Wystwood

61. Dangerous to wander alone

Ada stood before the tomb of Min's mother for a long time. She wanted to think of some significant words to say for her, but nothing would come to mind. An emptiness had swept over her, closer and heavier than her cloak, and a cold draft shifted around her ankles, as though the dead were speaking with whispers too low for her to hear.

Her legs were stiff when she finally turned to go. Between the tombstones, the room was deserted yet again. Yue had not reappeared, and Ada could vaguely recall Hester announcing that she was leaving some time previously.

Ada wasn't certain of the hour, but the chill and quiet of the underground as she made her way back to the infirmary suggested she had spent a long time in the crypt. Sage-lights guided her through the darkness, but when she reached the bunk beds, she saw that everyone was asleep.

The mangy cat had curled up next to Min again, its front paws tucked beneath the girl's chin even as she moaned softly in her sleep. Ada wished she could comfort her, but she couldn't forget the image of the tomb and headstone, and thought perhaps Min's dreams would be kinder than anything she could say.

Climbing quietly to her bunk, Ada tugged off her boots but kept her cloak on, still shivering amongst the blankets. She almost sat on a small parcel laid in front of her pillow, and peeling back its wrapping she realised that Armestrong had packed her an arrangement of nuts, bread, and cheese for supper.

Ada's throat felt tight as she ate, and she set the parcel aside before she had finished the meagre meal. Something sharp jabbed into her ribs and, shifting back her cloak, Ada realised it was the iron dagger and Solen's silver knife, still tucked into her breast pocket. She had forgotten they were there, and a thrill of fear tensed her chest. Had the violence of Wysthaven made her numb to such things?

She removed the daggers and shoved them beneath her pillow, the heavy weight of the Gilded Book pressing them down into the mattress. Then, with her head on an elbow, Ada clenched her eyes shut and tried to slow her breathing. A sour smell from one of Hester's balms clung to her blankets, and from above there came an occasional shudder of old, crumbling rock.

Ada tossed onto her other side, counting sheep, although they all transformed into snarling dogs in her head. With a huff, she flung her blankets over her head and reached up to grab the Gilded Book. There was a soft puff from her mattress, and Ada looked down to see a single, fallen leaf of sage had kindled into a flame. It drifted up above the golden book as though carried by a breath, and then lingered in mid-air to dimly light the tented blankets.

Ada opened the Gilded Book in her lap and her eyes were struck by line upon line of meticulously inked handwriting. Hundreds of names had been scrawled down the first page, surname first, followed by a simple address, and then a date. The names were all entered chronologically, and as Ada riffled through the book, she saw some pages marked only a single day.

She stopped skimming the writing when she recognised a word. Bristol. Ada's fingers numbed, and she looked at more of the addresses below. York, Oxford, Cheltenham. They were all towns from England. From her world. The names of a thousand humans and their homes.

Ada's quick breaths were making the sage-flame flicker and, remembering the Stone Circle's strange magic, she thought of her home town and turned the page. Just as books had appeared before her in the library, the Gilded Book was now open on entries only from Little Crestbury. The dates were more varied here, but many of the earliest were recorded from centuries back. The later in time they were written, the more lines of neat writing had been added to the entries.

Weatherford, Martin, Ada read, Wishing Trade: one gold sovereign for a profitable harvest of wheat. Magic given: one flask of misting's water. Price on use: Weatherford's crop of cabbage to be wilted.