The Celestial Globe: The Kronos Chronicles: Book II (8 page)

P
LIP. PLIP. PLIP.

Petra opened her eyes, which were gummy from long sleep.

She felt something squirming on her neck. At first she thought it was Astrophil, but the sensation felt nothing like the cold prickle of his legs. It felt . . . fleshy.

Petra’s brain seemed to be trying to tell her that the
plip-plip
sound had something to do with whatever was crawling on her neck—and, she realized, on her arm. She glanced down and gasped.

Fat black leeches teemed over her left arm. As she stared, one of them wriggled and dropped off, falling into a bowl placed next to the bed.
Plip.

Petra reached to crush the insects, but someone caught her hand. A short, gray-haired man shook his head at her. Then he pointed to the leeches and smiled.

“What are you doing to me?” Petra shouted. “Get them
off
!”

The old man shook his head again, and replied in a language that sounded like hissing snakes.

English
, Petra thought with a groan. She pulled weakly against the man’s grip.

He
tsk
ed at her. He let her go, but then quickly doused a handkerchief with a strong-smelling liquid. He clamped the cloth over her nose and mouth.

Petra sank back into sleep.

Below her bed, Astrophil waited, growing hungrier as the days passed.

S
OMEONE WAS STROKING
Petra’s hair. Only two people had ever done this: Dita and her father. Maybe her mother had, too, but Petra couldn’t remember. She had been only a baby when her mother died.

Petra opened her eyes.

A woman was sitting next to the bed. Her hair was white, pulled back into a simple twist, but her skin was unlined. Her face held no expression. There was no tug of a lip, lift of a cheek, or furrow of a brow.

“Hello,” the woman said in a flat voice. “I’m Agatha.”

Petra, I am so relieved you are awake. You have been asleep for several days.
Astrophil’s words buzzed in Petra’s mind.
I was so worried.

Where are you?

I am hiding under the bed. It is
very
dusty. I do not think highly of the Dees’ housekeeper.

Petra glanced at her left arm. The leeches were gone. The welts left by the touch of the Gristleki were healed, but fresh, fierce, and red.

She turned to Agatha. “There was a man here . . .”

“Yes. Dr. Harvey.”

“He put
leeches
on me.”

“He used them to suck the poison out of your blood.”

“Who are you?”

“Agatha,” the woman repeated. “Agatha Dee.”

“Agatha
Dee
?”

“Yes. John Dee’s wife.”

I don’t like her,
Petra told Astrophil.

Petra, would you try to like her enough to ask for a favor? Because
—the spider’s voice grew embarrassed—
I am extremely hungry.

Petra bolted upright.
Oh, Astro! You haven’t had any oil in days! I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I didn’t think of this right away. You might have died.

You might have, too,
the spider said gently.

“Agatha?” Petra leaned toward the woman. “Could I have some brassica oil? Please.”

“Is something the matter?”

“No, nothing. But I need brassica. A large jug of it. Now.”

The woman’s face betrayed no surprise at this unusual request. She walked to the door, unlocked it, and murmured to someone in the hallway. She turned back to Petra. “It will be brought to you shortly.” She locked the door. “I am glad you are well,” she said, though her voice sounded empty of any gladness, “and that I am able to help you.”

Petra thought that Agatha might mean something more than fetching brassica oil. “Help me?” Hope fluttered inside her. “Will you help me get back to Okno?”

“No. I am here at my husband’s request. He asked me to teach you English.”

“Oh,” Petra said resentfully. She knew what this meant. It meant that Dee intended Petra to stay in London for some time. “So when are you going to force the first lesson down my throat?”

Agatha Dee didn’t seem offended, if only because she didn’t seem
anything
. “It’s done. You already know English.”

“I—
what
?”

“Yes. You’re speaking English now. You have no trace of a Czech accent. You know every word I do.”

“You . . . used magic? Teaching—it’s your gift?”

Agatha nodded.

How was Petra ever going to get away from
four
magically talented Dees? She frowned. “I’m surprised that Dee didn’t make me learn English the hard way.”

Agatha reached to lift Petra’s chin. “Why do that, when everything else will be so hard?”

“
L
OOK AT THAT SCAR
. . .”

Petra touched her neck and turned, her ponytail swinging over her shoulder. Her silver eyes measured the two girls. “The poison didn’t damage my hearing.”

“It might have done something to your fashion sense, though,” said the freckled girl, raking her gaze over the trousers Petra had worn the day of the attack.

Petra crossed her arms, brandishing the burnlike wound that reached up to her elbow. “Why are you here?” she demanded. Speaking English felt effortless, like walking without thinking about the fact that her entire body was doing a balancing act with every step. “Do you want a tour of my jail cell? There’s that awful bed I was stuck in for days, there’s the chair in which I was interrogated by your interfering father—”

“And over there’s a mirror”—the freckled girl pointed—“that you might think about using.”

“Madinia,” her sister murmured.

“What? Don’t look at me like that, Meggie. The first step to recovering from an abysmal lack of style is to admit that you have a problem. I’m only trying to help.”

“You Dees have a funny idea of
help
,” Petra snapped.

“We just wanted to introduce ourselves, Petra,” the quiet sister said. “I’m Margaret.”

The freckled girl stuck out her hand. “Madinia.” She waited for Petra to shake it. When Petra didn’t, Madinia plopped down into the nearest chair, her silk skirts spilling around her. “Wasn’t that a freakish scene in the forest? Petra, you should have seen it! Too bad you were passed out. But our dad was right in the thick of things, swinging away like a master swordsman. Those gray creatures were as skin-crawlingly creepy as anything I’d ever seen, but I wasn’t afraid at all. Not a jot!”

“I was,” said Margaret.

“Poor Meg! I know what you’re thinking, but you shouldn’t blame yourself. Why, anyone could have made the same mistake.
I
wasn’t petrified out of my wits, but
anybody
could have—”

“Madinia!” Margaret turned a furious gaze on her sister. “You have no wits!”

“That is
so
unfair! Why’re you—?” Madinia glanced at Petra, then back at Margaret. “Oh.”

“What mistake?” Petra asked. “What’re you talking about?”

“Nothing,” said Madinia.

“Maybe I’ll mention this conversation, then, the next time I speak to your father.”

“Please don’t do that,” said Margaret. “I made an error, but we fixed it. No harm done.”

“We think,” said Madinia.

“You know, if you hadn’t been so excited—”

“If you hadn’t been as jumpy as a tail-stepped cat—”

“This room is
my
jail cell,” Petra interrupted. “Give me an answer or get out of it.”

Margaret took a deep breath. “Madinia’s magic can tear holes in space. Mine can close them.”

“Old news.”

Madinia was offended. “They are rare gifts.”

“And the odds are very, very small that a person who can create a Rift will know someone who can sew it back up,” Margaret added.

“A Rift?” Petra asked.

“Oh, that’s just one of the many words people use,” Madinia said. “They’re also called Gates—”

“Or Lacunae,” her sister supplied.

“—Loopholes—”

“—Portals—”

“—Alleys—”

“So?” said Petra.

“So,” Margaret replied, “over the centuries, people with Madinia’s magic have left Rifts all over the world. And they can be dangerous. Imagine what would happen if somebody was riding a horse across the French countryside and galloped right into the Indian Ocean. Or what if the Ottoman army was marching through the desert and then suddenly walked into London’s Smithfield?”

“They’d be crushed by our forces!” Madinia thumped her fist on the arm of the chair.

“If the Rifts are such a big problem,” Petra said, “why don’t you just travel the world and close all of them?”

“I’m not a
maid
,” said Margaret. “I’ve got enough work cleaning up after Madinia. Anyway, Rifts are very hard to find. It’d be like searching for one particular leaf in a forest. Even so, Dad says I must always close up a Rift Madinia makes, just in case. But . . . when we went to rescue you, Madinia and I screwed things up.”

For a moment, Madinia looked like she might protest her innocence, but then she said, “Dad pinpointed your location, Petra. I was supposed to tear a gateway to it. But I didn’t know that there was already a Rift, an ancient one, close by. Look at the weak cloth
of your trousers. See that hole? Well, what would happen if you made a new hole right next to it?
Rip
. You’d end up with one roaringly big gap.”

“Once we stepped through”—Margaret twisted her fingers together—“and saw the Gray Men, all I could think of was getting out of Bohemia. I forgot to patch up the Rift. Or maybe I wouldn’t let myself remember because I was such a coward.”

“You were just rattled,” her sister consoled.

“Be glad you were unconscious,” Margaret whispered to Petra. “It was a terrible thing to see.”

“I saw enough,” said Petra.

“Anyway”—Madinia sat up straight—“maybe we slipped up, but we fixed the problem. We snuck out of the house a couple of days ago. We went back to the forest—your country’s shriekingly cold, Petra!—and Meg sewed up the Rift. The whole thing. Even the gap that was there before I magicked it. So, no problem.”

“Nothing you need to tell our father about, Petra,” Margaret said. “Please? Because Madinia and I came to see you for another reason.”

“Dad wants to chat with you in his library,” Madinia told Petra. “You’re so lucky! He never lets
us
in there.”

Petra looked at the sisters, considering. She said, “You wouldn’t have to worry about me keeping your secret if you sent me home.”

“We can’t do that,” said Margaret.

“Our dad would punish us!” Madinia protested. “We wouldn’t be allowed to leave the house for the rest of our lives, and the winter ball is just around the corner!” She frowned at Petra. “I think you’re very selfish to even suggest that we do such a thing.”

Margaret said, “We’re not going to send you back to Bohemia. We know it’s not safe for you there.”

“Yes,” Madinia chimed in. “That, too! We saved your life, remember? I think you owe us a little confidentiality.”

Petra reflected. “I’ll keep your secret,” she promised, deciding that if she had learned anything from her past encounters with Dee, it was that hidden information is a powerful weapon.

At this thought, her hand strayed to her left hip.

There was nothing there. The sword was gone.

With panic, Petra realized she had been so distracted by poison, leeches, and Astrophil’s hunger, she hadn’t noticed that her sword was missing. Had it been lost in the forest? Had Dee taken it?

“You said that Dee wants to see me,” Petra said urgently.

“Kind of immediately,” Madinia replied. “He said it’s important.”

“We’re supposed to show you the way to his library,” Margaret added.

Petra nodded. “I’ll go. But I need a minute alone.”

“I hope it’s to make yourself look a little less grotty,” Madinia said.

Margaret nudged her sister. “We’ll wait for you in the hall, Petra.”

When the door shut behind them, Petra called softly, “Astrophil?”

The spider slipped out from under the bed. His eyes glowed a deep green from the brassica oil he had gulped down an hour ago.

Petra walked over to the mirror. She told herself she wouldn’t flinch no matter what she saw. She looked in the mirror, and stood still.

There were shadows under her eyes, and a long, thin red weal stretched from her left collarbone to her jaw. The scar was an almost perfectly straight line. Almost.

At the base of her throat, the scar was interrupted by a horizontal curve of untouched, pale flesh. Something had protected her skin from the Gristleki’s burning tongue.

My necklace,
she realized, and touched the white line where
the leather cord had been. Losing the necklace was the least of her worries, but Petra still bit back a sob. Would she lose everything that she cared about?