Iron & Ice #ONC2024

Chapter XIII

 It feels like we've been walking for hours, but according to my pocket watch, it's only been a few minutes when Meadow stops dead in her tracks. In front of her, the tunnel ends abruptly, but this door is far more ornate than the one we entered through.

Meadow stands perfectly still and completely silent for a long moment, listening. I take Commander Remus's and Miss Grace's training in waiting and listening and sneaking to heart, and listen, too. At first, I don't hear anything, but then, after a second, I pick it out–the rustle of fabric, a creak, a sigh. There's someone on the other side.

Slowly, silently, Meadow reaches out a hand, then waits, listening intently. When no one seems to hear, she scratches softly against the wooden door with her finger nail. One scratch, two. Then, in quicker succession, one, two, three. It could be an animal running across a wood floor, except for the pattern.

There's a long pause, and then the door silently eases open a crack. Meadow reaches for her trustworthy pistol and steps forward, peering around the edge of the door. I tense, every nerve ending on fire, every muscle coiled.

Then, Meadow relaxes. Her hand falls away from her pistol. "All clear," she says in her harsh, scratchy whisper.

I follow her through the door, and we step out from behind a display of wine bottles of some sort into what looks like a private dining room in a hotel, or a restaurant, or maybe a very nice pub.

At the table are two more familiar faces. Lord Corvus sits at the end of the table, where he can see both the main door and our secret entrance. The Allmother sits across from him, pale in the light of a hundred candles that burn bright in the chandelier overhead, in sconces on the wall, in a candelabra in the center of the table.

And, even more wondrous, standing behind her is Alice, lovely, beautiful Alice, who smiles widely when she sees me. I can't resist the urge to run across the room and embrace her.

She catches me in her arms and gives me a quick squeeze. "You look well," she whispers in my ear. "The Academy must agree with you."

"Hello, dear," the Allmother says in that lovely, cultured accent that I remember from my recent dream. "Or should I say Prefect Corvus? Congratulations. That's quite a triumph."

Lord Corvus chuckles and raises a glass to me in silent greeting.

Despite their warm welcome, there is a tension in the room, a pall that hangs heavy over them all. Lord Corvus looks older than the last time I saw him. Maybe it's just the candlelight, but I swear he's developed a new wrinkle or two, and it seems to me that he's lost weight, and he was already slight to begin with.

The Allmother's lovely, ageless face is wan, and her eyes are tired. This is only the second time I've spoken to her face-to-face, but it's the same expression she wore when she talked about injustice, about the oppression of witch-kind on that fateful night, the night she recruited me for this mad job of hers, this job that has brought me here, to this place, to this moment.

Alice's hug is unusually fierce, and her beautiful face is painted with concern–for me, or for something else? I'm not sure. Even Meadow is more tense than usual, and Meadow is always more like a coiled spring than a person in her physicality.

"What's going on?" I ask. "Is something wrong?"

The Allmother gives a weary sigh. "Things are... escalating," she says wearily, and nods at Lord Corvus. "Show her."

Lord Corvus pulls a folded newspaper out of his cloak and hands it to me. "Read it. Just the headlines. We'll fill you in on the rest."

It's a London newspaper, I see. I recognize the name of one that Lord Corvus used to always have lying about when I was living with him.