The Gazels

Chapter 40

Another turn of the kaleidoscope, and I am on the streets of London. The lady motions to me to follow. The wind blows a handbill at my feet. Another leaflet for the illusionist Dr. Van Ripple. I pick it up, and I’m in a raucous music hall. A man with black hair and a neat goatee places an egg into a box and, as quick as a blink, he makes it disappear. The pretty lady who led me here takes the box away and returns to the stage, where the illusionist places her into a trance. He takes hold of a large slate, and with a piece of chalk in both hands, the lady writes upon it as if possessed: We are betrayed. She is a deceiver. The Tree of All Souls lives. The key holds the truth.

The crowd gasps and applauds, but I’m pulled out of the music hall. I’m on the streets again. The lady is just ahead, running over cobblestones slick with the damp, past rows of narrow, unlit houses. She runs for her life, her eyes wild with fear.

The rivermen shout to one another. With their long hooks they fish the cold, dead body of the lady from the river. She clutches one sheet of paper. Words scratch themselves onto the page: You are the only one who can save us….

The vision leaves me like a train whooshing through my body, out and away. I come back to myself inside the musty boathouse just as the oar snaps in my hands. Trembling, I slump to the floor and place the broken pieces there. I’m unaccustomed now to a vision’s force. I can’t catch my breath.

I stumble from the boathouse, sucking in a great lungful of fresh, cool air. The sun works its magic, dispelling the last remnants of my vision. My breathing slows and my head settles.

The Tree of All Souls lives. You are the only one who can save us. The key holds the truth.

I’ve no idea what it means. My head aches, and it isn’t helped by the steady syncopation of hammers drifting over the lawn.

Mother Elena startles me. She pulls her braid, listening to the hammering. “There is mischief here. I feel it. Do you feel it?”

“N-no,” I say, staggering toward the school. Mother Elena falls in behind me. I walk faster. Please, please go away. Leave me be. We reach the clearing and the small hill. From here, the top of Spence rises majestically above the trees. The workmen are visible. Great panes of glass are hoisted on heavy ropes from the roof and fitted into place. Mother Elena gasps, her eyes wide with fear.

“They must not do this!”

She moves quickly toward Spence, yelling in a language I do not understand, but I can feel the alarm in her words.

“You do not know what you do!” Mother

Elena screams to them, now in English.

Mr. Miller and his men have a small chuckle at the mad Gypsy woman and her fears. “Go on now and leave us to men’s work!” they shout.

But Mother Elena is not swayed. She paces on the lawn, pointing an accusing finger at them. “It is an abomination—a curse!”

A worker yells a sudden warning. A pane of glass has gotten the better of its handlers. It twists on its rope, hovering precariously until it is guided into the hands of workers below. One man grabs for it and cuts his palm along the sharp edge. He cries out as the blood flows down his arm. A handkerchief is given. The b****y hand is wrapped.

“You see?” Mother Elena calls.

There’s murder in Mr. Miller’s eyes. He threatens her with a hammer till the other men pull him back. “You b****y Gypsies! You’re the only curse I see!”

The shouts have drawn the Gypsy men to the lawn. Ithal stands protectively in front of Mother Elena. Kartik is there as well. Mr. Miller’s men grab hammers and irons to stand with their foreman, and I fear there shall be a terrible row.

Someone has sent for Inspector Kent. He steps into the thin line of grass separating the Gypsies and the English workmen. “Here now, what’s all the trouble?”

“b****y Gypsies, mate,” Mr. Miller spits.

Inspector Kent’s eyes go steely. “I’m not your mate, sir. And you’ll have a care around these ladies or I’ll have you at the Yard.” To Mother Elena, he says, “Best go back, m’um.”

The Gypsies slowly turn but not before one of the workers—the man in the red-patched shirt—spits at them, and the insult lands on Ithal’s cheek. He wipes it away but he can’t erase his rage so easily. Anger burns in Kartik’s eyes too, and when he glances at me, I feel as if I am the enemy.

Ithal speaks softly to Mother Elena in their native language. Her mouth tightens in fear as the men lead her away. “Cursed,” she mutters, trembling. “Cursed.”

I’ve not stopped thinking of Kartik, his coldness. The last time I saw him in London, he pledged his loyalty. What could have happened to change his affections? Or is that the way of men—to pursue girls only to cast them aside? He seemed so haunted, so desperate about Amar, and I wish I knew what to say to comfort him, but I’ve not seen his brother, and perhaps that is comfort enough.

And then there is my vision. The Tree of All Souls lives. What tree? Where? Why is it important? You are the only one who can save us.

“Damion, what are you brooding about?” Luary taunts from her perch beside me. It wouldn’t do for her to ask me discreetly.

“I—I’m not brooding.” I slurp my soup, eliciting a scowl from Cecily.

“No. Of course not. You’ve merely forgotten how to smile. Shall I remind you? It’s quite simple—see?” Fee beams charmingly. I grant her a strained smile that I’m certain makes me look as if I’ve a bad case of wind.

I chose not to come. Why can I not release that one small phrase from the cage of my thoughts?

“I must tell Pip that the soup is as awful as she remembers it,” Luary whispers, giggling.

Pip. One more weight to add, for tonight I am to return to her and help her Gwat the river to whatever lies beyond.

“Really, you are brooding, Damion, and have been all afternoon,” Luary chides as we walk the well-worn path to the chapel for evening prayers. “And I think I know why. I saw you speaking to that Indian,” she says, dismissing him in a word.

“Kartik, do you mean?” I say coolly.

Fiona’s ears prick up at this. “He’s back?”

Blast. Now I’ve got both of them to badger me—Luary with her snideness and Fiona with her disturbing, eerie stare.

“Yes, that’s the one. What has he said this time?” Luary pantomimes a wild-eyed soothsayer. “Don’t touch the magic! Don’t go into the realms! The ghost of Jacob Marley will take your soul if you do. Stay home and darn your socks like a good, proper girl! Hmmm?”

“I see you’ve not lost your gift for the dramatic. Fiona, don’t let her take your talent so easily,” I say, hoping to change the subject.

“He did, didn’t he?” Fee presses.

“He simply came to say goodbye properly.” I don’t want to tell them about Kartik. Fee is no friend of his, and if I told her the truth, she’d only gloat. It would be too mortifying to bear. “But if I am preoccupied, it is because I had a vision today—my first since Christmas.”

Fiona’s eyes widen. Luary yanks me to the side of the path, letting other girls pass us. “What was it?”

“A lady I’ve seen in my dreams before. She’s a magician’s assistant or a medium of some sort, for I see her with a Dr. Van Ripple, an illusionist. She writes on a slate as if in a trance—a very odd message.”

“What?” Luary prods.

Mrs. Nightwing and Mademoiselle LeFarge are coming up the path. They talk of whatever it is ladies talk about when they are not on display. They seem at ease, jovial. We try to stay a few steps ahead of them.

“‘We are betrayed. She is a deceiver. The Tree of All Souls lives. The key holds the truth.’”

Luary has been hanging on my every word, but now she laughs. “A tree? Really, Damion. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head when you fell off the bicycle?”

I ignore her insult. “The images in my visions don’t always tell a story that I can see. But I think the lady in the vision might be dead.”

“Dead? Really?” Fiona asks with a breathlessness that shows her love of the macabre. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I saw her pulled from the Thames, drowned.”

“Drowned,” she repeats, clearly relishing the inherent wicked excitement of it.

Up ahead, the chapel doors stand open. Candlelight brings a flickering drama to the windows, making them seem alive.

“What time are we meeting?” Luary whispers as we reach the doors.

I turn away. “Not tonight. I’m far too weary from the bicycling. I need sleep.”

“But, Damion!” Luary protests. “We have to go back! Lawt is expecting us.”

“We’ll go tomorrow night,” I say, forcing a smile though I feel sick at the prospect of what I must do.

Luary’s eyes brim with tears. “We’ve finally found our way back, and you want to keep us from happiness.”

“Fee…,” I start, but she turns her back, and I realize I shall have to allow them to hate me tonight though it is hard to bear.

The woods dance with the sudden brightness of lanterns. The Gypsies have come; Kartik is among them, and I can scarcely keep myself from trying to catch his eye, no matter how much I loathe myself for it.

“Here now, what’s this? What is the matter?” Mrs. Nightwing demands. Sensing a fight, the girls pour out of the church and congregate at its doors, despite Mademoiselle LeFarge’s entreaties for them to go inside. She might as well try rounding up chickens in the rain.

“We watch the woods,” Ithal explains. He has a pistol stuck into his belt.

“Watch the woods for what, pray tell?” Nightwing bristles.

“Mother Elena does not like what she feels. I do not like what I see.” He jerks his head toward the workmen’s camp.

“There will be no trouble between you and Mr. Miller’s men,” Mrs. Nightwing says in a commanding tone. “Spence has always offered kindness to Mother Elena. But do not push me too far.”

“We offer protection,” Ithal asserts, but Mrs. Nightwing will not be swayed.

“We require no such protection, I assure you. Good night.”

Kartik places a hand on Ithal’s shoulder and speaks to him in Romani; Ithal nods. Not once does Kartik look at me. At last, Ithal motions to his men.

“We go,” he says, and the Gypsies turn back toward the woods and their camp.

“Rubbish. Absolute madness. Protection! That is my duty, and I should think I am rather accomplished at it,” Mrs. Nightwing grumbles. “To prayers, girls!”

Nightwing and LeFarge shoo us into the church. I take one last glance at the woods. The men have moved on, their lanterns burning small holes in the evening gloom. All except for one. Kartik is still there, hidden behind a tree, silently watching over us.

* * *

No. THIRTEEN

* * *

I CONSIDER NOT GOING. I WRESTLE WITH THE THOUGHT for the better part of an hour. I imagine Fee’s and Fiona’s faces the next time we travel to the realms and Lawt is simply gone. I wonder how the factory fire girls will get on without her. I don’t know for certain that this is the right course, but I’ve promised, and so I must go.