Shadowcry Page 6

  Kate could not have stopped it if she tried. The cold was so intense that she became numb to it. Then the vision returned and this time she was glad of it. Anything to force the terrifying darkness away.

  She was back inside the carriage, traveling swiftly beneath the arch. She tried to look around, but her view was fixed upon the window as the dark stones that made up the archway blackened the glass, forming a mirrorlike reflection within it. Kate focused upon it and found herself looking at a face. A woman’s face that was not her own.

  Then everything stopped.

  The vision froze around her and everything was still except for the face: the face of a woman who had sensed something other than herself inside that carriage. The cold eyes within the glass began to smile and the finely painted mouth whispered a word. “Kate.”

  The shock of hearing her own name made Kate heave in a sudden breath. The vision broke and she was back in the boardinghouse with Silas standing right beside her. The frost melted quickly on her warming skin and she stared as her hands slowly regained their color, still shivering with cold.

  “Someone’s coming,” she said, as soon as she was able to say the words. “She said my name. What . . . What happened?”

  “You used the veil to see through the spirit of another,” said Silas. For a moment, he sounded surprised, but his cold eyes gave nothing away. “She is the hunter and you are her prey. Given the right conditions, the veil can link two Skilled minds if they are focused enough upon each other, but it normally takes a tremendous strength of will to make such a connection possible. What did you do?”

  “Nothing!” said Kate, tugging on her wrist cuff in frustration.

  “For her to know your name, she must have been aware of the link between you,” said Silas. “When two minds join within the veil, it is possible for them to share memories. You must not let it happen again. I am surprised the Skilled did not find you long before I did. Your potential is even greater than I expected. How long have you been one of them?”

  “I’m not one of them.”

  “Who taught you the ways of Wintercraft?”

  “Winter-what?”

  “Where is the book being kept? Did you read from it yourself?”

  “What book? I don’t know anything about any of this!” Kate was tired, confused, and angry. Her head still hurt from whatever had just happened, but already logic was starting to take over. There was no way she could have actually seen that woman in the carriage. The woman couldn’t have been real. Kate’s imagination could have created her by piecing together what had already happened that day with what Silas had told her. And as for the frost on her hands . . . there wasn’t even a trace of it left now. Perhaps it had never been there at all.

  “Da’ru will arrive soon,” said Silas. “She must not find out that you are up here. Do you understand?”

  Da’ru? Kate remembered the name. Kalen had called Edgar “Da’ru’s boy,” but she was sure she had also heard it somewhere else before. “Why is she looking for me?” she asked.

  “The Skilled are a dying breed,” said Silas. “She has her plans for you. I have mine. You are going to help me find the book—Wintercraft—and with it you will help me do something that most people believe to be impossible. That is all you need to know for now.”

  “This is wrong,” said Kate. “I don’t know anything about the Skilled.”

  “Few people are able to choose their own fates,” Silas said coolly. “Even fewer learn to accept the path that they are given.” He returned to the window and looked down to the street.

  “She is here,” he said, as the rattle of carriage wheels carried up from below. “Stay quiet and do nothing. If you are found here with me, there will be consequences for both of us. You will not leave this room.”

  Silas stepped out onto the landing and closed the door. Kate waited until his footsteps were far enough away before sneaking over to the door, letting her chain snake silently across the floor behind her. The metal handle clicked dully in her hand. Locked. She bent down to look through the keyhole and saw something dark sitting in the lock. The key was still there.

  Kate crossed the room as quietly as she could and creaked open some of the desk drawers, hunting through them for something long and thin to push the key out. The few ink pens she found were too wide to fit in the lock. All that was left were a few loose sheets of paper. They would have to do.

  Kate grabbed two pieces, tore one of them in half and rolled it tightly into a narrow strip that was thin enough to reach the key but strong enough not to bend against it. She returned to the door, knelt down, and pushed the second piece of paper under it to catch the key when it fell. Then she slid the rolled strip carefully into the lock, pushing the key gently, hoping it would not make too much noise when it hit the floor.

  Gradually, the key worked loose. Kate tensed when it dropped, and the metal rang out hard against the wooden boards. She froze, waiting for someone to come up to investigate the sound. No one came. Once she was sure it was safe, she pulled the slice of paper back into the room with her fingertips, with the weight of the door key balanced precariously on one of the corners. She snatched it up as soon as it was in sight and dug it into the lock. The handle clicked and the door creaked open.

  The length of her chain gave Kate just enough room to allow her to step out onto the landing, where she could hear distant voices talking at the bottom of the stairs. There was a woman’s voice and a louder one belonging to the boardinghouse owner, but she could only make out his half of the conversation.

  “There has been no talk of the Skilled in this town for ten years or more,” she heard him say as she edged closer to the top of the staircase. “If there was a Skilled girl, she has not come this way. The people here have been more careful than in the south. No. No meetings. If any of them had passed through this town, you can be sure I would know.”

  “Very well,” came the woman’s voice, clearer now as Kate leaned out over the steps.

  “We will call you if we require you again,” said Silas. “Leave us.”

  Kate heard shuffling steps as the boardinghouse owner walked away and a door closed somewhere down below.

  “These people are hiding something,” said Da’ru. “What news do you have about the girl? Do we have her yet?”

  “It appears Kalen’s information was incorrect,” said Silas. “The only Winters we found here was a bookseller with no family. He is already in custody and shows no aptitude for the Skill. This could have been merely a futile effort in the hope of regaining your trust. Kalen is known to be a desperate man, but the harvest is proceeding well nonetheless. Our presence here may yet prove worthwhile.”

  “No. There is someone in this town,” said Da’ru. “A girl. I have sensed her.”

  “If so, then you can be sure she will be found,” said Silas. “My men are scouring every street, and the town gates are locked. No one will get out.”

  Da’ru’s voice fell quiet, and Kate had to strain to hear her words. “This is the closest we have ever been, Silas,” she said, her words dark and dangerous. “I am certain the book is hidden somewhere in Fume. We will find it soon, and with a Winters to use it . . . I do not have to tell you what that would mean. The book is mine. That girl’s family stole it from me, and if it takes the rest of my life, I will discover its secrets. Do not leave this town until your men are certain there are no Skilled left. Check empty houses, cellars, everything. I want that girl, Silas. Find her for me.”

  Kate backed slowly into the attic room, lifting up the silver chain so it did not scrape across the floor. Even if she could remove it somehow, Silas was right, there was nowhere to go—and as much as she feared him, instinct told her that she should fear that woman even more.

  Kate locked herself in the attic room and pushed the key back under the door where Silas would find it. There was nothing she could do to help herself, not with so many people in the house. She stood in the shadows at the side of the attic window, for
cing herself to concentrate upon anything other than the woman downstairs. From her viewpoint just above the rooftops, Morvane looked large enough to hide anyone. Anyone except her. She had been careless. After everything Artemis had taught her, she had allowed herself to get caught.

  Thin pillars of smoke rose from faraway buildings that had fallen prey to the wardens’ flames, and in the distance a crow was circling in the gray, snow-filled sky.

  “Edgar,” she whispered. “Where are you?”

  Two streets to the south of the boardinghouse, Edgar was lost. He had seen the carriage pass outside his hiding place and, just like the crow, he had recognized it at once. Da’ru was in town. And if she was there, so was someone else who might be able to help both him and Kate.

  He trudged through the snow, checking every street sign and house name, wearing a pair of stolen gloves and a stolen hat to keep warm. Three years of living in Morvane had taught him enough to stay away from the Western Quarter. But with news of the wardens’ arrival traveling fast, the streets were empty, and there was no one around to ask for directions.

  The Black Fox boardinghouse. He knew the name well enough. The owner was known to be a whisperer—an information monger—willing to share any secret for a price. Most whisperers were loyal to their towns and refused to have dealings with wardens and their kind, but this one was known to be both accurate in his information and indiscriminate in his choice of contacts, some of whom came from as far away as Fume. If anything important was happening in Morvane, the owner of the Black Fox would know about it. Da’ru was sure to stop there for information, if she had not been and gone already. But where was it?

  At last, he spotted something familiar.

  A gap between the houses gave Edgar a glimpse of a tall building with a circular window on its top floor. He squeezed down a narrow path and ran straight out in front of two gray carriage horses standing in the middle of the street.

  He ducked back so the driver did not see him and spotted a boy a few years younger sitting alone on the boardinghouse step. The boy was hugging himself against the wind, with a blanket full of holes pulled tight around his shoulders. Edgar crept up to him. “Tom!” he whispered.

  The boy looked up, his face brightening at once. “Ed?”

  Edgar dared to take a few steps closer.

  “Ed! What are you doing here?” The boy scrabbled to his feet, still clutching his freezing hands beneath the blanket.

  “Shh!” Edgar ran the short distance left between them and clutched the younger boy’s shoulders tightly. He checked him over quickly, making sure he was in good health, then he scuffed his hair as both of their faces widened into matching grins.

  “Where is Da’ru?” asked Edgar.

  Tom pointed back at the boardinghouse. “If she sees you here, she’ll put the knife in you,” he said. “She hasn’t forgotten what you did.”

  “I don’t care about that. It’s you I need, Tom. I need some information.” Edgar quickly told him what had happened to Kate, but Tom just kept shivering and looking back at the boardinghouse door, cringing whenever his voice raised above a whisper.

  “You shouldn’t have come here, Ed,” he said at last. “Da’ru’s in there. She’ll know.”

  “Just tell me, which way are they taking the prisoners out this time?”

  “She’ll know that I told you. She always does.”

  “I’ll be long gone before then.”

  “I won’t be.”

  Edgar’s face fell. “You know I can’t take you yet,” he said. “There are wardens crawling all over this town. Da’ru would catch us both before we were two streets away. One day . . . soon, I promise, but not now. I can’t risk you getting hurt. You do understand that, don’t you?”

  Someone moved inside the building. Tom threw off the blanket and tugged at his torn clothes to make himself look presentable. “Go on!” he whispered. “She’ll kill you if she sees you, Ed. She swore she would.”

  Edgar took off his hat and planted it on Tom’s cold head. “That is not going to happen,” he said. “Now, are we brothers or not? Which way are they taking the prisoners?”

  Tom looked nervous, pulled off the hat, and stuffed it into his pocket. “They’re going to stop the Night Train,” he said quickly. “It’ll pass through at sunset on its way back to Fume. But don’t go out there, Ed. You don’t know what’s happening. Silas is out there!”

  “We’ve already met,” said Edgar, pulling off his gloves and pressing them and some of his matches into his brother’s hands. “Look after yourself. Stay warm. I’ll come back for you. You know I will.”

  Tom clutched the gifts in his shivering hands. “Wait! Ed!”

  Edgar looked back at the boy in the snow and then a door latch clicked, forcing him to dive into the darkness between two houses.

  The shadows swallowed him completely as a well-dressed woman stepped out into the street; she could not have looked more out of place if she had tried. There Edgar was, crouching in one of Morvane’s poorest streets at one of its most desperate times, and there she was, pristine and perfect, her silvery dress snaking across the ground, her boots jet black and delicately heeled, her elegant shoulders poised and relaxed beneath a hooded shawl of gray and brown fur. Wolf fur. Only one woman in Albion chose to wear wolf fur, such was her low regard for any life other than her own. Her long black hair was tied back and pinned with a pointed bone, her cuffs were edged with tiny rubies and her lips were painted gray. The owner of the boardinghouse stood behind her, looking like a well-used penny next to a freshly minted coin.

  Da’ru ignored him, raised the fur hood, and let her perfect face disappear beneath its shadow, while Tom tucked his blanket into the back of his trousers, trying not to look over to where Edgar was hiding. Da’ru stepped aboard the carriage and Tom clung onto the luggage rack at the back, squeezing himself in like a lumpy traveling bag and tugging on his gloves as soon as his mistress was out of sight.

  Edgar did not want to let his brother go with her, but there was nothing he could do. The horses pulled forward, and silently he watched them leave.

  Anyone who saw that carriage would probably not notice anything different about it. The horses were standard grays, the wheels were plain, and the doors were unmarked, giving no hint to the real identity of its passenger. But Edgar knew very well who she was. Da’ru Marr: the only female member of Albion’s High Council, and the only one who counted herself as one of the Skilled. Wherever she went, she brought trouble.

  Edgar dug his bare hands into his pockets and tried to get his bearings. If the wardens were putting the prisoners on the Night Train, Silas would be with them, and he would definitely be keeping Kate close by. The train station was on the opposite side of town, so he had some time. It would take the wardens a while to move everyone there, even in those cages, and the train would not arrive until after dark. If he kept moving, he should be able to make it.

  It was risky. The last thing Edgar wanted to do was go up against a town full of wardens. It would have been a lot easier for him to just sneak out of Morvane and try to disappear again, or at least find somewhere safe to hide until it was all over. But Kate was far too important to him for that. He wasn’t about to just leave her behind.

  His mind was set.

  He had outsmarted the wardens once before. Now it looked like he would have to do it again.

  Edgar was concentrating so hard on what he had to do that he did not realize that he was not the only one who had watched Da’ru leave. Silas stood at the circular window, watching him disappear into the falling snow. He had to admire the boy. He was even more daring than he had expected. He ran his thumb across a deep scar on the palm of his right hand. A curling brand made by searing hot iron into flesh, the same brand that had once brought him back to life from the furthest reaches of death. It had never healed. After twelve years it was still as raw as the moment it was made, and sometimes he thought he could still see a few sparks of fire smoldering inside the wound, b
urrowing down a little deeper year after year.

  He lurked by the window like a wolf in the shadows, waiting for the boardinghouse owner to climb the stairs. The key to the room lay in easy reach upon the sill beside him. The girl had already attempted to escape once; he would not make it easy for her to do so again. When the old man finally made it up to the landing, Silas opened the door before his knuckles had even touched the wood to knock.

  The man smiled nervously on the other side.

  “Good work,” said Silas, tossing a small coin pouch into his hands.

  “Thank you, sir. And . . . will there be anything else today?”

  “No,” said Silas. Outside, the snow was easing and Kate was watching him warily from the desk chair. “It is time for us to leave,” he said. “The girl and I have a train to catch.”

  Chapter 6

  The Night Train

  Back inside the black carriage, Kate sat beside Silas as they rolled their way speedily across town. But this time, Silas opened one of the curtains to make sure he wasn’t being followed, giving Kate the chance to see her town for one last time.

  The snow made it all look eerie and unreal. Children wandered without parents, dogs snuffled through the streets, and the black robes of the wardens were never far away, breaking down doors or wrestling people into cages. She thought about Artemis and about all the years they had spent worrying about this day. It had made no difference in the end. Artemis was gone. Edgar was gone. Kate was alone.

  It was almost dark by the time she spotted the Night Train’s thick tracks slicing through the town like a scar, carving a hard iron curve through the Eastern Quarter as it threaded from the trading towns of the north to the capital city of Fume in the distant south. Those rails linked every town in Albion like an ominous metal vein, and the people who lived close enough to see the Night Train pass by always closed their curtains against its eerie light. It was easier to pretend that it didn’t exist, that it didn’t choke the air with foul smoke and leave the heavy rumble of metal on metal thrumming through the ground long after it had gone.