Secret Places and Hidden Things

Chapter Seventeen

A few days later, as the helm was wandering along the edge of a small lake, Jack worked up the courage to talk to Marelle in the Library. She was surrounded by books, as usual, rifling through pages in a thoughtful way. He didn't want to creep up on her, so he made a show of walking under her balcony and going up the stairs on the opposite side where she could see him clearly. It was like approaching a wild animal—he didn't want to look threatening.

She put down her book as he walked up, her face plaintive. "Hello Jack."

"Good morning..." He said stiffly. Up close Marelle's eyes, while still unsettling, were red-rimmed and puffy. She seemed tired.

There was a gaping silence, and then Marelle laughed. "What did you come up here for, Jack? I promise I won't bite you." She smiled impishly, narrowing her eyes.

"Well, I guess I was just curious what you're doing up here. You're always surrounded by a wall of books..." He rubbed the back of his neck.

She leaned back in her chair and looked at him for a moment, tapping her chin with a long finger. Her eyes wandered over him like she was looking for insects on his clothing. Her strange pupils made him look away.

"Well, I'm trying to figure out how to control things, of course. Everyone else here can do it without trying. They must have learned it somehow, don't you think?" She narrowed her eyes even further.

"I don't know," Jack said. "When you showed me your dancing, what was that?"

She waved her hand as if swatting the idea away. "That was nothing. Moving around without any real intention. Nothing came out of it except a little exercise."

"It didn't seem that way to me," Jack said.

"It doesn't matter. I can't move through walls or create foxes out of thin air by dancing. There must be some book in here that will tell us how it's done."

Jack wondered at this. When Daerk had rolled up the table, or Michael had made the flower grow up on Wynne's balcony, it hadn't seemed like they were doing anything intentional at all. He tried to explain this to Marelle, but she just shook her head impatiently.

"It doesn't matter what you call it. I just can't do it. I asked Daerk about it, but he blubbered at me, like he does." She sneered and crossed her legs abruptly.

"It probably seemed ridiculous to him," Jack said. "It probably isn't something he can explain—" He instantly knew he had said the wrong thing.

"Oh, I'm ridiculous am I?" she yelled, leaping to her feet. "Well I don't care! He can keep his damned secrets!" She began grabbing books and throwing them off the balcony in a wild fury, tearing at the pages and covers with nails like claws. "Stupid, useless, bloody, rotten—" She choked on her words and made a noise like a wildcat, screaming and roaring in a guttural blast of rage. Jack leapt away from her as her eyes began to crackle with sparks and her hair flashed into tongues of flame. She grabbed his chair and, with astonishing strength, broke it over the railing. The pieces crumbled into fire as they fell. She threw the books, whipping her arms out violently, and they exploded like bombs, bright flashes decimating entire sections of shelving.

"Marelle," Jack yelled, ducking under a flying book, "look! You're doing it!"

"Emotions aren't control, you imbecile!" she screamed. In a single motion she cracked the table in half and swept it clear with a blow from her arms. Then, she stomped away, breaking the treads as she stormed down the stairs. He heard a door slam somewhere in back and the entire balcony quaked from the noise.

Jack wondered what to do. The fire was gaining strength.

Just then another door opened somewhere and Jack heard Daerk's voice over the roar of the flames. "Jack, is that you? Were you throwing fish around in here again?" Jack couldn't respond over the noise. He was just starting to panic—the balcony wobbling beneath him—when the fire vanished and everything returned to normal. The books Marelle had thrown were stacked neatly on the now-repaired table but the rest were still on the floor in a heap.

"What was that all about?"

Jack jumped. Elliot was standing by the stairway, looking off towards where Marelle had slammed the door. The fox was with him. It meandered delicately up the stairs to rub its head on Jack's leg.

"Marelle's mad at Daerk," Jack said, scratching the fox's ears. Its eyes closed into joyful crescents.

"Mad at me?" Daerk asked from across the room.

Elliot walked up the stairway and sat down in Marelle's chair. He surveyed her mountain of books and pulled out a few titles.

"Metallurgy, Blacksmithing, The Golden Dawn, Taxidermy, Sewing and Drapery...what are these even for?" He cracked open The Golden Dawn and paged through it as Daerk made his way up the steps. "It's full of odd rituals."

"Well, she said she was trying to figure out how to control things," Jack said.

"Control? But the helm is so full of limitless potential."

"What do you mean?"

Elliot lowered the book, thinking how to respond. "Well, in other places things work in a standard way—everything moves in obvious patterns—but the helm has something better. I've never known what to call it, but there's so much of it here, and you can do anything you want with it. Michael knows how to use it best, I think." He thought for a moment. "You know, if Marelle is so upset, I could always try to teach her."

"That won't work." Daerk said, walking up the stairs.

Elliot looked over at him, setting the book down on the table. "Why's that?"

"Marelle doesn't want to be taught," Daerk said. "She has to learn things the hard way. I mean, we all do, of course." He wiggled his nose. "She has to learn the very hard way."

Jack frowned. "Couldn't we at least try? She was really upset."

"You can try, but she won't learn. She's made up her mind about it. It's a part of her now."

"You sound very sure," Jack said.

"Oh, I'm not sure about anything," Daerk responded, waving a hand airily. He stopped himself mid-gesture. "Or is it that I'm sure about everything?" He looked off into space, his eyes flicking side to side.

"What do you think?" Jack asked, turning to Elliot.

"Daerk is probably right," he said. "If Marelle hasn't asked for help, she probably doesn't want any."

Jack looked out over the library. No trace of the fire could be seen. No doubt this would make Marelle even angrier when she returned. Even her tantrums made no impact on the helm. He wondered if she was right to be angry, but it was hard to consider the possibility. He hadn't felt anything close to anger since he'd arrived.

"Maybe—in time—she'll learn to calm down a bit," he said.

He didn't really believe it.