That night they gathered in front of the grate in the parlor and there Alice told about what had happened. She told about the killing of Jacob Marber and how Lymenion fell and of the attack by the litch Coulton. The keywrasse had saved them all. Ribs was bleeding badly by the time the island collapsed and they’d taken the horses and fled the burning ruins of Cairndale for Edinburgh. There were fifteen of them who’d got away. They’d stayed with the alchemist, old Mrs. Ficke, while Ribs healed. The newspapers had been wild with speculation about the institute’s destruction. The local police were seeking witnesses. Alice had been afraid that Berghast or the drughr or something worse might still be hunting them and she didn’t want to stay in Scotland. So she’d come to London and left the other kids, all eleven of them, in the care of Susan Crowley. If anyone could keep them safe, it would be Miss Crowley. Of course Ribs and Oskar and Komako had refused. So they’d continued here, to Nickel Street West, because Alice hadn’t known where else to go.
When Alice had finished talking, Charlie told briefly about Marlowe and Mrs. Harrogate and Dr. Berghast and the orsine. He told about losing his talent and held up his hand to show them the scar. He didn’t have it in him to talk much about it. His friends’ faces were drawn and tight and Oskar looked like he might cry when they heard how Marlowe had got out, had been there the whole time, and sacrificed himself.
After that Miss Davenshaw told about the aftermath, about Mrs. Harrogate’s body and their journey south and the journal she’d taken from Dr. Berghast’s desk. Last of all she told about Berghast’s writings regarding a second orsine. It was real, she said; it had existed once; perhaps it still did. The rest of that entry was missing. But there were surely clues still to be discovered in the journal. “Somewhere there is another portal,” she explained, sitting very erect and still. “There is another way into that other world.”
Komako was shaking her head. “Why does that matter, Miss Davenshaw?”
Charlie looked at her, he looked at all his friends. “Marlowe sealed the orsine. After Berghast … fell. It might be he’s still alive in there. I’ve got to find out, Ko. I’ve got to know for sure.”
“You think he … survived?” whispered Oskar.
Charlie nodded.
“And Berghast?” said Komako. “Do you think he survived also?”
Charlie paused. “I don’t know.”
Ribs’s green eyes narrowed. “What can you hope to do, Charlie? That bastard took your talent.”
“Indeed, Miss Ribbon,” said Miss Davenshaw, turning her stern face in the girl’s direction. “But there are other ways of being in the world. Not all change is loss.”
Charlie’s own expression was fierce. He knew they would try to talk him out of what he was about to tell them. “I’m going to look for the second orsine,” he said. “I’m going to find it. And then I’m going to get Marlowe out.”
No one spoke. Alice took off her hat and clawed her hands through her greasy yellow hair. Then she put her hat back on. Her eyes were hard as granite.
“All right,” she said. She met Charlie’s eye. “So let’s go find him.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Firstly, Ellen Levine, agent and friend, without whom this book would not exist. No writer could ask for a fiercer, kinder, better advocate. Also: Audrey Crooks, for her tireless assistance, Alexa Stark, Martha Wydysh, Nora Rawn, Stephanie Manova, and everyone at Trident Media who helped make this book possible.
Megan Lynch at Flatiron Books has been a godsend, as brilliant and sensitive and delicate an editor as any author could hope to find. It’s been my greatest good fortune to work with her. Also: Kukuwa Ashun, organizational guru, who has kept everything on track throughout. Keith Hayes, designer of an absolutely gorgeous cover. Malati Chavali, Marlena Bittner, Katherine Turro, Nancy Trypuc, Cat Kenney, and Claire McLaughlin, for their exhaustingly brilliant ideas. Erica Ferguson, copy editor extraordinaire. Ryan Jenkins and Hazel Shahgholi, invaluable proofreaders. Flatiron is amazing.
Jared Bland at McClelland & Stewart, stalwart supporter of this book from the beginning. I feel incredibly lucky to have fallen into his orbit, and to have his eye on my writing. Also: Tonia Addison, Erin Kelly, Sarah Howland, Ruta Liormonas, and everyone at M&S.
Alexis Kirschbaum at Bloomsbury, whose warmth and enthusiasm for this project helped get me through. Also: the rest of the team at Bloomsbury, especially Philippa Cotton, Emilie Chambeyron, Stephanie Rathbone, and Amy Donegan.
Rich Green at Gotham Group, wonder worker, for all his faith and support.
Above all others, always: Jeff, Kevin, Brian, my parents. Cleo & Maddox, who dream up worlds in words every day. And Esi, my love, my talent, with whom everything begins and ends.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J. M. Miro lives and writes in the Pacific Northwest. You can sign up for email updates here.