Chapter 9

 

Serah paced back and forth across her bedroom floor, with her torch in hand and nose clamp pinching at her nose. I’m late for breakfast. But I’ll have to pass the furnace—and face Machin.

Her fingertips grazed across the door handle. She dropped her hand and began pacing again. What did he mean when he said I would be leaving soon?

Why would he say that? What have I done wrong?

Serah shook out her hand and inhaled a breath through her lips. I’ll prove myself. I will open that lantern by tonight. And then, hopefully, they’ll let me stay.

With her shoulders set back and head held high, she made her way through the tunnel and up through the hatch. When she released the nose clamp and slid it inside a pouch tied to her dress belt, the aroma of bread, eggs, and pork gave her pause. Her stomach growled, coaxing her legs forward and leaving Machin at his furnace, forgotten.

“Gelsey?” Serah said, poking her nose into the room.

“Oh!” Gelsey jumped from her seat at the table and wiped a handkerchief across her cheek. “Good morning.”

Before her was a magnificent spread of food, flowers, and tea. A basket held freshly baked loaves, each three times larger than one of Gelsey’s biscuits. At the center of the table, steam rose from a tart made of meat, eggs, and fruit.

Serah’s eyes widened. “What’s all this?”

“From time to time I prepare a heartier breakfast for—”

Gelsey rose from the table without meeting Serah’s eyes, and then buried her nose in the handkerchief. “For special occasions.”

She rushed from the room, leaving Serah’s mouth hanging wide open.

Special occasions?

Serah looked back and forth between the tart and the doorway through which Gelsey had disappeared before following and knocking on the door.

“Gelsey, are you all right?”

“Yes, dear. Please eat before the tart gets cold.”

“But what did you mean about a special occasion? And why would it be making you upset?”

“I’m fine, dear—perhaps more emotional than usual. I’ll be out in a moment.”

Serah sighed. She sat down at the table with her stomach tied in knots. She sliced identical wedges out of the tart, one for her and one for Gelsey. When she reached over the basket to set down Gelsey’s plate, she noticed an obvious hole where one of the loaves of bread was missing. Machin hadn’t turned to look at her when she’d emerged from the hatch. Serah frowned. He hadn’t said anything, either.

Gelsey entered the room with blotched cheeks and a smile that was bittersweet. “Thank you for waiting,” she said, flopping in her seat. “How is it?”

“Everything’s wonderful.” Serah looked down at her plate, her fingers trembling. “Gelsey, what is the special occasion? What is today?”

Gelsey’s eyes glittered with moisture. “I have a feeling something good is going to happen today.”

“Good?” Serah’s heart fluttered with confusion.

“Yes,” Gelsey answered, smiling. “Very, very good.”

But then why was she crying? Have I mistaken her tears for something bad? Does this mean Machin changed his mind—that I will get to stay after all?

She chewed a mouthful of tart, collected the remaining crumbs with her fingertip, and set them on her tongue. Maybe Gelsey senses how much I want to open that lantern. I absolutely have to do it. Today.

 

After polishing the lanterns, Serah sat at the table and faced the globe of glass. She pulled and tugged at its cap long into the evening. With each passing hour she grew more worried that the something good Gelsey felt wasn’t going to happen today.

The light from above her dimmed, and a shadow loomed over her.

“You did a fine job polishing the glass,” said Machin, his goggled eyes staring.

“Thank you,” she said, startled. She relaxed at his interested expression, which was nothing like it had been the night before, as if none of that had ever happened. Had he really been outside my door last night telling Gelsey that I would be leaving soon?

“Machin,” she said, eyeing him thoughtfully. “You already know how to open the lanterns, right?”

His lips quirked into a side grin. He nodded.

“You can do this without me, then?”

“No, Serah Kettel. While I am familiar with the process, this lantern can only be opened by you.”

Something about the emphasis of that one word, you, made Serah glance back at the bulb—it was round and smooth, and hollow like a fishbowl; only the opening had been sealed with a cap. Words echoed in her mind: Which of the two bulbs do you prefer, Serah Kettel?

She wrinkled her nose and pointed a finger to the glass. The bulb remained still and lifeless, though a spark of energy tingled across her fingertip as if she’d been zapped by something from long ago and far away.

“Is this the bulb I chose when you interviewed me for the apprenticeship?” she whispered.

Machin grinned. “It is.”

“Why is my bulb so plain?” she asked, glancing at a section of lanterns from up above—some had bulbs of different shapes; there were globes made from all colors of glass, and lanterns bejeweled with precious gems.

“Some strive for simple happiness, Serah Kettel, while others yearn for more.”

He sighed in response to her crinkled brow. “Though pleasing to the eye, these more decorative lanterns have been here for a very long time. The light holds on longer than necessary. Light that has entered but not yet faded.”

His glance out the window was barely perceptible, but Serah noticed it. She smiled at a moonbeam that shone through a crack between the shutters.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Her mind raced with the beating of her heart. “The stones—the Celestial Glass. Moon glass. It’s penetrable only by—”

Machin’s lower lip tugged downward. He took a step back and twisted his hands into a knot behind his back.

Serah pulled open the shutters and lifted the lantern, up toward the light of the moon.

Her ears popped and crackled with an explosion of light and sound. Her eyelids slammed shut. Everything disappeared in a thick darkness, except for a whisper.

Moonlight.

A numbness washed over Serah.

Her brain fogged. She tingled from the center of her chest to the tips of her fingers and toes. Her head lolled forward, and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.