I woke the next morning in a deep fog. Somehow I made it down to the kitchens for a meal at dawn, but I had no memory of dressing myself or fixing my hair, and I could not remember tying the laces on my boots or pinning a cap to my head.
But there I was, sitting in the chilly gloom before sunrise, warmed only by the meager heat left by the baking ovens. The room smelled oddly . . . empty. Normally my first meal of the day saw me enveloped in the tantalizing scents of fresh scones and meat roasting for supper. Sometimes Chijioke packed the little smokehouse off the kitchen and brought in a tray of pig’s belly musky and woodsy with the perfume of oak. None of those smells met me today, not even the usual hot blast of bergamot from Mrs. Haylam’s morning tea blend, steaming away in a cup just for me.
Today the room was odorless. Colorless, too. The fog in my head and my heart thickened, and the walls, table, and floor all looked dead and gray. I waited alone, wondering if Chijioke and Poppy had gotten an early start—there were human guests to tend to now, and that would require more work from all of us.
I waited for a long time for Mrs. Haylam to bring me my food. Most days she appeared at once, but this was strange. . . . Where was everyone? What was taking so long?
At last I heard her quick, clipped stride as she approached from the larder. Face cold, hair as severe and neat as ever in its bun, she did not even glance at me with her one good eye but instead slammed down a giant tray in front of me. It was laden with meat, an entire haunch of it, the shape of it still intact. I knew little of butchery, but even to my eyes it did not appear to be from swine or goat. Not mutton, then, but what . . .
“Porridge will do,” I told her, but she was already gone, bustling out toward the foyer with a tea set.
The meat in front of me was the only thing I could smell, pungent and unappetizing. The odor reminded me of worms, gray and watery. A knife large enough to be a cleaver was stuck into the haunch, down all the way to the bone. I picked up a small fork from the table, one that did not look at all equal to the task of tackling this monstrous leg.
My stomach growled. Something compelled me to eat, though the thought of chewing even a single bite made my guts roil. I carved a piece from the leg, the meat flabby and limp. The carving sent a twinge through me, and while I put the meat in my mouth I felt a tear slip down my cheek. What was the matter with me? I chewed and it tasted horrid, just on the near side of rancid. I sliced at the leg again and a burst of pain exploded from my own leg.
The chewed meat stuck in my throat. There was no tea to help me gulp down the awful stuff. I couldn’t stop the tears anymore, and my face grew wet as I tried to force another bite down. No, I could not go on. . . . It hurt too much and tasted too sickly. I cried and looked around the kitchens for help, freezing as I noticed the walls had disappeared. Where was I? What was this? The walls had become trees, gnarled and black, though they shifted, unreliable, as if dozens of figures moved among the branches. Eyes glowed from every direction, watching me.
The pain in my leg was too much then. I pushed away from the table and tried to stand up, deciding it was better to flee. At once, I tumbled to the floor, crying out as I looked down and saw that my right leg was missing from the knee down. Gone . . . It was . . .
The meat I had forced down came back up and I retched, weeping, floundering on the floor. The leg was not normal. It was too familiar, too sleek. . . . My own. I had eaten my own flesh. And now I was choking, dying, helpless and scrambling across the floor.
Suddenly, from the mass of twisted trees all around me, a single figure came forward, eyes blazing like coals. It wore a crown of antlers and it spoke with a voice like thunder.
“Wake up,” it said, reaching to help me up. “Slumber no more.”
The world, the real world, slammed back into place with a scream. My own. I almost flew out from under the blankets, frantically pushing them down around my legs until I could verify that my leg was still there. A dream. No, a nightmare. I wiped at my face, finding it slick with perspiration and tears. An instant later the door burst open and I shrieked again, then sighed and flopped down to the tick.
It was Poppy, eyes wide with shock, and she vaulted onto the bed beside me, placing a small, cool hand on my forehead.
“Are you well? Is that a fever? Oh, Louisa, you do not look good, not even a little bit!”
“That’s very kind, Poppy,” I muttered, closing my eyes.
“I would send Bartholomew to nurse you but he is very sleepy right now. He refuses to wake unless there is meat to be had!”
“Please,” I whispered. “Please . . . no talk of meat just now.”
“Should I fetch Mrs. Haylam?” she asked, frowning and sticking her little elfin face right up to my nose. “You really are amazingly sweaty, Louisa.”
“Just an unpleasant dream,” I told her with a thin smile. “I’m sure I will recover my wits shortly.”
“Oooh,” Poppy gasped, leaning back on her knees and then twirling one pigtail around her finger thoughtfully. “Do you know, I have had many strange dreams, too! They are not all bad. Sometimes I am a fat little bird screaming into the wind on a boat. I like those ones. But some of my dreams have been distressing. Mrs. Haylam says there are dark things lurking at Coldthistle these days and that we must, must, must protect each other.”
Pushing myself up onto my elbows, I rested back against the pillows and nodded. “Chijioke said something similar. The Upworlders don’t seem that bad.”
Her eyes went wide again and she shoved a finger into my face, wagging it back and forth. “Shush! Shooosh, Louisa! Nobody must hear you say that. I will not repeat it but you must promise not to say that again. Mr. Morningside would be ever so cross if he heard you speak that way.”
“Why?” I shooed her hand out of my face gently and fixed the blankets over my lap. Outside, I heard the familiar and comforting sound of the birds calling to one another as dawn broke. “What’s this Court business about? It was such a big secret and now it’s all anybody can talk about.”
Poppy shrugged and let go of her pigtail; then she hopped off the bed and began rummaging in my chest of drawers, pulling out my usual housemaid attire and stacking it on the bed. “It is all new to me, too, Louisa, but Mrs. Haylam says the nasty Upworlders will be coming with the shepherd and his dumb daughter. They will all sit in the tent outside and decide if Mr. Morningside is too stupid to go on.”
“Too stupid to . . .” I had to laugh, pressing a knuckle to my lips. “Well, that will certainly be a lively debate. But come now, it must be more serious than that. Is he really in trouble?”
She nodded emphatically, braids swinging, and fetched my boots from across the room. “That mean George Bremerton got too close to hurting Mr. Morningside. There could be more like him coming, and I think that’s what everyone wants to argue about, what to do with those folk what want to hurt Mr. Morningside.”
That made just a smidge more sense. “I see. That does sound troublesome. . . . What will happen if they decide he’s, um, too stupid to go on?”
“I don’t rightly know, Louisa, nobody does,” she said sensibly, finishing her work and standing next to the bed with her hands crossed in front of her waist. “I only know that I don’t like when the shepherd and his angels come. They eat everything in sight and make my tummy hurt. You must promise not to like them with me.”
“Very well,” I said, crawling out of bed. She had done such a neat job of gathering my clothes, I did not want to disappoint her with hesitation. “I promise not to like them, but only if they give me a reason. I did not like all of you at first, remember?”
Poppy chewed her lip, swaying back and forth as she considered my question. “I think that is fair.” She dug in her own apron pocket, her small fist emerging with a folded piece of paper. “Louisa, what is this?”
The letter. She must have found it in my apron as she gathered up my garments.
“Just . . . nothing important. It’s a letter I meant to read yesterday.” The day had gone by in a blur, first with meeting Mr. Morningside, then being ambushed by Lee and the arrival of the Upworlders. My chest felt funny and hot as I looked at the folded parchment. Could it really be from my father? My real father? And how the devil was I supposed to read it?
“Oh, well, you must not forget again,” she said, tucking it back into my apron, where she had most likely found it. “But you cannot read it now, Louisa, there is no time at all to waste. I will help with your laces and give you a nice braid, but then we mustn’t tarry. Mrs. Haylam wants to see all of us, and she is in a cross mood. I think the angels make her tummy hurt, too.”
Though I had been at Coldthistle House for only about seven months, it was the first time Mrs. Haylam had called us all together.
Well, most of us. Mr. Morningside was not to be found in the early morning chill of the kitchens. I moved subtly closer to the ovens, rubbing my hands for warmth. The sun had only just appeared, and the springtime rays had yet to suffuse the house with their heat. Outside, through the open kitchen door, sheep bleated to one another in the fields beyond the fence, and just above that came the uneven, growly hum of Bartholomew as he snored. I could see nothing but his tail curled on the stones, the end of it dipped black as if he had stuck it in an inkwell.
Chijioke stood to my left, arms crossed, his clean workman’s shirt smelling of Mrs. Haylam’s lavender soap. I was surprised to see that Lee was in attendance, standing in the corner just in front of the larder. His clothes were rumpled, though he wore a coat now, one far simpler than the gentleman’s attire he had brought to Coldthistle in the autumn. He avoided my furtive glances, eyes fixed on Mrs. Haylam, who stood before us in front of the large kitchen basin. Poppy munched on her breakfast, sitting at the table and swinging her legs.
It all felt terribly normal, and I wondered what it would be like to have this breakfast somewhere else. In a normal place. Chijioke, Lee, and Poppy could be normal friends, if only we had mundane jobs and no violence on the horizon. Was it foolish to hope for such a thing—foolish to even consider it?
Clearing her throat, Mrs. Haylam made eye contact with each of us in turn. Perhaps I was imagining it, but she looked at me the longest. I shrank under her inspection, aware that I had dressed in a hurry and did not look my tidiest.
“Well. At last we can begin,” she said, and nothing more needed to be said about my tardiness. “As you all have undoubtedly noticed, there are a few changes here this spring. The visiting Upworlders are to be tolerated, nothing more and nothing less. If I hear of any of you beginning trouble with them out of turn, I will be unhappy in the extreme. Do not disappoint me.”
“And if they start trouble with us? What then?” Chijioke asked, shifting.
“They will not.”
“But if they do?” he pressed.
Mrs. Haylam snapped her head toward him, narrowing her eyes. “Why do I have the impression you are eager to vex them?”
“Because they’re insufferable gits, that’s why.”
The old woman nearly smiled, but caught herself at the last moment, her lips pulling up into a half smirk before she regained control. “Be that as it may, you will restrain yourself. The Court is an unusual occurrence, naturally, and one that we should not draw out. The sooner those outlanders leave our house, the better. We want to resolve a disagreement, not start a war.”
“Excuse me,” I said, taking a tiny step forward. “But what exactly is this Court? Nobody has explained it to me. Not in full, anyway.”
Mrs. Haylam sighed and glanced at the ceiling. “You will not be required to participate, Louisa, just see to your regular chores and tend to the guests. If Chijioke or Poppy has need of your assistance, you will be told.”
“But—”
“You will be told.” She raised her voice just enough to silence me. “Now, I want all of you to stay alert and tell me at once if you think the Upworlders are interfering with your work at the house. Do not wander to town and do not take any unnecessary trips off the property. This is just a temporary disruption, and I expect us all to complete our work as if these were ordinary days.”
Nobody spoke up after that, and a brief pause taken, Mrs. Haylam added, “Rawleigh is a permanent member of the house now, and as such I have asked that he take a position as valet. He will see to the gentlemen staying with us for the next month. Which brings me to our guests . . .”
I looked in Lee’s direction, but he remained determined to avoid me. He stared at Mrs. Haylam and then at the floor. It was hard to imagine him acting as a valet with his messy hair and clothes, but perhaps she would force him to clean up before taking up his job in earnest. Of any of us, he would be the most familiar with the duties and mannerisms of a valet, having been the only one wealthy enough to employ one of his own in the past.
It was cruel to stare at him, and I wondered if he felt furious at the thought of having to work in a station so beneath him. And with me. He had already been shot by his uncle, died, and been revived with shadowy necromancy; this further punishment made me feel ill. Worse still, I had no interest in hearing about the newcomers to the house. Now that I knew Lee had been an innocent wrongly drawn to Coldthistle, I would always be concerned that another mistake was being made.
“The pavilion outside has been constructed for the Court, yes, but it will also be used by our guests. We are to host the nuptials of Miss Amelia Canny of Dungarvan and Mr. Mason Breen of London. Never have a more villainous pair of families darkened our doorstep. You are to serve them with all due deference and see to their needs, until you are called to escort them violently from this mortal coil.”