOLLY HAD LED A
hardscrabble life and was familiar with raw emotions: rage, despair, misery, terror, pain. But she’d never felt them all in the course of a single afternoon. Well, maybe that one time.
Now she lay on her little bed, too spent to move, or weep, or think. She’d passed beyond hopeless; indeed, if the floor were to open up beneath her, sending her plunging to a certain death, she’d welcome it.
All she could manage now was to breathe.
Apparently they’d thought it would be easy. They’d explain the situation in a reasonable manner, and she’d see the wisdom of their words. Then everything would be fine.
They certainly hadn’t expected her to fight.
They’d overcome her eventually (though not before she’d broken the guard’s nose and given that arrogant, egotistical, haughty, conceited, patronizing fellow with the beard a good, solid, satisfying kick in the groin). And it’d been worth it too, though afterward they’d tied her to a chair. Twice she’d vomited, and servants had to be called in to clean her up and dress her in fresh clothes. Yet in all that time not one of them had raised a voice—well, no, that wasn’t true; the guard and the man with the beard had screamed. But the other three, they’d just talked, and talked, and talked. Sometimes she had screamed just to drown them out. But they had just gone on being logical, explaining, pretending to be kind.
Even now those calm, reasonable voices echoed in her head: Molly had been granted a prodigious gift that, like the very sun that sustains life on earth, was bountiful, and beautiful, and good, a blessing to her people—and a great deal else, all much along the same lines. She would get over her “reluctance” soon, very soon, and discover a happiness and sense of purpose she could never have imagined before.
In time they’d broken her, like a wild creature whose spirit must be tamed so it can spend its life working in the service of a master—except that she was too weary and heartsick just then to serve anyone or do anything except lie there in her little round room on the very top floor of a tower and gaze up at the ceiling.
She heard a tapping and ignored it. If they wanted to come into her room and talk at her some more, they’d bloody well have to open the bloody door themselves, because she was bloody well locked in. And even if she hadn’t been, she bloody well wasn’t going to move a muscle to help them.
The tapping came again. It wasn’t really a knock, she decided, more of a
toc-toc-toc
, like a tree branch rattling against a window. And it wasn’t coming from the stairway door but from the other side of the room.
There still remained in her crushed spirit the tiniest spark of curiosity. She made the enormous effort of opening her eyes.
The sound came for the third time:
toc-toc-toc
. Now she made a greater effort still; she turned her head to look at the open window. It was round, like the room, and was covered by an ornamental iron grille—to keep bats and birds from flying in, according to the man who’d escorted her up the stairs to her little prison.
Molly squinted. Something was out there: a dark shape against the failing light. Now it was moving; it made that sound again:
toc-toc-toc-toc
.
A thrill rushed through her then, carrying with it a burst of energy. She knew what it was: the hollow knocking that ravens made deep in their throats. She pushed herself into a sitting position, then dropped her feet to the floor. The thrill came again, with such a rush this time that she almost couldn’t catch her breath.
Oh, please don’t leave!
her mind was screaming.
Please, stay where you are!
Now she stood at the open window, and the raven—her raven—slipped his head through a hole in the grillwork. She reached out and stroked it gently.
“Have you come to teach me to fly?” she crooned. “For I would gladly fly from this tower if I could.”
The raven gazed at her for a moment, blinked, then pulled his head back out. Then, grabbing hold of the grille with his beak, he lifted one leg, closing his talons into a bird-fist, and threaded it awkwardly through one of the open spaces.
Molly stared dumbly for a moment before noticing the strip of paper that was wrapped around the bird’s leg, fastened with a bit of thread. “Oh,” she said, scanning the room for a tool, any tool, that might help her break the thread. “Don’t move.” She’d spotted a comb, the one they’d given her along with the new clothes. Quickly she fetched it and slipped one of its teeth under the thread, tugged until it snapped, then removed the little scroll—at which point the raven pulled his leg back out, let go of the grille with his beak, and disappeared. Outside she heard the flutter of wings, and soon he was back on the sill, rearranging himself.