The Glass Magician (The Paper Magician Trilogy #2)(43)
She followed the road until night settled too heavily for her to see, and the clouds hid the moon and stars. Panting, Ceony stepped off the road and back into the sparse trees. She sat between the roots of one, pulled her knees to her chest, and wept.
CHAPTER 15
A LIGHT SPRINKLING OF rain and soft gray light woke Ceony early in the morning, just as the cry of some wild bird and the skittering of an unseen animal had twice during the night. Her right leg tingled below the knee, and her sore back creaked as she straightened against the tree trunk. A large brown spider crept down her shoulder; Ceony shrieked, slapped it off, and jumped to her feet, stumbling on her dead leg. Her left ankle, at least, seemed much better, and the swelling had gone down while she slept.
She looked about the tree, trying to organize her scattered thoughts. Mist clung to her clothes and dripped from heavy leaves overhead.
Pulling out Lira’s switchblade, Ceony scanned the forest, searching for a flash of ginger hair, or for any sign of human life. She saw none. Still, if Grath had transported to wherever Ceony was and tracked back to the shed yesterday, it wouldn’t take him long to find her.
She put the switchblade back into her camisole and examined her mirror shard, but the glass remained smooth and unenchanted. Hopefully carrying it with her wouldn’t be a two-edged sword, but even if Grath’s image appeared in the glass, he wouldn’t know how to find her. At least Ceony hoped he wouldn’t. This was a shard from his mirror, after all.
She climbed back to the road, thinking that if she could find another inhabitant, she could get help. Or at least a piece of paper. Though in this rain, a paper bird wouldn’t make it very far.
And Ceony had no idea just how many miles stretched between her and London, or how many bodies of water. Still, she could only go onward.
She followed the road.
The gray sky brightened as she walked, yet the sun refused to break its cloud cover. It rained long enough to make Ceony’s clothes feel uncomfortable, then stopped, leaving the world awfully cold for late summer. She unbraided her hair and combed her fingers through it, rebraided it. Checked the mirror. Glanced over her shoulder.
After some time, perhaps two hours, she heard the rattling of carriage wheels on the dirt road ahead of her. A stout, unpainted carriage pulled by two spotted horses came into view. Relieved, Ceony ran toward it, waving her arms to stop the driver, but he ignored her and continued on, quickening the horses’ trot as he passed. The carriage windows had their shutters drawn.
Ceony paused in the road, staring after them. A young woman in distress, and they hadn’t even slowed? Curse the French! Who did they think she was, and what errand could they possibly have in the middle of nowhere that they couldn’t so much as stop to give her directions?
Shoulders slumping, Ceony turned back to the road. She didn’t need directions, and wouldn’t understand them anyhow. She had only two options: go forward, or return to the shed.
Ceony moved forward at a quicker clip, rubbing a hunger cramp from her stomach as she went. The carriage must have come from somewhere, and the horses didn’t look too exhausted. Only a few more hours, she thought, hopeful.
The trees thinned even more, and the rain picked up again, sprinkling on and off, defying the warmth of the hidden sun. Ceony rubbed a chill from her fingers as she walked, searching for any hint of life. She spied a wild rabbit and for a moment wished she knew how to hunt the animal, not just how to cook it.
She tried holding her mouth open to the rain for a drink, but the droplets were so fine and temperamental that it did nothing to quench her thirst. She continued walking, her muscles sore, clutching the mirror in her hands. Find me Delilah, Magician Aviosky. Find me before Grath does.
She tried not to think of her family, but walking in silence down the never-ending road, the feat proved difficult. She imagined Marshall on the floor in the storage room of the meatpacking warehouse, imagined Zina hanging by one of the hooks, Emery and the constable standing over them. Only this time, all the blame lay on Ceony’s shoulders.
Shaking the thoughts away, Ceony peered behind her, thinking for a moment that she heard heavy footsteps, or saw a flash of ginger hair, paler than her own. But no—she was alone. She didn’t feel that same uneasy, hair-raising feeling that came upon her whenever Saraj was close.
More time passed and she found another sign, this one reading, “Zuydcoote un kilometre au sud-est.” She imagined “kilometre” meant kilometer, but she couldn’t piece together the rest. Still, a sign meant civilization had to be nearby. She hoped.
She picked up her pace, her stomach growling audibly now, and to her relief, she saw a cultivated hill covered in trimmed crabgrass and a small redbrick house atop it, off the road a ways. Finding a new ball of energy inside her, Ceony ran across the road and up the hill, not bothering to look for a pathway. She reached the narrow porch, breathless, and knocked on the door that bore a faded sign reading “Claes.”
She heard creaking footsteps beyond the door, and then a balding man who looked to be in his late forties answered the door.
“Hello, I’m so sorry,” Ceony blurted, “but I’m lost and I need help. Do you have a telegraph?”
The man crossed his brows. “Et, qui êtes-vous? Je ne parle pas l’anglais.”
Oh, how she wished Delilah were here to translate! Ceony’s grip tightened on the mirror, but with her free hand she pointed to herself and said, “Ceony. Lost. From England.”