Page 19 of The Dawn Chorus

Inside the vaulted chamber, the organ thundered. Sound rang in every vault and corner. I closed the doors behind me and leaned against them, eyes drifting shut as I absorbed the tremors of the music, as they rang a thousand bells inside me. His last piece had evoked regret – it had been a call for death, for an ending – but this one was all mettle and beauty and defiance. Even though it was loud enough to make my ears ache and my chest vibrate, it calmed me.

I remembered this melody from somewhere. It called to a part of me I had almost forgotten. Words, still unstrung from the notes, were honey-sweet on the tip of my tongue.

For a long time, I let the warp and weft of the music knot itself around and through me. When I stirred from the trance, I made my way up to the organ loft, where Warden sat on the bench, as straight-backed as if it were a throne, playing by candlelight.

He used no sheet music. All of this was from memory. Note after note soared from the pipes to the ceiling of the chapel. I watched his hands gusting over the keys, his leather boots keeping time on the pedalboard. He played like a storm in the shape of a man.

Too soon, he stopped. The echo faded from the vaults.

‘Paige,’ he said. ‘You were gone for some time.’

‘I fell asleep in the Rookery.’

I joined him on the bench. There was just enough room for us to sit together without touching, but his aura brushed mine.

‘One of the red-jackets saw Michael when he was in the House. David, the oracle.’ Even though we were alone, I spoke under my breath. ‘You were betrayed once before. What should we do?’

Warden was perfectly still, save his eyes, which flickered. I watched his face.

‘Did he make demands in exchange for his silence?’ he asked.

‘No. He even offered to help us.’

‘You believe he knows of our plan, then.’

‘He certainly suspects we’re plotting something up here. You, me and Michael.’

Warden seemed to withdraw into his thoughts for a while. His eyes were darker than their wont.

‘This could destroy everything,’ I said. I needed to impress the urgency of this on him. ‘If he breathesoneword to the wrong Rephaite, we’re both fucked.’

‘He would tell his keeper first. Pleione is one of us.’

‘He goes to those damned feasts with Nashira.’

I wondered if he would advise me to dispose of David. In a place like this, murder would be easy. A cut throat. A body hauled into the woods to be devoured by the Emim.

Easy to do. Not so easy to live with. No matter how much I mistrusted David, a cold-blooded murder would cling to me. I would have to know that it had been the only way.

‘Nashira will not believe whispers of rebellion without proof this time. Too much rests on the Bicentenary,’ Warden finally said. ‘Does he have evidence that Michael was there?’

‘I don’t see how he could. It’s not like there are any cameras here.’

‘Then we may be safe. And she would suspect foul play if one of the red-jackets were to go missing.’

‘I thought the same. Will we call his bluff, then?’

‘If you agree.’

‘I do.’

A small nod. His gloved hand moved in and out of a fist.

‘I saw the vial,’ I said. He looked back at me. ‘You must be in pain.’

‘Do not trouble yourself on my account. I can find distraction enough in our plans. And in music.’

‘You won’t have this organ after the rebellion. Or your gramophone.’ I skimmed my fingertips over the keys. ‘I’ve seen a few pianos in derelict churches in London. I doubt they can hold a tune any more, but you could always claim one. Try to repair it.’