CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

The Rosenquists raced down Observatory Hill toward the heart of the city. The streets and alleys were deserted. Nothing moved but lacquered signs that swung gently in the breeze, and the torn flap of a poster of the pretty Wanderer’s Eve sky that said “See you in the Square!” In the real sky, only a thin strip of black remained between the Sylver Fang and the churning, shining Wanderer.

Pressed against the fur on Rufus’s chest, Clariselyn’s snow globe shone, too. He had to carry it, because Lin’s feet were not to be trusted. Sometimes they barely touched the ground, other times they felt like lead, sinking through the frozen layer on the snow. The Observatory had done this to her, she knew that. Once more she had been in dire need inside its bowels, and once more, the Starfalcon’s gifts had flooded her. She felt the magic chasing through her, untamed and fickle, pushing bile up into her throat.

As they scaled the final hill before the Great Square, a gigantic thunderclap broke over the city and blasted past them, deep and hard. Rufus caught Lin’s arm to steady her. “There’s a storm coming. We have to find her fast.”

“We do,” Lin answered. “But that was not thunder. Didn’t you feel the tremors? I think something just exploded. Something involving massive powers.”

“Oh, mold. You’re right. Look.”

The Great Square was packed with people. Their bodies were a black mass that concealed the ground completely, and they were not in a festive mood. The orchestras had stopped playing. The popcorn stands had been abandoned. The Sylverings stood completely still, facing toward the belfry and the great main door beneath it, as if they were listening to a speech. Except the door was closed and the steps empty.

But Rufus wasn’t pointing at the ominous gathering. He was pointing at a fat, brown chimney of smoke that rose from one of the red storage barns behind the House.

The Machine Vault.

“Come on. Let’s go round the back,” Rufus said. “I was going to suggest it anyway. We can’t risk going through that crowd.”

They backed down from the hilltop unseen and slipped into the alleys of Heartworth. On the street outside the Machine Vault they found an unlikely pair: Clariselyn Winterfyrst, leaning on the storage barn bridge, and Nit, the calculation clerk, fretting beside her. The cracks in the barn’s foundation had spread several yards out from the stairwell, and dirty smoke oozed up from the entrance to the Machine Vault.

“Clariselyn!” Rufus ran toward her. “We have it! We took your snow globe back!”

But the Winterfyrst stared right through him. Her dress was smeared with soot and brown liquid, and the pallor had returned to her face. When Rufus tried to give her the globe back, she made no move to accept. “Where is Isvan?” Rufus asked. “And Teodor? Could he help?”

“You . . . You’re a Twistrose!” Nit’s tall forehead was all wrinkles and wonder. “A real Twistrose! No wonder you stood up for me!”

“Hello, Nit,” Lin said, somehow finding a smile for the little Rodent. She was glad he had made it out of the vault.

“I think the Winterfyrst is in shock,” Nit said in his high-pitched, too-soft voice. “She won’t move or speak. Even when I’ve told her she should get away from the Thornvapor.”

Lin winced at the fat smoke that gushed up under the cogwheel. “What happened down there?”

“Mrs. Zarka saw them when they arrived at the House,” Nit said. “With Isvan and the broken snow globe. She saw it as an opportunity to prove her craft, to convince the House that whatever Rufus might tell them about the dangers of the Machine, it was too valuable to forbid. She felt confident she could reconstruct the globe using the shards as the base. So she sent me to the House to invite Teodor to the vault.” He darted a glance at Clariselyn. “But Teodor wasn’t in his chambers, and when I learned that she was Isvan’s mother, I asked her instead. I hope . . . I hope I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You tried to use the Machine to reconstruct Isvan’s soul?” Lin said. “That machine was dangerous enough making buttons and shoes!”

“I’m sorry . . . But Mrs. Zarka insisted, and the calculations actually added up, and Clariselyn seemed most eager, so . . .”

“I had to let Mrs. Zarka try.” Clariselyn’s voice was no longer melodic and rich, but a hoarse whisper. She held on to the barn railing, knuckles all blue. “I am a Frostrider, ever bound, ever sworn to protect the balance of the Realms. To give my life if need be. But not the life of my child.” She glanced at her snow globe as if it disgusted her. “Using Technocraft in this way would be wrong, I knew that, but . . . Not using it would be worse. I had to let her try.”

“But she failed,” Rufus said.

Nit cleared his throat. “I suppose the Machine was still unstable after we changed so many parts earlier. Everything started shaking and the walls were coming down. I tried to get everyone out, but Mrs. Zarka wouldn’t leave the Machine . . . I . . . I should go back and find her.”

“You can’t.” Lin shook her head. “The whole barn might collapse on your head, and that smoke . . .”

“Thornvapor,” Nit repeated, wringing his hands.

“Whatever it’s called, it might kill you.”

Clariselyn let go of the railing. “Isvan’s snow globe. Everything. Everyone. Lost.”

Lin searched for words that would make the Winterfyrst feel better. But she couldn’t think of any. The lines on Clariselyn’s face cut into Lin’s heart, too. She was supposed to save him. She was supposed to save Isvan. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Rufus looked from one to the other, whiskers drooping. “But we still have your snow globe. And the Wanderer still shines on Sylver.” He proffered Clariselyn her snow globe once more. “Here. Take it.”

The Winterfyrst let her hands fall and considered the globe. They all did. The crack in the glass had lengthened until it reached from pole to pole, and a thin band of red leaked from it, tinting the light pink. The music had turned sour.

“You saw what happened when I tried to make an ice horse,” Clariselyn said. “And that was a simple song, one we learn when we are very young. The Wandersnow is the most powerful and complex magic a Winterfyrst can perform. My globe is not strong enough. Not with that flaw.”

Rufus tried to swish his tail, but his troll wound wouldn’t let him. “Are you saying that even if we have a snow globe, and a Winterfyrst, and a wandering star in the sky, we still can’t make the Wandersnow?”

“I . . .” Clariselyn fell silent. Someone was watching them from the street corner. His tweed coat had come unbuttoned and his pupils showed purple in the dark. And when he moved toward them, hunched and fast, Lin thought he no longer carried himself like an old man, but like a fox hunting in the woods, choosing his moment.

Teodor gave Lin and Rufus a look, but it was Clariselyn he greeted. “My sister of Frost. I am delighted that Sylver is no longer without a Winterfyrst. I will not ask you where you have been. We shall have time for old friendships once the Wandersnow is conjured. Will you come with me to the belfry? There is work for you.” He held out his arm for her to take.

“She can’t.”

Teodor turned to Rufus. “I beg your pardon?”

In reply, Rufus simply held out the snow globe.

Teodor stared at the crack. “How . . . ?”

“Isvan is dead. His snow globe is destroyed,” Clariselyn husked. “I laid him out in your chambers at the House.”

Teodor’s tail hung very limp, but he straightened his sleeves. “I will do what I can.” Clariselyn searched for answers in her old friend’s face, and when he offered her his arm once more, she took it. They hurried down the street, like a stately queen kindly supporting a crippled old man, though Lin knew it was the other way around. “We had better keep up,” she said, taking Rufus’s hand.

Nit was left alone under the cogwheel that looked so much like Mrs. Zarka’s monocle. His eyes watered in the Thornvapor, and he whispered to himself, “A Twistrose.”