The Seeker (17 page)

I had been told to wait in the kitchen after firstmeal when the others left to go down to the farms. I had thought Andra might decide to put me to work, but she did not, and so I watched the potmender at his craft. I was more convinced
than ever that I had seen him somewhere before, but I could not remember where.

Then Sly Willie appeared again and, leering, bid me come with him to see the doctor and Madam Vega.

My mouth went dry, but I refused to let the informant see my fear as I followed him wordlessly from the kitchen and into a part of Obernewtyn I had not seen since the night of my arrival.

We passed through the entrance to Obernewtyn and into a windowless hall lit by pale green candles, which flickered and hissed as we passed. At the end of the hall was a small room with a single bench seat. Here, Willie told me to wait. My legs shook so much that I sat down and tried to make myself calm. I remembered all too well what had come of the last interview with Madam Vega, when I had let fear get the better of me. This time, I was determined to remain in control. If the woman did have some sort of sensitivity to Misfit abilities like mine, I must make sure I did not let her provoke me into using them. That way she might come to doubt her assessment that I was a birth Misfit and decide not to bother sending me to the doctor.

It was a slim hope, but I clung to it. I had one moment in which to wonder where the real Master of Obernewtyn was, and to think he was no less mysterious than the doctor, when Willie emerged from a door and gestured for me to go through. There was a sulkiness in his face that made me think he had wanted to stay while I was being interviewed and had been sent away. Willie was one of those informants who served his masters out of spite and slyness rather than out of fear or for favor.

Taking a deep breath outside the door, I pushed it open resolutely and reminded myself to stay calm no matter what
happened. My first impression on entering was of heat. A quick look around revealed the source—a fire burning brightly in an open fireplace despite the warmth of the weather. Spare wood was piled high on one side of the fire, and two comfortable-looking armchairs were drawn up facing the hearth. The stone floor was covered by a brightly colored woven rug, and there were a number of attractive tapestries hanging on the walls. It was a pleasant, lavish room compared to the rest of Obernewtyn.

Against the back wall of the room was a desk, and behind this a wide window with a magnificent view of the cold arching sky and the jagged mountains. I stared, mesmerized, until Madam Vega stepped abruptly into my line of sight, the same stylishly attractive figure that I remembered. But her expression was no longer the coy, girlish one she had worn during her visit at Kinraide. Her blue eyes were cold and calculating, and she waved me impatiently to the chair nearest the fire. I sat down obediently, though a strange smell seemed to emanate from the fireplace, and I felt slightly sickened by it.

“You should have told me that you had only begun to show Misfit tendencies after being exposed to tainted water,” Madame Vega said briskly. “I thought …” She bit off the words and drew a long breath.

“Still,” she said after a moment, her voice now calm. “There may be some use in you. I am told that you have formed a circle of friends.” I opened my mouth to deny it, but she held up her hand to silence me. “Do not trouble to lie. It bores me, and you do not want to bore me.” There was a clear threat in her words, and I swallowed and said nothing.

“Well then,” she said sweetly. She sat back and watched me through narrowed eyes. “Tell me about your friends,” she said.

I thought of Rushton and damned him. It seemed he was an informer after all. “I only eat with them at meals,” I said. “I won’t do it again.”

Irritation flicked over her features. “There is nothing wrong in your forming friendships. Indeed, it will suit me if you widen your group of friends. You will be my eyes and ears among the Misfits.”

I stared. “I couldn’t spy,” I said stiffly. I would pretend stupidity but not that.

“I do not want you to report plots and petty misdeeds or even subversive gossip,” she said so kindly that I was filled with suspicion. “All I want you to do is watch for any Misfits who seem … different. I am concerned that some of those brought here do not reveal the full extent of their … mutancy. That is most unfortunate, because it means we cannot help them.” She performed this beautifully, and I even saw a hint of tears in her eyes. But I could only think of what was being done to Cameo. And what had been done to Selmar.

“What do you mean by different?” I asked, hoping I sounded dull-witted rather than frightened.

“I want to know of anyone with unusual or undisclosed deviations of the mind,” she said. I could do no more than nod. “Good. I am sure you will be of much help to me,” she purred. She smoothed her skirt and said very casually, “Cameo tells me you are her friend.”

I felt the snakelike coil of fear in my belly. “She is a defective true dreamer,” I said, but I wondered how much Cameo had said when she was hypnotized. We had not spoken to her about our undisclosed abilities, but neither had we been careful not to refer to them in front of her. Had she said something that had made Madam Vega want to look more closely at our group?

“She behaves as if she were defective, but that is something that can be made to seem so, rather than being so. And even true dreams may be a pretense.” She said the last word with a coy, almost teasing smile that invited me to share the joke.

“I do not think she is pretending,” I said stolidly, determined to make her think of me as a dullard.

“Very well,” she said with sudden impatience. “I am going to take you to the doctor’s chamber now. Get up,” she added, coming toward me, her satin dress whispering to the rug. I rose, and she came to stand behind me. She stood so close that I felt her breath stir my hair. A moment of blind terror made me want to turn where I could see her, but I forced myself to be still.

“Come,” she said at last, but she seemed to be gesturing to the fireplace. I went closer, only then seeing that one of the panels alongside the fireplace was an ornate door, so intricately worked in carving to match the panels on either side of it that I had not even noticed it was there. Opened, it led into a narrow hall, which smelled of damp. There was another door at the end of the short hall, and when Madam Vega opened it, a great wave of heat rushed out.

“The doctor’s chamber,” Madam Vega murmured, though she seemed to say this more to herself than to me. Despite its secretive entrance, it was an enormous circular room. There were no windows, but light flooded in from a huge skylight in the center of the ceiling. A fireplace almost as big as the one in the kitchen provided the nearly unbearable heat, but I paid less attention to this than I might have done, for there were books everywhere, not only those of recent origin—easily recognizable by their coarse workmanship and the purple Council stamp of approval—but also hundreds of smaller,
beautifully made books that could only have been made in the Beforetime. Forbidden books, I thought, gazing around with amazement at walls lined with bookshelves, each full to overflowing. There were tables everywhere, and these, too, were piled with books as well as loose papers and maps.

“Doctor Seraphim?” called Madam Vega.

I was trying to understand what this name could mean, for surely Seraphim was the name of the Master of Obernewtyn, when there was a flurry of movement, and a rotund man emerged smiling from a dim corner. If this was the mysterious and sinister doctor responsible for what had happened to Selmar, his appearance was utterly unexpected. He greeted Madam Vega and drew up two chairs to the sweltering mouth of the fire. He bid us sit, and Madame Vega gestured to me to obey, but she remained standing. The doctor sat in the other chair and beamed at me.

“Another Misfit,” he sighed, leaning over to peer nearsightedly into my face. Then he giggled suddenly and slapped his leg as if I had made a joke. It was a high-pitched, almost hysterical laugh, and I thought again that this could not really be the terrible and powerful doctor I had been so frightened of meeting.

“You are a cool one,” he gurgled coyly, wagging his finger at me. I did not know what to say, and I glanced helplessly at Madam Vega, but she was gazing around the room with a distracted air. Without warning, she moved away purposefully between the shelves, leaving me alone with the doctor.

“You don’t look like a Misfit,” he said, peering at me closely again. “Vega tells me you are a dreamer and that tainted water caused your dreams, but the reports that came with you make me suspect that your exposure to tainted water only served to rouse latent Misfit tendencies. I am
interested in the idea that such exposure could be used to increase certain Misfit traits so that they could be more easily studied.”

I said nothing, and indeed he seemed to be speaking to himself rather than to me. He sighed and shrugged. “Unfortunately, I do not have the time right now to begin a new research project. I have several important experiments to complete, and they will require all of my attention. However, I am going to write your name down for future research.” He gave the same wide, encouraging smile, as if this news ought to please me, and then he got up and began rummaging through the contents on a cluttered table.

I glanced around, wondering where Madam Vega had gone. I noticed an enormous and very fine portrait of a woman hanging in a small alcove. I felt instantly repelled by the painted face, which seemed cruel and cold to me.

“I see you are looking at my dear grandmama,” said the doctor. He gazed at the painting for a long moment, and several emotions flickered over his face: fear, awe, confusion. “Her name was Marisa,” he whispered.

I saw the chance to ingratiate myself. “She is beautiful,” I said admiringly, though I thought the face too sharp and cold for beauty. But she was handsome, and there was a fiery gleaming intelligence in the eyes. Yellow eyes, I noticed.

“She
was
beautiful,” said the doctor. “It was such a shame she had to die.”

This was such an odd thing to say that I turned to look at him, but the doctor had discovered a pencil at last. “Elspeth Gordie, wasn’t it?”

I nodded, and he bent over a scrap of parchment and scribed laboriously, muttering, “Misfits are not always what they appear to be, you know. Often there are more demons
that the treatment reveals. Do you know I once treated a girl who harbored amazing demons? Selmar was her name. Once I had forced the demons to reveal themselves, I was able to offer treatments that rendered her quite docile in the end. Presently, I am treating another who may be hiding demons.”

The only demons you find in people’s minds are the ones you put there with your treatments
, I thought, all amusement at his foolish smile and dithering manner swallowed up in a surge of outrage at the knowledge that he was talking about Cameo. I looked at my feet, afraid the cold hatred of my heart would show in my eyes.

“Doctor, I do not think you should discuss such matters with a Misfit,” said a voice as rich and smooth as undiluted honey.

“Alexi,” said the doctor, looking over my shoulder with a flustered, almost guilty expression. I turned slowly and there stood a tall, beautiful man with shining white hair. His skin was pale and soft like that of a child, and his eyes were the coldest and darkest I had ever seen. As he stepped closer, I stood up, fighting an overpowering urge to back away.

“Of course, you’re right. I was forgetting,” said the doctor, talking too quickly, getting to his feet as well. He seemed afraid of the other man. Alexi flicked his unsettling eyes over me.

“Alexi is my assistant,” the doctor said, and I fought the impulse to gape. “Would you like to examine her, Alexi? The tainted water may have acted as a catalyst—”

“I am sick of this,” Alexi snarled, cutting the doctor off. “I have no use for yet another dreamer. Get rid of her. Where is Vega?” he asked imperiously.

The doctor looked around vaguely. “She was here … a moment ago,” he said.

The other man turned his shadow-dark eyes on me. The irises seemed to be much larger than usual, with very little white visible around them. “Well, sit down. I might as well see if there is any use in you.”

I sat down again, and Alexi sat in the chair vacated by the doctor.

“Her name is Elspeth,” bleated the doctor, hovering nervously behind him.

Alexi ignored him and fixed me in his frigid black stare. “Your family were seditioners?” he asked.

I did not know if he was asking or telling me, so I nodded slightly.

“They were burned by the Herders?”

I nodded again, aware that he must have read my record, too.

“You dream true?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” I said, but my voice came out as a croak.

“Are you able to know what people feel or think before they tell you?” he asked.

My heart almost stopped, but I managed to shake my head.

“Can you sometimes sense things that have happened before, in rooms or … or from an object?”

I shook my head again.

“What was the crime of your parents?” he asked. “For what were they charged?”

“Sedition,” I said.

Without warning, he leapt to his feet, knocking the chair he had been sitting in to the ground with a great clatter. “She is useless. When will the right one be found?” he snarled.

“The blond girl …,” the doctor quavered, but Alexi shut him up with a poisonous look.

“My dear Alexi,” said Madam Vega, emerging from behind some of the shelves. “I have been looking for you.”

Alexi stalked over to her. “This one is impossibly stupid. I have enough idiocy to endure without your bringing me another fool. Why did you bring her here?”

“I already told you what happened. And she is here now because Stephen wanted to see her,” Madam Vega said in a soft but steely voice, nodding toward the doctor.

It was all I could do to stop myself from gaping at the doctor, who hovered nearby, smiling too much and wringing his hands anxiously as he watched his so-called assistant rage. For Stephen Seraphim
was
the name of the current Master of Obernewtyn. But how could this ineffectual young man be legal master of anything?