The Flame in the Mist (6 page)

“You fool! You—let—her—go-o-o-o!”

Shade’s and Feo’s doors flew open. Jemma ducked into her room, Noodle and Pie skidding in behind her. She pinned her ear to her door, and listened as the twins’ footsteps thundered toward the stairs, their voices merging with Nocturna and Nox’s into one babble of hysteria:
“Let her go? Who? Not
Jemma, surely?” “No, Marsh!” “Shush, you’ll wake Jemma! Do you want her to suspect?” “And what if she does? I just set the Alarm spell.” “Still, go—check on her!”

Jemma leapt into bed, shoving the packages under her pillow. The rats burrowed in beside her. Seconds later, her door creaked open. She lay still, her heart hammering, as she mimicked the deep breath of sleep. A corner of the sheet peeled back; the acid-and-brimstone smell of Shade’s breath breezed across her cheek, then withdrew.
“Still out cold?”
Feo’s voice, whispering.
“Shush, Feo, you idiot!”
The door closed, and their whispers became one with the now-muted voices drifting up from below.

They were all in it together. Even Nox and Feo had been watching her for months, she realized now, watching like demons. There was no way she could steal her Stone while they were awake—but no way either that she could linger another second in this sun-forsaken castle like a condemned prisoner awaiting her fate. She would have to risk leaving without the Stone.

Panic searing under her skin, Jemma threw off her bedclothes, and began ripping the sheets into strips.

Jemma tied one end of her sheet-and-blanket rope to the bedstead, then dropped its other end into the roiling darkness below, praying it was long enough to reach solid ground. Though her room was only on the second floor, the base of the castle below her window was built into a fissure in the crag, and the Mist made it impossible to see how far it was to the bottom.

She tore open the lilac-clothed bundle, shoved the food and knife on top of the book, then knotted the fabric on either side to secure it, leaving a length at both ends that she tied around her waist. Then, with one last tug of her makeshift rope, she jammed the bed against the wall under the window. Noodle and Pie were sitting on the sill, waiting, their fur whipping in the wind. “It’s now or never, Rattusses,” she gulped. “Into my pockets.”

Hand over hand, she started down, counting the knots she’d made as she went. One, two … Rain stung her hands. Three knots, four … The sheets were soaked, but at least that made them easier to grip. A lightning flash revealed a misty-blue chasm with Mord-knew-what jagged rocks at the bottom, waiting to dash her to pieces. The thunder was practically overhead now. Wind whisked around her, buffeting her against the castle walls.
Jem-maaaah!
it seemed to moan.
My sweet thirte-e-een …

Clang-ng-ng!

The first strike of eleven. Noodle and Pie peeked out of her pockets, then hastily dived down again.

Five knots. Only two to go. Jemma shivered with cold and fear. Her hands were frozen, her fingers raw from scraping hard granite.
Jem-maaaAAH!
The wind rose to a howl, mingling with the tolls booming from the Bell Tower. Six knots … The last two strips of sheet flapped below her, and the ground was still nowhere in sight. She would have to reach for one of the treetops swaying below—

A blast of wind slammed her against the wall. Her right bootlace caught on a shard of stone. Its hastily tied knot unraveled. The boot hung perilously from her foot, and she wriggled her toes to try and stop it from falling, but it slipped off and plummeted. With a chilling
scree!
two thick prongs shot out of the wall several feet below her, a net suspended between them. The net caught her boot and bound it up like a fly in a spider’s web, then retracted into the wall with a low rumble, its leather prey hanging limp and helpless.

“Mother of Majem, Rattusses—that would have been us if we’d gone much farther!”

Suddenly, a high-pitched siren split the night air. Candlelight flared from Nocturna’s Bed-Chamber, then moved rapidly from window to window toward Jemma’s room.… Terror jarred through her. As fast as her hands could grab, she shimmied up the torn sheets and blankets, and tumbled onto the bed, spilling Noodle and Pie from her pockets. They darted under the chest as she yanked up the soaked sheets and blankets and tore off her sodden dress, which she’d thrown over her night robe. Hiding the lilac bundle under the mattress,
she piled her dress, sheets, and blankets onto the bed, then shoved the bed back into place and jumped onto the window-sill just as her door was hurled open.

“What are you doing?” Nocturna streaked across the room and grabbed Jemma’s arm. “You’re soaked to the bone!”

Jemma opened her mouth, but no words would come out.

“Well?” Nocturna yelled, thrusting her head forward. Two pendants swung out from under her night robe, almost hitting Jemma on the chin. Nocturna’s black amulet. And the aquamarine Stone.

Mine!
Jemma thought.
I mustn’t let her know that I know.…
She fixed Nocturna’s gaze, trying not to shake. “I … I was just …”

Nocturna’s grip tightened. “Explain yourself, Jemma. This instant!”

Nox strode into the room. “What in Mord’s name is happening? Nocturna?”

“Ask that of this child!”

A lightning bolt struck a tree outside, setting it alight. Jemma’s Stone shone in the flames; then a trail of aqua light shot from it into her chest, so fine that she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it. Energy jolted through her, and she found her tongue.

“I … I was sitting with my feet out, Mama, Papa, watching the storm. It was cold, so I’d put my boots on. One of them fell off. Then I heard this horrible scraping sound, and my boot disappeared into the wall. Then that … 
noise
started. What in Mord’s name is it?”

“Just an alarm, Jemma,” Nox said, stepping forward, “to warn us of intruders. No doubt your boot set it off.” He pried
Nocturna’s grip from Jemma’s arm. “There’s no need to worry, Nocturna, my dear. All is well.”

Nocturna frowned, and dropped her hand.

Shade and Feo appeared at the door. Lightning threw shadows of alarm across Feo’s face. Even Shade looked ruffled. It steeled Jemma’s nerve.

“Isn’t the storm beautiful, Mama?” she said, smiling. Thunder ripped the sky.

“Yes, beautiful …” Nocturna turned her gaze outside. The Stone pulsed against her throat, a pulse that Jemma felt under her skin.

It’s as if it knows I’ve recognized it
, she thought, forcing herself to look away. But the pulse energized her, and her mind was crystal clear. Secrets and lies? Two could play at that.

“The thunder woke me,” she said. “I felt so weary, Mama, but the storm made me feel strong again. I don’t know why. As if … as if something’s happened to me. I can’t explain it, but I’m … I’m
different
, somehow.”

Nox inhaled sharply. Nocturna peered at Jemma, her eyes reflecting the tree still blazing outside. Jemma held her gaze. And held it. Finally, Nocturna’s face relaxed. “Well, then,” she said, “put on some dry clothes and into bed with you. But—what in Mord’s name? Why are your bedclothes piled up like that?”

Oh, no!
Jemma thought.
They’re all torn, and sopping wet! They’ll find the food, the book.…
She glanced at her Stone to give herself courage. “I had a bad dream,” she said, her thoughts coming as swift as bats’ flight. “I woke feeling furious, and took it out on my blankets. But the storm comforted me. May I watch a little longer? I do love it. Just as you do.”

“No harm in that, I suppose,” Nocturna said. She looked slightly confused, and scratched absently at the skin beneath Jemma’s Stone, where a faint rash was spreading. “But keep warm. We don’t want you catching a chill.”

Of course you don’t
, Jemma thought,
so I’ll be strong for whatever you have planned for me tomorrow.…
“Thank you, Mama,” she said.

“You see, Nocturna!” Nox whispered, a smile spreading across his face. “The storm. Jemma feeling changed. I was not wrong to hope!”

“Perhaps.…” Nocturna tilted her head to one side and searched Jemma’s eyes for a moment, then planted a kiss on her cheek. “Good night, Jemma dear,” she said. “I shall see you tomorrow. Nox, go and put an end to that tiresome noise; I forget the spell. Come, you two.”

She swept the twins out of the room.

Nox beamed. “So like your mama, loving the storm!” he said. “I can’t tell you how happy this makes me. Don’t stay up too late now, Flamehead. And don’t forget dry clothes, hmm?”

“Of course not, Papa. Good night.”

“Sweet dreams, my child.” Nox closed the door behind him.

Jemma sat on the sill, trembling. The storm raged; the alarm wailed.
To keep intruders out
, Nox had said. But it was all too obvious: like the locks, chains, and bolts, the alarm was not intended to keep others out, but to keep her in. Slowly, her trembling subsided, the thunder became more distant, and at last, the wailing stopped. Jemma slid off the window-sill, put on dry clothes, and sat on the bed. Noodle and Pie crawled out from under the chest, then snuggled into her lap.

“I don’t know what to do, Rattusses,” she sighed. “Even if we steal the keys from Drudge, the alarm is bound to go off, no matter which door we try.”

Eleven-thirty struck. Despair edged into her bones. The swift clarity she’d felt seemed to have been washed away by the relentless storm outside. But it had been real—and it was her Stone that had given it to her. That flash of aqua blue …

“Pull yourself together, Jemma,” she whispered, imagining what Marsh might say. “First things first. Wait till midnight to make sure they’re all asleep. Then get the Stone. Maybe I’ll be able to think more clearly again once I have it.” But for now, her mind felt as blank as a dead sheep’s face.

Pie nudged Jemma’s hand with her snout, then hopped off her lap and nosed under the wet bedclothes. A corner of the lilac fabric was peeking out from underneath the mattress: her makeshift pouch, with the book inside it. It was probably ruined, soaked by the rain. But Marsh had said it could help.…

Jemma’s throat tightened. How was Marsh faring, out in the wild night?
Please, please, let her be all right.…
She gulped back tears and picked up the bundle.

It was bone-dry.

“Strange,” she whispered. She fingered the fabric, noticing for the first time how soft it was—softer, even, than Pie’s belly fur. Her hands began to tingle, and she lifted the bundle to her face. The fabric smelled musty, but there was another scent floating through too, delicate and eerily familiar, making her slightly dizzy. She put the bundle down and untied it. The fabric was a shawl, warm to the touch, and the book and food packages wrapped inside it were also dry.

“
Really
strange …” Her heart beating faster, Jemma picked up the book. It was bound in scuffed brown leather, its spine cracked. There was a faint indent of a title, so worn that it was illegible. “This must be as ancient as Drudge! How can it possibly help?”

The book shimmered in her hands.

“Look, Noodle, Pie … It’s changing! It looks as though it’s lit from inside.” Sure enough, a title began shining out from the battered cover.
“From Darknesse to Light,”
she said. “And look at the date—almost three hundred years ago!” She flipped it open to the frontispiece, where the title was written again. Beneath it was the author’s name: Majem Solvay. “Majem? I thought ‘Mother of Majem’ was just an expression. I never knew there was an actual person with that name.”

The rats’ tails whisked across her thighs. Her fingers were heating up. What was it Marsh had said?
Ask … Let it show you.…

“All right, then,” she said, taking a deep breath. “How can I get out of here?”

Jemma opened the book. Her hands felt as though they were on fire.

The book flopped open at page thirty-seven, a chapter headed “Hystory.”

“Thousandes were taken as slaves for the building of the Castle upon Mordwin’s Crag,”
Jemma whispered.
“All did perish under their toil, but for one Zacharias Bartholomew, who every night for thirty yeares did in secret digge him a Tunnelle from the Dungeons. Thence he did escape, sealing his exitway so that none may discover it.”

“Noodle, Pie, look—a prisoner escaped, after he helped build the castle! Zacharias Bartholomew … He dug a secret tunnel from the dungeons … But where?” She racked her brain for the most likely place. “There are two locked doors in the South Passage. And that other one, through the Vat Room. They’re the only ones Drudge has never let me into.” Whenever she had asked him, he had frowned and shaken his head and said, “Keys, lossst!” Obviously, he’d been lying; the tunnel must be through one of them.

Jemma snapped the book shut and placed it onto the lilac shawl with the food packages and knife, once again fashioning a pouch she could tie around her waist.

“There,” she said. “My survival belt.” It felt hot in her hands. She eyed the wet, torn-up sheets and blankets. “I wonder …” She held the pouch close to them. “Get
dry,” she whispered, only half-believing they would. Nothing happened. “Dry!” she said, mustering more conviction.
“Dry!”

With a slow
pssshht!
a cloud of steam rose up.

“Sprites! It worked!” Amazed, she tucked the pouch under the mattress for safekeeping. Her fingers touched something else hidden there—a small notebook Digby had given her a year ago, in which she’d written all her secrets and fears.
I mustn’t forget to take this
, she thought.

A deep sound reverberated through the room: the first toll of midnight.

It was time.

“You wait here, Rattusses. I don’t want the weasels attacking you.”

Slowly, she opened her bedroom door and stepped into the corridor. The bell continued its clanging through the storm, announcing the new day. Then it struck her. Today was her birthday. What better moment to take back her Stone—her birthright.

Darkness billowed out of Nocturna’s Bed-Chamber and into the corridor. Even with her night vision, Jemma could barely make out the shape of the huge bed, and Rook’s domed cage next to it. She closed the door and tiptoed in. One step, two … She heard rustling from Rook’s cage, and stopped. Silence. Three steps, four, five … Jemma could see her Stone’s faint aqua glow, beckoning from the bed. Her hip brushed the edge of Nocturna’s dressing table. The vials and bottles on top of it rattled; she stopped again, and held her breath. More rustling, this time from the bed. Two weasel shapes turned around, then settled again.