Chantress Fury (17 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

KEYS

I turned back to the diary, desperate for answers. Could I really have taken the wall down—and not even known it?

My mother’s account of the conversation with Auntie Rose ended there. Maybe something had interrupted her as she’d written? I scanned the next pages quickly. It seemed my mother hadn’t been sure whether to believe what Auntie Rose had said about the wall, but for a while she’d stopped working Wild Magic—

Was that a shout from below? I broke off from reading. Yes, and now quick footsteps . . .

Apprehensive, I shut the diary. As I stood up, Gabriel dashed in, breathing hard, his dark eyes alarmed. Barely stopping to touch my hand with his ring, he beckoned me forward. “I think we’d better go, Chantress. There’s trouble outside. A mob. They must have heard you singing.”

How loud had my song been? Truth to tell, I had been too entranced to notice. Such a stupid mistake. “Where are they?”

“Banging on the windows at the back, trying to break in. They’re too afraid to go around to the front, because that’s where the river is. So we’d better go out that way ourselves. It’s our best chance.”

Even from here I could smell the river’s magic. Was it really wise to go rushing out toward it? “Couldn’t we just stay here?”

Gabriel shook his head. “If we do, we’ll be trapped. The water’s rising fast. We really need to get out of here now.”

“Just give me a moment.” I reached around to put the diary into my sack.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“My mother’s diary.”

His eyes flared with interest, and I wished I hadn’t been so frank. I wasn’t ready to share the diary yet. But all he said was, “Come on. We need to get out of here before the mob gets in.” He raced to the door.

He was right. Sack bumping against my back, I sprinted down the stairs after him, worried about what we might find waiting for us. But all was quiet as we went through the grand room with the burn marks and the fallen plaster.

“I don’t hear them,” I said. “Maybe they’ve gone away.”

“You can’t hear them because this house has walls three feet thick, and they’re way off on the other side. You’d hear them well enough if you walked over there.” With grim humor, Gabriel added, “Though, I suggest you don’t.”

“No,” I agreed.

When we reached the dark entranceway, he stepped back so that I could go first. “I don’t know how this lock works.”

“The usual way, I imagine.” As a rule, Gabriel was eager to claim technical mastery, so I was a little surprised by his diffidence. Perhaps he was feeling discouraged because he hadn’t managed to pick that stubborn lock we’d encountered earlier.

I felt my way toward the door and scrabbled at the ancient mechanism. It resisted at first, then gave way. I heaved the door open.

Gabriel shot past me onto the steps, but I stopped dead at the threshold. The bottom steps were flooded now. So was the entire street. Everywhere I looked, there was water—and the furious music half-deafened me.

“We shouldn’t go this way,” I said.

“Of course we should,” he insisted. “It’s just a little water, and it’s the safest way out. Look!” He sloshed into the muddy current with his shining boots and held out his hand. “Come on!”

I followed, but slowly. There was something wrong here, and not just with the water. Even before I figured out what it was, my hands were working of their own accord.

He wants me to come into the water. And he wouldn’t touch the lock. And that ring on his hand doesn’t look like iron out here in the light.

I flung the keys of Audelin House at him. When the hard iron hit him, he shimmered, blond hair darkening, jaw shrinking, face blurring. Watching in shock, I glimpsed sea-green eyes and a woman’s red mouth.

“Melisande!”

As I spoke the name, a snake tongue flickered out of the red mouth. Hands like claws reached for me.

I leaped back, but she followed, tongue darting. Before my horrified eyes, her shape changed again, and a glistening sea serpent reared up in the water before me.

Bounding for the door, I slipped on the step. As my feet went out from under me, the monster’s mouth opened wide. In the blast of its hot, stinking magic, I defended myself in the only way I could. I flung my heavy sack at its coils.

Even as the sack sailed through the air, the creature shifted again, becoming almost translucent. When the sack hit its mark, I heard a crunch like breaking glass.

Was it dead? Careful to stay out of the water’s reach, I leaned over to see.

Before I could tell for sure, a wave swirled over the serpent with an angry hiss, and the water in the street started to churn. Was it coming after me? I leaped back up to the door, which was still gaping wide, and ran inside, slamming it shut behind me.

When I looked out the window, I saw the waters had settled. If anything, they looked a little lower than they had been. But the glassy serpent was gone.

Something else had vanished too, I realized with a lurch—the sack I’d thrown in self-defense, with my mother’s diary inside it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

LOW TIDE

As awful as the encounter with the snake was, the loss of the diary shook me even more. I retreated from the window, reproaching myself. How could I have been so careless with something that meant so much to me?

At best, I’d only skimmed a third of what my mother had written. If she’d had more secrets to share—and no doubt she had—I would never learn them now. Her voice was silenced forever.

Still shaken, I heard glass shatter somewhere close. At the back of the house? Men shouted, and a great thud shook the floorboards under my feet.

I whirled around. A mob! So that part of the story had been true.

I couldn’t escape out the front, not with that water there. I’d have to stay put and use magic to defend myself. Heart hammering, I wondered where I should make my stand. Right here, where they’d find me in minutes? Or upstairs, where I’d have more time to prepare but a greater chance of being trapped?

Before I could decide, the men shouted again. This time, however, I could hear them more clearly, and the loudest voices sounded familiar. I ran to the windows at the back of the house. The tiny glass panes made the world outside look peculiar—all gray-green and curved—but if there had been a mob, it was gone now. Instead I saw Captain Knollys and my own loyal men ramming at the back door with their iron pikes.

“I’m all right,” I shouted through a crack in the window. “I’m coming to meet you.”

I raced through the house to get to them, but halfway there I jerked to a stop. My tinderbox was lying upended on the floor in front of me. Behind it, the door that had been so stubbornly locked now hung open, revealing a tiny room that smelled dankly of the river. A staircase led downward to the cellar, and at the top of its steps, Gabriel lay in a heap, his bright hair matted and bloody.

From the look of it, he’d been dragged there and left for dead, but I approached him with caution, fearing more deceit. It was only when I spied his iron ring, and touched my own bracelet to the back of his hand, that I stopped worrying.

By the time Knollys and the others came rushing in, I was holding my kerchief to Gabriel’s head. “He’s hurt, and badly,” I told them. “If we can’t stop the bleeding, he’ll die.”

After touching iron with me, they stanched Gabriel’s wound and bandaged it. Helping them as best I could, I told Knollys about the false Lord Gabriel, and what it had turned into before it had disappeared under the waves.

Had it really been Melisande I’d seen? Or had it been a trick of the Others? I wished again that I hadn’t lost my mother’s diary. Perhaps I’d have found answers in there.

“It’s a pity it’s gone,” Knollys agreed as the men carried Gabriel out on a makeshift litter. “But the King will be thankful you’re safe, my lady. We were concerned when we learned that you had gone to Audelin House. There were several reports of disturbances in this neighborhood.”

“I’m glad you came.” Even with magic, it would have been a job to get both myself and Gabriel out safely.

“The King asked that you come to Cornhill,” Knollys said as we reached a cross street, “and then—”

He broke off as Barrington came running up to us, shouting excitedly. “Chantress, Captain! Come see!” Motioning us forward, he pointed down the cross street. It resembled a shore at low tide, dotted with seaweed and soaked driftwood, its mud and cobbles slick and wet.

“Incredible.” Knollys seemed just as amazed as Barrington. “The river was halfway up this street when we came through earlier, but now it’s pulled back.”

“Check the other cross streets,” I told Barrington.

The men who were carrying Gabriel had already gone ahead, but the rest of our company fanned out to investigate what was happening. Soon the report came back: The river was definitely in retreat.

Knollys turned to me, eyes bright above his grizzled cheeks. “I think you’ve done it, Chantress. You’ve won the battle. You’ve defeated the enemy.”

I thought of the horrible smack I’d heard when my sack had hit the glass snake. “I’m not sure I killed the creature,” I said uncertainly. “It disappeared, just like the others.”

“Even so, you must have won.” Knollys gestured at the cross street. “There’s your proof. The river’s going down.”

It might be proof enough for Captain Knollys, but I needed something more. I walked down the street with Knollys until we found the edge of the flood. We were still a good way out from where the river normally flowed, but even as we stood there, I could see the waters ebbing away.

“At this rate, it’ll be back within its banks by nightfall,” Knollys judged. “I’ve never seen a flood go down so fast. But then it was a magic flood, and magic works by its own rules.”

I was surprised by the speed of the withdrawal too, but perhaps Knollys was right. Magic had its own rules. Although I listened long and hard, I couldn’t hear even a trace of the fury that had ruled earlier. Indeed, the river sounded normal in every way, except that it was slightly subdued—almost as if it were ashamed of the trouble it had caused.

Perhaps we really had won the battle.

“We should tell the King,” Knollys said.

“Yes,” I said.

As quick as we were, the good news traveled even faster. By the time we reached the summit of Cornhill, people were turning out to cheer for me. Apparently patrols all across London were reporting that the river was going down. Thanks to our scouts, who had been instructed to run ahead and tell the King and Council all that had happened, the story about my encounter with the serpent was spreading like wildfire.

When we entered the King’s temporary headquarters—part of an entire block of buildings that the Crown had requisitioned—a crowd of happy faces hemmed me in. The King, his freckled face glowing, seized my hand and raised it into the air. “My lords and ladies, three cheers for the Chantress!”

Everyone joined him in enthusiastic ovation. Even the Lord High Admiral was saluting me. If there were any holdouts, I couldn’t spot them. As the huzzahs finally died out, someone started singing, and the crowd took up the refrain—one of the old broadside tunes celebrating my fierceness in defense of the kingdom. Here and there, people began dancing.

The King led me away from the crowds into a small chamber that had evidently been set up as his study. I asked how Gabriel was doing.

“He was starting to revive by the time he arrived here,” the King said. “He’s been put to bed upstairs, and the Royal Physician says that with care he should recover fully within a week or two.”

That was a relief. “Good.”

At the King’s request, I gave a full account of what had happened at Audelin House and what I’d seen of the river and the city. “We should be careful about how we lift the evacuation order,” I finished. “Even if the river keeps going down at this pace, it’s done terrible damage. Some streets won’t be fit to live in, or even safe to visit.”

“There will be time to sort all that out later,” the King said. “I’ve called a Council meeting for three o’clock, and we’ll go over everything then. In the meantime, I must find Sybil. I’ve not seen her all day—and I’m sure she’ll have some ideas about what should be done with the refugees.”

“I’ll come with you,” I said.

He grinned at me, looking not so much like a king but like any young husband in love with his wife. “To tell the truth, Chantress, I’d rather see her on my own. You stay here and cele­brate.”

If I’d wanted to celebrate, this certainly would have been the time. When I returned to the crowd, I discovered that the party had spilled over into half the house. Casks of beer were being meted out, and the music and dancing were more jubilant than ever.

Amid the joyous clamor, I found myself feeling strangely hollow. Victory wasn’t half so sweet when I couldn’t share it with Nat. Oddly enough, he didn’t even seem to be here. No, wait. . . . Was that Nat over in the corner there, in that crowd of ladies-in-waiting?

I forced myself to turn away. I couldn’t go to him, not in front of all those Court ladies. Later, if I could find him on his own, I could talk to him.

In the meantime, I tried to hide my true feelings. I’d had plenty of practice at that, so it ought to have been easy. Yet as people swarmed around me, offering their thanks, I found myself thinking about Nat again. What if he didn’t want to listen to me? What if I’d already burned my bridges?

As soon as I could, I pushed my way to the edge of the crowd and left the party.

Much as I wanted to escape this temporary Court, I couldn’t leave the house without checking on Gabriel first. Not only was he a friend, but he’d also been injured while trying to help me. I had to make sure he was really recovering. If he was, that would be good news in itself. And if he could talk, perhaps he could tell me more about his attacker.

A few minutes later, with the help of a royal page, I found Gabriel’s room—a makeshift infirmary at the very back of the house, where Quittle was attending him. The valet looked as anxious as ever, but I was delighted to see that Gabriel was sitting up now—white-faced and wrapped in bandages, but otherwise an only slightly shaky version of his usual debonair self.

“It seems we were the object of a cruel deception, Chantress.”

“Especially cruel to you,” I said.

He raised a hand to the back of his head but stopped short of touching the enormous goose bump there. “It was hair-raising, I must admit. And rather nasty to see a copy of myself coming at me, a rock in his hand.”

“So that’s all you saw—someone who looked just like you?”

“Yes.” Gabriel’s pale face grew a shade whiter at the memory. “And I hardly even saw that. I was kneeling on the floor, scrabbling around for straw for the tinderbox, when I heard that locked door click open. The creature stepped up behind me, and I had only a second’s warning before it slugged me. Not what you’d call a fair fight.”

“No. I’m so sorry. When I asked you to come with me, I never meant for this to happen.”

“I’m just thankful you weren’t hurt,” Gabriel said, reaching for my hand. “Quittle, will you leave us? There’s something I must say to you, Chantress, and to you alone.”

There was a light in Gabriel’s eye that worried me. I tried to extract my hand. “There’s no need for you to go, Quittle. I’m sure you want to keep an eye on your patient.”

But to Quittle, his master’s word was law. He was already slipping out the door.

Gabriel gripped my hand more tightly. “They tell me I almost died, Chantress. And when I went down, do you know what I was thinking of? You.”

I couldn’t look at him. “Gabriel, please.”

He ignored me. “The last time I proposed, you said what you most needed was a good friend, and I’ve done my best to be that. I’ve been patient; I’ve been loyal; I’ve been what you needed me to be. But my mind hasn’t changed. Please tell me I have a chance with you.”

I stopped trying to pull away. There was no getting around this; I would have to face it head-on. It was an honest question, and it deserved an honest answer.

“Gabriel,” I said gently. “I’m sorry, but no.”

He went very still. The other times when I’d refused him, he’d shown great equanimity, even a certain cheerful buoyancy. Was it because of the accident that he looked so confused, so pained?

“I was sure I had a chance this time,” Gabriel murmured.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, and pulled my hand away. He didn’t resist; he still looked dazed.
Maybe I ought to find Quittle.
I started for the door.

“You do know that Walbrook has gone and chosen someone else, don’t you?” Gabriel said. “I thought that would make a difference.”

My hand faltered on the door. “What?”

“He’s kept it very quiet, I must say,” Gabriel went on. “But I heard it this morning from Lady Clemence’s father, the Earl of Tunbridge himself. They’re working out the marriage contracts now.”

So Nat had made his choice. And he hadn’t wasted any time.

I yanked at the door, desperate to get away.

Gabriel’s voice followed me. “Don’t go, Chantress! Walbrook may not have any sense, but I do. You know I adore you—and your magic, too. And I have more to offer than he does—a time-honored name, a great estate . . .”