The Magicians And Mrs. Quent Part 39

They reached a door. A pair of large men in gray smocks stood to either side; their necks were brutish, the backs of their hands thick with coa.r.s.e hair.

"It is best if you do not look into the cells," the day warden said, pulling another large key from the ring and fitting it into the door. "Walk directly behind me, and keep to the center of the corridor. Do not stray toward the bars. Above all, do not respond to anything you might hear. Do not nod, do not glance, do not speak in reply no matter what is directed toward you. Do you understand, Miss...?"

"Mrs. Quent," she gasped, but the day warden had already opened the door and pa.s.sed through. She hurried after. He shut and locked the door behind them, then started down a corridor.

It was dim, as she had imagined it would be, and the air was oppressive with foul scents, as she had also imagined and for which she had prepared herself. It was the noise she had not expected.

The sound a.s.saulted her at once: a tumult of shouts, of keening, of laughter, of howls and groans, moans and grunts, and wordless jabberings whose purpose or cause-or even the very mechanism by which they were formed and uttered-she could not begin to guess. The clamor echoed and reechoed off the arched ceiling, doubling, trebling, cementing itself into a wall of sound as solid, as imprisoning, as any structure of stone.

Ivy halted, stunned for a moment by the din, but the day warden had kept moving. He was already several paces ahead, and she started after him. As she did, arms snaked out between the bars to either side. So narrow was the corridor that only by walking in the very middle could she avoid their reach.

Remembering the day warden's admonitions, she kept her gaze fixed on his back. All the same, out of the corners of her eyes, she was aware of forms huddling or writhing in the dimness beyond the bars. Nor could she prevent herself from hearing the things that were screamed or wailed or hissed as she pa.s.sed-terrible things, the imploring no less so than the violent. They would give her anything if she would help; they would slit her throat if she would not. They could see through her skin; she was gray as ash inside. She should strike the warden down and take his keys; she was an angel and must do the work G.o.d had sent her here to do-she must set fire to this place.

At last the day warden turned down a side pa.s.sage. This was narrower and lined not by open cells but rather by shut doors, each with a small iron plate set into it. The cacophony did not fade, but it lessened a bit, such that Ivy could hear the day warden when he said, "Here it is-Number Twenty-Nine-Thirty-Seven. Violent fits and hallucinations alternating with periods of profound catatonia."

Ivy stared at him. "Do you not know his name?"

"We find it is better to catalog our patients according to the order of their arrival, as well as the nature of their affliction."

"But how can you help a person if you do not know who he is?"

"It is not people we are here to help but rather their conditions. It is not the patient that is important but rather the symptoms he or she manifests." The warden's face, previously impa.s.sive, became animated. "By setting aside consideration of the person and reserving all attention for the affliction, we can reach a purer understanding of the essence of the malady and can examine it impartially, without any distraction. It is the latest medical technique. We are a very modern facility, as I'm sure you will agree, Miss...?"

"Mrs. Quent," she whispered, her throat tight.

But he had already turned his back to her. He slid the iron plate in the door to one side, revealing a window-or a hole, rather, too small to put even a hand through.

"You're in luck," he said, peering inside. "The subject appears to be awake." He stepped away from the door and motioned for her to approach.

"Can I not enter?"

"That's quite impossible. We can't allow anything that could interfere with the subject while he is in the initial stages of observation. It might contaminate his behavior and thus lead to a misunderstanding of the nature of his affliction."

These words were a blow. Ivy could not believe it was observation he needed. All the same, observe him she must, to see for herself that he was, if not well, at least alive. She drew a breath and peered through the opening in the door.

Shock struck her anew. "He is bound! But why?"

"It is for his own well-being that he is restrained. He was very agitated when he was brought to us."

Of course he was agitated, Ivy wanted to cry out. He had been removed from his home, separated from his family, forced beyond the door through which he had not set foot in over ten years. If he had struggled, then it had been only as anyone struggles when subjected against their will to pain and terror. However, she did not say these things; they would be wasted upon the day warden. She made herself become calm. If he saw her face in the opening, then she wanted it to be the familiar and rea.s.suring thing he knew. Again, she approached the door.

"h.e.l.lo, Father!" she called out softly. "It is your daughter-it's Ivy."

If Mr. Lockwell heard her, he did not show it. He sat slumped in a chair, which was the only object in the room and to which he was bound by strips of cloth around the chest, the wrists, the ankles. His hair was matted against his skull, and he had not been shaven. His face was slack and drooping; his eyes stared without focus.

Ivy wanted to weep; instead, she affected a cheerful tone. "I've come back to the city, and I won't be leaving again. You needn't worry about Lily and Rose. They are well, though they miss you very much. We all miss you. And I have news to tell you-such wonderful news." It seemed he lifted his head a bit, and this heartened her. "I'm Mrs. Quent now. Are you surprised? No more than I am, Father. He will be coming to the city soon, and when he does we will all dwell together and be happier than you can imagine. So do not worry. In no time at all you will leave this place and come to live with-"

The day warden slid the iron plate shut so quickly she barely had time to step back to avoid losing part of her nose.

"Telling the subject lies is not to be tolerated," he said. "It can only reinforce his delusions."

"Lies?" she gasped. "What lies have I told him?"

"That he will leave here anytime soon is impossible. His derangement is of the severest nature. You must not give him hope."

"How can it harm him to have hope? Why should he not believe that he is leaving here, that he is going home?"

He shook his head. "I can see your cousin was right to have your father consigned to us. I only hope it is not too late. He told me that he suspected the subject's delusions had been reinforced by his family for years-an intelligent man, your cousin. It is a sad fact that often, in the desire to aid, the subject's intimate relations only inflict more harm. You do not seem to understand that your father is a very ill man, Miss-what was it?"

This time it was her voice that rang off the hard ceiling. "My name is Mrs. Quent!"

The day warden's eyes narrowed as he regarded her, then he nodded. However, all he said was, "You may come back next quarter month if you wish." Then he turned and started back down the corridor.

Ivy cast one last glance at the shut door, then followed after the warden, back toward the screams and the laughter.

S HE RETURNED TO Whitward Street to find it as silent as the hostel had been cacophonous, and in its way as oppressive. Fearing the housekeeper or her husband would be lurking in the kitchen, she hurried up the stairs. As she pa.s.sed the parlor she heard Mr. Wyble call out to her in greeting. Her every instinct was to keep climbing, but as they were required to dwell with him for a short while longer, she knew she must be civil with him. She stopped in the door of the parlor but did not go in.

"I know why you were going upstairs so quickly," he said. He sat in a chair by the window, a book open on his lap.

"You do?" she said, wondering if he had at last come to apprehend the grievous blow he had struck to them all.

"Indeed," he said cheerfully. "It is my job as a lawyer to understand the motivations of others. You are aware it is not your day to have the parlor, and so you were concerned that entering to greet me might make it appear as if you had a wish to spend time in here. Out of propriety, so there could be no misconstruing, you thought to hurry past. You are very conscientious, cousin, but we are family. You need not be so formal. If you would like to come in and sit for a quarter hour, I should hardly mind it at all."

Ivy gripped the door frame to steady herself. "Thank you for your offer, but I must see to my sisters." Without waiting for a reply, she turned and dashed up the stairs.

She found them in Rose's room. Lily was tearing off the ribbons from one of her gowns, while Rose sat by the window, Miss Mew on her lap.

Ivy took off her bonnet. "I saw Father," she said. "He is very-" She thought of the day warden, of what he had said about telling lies to appease. But, no-she would not hold anything he had said in regard. "He is very well. You must not worry for him, and remember what I said: Mr. Quent will be coming to the city soon. When he does, he will bring Father to us, and we will all live together."

Rose said nothing, only continuing to pet the tortoisesh.e.l.l cat, while Lily swore an oath.

"I can't undo this knot. It's ruined, the whole frock is ruined. Not that it matters. No one will ever see me in it anyway!" She crumpled up the dress, then stood and brushed past Ivy. "I'm going to my room."

A moment later came the sound of a door slamming. Ivy sighed, then went over to Rose. She scratched Miss Mew behind the ears, and the cat purred in response.

"Is he angry at me?"

Rose was looking up at her, her expression troubled.

Ivy shook her head. "Who do you mean, dearest?"

"Father. Is he angry at me? I wanted to stop them. I knew I should, but my arms wouldn't work, and they took him away!"

Ivy knelt by the chair and put her own arms around Rose. "No, dearest, he is not angry at you. He knows this was not your doing. He loves you very much, as we all do. Even Miss Mew."

Hearing her name, the little cat gave a mew in answer. This won a small smile from Rose. Then she turned her gaze back out the window.

Ivy quietly departed the room. Deciding it was best to leave both of her sisters alone for the time being, she went up to the attic, which since her return to Whitward Street had been her room. Over the last five days, she had put the attic back in order. On her arrival she had found it in great disarray. Books had been strewn everywhere, and nothing appeared as if it had been cleaned in the months since she had left.

She did not know if the chaos of the attic had contributed to the incident, but it could not have helped his frame of mind. He had been growing more agitated, Lily had told her. He had taken to throwing books, and striking the windowpanes, and shouting out unintelligible words. Mr. Wyble had complained about the noise, saying it could not be tolerated. Lily and Rose had tried to quiet Mr. Lockwell, but with less and less success. Then, one day when the two had thought him calm and had taken the chance to sit out in the front garden to get some sun, another episode had come upon him.

Even so, no harm would have come to Mr. Wyble. Their father never hurt anything besides books when in such a state. However, their cousin, disturbed from his reading, had taken it upon himself to venture upstairs and enter the attic unannounced.

Ivy still had not learned all the details of what happened next. He claimed Mr. Lockwell was hysterical and had attacked him in the most violent and terrifying manner. More likely it was Mr. Lockwell who was terrified by the intrusion of a stranger into his sanctum. Lily said she was sure Mr. Lockwell had done nothing more than fling a book at Mr. Wyble. However, it had had the poor luck to strike him in the nose, causing a great amount of blood to burst out and their cousin to scream that he was being murdered.

By then Lily and Rose had become aware of the commotion and had rushed inside. Rose had managed to calm their father, and Lily had a.s.sured their cousin that Mr. Lockwell would never leave the attic, so Mr. Wyble could never come to any harm if he did not go up there.

However, Mr. Wyble had proclaimed that he would not dwell in fear of entering any part of his house and that their father was a danger to all of them. The next day men from Madstone's came and took Mr. Lockwell away. Whether Mr. Wyble had the legal authority to have him so consigned no longer mattered. Once placed in the hostel, their father could not be removed unless he was deemed well enough by the doctors there.

Or unless an officer of the government commanded it.

Within hours of her arrival, Ivy had written a letter to Mr. Quent. She had not yet received his reply-the post to and from Torland would take over a quarter month-but she knew he would not allow this. Mr. Lockwell was not only his father-in-law but his friend. As an agent of the lord inquirer, who in turn served the king, he would surely be able to effect Mr. Lockwell's release-if not with a letter then at least in person upon his return. This present situation was awful; that could not be denied. However, they would not have to endure it for much longer.

She spent the rest of the afternoon in the attic, then accompanied her sisters to the dining room as a swift dusk fell. The supper the housekeeper brought them was as burned and flavorless as ever, though Mr. Wyble praised everything that was put before him as if it were a feast.

"I am so looking forward to meeting your husband, cousin," Mr. Wyble said, attempting with little success to cut his cake with his fork. "What a fortuitous match it is for you. He inherited an earl's house, did you say? It is not the same as an earl's t.i.tle, of course-but still, an earl's house! Think of how your sisters will benefit from such a connection! And I was wondering-that is, given his position-it cannot be unthinkable that with such means as he has that he must have need of a skilled lawyer. You will promise to introduce me to him as soon as he is in town, won't you, cousin?"

"Of course I will introduce you to him," Ivy said. And he will detest you the moment he meets you! she added to herself.

That evening she had thought to spend some time with her sisters, but Lily had fallen into a sullen mood, and Rose wanted only to sit at the window in her room, so Ivy returned to the attic.

She spent a while looking through books, but the candlelight was too dim and her eyes ached, so instead she went to the celestial globe. For several minutes she worked its k.n.o.bs and handles, watching the various...o...b.. spin and revolve, but she could not see the patterns in their movements; to her, it was all chaos. She readied herself for bed.

The night was long, so it was still dark when they went downstairs to take breakfast with Mr. Wyble. He greeted them cheerfully, even warmly, though it seemed to Ivy there was something peculiar about the smile he gave her. That he was pleased about something was clear.

Not caring to look at him, she kept her eyes on her plate as she ate cold toast and drank cold tea. The dismal meal was soon over, and Ivy rose to follow her sisters from the dining room, to spend the rest of the long umbral in their rooms.

"Wait a moment, Cousin Ivoleyn," Mr. Wyble said as she reached the door. "I almost forgot-a letter came for you in the post."

"Thank you," she said, and tried not to appear too eager as she took it from him. However, by the time she reached the landing on the stairs she was shaking with excitement. There was a lamp there, and she opened the letter to read it in that light. It was from him, as she had known the moment she saw the familiar writing. To her dismay the letter was not long, and it was clear he had not yet received her own missive. As she read the scant words, the darkness pressed in around her, collapsing the sphere of gold light into a point.

His return to the city was delayed. The situation in Torland was worse than had been feared. He could offer no details, in the event this letter was intercepted, but she knew his work, and she knew him; thus she must understand that only the most dire situation would keep him away. He expected he would be gone at least a month. It could not be helped.

His letter went on: I know law requires Mr. Wyble to allow you to remain at Whitward Street only through month's end. However, I have offered to pay your cousin to allow you and your sisters to remain longer. My offer was generous, and I have no doubt it will be accepted. I know you would prefer to be elsewhere, but it is best if you remain under the roof of a relative. Remember that it is only for a little while longer and that I will return as swiftly to you as I can.

Until then, there is one thing I must ask of you. The lord whom I serve will soon be in the city. Would you take the enclosed note to him? That it must remain sealed, I am certain you know! I know not where in the city he will be staying when he arrives and so could not send this directly, but I instructed him in my last missive to contact you upon his arrival. If the post makes its timetables, he should arrive the lumenal after you receive this.

The sky is brightening. I must go. Night is their time, but now it is nearly day. Time will not allow me to describe the full extent of what is in my heart, my dearest, but know that I am now and ever will be- Yours, A. Quent Again she read the letter, then examined the small, folded note that had been contained within. It was sealed with red wax. At last, slowly, she folded the note inside the letter.

"Is something wrong, cousin?"

She turned on the landing. Mr. Wyble stood a half flight below, looking up at her.

"I trust everything is well," he said with a smile. Again, the expression struck her as smug.

"Yes," she said, willing her voice to hold steady. "Yes, everything is very well, thank you."

Before he could say anything more, she turned and ran up the stairs. She waited until she had reached the attic before she let the tears come, and then she wept bitterly.

T HAT NIGHT IVY dreamed she was in the Wyrdwood.

She slipped through a gap in the mossy wall, then made her way deep into the stand of ancient forest. The air was moist, fragrant with yarrow and hazel, and the leaf mold made a carpet beneath her bare feet as she wove among the crooked trees. Her white gown fluttered behind her as she went, like tatters of mist.

A wind sprang up. The trees tossed, and their branches bent down toward her, but she was not afraid. She caught them as they tangled around her, setting her feet into crooks, and when the wind subsided and they bent upward again, the branches bore her to the crowns of the trees.

As the trees swayed back and forth, she swayed with them, rising and falling in a languorous dance. Leaves murmured with a kind of speech, and the more she listened the more she understood it. Look, the voices told her. Look out at our land.

She did, and from this new vantage it seemed she could see all of the island of Altania. Gray-green downs rolled away in every direction, all the way to the silver line of the sea. She saw roads as well, and towns like dull blotches, and a great city with many spires straddling a river, choking it. Then, on the farthest horizon, beyond the edges of the land, she saw a darkness. It was like the shadow of night approaching. Only it came not just from the west but crept from all directions, surrounding Altania. In the midst of the shadow glowed a red spark like a hungry eye.

The wind rose again, and the branches tossed-not gently this time but violently, creaking and groaning, so that she was forced to hold on with all her might. The air had gone the color of ashes.

"Ivy!" called a stern voice.

She looked down. Mr. Quent stood below, and he held a torch in his maimed hand. It blazed with hot light.

She tried to call out to him, but the wind s.n.a.t.c.hed her voice away. His face was drawn in a glower of anger and disappointment. Again she tried to shout, but it was no use; he could not hear her voice over that of the wind and leaves. He thrust the torch into the tinder-dry mold beneath the trees. Flames sprang up, blackening the trees as they writhed.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

D ESPITE THE POOR quality of the company he had provided on his visit to Lady Marsdel's house, Rafferdy received another invitation from Fairhall Street before the pa.s.sage of two shortish lumenals. After an afternoon in the parlor that was hardly more lively than on the prior occasion, he was commanded by Lady Marsdel to stay for supper, because, "at least with one more being in the room, the sound of our forks and knives shall not echo so loudly."

He bowed and said he was glad to be of service, though he pointed out a sack of flour propped in a chair would have as beneficial an effect on the acoustics, and would cost less in wine. When the bell rang, he lent his arm to Mrs. Baydon and escorted her to the dining room.

"I see you still wear that awful ring," she said as they walked. "Is it part of your new affectation of being somber? I will say, to look upon it certainly inspires grimness!"

He glanced at the ring, almost startled to notice it, for he had grown rather used to it. Its leering blue gem did not seem to bother him so much anymore, and even if it did, it would not matter; the ring still would not budge from his finger. Nor, despite his earlier resolve to do so, had he made any attempt to contact Mr. Bennick regarding its removal. No doubt that was the very reaction Bennick had hoped to elicit, and Rafferdy had no intention of granting him any sort of satisfaction. If it meant wearing the dreadful thing for the rest of his life, so be it.

Just as they were sitting at the table, there came the echo of the front door opening. Someone else had arrived, and when the guest was shown into the dining room, Rafferdy could only surmise that the old saying Think of an evil, and there it stands was correct. Either that, or the other yet retained some unholy powers despite his lack of a ring and had plucked Rafferdy's thoughts from the air-for the newcomer was none other than Mr. Bennick.

The tall man handed his black hat to the servant, then gave a bow to her ladys.h.i.+p.

"I'm awfully glad you've come, Mr. Bennick," she said. "Perhaps now we'll hear some real conversation. Once again, we've had the most dull day! I have not heard one interesting thing since breakfast."

"Is that so, your ladys.h.i.+p?" he said, straightening his lean form. "And here I was thinking that I had heard a thousand."

"Do tell!" she exclaimed. "I so crave to hear something fascinating. Who have you spoken to today?"

"No one at all," he replied. "I have been silent all day until speaking to you this very moment."

Mrs. Baydon laughed. "That makes no sense at all! How can you have heard a thousand interesting things if you haven't talked to anybody?"

He turned his gaze toward her. "By listening, that is how."