The house on Durrow Street.

by Galen Beckett.

CHAPTER ONE.

IVY WOKE TO the sound of voices.

She sat up and reached for Mr. Quent beside her, wondering if he had murmured something in his sleep as he often did. Her hand found only a cold tangle of bedclothes. He was gone-a fact her dull mind recalled after a moment-off to the north of Altania on business for the lord inquirer. He had left nearly a quarter month ago and would not return before Darkeve at the end of the month.

Besides, it was not from inside the bedchamber that the murmuring had come.

Ivy rose, gathering a nightgown around her, for it was late in a long umbral and the coals in the fireplace had burned to cinders. She stood in a beam of moonlight that had slipped through a gap in the curtains, listening. Was Rose wandering the house in the night as was her habit, singing softly to herself? Or perhaps it was Lily, making exclamations as she read by candlelight in her room, turning the final pages of one of her romances.

Ivy heard nothing save the beating of her own heart. The high hedges outside guarded against the noises of the city, and the old house on Durrow Street was silent. She turned to go back to bed.

This time the voices were louder: a chorus of whispers that seemed to come from outside her bedchamber door. By the deep tones, it was neither Lily nor Rose. Nor could it be any of the servants; their quarters were still under renovation, and they were not yet in residence. Which meant the moonbeam was not the only interloper in the house.

A dread descended over Ivy. Not three months ago, upon his return to the city from Torland, a band of revolutionaries had set upon Mr. Quent as he met with the lord inquirer. Their intent had been nothing less than murder. However, Mr. Quent had been warned of the attack beforehand, and the rebels were apprehended before they could act. Yet if they they had desired to do violence to agents of the Crown, it was not difficult to believe there were others who might wish the same. had desired to do violence to agents of the Crown, it was not difficult to believe there were others who might wish the same.

Her heart quickened as she went to the door. She pressed a hand to it, as if she might sense through its panels what lay beyond. If only the door was fashioned of timbers from the Wyrdwood! She would call to the wood, wake it from its slumber, and shape it with her thoughts. What did a witch have to fear from a robber when there was Wyrdwood nearby?

But the material beneath her hands was inert, hewn from a tree of New Oak; it could be of no help to her. Despite this fact, Ivy summoned her courage. After all, she told herself, this house belonged to her father; it was a magician's dwelling, and so had its own powers and protections. She opened the door and stepped into the corridor beyond.

It was empty except for the moonlight that spilled through a window at the end. All was quiet; the voices had ceased.

Ivy moved down the corridor, pausing to crack the door to Lily's room, then Rose's, peering inside. Both of her sisters were asleep. She wondered if it was the sound of wind she had heard. Sometimes, in the months she had dwelled at Heathcrest Hall, the wind over the eaves had sounded like whispering voices. Only, when she reached the window, she saw that the straggled hawthorn and chestnut trees below stood motionless. when she reached the window, she saw that the straggled hawthorn and chestnut trees below stood motionless.

So much for that that hypothesis. Her gaze roved across the garden, but she perceived only shadows. Beyond the hedges, a scattering of gold lights shone here and there in the Old City. Another spark, brighter and more reddish than the streetlamps, hung low in the southern sky. Otherwise, the night was void. hypothesis. Her gaze roved across the garden, but she perceived only shadows. Beyond the hedges, a scattering of gold lights shone here and there in the Old City. Another spark, brighter and more reddish than the streetlamps, hung low in the southern sky. Otherwise, the night was void.

Ivy shivered in her nightgown. According to the almanac, it was to be an umbral of over twenty-two hours. Frost would tinge the windowpanes by the time dawn came. Despite the cold, she did not return to her room. Instead, she went to the stairs to begin a survey of the house.

It took half of an hour, for the house was much larger than their previous dwelling on Whitward Street. She moved up and down staircases, through narrow pa.s.sages and across vaulted halls. Many of the chambers were in various states of refurbishment, and others were all but impa.s.sable, crowded with furniture moved out of those rooms under repair.

The task of opening the house on Durrow Street was proving to be a greater labor than she had guessed. How unwise she had been, to think she could have accomplished the task on the wages of a governess! Much had become dilapidated in the years the house had stood empty. And she suspected that even when her father had dwelled here, all had not been cared for as properly as it might have been.

Mr. Quent had quickly educated her as to the enormity of the work on the day they made their first inspection of the house. The roof sagged over the north wing, and in the south the floors were rotten. The cellar showed signs that water seeped in when it rained; there were myriad broken windows, cracked walls, and faulty beams. Such was the length of the report that Ivy feared to be told that the only solution was to raze the house to rubble.

Instead, Mr. Quent had sat in the dusty light of the downstairs parlor and, in his cramped yet meticulous hand, had written out a list of repairs to be undertaken. It was a doc.u.ment that required several pages.

"I cannot possibly imagine the cost of this," she had said in astonishment when he gave it to her to review.

"As there is no need for you to imagine it, I suggest you do not attempt such a futile and obviously distressing feat."

"But the repairs are so great. It will be an exorbitant sum-over five thousand regals, I am sure!"

"And now it appears you can envision it quite well, Mrs. Quent. How curious for a thing you could not possibly imagine a moment ago."

"I mean only, is it worth the expense for a house that is so very old?"

His brown eyes had been solemn as he regarded her. "It is worth it because because it is so very old." it is so very old."

With that, all other arguments were superseded. The letter was delivered to a builder, and work commenced at once.

Now, as she walked through its moonlit chambers, Ivy wondered just how old her father's house was. Many of the buildings in the Old City had been in existence for centuries, and were built on the foundations of structures more ancient yet. However, while the other dwellings and shops and churches in this part of Invarel all crowded together, her father's house stood apart in its garden, a thing unto itself. Nor was it constructed of the same gray stone as the other buildings, but rather hewn of a reddish porphyry, speckled with interesting inclusions and darker crystals. Ivy wished she could ask her father about the age of the house. But that was not possible.

True, her father's state was better than it had been several months ago. Now, when Ivy went to Madstone's to visit him each quarter month, she was able to sit with him in his private chamber. The room was in the dormitory where the wardens dwelled, far removed from the awful clamor of the rest of the hostel, and Ivy had been allowed to make it familiar and comfortable with furnishings brought from his attic at Whitward Street.

The only thing the wardens had not permitted her to bring was any of Mr. Lockwell's books, for these were deemed too likely to agitate him. Her father had been a doctor and a man of learning, and Ivy did not like to deprive him of at least a small library. Yet while she did not think kindly of the wardens at Madstone's, she had to wonder if perhaps they were right. Her father had seemed exceedingly placid on her recent visits. He had even smiled at her from time to time. and Ivy did not like to deprive him of at least a small library. Yet while she did not think kindly of the wardens at Madstone's, she had to wonder if perhaps they were right. Her father had seemed exceedingly placid on her recent visits. He had even smiled at her from time to time.

Yet he never spoke her name, or any other intelligible thing. Lord Rafferdy's influence had been enough to improve her father's treatment at the hostel. But the royal charter under which Madstone's operated granted it considerable autonomy, and no patient would be released unless the wardens deemed him cured or the king ordered it.

While her father was improved, even Ivy could not pretend he was cured of his malady. As for gaining a writ with the king's seal, Lord Rafferdy had submitted the pet.i.tion. However, King Rothard was infirm himself these days. A recent edition of The Comet The Comet reported that while the Citadel had tried to keep the news from public knowledge, the king had been confined to his bed for nearly a half month of late. reported that while the Citadel had tried to keep the news from public knowledge, the king had been confined to his bed for nearly a half month of late.

This was ill news, but Ivy would not stop hoping for the king's health-and her father's-to improve. In the meantime, whatever the age of the house on Durrow Street might be, she was beginning to think that it would increase by at least another year before the work on it was completed. The repairs were going more slowly than she had antic.i.p.ated. Materials had grown dearer and scarcer of late. And, according to the builder, he had lost several skilled craftsmen.

"How have they been lost?" she had heard Mr. Quent ask Mr. Barbridge one day as she descended the stairs to the front hall.

The builder had shifted from foot to foot, turning his hat in his hands. "They say it watches them while they work. The house, they mean. I beg your pardon, Mr. Quent, for it's a foolish bit of fancy, I know. Yet they're simple men, and all those eyes-well, they do give one a feeling."

His gaze had gone toward the k.n.o.b atop the newel post, which was carved in the shape of an eye. It blinked a wooden lid and turned in its socket, gazing about in a quizzical fashion. There were others in the house-set into moldings and doors-which often did the same as one pa.s.sed by. were others in the house-set into moldings and doors-which often did the same as one pa.s.sed by.

Open or shut, the eyes never troubled Ivy. If her father had not created them himself, then at least he had been aware of their enchantment. And if he had tolerated them, then why shouldn't she? Besides, she was glad for their presence in those times when Mr. Quent was away. Most of the magicians of the Vigilant Order of the Silver Eye were gone-perished, or locked away in Madstone's. But there was at least one who remained. Even if it was the case that Mr. Bennick was no longer a magician himself, that did not mean he was no longer perilous. She and Mr. Rafferdy had witnessed that firsthand. So she was grateful that the house kept watch.

By his grimace, the builder did not agree. Ivy and Mr. Quent had not discussed it, but after that day she went through the house, draping cloths over all of the carved eyes she could find. However, at the end of each lumenal when the workmen left, she would uncover the eye on the newel post at the foot of the stairs. That one, at least, she would leave to keep its silent vigil.

Now, as Ivy started back up the staircase, that eye was shut fast. Her own eyes wished to follow suit, and a yawn escaped her as she climbed. Since leaving her room, she had heard nothing except for the sound of her own footsteps and those natural sounds a house makes at night-the groan of shifting beams, the creak of an eave as it settled-which can give no rational mind cause for fear.

What had been the source of the whispering voices, she could not say. Ivy had not thought them to be figments of a dream, but now she had to admit that it was possible. She reached the top of the stairs and went to her bedchamber, ready to return to sleep.

This time it was not a whispering she heard, but rather a distant clattering. She turned from the door. The sound had echoed from down the corridor. Nor could it be ascribed to a dream this time.

Ivy started forward even as it occurred to her this was absurd. If there really was an intruder in the house, what would she do if she encountered him? She was a smallish woman of twenty-three years clad in a night robe and slippers-hardly a thing to inspire alarm or cause a thief to flee. Yet she could not return to her room and huddle in her bed knowing there was another presence in the house. she encountered him? She was a smallish woman of twenty-three years clad in a night robe and slippers-hardly a thing to inspire alarm or cause a thief to flee. Yet she could not return to her room and huddle in her bed knowing there was another presence in the house.

Ivy crept down the corridor, then turned a corner into the north wing. The pa.s.sage beyond was cluttered with lengths of wood and crumpled heaps of cloth. A sheet draped the window at the end, dimming the moonlight to a gray gloom.

Again she heard a noise: louder now, as of sharp objects being struck together. She stopped before a door halfway along the corridor. Ivy laid a hand on the k.n.o.b; like many in the house, it was formed in the shape of a bra.s.s...o...b..clutched in an eagle's talons. The metal was icy to the touch.

A feeling came over her as it sometimes did at night-a sense that the darkness pressed in from all around, seeping through cracks and beneath doors, seeking to smother everything. The Testament said that before the world was made, only darkness existed. In moments like this, she could believe it sought dominion once again.

Suddenly convinced that she did not want to see what lay in the room beyond, Ivy s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand back. So violent was her motion that she flung the k.n.o.b away from her as she recoiled, and the door, not being fully latched, swung inward.

A coldness rushed out. The clacking came again, loud and jolting, but her mind could not grasp what it was. There was another sound, like that of a wet cloth being shaken, and something lurched across the floor not five feet away from her.

In the gloom it was no more than a shapeless blot, scuttling like some half-formed thing not ready to have been birthed. The coldness froze her; she could not move. Then the thing rose up off the floor and spread itself outward, as if to catch her in its black embrace.

Ivy screamed.

Rustling, scrabbling, and clattering filled the room. Two other shapes lifted from the floor, expanding outward, spreading dark appendages. A rush of cold air buffeted Ivy so that she staggered back, raising her hands to her face. The noises rose into a terrible clamor. Then, with one last gust of air, all fell silent except for a low, sighing sound. appendages. A rush of cold air buffeted Ivy so that she staggered back, raising her hands to her face. The noises rose into a terrible clamor. Then, with one last gust of air, all fell silent except for a low, sighing sound.

Ivy lowered her hands. Her eyes had grown accustomed to the deeper darkness of the room, and she saw the remnants of a curtain flapping before the room's one window. The glazing was gone, and the shutters were open as the cold night poured in unimpeded. Shivering, she started forward to draw the shutters. As she did, something snapped beneath her foot. Ivy bent to pick it up. It was a twig.

"Ivy?" she heard a faint voice echoing behind her. "Ivy, where have you gotten to...?"

She grimaced. Her scream would have been enough to awaken the dead. She proceeded forward, avoiding the heap of sticks in the center of the room, and closed the shutters. Then she left the room and hurried back down the corridor.

As soon as she turned the corner, she saw Lily and Rose. They stood outside their bedchambers. Lily held a wavering candle.

"Blood and swash, there you are!" Lily exclaimed, holding the candle higher. In addition to her usual romances, she had been reading a number of nautical-themed adventures of late, and so had taken to speaking like a sailor. "Rose said you weren't in your room. We heard you scream. Something awful has happened, hasn't it?"

Now that it was over, Ivy realized how her imagination had gotten the better of her. She felt an absurd laughter rising. "I'm afraid the only awful thing is that I've roused you from your beds for nothing."

"But I thought I heard voices," Rose said, her eyes very wide in the golden light. "Was there someone here?"

"Three someones, in fact." Ivy held up the twig she still carried in her hand. "They were storks, I believe, given their size. They had come in through an open window in one of the empty rooms and were building a nest. I'm sure I frightened them quite as much as they frightened me. They flew off."

Lily let out a snort. "Storks? Really, Ivy-you aren't brave at all, to be scared of a few silly birds. Soph.e.l.la didn't scream once in the last chapter, even when the duke shut her in a crypt full of skeletons. You've quite ruined me for sleep for the rest of the umbral. I might as well read my book." With that, she took the candle back into her chamber.

Ivy sighed as darkness descended once again. "Do you need me to show you back to your bed, dearest?" she said to Rose. "My eyes are quite used to the dark by now."

Rose smiled at her. "I can always see when you're near. Just stand in the doorway for a moment, and I'll find my way."

As was so often the case, Ivy didn't quite know what to make of Rose's words, but she did as her sister asked, and Rose was soon in her bed again. Ivy shut the door quietly, then returned to her own room. She thought, like Lily, that there would be no more chance of sleep for her that night. Instead, as she laid down, a great yawn escaped her. The excitement of dread had pa.s.sed, leaving her exhausted in its wake.

"Not brave!" she murmured to herself as she settled her head against the pillow. If only Lily had seen her when she escaped from the highwayman at Heathcrest Hall, or when she faced the magicians of the Vigilant Order of the Silver Eye. Then she might not think the fictional Soph.e.l.la to be superior in character to her eldest sister. After all, one had little to fear from a pile of bones. Or from a few birds. It was living men that one had reason to worry about, and Ivy was now very certain there was not a single one here.

Knowing that the house's eyes kept watch in the dark, Ivy shut her own, and did not open them again for the remainder of the night.

ONCE AGAIN SHE was awakened by a sound coming through her door, only this time it was the noise of hammers pounding.

Ivy sat up in bed. A pink glow tinged the windowpanes, which were indeed rimed with frost. By the light, it was only just after dawn. She was surprised the workmen were here already. Yet they were, and that meant that, despite Ivy's late-night exertions, there would be no more sleep for her. dawn. She was surprised the workmen were here already. Yet they were, and that meant that, despite Ivy's late-night exertions, there would be no more sleep for her.

She rose and dressed quickly, her breath fogging on the air. Then she proceeded downstairs to the parlor, where the family was taking their meals while the dining room was under repair. Upon entering, she found Lily and Rose already at the table.

"Shiver my timbers!" Lily exclaimed and shut her book, which she had been reading as she nibbled at a piece of toast. "I don't think I can bear another day of this blast and blunder. I can hardly read two words in a row with all this racket."

Ivy smiled at her. "I believe it's the house's timbers that are shivering. However, if the noise bothers you, I suggest you ask Lawden to drive you up to Halworth Gardens." She went to the hutch and checked the almanac. "It's to be a short lumenal today, which means it should warm quickly. You could find a bench on which to read."

Lily's eyes lit up. "That's a capital idea. I'll tell Lawden to put the calash top down on the carriage so we'll look extra fashionable. Rose will come with me. She can keep watch and tell me when there's a fine-looking gentleman coming so I know when to put down my book and look uninterested."

Ivy sat at the table. "Should you not rather appear interested if you wish for a gentleman to take notice?"

"Good G.o.ds, don't you know anything, Ivy? No gentleman will speak to you if you appear interested in him. If he thinks you have a wish to speak to him, he will turn at once and go the other way. Instead, you must look very bored and wait until he wanders near on his own. That's what Soph.e.l.la learned when she was trying to speak with the duke's son in Chapter Two."

Ivy poured a cup of tea. "I had no idea young gentlemen lived in such dread of conversation that they must be lured into it unsuspectingly. They must suffer a great fright every time they encounter a pretty young lady. All the same, you should not presume that Rose will a.s.sist you in your scheme. She might like to occupy herself with an activity of her own choosing."

"Nonsense. What could Rose possibly have to do? Sitting next to me will be quite enough activity for her her, I am sure. You'll come with me to the gardens, won't you, Rose?"

Rose gave a hesitant nod. "But I'm not sure I'll know which gentlemen are the ones you think are handsome."

"That's easy," Lily said. "Simply choose the ones that look the most like Mr. Garritt. Though it's been so long since we've seen him, I'm not certain I'd recognize him if he walked past. When will he and Mr. Rafferdy come to call? Since we've moved to Durrow Street they've paid us but a single visit, and they hardly stayed an hour. They're terribly rude. If I see Mr. Garritt at Halworth Gardens, I'm sure I will be too peeved to speak with him." Her dark eyes sparkled. "Wouldn't that be marvelous, if I saw him there?"

"I do not see how it matters, if you're too peeved to speak to him," Ivy said, putting a bit of cold partridge on her plate.

"Blow me down, of course I'll speak to him! After I show him how I am peeved, of course." Lily fixed her with a scowling look. "I suppose you you won't come with us to the gardens, will you?" won't come with us to the gardens, will you?"

Ivy had to admit that a stroll through the gardens sounded pleasant. However, she shook her head. "While he is away, Mr. Quent is relying on me to supervise the work on the house."

"I hope he will not be away so long as he told us," Rose said. "He is only just gone, and I already wish that he were back."

"As do I," Lily agreed heartily. "I've just realized that all of my bonnets are dreadful. I'll be ashamed to be seen in Halworth Gardens with any of them. I'll need a new one immediately upon his return."

These words concerned Ivy, though she kept her admonishment gentle. "Mr. Quent has already bought you a great many things-dresses, ribbons, parasols."

"Yes, but not a single bonnet. And if I tell him I can quite do without it, and that it's the silliest of things, and kiss his cheek, he will tell me to go at once to the finest shop and select my favorite one."

Ivy said nothing and ate her breakfast. She suspected Lily was correct in her prediction. Mr. Quent had been indulgent of Ivy's sisters since they took up residence on Durrow Street-especially of Lily, since Rose seldom asked for anything. Prior to his most recent departure, Ivy had mentioned that she feared Lily was becoming spoiled. correct in her prediction. Mr. Quent had been indulgent of Ivy's sisters since they took up residence on Durrow Street-especially of Lily, since Rose seldom asked for anything. Prior to his most recent departure, Ivy had mentioned that she feared Lily was becoming spoiled.

"Why should she not be spoiled?" Mr. Quent had replied. "I am sure she has had little enough opportunity to be spoiled in her life. And as she is nearly a young woman, the time in which she can be so indulged grows short. You were not spoiled at all before it was too late, Mrs. Quent, and look what it has done to you. You are practical and somber! No, we must hurry and spoil Lily before it is too late for her, and she becomes hopelessly serious."

"I highly doubt that that will happen!" Ivy had exclaimed. will happen!" Ivy had exclaimed.

A grin parted his beard then, and he looked-as he sometimes did, with his brown hair curling over his furrowed brow-like some wild faun from an ancient Tharosian play. At such times, Ivy could do nothing but laugh and hold him tightly.

"Very well," Ivy said now as she set down her fork. She gave Lily what she hoped was a stern look. "But only one bonnet, mind you."

Lily gave a sweet smile in return. This response did little to rea.s.sure Ivy. Before she could say anything more, Mrs. Seenly entered the parlor bearing another pot of tea and the post. At once Ivy forgot about all other concerns, for there was a note from Mr. Quent. She opened it and scanned its brief lines.

The contents were what she had expected. He wrote to let her know of his safe arrival in the north. His work was just commencing; he did not think it would be strenuous. They were there only to make observations, comparing the size of various stands of Wyrdwood to those recorded in old surveys. He still planned to return by month's end. Ivy was glad he did not expect to be delayed. However, it was not yet Brightday, which meant Darkeve was still more than half a month away.

She never told him that it was difficult for her when he was gone. The burden of his work was already great, and she had no wish to add to it. Besides, any difficulty she might have to bear in his absence was nothing compared to what he must endure in his travels. Still, she could not deny it was hard to have him gone so often; nor, as much as she did her best to conceal it from him, did her own difficulties go unnoticed by others. his absence was nothing compared to what he must endure in his travels. Still, she could not deny it was hard to have him gone so often; nor, as much as she did her best to conceal it from him, did her own difficulties go unnoticed by others.

"It is not right for a young wife to be so frequently without her new husband," Lord Rafferdy had told her some months ago, after a supper at Lady Marsdel's house. It was the night before the lord inquirer departed the city to return home to Asterlane. "It weighs on you already, Mrs. Quent, and will weigh further, I have no doubt."

She tried to demur, but she could not lie, and could only admit it was, in truth, a challenge.

"I know it can offer you little comfort now," Lord Rafferdy said as they sat apart from the others, "but know that his work is of great importance-indeed, of the very greatest to all of Altania. Know also that, one day, it will be rewarded. He has labored all these years without any recognition. Yet one day-sooner rather than later, I think-that will change."

These words had at once shamed and heartened Ivy. Who was she to mope about, pining for Mr. Quent, when she knew that so much depended on his labors as an inquirer? Knowing that Mr. Quent's work was so important was all the reward they required, she had a.s.sured Lord Rafferdy. For some reason, the look he had given her then had struck Ivy as both pleased and amused, but he had said nothing more. The next day the lord inquirer had departed the city, and he had not returned since.

"Mrs. Seenly," Ivy said, "is Mr. Barbridge in the house this morning?"