Her father’s.
She closed her hand around the specimen as she sank to her knees. Lumpen’s scratchy arms were about her then—for it had been merely Lumpen’s expansive shadow Ivy had sensed—and she felt herself hoisted upon a sturdy broad shoulder.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Jalousie
he crumbling walls of fieldstone gradually tapered off, and through a meager copse of young pin oak, they vanished entirely, converging quite suddenly upon a house of some worth—as evidenced by its size, if not its upkeep.
“Here we go,” the well keeper announced. “This is the place.”
But the estate of Lumpen Gorse’s memory was now destitute, shutters rusted and hanging at odd angles, and doors rotted or missing entirely. What remained of the windows was wondrous, however: great towering panels of interlaced colors, peaked archways of stained glass, and, above the entrance, a circular rose window of some great magnificence. Vandals had managed to mar its perfection with the toss of a few well-placed stones, but the windows had survived their yearssufficiently. Within their deep cobalt blues and drenching reds, still wrapped by veins of lead, one word was written.
JALOUSIE
“What is this place?” Ivy asked.
“A place as good as any other to rest for the night—unless you want to be walking in the dark, miss.”
Ivy didn’t.
And for the first time since their journey from the orphanage, Ivy realized she had found a landmark of sorts—and she eagerly opened Axle’s
Guide
, hoping to learn anything about their whereabouts.
After searching the extensive index for the word
Jalousie
, she found it under the broader category Estates, Fortresses, and Palaces and flipped quickly to page 1421, section 4. Under the heading of Noble Manors, Ivy read:
JALOUSIE: Once a bustling and impressive manor belonging to a former nobleman of Requiem, the Marquis of Furze, whose foolishness led him to commission a series of magnificent windows in irresistible hues. He soon fell under their spell, and began rejecting all visitors, preferring instead the company of his stained-glass companions. Each was morespectacular than the last—some that predate the current regime and are quite notable in their depictions (see Specimens, Botanical, and Contraband, Nightshade). His addled brain came to the conclusion that he, too, was made entirely of colored glass. Through the long windows, the sun transformed both his own pale skin and the marble of the floors into slashes of the color spectrum, until one day he was simply never seen again. With no descendants, the upkeep of the home was left to the various field mice and voles that inhabit this lonesome part of Caux’s northeastern front, where the traveler should be well advised on the ruin that madness can bring.
Ivy’s heart sank. No wonder everything was so unfamiliar—Requiem was a lonely outpost to the north, an area where the land holds up the sky with its ghostly stone walls. From here, she knew, it was several days’ journey to Templar—if they were lucky. With Rue barely able to lift her head, even this seemed unlikely.
In the gathering gloom, Ivy could just make out Jalousie’s small, untended graveyard. Amid the toppled graves, and a dilapidated vault, there were a few unmistakable shadows. The wolves were gathering for the coming of the night.
The great doors complained bitterly as the threesome entered the manor, and Lumpen was forced to lean on them with her substantial backside to shut them again. Together, the travelers lowered a wooden hasp in place, barring the way. The yelping of the wolves was closer now.
“Nothing’s getting in that way,” Lumpen insisted.
Ivy heard the skittering of some animal in the ceiling above her. The neglected floor was scattered with dead leaves and made an unsettling noise as they passed over it. Piles of brush had migrated to the corners and seemed to house a variety of rodents.
Lumpen made her way casually up a set of servants’ stairs
She closed her hand around the specimen as she sank to her knees. Lumpen’s scratchy arms were about her then—for it had been merely Lumpen’s expansive shadow Ivy had sensed—and she felt herself hoisted upon a sturdy broad shoulder.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Jalousie
he crumbling walls of fieldstone gradually tapered off, and through a meager copse of young pin oak, they vanished entirely, converging quite suddenly upon a house of some worth—as evidenced by its size, if not its upkeep.
“Here we go,” the well keeper announced. “This is the place.”
But the estate of Lumpen Gorse’s memory was now destitute, shutters rusted and hanging at odd angles, and doors rotted or missing entirely. What remained of the windows was wondrous, however: great towering panels of interlaced colors, peaked archways of stained glass, and, above the entrance, a circular rose window of some great magnificence. Vandals had managed to mar its perfection with the toss of a few well-placed stones, but the windows had survived their yearssufficiently. Within their deep cobalt blues and drenching reds, still wrapped by veins of lead, one word was written.
JALOUSIE
“What is this place?” Ivy asked.
“A place as good as any other to rest for the night—unless you want to be walking in the dark, miss.”
Ivy didn’t.
And for the first time since their journey from the orphanage, Ivy realized she had found a landmark of sorts—and she eagerly opened Axle’s
Guide
, hoping to learn anything about their whereabouts.
After searching the extensive index for the word
Jalousie
, she found it under the broader category Estates, Fortresses, and Palaces and flipped quickly to page 1421, section 4. Under the heading of Noble Manors, Ivy read:
JALOUSIE: Once a bustling and impressive manor belonging to a former nobleman of Requiem, the Marquis of Furze, whose foolishness led him to commission a series of magnificent windows in irresistible hues. He soon fell under their spell, and began rejecting all visitors, preferring instead the company of his stained-glass companions. Each was morespectacular than the last—some that predate the current regime and are quite notable in their depictions (see Specimens, Botanical, and Contraband, Nightshade). His addled brain came to the conclusion that he, too, was made entirely of colored glass. Through the long windows, the sun transformed both his own pale skin and the marble of the floors into slashes of the color spectrum, until one day he was simply never seen again. With no descendants, the upkeep of the home was left to the various field mice and voles that inhabit this lonesome part of Caux’s northeastern front, where the traveler should be well advised on the ruin that madness can bring.
Ivy’s heart sank. No wonder everything was so unfamiliar—Requiem was a lonely outpost to the north, an area where the land holds up the sky with its ghostly stone walls. From here, she knew, it was several days’ journey to Templar—if they were lucky. With Rue barely able to lift her head, even this seemed unlikely.
In the gathering gloom, Ivy could just make out Jalousie’s small, untended graveyard. Amid the toppled graves, and a dilapidated vault, there were a few unmistakable shadows. The wolves were gathering for the coming of the night.
The great doors complained bitterly as the threesome entered the manor, and Lumpen was forced to lean on them with her substantial backside to shut them again. Together, the travelers lowered a wooden hasp in place, barring the way. The yelping of the wolves was closer now.
“Nothing’s getting in that way,” Lumpen insisted.
Ivy heard the skittering of some animal in the ceiling above her. The neglected floor was scattered with dead leaves and made an unsettling noise as they passed over it. Piles of brush had migrated to the corners and seemed to house a variety of rodents.
Lumpen made her way casually up a set of servants’ stairs
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