Chapter 58
Talisa
Port Herrewick, Isle of Abbonay, Western Isles Province
Three weeks later
The stone quay rose and fell under my shoes as if we were still at sea. Ahead of me, Mira and Juno staggered a little, as well.
After three weeks at sea, the air here smelled of home.
Once I’d tipped the sailors who unloaded our trunks from the Sea Spray and thumped them down beside us, I scanned Import Row, a wide cobbled street separating the docks from a long line of tall stone warehouses, taverns, and brothels that stood shoulder to shoulder faced the seaside quays.
I saw fishermen unloading the morning’s catch, merchants haggling over stacks of crated merchandise, and everywhere, families meeting returning travelers.
But nowhere did I spot Papa’s tall, fair-haired figure or Jacinthe’s dark brown face and fiery red hair.
“Where are they? They should be here,” Mira asked, sounding bewildered. “Didn’t you write and tell Papa which ship we were coming in on?”
“I sent him a letter as soon as I bought our tickets. They’ll be here. They probably just missed the morning ferry from Bernswick,” I speculated with more confidence than I felt.
Three weeks should have been plenty of time for a letter to reach Bernswick. I’d paid extra for expedited delivery on the direct Felicitas Victoria-to-Herrewick route while our mail ship sailed its meandering route up the coasts of the Imperial Capital Territory and Frankia.
We sat on our trunks and waited as hours passed and morning stretched to noon. Finally, our stomachs growling, I sent Juno to buy us fish chowder from the nearest tavern.
“Maybe the letter got lost,” Mira offered in a hopeful tone as we dug into our humble midday meal.
It had been served in edible bowls made from thick-crusted round loaves with their interiors scooped out, and came with disposable spoons made from the dried leaves of the aptly named spoon-leaf bush.
The chowder was delicious, chunky with fresh fish and cubed root vegetables in a savory cream base seasoned with onions, bacon, and a generous sprinkle of imported pepper.
“I’m sure they’ll be here on the next ferry from Bernswick,” I replied, trying to keep my own hopes up.
Two hours later, we heard the whistle announcing the river ferry’s arrival at the riverside docks.
We eagerly gathered up our belongings and craned our necks, looking for Papa and Jacinthe.
But no one came.
Juno planted herself in front of me, arms crossed, her mouth set in a line I knew too well. “They’re not coming,” she declared. “I bet it’s that woman’s fault. She doesn’t want us there.”
“Juno—”
“It’s true. Or Papa would be here.”
“There must be some good reason,” I protested. But the same thought had been circling in my head for the past few hours.
“If it was just Papa,” Mira said slowly, “I might believe that Narcissa had talked him out of coming. But Jacinthe—”
“Jacinthe didn’t come either,” Mira finished. She stood up from the trunk, her expression suddenly clear and alarmed. “Jacinthe would have walked here if she had to. She wouldn’t let someone like Narcissa stop her.”
The knot of worry in my stomach tightened. “Let’s wait for the next ferry before we give up hope,” I said, but I’d already lost confidence in Papa arriving to meet us today.
Maybe he got the day wrong.
The last ferry of the day arrived as the sun began its slide toward night over the western hills. Mira, Juno, and I, our trunks floating in our wake with a levitation charm, walked over to the river dock to meet it.
When it docked, it looked smaller than I remembered, only half the size of the river ferries in the capital. It was wooden-hulled and weathered, with a single sail and a team of oarsmen for when the wind died.
We watched the passengers disembark. A dozen islanders. A traveling peddler with his pack. Two youths wearing the uniforms of the Herrewick Harbor Master’s office.
No Papa. No Jacinthe.
“They’re not coming,” Juno said, her shoulders slumping. The anger had drained out of her voice, leaving only hopelessness and worry.
I made my decision. “So, let’s board this ferry and go home. No use staying here overnight when we could be home by suppertime.”
Both of my sisters brightened at the suggestion.
We loaded our trunks aboard and I paid our fares from the velvet purse that felt considerably lighter than it had been when we left the academy. The tickets, the luggage fees, food, gratuities, and incidentals on the long voyage—it had all added up.
The ferry pushed off from the dock and headed upriver.
Herrewick receded rapidly behind us, its whitewashed buildings and red tile roofs shrinking against the green backdrop of the hills. The tar-and-fish smell of the harbor gave way to the fresher, cooler scents of the forests that crowded the riverbanks.
Mira sat beside me on a narrow bench near the railing. She clutched my hand in both of hers. Juno stood at the bow, her back to us, her shoulders rigid.
Jacinthe should’ve been on that dock with her arms wide, her smile brighter than the sun on the water, ready to sweep us all into a joyful hug.
That she hadn’t been there to meet us—that no one we knew had come to meet us—meant something was very wrong.
That thought haunted me for the next few hours, as miles of forest and cultivated fields slid by, with the occasional village.
I knew them all: Rutherford, Wulfham, Elmsworth, Hareford, Thornholt.
Brambleby, Wetherham, Aldermere, Fearnley, Oswy’s Ford…
each cluster of thatch-roofed houses we passed brought us closer to Bernswick, and home.
Then the ferry rounded another bend, and I saw the smoke rising from Fugol’s smithy.
We were finally home.
∞∞∞
Strangely, we encountered no one as we walked along Bernswick’s single unpaved street. It stretched from the ferry dock, ran through the center of the village, and petered out just past our house at the edge of the village.
The days were long at this time of the year, with twilight lingering for hours.
We’d arrived at suppertime, and everyone appeared to be indoors enjoying their meals.
As the three of us trudged up the street, I caught savory whiffs of cooked food from the houses we passed, and saw smoke rising from every chimney.
Except for ours.
As we trudged up to our house, weary and dispirited from a long day of waiting and hoping, our trunks floating behind us, our worry thickened the air like fog.
Mama’s beloved apothecary garden, where medicinal herbs and shrubs usually grew in neat, labeled rows, looked overgrown and unkempt. Weeds had sprung up between the raised beds, tall enough to brush Mira’s knees.
Our vegetable garden looked just as bad.
“Hasn’t anyone been tending the garden?” Mira asked, her expression twisted in distress.
“Jacinthe would never have let things get this bad,” Juno said.
Even Papa and Narcissa, both of them mage-healers, should’ve taken care of the garden that provided many of the ingredients for the herbal remedies and complex healing potions used in our family’s clinic.
The house’s exterior looked just as neglected as the gardens. The stoop was dusty, with spiderwebs thick in the corners and dead leaves and debris piled against the front door.
All the shutters were closed tightly.
The lock on the front door was new—a heavy iron thing, the kind you’d see on a shop door in Herrewick. It looked out of place in a village where everyone knew everyone and theft was so rare that most people didn’t bother locking their doors at all.
The sight of it was unsettling.
“Papa?” Juno called, her voice too loud in the quiet street. She hammered on the door with her fist. “Papa? Jacinthe? It’s us! We’re home!”
No answer from inside the house. No footsteps or creaking of floorboards. It felt empty. Deserted.
I joined Juno in pounding on the door. “Papa! Jacinthe!” The name caught in my throat. “It’s Talisa! Open the door!”
No response.
“She’s in there,” Juno said fiercely. “Narcissa’s in there, and she’s pretending not to hear us. She’s probably laughing at us.”
I shook my head. The house felt deserted, and with the garden in the state it was…
“No one’s been here for at least a fortnight,” I told them, feeling sick with the wrongness of it.
“Talisa? Mira? Juno?”
I turned. A woman stood on the edge of the overgrown garden, a brightly colored woven shawl pulled tight around her shoulders and a linen veil pinned loosely over her crown of white-blonde braids. I recognized our neighbor, Mrs. Hild, the cooper’s wife.
And next to her stood Elfrieda.
“It is you! You’re back!” Elfrieda squealed, waving wildly at me. She turned to her mother. “See, I told you saw the three of them walk by, but you wouldn’t believe it!”
“Divine Mother be thanked, you girls are safe!” Mrs. Hild exclaimed, approaching us with quick steps.
Elfrieda raced ahead of her and caught me in a fierce hug. “Oh, welcome home, Talisa! I’ve missed you so much! And so much has happened! Did you get my letter?
I nodded. “We just got off the ferry. No one came to meet us in Herrewick, and the door’s locked. Have you seen Papa? Or Jacinthe?”
Elfrieda stiffened against me. Over her shoulder, I saw Mrs. Hild’s expression change. Warily, she glanced at the house, then back at us.
My heart sank. I knew it! Something bad’s happened!
“Your father and his bride have been missing for a fortnight, at least,” she said. Her voice dropped, though there was no one else around to hear. “Ever since those people came.”
“What people?”
“Strangers,” Elfrieda supplied. “Edgar Miller says there were five men. Well-dressed, and all had mainland accents. They arrived by private boat, and asked for Mage-Healer Baldwin of Bernswick. Everyone just assumed —well, you know how it is. People come to Bernswick from all over, needing a mage-healer.”
I nodded. I’d spent my childhood watching my parents receive urgent calls for help. They always went. Sometimes they’d be gone for a week or two, and Jacinthe would have to take care of us.