I blinked. “What? No. She just said the Seer would fall under the blade. Why?”
“She might have been talking about the one seeing the prophetic vision in the first place. Where is Hatun now?”
“She’s been with us the whole—” I paused. “Does anybody remember seeing Hatun with us after we left the library?”
The eerie chill felt stronger than ever as we rounded the last bend to the Dangerous Documents section. Jackaby entered first, I followed, and Charlie and Alina crept behind us. The lamp-lit chamber stood empty and silent. The table was unoccupied, just as we had left it. Except . . .
“Is that blood?” I gulped.
Rough lines had been carved into the tabletop, and a pool of dark crimson spilled over the top of them, flowing into the cracks and giving the etching grim definition.
“It is.” Jackaby’s voice shook. “Hatun’s. Her aura is unmistakable.”
Silence reigned in the library.
“There’s something in that chair,” Alina whispered.
Jackaby’s hand trembled as he reached for the dark shape. He picked up the knitwork lump. “Stubborn woman. I told her not to.” In the flickering lamplight, his eyes looked somehow both full of tears and full of fire as he pulled the thing solemnly over his shaggy hair. It was a floppy heap, but with a little imagination, it was a hat. Hatun had knit him a new hat.
I turned away, my throat tight, and scrutinized the defaced tabletop. The gouges in the wood spelled out three bloody words: COME GET HER.
Chapter Sixteen
When Mr. Jackaby was in good spirits, he moved constantly, always fidgeting. I had learned to tell when he was secretly afraid, because he moved more quickly still, clipping along at a run and talking even more incessantly than usual. When he was baffled—really, thoroughly flummoxed—he was practically a blur.
Now Hatun had been stolen away on his watch. Her blood had been spilled in his house, under his protection.
And Jackaby.
Stopped.
Moving.
He sat at his desk, still as a statue, thunderclouds rolling across his eyes. For hours, the only motion he made was the slow rise and fall of his shoulders as he took measured breaths. His jaw was set and his fingers steepled in front of his mouth.
Jenny hovered behind him. Hudson sat in the big armchair across from the desk. We had been taking it in shifts to try to draw him out. After an hour or so, Chief Nudd had gone, making the long journey to bring more of his horde back with him to assist us in the coming fray. Serif had been given permission to examine the rest of the house for any signs of Morwen or the twain, and Charlie had volunteered to clean up the library. It was not a task any of us felt ready to stomach. Jenny, Mr. Hudson, and I remained in the office.
“Jackaby.” Jenny moved in to put a hand on his arm, but her translucent fingers found no purchase. Her hand dissolved away like vapor, reforming as she pulled it back. She bit her lip and looked as if she would like to cry.
“Sir?” I tried for the dozenth time.
“Why don’t you all get some rest,” Hudson suggested. “I’ll wait up with our boy a little longer.”
Jenny nodded silently and faded away into the shadows. I pushed myself up. “Thank you, Mr. Hudson,” I said. It was very late already. “We will get her back, sir,” I said from the doorway. Jackaby gave no reaction.
I reached the stairs just as Serif was coming down.
“Did you find anything?”
“I did not—but that comes as little surprise. I will need to report back to the Fair King that the twain is involved. Their kind do not leave a trace.”
“But there were traces,” I said. “The lock was opened from the outside. The chain was severed. Why would an all-powerful being bother with locks?”
Serif regarded me for a long moment. “You’re human. It’s a shame.”
“A shame?”
“You’ve seen your share of pain and you’ve come out sharper. That scar suits you,” she said. I touched a hand to my cheek, feeling the thin ridges. “I learned a long time ago that we do not survive because we’re strong—we become stronger the more we survive. You’re a survivor. You could be very strong someday. It is a shame that you will never have time to grow into your potential. Human life is fleeting.”
“Yes, human life is fleeting,” I said. “But that’s what calls us to be strong now.”
“Hm,” Serif said, but she regarded me approvingly.
“You look as though you’ve seen your share of pain, as well,” I said. “Where did you get your scar?”
Her expression cooled. “I became a lot stronger that day,” she said. “I am leaving now. Good-bye, Abigail Rook.”
I walked Serif to the door and doubled back up the winding hallway. Muffled voices reached me from Jackaby’s office as I passed. I slowed to listen.
“Have a drink, chum.” I could hear the clink of Hudson’s flask flicking open.
“You already know I won’t,” Jackaby replied quietly.
“Yeah. I know ya won’t, but hell if I know why.” I peeked through the crack in the door as Hudson took a swig and then flipped the cap back up with his hook. “I never seen ya touch a drop, but I also know a lotta folks who would never stop drinking if they’d seen half the stuff you’ve seen.”
“I don’t like to be out of sorts.”
“Don’t know as I’d call yer usual state of affairs in sorts, but suit yerself. ”
Jackaby was silent as Hudson took another draught. “I’m not good enough,” he said, at last. “That’s why I don’t drink. I can’t afford to. At my best, my mind is only clever enough to keep me constantly aware that I am not clever enough. I can’t keep up with the Dire King, let alone outmaneuver him. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I never know what I’m doing. I pretend and posture and stumble through—and along the way I’ve somehow fooled a whole lot of people into thinking that I know what I’m doing. Now their lives depend on me being good enough. And I’m not.”
Hudson rubbed his neck. He looked like he wanted to say something, then changed his mind. He took another swig instead.
“We’re not behind you because you’re good enough, sir,” I said, pushing open the door. “We’re behind you because you’re good. ” Eyebrows lifted as both men turned to look at me. “You are a good man. I’ve never known you to pick an unnecessary fight just because you knew you could win it, just as I’ve never seen you back down from a necessary one that you knew you could not. You never ask for glory, you don’t want people to chant your name—for goodness’ sake, none of us even knows your real name. We don’t need you to be good enough, sir. We just need you to keep being good. Because”—I swallowed—“because it reminds us that we can be good, too. All of us. This world doesn’t need showy champions. It needs people who are good, people who do good, even if nobody will ever know.”