Page 120 of Time's Fool

Morgan, if such was the ghost’s name, did not appear to hear her. “We had to go back, you see, for the young ones. Not that we had many. Some had entrusted their children to friends, to be brought up without their birthright; the only way to keep them safe. Others . . . well, a life on the run is dangerous for a child. But some had survived, a handful. We’d left them with the elderly and the injured. Those too weak to fight.

“But the Circle didn’t care about that. They butchered us all, every one. Including the children.”

“I’m sorry,” Gillian said, tears in her voice. “I’m so sorry—”

Morgan glanced at her. “At least it was quick. We put up a fight, but it didn’t last long. They cut us down like a scythe through wheat. You, on the other hand, had a harsher fate. Didn’t you?”

“I don’t think any fate could have been harsher than yours,” Gillian whispered. “But you’re only making things worse by—”

But again, the ghost cut her off.

“Yes, it was here that it started, and we were so happy that night, do you remember? All our little covens plundering their hearts out. And later, in London—oh, the time we had! After we sold our goods, we had money for the first time in ages and drank ourselves silly, dining on fine food at finer taverns until we made too much noise and they threw us out. We went shopping with raging headaches and blurry eyes the next few days, but found everything on our list, and were so laden down with it all that we barely made it back.”

“Morgan—”

“You should have seen James—he’s the redhead who was here a moment ago, you must have noticed him. Tall as a pine sapling and nearly as slender. He took the back off a wagon, slapped on some levitation charms, and lashed the whole ridiculous contraption to a broomstick. He flew it all the way home by himself, laughing all the way for we’d wagered that he’d spill it for sure. But he never did.

“He died first, when they ambushed us. I suppose he made too good of a target.”

“Morgan, please—”

“Ah, here we are!” the ghost’s face became animated as a woman came into view, guiding a floating sledge to the end of the nearest aisle.

“Hoy, Tom!” the woman called to the young man with the lantern. “The other lot found some brocades on their side. They want ter know if ye’ve discovered any jewels—or ingots either, most like.”

He looked up. “As if I’d tell them if I had.”

“We’re supposed to be sharin’—”

“They can share this,” he said, and grabbed his crotch. “Lucky we didn’t hex ‘em all to hell already!”

“That would be no, then, would it?” she said dryly, and went off to rip open some bales.

“Follow me,” the ghost said to Gillian. “But quietly. My people will not take kindly to more competition this night.”

Gillian did as she was bid, staying low and out of sight, which wasn’t difficult. The towers of square bales were taller than a man in some cases, which threatened to block the two women from Kit’s sight. He started struggling harder to free himself; however, they didn’t go far. Just over to the sledge that the woman had abandoned, which contained a wide assortment of items, as if a crow had been gathering anything shiny.

There were painted Chinese fans with curious scenes, open and scattered about as if the woman had been playing with them; ivory statues of curious designs; a huge folding screen of intricately carved wood and painted panels; a great array of silk fabrics worked with metallic spangles; and a mass of fine lacquerware. The ghost indicated an example of the latter, a small chest on one end of the sledge, its shiny black surface covered all over in intricate, mother-of-pearl and gold inlays. The ghost didn’t try to pick it up, just lifted the corner of the piece of silk that was partly draped over it, so that Gillian could see it better.

“He was in here. An ifrit, he called himself, waiting for me like a present.”

“A demon?” Gillian said, backing up a step. “That is a strange present!”

“Aye, a mage imprisoned him there, promising to release him if he served him well. But the man died before he could keep his promise, leaving his servant to waste away. Of course, I didn’t know that then, having failed to get the thing open. But I didn’t sell it with all the rest.

“I could feel the power coming off it, knew it was a talisman and thought to disenchant it when I had time. I didn’t realize: my time was almost up.”

“Why are you telling me this? And why bring me here? And how?”

“Three questions with the same answer,” the ghost began, and then pulled Gillian down behind some bales. The woman who had brought the sledge came back with an armful of colorful cottons with a diadem perched on top that shimmered in a blaze of gold.

It was a beautiful thing, decorated with phoenixes and dragons made of precious metal, and inlaid with some type of tiny blue feathers. It was so delicate that it hardly looked real, and was like nothing that Kit had ever seen. But instead of treating it with the respect it deserved, the woman whisked off her cap and plopped it on her head, laughing at the man called Tom when he turned to look at her.

“What do ye think?” she asked, simpering. “Would I make a good queen?”

“Better’n the one we have, in bed with the Circle as she is,” he said dryly. “And what happened to sharing, then?”

“A queen don’t share her crown,” she said, wrapping herself in a length of silk and giving him an exaggerated curtsey.

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