Page 29 of The Journal of a Thousand Years
“It’s not too late to come clean.”
“Mother won’t let me. I don’t even have an ally in my own sister. Ivy will do whatever Mother thinks is best.”
“You are your own man, Bertie. Your future is whatyoumake it, not what others want for you.”
He lifted his gaze to mine, and for the first time, I saw a spark in them.
It gave me hope. “I know someone in Military Intelligence. Let me arrange for you to speak to him. If you explain that it was all a dreadful mistake, that you were under the influence of your parents, perhaps he’ll be lenient.”
The spark in Bertie’s eyes flared brighter. “Iwasunder their influence. And Father was still in charge, with Mother deputizing in his absence. Not me.”
If he thought the only way to absolve himself was to blame his parents, then I wasn’t going to tell him otherwise. My plan had a better chance of working if he believed he could walk free.
Bertie glanced at the guard at the top of the stairs. “None of this can be blamed on me either,” he said quietly. His face suddenly fell. “But I can’t get you out of here, Miss Ashe. I can’t fight him, let alone Thurlow and his other henchman.”
I hugged the books tighter. “Leave that to me. When the opportunity arises, we’ll make our escape.”
He didn’t look like he believed it would happen. I couldn’t blame him for that. I wasn’t sure my plan would work either.
He headed up the steps and left the cellar with the guard. This time, when the door locked, I didn’t feel a sense of hopeless dread. I simply sat on the chair and opened one of the books.
I didn’t read the title, but I silently apologized for the sacrilegious thing I was about to do. Then I tore out each page, one by one. When I’d finished with the first book, I went on to the second, piling each loose page up on one of the other chairs. Once both books were left with nothing between the covers, I quietly spoke the paper moving spell.
The top page lifted and flapped about before fluttering to the floor.
I tried again, digging through my memory for the way I’d emphasized the words not twenty-four hours ago in the library. More pages rose into the air and flew about, a little faster. I tried again and again, each time perfecting my pronunciation and altering the emphasis on the words I suspected affected speed and direction. The papers flew about, whipping through the air like blades, but I couldn’t control where they went. I stopped, worried I’d cut myself.
It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do. I didn’t have a watch on me, but I suspected it would be dawn soon. It was time to act.
With an armful of papers, I climbed the steps and thumped on the door. “I need to use the privy!”
The door opened and the guard regarded the papers. “Why do you need those?”
“Reading material.”
He indicated I should follow him. The cellar opened into a kitchen, which led to a short hallway and the front door. Another of Thurlow’s men stood there, guarding it. The voices coming from the only other room off the hallway belonged to Thurlow and Mrs. Hobson.
“Just one moment,” I said to my escort.
I stepped into a compact parlor where the three Hobsons sat on stiff-backed chairs while Thurlow stood by a small fireplace that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since its last use. His casual stance stiffened upon seeing me. The Hobsons turned as one toward me.
“Why is she here?” Thurlow snapped at my escort.
The thug grabbed my arm.
I began the chant I’d learned from the Hendry family journal.
Ivy rose. “What is she doing?”
Her mother stood, too. “Is that a spell? But you’re not a magician.”
The papers in my arms flapped like birds wanting to be released. I let them go and watched them fly around the room as if a whirlwind had whipped them up.
Bertie laughed, until he had to duck under one of the pages that flew toward him.
The others ducked, too, including the thug. He released me to protect his head with his arms. Ivy screamed, drawing the second man into the parlor to see what the commotion was about. He realized too late what was happening and was cut by a paper’s edge. Another one nicked his forehead before he fell to the floor and covered his head, too.
There were so many pages, over five hundred, and the noise of flapping papers all vying for space in the small parlor was louder than I expected. As with my experiments in the cellar, I failed to control them, and had to duck out of the way, too. I didn’t stop speaking the spell, however.
