“But I thought you didn’t approve of porters and porting,” Zani said.
“I don’t, in general. But Burnie is special. He’s gone out of his way to offer to help our family on a number of occasions.” Minodaura shifted her feet on the stairs, clearly uncomfortable. She gripped the rail tightly with gnarled knuckles that had not been spared the ravages of time. “The thing is, I don’t really want to tell this story to you myself, Zani. It hurts me too much to relive it. I think it would probably be better for both of us if Burnside were toshowyou what happened. Maybe we can talk more afterward.”
She squeezed Zani’s hand and took a tentative step down. The wooden riser groaned with her bones as she did. Zani had the sudden impulse to hug her, but refrained, fearful of doing anything that might make her old aunt lose her balance.
“In the meantime,” Minodaura said, “I may as well get to work on the wards.”
As she reached the bottom of the stairs, Minodaura pulled a wand out of her pocket and waved it to illuminate the web of protective magic that blanketed the archives. Normally invisible to the naked eye, it was woven of an ultra fine silvery thread which formed a delicate mesh. It was everywhere, touching everything.
With a practiced hand, her aunt used the tip of her wand to test the knots, quickly setting to work tightening some, and loosening others. Her motions were precise, but also methodical. When she worked her wards, Minodaura seemed less stiff. The wrinkles in her forehead smoothed themselves out, and she seemed to be much lighter on her feet, moving gracefully from strand to strand in a dance.
Working wards was comforting for her aunt, Zani realized. Part of it was the repetitive movements, the precision and prescription of it all. It left little space for worrying. But the other half of it was the illusion of control. When she was working her wards, Minodaura felt safe and powerful.
Zani shook out the hankie and stuffed it in her bag. Minodaura wrinkled her nose disgustedly, but did not speak as she was in the midst of counting knots.
“Don’t worry, it’s self-cleaning,” Zani explained.
“Go on now.” Minodaura lowered her wand for a brief moment. “Time’s a-wasting!”
* * *
The bookshop was busy,so Zani invited Burnside up to her room to speak in private. She was surprised to find that the old man appeared much older than the last time she’d seen him. He was thinner and frailer and his hair was longer. He walked slowly and stood slightly crooked, with a lean to the left as he stooped over. Twice on the way up the spiral stairs, he’d had to pause to catch his breath. The second time he coughed so violently, she’d offered to get him a cup of tea. He merely waved her off and took a swig from his flask, which reeked of whiskey.
This did not inspire confidence.
“How much has your aunt told you?” Burnside hung a set of windchimes beside the bed in her bedroom. They were made of ceramic and featured a collection of butterflies painted in every color of the rainbow. He tested them, listening carefully, apparently pleased with the sound they made.
“These are for you and Will, Zani. I know you like to wander, but it’s always nice to have a beacon to bring you home. Sort of like a lighthouse.” Burnside paused to reconsider his words here. “Like a lighthouse, butportable.My windchimes work on the temporal plane. Like the necklace you gave to Flora. Except they have the bonus of sound. I made them especially for you two.” He looked up at her with much love, but also a tinge of sadness in his eyes.
“That’s so kind of you,” Zani acknowledged. “But Will and I–” She wasn’t sure how to say what she wanted to say. “Will isn’t speaking to me at the moment.”
“He’ll come around.” Burnside waved a hand, dismissing her concerns. “Don’t you worry about that.” He took another healthy swig of whisky. “Now shall we get going?” He knelt down.
“You really mean to port with me now? Shouldn’t you eat something first?” Zani asked, a little worried.
“Plenty of calories in this stuff.” Burnside waved his flask. “Plus, there’s a full pantry in the airship.”
“Airship?” Zani asked. “Where, or ratherwhen, are you taking me?”
“Where and when.” Burnside winked. “Not too far as the crow flies. But a bit more than a hundred years. I’m taking you home, to your family’s lighthouse.”
“Okay…” Zani said warily.
Gingerly, she climbed onto his back, concerned the whole time that she might hurt him. But it wasn’t as bad as she feared.
Porting with Burnside was nothing like porting with Will. There was no rushing wind, nor was there a bright light. There was just a slight rippling effect in the surrounding air. She heard the chimes clinking again, behind them, and closed her eyes tight as she felt Burnside began to straighten. Through her eyelids she could sense darkness, a near pitch blackness all around them. Then Burnside patted her leg.
“You can get down now,” he wheezed. “We’re home.”
Not only is my proprietary porting whiskey tasty, it’s also practical. The oblivion strips you bare. You need something that burns going down to keep reminding you that you’re still alive.
BURNSIDE PORTER,THE WAY OF THE LEY
Chapter29
Windchimes and Weathervanes
Will had spent the last two days sitting by himself in a booth at the Bunny Hole, stewing and hoping to meet up with Burnside. The old porter wasn’t returning his calls, and Will wasn’t answering Zani’s.
