Worlds Unseen by Rachel Starr Thomson (best classic novels TXT) 📕
"Maggie Sheffield?" It was a trembling voice, old, and strangely familiar. It was deep with illness.
Maggie turned slowly to see a small, hunched old man step out from the shadows. He stood silhouetted against the fence, and Maggie could not see his face or his features. He stretched out a hand toward her. It was shaking.
"Maggie?" he asked again. He took a step forward and Maggie realized that he was about to fall. She dropped the leafy twigs in her hand and rushed forward, grabbing the old man's arm to steady him. He looked up at her with weary, gray eyes.
"Thank ye, Maggie," he said.
She knew who he was. The relief of recognition flooded her. Those gray eyes had regarded her kindly when she was a child in the Orphan House, and once they had watch
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“The princess is escaped!” a voice bellowed.
Maggie swallowed hard and ran back into the foyer where the guards could see her. Her blood froze as they caught sight of her. She whirled on her heel and ran back into the kitchen, through the cellar doors.
The men were right behind her as Maggie dropped through the trapdoor and raced down the steps into the darkness. She could see nothing-the tunnels were black as midnight, and she had no time to light a lantern. Muttering a prayer under her breath, she stumbled down the black corridor, listening to the echo of footsteps behind her as the guards gave chase. The axe in her hands scraped against the rock walls. She dropped it without regret.
The bobbing light of lanterns danced off the walls behind her and glinted off the water that ran down the tunnel walls, illuminating flecks of gold in the stone. Maggie’s mouth was dry as she ran, and her fingers brushed against the cold, slimy rock.
They were gaining.
She picked up speed, knowing that she had to stay where they could see her; and knowing, too, that she could not afford to be caught. They were shouting for her to stop, and she heard one of them curse as one of his fellows shoved by him, forcing him into the rock wall.
A roaring sound met her ears.
She swerved down the new tunnel. Libuse’s cloak caught on the stone. The men were almost upon her as her cold fingers worked to untie the cloak. At last it came free, and she left it behind her without a moment to spare.
Not far ahead, the river roared.
Someone shouted, “This way!” Lantern light filled the tunnel behind her. Ahead, another sort of light was filtering its way into the darkness. Moonlight.
Maggie’s legs felt as though they would give way beneath her, but she gritted her teeth and forced herself to give it one last burst of energy. She closed her eyes and ran.
She nearly fell over the ledge.
She caught her breath in great gasps as she looked over her toes at the raging water below, storming at the base of a steep drop. Above her to the right, a great bridge cast its shadow over the river. The lights of other bridges illuminated the river in both directions, and waves crashed up against a dark island downstream. The air was piercingly fresh and cold, and the moon shone high above.
The men were coming.
The ledge was just wide enough to stand on, and slippery with spray. Maggie shut her eyes and moved to the right, her back pressed tight against the rock wall. Her hands clutched for something to steady her, but they found only smooth stone. Breathing hard, she inched along the ledge toward the shadow of the bridge.
She looked down at the river and nearly swooned with dizziness. Closing her eyes once more, she forced herself to keep moving. When again she opened her eyes, she focused them on the shadowy bridge overhead.
She heard a scream as someone burst out of the tunnel and stumbled over the edge, plummeting down to the water. The sound was nearly drowned out by the roar of the black river. She thought she could hear voices shouting above the sound of the water, but she couldn’t be sure if they were real or imaginary.
She kept moving along the ledge and did not look back. Her foot nearly slipped on a patch of moss, and she stood against the rock and sobbed through her teeth. As she fought to gain control of herself, she realized that the rock behind her had grown craggy. The bridge was just ahead.
In a few more steps, she reached the shadow of the bridge. She ran her hands along the rock behind her and found that it was pocked enough to scale. The ledge had grown wider, and with a deep, shuddering breath, she began to turn around.
Soon she was facing the wall, and she found handholds. Moving slowly, she began the ascent up the rock face toward the bridge.
One step, then another. Her weight pulled at her; her feet moved only with great effort. Once her hand slipped, and she could not move for a moment. She looked down.
The men were directly beneath her, still facing the river. Maggie watched in fearful fascination as the men looked around them, pointing and shouting to each other.
They didn’t know where she was.
She held her breath, afraid that they would hear her over the sound of the crashing river. The helmet of one of the men nearly brushed the bottom of her foot. She clung to the rock with all her strength, the cold and damp of it creeping into her like an illness.
At last they moved on, back to the tunnels. A fog had risen, and it swallowed the guards in grey. Maggie felt numb, chained to the rock without hope of moving again. She was in limbo, lost in the fog and in the darkness, and no one would ever find her. No one.
A voice forced itself through her mind, her own voice. The worst is over… you’ve only got to get to the bridge now. It isn’t much farther. Move!
She obeyed. She lifted one foot and found a new grip for it. In moments she was climbing again, and then she was directly under the bridge.
She caught hold of the iron bridge and climbed slowly up over the side, aware of the long emptiness beneath her that ended in the churning river. She did not look down. At last she stood on solid ground again. The bridge glowed with street lamps that burned all down its length, even in the fog. She looked over the side and saw nothing but grey. When she looked up, she saw that even the moon had disappeared in the thickness.
Slowly, wearily, she began to walk along the bridge. It was the first time she had been alone since Nicolas had first joined her in Calai, and now the loneliness was nearly overwhelming. The fog had swallowed up the whole world and left her the only person in it.
No, she thought, Libuse is out there somewhere. And she’s safe, because of you, Maggie Sheffield.
Thoughts of Londren, Mrs. Cook, and Pat filled her thoughts as she stepped off the bridge and began the weary walk to the professor’s house. But soon, other faces began to fill her mind. She saw Libuse, and Huss, and Jerome. She saw Nicolas, and she remembered the face of the Ploughman. And she remembered the terror and exhilaration of leading the guards after her, away from the princess, down through the tunnels to the river. The terror was already fading into memory, one more thing to look back on and remember in days to come. It almost seemed as if it hadn’t happened.
She wanted Jerome. She wanted him very badly, and she was afraid that something had happened to him. He had gone to war with the High Police to rescue the princess, and who could say if he had survived? She swallowed a lump of fear and kept going.
Deep inside her, an unrest was growing. An unfamiliarity-she thought of the night’s adventures and it seemed that she did not know herself anymore. The old Maggie Sheffield had been lost somewhere on the road to Pravik. It was not likely she would ever come back.
It was for the best, and Maggie knew it. Still, somehow, it hurt.
*
Maggie found her way back to Jarin Huss’s house. The courtyard gates were locked. She rattled them and twisted the lock futilely before exhaustion crept over her and she sank down on the cobblestones and slept.
She awoke to see a tall, dark figure coming through the thinning fog, his broad shoulders stooped with weariness. She struggled to her feet, and her eyes looked up and met his. She started to cry.
Jerome reached out for Maggie. She was wet and her clothes were torn from climbing the rocks. She was shivering with cold, and he drew her close to him. His black cloak folded in around her and enveloped her with warmth. He held her tightly for a long time, and then he stepped back and studied her face again.
“The guards chased a woman out,” he said. “You?”
Maggie nodded.
“That was very foolish,” he said, his voice low and choked.
“Libuse escaped,” Maggie defended herself. She hung her head and looked away from him. His hand touched her chin and brought her eyes back to him.
“You are the bravest person I have ever known,” he said.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I am a coward, just like you.”
Maggie’s resolve crumbled, and she put her head on his chest and cried. He held her again and buried his face in her hair.
Through her sobs, Maggie asked, “What happened to you?”
“I lost nine good men,” Jerome said. “Good friends.”
They fell silent. Jerome said, “It is cold and late. The house is warm and waiting for us.”
He took a key from his cloak and opened the gates. As they stepped into the courtyard, Maggie lifted her head at a strange smell.
“Do you smell something?” she asked.
Jerome looked around him, his dark eyes full of fear.
“Smoke,” he said.
Glass shattered. Flames were everywhere, licking out the windows of the house and consuming the ivy trellises that ran up its sides. Fear gripped Maggie and tightened around her heart. From a corner of the courtyard she saw a figure step forward, dragging a black robe on the ground with a sound like chains rustling through dry leaves.
“Run, Maggie!” Jerome shouted. She obeyed. She ran out of the courtyard and into the street, and turned just in time to see a soldier in black and green bring a heavy club down on Jerome’s head. He crumpled to the ground as soldiers poured into the courtyard from every shadow and corner.
Maggie sank back into the shadows and watched the High Police drag him away.
*
Lord Robert buried his face in his hands as the train hurtled uncaringly down the tracks. The compartment door opened and shut. His head snapped up. It was Pat.
“The conductor is as worthless as the rest of them. He knows nothing,” she said. The train swayed and Pat sat down unsteadily beside Mrs. Cook. The elderly woman was staring out the window, her face still red and streaked with tears. The sunlit world outside was golden and beautiful, even through the faint serpentine images on the glass, but it offered no comfort. The sun had risen on a nightmare.
As soon as they realized that Virginia was gone, Lord Robert, Mrs. Cook, and Pat had swept the train from one end to the other. They questioned passengers and workers and searched for any sign of the young woman. It was as though she had vanished through the Veil into the Otherworld. The thought occurred to both Lord Robert and Mrs. Cook, though neither voiced it.
They had searched for hours and returned, defeated, to the compartment. Now they sat in grim silence, and the question beat relentlessly on Lord Robert’s mind.
What now?
They couldn’t continue on without Virginia. To go back seemed insane. The engine driver said that during the night they had passed through towns and a great expanse of forest. They had no idea what time Virginia had left the train.
Lord Robert stood abruptly. Mrs. Cook moved her vacant stare from the window to the laird’s face. She and Pat waited in silence.
“I am going after her,” he said. “I don’t know
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