The Last Stitch (The Chronicles of Eirie: 2) (24 page)

Chapter Forty Three

At eleven o’clock, the seafog with its cobweb drizzle was dissolving into the Venichese air. Fingers of moisture grasped at the conical chimneys, carved crockets and balustrades. The night-sky had lightened from leadened black to faint ink with traces of cloud wafting across the firmament and allowing a shy Lady Moon to peak at the earth below.

Veniche held its breath. Gondolas ferrying customers cut through the dark canals like black knives and the gondoliers spoke in hushed but urgent voices, calling for leeway. The canals became filled with miniscule flickers of yellow light from the prow lamps, and slowly the city brightened as more and more craft ventured into the waterways.

But shadow and innuendo still pervaded hidden alleys and less public ways. The dark humps bridging the canals echoed with the footsteps of eager Venichese citizens desperate to get to a ball or a dinner or some waterside celebration and not be caught in the black corners of a shadowed city.

Early dinners and drinks had taken place in the subtle light of a torch or a candelabra, even in the most luxurious palazzos, for no one would be seen to break the Dark by lighting their domain too brightly. Thus it had been for the guests of the Museo D
irector - a dusky room with a long table lit by one candelabra and the invitees chuckling as they endeavoured to eat and drink without spilling for one could hardly see one’s platter and goblet, let alone the silver salt-cellar.

Severine, loosened by her w
ines and some narcotics, laughed with the rest. The glacial spark in the grey eyes was more pronounced, the cheeks flushed and she could hardly help the upward tilt to the corners of her carmine lips. The candelabra caught the flash of her earrings as she turned to listen to the clock strike the half hour.

Sitting with Luther aboard her gondola minutes later, her mind ticked down through the seconds of this last half hour, knowing she would be at the Gate and within reach of her dreams. She fingered the ring, sliding it round and round her finger.

Luther watched as the battered gold caught the light of the prow lamps.
I could get it,
he touched the stiletto in his cumberbund
. One jab upward under the ribs and it would be mine...

‘Contessa, we have arrived,’ the gondolier called down under the canopy.

Too late, too late.
Luther ground his teeth, appalled by his indecision. Severine pulled her black coat around her more tightly and held out a hand for Luther to help her out of the craft.
Ever her lackey…

Gallivant could feel Adelina trembling beside him in their gondola and wished again she had not made promises she couldn’t, shouldn’t keep
. I should tell her about Lhiannon I should, she needs to know before she gets to the Gate. Maybe it would be less of a shock from me. But I am Other and we have asked for revenge. Oh Aine, what should I do?
He reached for her hand and clasped it and her cold fingers squeezed back.

Phelim sat in front. In a brief loosening of self-control, he soaked up the sights - the way the tiny gold prow lamps cast rippling reflections. The way the gondoliers called to each other. The masks. Because everyone was still ostensibly concealed in black, the scene was like a puppet show. Vibrant
colombinas, voltos, gattos, pierrots, civettas, nasos
- all floated mysteriously past as if unattached to a real body and with a sinister life of their own. Through the sockets one occasionally caught the glimmer of an eye but was it friendly or ominous? It was that question that brought the half-time mortal back to earth with a jolt. Malfeasance hovered in the air, almost tangible, and he wanted to grab Adelina and run but the souls warned in the cool way and he took note. He turned his gaze to the side, to that gondola poling past demanding leeway - it contained a
diavolo
, vivid red in the light of their lamp. He recognised the shining skull of the wearer and as he stared, saw the cold glitter of eyes from the mask. But then the mask looked away and the gondolier poled ahead. Phelim said nothing to his friends, it wouldn’t serve to alarm them.

The landing of the Ca’ Specchio was sparingly lit. One large torchère with dancing flames created macabre shadows on the walls as mask upon eerie mask alighted from one gondola and then another. Voices were still inclined to whisper, the minutes that ticked by massaging the hysteria and excitement.

Severine stood at the doors as the crowd flowed around her. Luther could see the emeralds in her hair flashing as little thrills of anticipation surged through her. Forgetting his own anger for a moment, he reveled in the feeling of being a part of all this striking nobility. He knew that as the clock struck midnight, cloaks and coats would be thrown off shoulders and the colour of gowns, tailcoats and plumage would be like those of exotic Raji birds. Now however, the black heightened the air of expectation, the race to an explosive climax.

Severine was having none of it. She would create her own small explosion as a prelude before the clock struck. She grasped the plaquets of her black coat and flung them apart, slipping the garment off the alabaster shoulders and revealing the daring dècolletage. Every one gasped. She stood defiantly and with hauteur, beautiful and sparkling in her peacock finery. ‘Luther, your arm, please!’
Her high-pitched voice shattered the shocked silence and as they walked to the stair to climb up to the waiting Director of the Museo, she thought, this is how it will always be. Shocked silence and then power resonating from my smallest movement.

Adelina and her escorts entered the palazzo foyer just as Severine began her emerald-clad climb. They heard the whispered buzz and stared at that brilliantly coloured figure. Luther stepped jauntily by her side, casting looks of conceit upon those who would ignore him.

He looked down over the balustrade at the crowd and noticed a group entering... marked how the two men in front pushed the woman to the rear and closed ranks so she could not see Madame making her entrance up the stair.

Ignorant louts!

Phelim saw Luther’s gaze sweep over the crowd and grabbed Gallivant, the pair creating a protective wall behind which Adelina was concealed.

‘Adelina, I don’t think you should do this. It isn’t good for you or the baby.’ Gallivant begged the embroiderer. ‘Please will you reconsider?’

Adelina gave a small smile, filled with as much fortitude as she could drag from down in her dainty dancing slippers. Shaking her head imperceptibly, she moved forward with the crowd as they began to walk.

It was five to twelve.

‘Contessa,’ the Director simpered as he bent over Severine’s graceful hand. ‘Would you do me the honour of opening the Ball by dancing with me?’

Severine withdrew her fingers, aware of every eye in the ballroom upon her - the women in awe, the men in fascinated lust. ‘Just the one, Director, then I must dance with my escort, Ser Luther. He has signed my card quite copiously.’ She gave what could pass for a flirtatious smile and proceeded to the place of honour in the centre of the room.

The others entered the ballroom amidst a wave of guests, Phelim confident the group would help conceal them from Luther’s perceptive gaze. A giant clock on the wall at the far end of the room ticking inexorably to twelve, its face portraying a happy moon smiling benevolently upon every one, a black
gatto
mask over the eyes. The hands ticked and moved, moved and ticked and pulled together as if magnetised. The single lamp, a torchère, flared its dancing light upward to the moon’s face. Phelim bent to the hob.

‘May I have the first dance with Adelina, Galli
vant? Just the opening waltz? Keep your eye on us, for if we find the Gate we shall go through and you must follow.’

Gallivant nodded, a
n inscrutable gleam in his eye.

Adelina hadn’t heard, her attention fixed so firmly on the crowd in their blackness, her eyes forever seeking.

The moon’s mask slipped away behind the clock by the magic of a mechanical mind and the orchestra, till now hidden in the shadows, struck up a swaying waltz. Amongst excited cries from the women, as coats and cloaks were cast aside and magnificent colour was revealed, Adelina was almost unique. Along with elderly noblewomen and aristocratic widows, she retained her black garb, her mask the only patch of colour. But as elderly male took the hand of elderly female, a swathe of black found places on the dance-floor and the problem of being conspicuous dissolved.

Giant candelabra slid down massive chains from the dizzy heights of the ceiling
. Flickering with the light of dancing candles, the flames reflected in the million facets of the cut-glass pendants. They locked into place, servants scuttling along beams where they had sat patiently lighting the wicks and waiting to let down the beautiful lamps.

At midnight, with the beginning of Carnivale, the Hall of Mirrors sparkled and shone and the sea of
colour that was Venichese nobility began to sway back and forth like gentle waves on a seashore.

Chapter Forty four

Oblong panels of looking glass portrayed the liltin
g crowd and women glanced with at themselves with a coy flick of eyelashes as they glided past, leaning out from the arms of their partners. Swirling, twirling gowns rustled and feet tapped as the orchestra plucked and played.

‘Adelina, may I?’

Her gaze pulled away from the coloured crowd and she nodded vaguely, the half-mask
concealing her features. Her breath had quickened at the thought of Severine and Luther in the same room and her full breasts rose and fell, straining at the dramatic silk sweep of her neckline. He slid his hand around her back, feeling the cool of the silk and the warmth of her body, whilst below his tailored damask vest and inside his shirt, the chamois bag lay without interference.

He couldn’t believe that Adelina was blind to his adoration, his longing,
but she merely relaxed into his hold. Her eyes were fixed away from him and he knew they were forever roaming the crowd for Lhiannon, for Jasper, for Severine and Luther. As their feet began to move to the three-part rhythm of the waltz, he drew her a little closer and she stepped easily, suddenly looking up, her eyes bright.

But he knew her heart was els
ewhere in a Raji’s arms, wrapped in memories. And her mind he suspected, floated far from thoughts of his feelings, focused only on finding her self-esteem and Lhiannon, the two intrinsic, and on her task of revenge.

The feathers on her mask fluttered as they floated to the waltz rhythm. The ebony silk of her gown swirled out as he propelled her around the corner and momentarily she lowered her
lashes. Her steps became light and Phelim glanced down to see her eyes closed, understanding the trust she placed in him to guide her through the dance even though he wished it was he she dreamed about in her private little dance of love. He chided himself for such ridiculous longing, the affectation of an immature farm lad, not the man he was nor had become. He began to consciously search for a sight, a
frisson
... anything that would lead him to the Gate.

He wished he had told her of Lhiannon’s death, a hundred times he wished. But there had been no time, every intention dissolving before a welter of disaster. And after finding her, after that dreadful moment when he gazed upon her torn and battered body, hardly anything had mattered but that he should avenge her.

Her breath sucked in.

‘What?’ he ask
ed urgently. ‘What is it?’, following the line of her gaze.

There swirling around them were Severine and Luther, the woman’s
peacock mask glistening and fluttering, the man’s
diavolo
mask reminiscent of damnation. Obviously the Director had had his turn around the chequerboard marble floor and had been summarily stood aside.

Phelim swung Adelina away, a fierce tendril of something strong and black beginning to curl upward in his body. Seeing Gallivant, he placed Adelina in the safe circle of the hob’s arms. ‘Watch her,’ her ordered, peremptory, Liam-like. ‘And follow me at a discrete distance.’ He tipped his head. ‘You see them? Stay behind them, keep her away.’ He turned to Adelina and ran a thumb down her cheek, letting it linger on her lips below the level of her mask, not unaware of the hob’s interest. ‘Forgive me. Whatever I do, I beg you forgive me.
’ He locked his gaze with hers - it seemed for hours that she swirled like the dancers in the black vortex of his eyes but it was mere seconds and he was gone.

Severine and Luther scanned the crowds as they whirled, neither caring much about their partner nor the divine music. Severine thought she caught the hint of copper curls and slowed, her hands dropping out of Luther’s sweaty paws.

But the copper curls disappeared as a tall man in a plain gold mask, as if he were a figure from ancient civilizations, stood singularly. Framed by a tall, open window embrasure, she fancied she saw the last of the evening mists curling away from his broad shoulders.

He advanced and it seemed as if the crowd split apart and flowed around him. His coat was faultlessly cut away to display a tailored vest and shirt and and the thighs which powered him across the floor were so tightly encased in cream breeches that Severine could see muscles rippling. He was the only man in the room who wore long boots, boots polished to such a gloss that reflected light flashed as he walked.

Luther watched the fellow approach and a feeling of unease crawled in his belly. ‘Madame,’ he went to grab her hand.

‘No,
leave me Luther.’ She stepped away from him, moving toward the tall stranger as if she were hypnotized.

Luther’s eyes shrank to slits as he watched the fellow bow before his mistress and then take her hand to step close, bringing the white fingers to his lips and kissing them. And then he reached around behind her head and untied the peacock mask allowing it to drop to the floor. Again he took her hand and with his other, he undid the strings of his own and it fell on top of Madame’s mask, almost covering it, the peacock feathers quivering. He slipped his hand around Severine’s waist and she leaned back as he eased her into the dance.

Had Luther been able to see the fellow in sunlight, he would have observed there was no shadow. As it was the crowd swallowed them into its billowing mass, and it was all he could do to shove a way through himself as he tried to keep Severine in his sights.

‘Contessa, I have watched you since you arrived. Your beauty overshadows the entire assembly.’ Phelim’s voice mesmerized.

Severine had never in her life felt true attraction for anything other than her ambition and her own reflection. Overcome, her eyes sparkled as they took in the stranger’s unparalleled features and her fingers felt the muscles moving under the exquisite raw silk of his coat. Her carmine lips curled and sharp white teeth appeared as she gave a laugh filled with unaccustomed sensuality. ‘Who are you, sir, that you should dally with such a one as myself.’

‘I am what you desire, Severine.’ He whispered it close to her ear and trills and shivers filled her body as his tongue moved in amongst the tendrils of her hair to lick.

‘You are,’ she sighed, all free will gone, her body aching to be stroked
and kissed, to be loved by this enigmatic stranger.

Luther could see them in the distance and saw the man reach down and kiss Madame’s neck. Behir, he must get closer. If the fellow took her away, where then was his chance to rip the ring off Madame’s left hand? Even now as her palm rested against the man’s back as he led her through the dance, he could see the flash of gold against the dark fabric of the tailcoat.

‘Severine, dance with me. Let me guide you, let me take you to a place where your dreams will be fulfilled. Come, follow me.’ Phelim’s iniquitous words tantalized with their meaning. As he flashed past the mirrors, a
frisson
curled over him and he glanced sideways to see a gilded couple twirl past and then disappear through their reflection as if they had never been and he realized, amongst the terrible darkness that consumed him, that the Gate was there. He had but to sweep his partner through and she would be at the mercy of anything he should choose to do. He spun her in a circle and danced through their reflection, Severine so mesmered that she felt none of the pain on her hand as shards of glass pulled at the gold- ring as if to rip her hand away.

In the ballroom on the other side, Luther watched them go and stood speechless, powerless. Blind to the couples who now polka-ed with great gusto around him, he neglected to see he had stepped into the path of a particularly agile pair and they knocked him heavily, thrusting him up against the mirror and his reflection so that he fell through in time to see Severine and her odd partner disappearing amongst divine people, all dancing the polka, the music purer, the sights more stunning than he had ever seen in his life.

In the ballroom of the mortals, Gallivant and Adelina had watched Phelim’s partnering. Adelina’s belly squirmed with distaste, nausea filling her gullet. She hated Phelim for his duplicitousness and would have washed her face to rid herself of the memory of his thumb on her lips.

Gallivant, sensing the anger and confusion and sickness in his Lady, gave her a squeeze. ‘Don’t worry, Adelina. There is a method to his madness. You must trust him.’ But he had seen the shroud of mist trailing off Phelim’s shoulders, had seen the black eyes darken to doom and knew that a profound change had come upon their friend and that the Far Dorocha had taken hold of Severine, that the wiles of the Ganconer were even now seducing her to the point of abandon and that he had abducted her right into the world of Faeran.

It was then that he spotted Luther, as the galloping couple catapulted him through the mirror where he was seamlessly swallowed by reflection and light. ‘Come on Threadlady! We must go! There is the Gate!’

He led her at great speed to a mirror that would surely shatter but launched at the glass anyway. His senses swam as he barged through and he opened his eyes to see soft orchard colours - almond pink, leaf-bud green, apple blossom white, apricot blush, palest yellow peach. His mouth watered at the thought of the ripe fruits and he stared at the masked faces of Others who pranced to the beats of the dance. And then he looked at Adelina, her black robe gone, her face a study of amazement as she fingered the heavenly silk of the stumpwork robe. Sink me he thought, she looks magnificent! And then he looked down at the cut velvet of his own garb - the soft gold of a gooseberry.

How apt…