Mistle Child (Undertaken Trilogy) (10 page)

—
M
ARGINALIA OF
J
ONA
S
U
MBER

At that time the Pharaoh possessed a scarab of dark blue stone that allowed him to walk where he would, unharmed, in the manner of Anubis, throughout the Two Lands. And, when he wished, the doors of the Land of the West were also open to him. With the scarab’s enchantment, he went forth without fear among the living, the dead, and the ever-living. Even the fearful demons who haunt the plains of Caanan and the lands of the sons of Ammon could be struck down should Pharaoh raise his hand against them and utter the words inscribed upon the stone. And of his travels, perfect memory was granted also by the might of this stone always.

—F
ROM THE
E
GYPTIAN
C
OFFIN
T
EXTS,
S
UPPLEMENTAL
S
CROLL
VI
,
TRANSLATED BY
A
MOS
U
MBER

S
ILAS ENTERED HIS GREAT-GRA
NDFATHER’S MANSION
and crossed the tiled foyer to the stairs, preparing to make his way up to the usual audience chamber on the second floor. But he heard movement somewhere on the ground floor, and paused.

“Hello?” Silas called down the hall.

“In here, boy-o! Right on time. I’ve been expecting you!” his great-grandfather’s voice rasped from some unseen room deeper in the house.

Silas wandered down the back hall leading toward the kitchen.

“In here!” his great-grandfather called out again, and Silas walked through a butler’s pantry into what must have once been a very grand dining room. The dusty mahogany table was at least thirty feet long, and tall candles burned in silver candelabras along its length.

The corpse of Augustus Howesman, sat at the head of the table in an elaborately carved high-backed chair. Before him, several tarnished silver trays were piled with fruit and cheese and cold meats. Two glasses stood brimming with wine, and an ornate silver ewer promised more.

Silas’s mouth hung open in surprise.

The corpse noticed his expression, smiled, and said, “What? I shopped.” Clearly pleased with himself, he beckoned for Silas to come down and join him.

“How did you know I was coming?” Silas asked.

“Call it a hunch,” replied his great-grandfather, slowly closing and opening one eye in what might have been a wink.

“You made supper?”

“I have prepared a little something for you.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Silas exclaimed, clearly impressed.

“Well, good help has always been hard to find, and in these savage times, a man must fend for himself. I’ve been feeling a little more spry lately and rather enjoyed my walk to the store. So, I remain the deathless lord of winter, but I still have a bit of spring in my step, as you can see. Besides, you’re looking thin.”

Silas sat down at the table next to his great-grandfather and filled his plate with food.

“What may I get you?” he asked his great-grandfather.

“Oh, Silas, nothing at all. Thank you.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t sure—”

“No, no. I don’t eat. But I can draw a kind of pleasure from food, a sort of sustenance. The offerings and little sacrifices folks used to leave on the porches were always such a boon. So the glass of wine and these victuals serve me in their way. I like being close to them and feel more vigorous for it. And watching you eat, well, that brings me a particular joy.”

“I didn’t know, or I would have brought you something on my other visits.”

“Not necessary,” his great-grandfather said, and the corpse put his large hand on Silas’s shoulder and patted it tenderly. “The company of loving kin is itself a form of manna. The best sort, I think. I am sure your frequent visits are responsible for my recent invigoration. Why, it only took me most of the day to walk to the store and back. Slow and steady wins the race, eh? Tell me, how is your mother? She comes sometimes. My granddaughter is still a little formal, and doesn’t like to make eye contact, but she talks more.”

“I think my mom is getting reacquainted with Lichport, in her own way. But it’s been hard. She spent a long time trying not to think about it. But it’s getting better, slowly, and between the two of us, things have been improving too,” Silas said.

“I suspect that big house she’s living in is helping her adjust.” Augustus Howesman laughed.

“It’s more than that, she . . . well, she just seems relaxed.”

“You needn’t explain, grandson. We are a family accustomed to a certain degree of luxury. Frankly, I never understood how my granddaughter ever thought she could be happy in Saltsbridge.”

“She wasn’t happy there at all,” agreed Silas.

“No, I don’t suspect she was. But that’s all in the past, is it not? And here we all are, a family again.” A small, satisfied smile spread briefly across Augustus Howesman’s taut face. “But grandson,” he continued, his smile vanishing, “there is a look in your eyes that tells me this is not the usual visit made for the sake of sharing family gossip. Indeed, I believe I know something about why you’re here. Message from the Big House, eh?”

“How did you know?”

“I saw the messenger come from Arvale. Came right down the street in front of my house. So far as I know, that messenger only carries word to one person: the Undertaker.”

“Who was it? I never saw who brought it.”

“You should be glad of that, for the messenger is not so much a
who
as a
what
, in my estimation.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Best get used to such things, grandson. Your acceptance of your father’s mantle, has, I suspect, opened certain doors in the world. Best accustom yourself to wonders, I think, eh?”

Nodding, Silas began eating with gusto.

“What is it about the presence of the dead that gives the living such an appetite, I wonder?”

“Confirmation of life?” Silas guessed.

“Maybe so,” said the corpse.

Silas was glad to be here and pleased to see his great-grandfather looking so content. But then Silas imagined the old man rambling about the large house by himself.

“Are you sure you’re not too lonely here? Maybe when I get back, you could come and live with me. My place is pretty big. I worry that this street, this house—I mean, it’s great, but it’s seen better days. With me, you could have your own room, you could have the whole upstairs at my place if you like, a long corridor to pace up and down with a good view of the park. You could have all the privacy you want, but then we could visit whenever we liked.”

“Silas, that is surely about the kindest offer anyone’s ever made me. Truly. How fortunate I am to have you as a grandchild. But this is my place. My own place. I built this house for my family and added to it as need and fashion required. It may well be that I am what I am because of where I am. Building a world about yourself may be a kind of attempt at immortality, a sort of spell. Might be what’s slowed the process down for me. It’s worth considering, boy-o, that some places are, or become over time, more important than others. Maybe certain plots are natural thresholds that just need watching. Maybe that’s why I’m here, because this place needs me on the lookout. And I have seen things, Silas, living on this street. Wonders and terrors both. Things so terrible that I shall not speak of them with night drawn in. Old things. Things that don’t seem to have a place in the natural order of the world. Things probably coming out of, or called toward, the stones of that house.”

And the corpse leaned back, raised his arm, and pointed away behind him toward Arvale.

“Those stones, brought over so long ago from across the sea—who knows from where before that, or what kind of houses or structures they might have been a part of before they were disassembled and brought here. Temple or tomb? Castle or barrow? I can tell you this: that house, however it remains or appears to you, is an old, old place. Lived in, died in, over and over again.”

The corpse’s words were beginning to weigh on him. Silas felt, truly felt for the first time, that everyone was right and he was a child and he had no idea what he was doing. From his honest ignorance, fear began to flow.

“Will you go with me tomorrow?” he asked his great-grandfather.

“Silas,” the corpse said tenderly, “I don’t think I could enter beyond the gates unless I was invited.” He continued with a wan smile. “It’s a
very
exclusive crowd up there, my boy. Not sure even I’d pass muster.”

“Why not? You, great-grandfather, are a unique individual.”

Augustus Howesman nodded his assent.

“Very true, but for one thing, my name’s not ‘Umber.’ Even now, that house’s front door stands wide for you because of who you are. It’s the house of your kin, your ancestral mansion. Anyone you meet there, good, bad, or in between, they are more than likely part of your family. Besides, your father told me to give that place a wide berth, and so I have, and so I shall as long as I have a choice in the matter. Though it will be my honor to walk you to the gate. Besides, it is there I may be of some assistance, and it will delight me to help you, even in that small way.”

“How do you mean?”

“Only the dead and recognized kin can pass through those gates. You have not been received at the house, so are not yet “recognized” and may not yet be able to open them yourself. I, however, being . . . as I am . . . may open the gate for you if it is required, because the road to that house is a lychway and it cannot bar the way of the dead. Not ever. That’s Old Law. I helped your father several times, actually. He could never open it by himself. I expect he wasn’t very popular up at the big house. He did have his own way of doing things. Untraditional, he was.”

The corpse looked down at his hand and said, “That reminds me, there is something I wish to give you, Silas.”

“Sir, you have given me too much already. Really.”

“I shall brook no refusals. I would like you to have this.” His great-grandfather was already twisting and turning the great ring on his finger so severely that Silas thought the finger might come off with the ring. At last it worked free and the old man handed it to Silas. The ring gleamed bright blue and gold against the dark skin of his great-grandfather’s corpse-hand.

“Folk from this street and others have gone past the gates to Arvale. I have heard the call of the mighty trumpet from beyond the gates and watched their departure. Those like me who pass beyond those gates do not return. Your father told me never to heed that trumpet, even should I hear within its call the sound of my own name. He told me that in times past, folks like me were feared by the living, even by their own families. He told me how there yet endured, in some prejudiced corners of the world, pockets of those who might still bear the old hatred toward, well, toward people like myself. Then he gave me this ring and said it would keep me safe down through the years. And so it has.”

“I can’t take that.”

“Of course you can,” his great-grandfather said. He reached over, opened Silas’s hand, and slipped the ring onto his middle finger. “That is well, most well. Besides, if you are in residence over there, what have I to fear? More to the point, if you are the one going to Arvale, maybe you could use a little more protection. Besides, I’ve never felt better a day in my death.”

Silas laughed lightly, and looked closely at the large sapphire. He could see that it was actually carved. Lightly engraved lines passed over its surface and shaped it into a beetle, a scarab, the kind the pharaohs wore in ancient Egypt. The bottom of the gem was not covered over by the mount—perhaps so that when worn, the stone would always be touching the skin of the wearer—and on it, tiny, intricate hieroglyphs had been inscribed. The heavy gold setting looked medieval. It was some kind of relic, Silas guessed, a precious object handed down over and over again, treasured through time. Who else had worn this ring? he wondered.

“Your father said it would keep my mind clear. Now you take it and keep it. Do not take it off no matter who may ask it of you. I feel strongly about this, so indulge me. Wear it in memory of me and your father. Let it be a reminder to keep your wits about you and not to do anything stupid that might embarrass your remaining relatives.”