She sat bolt upright, and the world spun. She gasped in terror, feeling around herself for a rock, for anything with which to defend herself, expecting at any moment to feel the sting of Captain Immerez’s cruel whip. But when the dizziness passed, two elderly ladies, not Captain Immerez at all, stood before her. She rubbed her eyes to make sure.
“The child is alive,” said one.
“I can see that very well for myself,” said the other.
Karigan shook her aching head to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, but the two still stood there staring at her in fascination, lively eyes animating crinkled elfin faces.
The plump one wore a dress of burnt orange and had a white apron tied around her ample hips. A kindly smile rounded her cheeks into robust humps. Her companion, in contrast, wore a sterner expression on her narrow face. She was dressed in deep green velvet with puffy sleeves, a black shawl draped over her shoulders. She leaned on a cane of twisted hickory, which she had used to prod Karigan awake. They both looked as if they were out for a stroll in one of Selium’s manicured parks, not standing in the middle of the wilderness.
“Do you think we ought to take the child in?” the plump one asked.
“She does look harmless and frightfully out of sorts. It would be rude of us not to invite her to tea.”
“That would surpass mere rudeness, I fear. It would be uncivilized. But what of the others?”
“They must be invited, too.”
Karigan glanced over her shoulder to see who they meant, but only The Horse stood there.
“Letitia will have a thing or two to say about the mud.”
The thin one rolled her eyes. “She always has a thing or two to say.”
“The child does look like she’s in need of a good scrubbing. She is very muddy.”
“I agree. It would only be proper for her to be presentable, and Letitia wouldn’t have so much to complain about.” The woman then turned her sharp eyes on Karigan. “Come, child, and bring your friends. It’s nearly time for tea and you mustn’t keep us waiting.”
The two ladies turned their backs to her and walked down a surprisingly well-groomed trail. A well-groomed trail? The last she remembered was a tangle of underbrush. She watched The Horse follow the strange old ladies, his ears twitching back and forth as if he listened to their nonsensical chatter rising and burbling like birdsong. The woman in green halted and looked over her shoulder.
“Child, are you coming or not? It would be terribly impolite of you to be late. Look, your companions are joining us.”
Karigan looked, but still couldn’t see anyone but The Horse. She could only wonder who these eccentric ladies were and what they were doing in the middle of the woods.
They appeared harmless enough, and The Horse seemed to trust them. She snorted at herself: was she to rely on horse instinct this whole strange journey? It was her stomach, though, that decided her. It rumbled in an empty, cavernous way, and the thought of tea and cake was heartening. Legs wobbly and head pounding, she climbed to her feet and trotted to catch up with them.
The woods gradually grew more cultivated. The path broadened into a full-scale road wide enough for two amply outfitted coaches to pass one another. It was well maintained, too, compared to the North Road. Someone had cleared dead wood and the snaggle of underbrush from the bordering woods, lending the area an aura of order and balance unlike the chaos of the untouched wilderness. Neatly trimmed hedges lined the road.
They crossed a stone bridge which spanned a chatty stream. Warblers trilled in the woods about them. The pounding in Karigan’s head subsided; weariness lifted from her shoulders.
The road ended in a loop at a stately old manor house built of stone and timbers. Several chimneys puffed balsam smoke into the air, and windows rippled in the sunshine. Vines crept up the sides of the manor house, blending it harmoniously into the woods. Several outbuildings of like character, including a small stable, were spread out behind it. It was an oasis in the middle of the Green Cloak.
The two ladies mounted the steps to the front porch which wrapped around the house. “Welcome to Seven Chimneys,” said the woman in green, as if addressing an assembly rather than just Karigan.
Karigan counted the chimneys and came up with nine, not seven.
“It was built by our father long ago,” the woman continued. “Come.” She extended her hand. A fine tracery of veins like rivers on a map looped around her thin wrist and across the back of her hand. “Our servants will see to your friend, the horse.”
No servants appeared, but The Horse walked toward the stable as obediently as if led. The two old ladies certainly were peculiar, but they didn’t seem threatening, and so she followed them into the house.
The floors were a light stained oak, and the walls were papered with intricate, flowery designs. Rich hangings, anonymous portraits of men and women garbed in armor or fancy dress, and hand-braided carpets adorned each room they passed through, all miraculously unfaded by time or sunlight.
Heavy furnishings were intricately carved, not a surface left untouched. One such chair in the corridor had a back carved in the likeness of a tree, its armrests and legs all leaves and sinuous, winding branches and roots. A red velvet cushion covered the seat.
Cheerful fires glowed in each fieldstone hearth they passed, and Karigan’s damp chill began to be replaced by warmth.
“Letitia has set a bath for you, child,” the plump lady said. “She will be none too happy about the mud you’ve let in, but don’t let her annoy you. If she couldn’t complain, she wouldn’t enjoy life at all. Isn’t that right, Miss Bayberry?”