Ch. 123 The Shape of The Door

Chapter 123: The Shape of a Door

The first person to ask whether Aurelia intended to attend council was Beatrice.

I looked up from the supply schedule.

“No.”

“Good. I would have needed another copy.”

Across the table, Mary covered her mouth.

Evelyn was less successful.

Beatrice waited for us to finish.

Then she tapped the page.

“Veylan’s lining material. Are we sending the full amount?”

“Yes,” I said.

“And the spare tools?”

“Once Eleanor has confirmed which ones are actually tools.”

“She has.”

“Then yes.”

Beatrice made a mark.

Apparently a goddess visiting Greykeep did not excuse anyone from arranging a shipment.

I found that reassuring.

The news had spread.

We had told our friends what happened. People had seen us entering the chapel with the children. Helena had been stopped by a woman who wanted to know whether Aurelia had truly held Garrick’s hand.

Helena had said yes.

By the following morning, someone was claiming both children had floated above the basin.

“They did not,” Evelyn said.

The young kitchen maid carrying our breakfast turned scarlet.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know. But if you hear it again, you may tell them their mother spent most of the visit trying to keep Garrick from chewing her sleeve.”

The girl smiled uncertainly.

“And the singing?”

“That happened.”

“Oh.”

She looked pleased that something had survived the correction.

After she left, I glanced at my wife.

“Floating?”

“Your son objects when I lift him too quickly. I doubt he would have enjoyed it.”

Soren found a small group waiting outside the chapel that afternoon.

One man had come with a question about his farm.

A woman wanted help for her brother.

Another had brought a silver cup wrapped in cloth.

By the time I arrived, Soren had invited them to sit.

“She isn’t here now,” he was saying.

“When will she come?”

“I don’t know.”

“But the king knows.”

Three faces turned toward me.

I stopped beside the bench.

“I don’t always know either.”

The woman’s shoulders fell.

“Could you ask her about my brother?”

“What’s wrong?”

“He hasn’t been able to work since the winter.”

Soren shifted toward her.

“Has someone examined him?”

“Only at home.”

“Then let’s begin there.”

She told him where they were staying.

He listened.

The man with the silver cup slowly unwrapped it.

“Should I leave this?”

“Do you want to give it?” I asked.

He looked down.

“My wife would rather I didn’t.”

“Then take it home.”

He stared at me.

“It was her mother’s,” he admitted.

I nodded toward the cloth.

He wrapped it again with considerable care.

That evening, Mary helped us prepare a short notice.

Aurelia’s visits could not be promised.

The chapel remained open for prayer and quiet.

Anyone seeking care could go to the infirmary.

There was no charge for any of those things.

Mary read it aloud.

Then set down her pen.

“We will still have people asking.”

“Yes,” Evelyn said.

“And some will be disappointed.”

“I know.”

My wife looked toward the adjoining room, where the nurse was settling Carol.

“We should tell Aurelia what happened.”

We did that night.

She listened without interrupting.

When I mentioned the cup, she closed her eyes briefly.

“Thank you for sending it home.”

“Will people always expect something?”

“Some will.”

“Does that trouble you?”

“Yes.”

Her answer surprised me.

She saw it.

“I want to help them. That does not mean I can answer every grief by appearing beside it.”

Evelyn moved closer to her chair.

“You came to see your family.”

“I did.”

Aurelia took her hand.

“I would like to be allowed to do that again.”

We spent the next morning outside the walls.

Eliza had chosen a disused cart shed near the practice ground for our lesson.

It had three walls, a wide entrance, and a roof that Eleanor had declared sound after someone repaired a beam.

Inside stood six sacks of straw.

Melody leaned against one.

“I’m an injured merchant.”

“You look comfortable,” I said.

“I’ve had excellent care.”

Alistair stood beside the entrance with his padded staff.

Evelyn examined the doorway.

“How long do we need to hold it?”

“Long enough to bring everyone out,” Eliza said.

I looked at the sacks.

“Those too?”

“They’re the less cooperative merchants.”

Melody nodded solemnly.

“A difficult profession.”

Our task sounded simple.

Leave a barrier across the entrance.

Move the injured behind cover.

Keep a way out.

We had already learned to leave a shield standing between posts. A doorway seemed a reasonable next step.

Evelyn set the shape.

I fed power into it.

Gold settled between the jambs.

We stepped away.

It held.

Then Alistair struck it.

The first blow rang through the shed with a low, hollow sound.

I reached for a sack.

Behind me, Melody said, “I can’t walk.”

“You were walking a moment ago.”

“My condition has worsened.”

I put down the sack and crouched beside her.

Across the room, Evelyn lifted another with her working.

Then Eliza called from outside.

“Smoke at the rear. Change your exit.”

I looked toward the back wall.

There was no smoke.

There was, however, a closed door I had failed to notice.

We opened it.

Moved Melody.

Moved four sacks.

On the fifth, the barrier failed.

Alistair stepped through and tapped my shoulder with the staff.

“Dead,” Melody informed me from outside.

“Thank you.”

“I thought you should know.”

Evelyn lowered the sack.

She was breathing harder than I was.

I looked at the entrance.

“We need more power.”

Eliza shook her head.

“You spent half your time arranging the people nearest the wrong door.”

I opened my mouth.

Then closed it.

She pointed toward the rear exit.

“You saw a wall to defend. Your wife saw people to move. Neither of you checked where they could go.”

Evelyn rubbed her forehead.

“Again?”

“After a rest.”

We sat beneath the shed’s narrow strip of shade.

Melody passed us the water.

“You carried me well.”

“I’m pleased you approved.”

“Your conversation could improve.”

Evelyn laughed into her cup.

I leaned back against the timber.

The doorway remained empty now.

Looking at it, I could almost feel the shield we had left there.

Its curve.

The places where Evelyn had fastened the shape to the wood.

The power I had added.

Aurelia had been right about the lamps.

The working could remain.

But I had treated its failure as a reason to make it stronger before considering what we were doing behind it.

My wife nudged my knee.

“Rear door first?”

“Yes.”

“And I’ll move the people while you hold the entrance.”

“Until the barrier is set.”

“Then both of us.”

We went through it once more before standing.

This time, Melody allowed herself to be rescued without commentary.

That worried me more than the staff.

On our third attempt, everyone reached the low stone wall beyond the shed.

Even the sacks.

Alistair came through the entrance moments afterward.

Eliza looked at the space between us and him.

Then nodded.

“That would have given the guards room to meet him.”

Evelyn bent forward with her hands on her knees.

I stood beside her, trying to appear less tired than I was.

Melody examined the sack nearest her.

“I believe this gentleman owes you thanks.”

“He can write,” my wife said.

Alistair smiled.

Eliza came to stand beside us.

“Now we can begin teaching the guards what it looks like when you do that.”

I looked at her.

“So they know where to move.”

“And when it’s about to fail.”

I nodded.

The shield had seemed like something Evelyn and I were learning together.

I was beginning to see how many other people would need to understand it.

We returned through the lower streets.

The afternoon had warmed the stone, and several doors stood open.

Outside one of the new houses, Jerrit was repairing a window frame.

His daughter Neri sat on the step with a letter across her knees.

She looked up when she saw us.

“My aunt says the tree is still there.”

“Ressa’s?”

She nodded.

“She says the storm took half the back fence, but the tree barely lost a branch.”

“That sounds like good news.”

“It is.”

Jerrit set down his tool.

“Rona’s inside if you’ve time.”

We had a little.

He moved aside.

For once, I remembered to look at the doorway before going through it.

There were cups on a shelf.

A table beneath the window.

A rug that did not quite fit the floor.

Rona apologized for the boxes.

Evelyn told her we had spent several weeks walking around baskets in our own rooms.

“Babies,” my wife explained.

Rona smiled.

“Those never seem to contain what you need when you reach for them.”

Evin sat at the table drawing a boat.

He showed it to me.

It had rather more sails than Dorran’s ship.

“A fast one,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Does the captain approve?”

“I’m the captain.”

That settled it.

While Evelyn spoke with Rona, Jerrit showed me where the window frame had warped.

“I can mend most of it.”

“Will you need more timber?”

“A little.”

He hesitated.

Then looked toward his family.

“We’ll stay through the winter, I think.”

I waited.

“Rona likes the work she’s found. The children are settling. After that, we’ll see.”

“That sounds sensible.”

His shoulders eased.

I had not realized he was waiting for me to make more of it.

On the way home, Evelyn took my arm.

“Through the winter,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Do you think they’ll go back afterward?”

“I don’t know.”

Ahead of us, two children were carrying a board between them.

They stopped to argue about which end was heavier.

My wife watched them.

“I hope they can visit first.”

“Before deciding.”

She nodded.

We stood aside while the board passed.

Both children thanked her.

Neither noticed me.

Evelyn looked delighted.

Garrick was working on Aurelia’s chair when we reached the castle.

He had brought the unfinished frame to a quiet room near the workshop, where the light was better in the afternoon.

There were no crowns carved into it.

No great rising sun.

Only a small rose beginning to emerge beneath his knife.

He looked up.

“Hard morning?”

“Melody died twice,” I said.

“Did she?”

“She recovered for luncheon.”

He nodded as though this was entirely reasonable.

Evelyn ran a hand over the chair’s arm.

“It’s lovely.”

“It isn’t finished.”

“I know.”

He watched her touch the smooth wood.

Then held out a small piece of fine rubbing cloth.

“If you’re staying.”

She took it.

I sat on the other side and waited until he gave me one too.

We worked until the light began to change.

Garrick shaped the rose.

Evelyn smoothed one arm.

I worked on the other.

For a while, nobody spoke.

Then my father-in-law said, “I’ve been thinking about what she said.”

“Which part?” Evelyn asked.

“About wanting to hear your laugh here.”

My wife’s hand slowed.

Garrick kept his eyes on the wood.

“I used to hear you in the house before I saw you. When you were small.”

“I wasn’t especially quiet.”

“No.”

He smiled.

“Then you grew up. You went places. The house became quieter.”

I looked at him.

He turned the chair slightly toward the window.

“I’m glad she has somewhere to come.”

Evelyn leaned across and kissed his cheek.

He pretended to inspect the rose.

I continued rubbing the same perfectly smooth patch of wood.

That night, Aurelia asked about our practice.

We told her about the shed.

The rear door.

Melody’s uncertain survival.

She laughed.

Then listened while Evelyn explained what had worked on the third attempt.

“Good,” she said.

My wife leaned back, pleased and tired.

I looked toward the courtyard beyond the garden room.

The narrow arch stood open.

For the first time, I wondered about the places Aurelia could not reach from here.

Not the dark beyond the dream.

The ordinary places she remembered.

A road.

A room.

A stretch of garden where someone had once waited for her.

“When you can stay longer,” I asked, “where would you like to go?”

She was quiet for some time.

Then she looked at Evelyn.

“The lower garden, perhaps.”

“To see the pear trees?”

“Yes.”

“They’re still very small.”

“I don’t mind.”

Evelyn smiled.

“We could take the children.”

Aurelia folded her hands in her lap.

“I would like that.”

I pictured it.

No basin.

No waiting beside a chair.

Just a path wide enough for all of us.

“We’ll show you the way,” I said.