Ravencliffe (Blythewood series) (24 page)

“You want to go to the Darklings for help?” Nathan asked.

I returned his look levelly, steeling myself for his disapproval. “Yes,” I said. “Who else are we going to go to? We can’t reach anyone else.”

To my great surprise Nathan nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “Let’s go. I’d like to see this Ravencliffe.”

It was decided that Nathan, Miss Corey, and I would go to Ravencliffe, leaving Miss Sharp, Mr. Bellows, and Helen to ‘keep watch’ over Blythewood. We decided that the quickest and safest way to get to Ravencliffe, given the number of trees that had toppled in the Blythe Wood, was to skate on the frozen river.

Miss Corey took off down the frozen sloping lawn like a speed skater. She and Nathan were so enthusiastic that I hadn’t the heart to tell them I’d never been on skates before in my life. I imagined, though, that it couldn’t be harder than learning to fly.

I was wrong. My ankles wobbled like aspic as Nathan and I made our way down to the river.

“You’ll be better off when we get on the river,” Nathan assured me, gliding easily over the frozen lawn. His cheeks were pink, and he was wearing an enormously long striped woolen scarf wound many times around his neck and a black wool cap that made him look like the illustration of Hans Brinker in the story my mother used to read me when I was little. It was good to see him with some color in his cheeks. If van Drood was coming for him he’d have to be strong.

“I’m glad you didn’t succumb to the dancing fever,” I said, linking my arm under his.

“Ugh, I heard quite enough Viennese waltzes last summer while waiting around with Louisa in sanatoriums. I suppose I lost my taste for the music. When I hear it now I think of her stuck in that dreadful place while doctors prod at her ‘subconscious’ trying to unearth the source of her ‘trauma.’”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I wonder if there might be something in the Darkling library that will help her.”

“Yes,” he said, steering me onto the river, “I’m rather hoping there is. Now hold on. We’ll never get there if you totter like an old woman.” He tightened his grip on my arm and propelled us both forward, taking long gliding strokes that forced me to do the same. I soon fell into the rhythm and felt the sharp wind sting my cheeks. When I looked down at my feet I noticed dark shapes moving under the ice.

“Fish,” Nathan said when I pointed them out. “They’re following us.” I laughed and looked up. The river was a glittering expanse of clear ice between the blue riverbanks. On the west side of the river the snow-covered Catskills stood white against a gentian blue sky. On the east side we passed stately mansions and formal gardens all glazed in ice. It was like skating through a toy Christmas village from the Woolworth windows. I’d nearly forgotten our mission until I saw the looming tower of Ravencliffe ahead of us.

“There it is,” I told Nathan, pointing out the tower.

“That old place?” Nathan asked. “I’ve seen it from the river before and always thought it was deserted. Your Darkling friends aren’t much on upkeep, are they?”

I was about to quip back that they had more important things to concern themselves with—like ferrying souls to the afterworld—but I noticed how tense Nathan’s arm was and realized he was nervous. He still considered the Darklings his enemies, but he was going into their territory to help the girls at Blythewood. That was Nathan all over—no matter how cynical his manner, he was always ready to sacrifice himself for someone else. Perhaps too ready.

“It will be all right,” I said. “Raven won’t let any harm come to us.”

But as we walked up the steep bank to the house, I wondered if Raven could really stop the Darklings from hurting us if they thought we were a threat. And Miss Corey, striding on ahead, looked like a fierce ice maiden. Before she could reach the front door, two Darklings—a man and a woman—dove down from the tower and landed directly in front of her, their wings snapping in the frigid air.

“What’s your business here, human?” the male Darkling—a huge man with shaggy white-blond hair and a scary-looking scar across his face—demanded. He towered over Miss Corey, his wings casting a shadow over her on the icy ground. Miss Corey straightened her back and tilted her head up toward the menacing giant.

“I am Miss Lillian Corey, head librarian of the Blythewood School and lady of the Order,” she said in a clear, ringing voice. “And I have come to consult a book in your library. Please inform your librarian of my request.”

The giant Darkling looked perplexed. I whispered to Nathan, “Is there some secret diplomatic immunity among librarians?”

“Not that I know of,” Nathan answered, “but Miss Corey seems to think so.”

It was clear from the giant’s expression that he wasn’t sure either. He must have decided not to take a chance.

“Come,” he roared at Miss Corey. “I will take you to Master Quill.”

We followed the giant into the tower room I had been in the night before. Without the crowd of Darklings roosting in the upper tiers I could see that the entire tower was lined with books and ledges where Darklings sat over desks reading or writing.

“Master Quill is in the scriptorium on the top level,” he said. “I will carry you up.”

He made a move toward Miss Corey, but she nimbly evaded his grasp. “I will walk,” she said indignantly.

“There are no stairs,” he pointed out.

Undeterred, Miss Corey studied the honeycomb of shelves and ledges that lined the tower walls. “That shouldn’t be a problem,” she replied, sitting down on the lowest ledge and removing her ice skates. She then nimbly climbed barefoot up the bookshelf onto the next ledge and from there to the next level. Nathan and I looked at each other and quickly took off our skates to follow her. It was surprisingly easy, as if the tower had been fitted out to accommodate nonwinged guests. Perhaps, I thought, stepping over a shelf of books with English titles on subjects that ranged from philosophy to agriculture, there really had been a time when the Darklings and the Order were friends—and perhaps there could be such a time again.

When we arrived, a little breathless, on the top tier, we found Master Quill warmly greeting Miss Corey.

“Ah,” he said, “you have been in a Darkling library before, haven’t you?”

“No, but I’ve studied the architecture of all the great libraries of the world,” she replied. “We were taught how to do research in all kinds of libraries . . . but I’ve never seen anything like
that
.” She was staring at my father, who was sitting on the far side of the upper ledge, his wings stretched out across a high shelf. Two scribes were seated beneath him writing in large ledgers, their eyes moving from my father’s wings to their pages.

“Nor have I,” Master Quill answered. “It’s like having a master index that can speak. You can ask him where anything is and he’ll tell you the exact page number and line.”

“Remarkable,” Miss Corey said, her eyes shining. “May I?”

Master Quill nodded, but before proceeding, Miss Corey turned to me. “Would you introduce us, Ava?”

I swallowed. I hadn’t thought about whether I would reveal my father’s identity to Miss Corey and Nathan, but I saw now that Miss Corey had guessed.

“How long have you known?” I asked.

“Since the night on the roof of the Hellgate Club, when we talked about secrets.”

I glanced at Nathan and saw him looking confused. I could, I supposed, find an excuse to send Nathan away, but I didn’t have the heart to. I led Miss Corey and Nathan along the ledge to where Falco sat patiently, his grave eyes watching me.

“These are my friends,” I said to him, “Lillian Corey, head librarian of Blythewood, and Nathan Beckwith.”

Falco bowed his head to Miss Corey and then held out his hand to Nathan.

I took a deep breath. “Miss Corey, Nathan, I’d like you to meet my father.”

26

NATHAN’S EYES WIDENED,
but he took my father’s hand and said in a firm voice, “I’m pleased to meet you, sir.”

“And I am pleased to meet a friend of my daughter’s,” he said, giving Nathan’s hand a squeeze that made Nathan grit his teeth. Then he turned to Miss Corey. “And to meet a learned librarian, as well.”

I explained to him how I had found Blythewood when I returned there this morning. As I spoke, a flock of fledglings gathered on the ledges around us, including Raven, who listened with growing concern in his face. When I finished, Master Quill nodded.

“It sounds as if your friends have been placed under a musical mesmerism. They’re very hard to undo, but I believe we might have something in the music section.” He snapped his fingers and a young Darkling appeared. “I’ll have one of my pages show you the way. And you, young man,” he said to Nathan. “I can tell by the way you’re scanning the shelves you’re also looking for something. Perhaps . . . ah, yes, here’s someone who might be able to help you.”

I looked around to see Raven approaching. I glanced nervously back at Nathan, expecting him to make a scene, but instead I saw him whisper something in Raven’s ear, and the two of them went off together. I looked back at my father, who was smiling at me.

“It looks as if your friends are finding what they are looking for. Why don’t you sit down beside me? Perhaps I can help you find what you are looking for.”

I sat down on a stool between the two scribes who were transcribing my father’s wings. The scratch of their quills on paper was peaceful, like the sound of pigeons on the fire escape in the apartments I shared with my mother. Where we had lived all alone, cold and often hungry . . . the thought brought to mind the insidious questions van Drood had placed in my mind—or had
he placed them there? Wasn’t there a little part of me that was still angry at my father for abandoning me and my mother, no matter what the reason?

I looked away from him, afraid he’d see the doubt in my face, but then I felt his hand cover mine. I relaxed as the warmth of his hand seeped into my limbs, and I fell into a sort of daydream in which he was there at various times of my childhood—when I had the flu, when my mother was out late delivering hats and I was alone in the cold dark apartment, or when I stood at the service entrance of a Fifth Avenue mansion afraid to ring the bell—there by my side with his hand in mine.

“You’ll never have to be alone like that again,” he said. I knew that he had been there with me in my daydream, and some of the loneliness that had clung to me since my childhood was dissipated. I wiped my eyes as Miss Corey came back clutching a heavy book to her chest.

“I think I’ve found what I need, Ava,” she said to me, her eyes on my father’s wings.

“Please,” Falco said, “you are welcome to look at the book. Perhaps you would like to look at the introduction.” He ruffled his feathers, unveiling a richly illuminated page. Miss Corey leaned forward and peered at the page, her face shining. She read for several minutes and then looked up.

“This is remarkable,” she cried. “Dame Alcyone was Merope’s sister and a founding member of the Order. She says she will tell here the true story of how the Order began and how the Darklings were cursed.” She looked up from the book at Falco and then at the small crowd of fledglings who had gathered around us. The crowd included Raven, who had come back with Nathan. The glow from the skylight lit up their faces. “I believe she wrote the book to show how our powers, yoked together, could defeat the shadow creatures, and how together we could release you from your curse. If this is true, we must put our enmity aside and join forces. I pledge to do my best to represent your case before the Council and recommend that we negotiate for peace.”

I saw Raven nodding to Marlin, as if what Miss Corey had said confirmed something they had been speaking about—and then I saw them both look at Nathan. Surprised, I saw Nathan nod back at both of them and then extend a hand to shake theirs.

“I am glad that my archive has been of assistance to you, Lady,” Master Quill said, bowing his head to Miss Corey. “And I, too, pledge to urge my flock to join with yours. When a great darkness threatens, the small birds must flock together.”

At his words the assembled fledglings beat their wings together and whistled a low note that sounded like wind moving through trees. I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up and my wings strain to break free, but then I saw Nathan staring at me and I realized that even if he knew I was half-Darkling I wasn’t ready to spread my wings in front of him yet. So instead I turned to say good-bye to my father.

He took my hand in his, and again I felt a weight fall from me, as though his hand lifted me up. He drew his wings around me, and I heard the fluttering of all the pages of the book as he wrapped me in their mantle.

“We are still bonded, dearling,” he whispered in my ear. “If you need me you have only to call for me and I will come.”

Then he unfolded his wings and stepped away from me. Even when I turned to go, though, and I climbed down the tower and left Ravencliffe, I still felt the mantle of his wings’ protection around me.

On the way back to Blythewood, Miss Corey explained what we had to do. “It’s really quite simple,” she said between swift strokes of her skates. “Musical mesmerism works by inserting a series of commands within a musical score. It’s rather like having a song stuck in your head, only the song is telling you to do things you’re not conscious of. What we have to do is disrupt the musical score in their heads by substituting other tunes. It’s similar to how we use our bells to dispel fairies and other creatures. The book lists a series of tunes that are most effective in dispelling musical mesmerism, only . . .”

“Only what?” I asked, gasping to keep up with her.

“Only a well-crafted mesmerism spell will contain fail-safes to prevent anyone from dispelling it. We’ll have to try different tunes on individuals until we discover which one will work. Once we find the right tune, we can use it to de-mesmerize enough of us to ring the Blythewood bells to free everyone in the castle.”

“I can program my repeater to play back the tune,” I said.

“Excellent,” she replied. “The rest of us can hum it. Nathan, you have perfect pitch . . . right, Nathan?”

Nathan had been curiously quiet since we had left Ravencliffe, his eyes on the ice below his skates. Now he knew my father was a Darkling. What if my being half-Darkling was one more thing that pushed him into the shadows? What if his stubborn silence was his way of shutting me out, and he was never going to talk to me again?

But when Miss Corey called his name once more, he pointed to the ice below his feet. We both looked down and saw that there were dark shapes following our passage across the ice—only they weren’t fish. There were shadows beneath the ice—
tenebrae
—and they were following us back to Blythewood.

We skated faster, racing the shadows under the ice. I hadn’t realized how long we’d been at Ravencliffe until I noticed the sun going down over the mountains. By the time we reached Blythewood the shadows of the western mountains stretched across the river and crept up the lawn toward the castle. The last rays of the setting sun caught the icicles hanging from the battlements and turned them red so that it looked as though the castle were dripping blood. As we skated across the frozen lawn, I looked back at the river and saw the
tenebrae
under the ice. Waiting. But for what?

Mr. Bellows was at the library doors, pacing back and forth and tearing at his hair when we arrived. “Thank the Bells!” he cried. “I was afraid something had happened to you.”

“Where’s Vi?” Miss Corey asked. She was trying to look around Mr. Bellows, but he kept placing himself in front of her.

Mr. Bellows raked his hands through his hair. “I only left her for a minute.”

Miss Corey pushed Mr. Bellows aside and strode across the library, her skate blades clattering loudly and scarring the parquet floor. Miss Sharp was standing by the fire—or rather, not standing but twirling—in a long white satin and lace gown. She was also wearing a long veil and carrying a bouquet of pink rosebuds and baby’s breath.

“Vi!” Miss Corey cried. “Why are you dressed like that?”

“Oh, Lillian, there you are! I wanted so much for you to see my dress. I’m to play a bride doll. Isn’t it lovely?”

So many emotions passed over Miss Corey’s face it was like watching a lake during a summer shower, ruffled by wind and alternately darkened by clouds and lit by sunshine—relief that Miss Sharp wasn’t really getting married, horror that she had succumbed to the mesmerism, and then anger at Mr. Bellows.

“How could you let this happen to her?” she said, whirling on him.

“I told her to lock the library doors. Someone she trusted must have gotten in—I’m afraid it might have been Helen.”

“Helen!” I cried.

I started across the floor, remembered I was still wearing skates, and stopped to unlace them. Nathan was already tearing at his laces and shucking off his skates.

“Let me try some of the tunes on Vionetta first,” Miss Corey said, laying her hand on my shoulder. “Then we’ll know which one works.”

“Tunes?” Miss Sharp said, her blue eyes widening. “Do you mean like wedding songs?” She hummed a bit of the wedding march and twirled around, holding her satin train in one hand. “Oh, I do wish this wasn’t only a costume. I would so love to be a real bride!”

Nathan turned to me. “Are there any bride dolls in
Die Puppenfee
?”

“No,” I said. “But Herr Hofmeister’s been adding all sorts of extras. You don’t think—”

I was interrupted by a jingling of sleigh bells. Nathan and I went to the window. Coming up the drive were a dozen horse-drawn sleighs trimmed with holly and ribbons. The first one stopped at the door, and several men in fur coats disembarked. Gillie was holding the bridle of the lead horse. I recognized Mr. Montmorency and Mr. Driscoll, but there were a number of younger men—in their thirties, I guessed—whom I didn’t recognize.

“Who are all these men?” I asked.

“They’re investors,” Miss Corey answered. “Dame Beckwith announced a few days ago that they’d be coming.”

“Oh!” Miss Sharp cried, jumping to her feet and rushing to the window. “Do you think they’re married? They must be rich to invest so much money in the school. I do wish Gillie wasn’t giving them such an awful look.”

Gillie was indeed staring at the men as if he’d like to haul them back on their sleighs and send them packing. At least Gillie hadn’t been mesmerized. When the last man disembarked from the sleigh I saw Gillie’s face turn a shade of menacing green, and the sky, which had been clear a moment ago, turned dark. I recognized the last man as the clergyman I’d seen at the Montmorency ball.

A clergyman who could perform a marriage ceremony.

“They can’t . . . they wouldn’t . . .” I sputtered.

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” Nathan muttered grimly. “They might be planning to marry off our girls to the highest bidder. We have to stop this.”

I wondered if he was worrying about Helen; I knew I was. Miss Corey drew Miss Sharp gently away from the window and back to the chair by the fireplace, where Mr. Bellows urged her to sit down.

“Oh, but I’ll crease my dress!” she complained. “Will you carry my train for me, dearest Lil? Oh, you can be my bridesmaid!”

“Over my dead body,” Miss Corey muttered. But in a louder voice she said, “Whatever you like, Vi, but first I’d like you to listen to some tunes. They’re—”

“Samples of wedding marches?” Miss Sharp asked.

“Yes,” Miss Corey bit off between gritted teeth. “So listen to each one carefully.”

Miss Corey hummed a tune.

“Oh, I think that’s a bit too funereal for a wedding, don’t you, Rupert? What would you like for your wedding?”

Mr. Bellows blushed from his starched collar to his scalp. “Let’s try another,” he said, his voice cracking.

Miss Corey hummed another tune, which Miss Sharp pronounced “charming but better suited for a summer wedding,” and another that was for a “younger bride.”

“I am, after all, over thirty. I thought I’d die a spinster because the Order said I couldn’t marry,” she prattled as Miss Corey tried one tune after another. “Because of Uncle Taddie being crazy, you know. But now . . . oh now! I think everything has changed and I’m hopeful . . . hopeful . . . hope . . . full . . .”