Lord Fairban’s youngest daughter exclaimed.
‘There might be ancient treasures,’ Cariah whispered.
‘More gold?’ Jacolm asked, nudging Harholfe.
Cariah laughed. ‘Much more valuable. Lost knowledge.’
Jacolm frowned.
‘Wait, General,’ Lord Fairban began, but Tulkhan had already ducked his head and stepped into the steep stairwell. The others followed him down the staircase, complaining that there were not enough candles.
The steps led into a passage, down more stairs and through an archway.
‘General, I –’ Lord Fairban began, then pointed, muttering something in High T’En.
Light appeared at the end of a long corridor. The single candle’s flame illuminated only the figure’s face so that it appeared a disembodied T’En wraith was gliding towards them.
‘Imoshen?’ Tulkhan called uncertainly. She looked up. For a fleeting instant he read terror in her features.
Then she smiled and raised her voice. ‘I did not expect all of you to come looking for me.’
‘I was showing Lord Fairban and his daughters the restoration,’ Tulkhan explained, holding Imoshen’s eyes for a moment longer than was necessary. The candle flame trembled and he took the holder from her. The metal was so cold it burned his skin. Something had terrified Imoshen. ‘What is it?’
‘Yes, where have we come out?’ Cariah asked.
‘Only a long passage and old storerooms. Nothing more exciting than rat holes, I’m afraid.’ Imoshen shrugged. She plucked the unlit candles from the holder and lit them, handing them out. ‘Take these. We don’t want to break our necks going up the stairs.’
‘Yes, but what about exploring?’ Jacolm asked.
‘Nothing but rat holes and musty storerooms,’ Imoshen repeated.
Tulkhan felt a thickness in his head.
‘Let’s go,’ Imoshen urged.
A sense of urgency filled him. He wanted to get out of these confined passages.
Muttering under their breath, the others turned and shuffled up the stairs, their candles casting myriad shadows on the walls. Imoshen was right behind Tulkhan as he stepped out of the secret stair into the portrait gallery once more.
The master-builder greeted them.
Imoshen turned to him. ‘You were right. Nothing of interest lies down there. Replace the panel and continue the restoration. It must be time for the evening meal.’
Linking an arm with Cariah she began to stroll out of the gallery. The others followed her.
The master-builder met Tulkhan’s eyes, his expression grim. Tulkhan handed the candle brace to him, then hurried after his men. Imoshen’s words carried to the General as he caught up. To his ear her tone was a trifle forced.
‘Lady Cariah, General Tulkhan has been appointed patron of the Halls of Learning and I am patron of the hospices, so we must visit them tomorrow. Will you be hostess in my place?’
‘I would be honoured.’
Imoshen stopped at the foot of the stairs. ‘Oh, I forgot. There is one more thing I must tell the builder. You go on ahead.’
Tulkhan strode up the stairs with the others, ignoring their idle chatter. Something felt wrong. He paused on the landing. Wharrd met his eyes.
Tulkhan shook his head. ‘Go on, I’ll catch up.’
Careful to move quietly, he retraced his steps to the entrance of the portrait gallery, where he could observe Imoshen unseen. She stood halfway along the gallery in a pool of light, holding a candle high so the master-builder could position the new wainscoting. Tulkhan lifted his fingers to his mouth and blew on them. They still stung from the cold metal. Truly, Fair Isle was a place of mystery and Imoshen was the greatest mystery of all.
‘Make certain it is sealed. And tell your people there was nothing but old storerooms below,’ Imoshen ordered.
The builder replaced the skirting board then left by the servants’ exit.
Tulkhan waited in the shadows until Imoshen walked past him, her head down in thought.
‘Imo –’
She spun, a knife appearing in her hand, her eyes
‘There might be ancient treasures,’ Cariah whispered.
‘More gold?’ Jacolm asked, nudging Harholfe.
Cariah laughed. ‘Much more valuable. Lost knowledge.’
Jacolm frowned.
‘Wait, General,’ Lord Fairban began, but Tulkhan had already ducked his head and stepped into the steep stairwell. The others followed him down the staircase, complaining that there were not enough candles.
The steps led into a passage, down more stairs and through an archway.
‘General, I –’ Lord Fairban began, then pointed, muttering something in High T’En.
Light appeared at the end of a long corridor. The single candle’s flame illuminated only the figure’s face so that it appeared a disembodied T’En wraith was gliding towards them.
‘Imoshen?’ Tulkhan called uncertainly. She looked up. For a fleeting instant he read terror in her features.
Then she smiled and raised her voice. ‘I did not expect all of you to come looking for me.’
‘I was showing Lord Fairban and his daughters the restoration,’ Tulkhan explained, holding Imoshen’s eyes for a moment longer than was necessary. The candle flame trembled and he took the holder from her. The metal was so cold it burned his skin. Something had terrified Imoshen. ‘What is it?’
‘Yes, where have we come out?’ Cariah asked.
‘Only a long passage and old storerooms. Nothing more exciting than rat holes, I’m afraid.’ Imoshen shrugged. She plucked the unlit candles from the holder and lit them, handing them out. ‘Take these. We don’t want to break our necks going up the stairs.’
‘Yes, but what about exploring?’ Jacolm asked.
‘Nothing but rat holes and musty storerooms,’ Imoshen repeated.
Tulkhan felt a thickness in his head.
‘Let’s go,’ Imoshen urged.
A sense of urgency filled him. He wanted to get out of these confined passages.
Muttering under their breath, the others turned and shuffled up the stairs, their candles casting myriad shadows on the walls. Imoshen was right behind Tulkhan as he stepped out of the secret stair into the portrait gallery once more.
The master-builder greeted them.
Imoshen turned to him. ‘You were right. Nothing of interest lies down there. Replace the panel and continue the restoration. It must be time for the evening meal.’
Linking an arm with Cariah she began to stroll out of the gallery. The others followed her.
The master-builder met Tulkhan’s eyes, his expression grim. Tulkhan handed the candle brace to him, then hurried after his men. Imoshen’s words carried to the General as he caught up. To his ear her tone was a trifle forced.
‘Lady Cariah, General Tulkhan has been appointed patron of the Halls of Learning and I am patron of the hospices, so we must visit them tomorrow. Will you be hostess in my place?’
‘I would be honoured.’
Imoshen stopped at the foot of the stairs. ‘Oh, I forgot. There is one more thing I must tell the builder. You go on ahead.’
Tulkhan strode up the stairs with the others, ignoring their idle chatter. Something felt wrong. He paused on the landing. Wharrd met his eyes.
Tulkhan shook his head. ‘Go on, I’ll catch up.’
Careful to move quietly, he retraced his steps to the entrance of the portrait gallery, where he could observe Imoshen unseen. She stood halfway along the gallery in a pool of light, holding a candle high so the master-builder could position the new wainscoting. Tulkhan lifted his fingers to his mouth and blew on them. They still stung from the cold metal. Truly, Fair Isle was a place of mystery and Imoshen was the greatest mystery of all.
‘Make certain it is sealed. And tell your people there was nothing but old storerooms below,’ Imoshen ordered.
The builder replaced the skirting board then left by the servants’ exit.
Tulkhan waited in the shadows until Imoshen walked past him, her head down in thought.
‘Imo –’
She spun, a knife appearing in her hand, her eyes
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