Against The World

Chapter 101: The Door That Opened Inward

We finally went to Valewood on a morning when neither child appeared to have anything urgent against the world.

This lasted until I tried to put Garrick’s hat on.

He turned his head.

I followed.

He turned it back.

Evelyn watched from beside the bed.

“He knows.”

“Knows what?”

“That you’re afraid to insist.”

“I’m being considerate.”

Our son kicked.

The hat fell onto the blanket.

My wife picked it up, settled it gently over his dark hair, and tied it beneath his chin.

He accepted this.

I looked at him.

“An interesting distinction.”

Evelyn kissed my cheek.

“You can discuss it on the way.”

Helena had gone ahead.

Garrick remained with us, ostensibly to help carry the children’s things.

The things occupied two baskets.

And a bag.

And something wrapped in linen that nobody would explain.

“We’re visiting for the afternoon,” I said.

“Yes,” my father-in-law replied.

“What’s in that?”

“A precaution.”

“Against what?”

He looked toward the nursery.

“Experience.”

I decided to carry the bag.

The Valewood gate opened onto familiar stone and unfamiliar quiet.

At Greykeep, there always seemed to be someone waiting to speak, move a cart, or ask whether a delivery had arrived.

Here, the receiving keeper bowed, wished Evelyn a pleasant visit, and let us pass.

My wife slowed as we entered the house.

I watched her look toward the staircase.

Then the window at the far end of the hall.

A woman carrying folded cloth stopped when she saw her.

“Lady Evelyn.”

The woman caught herself.

“Your Majesty.”

Evelyn smiled.

“Hello, Mera.”

Mera looked at the bundle in her arms.

Then at the one in mine.

Her face changed.

“Oh, look at them.”

That brought three more people into the hall.

Within moments, our progress had stopped completely.

Garrick stood behind us holding the mysterious parcel.

“I believe,” he said, “we have been expected.”

Helena had prepared Evelyn’s old sitting room.

There was a fire.

A table stood beside the window with water, clean cloths, and enough space for her paint box.

Two small borrowed cradles waited near the wall.

I looked at them.

Then at Helena.

She looked back serenely.

“You needn’t carry them all afternoon.”

Evelyn ran a hand along the back of her old chair.

The room was warm and a little faded.

There was a scratch beside the window latch. A pale rectangle on the wall where a picture had once hung.

She noticed me looking.

“My first attempt at a landscape.”

“Where is it?”

“Somewhere Father claims not to know about.”

Garrick became occupied with the parcel.

I smiled.

After the children had been fed and settled, Helena drew us toward the corridor.

“Come and see the garden before the light changes.”

Evelyn glanced toward the cradles.

Her mother put a hand on her arm.

“I’ll remain here.”

“You just said—”

“I meant the two of you.”

Garrick took the chair beside his grandson.

He had unwrapped the parcel.

It contained a small wooden stand for dangling the children’s bird and fox where they could see them while awake.

Evelyn stared at it.

“Father.”

“It folds.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“You haven’t asked one yet.”

She laughed.

Then took my hand.

We left them arranging the stand.

The garden paths had been cleared of old snow.

Bare branches stretched above us. The pond held a skin of ice in the shaded corner, though the center had thawed.

Evelyn led me past a hedge to a low stone wall.

“I used to sit here.”

I examined it.

“Comfortable?”

“No. But you couldn’t see it from Mother’s window.”

“What did you do?”

“Read things I was supposed to have finished earlier.”

“An alarming childhood.”

She leaned against my arm.

“Sometimes I simply wanted to be left alone.”

We stood beside the wall.

From here, the house looked larger than it had from the front steps.

I tried to imagine her younger.

A book hidden beneath her cloak.

Her feet not quite reaching the ground.

“Would you have liked me?” I asked.

“At what age?”

“Any.”

She considered that with unnecessary care.

“At twelve, I would probably have found you irritating.”

“Only twelve?”

“You asked whether I would have liked you. Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”

I kissed her.

She appeared willing to revise the judgment.

We returned by a side passage.

Evelyn paused beside a narrow door.

“That used to stick.”

I reached for the handle.

It opened easily.

She looked surprised.

“Father repaired it after I left.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I had a way of lifting it.”

The room beyond held shelves, spare cushions, and several rolled carpets.

One shelf carried a shallow wooden box.

Evelyn saw it at once.

“Oh.”

She crossed the room.

Inside were small things.

A ribbon.

A chipped cup painted with clumsy flowers.

A little book with its corners worn soft.

She lifted the book and smiled.

“What is it?” I asked.

“The stories Mother read to me.”

She opened to a page near the middle.

There was an illustration of a fox sitting in a boot.

I leaned closer.

“That seems uncomfortable.”

“He stole it.”

“Then I have limited sympathy.”

Evelyn laughed.

She closed the book and held it against her chest.

“We should ask whether we can take it home.”

At lunch, Helena gave permission before Evelyn finished asking.

“I wondered when you’d find it.”

“You knew where it was.”

“Yes.”

“You could have told me.”

“I could.”

My wife narrowed her eyes.

Her mother reached for the bread.

Garrick sat at the other end of the table with Carol asleep in the crook of one arm.

He had become remarkably skilled at eating one-handed.

I watched him cut a piece of meat.

“Would you like me to take her?”

“No.”

A pause.

“Thank you.”

Helena smiled into her cup.

We painted afterward.

Or rather, Evelyn painted while I read the story of the fox and the stolen boot.

The fox made several decisions that I felt could have been improved.

My wife disagreed with only some of my objections.

By the time the boot became a boat, I had begun to suspect the fox was more capable than I had allowed.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Evelyn said.

“He has survived entirely through confidence.”

“A familiar method.”

I looked up.

She was smiling at the paper.

She had begun painting the view from her old window.

The garden wall.

The hedge.

The little place where she used to sit.

I read another page.

In the adjoining room, Garrick spoke softly to his grandson.

Helena answered something I could not hear.

For a while, the house seemed to contain several ages of my wife at once.

I liked being allowed among them.

We came home before dusk.

There were messages waiting.

A roof estimate.

An Orselle cargo correction.

A note from Sabine confirming that Halvane’s court had requested a full account of the temple’s claims against the departed healers.

Then Eliza entered my study.

She closed the door.

That made me put down the letters.

“What happened?”

“An inquiry at Stoneford. A man tried to hire two former gate porters.”

“For what?”

“He said he wanted to understand the receiving routines.”

“Merchant?”

“That was his claim.”

She placed a folded statement on the desk.

“He asked which openings were used by the royal household.”

I read it.

Then read the next line.

Which days the children traveled.

The room seemed to become very still.

The porters had refused.

One had reported the conversation to the gate watch.

By the time the watch reached the inn, the man had left.

They had his description.

A name he had used.

The room he had occupied.

Nothing yet that proved who had sent him.

I stood.

Eliza watched me.

“Have the Valewood keeper informed,” I said. “And the other receiving stations.”

“Already sent.”

“The porters?”

“Safe. We haven’t made their names public.”

I looked at the statement again.

My hands had tightened around the paper.

I made myself set it down.

“What do you need?”

“Permission to coordinate inquiries with Stoneford’s officers. Quietly.”

“You have it.”

She nodded.

Then added, “We don’t yet know whether he intended an attack, a kidnapping, or simply to sell information.”

“I understand.”

I did.

It made very little difference to the first feeling.

Evelyn found me in the nursery.

I had not meant to go there.

My feet had apparently decided.

The children slept in their own cradles.

Their hats lay on the chest.

The old storybook stood beside the paint box.

My wife stopped in the doorway.

“What is it?”

I told her.

All of it.

She listened without interrupting.

Then she crossed to Carol’s cradle and rested her hand on the wooden edge.

“Did he learn anything?”

“Nothing from the men he approached.”

“That we know.”

“Yes.”

She looked toward me.

Her face was pale.

“Are we being asked to stay here?”

“No.”

“Good.”

I almost said something foolish.

Something about walls.

About how much easier it would be to protect them if they never went beyond my reach.

Then I remembered the garden.

The way she had stopped at her old window.

“No,” I said again, more quietly.

She came to me.

We stood together between the cradles.

We did not train that evening.

When Aurelia met us in the dream courtyard, she saw it at once.

Evelyn told her before I could begin.

Aurelia listened.

Then she asked what Eliza had done.

I answered.

“What have you changed?”

“The keepers have been warned. Travel details will only go to those who need them. Eliza is following the inquiry.”

Aurelia nodded.

I looked at her.

“Can you see who sent him?”

“No.”

The answer hurt, though I had expected it.

She stepped closer.

“Do you want to be angry for a little while, or do you want to work?”

I let out a breath.

“Both.”

“Then we’ll begin slowly.”

She made a doorway in the garden wall.

Beyond it lay another small courtyard.

“Place your ward across the opening,” she told me.

I did.

A broad sheet of force filled the frame.

“Now let Evelyn through.”

I tried to open a gap.

The entire working shuddered.

My wife waited.

I tightened it.

The opening vanished.

Aurelia touched my wrist.

“Begin again.”

I released the ward.

Then rebuilt it.

This time, I tried to hold the sides while lowering the center.

One edge slipped free.

The whole thing fell apart.

I swore.

Aurelia let the word pass.

Evelyn stepped beside me.

“Can I hold one side?”

I looked at her.

Then at Aurelia.

“That is one way to learn it,” she said.

We worked together.

My strength formed most of the ward.

Evelyn’s light steadied a narrow edge while I changed the opening beside it.

The first attempt tangled.

The second made the doorway too small for anyone except a determined cat.

The third held.

Evelyn looked through.

Then back at me.

“Ready?”

I nodded.

She stepped across.

The ward remained.

For a moment, I could feel both things clearly.

The barrier holding.

My wife safely beyond it.

She turned and smiled.

Then my concentration broke, and the light faded from the doorway.

Aurelia nodded.

“That will do for tonight.”

“It lasted seconds.”

“Yes.”

I looked at the empty frame.

Evelyn came back through and took my hand.

“We can make it last longer.”

In the morning, Eliza brought another report.

The man had paid for his room with coins minted in three kingdoms.

His name appeared nowhere in the local merchant records.

An ostler remembered that he had departed with a southbound wool caravan.

Stoneford’s officers had sent a rider to the next stopping place.

It was something.

I thanked her.

Then I asked about the two porters.

“One wants to know whether this will interfere with his application for regular work.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That reporting a suspicious offer was unlikely to count against him.”

I smiled despite myself.

“Good.”

When she left, I remained at the desk for a moment.

Then I went upstairs.

Evelyn sat beside the window with Garrick awake in her arms.

Carol slept nearby.

My wife looked up.

“Any news?”

I told her.

She nodded.

Then held out the book.

“Your turn.”

I sat beside her and opened to the fox in the boot.

Our son watched my face.

I began reading.

The fox reached a river.

He had a poor boat, no oars, and an unreasonable opinion of his chances.

I paused.

Evelyn glanced at me.

“Don’t improve the story.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were considering it.”

I smiled and continued.

Outside, the guards changed watch.

Somewhere below, Eliza was sending another message.

There were things to learn and people searching for answers.

Here, for a little while, my son listened to my voice.

When the fox reached the far bank, I turned the page.

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