Murkmere (28 page)

The library was chilly and silent. Candles still burned from before dinner, but the fire was almost out. A few logs smoldered
darkly.

I put the tray down on the drum table and looked around. My eye lit on the bay of long windows, the curtains still drawn back.
It was twilight now, the time when curtains should be drawn in a grand house.

I freed the heavy lengths of velvet from their bindings and let them flop down over the diamond panes. Then I poked the fire
and threw on more logs.

I was brushing wood dust from my apron when I heard footsteps outside. There was just enough time to dart across the room,
almost slipping on the polished boards in my haste, and slide in behind the nearest curtain.

T
he curtain was thick and smelled of dust. I turned my face sideways, so I could breathe. A whisper of damp evening air came
through the badly fitting panes. My heart was thumping in my ears, and my dinner curdled in my stomach.

They came in together without speaking, Lord Grouted and Silas.

I heard the chink of the chain that meant the fool, Gob-chick, was being led by the Lord Protector, and the shuffle and slap
of bare feet on the floorboards. There was a grunt and the stiff creaking of leather as Porter Grouted settled himself in
one of the chairs, and a yelp from the fool, no doubt kicked away by his master, poor thing.

I imaged Silas standing, not sitting, his pale, handsome face framed by the collar of his black silk frockcoat. He spoke first.

“A glass of port, My Lord?” His voice was as deferential as always.

There was another grunt from Porter Grouted, a pause, then I heard his voice, flat and nasal. “That’s better, now that the
damned thing’s off!”

There was the scratch of feathers across the leather-topped table as the great Eagle head was set down next to the decanter.
I pictured Lord Grouted’s naked pate, bald and round as a pebble above his black silk suit, flesh bulging in rolls around
the bull neck.

“I’ve a mouth full of dust and fish glue. Pour me a glass, Silas. Have one yourself if you must. But you’re to keep a clear
head.”

There was a whimpering sound. Gobchick, begging for port too, or had his chain been pulled too tight? Then a slurping sound
and a belch from Grouted. “Aids the digestion, don’t it, port? Nothing like it.”

“Indeed, Sir.”

“Now, Silas. We’ve much to discuss.”

I held my breath. Silas’s hands would be clasped together as if he were praying, his dark, glossy head bent as he listened.
I heard Grouted’s stubby fingers tap the table.

“So the truth is out. That wench is Gilbert’s daughter and he means her to inherit his position. I feel the Ministration owes
you thanks for alerting its members to the probability so long ago. You’ve done well to keep me informed of the girl’s progress
and her general state.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“The remuneration’s been sufficient?”

“Most generous, Sir.”

“We’re grateful. I asked you to find any reason why she might be unfit to inherit. Your reports have been most useful. She’s
clearly unstable, unsuitable for such rank.”
Tap, tap
on the table with those short, squat fingers. “We know why. She’s her mother’s blood running in her veins.”

A noisy swallow, then another, fainter, belch. Lord Grouted’s voice went quieter. “Of course, it can’t be proved. There were
always rumors about her mother’s nature, but nothing proved. But it’s the excuse we need to block Leah’s inheritance. Offspring
of the avia cannot take on a Minister’s rank and property. If she came into the Ministration, she would desecrate it. There’s
ancient law forbidding such a thing.”

“I’ve watched Miss Leah closely, My Lord,” said Silas. “She’s no normal girl. Apart from what she may have inherited through
her mother’s blood, her father has educated her to hold his own blasphemous views. She could be a dangerous influence in sacred
Council, My Lord.”

“Then, for the future good of Murkmere the estate should pass into other hands after Gilbert’s death. It’s what you and I
have thought for some time, ain’t it so, my boy?” The Lord Protector lowered his voice further, so I could scarcely hear it.

“I’ve always wanted this estate to be run by one of my most loyal men, Silas, someone who can keep an eye on the Eastern Edge
for me. With no heir to Murkmere, we’ll have to have an election. It will be time for you to come into your
own. I shall see that you do. Everyone will follow my vote, have no fear.”

“My Lord, I hardly dared hope that I —“

A loud chortle from Lord Grouted, his voice rasping. “Stuff, boy! You’ve known it all along. Don’t give me that! But I like
ambitious young men who think the way I do. And you’ve done well. You deserve your reward.”

“I can’t thank you enough, My Lord. I can assure you of my greatest loyalty in Council. I could be useful to you.”

“Let’s drink to it.” Glasses clinked.

“But what of Miss Leah, My Lord? Do you want her banished from Murkmere on her father’s death, the gates locked against her?
I could give orders that she’s to be taken into the heart of the Wasteland and left there.”

“I’ve other plans for Miss Leah.”

“My Lord?” There was surprise and wariness in Silas’s voice.

“I think we should take Miss Leah into our own keeping when the time comes. For her good, her protection, you understand.
When her father dies, I think Miss Leah should become the property of the Ministration.” Lord Grouted paused, and I heard
him crack his knuckles one by one. “We can make good use of her.”

“How, My Lord?”

“We will build her a cage. A cage large enough to hold a girl — or, indeed, to hold a bird — but small enough to be moved
easily, to be transported from place to place, all over the country, wherever the need arises.”

I felt sick with horror; I couldn’t breathe. I heard Lord Grouted get heavily to his feet, begin to stump about the room,
dragging Gobchick after him. His voice was suddenly so close by me I could hear the spittle bubble in his mouth, the harsh
intake of his breath. I shrank back, as thin as I could make myself. For a moment I thought I’d faint with fear and loathing.

“What a trophy to show the people, she’ll be, eh, Silas? A reminder of the punishment the Almighty sends if they don’t obey
me, His mouthpiece here on Earth.”

“You mean we’d exhibit Leah as one of the avia?”

I heard the whack of Lord Grouted’s hand on Silas’s back. There was triumph in his voice. “You have it, man. The people believe
the avia are the stuff of old stories, nothing more. Think of their shock when we produce a living member of that cursed race!
Yes, I think we can make timely use of Leah.”

The fool’s chain rattled. I heard his voice suddenly, high and piping, so close he was almost under my feet. “You’ve forgotten
one thing, Master.”

“What’s that, my tiny Gobchick?” Grouted’s voice was good-humored, amused; he was pleased with his plan.

“There’s another meaning to that story, Master. Punishment or …”

“Yes, little man?” Grouted’s words encouraged but his tone was hard.

“Some see the Almighty’s action as compassionate, Master. A fool has no knowledge of
compassion
. A difficult word to understand, for a fool.” He would be shaking his head
dolefully, the garish red and yellow feathers fluttering. “Aye, Master,
freedom’s
the only word a fool understands, though he knows naught of that, either. ’Twas what the Eagle gave those other fools so
long ago, the freedom to choose.”

“Freedom?” Porter Grouted hissed it like a blasphemy so that I shivered where I stood.

I heard Gobchick do a little shuffling dance. I saw him in my mind’s eye: his thin arms held out winningly, a lopsided smile
on his old-young face. “Free, free! Not like me, Master! Not like me!”

There was a roar from Lord Grouted and a frightened squeak from Gobchick. “Where is your whip, Silas?”

“Shall I fetch it, Sir?”

“Don’t bother. I’ll cuff him instead.”

Screams from the little fool, a mad scurry and a rattle of the chain, and then all of a sudden there was a face gazing at
me round-eyed, and there he was, hiding behind the other end of the curtain. We stared at each other, mouths open, for hardly
more than a heartbeat, then he was yanked away by his chain.

I let out my breath very gently. I heard him slide across the floor, the dull thump of blows. Then a strangely sinister silence.

Lord Grouted, grunting with the effort of the beating, settled himself back into his chair. The decanter stopper chinked as
it was lifted, and then there was the rich gurgle of port being poured out. “The other interpretation of the story is not
approved.” He was still breathing heavily.

Silas’s voice, quickly: “Why, no, indeed, it’s not, My Lord.”

“Not the version I permit in schools.”

“Yours is the version the people believe, My Lord.” Silas’s voice was soft, placatory.

“Tell me, Silas.” There was a leathery
creak
as Lord Grouted leaned forward in his chair. “Do you believe the story of the avia?” A pause. “Of course you do! I see it
in your face! You’re a man of religion, ain’t you?”

“I try to be, My Lord,” said Silas stiffly.

“So do we all, but some are better at it than others.” Grouted chuckled briefly, his good humor restored, but Silas didn’t
join in.

“You believe the girl may change shape before the people’s eyes, don’t you, Silas?”

“I believe it’s a just punishment,” said Silas earnestly, “not least for her blasphemous education. One might even put about
the suggestion that it was you who punished the girl in such a way.”

“Excellent, Silas, excellent! I like that.” There was a pause while Lord Grouted fortified himself with port. “We must wait
for Gilbert to die before any of this happens, of course. He’s an ill man. It won’t be long.”

“You wish me to hasten his going, Sir?”

A dry laugh from Grouted. “How do you reconcile murder with all your religious stuff?”

“I believe the Almighty has chosen me as a tool to cleanse Murkmere of its blasphemous past, My Lord.” Silas sounded offended.
“I’d simply be giving death a helping hand. I’d do appropriate penance, of course.”

“Merely joking, man. But you won’t need to do anything in Gilbert’s case. He’s failing daily. I thought he’d go at dinner.”
A glass clinked back onto the tray. “You’re a clever young man, Silas Seed, but I do believe you’ve forgotten one thing.”

“You refer to the swanskin, Sir?”

“Dammit, man, how could I doubt you?” Grouted slapped his thigh in delight. “When I read your last report I thought it was
the proof we needed.”

“I believe the skin was her mother’s, Sir.”

“Whether it was or not, it doesn’t matter a damn for our purpose. It’s a bird’s skin, ain’t it? We must get hold of it.”

“I can seize it tonight while Miss Leah is in the ball-room, Sir.”

I heard Grouted suck noisily at his thick lips as he thought. “I don’t want her to discover it gone yet. Could be awkward.
I’ll give you the sign tomorrow while she’s playing hostess. You must be certain she doesn’t suspect anything before I leave.”

“She won’t, Sir.”

“Good, good. A young girl keeping a filthy swanskin in her bedchamber — sewing it, you say?”

“Yes, My Lord. I saw her with my own eyes.”

“It’s enough to damn her. She desires to change shape; she wants to be a bird! That’s our proof, Silas.”

“I shall get it, Sir.”

“It will be good to have you running Murkmere, Silas, to know I can trust you. The Eastern Edge is too far-flung from the
Capital. It’s my most rebellious corner. There have
been too many risings recently, too much unrest. But with you here …”

“I know the Almighty is with me, My Lord. I’ll stamp rebellion out; I’ll kill it dead.”

“You dealt very nicely with that traitor packman.” Grouted was amused, well pleased with his spy. He gave a rumble of laughter,
hitting his thighs in satisfaction; and Silas permitted himself to join in with a polite, chilling little laugh of his own.

They were toasting each other when I heard the faint noise outside. Two guests were walking on the grass outside the window.
As I stared round, they looked directly at me through the twilight: a hawk and a jay in evening dress.

I’d never thought so fast. While laughter echoed in the room on the other side of the curtain, my hands fumbled at my back.
I undid my apron, slowly turned, slowly began to polish the window with the apron, giving the couple a polite smile as I did
so and bobbing my head, as any maid should on seeing her superiors.

They walked on unhurriedly without a backward glance. I must have been invisible to them, protected by the dark jigsaw of
the leaded panes.

And now the laughter had stopped in the room behind me. I waited, but there was no more conversation. I heard Lord Grouted
heave himself up, followed by the heavy tread of his feet to the door.

Had Silas gone too? I couldn’t be sure. I sensed he was still there. Did he suspect that someone was hidden behind
the curtains? Was he standing in the middle of the room, his head cocked, listening? Surely he couldn’t see my feet?

I kept absolutely still. The room was silent, but for the crackle of wood burning.

Suddenly he was at the pair of curtains on my left. I could hear the slither of his silk coat-skirts, the quick, excited hiss
of his breath. There was the sharp rattle of brass rings as he wrenched the curtains apart. I clenched my fists and shut my
eyes, and waited for him to tug at the thick velvet in front of me.

I would have been discovered, surely, if Lord Grouted hadn’t shouted impatiently back into the room, “Well, are you coming
with me or not? I think it’s time to introduce you to the Council, eh, boy?”

And Silas was gone, almost at a run, his patent shoes clipping the floor, and the curtains still jangling next to me.