“If the sea is all there is, it will suffice.” From his pocket Kartik takes a worn red bandana, the one we used as a silent communiqué before. I would place it in my bedroom window if I needed to speak with him, and he would tie it in the ivy nestled below if he needed me. He presses it to his neck.
“Kartik, what has happened?” I whisper. “When I left you in London, you pledged your loyalty to me and to the alliance.”
“That person doesn’t exist any longer,” he answers, his eyes darkening.
“Has this anything to do with the Rakshana? What of all your talk of destiny and—”
“I no longer believe in destiny,” Kartik says, his voice shaking. “And if you recall, I am also not a member in good standing of the Rakshana. I am a man without a place, and the sea will suit me fine.”
“Why do you not come with me into the realms?”
His voice is barely a whisper. “I’ll not see the realms. Not ever.”
“But why not?”
He won’t look at me. “I have my reasons.”
“Then tell me what they are.”
“They are my reasons, and mine alone.” He rips the bandana in two and places half in my hand. “Here, take it. Something to remember me by.”
I stare at the crumpled ball of fabric. I should like to throw it at him and walk away in triumph. Instead, I clutch it tightly, hating myself for this weakness.
“You shall make a fine sailor,” I say sharply.
It is nearly sundown when we return to Spence, laden with parcels from the fair. Mr. Miller’s men are quitting for the day. Dirty and damp with sweat, they load their tools onto a wagon and wash up in the buckets of water the scullery maid has left for them. Brigid offers them cool lemonade, and they drink it in greedy gulps. Mrs. Nightwing inspects the day’s work with the foreman.
“Oi, Mr. Miller, sir,” one of the men calls. “That old stone in the ground. It’s broke clean in two.”
Mr. Miller squats down to have a look. “Aye,” he says, brushing his dirty hands against his strong thighs. “Can’t say how it happened, though, thick and tough as it is.” He turns to Nightwing. “It ain’t but an eyesore, missus. Should we take it out?”
“Very well,” Mrs. Nightwing says, dismissing them with a wave of her hand.
The men grab shovels and picks and plunge them into the sodden earth around the stone. I hold my breath, wondering if the secret door will be revealed or if their efforts shall affect our ability to enter. But there’s little I can do about it except hope. The men pry the pieces of stone loose and deposit them into the wagon.
“Might fetch a price somewhere,” Miller muses.
Mother Elena staggers toward us from the woods. “You mustn’t do this!” she cries, and I realize she’s been hiding and watching. It gives me a shiver, though I can’t say why, exactly. Mother Elena is mad; she’s always saying strange things.
It’s gotten to a few of the men, as well. They stop digging.
“Back to it, mates,” Mr. Miller shouts. “And you, Gypsy—we’ve ’ad enough of your mumbo jumbo.”
“Off you go, Mother,” Brigid says, starting toward the old woman.
But Mother Elena doesn’t wait. She backs away. “Two ways,” she mutters. “Two ways. You’ll bring the curse on us all.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WE DO NOT HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL AFTER MIDNIGHT TO make our escape from Spence. Everyone is so exhausted from the fair I can hear the snores resounding in the hallways. But the three of us are more awake than ever, giddy with anticipation. We gather in the great room. I try to make the door of light appear once more, but I cannot seem to summon it. I feel Fee’s and Ann’s eagerness turning to desperation, so I abandon that way for the other.
“Let’s go,” I say, leading the charge out onto the lawn.
The night is a living, breathing thing filled with possibility. The cloudless sky twinkles with thousands of stars that seem to urge us on. The moon sits fat and content.
I put out my hand and conjure the door in my mind. The energy of it makes my hand shake. The secret portal shimmers into view, as strong as before, and I let out my breath in relief.
“What are we waiting for?” Fee asks, grinning, and we race each other through the glowing passageway, laughing. We come out in the realms. Arm in arm, we take the trail that winds among the stones, sneaking about so that we’re not seen, looking for any signs of trouble.
“Oh, Winterlands creatures,” Felicity singsongs as we near the Borderlands. “Come out of your hiding places.”