A Ghost in the House of Iron

Chapter Twenty-Nine

You can't rescue them, Balsevor says. That's not why we're here, remember?

I grunt in response, continuing to stare at the giant golden doors of the grand temple from my perch atop the nearby admissions building. I have one knee bent, my elbow resting on it so that my chin can cradle easily in my palm. Below me, students hurry about campus in their gray robes, carrying bundles of books or practicing wand technique. None of them notice the figure sitting like some strange gargoyle high above their heads.

Owl, you've been scowling at that tower for over an hour now. He's gone! Balsevor says.

I've been unable to think of anything but that gnome ever since I stormed out of class earlier this morning. I waited outside to catch Rogemere taking the creature from the Pneumatists' Tower after the first semester students were finished with their heartless experimenting. The High Priest strode across the campus with the miniature tailor suspended in a spinning metal cage that hovered in the air before him, glittering in the sunlight. The sharp, knife-like pieces of the iron prison spun in seemingly impossible criss-crossing patterns around the tiny faerie in his yellow suit, like the cage itself was alive - and angry.

I followed Rogemere to the main temple and spied through a crack in the door as he stepped behind the tall tiered stage all the way in the back of the room. And then, with the red stone glowing atop his staff, he disappeared through the hazy crismon outline of a door that wasn't there. Vanished, leaving only solid wall behind, smooth and impenetrable.

"Why have another magic door?" I ask under my breath, for probably the hundredth time. "Why? The 'UP' door is right there."

I don't know why this particular mystery frustrates me so much. Maybe because, without meaning to, I've been imagining that somewhere there must be a list of all the names to every room far above in the spires of the golden temple, or a map with each destination clearly labeled. And if I just found this master sheet of names... But of course nothing can be so simple. With the Ironborn, it seems there will always be more hidden layers. More lies. It's not satisfying to find out Rogemere has a secret door to what I can only assume is a dungeon full of tortured faeries. It's infuriating.

I know you're avoiding Master 'Specimen,' Balsevor says, but don't you have other classes you're supposed to be going to?

He's right; at this time I'd usually be making my way to the Glossomancy Tower for "Introduction to Runes and Words of Power," but I'm not in the mood for more classrooms and lectures. I want to do something. Free Rogemere's collection of faerie creatures, punish these people for their ignorant beliefs, reduce the University to ashes. Or leave, and return to my peaceful home in the Wood. Something. Unfortunately, I can't do any of that if I want to find my mother, let alone learn new ways of doing magic. It seems so stupid that I'd thought that would be a good idea. Now I'm stuck playing a role, a pretend Ironborn, unable to break any of their rules or question their methods without risking discovery.

Just then, shooting out of nowhere with hummingbird speed and a trail of sparkly blue fluff, a twittering pixie launches itself straight into my face, grabbing hold of my fingers with its tiny hands. "Hurry-hurry-hurry..." it says, each desperate word colliding with the next in a seemingly never-ending plea.

I jerk my head away from the little thing as its thrumming wings tickle against my skin. I know this pixie; it's the one who was so interested in Sindred. It has very rodent-like features, for one of its kind, as well as an unusually large vocabulary. I remember her shooing it away, but the effort was probably unsuccessful. Creatures like this tend to be very stubborn and hard to get rid of.

Hurry? Balsevor asks. Hurry where?

The pixie tugs repetitively against my fingers and just keeps repeating, "Hurry-hurry-hurry..."