Page 78 of The Heart and the Hawthorn

Frida didn’t dare breathe lest she miss a single word. Her brain felt like it was fracturing.

‘You’ve all heard me speak on this at length, so I shan’t weary you with it now. But truth be told, I dislike relying so heavily upon a thing we scarcely comprehend. I know you are all of the same mind.’

Mutters of agreement rose from behind the cloth. Frida ached for them to tear it away and was simultaneously paralysed by fear that they might do that very thing. She pressed her hand to her heart, her fingers digging into her chest bone. Not rescued, taken. The words went over and over in her mind. The steely light clung to her like molasses. She could barely feel her magic inside her, and yet at the same time, she could feel it raging. They had the Jewel. These people had the terracotta dragon’s Jewel. And they were using it, like . . . like . . . coal. A power source. She’d figured that out in the laboratory, but what about the other objects? What were their purposes?

She didn’t have to wait long. Within seconds, Sir Joshua had answered her.

‘The day may come when the power of this gemstone fails, just as it did with the weaker artifacts. As you know, they are withering daily. They are useless to us now and soon won’t have the strength to power anything larger than an apple! So, pray, what will we do when this happens to the Jewel? What would become of this wondrous place should our dragon perish?’

Gasps rippled, Frida’s amongst them. She smothered it with her hand.

‘I know such a thought is shocking, dears, but the truth is plain: in this matter, we are in the dark. We have relied too heavily on power we do not understand. Moreover, we remain cloaked in secrecy, for there are those, as you well know, who would seek to undo our work, or steal these rare prizes from beneath our noses.

‘But now, friends, sisters, esteemed colleagues, it is my singular pride and honour to declare that we have moved beyond such perils. This day, we step boldly into a new world. Through our experiments upon the artifacts, we have arrived at a moment of true revelation – a marvel of science, of ingenuity, of perseverance! We have accomplished what, but five years past, would have been thought madness: a method to house these most extraordinary and excellent of creatures – so dear to all our hearts –’

‘And purses,’ someone bellowed.

Sir Joshua chuckled amiably, and Frida thought she would vomit, ‘Yes, Mr Caval . . .’

Mr Caval. He was here then, too. All the LEZites. They were all witnessing this.

‘And purses too, by God,’ Sir Joshua continued. ‘Tonight, we celebrate. Mr Gladstone and I have found a way to house all our interests, in a manner befitting the wealth of our human intelligence. These new cages are secure, cost-effective, and – of the utmost importance – sparing of resources. They will change the world. Indeed, when the beasts and demons threaten to overrun us, they might be the very thing to save us.’

He paused to collect the awed hush that rippled around the room.

Then Sir Joshua said, so softly that his voice poured through her like the very finest whiskey, ‘Will you see, dear ones?’

Chapter Forty-Three

As much as she braced herself for it, when the cloth was ripped off her prison, she still wasn’t expecting it. Maybe she could never have fully been braced for such a thing.

The world spiralled back in, blinding her for a stricken heartbeat. Golden light flared at the corners of her vision. There were gasps and cries of astonishment.

‘But that’s a human, Joshua!’

‘Is it . . . is that . . .’

‘What is it?’

Frida lifted her eyes and found herself staring at Sir Joshua Beaufort, the 3rd Earl of Marlow. His smiling, handsome face, just like in the portraits. Not only in the Ground Control kitchen, but in the Extraordinary Café, in the New Library, at the entrance gates. There was that auburn hair, curling in waves around his tanned face, the spattering of freckles across his straight, well-defined nose. Eyes the colour of deep chestnut.

There were others too that she knew she’d recognise if she dared look. Women in silken gowns, glittering and bejewelled. Men with moustaches, fine black coats and starched cravats. Green liveried servants whisking away the heavy piece of cloth that had kept her hidden. She’d imagined the servants would have been banished for such an event. But no, they saw it too. Frida felt her heart shattering into a thousand pieces, crushed beneath her hero’s immaculate boot. It was as if all her life, everything that she’d ever believed, flared before her in bright HD technicolour. All the infinite ways she’d loved the LEZ. Her church. Her safe place. Her home.

‘How can you do this?’ she whispered.

This, of course, drew more gasps.

‘It speaks!’

One of the sisters touched Sir Joshua’s arm, her dark ringlets framing her delicate, intelligent face. Her dress was blue as forget-me-nots, a match to her eyes. It was Jane. Jane. Jane who’d called her kelpie Sappho. Jane who would have been Frida’s friend. ‘You think it is a demon?’ she asked curiously.

‘Yes!’ Sir Joshua cried, picking Jane up and spinning her around in his delight. ‘Yes, you are quite correct, dearest. Always the smart one. A demon indeed.’ When Joshua set Jane down, the sister Frida had idolised gave a low, wondering laugh.

Frida’s body sagged.

Another of the sisters drew closer, her dress green as oak groves. Eleanor, Frida knew by her button nose and light gold streaks in her reddish hair. ‘Are you not mistaken, dear brother?’ she asked, furrowing her burnished brows. ‘It looks very human, if not for the way it glows and those . . .’ She shuddered. ‘Those tattoos.’

‘And its eyes,’ Jane added shrewdly.