The Width of the World Page 9

She drew a deep breath and nodded. “Right, well, thanks. It was nice to have some extra rest.” She looked around. “What is this place?”

  I explained about my ancestor Jasper, then debated for a moment before deciding to tell her about Uma and Jason. And also that I had seen Uma’s, well, whatever it was, in my room. And how terribly unhappy she had been.

  After I was done, Petra looked very unsettled.

  “That’s very sad,” she said at last. “So very sad.”

  That was definitely not what I was expecting her reaction to be. From her face, I thought she might start weeping.

  “Yes, it is,” I agreed, watching her nervously.

  “So you’re searching this place to find, what, answers?”

  I nodded. “Any bit of information might prove useful.”

  “Well, I’ll help, then.”

  So we set about it. We found many things; many obscure, inexplicable things. Some showed that Jasper, as Astrea Prine had already told me, was indeed intrigued by dark sorcery. But none of what we found held many clues that might help us figure out what to do about the Maladons lurking outside our door.

  I found an old diary in a desk drawer. There was no writing inside it, so I thrust it into my pocket with the thought that I would make use of it with my own notes and thoughts.

  A few minutes later I picked up a mirror encased in silver that was lying on Jasper’s desk and held it up to my face. I rubbed at a spot on my cheek and then looked at my teeth. Not overly clean, and my hair was a bit of a mess. I quickly turned to see if either Delph or Petra was watching, but they were busy in far corners of the room.

  When I looked back, I thought my heart had stopped.

  Uma was inside the glass.

  I nearly dropped it.

  Her mouth was moving, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. Then I realized she wasn’t talking to me.

  Another figure came into view to stand beside her.

  He was, well, he was spiffing gorgeous. Tall and broad shouldered with long dark hair and the most amazingly beautiful blue eyes.

  I glanced across the room. He actually looked a bit like Delph, come to think.

  When I looked back, he had his arm around Uma’s waist. And when they looked at each other, so obviously in love, I knew who he was.

  Jason, Necro’s son.

  The two tragically doomed lovers were right here in front of me.

  As I continued to watch, they leaned toward each other and kissed, deeply. So deeply that I felt my cheeks growing red.

  I have to admit, it was quite a snog.

  Embarrassed that I was intruding on such a private moment, I looked away. When I glanced back, the glass was empty.

  They were gone.

  “Vega Jane?”

  I screamed and dropped the mirror. It hit the desk and shattered.

  I looked at Delph, who was next to me.

  “What?” I said crossly. “And look what you made me do!”

  “S-sorry, Vega Jane. But I’d been calling you and you didn’t answer. I thought something was wrong. Like you’d” — he glanced down at the shattered mirror — “had magic done on you or something.”

  I picked up the pieces of the mirror and without looking at him said, “I’m sorry, Delph.”

  By this time Petra had joined us.

  “What’s going on?” she asked. “Find anything?”

  I held up the pieces of the mirror. “I just saw Uma and Jason in this mirror snogging.”

  Delph gasped and took a step back.

  Petra looked skeptical.

  She said, “In that glass. You’re sure?”

  I nearly crossed my eyes in frustration. “Oh, no. I might have imagined a dead bloke snogging a dead woman who was on my bedroom ceiling last night. Quite forgettable.”

  After another hour, we closed the door behind us without knowing that much more than when we’d entered.

  I returned to my room to wash up while Petra and Delph went to theirs to do the same. We arranged to meet for lunch shortly, which Pillsbury had come and told us would be served in the conservatory, whatever that was.

  When I came out of the washroom, I noticed it.

  There was a painting hanging on the wall across from my bed that hadn’t been there before. As I drew closer, I could see who it depicted.

  Alice Adronis.

  Alice Jane Adronis, more precisely.

  I wondered why I had not seen a portrait of her until now; it was her home, after all.

  I remembered the painting I had seen of her back in Astrea’s cottage in the Quag. She had been dressed fetchingly in a dazzling gown with a plunging neckline, her hair piled on top of her head, her features so sharply defined, her eyes so … masterful. She was very beautiful, but I had been more captivated by the sense of strength and barely restrained power in her whole being.

  By contrast, in this portrait, Alice was in full battle gear, chain mail, helmet in one hand, the full-size Elemental in the other. This was Alice Adronis as perhaps she was meant to be, where she was the most comfortable, the most natural. The most formidable. Not at a party about to drink and eat, but as a warrior about to enter a battlefield and fight to the death with every bit of strength, courage and cunning she had.

  I had seen her do this very thing.

  And I had also seen her die.

  I looked into her eyes, which seemed to hold flames in their center, and shivered. I knew that Alice would be unafraid of even Mr. Endemen. She would battle him as an equal.

  And she would have won. I was sure of it!

  I dearly wished she could be here with me right now.

  But I wondered again how the portrait had come to be in my room.

  I said, “Pillsbury?”

  An instant later he was standing at my doorway.

  “Yes, Mistress Vega?”

  I pointed to the portrait. “Did you put that in here?”

  He came forward and stared at the painting. “No, I didn’t. I’ve no idea how it came to be here.”

  He seemed genuinely bewildered.

  “Well, there is one thing,” he ventured.

  “What’s that?” I said sharply.

  “This home has its, well, its peculiarities.”

  “Such as?” I said.

  “Things come and things go. And some things turn up where they naturally should be. That’s the best way I can explain things. And now I must see to the finishing up of lunch.”

  In another instant he was gone.

  I slowly turned back to the painting and received another jolt.

  I rubbed my eyes. It couldn’t be. It was impossible.

  When I looked at the portrait once more, it was all as it should be. Alice stared back at me from the depths of the oils and canvas.

  But for one moment, one chilling, electrifying, terrifying moment, I thought …

  Well, I thought that it was me in the portrait.

  WE TROOPED INTO the conservatory for our luncheon. Actually, we had no idea where it was until Pillsbury came and led us there.

  It was huge and the walls were glass, supported by a metal framework. There was a door leading outside to the rear grounds, which now looked spectacular, with everything in bloom.

  I mentioned this to Pillsbury, who, again if it was possible for metal to do so, beamed at my words.

  “Well, the lads worked all night to get things up to scratch for you. It does look splendid.”

  “They did that for me?”

  “Of course. The outdoor staff takes great pride in keeping things just so for the family they serve.”

  “Where is the outdoor staff?”

  He pointed to another part of the garden. Through the window I could see marble statuary toiling away in the grounds with trusty gardening tools. In another part of the garden, a rake was collecting grass clippings. Farther back a scythe was mowing down weeds. Then a wheelbarrow came into view. It was full of twigs and dead leaves and was rolling itself down a flagstone path.

/>   “The outdoor staff,” said Pillsbury proudly. “All fine lads.”

  “Please give them my thanks.”

  “I will indeed.”

  Another door leading into the conservatory opened and in whirled, well, I supposed it was Mrs. Jolly. Pillsbury hadn’t mentioned any other broom in the house that could move about. There were long wooden appendages that she used as arms to push a small cart loaded with covered plates and pewter cups alongside a large pitcher filled with water. At the end of these appendages were wooden fingers.

  Unlike Pillsbury, however, on the top of the broomstick, which fanned out to a good six inches, was set a pair of eyes, a nose and a mouth, which were not made of wood and seemed very similar in appearance to mine. As she looked at me Mrs. Jolly broke into a lovely smile that warmed my heart like a cozy fire.

  “Hello, luvs,” she said brightly, her voice as uplifting as the sound of music.

  “Hello,” we all said back.

  “I’m sure he’s told you I’m Mrs. Jolly,” she said, indicating Pillsbury.

  I smiled and nodded. “Yes,” I said. “Your cooking is the best I’ve ever had.”

  She beamed as Delph ravenously eyed the cart she had pushed in. Even with the little lids on, the most wonderful aromas were escaping into the room and from there into our nostrils.

  “Right you are,” exclaimed Delph. “And I’m bloody famished.”

  “Well, we shall take care of that.”

  With a sweep of her hand the lids came off and the plates rose into the air and then settled neatly on a table where napkins and cutlery suddenly appeared at three place settings.

  I peered over at Petra. As I thought it would be, her face was a whirl of wonderment. After the life she’d led in the Quag, she must believe she had fallen into the most wonderful world imaginable: a beautiful home, food prepared for us, servants galore and a safe warm bed in which to sleep without the worry of snarling beasts desiring nothing more than to end her life.

  It would be very easy to live here forever, I concluded, taking up my thread of thought from the previous night.

  On the floor, a bowl of food and a bowl of water appeared in front of Harry Two.

  “Now, tuck in while it’s still hot,” Mrs. Jolly advised.

  While Delph and Petra began to eat, I looked outside and then slowly lowered my fork. My happy thoughts had suddenly turned to something far darker.

  “What’s up?” asked Delph in between bites. “Not hungry?”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  He lowered his fork too. So did Petra.

  “What is it, Vega?” she asked.

  “I was thinking about everybody back in Wormwood. And those living in the Quag. I mean, they don’t have food like this to eat, except perhaps for Morrigone and Astrea Prine. And they’re not living in such comfort either. Or safety.”

  Delph looked stricken at my words, and stared down at his plate like it was a serpent about to bite him.

  Petra said, “So what? I don’t know what you have to be sad about. Everyone has a different lot in life. This is yours. What they have is theirs.”

  I looked at her in surprise. When I had told her about Uma and Jason she had become so sad. But now her words were cruel and uncaring.

  “Well, we can do something about that,” I said firmly.

  “But, Vega Jane,” said Delph. “For the longest time we had nothing. And we crossed the Quag, where we were in danger every sliver. I think we might’ve earned a bit of comfort, eh?”

  Though his words were eminently reasonable, they made me more upset than Petra’s had.

  “Well, Delph, if you want to forget where you came from,” I said sternly, and then immediately felt bad for saying it, because he got the most hurt look on his face. But I couldn’t take it back. So I got up and went outside and into the garden, leaving them behind to no doubt talk about “crazy Vega.”

  I found a bench in a secluded spot, out of sight of the house and also away from all the hustle and bustle of the “outside staff.” I just wanted to be alone and to think.

  I had to admit, I loved this place. I mean I truly loved everything about it. I had never owned anything in my whole life. I’d rarely had a sausage to my name. And then to be told that this magnificent place was mine? Well, I just could hardly believe it. And yet a big part of me also didn’t think that I deserved it. After all, I hadn’t built it. I hadn’t fought in a war in an attempt to save the world in which Empyrean had been created. It wasn’t really mine at all.

  As I sat there, Harry Two bounded around the corner. He had no doubt sniffed me out. He sat next to me by the bench and I idly stroked his fluffy ear while I continued to ponder what it was I had to do.

  Last night I had dreamed of perhaps staying here forever, safe and well fed, admiring the lovely grounds and exploring the home of my ancestors. It was such an appealing thought. And now, I felt so conflicted, as though my previous yearnings were somehow a betrayal of … of what?

  I nearly leapt from my seat when it happened.

  Something was moving in my pocket. For one panicked moment I thought it might be a serpent that had slipped in there.

  But then it came flying free and came to rest suspended in the air in front of me.

  It was the blank diary that I had found in Jasper Jane’s room.

  As I watched, spellbound, the pages started to flip open.

  They were all still blank, and I was wondering what the Hel was going on when I received another jolt.

  A voice seemed to rise from the pages, like fog from the ground, and said, “At midnight, the fourth staircase, the third hall, the last door on the right.”

  Then the book fell to the ground.

  I just sat there and stared at it, making no move to retrieve it. I was waiting for it to start talking again.

  Harry Two sniffed at it and then gingerly nudged it with his paw. Then he looked up at me, as though awaiting instructions.

  I slowly bent down and picked it up. I flipped through the pages but they were still all empty.

  I could feel myself breathing fast; my chest felt tight and constricted.

  Midnight? Fourth staircase, third hall, last door on the right?

  As I looked up at Empyrean, I calculated that this spot would be right near the top of the house, near Jasper’s old chamber.

  And at midnight that was exactly where I was going to be.

  * * *

  I COULD BARELY keep my nerves together as the time drew near for me to go on my nighttime journey.

  I listened for the large case clock down the hall to gong the time.

  When it hit the first stroke of midnight, I made a beeline from my room with Harry Two on my heels. I could have had him stay behind, but frankly I wanted some company.

  We raced quietly up the massive staircase until we reached the very top landing. Then we snuck down the third hall and reached the last door on the right.

  I took the diary out of my pocket. I had brought it just in case it would be useful somehow.

  I stared at the wood of the door, suddenly unsure of what to do. Finally, I reached out and turned the knob. It was locked.

  I held up the diary, waiting for the voice to tell me how to proceed.

  But it remained absolutely silent.

  I thrust it back into my pocket and pulled out my wand.

  I pointed it at the door. But as soon as I did, it swung open noiselessly.

  I crept into the room, loyal Harry Two right next to me. His hackles were up and a low growl was emitting from his throat. It was like he was trying to warn whatever was in here that we were not to be trifled with.

  As we stepped fully into the room, the door shut and locked behind us. That made us both jump, but I didn’t know why I was surprised. Pretty much every creepy room I’d ever gone into had a door that shut and locked behind me.

  The room, dim before, now became fully lighted. As my eyes adjusted I gasped.

  The walls were filled with obje
cts that left me weak-kneed.

  Bloody clothing hung on one wall. On another was a whole line of weapons that were also bloodstained and severely damaged. One ax had a big chunk of metal taken out of it. A sword blade was broken in half. A dented shield hung next to a chain-mail helmet with a hole drilled in a spot that would align with someone’s forehead. A breastplate had four large gashes in it. Everywhere I looked was the evidence of a battle hard fought.

  And ultimately, as I now knew, a war lost.

  I wandered the space for a very long time, hours it seemed, though in every corner I turned there was something new to see. The room seemed to go on forever.

  Finally, I saw a dim light come on in the farthest reaches of the space.

  I hurried toward it.

  And stopped dead when I saw what it was.

  A coffin.

  Its top was open.

  As I approached it, two tall bronze torches resting in holders on either side of the coffin burst into flame, allowing me to see that the coffin was made entirely of shiny metal.

  In Wormwood, we only used simple wooden coffins to bury our dead.

  Harry Two and I drew nearer and, though I didn’t want to, I crept close enough to look down into it.

  A body of a man lay inside, surrounded by soft white cushioning.

  He was obviously pale, his eyes closed, his skin tight, his hands folded over his chest. At the base of his neck was a long darkened mark. As I drew closer, I saw more clearly what it was.

  His death wound.

  Someone had slit his neck from one side to the other. It was a wonder his head had remained attached.

  I recoiled from this gruesome sight and looked down at the rest of him.

  He was dressed in very fine clothes that reminded me of the garments I had seen in the paintings back at Astrea Prine’s cottage in the Quag. He looked familiar but I couldn’t place him.

  And clutched in his hands was a wand. It was one of the finest wands I had ever seen, though I really hadn’t seen that many. It was made not of wood or crystal, but of silver.

  I skirted around the edges of the coffin until I came to the shiny brass plate at the foot of it.

  I read off it, my lips moving over the words but no sound coming out.

  HERE LIES GUNTHER ADRONIS, HUSBAND OF ALICE, AT THE PLACE HE LOVED MOST, EMPYREAN.