The Doorway and the Deep (21 page)

Lottie peered up at the woman, trying to make out more of her concealed face.

“Are you some kind of royalty?” she asked.

At that, the woman really did laugh. “I'm no royalty. I told you, I'm a healer.”

A suspicion pinched Lottie's nerves. “Wait. Are we in the Northerly Court?”

“Certainly not the most attractive part,” said the woman, “but we're in it, for sure and certain.”

Lottie stopped in her tracks. “You mean to say, those Barghest took us straight to the Northerly Court? We were that close?”

The woman turned to face Lottie. She hesitated. Then she raised her hands and pushed back the hood from her face.

Lottie didn't know why the woman wore a hood at all, because her face was a beautiful thing to behold. It was delicate and dark-skinned, and her brown eyes shone like kindled firewood. Her hair was short and curled and colored black.

“I guess,” said the woman, “you haven't heard many tales yet about the Northerly Court. Or about Rebel Gem?”

Lottie stood still a moment more.

“
You're
Rebel Gem,” she said softly, her certainty strengthening as she spoke the words.

The woman, who really didn't look much older than Lottie, smiled in reply.

“Come along,” she said. “I thought you wanted to see your friends.”

Lottie walked on.

“I thought you were a man,” she said. “Like, a really old man. With a beard.”

The woman—could this
really
be Rebel Gem?—snorted in amusement.

“Fair enough,” she said. “There are plenty who think that. Most Southerlies do. Plenty of Northerlies, as well.”

“But
why
?” said Lottie. “You're the head of the Northerlies. Shouldn't people know who you are?”

Rebel Gem came to a stop outside one of the hallway's door-like openings.

“You'll find what you're looking for through here,” she said.

All Lottie's confusion and curiosity were momentarily forgotten. She ran through the opening, into a bedroom much like the one she'd just left.

“Fife?” she said. “Fife!”

For there he was, sitting up in a canopied bed, his black hair askew in every which way.

“Hallo, you!” he said, grinning as Lottie hurried to his side. “We thought you'd fallen under a sleeping spell. Really, we did.”

When he said “we,” Fife nodded at the other side of the bed, where Eliot sat cross-legged in an armchair, fast asleep. A book rested on his stomach, its spine cracked.

“He's been reading to me, that one,” said Fife. “It's frightfully boring, but he's been so good about keeping me company, I haven't the heart to tell him so.”

Lottie smiled affectionately at Eliot.

“Here,” Fife said, patting the edge of the bed. “Sit with me, if you'd like. It only hurts when
I'm
the one moving.”

“Are you in a lot of pain?” Lottie asked, carefully crawling onto the bed's edge.

“It's not so bad,” said Fife. “Rebel Gem's been tending to me.”

“I know,” said Lottie. “She brought me here.”

Lottie looked to the dark doorway. She didn't know if Rebel Gem was still there, listening, or if she'd left them alone.

“Okay,” said Fife. “I swear, everyone down in Southerly territory says she's a man. Didn't you think she was a
man
?”

“That's just what I was saying!”

“You mean you told her that to her face?” Fife said, gaping. “Sweet Oberon, you're brave.”

“I don't know if bravery's got anything to do with it. Mrs. Yates always said I was a very rude person.”

“Whatever you call it,” said Fife, “I like it.”

Lottie cast another look at Eliot. Guessing her thoughts, Fife said, “He hasn't been coughing. That is to say, he seems all right.”

“Good,” Lottie murmured.

Her mind stirred with the memory of what she and Fife had argued about back on the boat.

“Fife,” she began, but he cut her off.

“Look here,” he said, “I know what you're about to say, but it's entirely my fault. I was acting like a right loon back there. I was—well, I dunno, I was angry and hungry and an all-around dog about the whole thing.”

“I shouldn't have called you a splinter,” Lottie said. “And what you said about me was true: I have been only thinking about Eliot.”

“That's not—”

“No,” said Lottie. “It's
true
. He's been my only friend for so long, I got used to him being the only person I cared about. I think I'm still learning how to be a good friend to
you
.”

Fife smiled. “I'd say you're doing a pretty all right job. Eliot told me how you dragged me all the way here.”

Lottie laughed. “That's not what happened.”

“What I mean,” said Fife, “is that you do care, and it was rotten of me to say otherwise.”

“So, we've made up then?”

Fife grinned. “We've made up then.”

“Lottie!”

Eliot had woken from his doze. He quickly set aside his book and threw himself on the bed, crawling over to where she sat.

“Oi!” cried Fife. “Careful, would you? Mind the invalid.”

Eliot wrapped Lottie in a hug.

“I was worried,” he said. “Fife and I thought you'd fallen under some sort of—”

“Enchanted sleep,” Lottie finished, smiling. “So he told me.”

“Have you met Rebel Gem? She's wonderful.”

“Eliot's in love with her,” Fife said in a stage whisper.

“I am not! I just said she was
elegant
, that's all. Not what I expected, either. I mean, I thought Rebel Gem was some bearded, old guy. And why're you making that face, Lottie?”

“Oliver and Adelaide,” she said, new worry springing to her heart. “We were just on opposite sides of the bank, and
now
—now we have no idea where they are.”

“We're worried, too,” said Eliot, “but Rebel Gem says she's sure they'll turn up all right. She sent out a whole bunch of soldiers and gengas to look for them.”

“So she says,” said Fife.

“What? You don't believe her?” Lottie asked, dropping her voice, for she still wasn't sure if Rebel Gem was the sort
of person to eavesdrop or, worse yet, send spies to eavesdrop on their conversation.

Fife shrugged. “I'm not too keen on authority figures. In my experience, they all turn out to be liars. She'd just better have sent out her best sprites, that's all.”

Lottie thought back to that awful night in the boat. She thought of Reeve, slumped unconscious, and Dorian standing tall before the ice crawler, sword in hand. She thought of the burning chill of the water as she'd jumped in and of Adelaide's cries from the opposite bank of the Lissome.

“Yes,” she said. “She'd better have sent out her very best.”

The three of them had not been talking long when there came a knock at the doorway—though far heavier than a knock ought to have been, and particularly confusing since Lottie knew there was no proper door leading to the room.

“Who is it?” Fife called.

A boy, no older than Lottie, emerged from the shadows outside the room. He was dressed in a vest and long, ratty-looking pants. He carried a bronze staff in one hand; this, Lottie realized, had been the source of the strange knocking noise.

“Didn't mean to interrupt,” the boy said, “ 's only that supper's being served.”

“Don't be shy,” said Fife, motioning him to come closer. “It's just Lottie.”

The boy's eyes didn't meet Lottie's when she looked at him. He had a tight face, very thin around the cheeks and jaw. His hair was pure white.

“He's been helping take care of me,” Fife said. “Bringing in drinks and soups and chocolates. But no cake. They don't make cake up here. Isn't that tragic?”

“Beggin' your pardon,” the white-haired boy said to Fife. “Rebel Gem says how you're still to rest, but I'm s'posed to bring
her
to the suppin' lawn.”

Lottie didn't particularly like the way the boy said the word “her,” as though it were more like the word “grub” or “slime.”

“Can't I just have supper here?” she said.

“Rebel Gem insists. You'll be able to visit your friends again soon enough.”

The white-haired boy's eyes finally met hers. Lottie recognized their expression all too well; she'd seen it every day back at Thirsby Square, on Mrs. Yates. It was mostly indifference, but there was just the smallest taint of real hatred there, too. Lottie was shocked. She'd never met this boy before. Why would he look at her that way?

“Don't I need to change?” she said, motioning to her nightshift.

“We'll stop by the launderers on the way there, and you can pick up your old clothes. Now c'mon.”

The boy was already through the dark doorway when Lottie turned and made a face at the others, as though to say, Do I really have to leave with
him
?

Eliot grinned and shrugged.

Fife said, “Hurry back when they're through fawning over the Heir of Fiske.”

Once in the hallway, Lottie found the white-haired boy sprinting ahead of her. She had to run to catch up, and even when she did, he paid her no mind.

“Aren't you charming,” Lottie said under her breath.

Rather than waste her time on present company, Lottie turned her attention to her surroundings. They were walking back through the massive, firelit room. There were far fewer people bustling about now than before—all at supper, Lottie guessed. At the thought, her stomach fastened shut as though by tightly drawn laces. Hungry as she should have been, she didn't feel like eating. Maybe it was the idea of arriving at some strange place called the “suppin' lawn” and meeting a bunch of Northerly strangers.

After walking the length of the grand, stalactite-crowned room, they passed into a far narrower passageway. Here, the earth turned moist underfoot. A single splat of water fell on Lottie's shoulder. There were no chandeliers in this passage,
but torches instead—and these were few and far between. Lottie got the irrational urge to grab the boy's hand for comfort, but she kept her back straight, taking care that her inhalations and exhalations were as measured as ever. She wouldn't have some Northerly boy she barely knew thinking she was a coward.

Then they turned a corner and stepped through a wide doorway into the dazzling light of the outdoor world. It wasn't the light of the sun, which had already set, but that of candles—hundreds upon hundreds of candles hung in bunches and strung along an open field in swooping arches. With the onslaught of these new sights came a hard gust of autumn wind.

“It's cold,” said Lottie, ducking back into the shelter of the cave. “I don't even have shoes on.”

“I told you,” said the boy, “we'll visit the launderers first.” Then, after a moment, he gave a frustrated grunt. “Fine,
I'll
run to the launderers and bring your precious things back,
Heir of Fiske
.”

The white-haired boy ran off, disappearing into the crowded blur of lights and sprites. The laughs and shouts of the sprites mixed in such a dizzying swirl that Lottie wasn't sure if the majority of them were joking or fighting with each other. They moved about in a great open space, which was bordered by stone boulders. Lottie decided that this place
must be a sort of courtyard to the cavern from which she'd just emerged. There was grass everywhere underfoot, and not the long white grass of Wisp Territory, but short and deep, deep green.

Through the jostle of bodies, she saw circular stone tables set up in the middle of the courtyard. Piles of food were spread upon the tables, and though many sprites already sat around them, they did not yet eat. Somewhere close by, several fiddles played in time with each other, changing hands in a wild whirl of harmony. A pair of dancing sprites waltzed past Lottie, just inches from her nose.

Confused as she was by the scene, Lottie had to admit it was a glorious sight. She hadn't realized until now just how quiet and colorless life in Wisp Territory had been.

“Here.”

Something rammed into Lottie's stomach. Her periwinkle coat. The white-haired boy had returned with her clothes in hand. He dropped her boots unceremoniously at her feet, followed by her scarf and dress.

“Do whatever you want with 'em,” he said, “but hurry up, huh? I've gotta deliver you to Rebel Gem before the suppin' starts.”

“All right, all right,” said Lottie, who wasn't as much concerned with getting dressed as she was with finding Trouble. She checked her coat's left pocket, then the right.
As she'd feared, Trouble wasn't in either. She let out a short groan and then threw the coat over her nightshift, eager for its warmth, buttoning it all the way up to her chin. The tweed was warm and smelled of fresh lavender. Lottie now wished she'd accompanied the boy to the launderers so that she could thank them in person; it had been a long time since her coat had been this clean. She laced her boots on her feet, then stared at her dress and scarf. Though both had been cleaned, they were still stained with faint traces of blood. Fife's blood. Lottie had less of an appetite than ever.