40. Sam Low Spirits
Sam: Low Spirits
The outer reaches of the realm, closest to the portals, are inhabited only by younger spirits.
The most ancient spirit I have encountered in the realm had passed into the realm one hundred and twenty years before.
Where, then, are the other spirits? They are farther in the realm, presumably, beyond the first isle.
—Wister Amsel, A True Account of Explorations in the Realm
Once again, more slowly this time without the currents of the Weer all around me, I told the story of my involvement with the Cisneros Society and the damage its enchanters had done after my death.
The Sor Juana Alliance, for all its strength in numbers and long history, had not known about the ropers.
I could see how this revelation deepened their disgust for Cisneros, but it didn’t offer an immediate course of action.
A direct confrontation between Cisneros and the Sor Juanas was to be avoided, for the Cisneros thews tipped the scales severely.
And taking advantage of Maxwell’s—or I should say Roy Marcel’s—position as a constable would be difficult without better evidence.
Even the moth fairy in the woods, a clear embodiment of illegal bone enchantment, couldn’t be decisively tied to Cisneros, and an enchanter of Draken’s stature would have no difficulty concealing the armor.
Roy would need to catch them in the act.
We agreed to consult again the following day, when Clem would perhaps be somewhat recovered and we’d all considered the problem at length.
But Clem was not recovered by the following day.
All Wednesday afternoon she lay in bed, eating only a little of the tempting food Gertie brought her.
I thought about Wister’s counsel, wondering whether grief over Rosetta had destroyed her sense of conviction.
But when her thoughts were visible to me, I didn’t see sorrow for Rosetta.
I saw the realm. I saw the vast expanse of stones, and the penetrating cold, and the dark shadow of the Oaring overhead.
Something about the place would not let her go.
I kept her silent company for most of Wednesday, and she didn’t complain.
But when she still wouldn’t rise from her bed on Thursday, I was genuinely troubled.
This wouldn’t do. Where was my invincible Clem, who scoffed at vulgar warnings etched into her back?
Well, it was hard to accept, but undeniable: she was not invincible.
“Clem,” I began, from my place at the foot of her bed.
“I can only imagine how you must feel about Rosetta…I’m so very sorry. ”
She kept her eyes on the ceiling. “I’m not grieving for Rosetta. I’m only tired.”
“No, I believe it’s more than that. I’ve watched you for months, and you’re never tired. You are indefatigable.”
“Well, now I’m tired.”
I looked at her, unable to hide my concern. “What can I do to help?”
Clem didn’t reply.
“Remember the words we exchanged in the realm? We agreed to destroy the Society, and avenge your sister’s death. And mine.” I paused. “I can’t do it without you, Clem.” I knew these words would remind her of what she’d said to me on the mooring line: of how we had saved each other.
Finally, her eyes met mine. “Something happened to me there, Sam. On the way back.”
I moved to sit on the bed beside her. “What happened? Tell me.”
“Something…something left me. I don’t know what.
Something…whatever it is that keeps a person moving forward, wanting things, pushing on.
I’ve spent so many years battling death.
First my mother’s death, then my father’s death, then the possibility of my own death and Rosetta’s.
But in the realm I saw that death. I saw that it’s all for nothing.
What’s the point, Sam? What’s the point of trying to stay away? ”
“I think what you are feeling is Rosetta’s loss,” I said gently.
“No.” She shook her head. “No, I…What I feel for Rosetta is more fear than grief. It’s not that. It’s…We are all bound for death, Sam. Every one of us.”
I had no immediate reply. After a while, I said, “You’re right that we will all arrive there, sooner or later.
But if I could only convey to you what it’s like to be there as a spirit—the monotony of it, the endlessness of it.
Having felt that, I know, I truly know, that each moment as a living being is priceless. ”
Clem wasn’t looking at me. She was looking past my shoulder, and I turned to see Wister standing in the open doorway.
Wister smiled at us. “You’re a young spirit, Sam,” she said.
The words were gentle, almost fond. “Your love for life is only natural. But let me ask you this, both of you: Why doesn’t every spirit long to come back?
Why do some spirits move on beyond the first isle? ”
I thought about this. “Perhaps they become tired of the monotony.”
“Or everyone they know in the living world has died,” Clem offered.
Wister didn’t correct her. “The living world is no longer fascinating to them. It’s impossible for us to imagine, because the living world is everything to us.
Nothing else matters. But just as you look back on the toys of your childhood with affection but also a degree of distance—you no longer play with them, or need them—so does life become something else to a spirit.
An earlier delight, now gently put aside. Other things call them.”
I felt something twist inside me at this thought. No, I couldn’t put that aside yet.
“Neither of you is ready for that,” Wister continued. “Nor am I. We’re still here, for the work of the living world is dear to us, and urgent. This is where we belong—you as well, Sam.” She stood a moment longer in the doorway, and then left us.
I could see this thought moving sluggishly through Clem’s mind; she didn’t try to conceal it from me. For a while longer, she lay in bed, her thoughts churning, and then she said, “I need a little time alone. Don’t worry; I won’t go anywhere.”
Taking some slight encouragement from this attempt at humor, I did as she asked.
I spent an hour in the kitchen, answering Gertie’s and Meg’s many questions, some more prudent than others, and then I sensed Clem’s thoughts, reaching for me, tugging.
I hurried to her room. She was sitting, dressed, at the edge of the bed. “You heard me.”
“Yes, I heard your thoughts.”
She looked at me, and I saw the same bleakness in her expression, but something else, besides. “I thought about what you both said. I don’t feel any different, but…” She looked down at her knees. “I made a promise to my mother. I have to keep it.”
I was relieved. A first step, albeit a small one. I thought it might be the right time to offer her a gift: the one gift I could give her, from my time in the realm of the dead. Perhaps it would cheer her a little. “I wonder, Clem, if you might want to visit Vera before we do anything else.”
She looked momentarily dejected again. “No, I don’t think so. I’m sure she hasn’t found the case.”
“Probably not. But she doesn’t have to.” I paused, waiting for her to look at me, and smiled. “I know where it is.”
Clem’s eyes widened. “You saw it? You really know where it is?”
“He never moves it. It’s inside a false book on his shelf.”
She rose from the bed in a single bound and threw her arms around me; surprised and gratified, I returned her embrace. Could it be that my spirit form, cold and damp, did not disgust her? She spoke into my shoulder, and the warmth of her voice stole over me. “Thank you, Sam. Thank you.”
Roy had come on Thursday, but his visit was brief; on Friday he returned and, finding Clem on her feet, he stayed for longer to discuss our plans.
Clem had received the news of his membership in the Sor Juana Alliance with interest rather than enthusiasm, but she was noticeably easier now in his company.
And though she still concealed most of her thoughts from me, she had allowed me to see some of her plans, like a player showing her cards, and they made clear that her mind was once again active.
“Exposing them publicly will be most effective,” Clem said as we debated possibilities.
She still looked wan, and her spirits seemed to me depressed, but I could see that her thoughts were clear.
“Their power comes from their lofty reputation. If we destroy that, they are weak.”
Roy nodded agreement. “What kind of exposure do you have in mind?”
“A double exposure—demonstrate that they are cowards by revealing the ropers, then demonstrate that they are criminals by revealing the stoning deaths.”
“That seems sound,” Wister said. “The public will feel most outraged not by the deaths of others but by the deceit. It is their indignation we must draw upon.”
“And you think…” I put in, seeing Clem’s thought. “You think a Grand Séance might be an apt occasion for such an exposé?”
She nodded. “Yes. A Grand Séance at the Lyceum. A large audience, impossible to silence.”
“It will be dangerous,” Wister observed. “To perform in front of all of them, with their thews in attendance as well.”
“Why not rely upon Erauso?” I asked Clementine. “Where is he?”
Clementine looked down at her lap, and her thoughts were abruptly shrouded. “We cannot rely on Erauso,” she said quietly. “But I’m not concerned about an attack onstage, Wister. If they do that, they will only prove our point.”
Wister nodded, her reluctance visible. “It is risky, but that is true of any plan.”
From there, our plans progressed quickly.
Roy utilized his connections in the constabulary to secure a spot in the next séance, Wister prepared the Sor Juana Alliance members at Keel House and elsewhere for an imminent confrontation with Cisneros, and Clem and I began practicing.
Our plan required no joint casting, but we did need to practice summoning for the séance, and that in itself involved no small effort.
To begin with, I would need to alter my appearance by influencing the audience’s perception.
I practiced in the kitchen, with Gertie and Meg for an audience.
There were no textbooks for thews, no courses to guide my first attempts.
I reached for their thoughts intuitively and found them, but I didn’t know what to do next.
Could I change their thoughts somehow? No, no more than I could change someone’s words by speaking to them.
Their thoughts were smooth and whole, visible but not malleable.
Gertie was scrubbing potatoes, and Meg was staring at me across the table with disconcerting attentiveness. She giggled.
“Did something happen?” I asked.
“No.” But she sent me a rather florid thought that didn’t assist my concentration.
I sighed and tried again. For most of the afternoon, I had no success. Then Clem joined us, leaning in the doorway to watch the strange pantomime at the table. “Try the way you did from the realm,” she said. “When you would send me caution and encouragement.”
It wasn’t a bad suggestion. I did so, and instead of sending an emotion, I conveyed the image of myself as I wished to be seen.
Meg gasped, and her flirtatious thoughts withered.
Gertie looked up from the turnovers she was forming.
“Ah! You’ve done it, Sam. Very nice bonnet,” she added approvingly.
“But you’ve given yourself no curves at all,” she said, frowning. “Live a little, why don’t you?”
I’d fashioned myself in the image of a probable Keel House resident—a plain, middle-aged woman of island origins, with worn hands and bland features. Clem walked around the table to look at me directly. “That’s excellent, Sam,” she said quietly. “Or should I say ‘Samantha’?”
Though accomplishing it had been difficult, I felt no strain or exhaustion, and once the trick was learned, it felt simple, as simple as reaching for someone with sympathy or alarm.
Clem was right: a spirit works its power through emotion, and I needed this, rather than the calculating approach of the enchanter, to effect my castings.
In my new guise, I took two letters written by Clem and ventured out into the streets of Salem early Friday evening.
It was my first foray beyond the boundary of Keel House, and I could hardly contain my joy at the experience.
A fine rain fell—which made no difference to me at all—and I beamed at every person who passed me on the street, wishing them a good evening.
The bright yellow lights in the shops, the splash of the carriage wheels in puddles, the smell of pine tar near the wharf—I found it intoxicating, all of it.
When I reached Vera’s house, I admired the tidy front garden on the rather run-down street.
She came at once in response to my knock and opened the door cautiously. “Yes?” she asked, looking out at me.
“I’m Samantha. I’ve come from Keel House,” I said. “With a message from Clementine.”
“Oh!” Vera exclaimed, opening the door. “Come in, come in.”
“I’ll only be a moment,” I agreed, stepping into the foyer. “She’s given me these letters: one for you, one for Throckmorton’s thew. She’s learned the location of the case. The details are there.”
“How?” Vera’s eyes opened wide.
I shook my head. “I can’t explain. But Clem asks if you could bring her the case—to Keel House. If you can.”
Vera smiled. “Oh, the professor and I are fast friends now.” She entwined her fingers and winked at me. “I bring him extra dessert, and he gives me good tips. This will be easy.”