Page 17 of Court of Shadows
“Termination,” I said. “You mean you’ll let me go from the house if I don’t finish the translation?”
At last he turned around, still cooing over the bird on his arm. It was a common raven, but its eyes sparkled with unnatural intelligence. Mr. Morningside gave me only half attention, one eye dancing in my direction. “That’s your interpretation. It simply says ‘termination,’ does it not?”
“Oh, so you’ll kill me over a silly journal?” I pushed the contract back toward him. “No, thank you.”
Mr. Morningside rolled his eyes at me, placing the raven back on its perch. It cawed softly and began cleaning its feathers. “Always so dramatic.”
“What other meaning would it have?” I demanded. “I want that line clarified or I won’t sign.”
“Fine.”
As I watched, the ink on the parchment describing the penalty for my failure blurred and rearranged, the letters re-forming to say,Failure to produce the translated journal will result in a wage cut and the forfeiture of H. I. Morningside’s pin.
The pin. I touched where it was stuck to my apron. That little thing was my only guarantee of freedom from the house. It would be terrible to lose it, but it at least seemed like a far fairer, and clearer, punishment.
“Very well,” I said, drawing in a huge breath. I felt shaky and light-headed as I touched the quill nib to paper. My nerves were obvious in the quality of signature I gave. But it was signed. I had done it. I blew out that breath and straightened, locking eyes with Mr. Morningside. He gave a slight nod and reachedfor the contract, adding his elegant signature right next to mine.
With a snap, he sanded the signatures to keep them from running, then folded up the contract and unearthed a stub of wax from the mess on his desk. He held the black wax over a candle, turning it evenly back and forth. I watched it grow slick and runny, and felt a pit growing in my stomach. Had I really just signed a contract with the Devil? Had I gone completely mad?
“Now, that bit of business done, I think we can get you to work, yes? Let’s see... Why don’t we say you’ll be finished in one week? That seems like more than enough time.”
And there it was, the rub I should’ve seen coming.Stupid girl.
“One week! That isn’t reasonable at all! You must understand that I’m very new to this....”
“And you’re also entirely capable. Have a little confidence, my dear! A little pride! The Court convenes any day, and this is a pressing assignment, Louisa. An assignment I would not entrust to just anyone. One week is more than enough if you put your mind to it.”
“The Court?” I echoed. “This has something to do with your trial?”
He gritted his teeth and smeared the melting wax over the folds of the contract, pressing his signet ring into the spreading glob. “It might. Does that change your decision? Not that it matters, of course; youdidsign.”
“I know I did.” I closed my eyes tightly and covered my face with both hands. God, but I wanted to strangle him. A week. If I could somehow find a way to consistently use my Changeling powers, then it might just be enough time. If not... “I will do what I can.”
“And that’s all I ask, Louisa.” Mr. Morningside picked up the journal and trotted around the end of his desk, flashing me a brilliant smile before inclining his head toward the door. “Now, let’s see if we can’t find a cozy hideaway for you and this wee book of secrets.”
Chapter Eleven
My idea of cozy and Mr. Morningside’s idea of it obviously did not align.
He led me into the circular rotunda outside his office and then to the right. I had never even looked there, as I assumed it was just the narrow area allowed by the spiral staircase. To any nonchalant passerby, it would appear unimportant, but now I saw that a curtain hung there. It was dark red and the bottom of it had been embroidered with silver thread in the pattern of locks and keyholes.
Mr. Morningside strode up to the curtain, the leather journal tucked under his arm. He swept aside the crimson fabric, revealing a hallway beyond. An impossible hallway. It looked to go on forever, dotted here and there with heavy iron-bound doors.
It looked, quite frankly, like a row of prison cells.
“But how... ,” I murmured, hesitating in front of the curtain. It was hard to see much, as the only light bleeding down the corridor came from the rotunda in which we stood.
“Only a fraction of my artifacts and sundries fit in the house itself,” Mr. Morningside explained, gesturing me forward. “A man of my taste and interests requires a good deal of storage.”
Cautiously, I took a few steps down the dark hallway, and just as they had when I first visited Mr. Morningside’s office,candleholders on either side of me flamed to life. Pale blue fire burned at our sides as we journeyed forward, and each new flicker made me jump. We passed several doors, and I began to count them out of curiosity.
“Here will do,” he said.
We had stopped six doors in, though clearly there were many, many more ahead of us, vanishing into the gloom that the blue glow of the candles could not reach. Mr. Morningside simply touched his open palm to the door, and a locking mechanism released. The hinges squealed as he pulled on the handle, and we were both met with a blast of stale, cold air.
“As a rule only I would be able to enter,” Mr. Morningside told me, holding the door while I stepped inside. “But that pin allows you to do more than just leave the grounds.”
“Then I could have come in here whenever I wanted?” I asked.
