Chapter 1 #2
The world trembled and darkened, then righted itself again.
Judith opened her eyes to a familiar sight: the round tower room of Pendennis Fort, built of heavy stone, with a large desk opposite her.
It was Captain Drumpellier’s desk. He, fortunately, was not present like the last time she had appeared here: he must have his hands full escorting Dacian to wherever they intended to incarcerate him.
One lantern glowed steadily behind the desk, indicating that its owner might soon return.
She had been here earlier in the day, a lifetime ago. Dacian had slipped the topaz ring on her finger and sent her here, whisking her out of danger. Only she had brought a greater menace back to him: the wrath of the law down upon his head.
Never mind that the Musor Custos would probably have caught up with the duke at some stage; he had, after all, killed three men with his Gift.
There had been mitigating circumstances, however, especially for the last one.
Judith was determined that the Custos should hear her testimony.
Surely, then, they would have no choice but to pardon him.
She looked around, wondering if there was any weapon or tool she could requisition.
A rifle hung on the wall, but she was not a practiced shot, so reluctantly she discarded the idea.
Also, her first attempt must be to reconcile Drumpellier, not commit treason by aiming a gun at an officer of the Crown.
From her pockets, two heads emerged, one curly brown and one dark. Yvette clambered out, clinging to Judith’s skirts and looking up.
“I will reconnoitre,” Yvette said briefly, and shifted into her bat form to fly out of one of the windows set deep into the stone. Judith only hoped it wasn’t a partial truth, and that Yvette wasn’t going to abandon them now that she had escaped from Garvey House.
Outside, the night was black, the full moon now set. It was very late, or very early. The air was cool, and Judith could hear the sound of waves shushing in the distance. They were in Falmouth, Cornwall, having traversed days of carriage travel in mere moments.
“Hmph,” muttered Marigold, still in her pocket. “We should make a plan, before flitting off like that.”
“We do need to know where they have put Dacian. If, indeed, he is even here.” Worry gnawed at Judith’s innards.
With him taken from her, all her dithering and self-delusion over the last few weeks seemed terribly foolish.
It was apparent to her now that Dacian was dear to her, completely and utterly, and that she would do anything to gain him back.
She gritted her teeth to keep herself from succumbing to maudlin emotion. The years spent apart from him—in stupid misunderstandings and anger—must not be compounded now.
Striding to the desk, she rifled through the papers there.
They seemed to be in some sort of code: nonsensical sentences strung together.
Was this how the Custos communicated? Was there anything about the duke, some hint as to how they intended to deal with him?
Impatient, she opened the drawers, finding more papers closely inscribed with gibberish. Useless to her, and no weapon either.
She turned in time to see a black shape flap through one of the windows.
It wasn’t Yvette, however. A black silk cloak billowed out as the bat tumbled onto the desk. Judith was pleased to see it resolve into the form of Wooten Willoughby. She shut the drawers.
His long face peered up at Judith. “My lady, you came.”
“Of course I did. Where is he?” She ran her eyes over Wooten, ascertaining that he seemed unharmed. “Are you all right? Is he all right?”
“Below, six flights down.” Wooten didn’t answer her other question.
She narrowed her eyes. “Take me there.”
“That is…inadvisable.”
“Why?”
Wooten winced nervously. “His grace is not quite…himself.”
Her heart leapt to her throat. “What have they done?”
“Administered the first dose of Lethe.” At her aghast face, Wooten hurried on.
“Not enough to be irreversible; just enough to keep him docile. It is probably standard procedure: Impact to contain the threat, Obruo to neutralise it, Lethe to make him forgetful. I have hopes that it will wear off in a day…unless they renew the dose.”
Judith closed her eyes momentarily in aguish. “I must talk to him. Warn him.”
“I have warned him, and I don’t think his grace would want you in his presence, my lady.”
Marigold scoffed from her pocket. “Don’t be ridiculous, you bofflehead. If you don’t show us the way at once, I’ll rip off that black silk until you’re as naked as the day you were born.”
Wooten grimaced. “Was it really necessary to bring Miss Cultor?”
“Miss Belfleur is here too,” warned Judith. “She said she could help us with a distraction. Are there any guards?”
“One,” admitted Wooten.
That news only made Judith feel more apprehensive.
Clearly, Drumpellier thought one guard was sufficient, despite Dacian’s power.
The Defences on the cell must be strong, or he was dreadfully weakened.
Her heart quailed. “I will not wait, Wooten. Lead the way. Marigold, here—take the topaz ring and keep it safe, in case I am apprehended.” She handed Marigold the heavy masculine ring, adorned with the dark blue stone.
“If we are separated, find your way to Castle Lanyon.”
“Pfft,” said Marigold. “I am not leaving you! Not with only Sir Long-Face and Lady Liar to help you!”
With a lugubrious sigh, Wooten turned and stepped off the desk, transforming into his bat form. He floated over to the door, waiting for Judith to open it, his cape trailing behind him.
The door did not make a sound as she swung it open. Stone steps led downwards, lit by a single sconce. She trod down them quietly, following Wooten’s shadow.