The Doorway and the Deep (6 page)

Adelaide didn't need to tell Lottie that. It only made her feel worse.

“Don't say anything to Oliver about this,” said Lottie. “Please? He'll think I haven't learned a thing from our lessons.”

“Well, have you?”

Lottie took some time to think this over. Really, she'd taken a good deal of time in the past month to think about it. Owning a genga was nothing like owning a pet—or at least what Lottie had imagined owning a pet would've been like, had Mrs. Yates not been strongly opposed to the very existence of domesticated animals. And “own” wasn't the right word at all. Lottie did not feel she owned Trouble any more than she owned Eliot or Adelaide. And while Lottie did feel Trouble belonged to her, she also felt she belonged to Trouble. He seemed to be in better spirits when she was happy, lower spirits when she was sad, and particularly rebellious when she was feeling . . . well,
troubled
.

Oliver had once told Lottie, “We call it genga lessons, because you can teach your genga to do some things: carry objects, deliver messages, fetch help. But in plenty of ways they're
un
teachable—not because they're stupid, but because they're too smart. They're part of us, and we're part of them, but we're completely separate, too. We've got our own plans, and they've got theirs. And sure, they'll help us out more times than not, but there are times they're going to insist on their own way.”

Lottie tried to remind herself of this on a daily basis, especially when Trouble did something like steal a tube of Eliot's paint to squirt on someone's head. But as much as Lottie told herself this behavior was normal, that she was learning, that Trouble would sometimes insist on his own way—she couldn't help but notice that no one
else
seemed to be dealing with this sort of genga-related difficulty.

“Yes,” Lottie finally replied. “I've learned lots of things. I just haven't had a genga since I was born, like the rest of you.”

Adelaide shrugged. “Well, come on, then. It's past sunset, and I want to see Fife's face when he realizes he's been believing a bunch of piskie tales.”

When the girls emerged from their yew, the first thing Lottie noticed was that all the branches were completely bare. The ground was a blanket of pale gold needles and cream grass, bathed in sunset light. Adelaide inhaled deeply.

“Do you smell it?” she said. “Heavenly.”

It did smell heavenly—a perfect mixture of aging bark and sun-crisped leaves.

The boys were already out. Fife and Oliver sat atop the Clearing's dining table, talking. A lantern sat between them, throwing shadows on their faces.

Eliot was sitting in a thick pile of yew needles, grabbing handfuls, then opening his fingers to sift them out again. When he caught sight of Lottie, he gave a whoop.

“Happy Autumntide!” he called. “Whatever that means.”

“So!” said Adelaide, poking Fife's shoulder. “No reports of a gruesome death by whitecap, are there?”

Fife made an ugly face. There were blue circles beneath his eyes. It looked like he hadn't slept a wink.

“I hear they're serving spiced cider at the pergola,” said Oliver. “Anyone interested?”

Eliot jumped to his feet. “Cider. Yes.”

It was decided. They set out for the glass pergola, Oliver leading the way with lantern light. Unfortunately, this new excursion did not stop Fife and Adelaide's bickering.

“I slept exceptionally well last night,” Adelaide said. “I didn't keep myself up fretting about an imaginary monster.”

“Neither did I,” said Fife.

“You're just not willing to admit you were wrong.”

“Good thing
you
never have that problem,” Fife growled.

Oliver tried to distract them by loudly reciting a poem entitled “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.”

Eliot and Lottie shared a look. Eliot was straining his mouth very hard in an attempt to not look too amused by the fighting.

“Thank you,” he said, “for not contradicting every other word I say. Seems exhausting.”

“Very,” Lottie agreed. “I wonder why they haven't just agreed to never talk again.”

“
What?
What fun would that be? Look at the two of them. You can see how much they're enjoying it.”

Fife and Adelaide
did
seem very bright-faced about the whole thing.

They rounded a thick stretch of yew trees and arrived in the clearing of the glass pergola. A great table stretched in front of the pergola steps. It was surrounded by members of the Wisp Guard and of the nobility, all mingling and murmuring amongst one another. None of the plagued population of wisps were allowed anywhere between here and the Clearing. These were all the remaining healthy members of the wisp race—those privileged or important enough to have afforded an inoculation from the Southerly Court, back when the Southerly Court had still traded with the wisps.

Some wore silver circlets, others bronze, others glass, according to ranks that Lottie still didn't quite understand. Lottie was used to seeing these wisps clothed in pale robes, sashed with ivy. But today, the noble wisps were not dressed in their usual soft spectrum of colors. They were all wearing black.

Eliot scratched his nose uncomfortably. “Did we not get the memo?”

“It looks like a funeral,” said Lottie.

All eyes turned to Fife, who had gone very still. His hair, which always stuck up in an impressive defiance of gravity, now particularly seemed to be standing on end.

“Oh, sweet Oberon,” he said.

Oliver's calm blue eyes shifted to green. “Fife, what is it?”

“Oh, Oberon, no.
Nooo
.”

Adelaide backed away from Fife, as though afraid he might spontaneously combust.

“Is he broken?” Eliot asked Lottie.

“What's wrong, Fife?” asked Lottie. “I'm sure there's still cider left, if that's what you're worried about. Look! Cynbel is ladling some out right now.”

At that moment, Cynbel looked straight at Lottie from across the clearing. She'd forgotten that, though wisps did not have keens like sprites, they still had exceptional hearing—especially Cynbel, the captain of the Wisp Guard.

A terrible memory bloomed in Lottie's mind. It was the day she had broken Mrs. Yates' sewing machine after running a dishcloth under it, just to see if it would work. Mrs. Yates had been enraged. She'd called Lottie a stupid, worthless child and then threatened, for the first and only time, to send Lottie to an orphanage on the mainland. Lottie tried
to push the memory out of her head, but she couldn't with Cynbel's eyes still fixed on her, dragging the images out. This was the very worst thing about wisps—their ability to stop her cold with their eyes alone.

Cynbel's hard gaze finally shifted from Lottie over to Fife. Then Cynbel smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.

“Cynbel, that imbecile,” Fife observed. Then, “It isn't a funeral. Wisps wear black as a sign of reverence.”

“Um,” said Eliot, making a valiant attempt to follow, “so does that mean they're being reverential or whatever to Autumntide?”

“No,” said Fife. “It means my uncle's back.”

“
I THOUGHT
the Tailor was searching for a cure in the northern territories,” said Oliver.

Fife looked like he'd swallowed a live fish. “Yeah, I thought so, too. So did everyone. But the guy loves surprises. Come on, I'm investigating.”

Fife motioned for them to follow. He skirted around the congregation of black-cloaked wisps and closer to the wood. The five of them edged along the River Lissome in single file, ducking behind a line of trees as they made their way closer to the glass pergola. Fife floated inches above the ground. He waved at the others to be quiet as they approached a narrow doorway carved into one of the pergola's courtyards.

“Isn't Fife royalty?” Eliot asked. “Why do we have to sneak into the place?”

“Fife was born
to
royalty,” said Adelaide. “That isn't quite the same thing.”

“Also,” said Oliver, “you might recall how we're not exactly in a good way with Cynbel.”

“That's all my fault,” Lottie admitted, thinking of what was now called the green paint incident. “Well, mine and Trouble's.”

“He didn't like us before that,” Oliver said.

“Mother and Uncle will be having a private conversation,” said Fife, “so we can't very well go tromping into the pergola right in front of Cynbel and a whole court of wisps. Good news is that spiced cider has a rather
calming
effect on wisps when drunk in large quantities.” A wicked smirk stretched to Fife's dimples. “And they
always
drink it in large quantities. As long as we're careful, we shouldn't have any trouble sneaking in while the lot of them are otherwise engaged.”

“Why are we sneaking in the first place?” asked Eliot.

“Because,” said Lottie, “the adults aren't going to tell us what the Tailor's arrival is really about. That means we have to find out for ourselves. Isn't that right, Fife?”

“Just so,” said Fife.

“Maybe,” said Eliot, “the Tailor came back because he was tired? Living away from home can be exhausting.”

Lottie looked up sharply. Though Lottie missed nothing about her former life in New Kemble, she knew that the letters exchanged between Eliot and Mr. Walsch weren't a substitute for the father and son seeing each other in person. At least she and Eliot were heading back to Kemble Isle the next day.

“That's not why he's returned,” said Fife. “Uncle doesn't give up easily. Whatever news he's brought back with him has got to be big. That's why we're going to find it out.”

With that, Fife floated through the courtyard archway.

By now, Lottie had seen inside all the courtyards of the glass pergola. Some contained statues, others fountains, still others weapons. The most important courtyard contained the Great Lantern of the wisps and was accessible only by members of the Dulcet family.

The courtyard they now stood in was, in Lottie's opinion, the ugliest of them all. It was overrun with ill-tended vines and thorny plants, and there was no bench to sit upon, nor fountains to listen to, nor statues to contemplate. It looked like a gardening project gone wrong, then forgotten. As a result, no one ever visited this courtyard. Lottie supposed that was why Fife had brought them there.

“Right,” Fife said, crouching at the entrance of the glass pergola proper. “This close enough for you, Ada?”

Adelaide shut her eyes, her upturned nose wrinkled in concentration.

“It's faint,” she said. “They're in your mother's private quarters. Stay quiet, the rest of you.”

Lottie heard a snicker. Eliot's eyes were watering from laughter.

“Sorry,” he squeaked out. “I'm still getting used to it. It's
funny
. She's like a comic book character.”

Adelaide kept her eyes closed, but color burst in her cheeks.

“What's funny,” she said, “is that you're the only one
without
a keen, Eliot. Now hush up and let me concentrate.”

Eliot nodded obediently, though he covered his mouth and continued to laugh silently.

Adelaide remained quiet. She frowned, faintly at first, then harder. At last, she shook her head, annoyed.

“This is stupid,” she said. “He's talking about some new collection of robes he bought in Thistlebram. Nothing more.”

“No,” said Fife. “He didn't come home early just to chat about thread counts. He came back with important news.”

“Maybe we missed it,” said Eliot, who had since recovered from the shakes.

“
No
,” Fife said. “No, this kind of news is the news you don't just mention and forget. It's the kind of news that requires immediate action. Like an invasion of Wisp Territory or a cure that's faster than Mr. Wilfer's. Something
big
. It
has
to be.”