A renewed burst of fear. My mother’s dead. He didn’t say it, staring at Matthew’s grey hair and blue eyes. Seeing a familiar servant from the old household brought a child’s desire for safety, like wanting to be soothed by a parent after cutting his hand. He wanted Matthew to tell him what was happening. But the tug of childhood familiarity hit the cold reality of his life on the run. Just because I know him doesn’t mean I can trust him.
‘They’re right on your trail, Will. Nowhere in London is safe.’ Matthew’s low voice was urgent in the shadowed space under the scaffolding. ‘You must go to the Stewards. The bright star holds, even as the darkness rises. But you must hurry, or they will find you, and darkness will come for us all.’
‘I don’t understand.’ The Stewards? The bright star? Matthew’s words didn’t make any sense. ‘Who are those men? Why are they chasing me?’
Matthew took something from the pocket of his waistcoat as though it was very important, and held it out to Will.
‘Take this. It belonged to your mother.’
My mother? Danger and desire fought. He wanted to take it. The yearning was like a pain even as he remembered those awful final moments as she had looked up at him, her blue dress covered in blood. Run.
‘Show it to the Stewards, and they will know what to do. They are the only ones left who do. They will give you the answers, I promise. But there isn’t much time. I must return before they notice I’m gone.’
There was that unfamiliar word again. Stewards. Matthew placed what he held on to one of the planks of scaffolding that separated them. He was backing away, as if he knew Will wouldn’t take what he’d left while he was still there. Will gripped the scaffolding behind him tightly, wanting nothing more than to step forward towards the man whose grey hair and tattered black satin waistcoat were so familiar.
Matthew turned to go, but stopped at the last moment, looking back.
‘I’ll do what I can to throw them off your trail. I promised your mother I’d help you from inside, and that’s what I intend to do.’
Then he was gone, hurrying back towards the river.
Will was left with his heart racing as Matthew’s footsteps faded. The sounds of the other men were fading with him, as though their search was moving on. Will could see the outline, the shape of what Matthew had left him. He felt like a wild animal looking at bait in a trap.
Wait! he wanted to call out after him. Who are they? What do you know about my mother?
He stared out into the rain after Matthew, and then all his attention returned to the small package on the scaffolding. Matthew had said to hurry, but all Will could think about was the object that lay in front of him.
Had his mother really left it for him?
He came forward. It felt like he was being pulled by a string.
The package was a small, round shape, wrapped in the leather tie that Matthew had taken from the pocket of his waistcoat. Show it to the Stewards, Matthew had said, but Will didn’t know what Stewards were or where to find them.
Will reached out. He half expected those men from the docks to descend on him at any moment. He half expected this to be a trick or a trap. He picked up the package, his fingers numb with cold. Unwinding the tie, he saw a rusted piece of metal. He could barely feel its jagged edges, he was so cold. But he could feel its weight, unexpectedly heavy, as though it was made of gold or lead. Will angled it for better light.
And felt the shiver go through his whole body.
Roughly circular, twisted, it was an old, broken medallion. He recognised it. He had seen it before.
In the mirror.
A wave of dizziness passed over him as he stared down at the impossible in his hands.
The lady had worn this same medallion around her neck. He remembered the shine of it as she walked towards him, her eyes fixed on him as though she knew him. It had been shaped like a five-petalled hawthorn flower, and bright as new gold.
But its surface now was dull, cracked and uneven, as though years had passed – as though it had been buried and dug up, weathered and broken.
But the lady in the mirror was just a dream, she was just a trick of the light—
Turning it over, he saw that the medallion had writing engraved on it. It wasn’t written in any language he knew, but somehow he could understand the words. It felt like they were part of him, like they came from deep inside, a language that had always been there, in his bones, on the tip of his tongue.
I cannot return when I am called to fight So I will have a child
He didn’t know why, but he started to shake. The words in that strange language blazed in his mind. He shouldn’t be able to read it, but he could – he could feel it. He saw again the image of the lady’s eyes in the mirror, as if she was looking right at him. My mother’s eyes. Everything around him disappeared, until he could only see the lady, an aching sensation between them as they faced each other. I cannot return when I am called to fight. She seemed to say it directly to him. So I will have a child. He was shaking harder. ‘Stop,’ he gasped, wrapping his hands around the medallion, willing the vision to vanish with all his might. ‘Stop!’