The Odin Inheritance (The Pessarine Chronicles Book 1) Page 17

  My arms and body moved before I could form a thought and I scrabbled to get away from Andrew’s touch. In response he picked up his hands and moved back in surprise, and then watched as my frantic backward crawling moved me several feet away from him, leaving the blanket behind. I waved an accusatory finger at the surprised American.

  “What in the bloody Hell are you?” I demanded, tucking the bottom of the nightgown around me. “What did you do to me?”

  The raven looked at Andrew and squawked in a tone that seemed to be remonstrative.

  “I don’t know,” Andrew said to the raven, and it was clear he thought the bird understood him. He turned his attention to me and put up his hands in a pacifying gesture. “Ari? Are you all right?”

  I gripped the grass in an attempt to ground my confusion and remind myself of the real world around me. “I heard your voice in my head,” I said, “and you put the true memories of the road back into my mind.” I looked at him angrily. “I want to know what you did to me.”

  “Ah.” Andrew rubbed a finger under his nose. “The blow to your head cracked your skull. I... well, I healed the break and did what I could to stop your brain from swelling.”

  “What power or being possessed me and made me shoot the cobbles Dr. Oberlin and the others?”

  Andrew winced. “One that cares for you, and one who has been part of you for many years. I asked for his help.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Is Oberlin all right? What about those odd students with him?”

  Andrew nodded and put out a hand as if to calm me down. “He’s fine, and he doesn’t remember anything that happened. As you now are able to recall, he was under the influence of another mind when he and the others attacked us. I took advantage of that and erased his memories of our hitting him with shovels. Those students, as you call them, were anything but.”

  I took that in, recognizing he spoke the truth, but not able to make much sense of what he said. “How do you know what the inside of my childhood bedroom looks like?” I asked.

  The raven’s glance at Andrew burned with anger, and it flapped its wings to bring itself closer to me. I shied away from the black bird.

  Andrew dropped his hands. “Ah,” he said and settled himself on the grass in a kneeling position. “That’s going to require a conversation we don’t have time to do properly here and now.”

  “Try,” I spat at him.

  He sighed and rubbed his thighs, obviously choosing what to say next very carefully. “Up to this point you have lived much of your life in a world without stories or...” he paused, “...magic. Now you’ve been thrust into a conflict between two supernatural forces where stories matter and magic is commonplace. Hugo,” he indicated the raven, “and I are here to keep you safe and to help you understand the new reality of which you are a vital and important part.”

  I glowered at that pretty bit of spoken nonsense. “Pull the other one,” I said, my tone even and too calm.

  Andrew looked at the raven, confused. “Hugo... I don’t... What did she say?”

  Something unseen passed between the two, and understanding dawned on Andrew’s face. “Oh,” he said, “You think I’m playing some kind of joke. ‘Pulling your leg,' as it were. Well, I’m not.” I glared at him. “...and obviously you don’t believe that,” he said. “Marvelous.”

  “You’re Enhanced,” I said. “That’s how you put thoughts into my head. That’s how you manipulated my memories and Oberlin’s and Lizzie’s. Are you trying to become the first Enhanced student at Cambridge? Is there something you want from me?”

  Andrew shook his head vigorously, alarmed. “No, Ari – no, I’m not Enhanced... I swear. Think! There’s no way a mechanical Enhancement would allow the transmission of thought from one person to another. My abilities aren’t mechanical – they’re magical.”

  “Magic? Please. All that talk about Texas and the rest... it was a lie,” I said bitterly.

  “No,” he said, his alarm increasing. “All that is true. I want to study Physics at Cambridge. I love to fly in airships. My brother will inherit from my parents.” He smiled uncertainly. “You see, I’ve already received my destined inheritance,” he said, pointing at the gold on his chest and the lump of gold that hung from the chain around his neck. “I’m a Facti. I’m the Heir of Khonshu, the Ancient Egyptian god of the Moon. That inheritance makes me a member of a group that fights the man who wants you in his power so badly. My connection to Khonshu allows me to speak mind-to-mind with the people I touch, and lets me heal injuries like the one you sustained on the road.”

  “I’ve never heard of Facti,” I said, “and you really expect me to believe you’re somehow connected to an ancient pagan moon god?”

  He scratched his head. “It would make things much simpler if you did,” he muttered.

  I said several very unladylike words in response. Andrew blanched a little.

  “Ah,” he said. “I’m afraid I don’t quite know how to respond to... erm... How did the daughter of a duke learn to swear like that?”

  The raven turned his head and gestured at Andrew.

  “Cora’s on her way back. It would be awkward if she found us like this. Can you– “ he picked up the blanket and indicated the chair, “return to your seat?”

  I stood up, wobbled, then moved forward carefully. I took the blanket from Andrew, forcing down my anger. Cora couldn’t see what had transpired between us. I wrapped the blanket around myself and returned to my wrought iron chair. Andrew turned and walked over to stand beside the table, while Hugo flew over to land on the table beside me. Suddenly I was tired and chilled, no doubt due to the excitement of the previous few minutes and the fact that I hadn’t eaten in days.

  Andrew looked down at me, worry on his face. He started to button up his shirt to hide the gold coiled in his skin. “I owe you an explanation, I know. But please – you’re in danger. It would be best if you left Cambridge. Postpone the Tripos. Let us – let the Facti take you somewhere you can be safe.”

  “Absolutely not,” I said.

  His shirt re-buttoned, he dropped his hands. “But—“

  “I don’t know what you’re playing at, Mr. Michaelson,” I said, “but I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  Cora appeared from around the willow tree. “Hello? Everything all right over here?”

  “Yes,” Andrew said, all politeness. “Troops still in place?”

  Cora stopped in front of us. “Yes,” she said. “Why Ariana, you still look too pale, but better overall. Your eyes have their old spark back. Mr. Michaelson must have had a healing effect on you.”

  I eyed him cynically. “Oh, he’s had an effect,” I said, my tone ironic.

  “—and I have a gift for the invalid,” Andrew put in quickly and indicated the raven. “This is Hugo. You’ll find he’s very well-behaved and pleasant to be around.”

  “Mr. Michaelson,” I rumbled.

  He kept talking. “I’ll have Hugo’s things brought by Towson House later today.”

  Cora clapped her hands together in delight. “A raven as a pet? Guildersleeve will go mad. How marvelous!”

  “But—“ I protested, and shot Andrew a look. The very public way he’d presented Hugo made it impossible for me to refuse the “gift”. He’d just made sure I’d have the raven with me whether I liked it or not.

  “With that, ladies, I take my leave,” Andrew said, his smile wide, fully aware of what he’d done. “No doubt Miss Trevelyan will wish to rest, and surely you have more studying to do?”

  Cora smiled back. “Very glad to have made your acquaintance,” she said. “I hope you’ll come by and see us again.”

  With that, Andrew bowed and left.

  Cora turned and looked at me and the raven. “He’s quite a pleasant fellow,” she said, “don’t you think? Somehow, your having a raven as a pet suits you perfectly.”

  Damn and blast, I thought. “That Mr. Michaelson... he’s something, all right,” I said and yawned in spite of myself.
“I’d like to go back in, please,” I said, standing up and gathering the blanket about me. “I’d like a little broth, and I should rest.”

  Cora put an arm around my shoulder. “Indeed! Let’s not forget about Hugo—I can hardly wait to see Guildersleeve’s face!”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Once I was back in Towson House, I tried to puzzle out the odd things Andrew had said along with the strange things I’d seen and experienced. I didn’t get very far in my ruminations, however. Once I’d consumed and kept down a cup of beef tea under Sophie’s watchful eye, weariness overtook me in short order.

  “Mon Dieu!” Sophie exclaimed, “you look like you could sleep here in the pantry!” She gripped me firmly by the shoulders and helped me up and out of the kitchen and into my own bed. Once there, my whole body went loose-limbed and any attempt at fighting the slumber failed miserably. I slept the sleep of the dead until an exclamation shocked me awake.

  “I have had quite enough of this!” a strident female voice cried.

  I awoke with a start, tried to get up and ended up on the floor of my bedroom next to my bed, cocooned in its tumbled sheets and blanket. The bandage on my head unravelled, and I had to pull it aside so I could see. I looked up to find Mrs. Gildersleeve glaring down at me, shirt-sleeves rolled up, apron soiled with something food-like but otherwise unrecognizable, and greying hair askew around her face. She was a frightening vision of Celtic vengeance on the best of days, but she was more than usually Boudicca-like at that moment.

  “Sorry?” I said, pushing myself up to a seated position, extracating myself from the bedclothes. I pulled the bandage completely off and dropped it on the floor.

  “You’ve been asleep for hours and hours,” Mrs. Gildersleeve grumbled, “nearly slept the clock round, you have – and your infernal raven won’t stay out of the house!”

  I took that statement in, rolling it around in my thoughts. Considering how much better I felt, and—miracle of miracles—I was actually hungry, I supposed the sleep had been sorely needed. As to my raven being in the house...

  “Raven?” I asked.

  Just then Hugo walked out from behind Mrs. Gildersleeve’s skirts and presented himself to me, nodding his head slightly in greeting. His eyes glittered with intelligence and Mrs. Gildersleeve’s distress didn’t bother him in the slightest.

  “Ah,” I said, now remembering what Andrew had done and cursing his existence to an infernal Texan Hell, “my raven.”

  “Yes, your raven!” Mrs. Gildersleeve thundered. “I put him out of the house, and five minutes later he’s back in your bedroom. I’ve no idea how he does it, but I’ll put you out, I will, if you don’t control the blasted bird!” She waved a fist at it. “By God, if I thought he was edible he’d have been in a stewpot long before now!”

  I looked at the raven, who seemed calm, non-threatening and almost gentlemanly. I certainly had to admire the bird’s tenacity to stay by my side. I pondered my situation for a moment.

  I still wanted answers and I simply refused to take ‘magic’ as the solution to attempted kidnapping and random road brawls. The damnable American claimed he wasn’t Enhanced, stating it was his role to protect me from Laufeson or whoever Laufeson answered to. He’d also engaged in some sort of discourse with the bird currently under animated discussion with the fist-waving Guildersleeve. Therefore, considering all I’d been through over the past few days, it seemed wise to keep the bird nearby in case it could provide some insight into my experiences or Andrew. I felt the ‘Goblin of the Perverse’ take hold of me, and I determined to make sure ‘my raven’ got to stay in the house.

  I looked back up at Mrs. Gildersleeve. “What, exactly, has the raven done to make you so angry? Did he snatch something off the table at dinner?” I asked.

  “No,” Mrs. Gildersleeve admitted.

  “Has he poked a hole in a wall or ripped any of the furniture?”

  “No,” came the grudging response.

  “Has he left droppings about the house?” I asked. “If he’s been here for a day, surely he’d leave droppings behind somewhere.” I scanned my bedroom quickly. “I don’t see any in here.”

  At that Hugo looked insulted and fluffed his feathers in a gesture I took to mean annoyance.

  Mrs. Gildersleeve stopped and thought for a moment. “No...” she said uncertainly. “I’ve not found any droppings.”

  “Has he bitten anyone? Has he bitten you? Does he sqwawk or caw too loudly or at inappropriate moments?”

  “No he hasn’t,” she faltered, “...I mean doesn’t... but that’s not the point—“

  I pulled myself up to sit on my bed, and the raven walked over to stand by my feet, looking up at Mrs. Gildersleeve. “Do the other girls object to his presence in the house?” I inquired.

  “They don’t,” she rumbled. “They think he’s adorable and want to adopt him as the house mascot for the love of all the saints. He isn’t a puppy.”

  “I see. But you object.”

  Her Boudicca aspect returned. “I do indeed. It isn’t natural to have such an animal in the house. Ravens are death birds, they are. Bad omens and all that. And they’re dirty, too! In fact, I found the bloody thing in my kitchen this morning eating a mouse, of all things! Disgusting it was!”

  I smiled. Mrs. Gildersleeve had just hoisted herself by her own petard. “Hmmmm. Didn’t you say last week that mice had gotten into the flour cupboard and pantry and that the ‘wee beasties’ had foiled both the cat’s and your efforts at eradication?”

  Boudicca deflated a bit. She hadn’t thought about that. “Well... yes.. but—“

  “So you want the raven gone.”

  Boudicca returned. “Yes I do!” she demanded.

  “Even though he is obviously an excellent mouser?” I continued doggedly.

  Mrs. Gildersleeve threw up her hands. “He’s a raven. You can’t keep a raven in the house.”

  I sighed, looking down at the two-foot long black bird, tranquil and patient at my feet. “He is quiet and respectful, has bitten no one, damaged nothing, left droppings nowhere, earned the love and respect of all the house residents except for you, and has the potential to keep the entire house mouse-free... but he can’t stay?” I scratched the back of my head. “Why, then, are we keeping Budgie the cat? He’s got a worse record than the raven does on all those points.”

  “Now, don’t you be smart with me, Ariana Trevelyan! Birds are dirty,” Mrs. Gildersleeve stated definitively. That was the only objection I hadn’t countered.

  I shrugged. “So we bathe him,” I said.

  Mrs. Gildersleeve’s face lit up in alarm. “Bathe the monster? You can’t bathe a raven!”

  “Why not? People frequently put birdbaths in their gardens, so I’m sure the raven is at least familiar with the idea.” I reached down with my right hand. “Care to take a ride on my shoulder to the bathroom, Hugo?”

  “You’ve given the thing a name? Good heavens!” Mrs. Gildersleeve cried.

  Hugo eyed me for a moment, then stepped calmly into my outstretched palm. I lifted Hugo up off the floor gently, stood up myself, and placed him on my shoulder. I figured he weighed about three pounds, and although he had to grip my shoulder with some effort to stay on his perch, it wasn’t painful to have him there. I regarded Mrs. Gildersleeve.

  “If I can guarantee that Hugo will continue his excellent streak of behavior while in the house, and I make sure that he bathes regularly, will you allow him to stay? Ravens are known for being extremely intelligent,” I said, though I had no real idea if that were true or not. “Seems to me he’ll be a valuable asset to your mouse removal efforts.” Hugo trilled in agreement.

  Mrs. Gildersleeve’s mouth opened and shut a few times in complete astonishment. When she’d recovered herself, she narrowed her eyes. She’d realized I’d outsmarted her, but couldn’t come up with an effective counter argument.

  “Fine!” she spluttered, “If you can bathe that bird and he doesn’t put up a fuss, then...
well... all right. But if he puts a talon out of line, he’s got to go. No arguments!”

  “Agreed. I dare say, once he’s an approved resident of the house, you’ll not have to waste time putting him outside or chasing him about. That will certainly make your life easier, will it not?”

  Mrs. Gildersleeve balled her fists. “There are days when I hate this job,” she muttered and stormed out of the room.

  I looked at Hugo. “Did you understand all that?” Hugo nodded and fluffed himself a bit.

  “Yes,” I said, “She has that effect on me, too.” I chewed my lower lip in thought. “Mother will be even less welcoming,” I said. “We’ll have to come up with a plan if this is to be a permanent arrangement.” Hugo sqwawked quietly.

  “Time for a bath,” I said, and we headed off to commence our respective ablutions.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Bathed, dressed, and ravenous, I made my way downstairs to see what the rest of the house was up to. I still felt a bit off kilter, but I managed to negotiate the hallway without much trouble, led by the scent of breakfast. The sticking plaster over the cut on my forehead hid the stitches, but the cut itself seemed to be healing well. My left eye and forehead were still blazoned in a riot of purples, blues, greens and yellows, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. I’d braided and pinned up my unruly mop of red curls successfully, for the most part. My brown skirt and linen shirt felt a little loose on my body since I’d gone a couple days without eating, but I hoped to make up for the deficit as soon as possible.

  Hugo, also freshly bathed, hopped along beside me on the floor, easily avoiding the other house residents, items of furniture and even Budgie the cat, who hissed at our approach, then hid under the couch in the sitting room. Hugo and I turned from there to enter the dining room, the biggest room in the house. It was the site of all our meals and the center of studying late into the evening. It had ivory-colored walls, three different entrances, with one of those for the kitchen, and three windows on one wall that looked out into part of the garden. The massive dining room table in the room boasted seating for twenty people, with enough space in the room left over for two sideboards on the wall opposite the windows. For breakfast we served ourselves, and the sideboards brimmed with plates full of eggs, various meats, kippers, toast, tea, coffee, and juices. The smell was heavenly.