“Yes,” Lorine said, still obviously perplexed. “Arhys and I play it sometimes.”
“Oh, good,” Karigan said. She wrote: We are all in danger. They will want to know more about Arhys.
Lorine took the graphite. Why?
“Bridge,” Karigan said, as if they were really playing the game. She decided that Lorine was better off not knowing that Arhys was the last heir of the old realm. Because they are evil and cruel, she wrote, and Arhys was the professor’s favorite. You need to tell me about the palace, what is where, schedules, anything you can think of. Remember, we are playing the game.
“Rabbit,” Lorine said faintly. She proceeded to draw a map of what she knew of the palace. It was only a small part of the main palace building, which was not surprising. Her movements were relegated to whatever Arhys was involved in from day to day. There were classrooms, the play yard, and little else but the corridors. Fountains were located at major junctions in corridors. Lorine marked the “grotto fountain,” the “horse fountain,” and the “fountain with the trout in it.” Also, she noted the dragon fountain Karigan had seen.
“Rabbit,” Karigan said, and so they went back and forth asking and answering questions. The next thing I’m going to ask will sound very strange, Karigan wrote. First, though, you should know my name is not Kari Goodgrave. In as few words as possible, Karigan tried to explain who she was, when and where she was from, and what help she needed from Lorine. “Bridge,” she said before handing the paper and graphite back to Lorine.
The paper trembled in Lorine’s hand. How do I know you’re not just as mad as Professor Josston said?
“Faith,” Karigan replied aloud. Then she wrote, The professor believed me, and so does Mr. Harlowe. Mr. Harlowe’s life depends on your help.
Lorine nodded.
Good, Karigan thought. Lorine would do this for Cade.
“Rabbit,” Karigan said. “I win.” Then she crumpled the papers they had used and threw them into the dwindling fire.
The two stood and gazed at one another for several seconds before Lorine, sounding like a not-so-good actor in a play, stiffly asked, “Are you ready to retire for the night, Miss Goodgrave?”
Karigan, who was anything but, replied, “Yes.”
Lorine nodded and set about dousing their lamps one by one until there were only the tongues of flame in the fireplace casting illumination into the room. She then flicked her hand in a gesture that seemed to ask Karigan if she was ready.
Karigan nodded, and faded out. Lorine gasped and wavered on her feet. Karigan had told her what to expect, but as usual, actually seeing it was a different story. If nothing else, Lorine probably now believed that Karigan was who she claimed to be.
Lorine steadied herself, then veiled her face and collected Karigan’s supper tray. She opened the door to the corridor, Karigan creeping behind her, holding her breath.
“Here, gentlemen,” Lorine told the guards. “Thank you for arranging to bring Miss Goodgrave her supper.”
As one of the guards reached for the tray, she dropped it. Crockery smashed and metal clattered, and Karigan used the moment to slip out, tucking her manacles to her belly to muffle any clinking of chains. She hastened down the corridor, glancing over her shoulder to see Lorine and the guards on their knees picking up pieces of broken crockery.
“I am so sorry,” Lorine told the guards.
How Karigan was going to get back in, she did not know. Perhaps she would not need to, but it was probably too much to hope for. Tonight she was scouting. If opportunities for more than simple scouting presented themselves, she would pursue them.
The corridors, as she hoped, were dimmed for night time, and very quiet. Still, she kept as close to the shadows as she could, concealing herself behind columns if she saw anyone coming her way. In the low light, her fading was good. In the shadows, it was better.
This outing of hers reminded her of the times she had tried to sneak around the professor’s house, but back then she hadn’t her ability to aid her. The brilliant white marble and gold fixtures of the palace were gray in her vision. It was muddier than normal, which she attributed to the tainted etherea. She hoped she could endure any pain and sickness it caused her.
She retraced her steps to the dragon fountain, the water still burbling away as it had earlier. However, instead of taking the corridor that led to Lhean’s cell, she went down the one to the immediate left of the fountain, the one the ghost of Yates had indicated would lead to the prison of forgotten days.
Karigan did not hesitate. This side passage was even less illuminated. The corridor was lined with doors. How would she know which one led to the prison of forgotten days?
In her gray vision, she discerned the figure of a man some distance ahead of her. He opened one of the doors and disappeared into a room. Karigan hurried down the corridor, halting when she arrived at the door. Actually, it was a pair of doors with columns to either side and frosted windows with “Imperial Museum” etched into them. She almost laughed despite herself. What else could a museum be but a prison of forgotten days?
Would identifying the scything moon prove as simple? There was only one way to find out. One of the doors stood ajar, and she slipped into the museum. It, too, was dimly lit. Perhaps the man who had come in ahead of her was Dr. Silk, who preferred darkness. The low light was good for her ability, but might Dr. Silk still be able to see her “aura” even if she was faded out? She could overpower him, she was sure, if she had to, but she needed him. He was her connection to Cade.