fur. Her hands began to tingle, and she lifted the bundle to her face. The fabric smelled musty, but there was another scent floating through too, delicate and eerily familiar, making her slightly dizzy. She put the bundle down and untied it. The fabric was a shawl, warm to the touch, and the book and food packages wrapped inside it were also dry.
“
Really
strange …” Her heart beating faster, Jemma picked up the book. It was bound in scuffed brown leather, its spine cracked. There was a faint indent of a title, so worn that it was illegible. “This must be as ancient as Drudge! How can it possibly help?”
The book shimmered in her hands.
“Look, Noodle, Pie … It’s changing! It looks as though it’s lit from inside.” Sure enough, a title began shining out from the battered cover.
“From Darknesse to Light,”
she said. “And look at the date—almost three hundred years ago!” She flipped it open to the frontispiece, where the title was written again. Beneath it was the author’s name: Majem Solvay. “Majem? I thought ‘Mother of Majem’ was just an expression. I never knew there was an actual person with that name.”
The rats’ tails whisked across her thighs. Her fingers were heating up. What was it Marsh had said?
Ask … Let it show you.…
“All right, then,” she said, taking a deep breath. “How can I get out of here?”
Jemma opened the book. Her hands felt as though they were on fire.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Birthright
The book flopped open at page thirty-seven, a chapter headed “Hystory.”
“Thousandes were taken as slaves for the building of the Castle upon Mordwin’s Crag,”
Jemma whispered.
“All did perish under their toil, but for one Zacharias Bartholomew, who every night for thirty yeares did in secret digge him a Tunnelle from the Dungeons. Thence he did escape, sealing his exitway so that none may discover it.”
“Noodle, Pie, look—a prisoner escaped, after he helped build the castle! Zacharias Bartholomew … He dug a secret tunnel from the dungeons … But where?” She racked her brain for the most likely place. “There are two locked doors in the South Passage. And that other one, through the Vat Room. They’re the only ones Drudge has never let me into.” Whenever she had asked him, he had frowned and shaken his head and said, “Keys, lossst!” Obviously, he’d been lying; the tunnel must be through one of them.
Jemma snapped the book shut and placed it onto the lilac shawl with the food packages and knife, once again fashioning a pouch she could tie around her waist.
“There,” she said. “My survival belt.” It felt hot in her hands. She eyed the wet, torn-up sheets and blankets. “I wonder …” She held the pouch close to them. “Getdry,” she whispered, only half-believing they would. Nothing happened. “Dry!” she said, mustering more conviction.
“Dry!”
With a slow
pssshht!
a cloud of steam rose up.
“Sprites! It worked!” Amazed, she tucked the pouch under the mattress for safekeeping. Her fingers touched something else hidden there—a small notebook Digby had given her a year ago, in which she’d written all her secrets and fears.
I mustn’t forget to take this
, she thought.
A deep sound reverberated through the room: the first toll of midnight.
It was time.
“You wait here, Rattusses. I don’t want the weasels attacking you.”
Slowly, she opened her bedroom door and stepped into the corridor. The bell continued its clanging through the storm, announcing the new day. Then it struck her. Today was her birthday. What better moment to take back her Stone—her birthright.
Darkness billowed out of Nocturna’s Bed-Chamber and into the corridor. Even with her night vision, Jemma could barely make out the shape of the huge bed, and Rook’s domed cage next to it. She closed the door and tiptoed in. One step, two … She heard rustling from Rook’s cage, and stopped. Silence. Three steps, four, five … Jemma
“
Really
strange …” Her heart beating faster, Jemma picked up the book. It was bound in scuffed brown leather, its spine cracked. There was a faint indent of a title, so worn that it was illegible. “This must be as ancient as Drudge! How can it possibly help?”
The book shimmered in her hands.
“Look, Noodle, Pie … It’s changing! It looks as though it’s lit from inside.” Sure enough, a title began shining out from the battered cover.
“From Darknesse to Light,”
she said. “And look at the date—almost three hundred years ago!” She flipped it open to the frontispiece, where the title was written again. Beneath it was the author’s name: Majem Solvay. “Majem? I thought ‘Mother of Majem’ was just an expression. I never knew there was an actual person with that name.”
The rats’ tails whisked across her thighs. Her fingers were heating up. What was it Marsh had said?
Ask … Let it show you.…
“All right, then,” she said, taking a deep breath. “How can I get out of here?”
Jemma opened the book. Her hands felt as though they were on fire.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Birthright
The book flopped open at page thirty-seven, a chapter headed “Hystory.”
“Thousandes were taken as slaves for the building of the Castle upon Mordwin’s Crag,”
Jemma whispered.
“All did perish under their toil, but for one Zacharias Bartholomew, who every night for thirty yeares did in secret digge him a Tunnelle from the Dungeons. Thence he did escape, sealing his exitway so that none may discover it.”
“Noodle, Pie, look—a prisoner escaped, after he helped build the castle! Zacharias Bartholomew … He dug a secret tunnel from the dungeons … But where?” She racked her brain for the most likely place. “There are two locked doors in the South Passage. And that other one, through the Vat Room. They’re the only ones Drudge has never let me into.” Whenever she had asked him, he had frowned and shaken his head and said, “Keys, lossst!” Obviously, he’d been lying; the tunnel must be through one of them.
Jemma snapped the book shut and placed it onto the lilac shawl with the food packages and knife, once again fashioning a pouch she could tie around her waist.
“There,” she said. “My survival belt.” It felt hot in her hands. She eyed the wet, torn-up sheets and blankets. “I wonder …” She held the pouch close to them. “Getdry,” she whispered, only half-believing they would. Nothing happened. “Dry!” she said, mustering more conviction.
“Dry!”
With a slow
pssshht!
a cloud of steam rose up.
“Sprites! It worked!” Amazed, she tucked the pouch under the mattress for safekeeping. Her fingers touched something else hidden there—a small notebook Digby had given her a year ago, in which she’d written all her secrets and fears.
I mustn’t forget to take this
, she thought.
A deep sound reverberated through the room: the first toll of midnight.
It was time.
“You wait here, Rattusses. I don’t want the weasels attacking you.”
Slowly, she opened her bedroom door and stepped into the corridor. The bell continued its clanging through the storm, announcing the new day. Then it struck her. Today was her birthday. What better moment to take back her Stone—her birthright.
Darkness billowed out of Nocturna’s Bed-Chamber and into the corridor. Even with her night vision, Jemma could barely make out the shape of the huge bed, and Rook’s domed cage next to it. She closed the door and tiptoed in. One step, two … She heard rustling from Rook’s cage, and stopped. Silence. Three steps, four, five … Jemma
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