Page 36 of Court of Shadows
“Louisa,” he said sharply. “Finish in here and then go to the pavilion. Do not go inside, do you understand me? Wait until you are summoned.”
My eyes were drooping with fatigue as I shuffled toward him, arms laden with dirty napkins and the tablecloth. “How long must I wait?”
“As long as it takes,” Mr. Morningside snapped. He vanished before I could reach him, though I had clearly seen him carrying my stack of translated papers. I spied nothing but the tail end of his coat as I made my way slowly from the dining room to the kitchens. Nobody but Bartholomew was there, the hound dozing on his back, all four paws curled in the air.
I gave him a scratch on the chin as I passed, dropping off the washing in the pantry and taking a fresh apron. It was an empty gesture, but just putting on something clean made me feel better and more awake. I ate one of the untouched meat pies on my way to the pavilion. Two blazing torches burned outside the tent, not bright enough to illuminate the entire yard, but enough to give me a clear destination. I welcomed the cooler air, the scent of fresh grass and pine bandied about by the light wind. Even without rain or frost, Coldthistle became something more sinister at dusk. Its slim parapets and slivers of windows became darker even than the night itself. The house was not its true self in the daylight and seemed almost to grow larger at night, as if it could drink the shadows to become strong.
I did not look back at the windows as I approached the tent, but I did hope that Mary was not alone in there. It concerned me that we did not yet know the identity of Amelia’s killer, and Mary, still recovering, would not be able to fend off an attacker. Poppy had gone to fetch bathwater for the men, and surely Mrs. Haylam would be smart enough to set the Residents to watch. Everything seemed piled on top of everything else—the Court, the guests, Mary’s return, the creatures in the woods, Amelia’s death, my deal with Mr. Morningside and the revenge that might come of it. No wonder I felt fit to fall over and collapse of exhaustion at any moment—it was enough to make anyone dizzy with distraction.
But my purpose in that moment was clear, or at least, itought to be. I pictured Lee’s hopeful face as I mentioned a way to rid ourselves of the Adjudicators. He was already living—“living”—with so many changes, the least I could do was set him free of the pain their presence caused. And yet that would require lying, lying to Finch, who had already heard me say that Mr. Morningside had been wrong about Lee. There were rules here I still did not understand—was he supposed to be infallible? Of course that would be so. Chijioke and Poppy had such pure faith in his decisions.... Did they waver in their dedication now that they knew he had been mistaken once?
As I reached the pavilion, I shuddered, thinking of what I had read in Bennu’s journal. No doubt what he had witnessed were creatures like Finch and Sparrow using their powers to pass judgment. There were always three, Chijioke had said, and three were mentioned in Bennu’s account. If I lied, would one of them pull the truth out of me and my very life with it?
I hovered near one of the torches and waited, hands clutching one another nervously. There was nothing for it—I would have to lie, I owed that much to Lee, but I reserved the right to anticipate that moment with anxiety. Fidgeting. Pacing. I heard low voices in the pavilion and grew more and more curious about what they might be saying inside. At the same time, I grew aware of the darkness around me. The small island of light around the torch felt safe, but as the sun vanished on the horizon, I couldn’t bear to stray too far, watching for any signs of movement along the edge of the woods and the pasture to the east.
A strong wind came up from the west, rattling the leaves in the forest and making them shimmer louder and louder, the scent of distant wood smoke overwhelming my senses with childhood nostalgia. It smelled of home.Home. Or whatever occasional comforts I had experienced there, mostly alone or with my imaginary friend. I closed my eyes against the feeling. When I opened them again, the torch beside me roared, fighting the wind. Another sound, like the gale in the leaves but softer, whispered along the fringe of the forest. The nearness of the torch made it difficult to make out anything far away, and I moved out of the light for a moment, waiting for my sight to clear and then watching as the bushes and saplings deformed, shaking, moved by something traveling along the trees.
My skin prickled, whatever it was moving quickly, concealed by the darkness and the density of the brush but visibly coming closer. Nobody else was outside but me, and I huddled closer to the torch again. What if it was that wolf creature? I was vulnerable out in the open like that, and totally defenseless. I tiptoed toward the pavilion’s opening, preparing to dash inside the moment the monster showed itself.
The moon glowed softly, a sliver missing, the dense cloud coverage in front of it diminishing its light. No, I would have only the torch to protect me. I took the far torch out of its holder, brandishing it in front of me as I peered into the shadows, then began to advance. Whatever moved among the trees came closer, and closer still, the shivering of the leaves so loudnow that I felt it echoing at the base of my spine, a trill of fear and danger rippling up toward my neck. The torch blazed but my skin was cold with fright. No squirrel could make trees bend that way. A shape no bigger than a man materialized out of the woods, running at speed toward me.
I panicked, gasping, retreating to the safety of the pavilion and holding the torch at the ready. Whoever it was ran with incredible ease and swiftness, with not the grace of a man but of a deer or fox. I knew the moment the figure saw me that they had the advantage, for I was almost blind with the torchlight so near to my face. They had seen me watching them and stopped, stooping as if to pounce, then turned and fled back to the safety of the forest.
I heard something soft thud in the grass. They hadthrownsomething at me.
Perhaps foolishly, I hazarded a few steps out into danger. The voices in the tent grew softer as I padded along the grass, sweeping the torch this way and that, looking for whatever object might be hiding in the weeds. The leaves at the edge of the woods rattled again and I glanced up, freezing in place, but it was only the person plunging back into the bushes.
“Hello?” I called. “I see you! I see you hiding out there! Who are you? What do you want?”
Nothing. Just the crackling of the torch in my hand and the hoot of an owl.
“Announce yourself!” I cried again.
I stumbled forward, watching for movement in the forest. All was quiet, but I advanced anyway. I felt bolder now that I had chased them off. The toe of my boot collided with something in the grass and I knelt, running my palm over the ground until I felt a bump and my fingernails scraped over a huge, curled leaf.
The leaf had been bundled around something and knotted with a piece of long, dry grass. Standing, I held the strange parcel up to the torchlight, pulling away the tie and unwrapping the leaf. I almost dropped the thing in surprise.
A spoon.Myspoon. It was mangled and bent at odd angles, as if a giant had tried using it. Obviously someone had tried to work out the kinks, but to no avail. The necklace chain dangled from the loop at the end of the spoon, broken. I pocketed the spoon, mystified, and turned back toward the pavilion, nearly missing the design in mud on the leaf.
I unrolled the leaf, pressing it to my thigh to keep it from snapping shut again. Whoever had found and returned the spoon had tried to write a message on the veined, rough surface of the leaf. It was done in shaky, childlike smears of mud and read:
SO RY.
Sorry. I gazed up from the leaf to the woods, dumbfounded.
“Hello?” I called once more, wondering if just one more try might get me a response.
“Louisa! There you are!”
I shoved the leaf message in the pocket with the spoon andwhirled, trotting toward Mr. Morningside as he took loping strides toward me. He had come from the pavilion, and he looked to be in good spirits. He squinted and inspected the forest behind me, then laughed.
“What are you doing out here? Mrs. Haylam doesn’t want you wondering around after that shock you had in the woods, and neither do I. It isn’t safe here right now, you know that.” He took me by the shoulder and guided me back toward the pavilion. “Don’t tell me you were thinking of running away.”
“No... No, I just thought I saw something,” I mumbled.
“Were you startled? Shall I give you a moment before we go in?”
“I should be all right. But what am I expected to do?” I asked. We had returned to the opening of the pavilion. The pennants above us snapped in the wind while I put the torch back in its place.
