Chapter 21
In which Marigold is a homing pigeon
Marigold
Marigold awoke abruptly just after sundown.
Loud knocking came at the wardrobe door.
Blearily, she unfolded herself from the vampiri bed in the secret compartment and pulled her linen handkerchief around her shoulders.
She could sense the sun had not long gone from the sky, its heat still radiating from the horizon.
“What is it?” she muttered, making her way to the front of the cupboard. The insistent rapping continued. “What’s the hurry?” Had Judith discovered Sgt Finlay’s murderer? Was there some danger? What events had she missed in the long hours of the day?
Judith peered in through a crack in the door, haloed by dim, green light.
“Oh good, you’re awake,” she said, as if it was at all possible that Marigold was still asleep.
“I need your help, my dear. Do you think you can fly over the ocean for about twenty-four miles? I know it is a lot to ask, but all our hopes rest upon you.”
Marigold blinked at her. “I thought I was flying to Penrose Hill again. What if the duke should send a letter with Yvette?”
A flash of pain showed on Judith’s face. “I wish you could—oh, how I wish for word from him. However, we have a new plan.” She put out a hand, and Marigold stepped onto it, to be borne over to the bed.
Judith stripped off her glove as she explained.
“We have, with the use of the baron’s telescope, spotted a ship which I hope is Lord Beresford’s—you remember that he is travelling with my son and daughter back from Sark.
I want you to fly there and make contact with Peregrine, my son, and convince him to Travel back to the Blue Drawing Room.
We need his Gift to help rescue Dacian.”
Marigold stared. “Your son is a Travellor?”
“Yes,” said Judith impatiently. “He only recently came into his power, so he is still learning how to manage it. Yet I think he could manage a jump to Pendennis Castle and back, if we gave him time.”
“You mean to break the duke out of prison?” Marigold pursed her lips. “I hate to be the voice of reason, but isn’t your plan rather…illegal?”
Judith squared her shoulders. “Oh, I have not told you the whole of it. I’ll explain while you have your supper.”
Marigold obligingly sank her fangs into Judith’s wrist, but then almost choked when she heard how his grace was going to be thrown into Austria on an assassination attempt.
She could hear the anxiety in Judith’s voice and feel it in the rapid beat of her heart.
It was clear that Judith feared the worst: if she did not intervene, she would never see Dacian again.
Withdrawing her head from the vein, Marigold said, “I’m certain the duke has more of his wits about him than Drumpellier knows. He might well have his own plan to escape.”
“Yes, but what if he should decide to go to Austria, out of some stupid logic wheedled in his head by Drumpellier?” Judith’s voice was strained. “I must at least have a chance to talk to Dacian properly, or—” she swallowed, “—say goodbye.”
Marigold wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “It won’t come to that,” she said bracingly. “Let us focus on how to fetch him, first, before we conjure more problems. Where is this ship?”
Hastily, Judith put her gloves on again, and found a fresh kerchief—a pretty, pale lavender one—from her valise.
Marigold wrapped herself up and deigned to be moved to Judith’s pocket, listening to how Miss Onslow had found a telescope to aid their efforts and Robert thought he had found the right ship.
Still talking, Judith strode up to the Tea Tower Room, her step hasty.
When they reached it, Marigold peeped out. She saw, to her disgust, that the awful feline was stretched out on one of the windowsills, his eyes closed. His ears twitched above his odd white face as Judith swept in.
Marigold was plucked out of the pocket without ceremony.
She darted her gaze around the room, for although she liked to scoff about the Edicts, she was still accustomed to abiding by them when it came to strangers.
She saw a young woman sitting with a straight back by the bookshelf, clothed in a neat, apricot gown.
She must be Miss Onslow, the Memor who was (Judith had told her) a spy for the Custos.
A massive man who could only be the butler stood by the door, his demeanour full of suppressed excitement.
Robert had his eye bent to a telescope, which was pointed out an open window.
He was intent upon the horizon, where the sky was still a faint, diminishing gold above the dark blue sea.
The evening cacophony of gull cries were fading as the birds settled down to sleep.
“Miss Onslow, may I introduce you to Miss Marigold Cultor.” Judith placed Marigold on the windowsill under the telescope. Without waiting for Miss Onslow’s nod of acknowledgment, she turned anxiously to Robert. “Is it still there?”
“Yes.” Robert did not remove his gaze. “Tracking slowly to the east. It should halt soon; surely they can’t sail at night.”
“Let us pray Lord Beresford lights some lamps, for else it will be difficult for Marigold to stay a course towards him.”
Miss Onslow twisted her hands nervously. “But how can you be sure that it is the ship you want?”
“We can’t. It is a gamble. But even if it is not, Marigold can rest upon the rigging and then look again.
” Judith turned, biting her lip. “Is it too risky, Marigold? Will you have the strength to return, should you not find them? I hope it will be a journey in one direction only, and that Perry can carry you back if you are tired. And on the way there, you can rest on the ships closer to land.”
“I will be fine,” Marigold replied stoutly. “If the wind is the same as last night, it will carry me out. And if I have to fly back, I can hide belowdecks for a day and return tomorrow.”
Judith looked pained, but she did not disagree. “Right. Miss Onslow, do you have the sketch of the drawing room?”
The young woman carried over a scroll of paper and showed it to Marigold.
It was a neat rendering of a room, filled in with blue and brown watercolour paint in the appropriate places.
Marigold recognised it from her investigations the previous evening: the Blue Drawing Room, with its long blue curtains and pale blue walls bordered in white.
“A good likeness,” she allowed, and Miss Onslow smiled, though she continued to stare at Marigold in rather a rude manner. Marigold supposed she must not be familiar with vampiri. Or perhaps it was because Marigold was naked under her pale lavender kerchief. But this was no time for prudishness!
Judith explained again what Marigold was supposed to do once she reached the ship: find Peregrine Avely and convince him to Travel to Lanyon Castle, using the sketch as guidance.
Marigold nodded and became a bat, and the sketch was tied to her leg, much like the letter had been the night before.
Robert showed her where the ship sat upon the distant horizon, and where another boat sat in a similar trajectory.
Finally, Judith carried her to the sill, and Marigold (without her human tongue) dipped her head in farewell.
Then she dropped away from the tower, swooping into the cool, sea air.
It was a relief to fly away from the tense atmosphere of the Tea Tower Room.
Below her, the waves swelled and heaved, a mesmerising sight.
The sky was turning grey, the golden colour leaching out of it.
Pinpricks of stars appeared overhead. Fortunately, just as she had surmised, the wind coming from the north-west filled her wings.
Also fortunately, lanterns soon showed on the distant ship, making her navigation easier.
Still, it was a very long flight over a monotonous landscape.
After a long hour of persistent effort, she landed on the first stopover ship, a little to the west of where she would like it, but a welcome rest. She hung from the topmost mast for almost half an hour, conserving her resources, allowing her supernatural strength to renew.
Then it was into the night again, skimming high on the wind.
It was easy to wander off course or become distracted by the sight of strange creatures moving through wave tops.
Were those dolphins? Or seals? Marigold flapped valiantly onwards, trying to remain fixed upon her destination.
Another hour passed, the rolled foolscap at her ankle growing heavier and heavier.
The last miles were very tiring, and she felt the first inkling of fear creep into her heart.
If she was to become exhausted, there was nowhere to land now.
Just the endless, rolling water. She would sink like a rock, and the sketch would become ruined.
Or would she float? She had never tried to swim before and suddenly regretted that omission.
Her wings would be unwieldy in water, but her human limbs could manage, couldn’t they?
Or, far more likely, a huge fish would snap her up as a morsel of dinner.
Crossly, she put such thoughts out of her mind and focused on the ship.
It was much clearer now, and a beautiful sight.
The waning moon was up, and pale light picked out the elegant lines of the masts.
The sails were rolled up, and the anchor thrown, thank God.
Lanterns glowed at either end and in the cabin on the quarterdeck.
Her acute hearing made out snatches of voices, blurred by the wind.
It seemed that the occupants kept late hours.
Finally, she drew close enough to make out the name on the side of the hull: the Crescent.
It was Lord Beresford’s ship. Relief flooded through her, her wings faltering now that she was almost there.
Squinting, she saw odd black shapes hanging from the rigging.
Then she realised, with a flash of surprise, that they were bats.
A lot of bats.