With a sigh Gabriel reached up and freed two long sticks from their holsters on the wall. He handed one to Tessa. "Today," he began, "we shal be working on parrying and blocking . . . "
As usual, Tessa lay awake a long time that night before sleep began to come. Nightmares had plagued her recently-usual y of Mortmain, his cold gray eyes, and his colder voice saying measuredly that he had made her, that There is no Tessa Gray.
She had come face-to-face with him, the man they sought, and still she did not really know what he wanted from her. To marry her, but why? To claim her power, but to what end? The thought of his cold lizardlike eyes on her made her shiver; the thought that he might have had something to do with her birth was even worse. She did not think anyone-not even Jem, wonderful understanding Jem-quite understood her burning need to know what she was, or the fear that she was some sort of monster, a fear that woke her in the middle of the night, leaving her gasping and clawing at her own skin, as if she could peel it away to reveal a devils hide beneath.
Just then she heard a rustle at her door, and the faint scratch of something being gently pushed against it. After a moments pause she slid off the bed and padded across the room.
She eased the door open to find an empty corridor, the faint sound of violin music drifting from Jems room across the hall. At her feet was a smal green book. She picked it up and gazed at the words stamped in gold on its spine: "Vathek, by William Beckford. "
She shut the door behind her and carried the book over to her bed, sitting down so she could examine it. Will must have left it for her. Obviously it could have been no one else. But why? Why these odd, smal kindnesses in the dark, the talk about books, and the coldness the rest of the time?
She opened the book to its title page. Will had scrawled a note for her there-not just a note, in fact. A poem.
For Tessa Gray, on the occasion of being given a copy of Vathek to read: Caliph Vathek and his dark horde A re bound for Hell, you wont be bored!
Your faith in me will be restored- Unless this token you find untoward And my poor gift you have ignored.
-Wil Tessa burst out laughing, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Drat Will, for always being able to make her laugh, even when she didnt want to, even when she knew that opening her heart to him even an inch was like taking a pinch of some deadly addictive drug. She dropped the copy of V
athek, complete with Will s deliberately terrible poem, onto her nightstand and rol ed onto the bed, burying her face in the pil ows. She could still hear Jems violin music, sweetly sad, drifting beneath her door. As hard as she could, she tried to push thoughts of Will out of her mind; and indeed, when she fel asleep at last and dreamed, for once he made no appearance.
It rained the next day, and despite her umbrel a Tessa could feel the fine hat she had borrowed from Jessamine beginning to sag like a waterlogged bird around her ears as they-she, Jem, Will, and Cyril, carrying their luggage- hurried from the coach into Kings Cross Station. Through the sheets of gray rain she was conscious only of a tall, imposing building, a great clock tower rising from the front. It was topped with a weathercock that showed that the wind was blowing due north-and not gently, spattering drops of cold rain into her face.
Inside, the station was chaos: people hurrying hither and thither, newspaper boys hawking their wares, men striding up and down with sandwich boards strapped to their chests, advertising everything from hair tonic to soap. A little boy in a Norfolk jacket dashed to and fro, his mother in hot pursuit. With a word to Jem, Will vanished immediately into the crowd.
"Gone off and left us, has he?" said Tessa, struggling with her umbrel a, which was refusing to close.
"Let me do that. " Deftly Jem reached over and flicked at the mechanism; the umbrel a shut with a decided snap. Pushing her damp hair out of her eyes, Tessa smiled at him, just as Will returned with an aggrieved-looking porter who relieved Cyril of the baggage and snapped at them to hurry up, the train wouldnt wait all day.
Will looked from the porter to Jems cane, and back. His blue eyes narrowed. "It Will wait for us," Will said with a deadly smile.
The porter looked bewildered but said "Sir" in a decidedly less aggressive tone and proceeded to lead them toward the departure platform. People-so many people!-streamed about Tessa as she made her way through the crowd, clutching at Jem with one hand and Jessamines hat with the other.
Far at the end of the station, where the tracks ran out into open ground, she could see the steel gray sky, smudged with soot.
Jem helped her up into their compartment; there was much bustling about the luggage, and Will tipping the porter in among shouts and whistling as the train prepared to depart. The door swung shut behind them just as the train pul ed forward, steam rushing past the windows in white drifts, wheels clacking merrily.
"Did you bring anything to read on the journey?" asked Will, settling into the seat opposite Tessa; Jem was beside her, his cane leaning up against the wall.
She thought of the copy of Vathek and his poem in it; she had left it at the Institute to avoid temptation, the way you might leave behind a box of candies if you were banting and didnt want to put on weight. "No," she said.
"I havent come across anything I particularly wanted to read lately. "
Will s jaw set, but he said nothing.
"There is always something so exciting about the start of a journey, dont you think?" Tessa went on, nose to the window, though she could see little but smoke and soot and hurtling gray rain; London was a dim shadow in the mist.
"No," said Will as he sat back and pulled his hat down over his eyes.
Tessa kept her face against the glass as the gray of London began to fal away behind them, and with it the rain. Soon they were rol ing through green fields dotted with white sheep, with here and there the point of a vil age steeple in the distance. The sky had turned from steel to a damp, misty blue, and smal black clouds scudded overhead. Tessa watched it all with fascination.
"Havent you ever been in the countryside before?" asked Jem, though unlike Will s, his question had the flavor of actual curiosity.
Tessa shook her head. "I dont remember ever leaving New York, except to go to Coney Island, and that isnt really countryside. I suppose I must have passed through some of it when I came from Southampton with the Dark Sisters, but it was dark, and they kept the curtains across the windows, besides. " She took off her hat, which was dripping water, and laid it on the seat between them to dry. "But I feel as if I have seen it before. In books. I keep imagining Ill see Thornfield Hal rising up beyond the trees, or Wuthering Heights perched on a stony crag-"
"Wuthering Heights is in Yorkshire," said Will, from under his hat, "and were nowhere near Yorkshire yet. We havent even reached Grantham. And theres nothing that impressive about Yorkshire. Hil s and dales, no proper mountains like we have in Wales. "
"Do you miss Wales?" Tessa inquired. She wasnt sure why she did it; she knew asking Will about his past was like poking a dog with a sore tail, but she couldnt seem to help it.
Will shrugged lightly. "Whats to miss? Sheep and singing," he said. "And the ridiculous language. Fe hoffwn i fod mor feddw, fyddai ddim yn cofio fy enw. "
"What does that mean?"
"It means I wish to get so drunk I no longer remember my own name, Quite useful. "
"You dont sound very patriotic," observed Tessa. "Werent you just reminiscing about the mountains?"
"Patriotic?" Will looked smug. "Ill tell you whats patriotic," he said. "In honor of my birthplace, Ive the dragon of Wales tattooed on my-"
"Youre in a charming temper, arent you, William?" interrupted Jem, though there was no edge to his voice. Still, having observed them now for some time, together and apart, Tessa knew it meant something when they call ed each other by their full first names instead of the familiar shortened forms. "Remember, Starkweather cant stand Charlotte, so if this is the mood youre in-"
"I promise to charm the dickens out of him," said Will, sitting up and readjusting his crushed hat. "I shall charm him with such force that when I am done, he Will be left lying limply on the ground, trying to remember his own name. "
"The mans eighty-nine," muttered Jem. "He may well have that problem anyway. "