Again she gives a little laugh, which turns into a gasping cough. Instinctively I place my hand across her back, visualising her ribs through her raw and damaged lungs. There’s fluid there, too much, and phlegm as well. In slow circular motions I try to soothe the aching tissues and will the fluid back and out through its proper channels.
She stops coughing and sighs, leaning back against her pillows. Her eyes are wet from the intense coughing. ‘Whatever you did, thank you.’
‘I didn’t do anything.’
‘Well, don’t go away, you brought me good luck. I can actually take a full breath now that horrible rasp is gone.’
This surprises me, as I’ve been cleaning in here every day while Abby sleeps and I haven’t noticed the rasp before. ‘Do you only get it at night?’
She wipes her eyes. ‘Yes, especially when it’s cold.’ Sounds like asthma or bronchitis, both common medical disorders. But this is not what I sensed that first day I held her hand. That was a body in revolt. If only I could take her hand again without arousing her suspicions or appearing strange. She reaches out to the wooden chest at her side for the jug of water there.
I pour her a glass, handing it to her. ‘Would you like me to read to you?’ I ask, forming an idea.
‘I’d love that. My eyes are sore from this miserable light.’
‘I could light more candles for you.’
Her eyes grow wide. ‘Oh, no! If Mother saw them she’d make me put them out and go to sleep.’
‘Pardon my saying so, but couldn’t you use the sleep? Staying awake at night is probably why you sleep so much during the day.’
Her voice grows hoarse. ‘I sleep far too long as it is!’
Her conspiratorial tone makes me smile. I take the book she’s reading out of her hands, sit down and start to read one of the poems aloud. She enjoys it and asks me to continue, until I think she’s never going back to sleep. But at last her eyes droop and finally close. It’s the chance I’ve been waiting for. I glance around and listen intently; thankfully no one’s awake yet. It has to be close to dawn by now, which is when the household starts rising, so there is no time to lose. I take Abby’s hand and close my eyes and concentrate.
As before, the battle raging within her frail body thunders through my brain. Layer by layer my thoughts fold through her blood vessels, organs and tissues, searching for the source of her problems. Finally I see it. Damaged cells fighting a toxin that is very strong, yet subtly disguised. I understand now why even Abby’s doctors haven’t been able to find the cause. It’s poison, probably administered in minute quantities so as not to be apparent, but harmful enough to eventually kill her.
I attempt to start the healing process straight away. It will take some time to repair all her damaged cells, but that’s not the problem I foresee. Whoever is doing this will obviously keep doing so unless Ethan or I can discover his identity. How hard is that going to be? With all those chores I have to do, I can’t possibly watch every person that enters or leaves Abby’s room. And who’s to say the assassin even has to get that close? Her food is prepared in the kitchen on a separate tray. Anyone could have access to it. And if the assassin realises Abby is recovering, he may decide to up the dose, enough to finish her off in one hit.
‘Ethan, where the heck are you?’ I ask this without expecting an answer. At first I didn’t want Ethan coming on this mission just to baby-sit me. I get enough baby-sitting from Matt. For most of my life I can remember having this urge to do things for myself, and to do them as well as the next person or maybe even a little better. But Ethan is more experienced, and I’m not so stupid as to turn his help away when it’s needed. Like now.
The door clicks softly behind me and I nearly jump out of my skin. Ethan walks in, barefooted on tiptoes.
He comes over and squats beside me as if this helps make him invisible. ‘It’s Wilbur, remember?’
‘Of course. So where were you?’
‘They wouldn’t hire me. Apparently they’d just taken on a maid at a friend’s request.’
‘How did you get in here? I didn’t hear a thing.’
‘There’s a window in the basement with a broken lock. No one saw me.’ He looks over at Abby sleeping. ‘Do you know what’s wrong with her yet?’
‘Poison.’
‘As Arkarian suspected. What can you do?’
‘I think I can heal her, but we have to find the culprit, or there’s not much point if he can get to her again.’
‘Any suspects?’
I shrug, completely at a loss. ‘Mary prepares the meals, but anyone around here could find a way into the kitchen.’
‘So you think the poison is coming through her food?’
‘Well, I’m not at all sure, but Mrs Smith watches over Abby very carefully.’
A rooster crows outside, offering us a warning that the day is about to start. Ethan gets up. ‘I’d better make myself scarce.’
‘Where are you staying?’
He stands. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve managed to get some very dignified work tending the animals in the barn. The job comes with accommodation.’
There’s something in his tone that gives him away. ‘This work doesn’t involve a shovel, does it?’
He grins. ‘I see your sixth sense is outstanding this morning.’
The sound of a nearby door opening with a soft creak, and closing again just as slowly, has him running out and down the hallway. I decide to do the same, but footsteps immediately outside Abby’s door make me turn and look to the window for an exit. But the door opens before I get halfway towards it. Having only a second to find cover, I dive to the floor, silently rolling under Abby’s bed.
A woman enters, but it’s not Mary, nor Mrs Smith, nor even Abby’s sister. And there’s a scent about her that is strangely familiar, though I can’t readily place it. Seeing her face would be great, but if this is the assassin, then her face, her whole body in fact, is probably altered enough to disguise her true identity. Only her eyes would remain the same. Suddenly she speaks, one word, very softly and close to Abby’s ear. I don’t catch it. But I do catch the gurgling sound as this woman pours liquid into Abby’s water jug. My heart jerks; this has to be it. This woman is tampering with Abby’s water. And of course no one else will drink from it in fear that they might catch whatever ails Abby.
The woman goes to leave. I can’t reveal myself or risk arousing her suspicions that the Guard is on to her now. Still, I just have to see who it is, in case our paths should cross by day. As soon as the door clicks behind her, I run out and take a peek, careful not to make a sound. But all I see is the caped figure of a woman darting barefoot down the hallway to the stairs that ultimately lead outside.
Ethan appears from the other end of the hallway, startling me into making a squealing sound. He covers his own mouth in a gesture meant to remind me to speak softly.
‘Did you see that woman?’ I ask once safely back inside Abby’s room.
‘Yeah. I saw her yesterday too. She attracted the attention of a couple of the men in the barn. They call her the widow Wittman,’ he whispers. ‘Apparently her name is Margaret. She moved into the house down the road about two months ago. She has no children, lives alone and keeps mostly to herself. Though once or twice she’s brought over some freshly laid eggs and butter beans. That’s probably how she managed to get hold of a key to the back door and make herself a copy. And remember, if she’s from the Order, she won’t be in her mortal body either. It’ll be hard to identify her.’
‘Well, we know what she gets up to in her spare time.’
‘Exactly. So how is she administering the poison?’
‘She tampered with Abby’s water.’
He goes over to the bedside table, withdraws a small container from his trouser pocket, and fills it with the water. Pocketing the small bottle, Ethan quickly leaves, as the house is now rising.
I get rid of the water in the jug, washing it out thoroughly in the kitchen, and replace it with fresh clean water from
the outside pump before anyone notices.
The day passes slowly. I manage to finish my chores by mid afternoon, and I decide to go for a walk to see just where this assassin is staying. I reach the house at the end of a narrow lane and the sight of it makes me shiver. The front windows are broken, the porch railing is missing bars, and there’s paint flaking off the walls in sheets. It’s an old tumble-down house, but this is not what’s chilling my spine. It’s an eerie sense that something evil has taken up residence within those walls, something much more evil than the woman in Abby’s room this morning.
I turn and run back to the Smith farm, but not to the attic for a rest. I decide to keep busy, keep my mind off the creepy vibes emanating from that old house. When night finally descends my nerves are still jumping. But I have to try to heal Abby tonight, and hopefully Ethan will find a way to stop this woman who calls herself Margaret, so that we can both return home safely. I just can’t stop thinking of that evil presence, knowing it doesn’t fit.
I find Abby sitting up waiting for me. She looks better, and I think the small amount of healing from last night followed by a day without poison has helped already. Those circles around her eyes are nowhere as dark tonight, and her energy level seems stronger too. ‘Will you read to me again?’
‘Of course.’ As I sit in the seat, I take the familiar poetry book from her hands.
She takes it back and lays it face down on the bed. ‘But first we’ll talk.’
Uh-oh. ‘Sure. What do you want to talk about?’
She sighs blissfully. ‘I haven’t been outside these walls for so long, you must tell me everything that’s going on.’
It’s a big ask, especially considering I don’t have any idea. Sure, the Citadel endows me with the correct accents and understanding of the era’s culture, but it doesn’t give me memories or information on current events. Seeing my blank expression, Abby pats my hand. ‘I’m going to call you my lucky charm.’
It’s a wonderful compliment.
‘I’ve never felt so good since you arrived. Promise me, Judith, you’ll never go away as long as you live. And when I’m married and have my own family, you’ll work for me, or I’ll work for you, whichever of us marries the wealthiest man.’
Quite a plan, and the most a woman of this period could ask for, I guess. But it’s not my idea of an ideal life, and I have to let her know I won’t be around then. ‘I won’t be here for very long, Abby. I’m working because my family needs a little extra money to help us with our move.’
‘Oh, no! Where are you going? Not west, I hope. So many people are moving west. You are all so brave.’
I shrug noncommittally and she takes my news well. ‘Never mind, but we shall write. Oh, how I love to write! One day I will write to the lawmakers.’
Her enthusiasm has me intrigued. ‘And what would you say?’
She peers at me closely and whispers, ‘I shall ask these men to pass a law that will allow women the right to have our say.’
I lean right back in my seat, admiring this girl who may be very ill but is incredibly courageous. I pretend to have a drink in my hand that I’m holding up high. ‘Hear, hear. I’ll second that.’
We talk for ages, not noticing the time drifting past. She tells me about her grandmother who teaches her to read and write. Abby makes it clear how strongly she believes all girls should be educated, and proves herself incredibly conversant in so many areas. Her broad knowledge leaves me stunned.
‘How do you know so much?’ I feel compelled to ask.
‘I read, of course.’
She reads all right, and not just poetry, but history, theology, drama and politics as well.
Ultimately, Abby grows tired, and as I read her the last poem for the night, she drifts off to sleep. As soon as she does, Ethan comes in, glancing around and over his shoulder, then crosses the room to look out the window, peering in all directions. ‘I thought you were never going to stop her talking.’
Oh no, did we really talk that long? ‘She has a wonderful spirit, way ahead of her time.’
He groans impatiently. ‘Speaking of time, you know we don’t have much. Have you started to heal her yet?’
‘I was just about to when you walked in.’
He makes an impatient gesture with his hands. Something’s gnawing at him. I’ve never seen him quite so … disturbed. ‘You have to hurry.’
‘What’s wrong? What’s the rush?’
‘You want to know what’s wrong? Marduke is here. Marduke!’
‘I thought so.’
He looks at me with wide-open eyes. ‘You’ve seen him?’
‘No, but I felt his presence this afternoon. He’s in that woman’s house.’
‘Margaret. He’s protecting her. I tried to deal with her earlier today, but Marduke interfered. So he knows the Guard is here.’
‘Great! Well, what can we do to get rid of the two of them?’
He moans as if he’s being forced against his will. ‘We have to forget Marduke for now. We’ll just deal with the widow Wittman. That’s our mission. And I have an idea.’
I realise what he’s saying. ‘You want to wait till she comes back here, like she does every morning with the poison?’
‘Yes. Now hurry. For my plan to have a chance to work, Abby must be cured.’
‘So we can make a fast exit back to the Citadel.’
‘Exactly – before Marduke makes an appearance. It’s not up to us to deal with whatever that creature is. Let the Tribunal worry about him.’
I start working on Abby while Ethan quietly paces from the door to the window and back again. Occasionally he whispers to me to hurry, but I’m going as fast as I can. There’s a lot of scarring to work through before getting to the poison deep within her cells.
Just as dawn starts to make an impact on the horizon, I sit back in my chair thoroughly exhausted.
‘Is she healed?’
I nod and groan softly, all my weary body can manage. I didn’t realise healing could be so draining, but then I’ve never attempted anything that lasted more than a few minutes. This session took hours.
The rooster crows, signalling the start of the day.
‘Well done! Now go and sit by the window, I’ll do the rest.’
But getting up seems like an enormous task.
‘What’s wrong? Are you ill?’ Ethan asks worriedly.
‘Drained.’
‘Oh, no!’
‘Sorry. I didn’t know it would have this effect.’
He half drags, half carries me across the room, sitting me down by the window. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll be out of here in a few minutes.’
‘I sure hope so. I could sleep for a thousand years.’
Standing in the centre of the room, he closes his eyes and works his magic. He creates an illusion, an interesting one at that. He has filled the room with a wide array of water pitchers, some made of glass, some glazed clay or china. They’re everywhere, at different levels, all filled to the brim with sparkling clear water.
I lift one eyebrow, questioning.
‘A momentary distraction. I want her off guard long enough to glimpse into her eyes. To do that I need her to stare long and hard. It’s a long shot. I’m just hoping to find something distinctive to identify her.’
‘And if you do recognise her as a member of the Order? What then?’
He partly exposes a dagger from his shirt.
I gulp at the sight, thankful that my skill is healing. I think about that other skill that hasn’t revealed itself yet and my body shudders. What could it be? I hope it’s useful, like healing, and not something that can be used for killing.
The sound of the door clicking open jerks me from my thoughts. It’s the woman, Margaret. The assassin. She steps into the room, and halts at the sight of the hundreds of water pitchers. She must see me sitting by the ledge, and Ethan standing in the centre of the room, but it’s as if the pitchers are hypnotising her. I realise that Ethan’s illusion is more than
it appears, for Margaret’s eyes, in the shadow of her deeply hooded cloak, remain fixed to the water jugs, moving slowly from one to the other. She seems to have forgotten her purpose for being here.
She turns in slow motion and now Ethan is directly in front of her, attempting to get a good look deep into her eyes. It’s the only way one of us can be identified while in the past. The woman is obviously in a daze and appears not even to see Ethan before her. His head cocks to one side, his eyes squinting as though he recognises the woman in front of him, but then his shoulders lift slightly. ‘I think she’s wearing some sort of concealment,’ he whispers.
‘Like an eye mask?’
‘Yeah.’ He shrugs, then sniffs. ‘But she smells familiar.’
‘I know. It’s her perfume. A flowery, soapy smell. Yet how is that possible? Wouldn’t her scent stay with her physical body in her bed?’
‘Of course.’
‘So what now?’
The woman spins round suddenly as if she has found a way to break through Ethan’s spell. But before she gets a chance to act, or work out what’s going on, Ethan grabs her from behind, pinning her back to his chest.
She grunts, pushing hard against his arms.
‘Tell me,’ Ethan hisses in her ear. ‘What is Marduke doing in this time?’
The woman inhales deeply, air hissing through her nostrils. ‘You may as well kill me now for I’ll tell you nothing.’
Just as her last word is out she starts to disappear; and suddenly Ethan staggers forward with nothing but air in his arms.
I look around frantically in case she’s only transported herself and not left this time period. ‘What happened? Is she gone?’
Ethan finds his balance, spinning around. ‘I don’t know …’
With these words Ethan’s illusion starts to break up. One after another the pitchers explode, the sound of shattering glass and ceramics rends the air. My arm flies up to cover my eyes. ‘Hey, what’s happening?’
Ethan comes towards me with his head buried beneath a protective arm. Just as he reaches me, his illusion disappears completely amid a burst of flashing green light, and we look at each other for a moment, wondering what on earth is going on.