Chapter 5

Chapter 7

After the High Minister had left and Drake had gone to sleep that night, Lyra snuck out again into the study and selected the same book. She lit a stub of a candle wick and leant close, though she took care not to burn the pages.

They came for him today. I watched from underneath the floorboards as they murdered him in front of my eyes and I couldn’t help but keep myself from crying out, but the men were so bloody, so reckless, that they did not hear me. I wish they had.

Now, I am sitting amongst the smouldering remainders of my house. Blood is spattered on my hands and dress, and there are bodies scattered around me. I do not know what happened to me, but I do know that such a boiling fury filled me when they began to take his pendant, his shoes – his wedding ring.

I am still in shock, and I think a little crazy for not remembering much at all. For now, the most I can bring myself to do is write in this dear little book; the one that I keep with me at al times now, fearful of the secrets it could disclose, for this, dear reader, is my diary and if you are reading it now, I am dead.

Lyra stopped reading at this point, confused, and flicked back. Perhaps it was a novel, in diary form. But no, there were personal accounts of all sorts, and every few pages, there were large drawings of symbols which meant nothing to Lyra. She resolved to read more the next day when Drake was out of the apartments. After all, she needed her sleep.

She realised then, that she had forgotten to mention the competition at all to him that evening, and trying to fix it into her brain to do so the next morning, and shivering slightly as her bare feet left the warmth of being tucked up under her legs, to standing on the cold floor, she padded back into the room to try and sleep.

The next morning, Lyra awoke to find that Drake had gone – the gods only knew where, because this was the first time it had ever happened.

She pulled on all of her articles of clothing before drawing a large cloak around her and heading into the study. It too was deserted – but there was a small note on it. Lucky for her, a chink in the curtains had caused the light to fall directly on it; she never figured out if Drake had spent all his spare time figuring out where to put notes after calculating when they would be found, or if it was pure and simple luck, but she read it all the same.

Luke, I am sure you must be worried, after all, I rarely never rise before you. I have gone, first for a walk in the gardens to clear my mind. In the eighth hour, I have yet another meeting with the elders.

Do what you please with this day, I am aware that you have no lessons, and so I give you permission to go to the marketplace. If you go into my trunk, there are some spare coins there which you may use.

-Drake

Lyra smiled to herself shyly; her master really was kind and thoughtful. If she were a woman, if she were Lyra for all of time, she might even consider allowing him into her life, if only for a bit. But at this point or any other, it was too dangerous.

In that case, she thought, I might as well go as Lyra, as me. She ran to her trunk and changed once more, slipping into skirts and picking up her basket which she would hide her boy’s clothes in. She rooted through Drake’s possessions for a minute before locating the purse with the money; several coppers and three silver pieces. He had been extremely generous. Not that she would use much of it at all.

From their rooms, Lyra had discovered a secret passageway. It actually began in a trap door in the ceiling, which she would not have been able to reach had Drake’s four poster bed not been there to act as a supporting and stable stepping stone between floor and roof. It turned out that the walls were incredibly thick; the tunnel above the room was fairly small, but high enough for Lyra to walk only crouching a little.

Her skirts kept getting caught underfoot as she climbed down a ladder and set off through the many passageways that would get her to the outside without being seen by any royalty. The servants would ignore her; assume that she was a worker there, a maid of some sort.

She had only run into a handful of people who merely nodded in the darkness to her as they passed. Some carried flaming torches, others relied on the echoes of their feet slapping against the cold stone as a reminder of where they were.

When she burst out from the outer wall of the court – the tunnels had wound down through the core of the castle, underground and into the wall – she was not met with bright sunlight as was expected. Instead fat droplets of rain fell lazily from the sky onto her upturned face.

Shivering, Lyra swore.

It had become noticeable to Drake even that ever since Lyra had began spending more time with boys her age, and more time in the kitchen, her language had become increasingly foul.

He approved greatly.

“Alright?” asked a random passer by as Lyra stumbled in the dust somewhat, steadying herself and balancing the basket on her hip.

“Yes, thank you, I’m fine,” she replied, smiling sunnily up at him. He grinned toothily back before jauntily doffing his fedora and traipsing off; probably drunk a little too much at the local taverna, she thought, laughing.

Feeling inexplicably free, Lyra ambled easily along, revelling in her liberty. As she walked, the number of people walking around her increased surreptitiously until she was finding it difficult to slip through the crowds with a basket on one arm.

“You have to want it,” she said grimly to herself, relying on her lack of height to get her under most arms and through the crowds to the stalls she most wanted to get to. There was no point in apologizing in a crowd such as these; if anyone found out whom it was who jostled them, they would either laugh, or start a fight. Neither of which was desirable.

“I’ll take two of those please,” she puffed, hot and out of breath from all of the ducking she had been doing to get to the front of the line, pointing to pork kebabs which were strung up above the lady’s head.

There were complaints from behind her and whispers about ‘these young people’ but Lyra knew nobody would actually do anything about it.

She handed over a copper as soon as the kebabs were placed in her hand and dashed out to avoid the crushing crowds that would inevitably catch her against the stall if she did not move quickly.

“Hey you!” a voice called out from somewhere in the throng. Lyra ignored it and carried on running.

“Lyra!” the male voice was louder and definitely after her. Upon hearing her real name, she stopped and turned, only to see Drake. Instantly her eyes widened and she flicked her head back around before darting amidst the crowds, trying to lose him. It just wasn’t worth running into him.

“Hey! I just want to speak with you,” he cried, head slightly above the rest of the crowds making it easy for him to spot her red hair among the swarm of dark and dirty blonde heads.

He kept shouting her name, until finally, disgruntled Lyra turned around coming face to face with him; he had been immediately on her heels.

“What?” she snapped and regretted it when Drake’s expression turned to one of shock. “I’m sorry – I’m not in the best of moods,” she said by way of explanation, trying to appease him.

“Did you not hear me calling?” he asked her plaintively. It was almost as if he was looking for confirmation that she had not purposely ignored him, that she had merely been preoccupied and not heard a thing.

“No,” she said after a slight hesitation. She was rewarded with a bright beam. “What are you doing in the markets, Sir Drake?”

He sighed impatiently.

“I have told you to call me Alexander. And I could ask you the same question, Madam,” he quipped mischievously.

“If you please, Sir Drake, I should like to continue to address you as such; let us not do away with such formalities quite so swiftly,” she answered politely but with a cold tone.

“Well, if you insist,” he began doubtfully. “So what are you doing here?”

“I am merely visiting the market.”

“And the peasant’s clothes?” he asked, smiling at her meagre garb of simple, unadorned skirts.

Lyra put a finger to her chin and despite her previous willingness to avoid him, decided to have a little fun of her own.

“Are you so presumptive as to assume that these are not my usual every day garb? And that I cannot afford more than one ball dress?” Drake frowned, thinking about this for a second before looking horrified.

“Oh no – no, I did not mean to insinuate…I meant no offence…I just assumed…I am sorry,” he trailed off rather meekly, sending Lyra into fits of giggles. Drake frowned at this.

“Forgive me,” she gasped, “but your face-“

“You are laughing at my expense,” he accused, pointing a finger at her, but a smile of relief spreading across his face.

“By way of explanation, you would understand of course that it is much easier to mingle among the crowds here when one is not dressed as some grand lady of the court.”

“And are you some grand lady of the court?” he questioned boldly. Lyra threw her head back, laughing again. Thankfully the mid morning rush had died down somewhat, so she did not earn herself too many strange glares.

“Far from it, Sir, far from it,” she assured him, and he looked amused.

“To tell the truth,” he admitted, “I am relieved. There are fair few women who would confess to that. In fact most would go so far as to lie about their status, but you,” he tapped her nose familiarly, “you are different.”

All of a sudden, Lyra realised how much fun she was having with the very man she had been trying to avoid. Her eyes became stony once again and her lips lost their inviting curve, Drake noted.

“Sir, I must be going now,” she said curtly, sweeping a small curtsy and bobbing her head before sidestepping him and walking quickly away.

“Lyra – wait!” he called after her retreating back. She was not so cold as to completely ignore the poor man. She turned to face him once again. “Will I see you again?” She smiled wryly at this.

“If you have serendipity, then yes,” she said laughing a little before strolling away once again.

“Serendipity?” he said to himself, confused. He had never heard the word before and decided he would go back to his rooms and look the word up. How awkward, to be bested at vocabulary by a woman, a woman who did not appear to even be from this country. How embarrassing indeed, he decided.

In the meanwhile, Lyra was cursing for allowing herself to become so familiar with her master. It wasn’t possible for even a friendship to sprout between them, let alone intimacy, which was clearly what he wished for. That was what all men wished for, was it not?

When Drake strode back into his rooms, it was with a bad air that he entered to find them completely empty.

“Where is Luke?” he growled, kicking off his dusty boots onto the floor and tossing his cape over the back of a chair before standing imperiously in front of the bookshelf and running a finger over the spines reading titles as he and many others had done countless times before.

“Aha!” he blurted triumphantly, selecting a green and gold backed, very large volume and sliding it off the shelf and into his hands. “S. Se. Ser – serendipity,” he found the word and read the large portion of words that was dedicated to this mystery word.

Serendipity:

I) The discovery of something fortunate: the accidental discovery of something pleasant, valuable, or useful.

II) Gift for discovery: a natural gift for making pleasant, valuable or useful discoveries by accident.

“I should have known that,” he murmured, frowning. It was his speciality – fate. But he smiled when his eyes landed on the adjectives, pleasant, valuable. Clearly she knew he had an interest in her; she, to him, was a discovery of something pleasant. That or she had never read the dictionary definition and just used the word in an offhand way.

Drake preferred to think the former.

As the day passed and Drake became increasingly anxious – Luke had not returned, he flitted around the room, stacking books into neat piles, folding clothes and generally tidying up. His head snapped up when he heard the bell to signal that the day was nearing its end – eight strikes of the bell, and he realised that he was already late for his meeting with the elders.

Sighing loudly and groaning a little, swearing that if this meeting went as badly as the last one had done he would quit altogether, though knowing that wasn’t actually possible, he scraped back the chair he was sitting on and donned the stiff and formal robes which were necessary to be accepted into the Chamber of Elders.

There was way too much tradition and secrecy surrounding the gatherings, he thought.

It was more of an opportunity for free wine than anything else, and a chance to catch up on the more unusual occurrences of the upper circle.

He swished down the corridors, mood blackening somewhat as servants and nobles alike scrambled to get out of his way. He rounded a corner, almost tripping over a small child, and cursed.

The child began to cry pitifully and hid his face behind small hands.

“Okay okay,” he muttered impatiently, “I’m sorry,” before skirting around the small figure and continuing along the corridor.

“Sir Alexander Drake,” the herald announced as he requested entrance to the chambers. He nodded to the other members who were already there before taking his seat on the round table.

The elders liked to think of themselves as resembling the fabled Arthur and his knights of the round table, sorting out problems for the laymen and in generally dolling out goodness. The truth was far from it.

They were also in charge of taxing the people and of capital punishment; torture, prison and death, in other words. It was not a pleasant duty, and Drake was grateful that he, as of yet, had not had to deal with any of it. Hopefully he never would; if he did, then he would leave for sure.

“Ah, Alex,” remarked the High Minister, who had turned up, surprisingly, “you’re here.”

“Yes, and so are you Cirrius” he returned, eyebrows raised. The high minister chuckled at the use of his baptismal name; rare was it that any of his fellow elders dared to address him with such disrespect. He enjoyed it that Drake was not a stickler for such tradition. It brought some freshness to the meetings which clashed horrendously with the stiff upper lips of the older men, blue hairs, as Drake liked to call them in his own privacy.

“So what are we dealing with today?”

“Actually, we were discussing that book we found in your rooms yesterday,” put in Cirrius, waiting to see Drake’s reaction; merely a pursing of the lips.

“Is that so? I wasn’t aware that it was of any importance.”

“Nor was I at the time,” said Cirrius and then seeing Drake’s disbelief admitted, “alright, I suspected as much. But I didn’t want to raise alarm bells, I mean the thing has been sitting on your shelf for the past ten years, possibly longer and if it isn’t what we think it is, no point in raising the alarm. Besides, what harm would a few more days in its presence do you?”

“Wait wait,” faltered Drake, holding up a hand, “will someone explain to me exactly what it is that you think this book is please?”

“I will,” a tall yet quiet man by the name of Darius stood up voluntarily. “We believe that this book is of dark magic.” Drake laughed at this, but Darius remained perfectly composed.

“What do you mean?” he asked curious this time at their shenanigans.

“I mean that this is what we have been looking for for years!”

“Surely we should destroy it,” suggested Lazarus in a raised voice. “If it is as dangerous as you say it is.”

“No no,” the high minister reassured them, “It is only dangerous if the wrong hands are lain on the information it contains. And right now, I do not see how that is possible, as none of us can identify the language it is written in.”

“So why did you say it was harmful?” enquired Drake, slightly worried now.

“Well, if it is such a book, then we know it has been surrounded by much dark magic. And you know as well as I that this taints all objects that come into contact with it.” He was surprisingly relaxed about this revelation.

“Well, at any rate,” added Drake as an after thought, “I don’t think it’s been there very long. I mean, I probably would have noticed it before, don’t you think?”

“Yes, with the amount he reads,” commented another shadowy bearded man.

“You mean you think somebody put it there?” asked another.

“It is possible.” There was suddenly a clamouring of voices.

“Perhaps it is a plot!”

“We should find the culprit and hang him!”

“Maybe we’re missing something,” came Drake’s clear voice over them all, and they fell silent turning to him. “Don’t you think we should at least first find out what language it is in and then find somebody trustworthy who can translate it?” he proposed easily.

“Who but us is trustworthy enough to read its contents?” asked Lazarus.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” answered the High Minister smoothly. “Drake, I think you are right. For now, we ought to leave it where it is; if nobody has come across it by now, I doubt another will. And Luke can’t understand it, he said.”

“Yes, true.”

“So shall we split then?”

“Yes,” said Darius rather sullenly. “And everybody must seek knowledge of these symbols it is written in. Read – I will have passes issued to all of you for the upper circle of the library.”

“Thank you, Darius. If that is all, shall we depart?”

“Yes sir.”

“You shall all receive a note of some kind before the next meeting, notifying you of it. Until then, farewell.” The High minister was the first to leave. He always was. In the stillness and silence that followed, Drake chuckled a little to himself about the trouble this book had caused before waving casually at the others, standing and striding away.

Time for supper, he thought, stomach rumbling as he made his way up to his rooms to summon a servant to bring food for him. Hopefully Luke would be back by then.