Chapter 1: Part 8 - The Top of the World

Once, Oska had known his grandmother’s house like the back of his hand. Blackthorn Manor was an imposing edifice in southern Queensdale, but it was also relatively secluded; visitors to Claypool often never realised it was nearby. It had been the perfect summer retreat for rowdy Valpari children and their frazzled parents, which meant Oska could remember sun-baked days running across the lawns and swimming in the lake. It had seemed idyllic.

Now, he couldn’t help taking a different view. Those expansive lawns meant no-one could sneak up on the house; the lake was still picturesque, but it had also been arranged as a sort of moat. Studying the manor’s surroundings from the window, Oska realised the place was surprisingly defensive, hills and lake and winding road combining to turn it into a fortress.

The interior was no different. The hidden doorways and secret stairs he remembered from childhood now seemed far more sinister. They were designed to let the occupants move unseen, to pursue illicit liaisons or outsmart intruders. Oska wondered whether the place had always had that gambling den in the foundations, or whether that was a newer addition.

If he was honest, he didn’t even know if his grandmother was still here. There’d been a rift in the family, when he was nine or ten; he’d never known the details. The long summers at the manor had ended abruptly. His parents had never spoken of Taria Valpari again.

Oska didn’t think she’d died, though. Taria’s death would have meant a grand funeral, no matter how she’d disgraced herself in life. Instead, she’d been banished from the family – or she’d chosen to banish herself, which seemed more likely given her domineering personality. And she’d spent those years… Running a gambling empire and financing Yinn’s game? From what little he knew of his grandmother, Oska had to admit it wasn’t unlikely.

Distantly, a high-pitched bell chimed. The clock, in the blue drawing room – Oska recognised the sound. If he could find his way into the servants’ passage behind the kitchens, there was a way upstairs. He’d need to get up there to find an open window; the downstairs ones were always kept locked by the housekeeper, Aelda.

Was it possible some of the old servants were still in the house? Oska could remember Aelda sneaking apricot pastries to him as a child. Perhaps she could be persuaded to unlock the back door…

“Oska.” A voice floated along the corridor in a sing-song voice. “Os-ka.”

Oska flinched. Taria might have disowned the rest of the family, but she’d discovered Ruby somewhere – and decided to keep her.

Silently, Oska fled. Ruby’s voice faded as he reached the passage down to the pantry, then the kitchen door. That one was locked – and the handle squeaked as Oska tried it.

“Oska. You can’t run forever.” Ruby’s voice sounded, alarmingly, like it came from the other side of the closed door. There was a scraping sound, like a key in the lock. Oska jumped back and ran.

Suddenly, the house he’d once loved felt like a nightmare. Up a back staircase, along a hidden corridor to the east wing. At its end, Ruby’s voice came again, practically chanting his name. Oska swung aside, slipping out into the main hallway and letting the hidden door close behind him. He’d come past the blue drawing room and his grandmother’s sitting room. Somehow, the clock was still chiming, as though he’d been running for only a handful of heartbeats – or for an entire hour. There were footsteps to his left, heavy enough to belong to the brutish norn.

And Ruby sounded even closer than before.

Oska shot in the other direction, panic making his pulse beat hard in his throat. He knew this house as though it was his own, but it wasn’t enough. Whichever way he turned, Ruby was always one step ahead.

He skidded round a corner, just as another voice intruded – Vilma, this time, sounding like she was in the nearest room. The door was slightly ajar; Oska couldn’t even remember what was on the other side. “There’s no need for this, boy. We just want to talk.”

Did they? Ruby had implied Elthias wanted him dead. That wasn’t quite the same as saying she’d wield the knife herself, but it wasn’t far off.

Oska darted past the door, just as it started to open further. He sprinted down the next corridor, a line of windows flashing past. It was a longer drop if he exited on that side of the house – but he’d had another idea.

The door at the end of the corridor was closed. For a heart-stopping moment, Oska thought it was locked, but the handle was only sticking with disuse. The library beyond was gloomy, the shutters closed and the curtains drawn. This had been his grandfather’s favourite room; Oska didn’t know whether it was grief or practicality that had made Taria close it off after her husband died. There was certainly enough dust inside to make his eyes water.

More importantly, though he had only the faintest memories of this place as a child – of sneaking in with Auri, then being hauled out by one of the servants – he remembered one critical piece of information. The library had a hidden exit.

Oska slipped across the room, making for the south-east corner. Bookshelves loomed out of the darkness, heavy and somehow forbidding in the silence. He passed a desk, running his fingers across its grimy surface. There was no evidence that anyone had been here in years.

Was it just possible that Ruby wouldn’t know about the hidden door? Would this be the escape he needed?

No such luck. There were sudden voices outside the library door, startling Oska out of his reverie. He shot forwards, vaulting over another table as a spear of light intruded into the room behind him. He darted behind the next bookcase, fingers groping for the false book. It was bound in leather like all the rest, but it was slender and stood out between the thicker volumes. Auri had been the one to find it, thinking it was full of fairytales.

There. A narrower book. Oska gripped its top and pulled down, feeling the gratifying resistance of machinery behind it. There was a clunk, deep within the wall, and then the hidden door swung open.

Behind him, someone shouted. Oska ignored them, clambering into the tunnel and swiftly pulling the hidden door shut.

Unlike the gambling hall tunnels, there was light here. Oska followed it upwards, the stone stair rising and rising in tight circles. The trapdoor at the top fitted badly, hence the light; he put his shoulder to it and pushed. He felt a moment of terror, once again, as the door didn’t immediately move – but it was only heavy, with rusty hinges, and it fell back with another shove.

Oska scrambled out. The wind reached for him immediately, plucking at his clothes. It was still daylight, though it felt like he’d been running through the house for hours. The only other entrance to the top of the tower was through a glass-enclosed rooftop garden; he’d been that way as a child, but now yellowing vines pressed against the glass. No matter. He wasn’t going that way.

Instead, he stepped up to the parapet.

The drop to the gardens was dizzying, but even for a thief, Oska was unusually comfortable with heights. He remembered being up here with Auri, how she’d screamed at him to get down from the wall. It had been one of very few times he’d seen her truly scared. He’d done as she asked – but he’d come back later, on his own. He must have been only eight or nine, but he’d been fearless enough to test his theory.

This was the highest point in the entire manor house, the very top of the world – but even from here, there was a way down.

He swung over the parapet, catching his weight with both hands. There was a windowsill to drop onto, then another. After that, there was a stretch of badly repaired brick wall with plenty of handholds, then another window, then a length of ancient ivy with remarkably thick stems. Perhaps he weighed a little more than he’d done when he was eight, but his arms were also longer. With a rising sense of jubilation, he realised how easy the climb down was going to be.

Or it would have been, if the guards hadn’t found him.

Oska hadn’t even reached the ivy when the first rifle shot pinged off the wall. He flinched as shards of stone pattered down over his head. He risked a glance behind him and saw three guards, all of them with rifles lifted. They could be the worst shots in the world, but with three of them, it wouldn’t be long before one got a lucky hit.

Despair fluttered in Oska’s chest – but it brought something with it. He’d always struggled to describe the bond he felt with Auri. He knew she felt it more strongly than he did, but he could definitely feel it now. The soft tug in his chest, a certain weight at the back of his skull… It was as comforting as being wrapped in a favourite blanket.

And he knew it meant rescue.