2 - At Home in Confusion

Housed with saints and inscrutable junk

1 - the cradle’s children

It had been a day for astonishing sights.

From the fleeting behemoths glimpsed so briefly through the deep gloaming of the abyssal layer to the bloody sunset as it angled sharply through the jewel box windows of that room at the top of the world, the day had been positively packed with panoramas, enough to stuff a hundred postboxes full to bursting with picture postcards.

Hugs and kisses from scenic somewhere.

Demi felt as if she had a permanent kink in her neck from rhapsodizing over one staggering vista after another. She imagined that she looked like a lovestruck goose with a passion for stargazing.

Country come to town, for certain, she thought to herself. If she was a goose, she was certainly one with a little round straw boater hat and a ribbon tied around her neck.

At the tail end of such a day, a certain amount of jaded disengagement might have been expected. After all, the more fantastic landscapes one sees, the less fantastic they become as a whole, until at last they are not fantastic in the least. At that point, the fantastic has become the ordinarily tastic: the normal, the regular, the expected.

And yet, even when taking into account the remarkable circumstances of the previous twenty-four hours, when Demi came into the broad square at the heart of the Cradle of St. Mary on the heels of the resident archbishop and escorted by members of the apostolic guard, she found herself physically unable to do anything but stare up at the great cathedral that rose before her like a palace from a dream.

It was providence only that spared her from taking an inelegant tumble right onto her besuited backside. It was certainly not due to any oversight on her part. She was oblivious to the wet brick underfoot, except as it existed as a frame and the ground for the dizzying masterpiece that rose before them.

Santa Maria Nascente shimmered in the misty night over the rain slick bricks of the plaza. The street lamps along the plaza were all haloed, as if they were candles seen through frosted glass. High above, unseen in the darkness overhead, Demi heard the sound of wings, but then that was drowned out by the deep pealing of bells as the cathedral sang out through the rainy night.

Briefly, Demi forgot to breathe. She forgot to do anything at all besides stare up at the cathedral before her, her arms wrapped absently around herself, the low vibration of the bells making some place deep inside of her tremble at the sound.

The ornate spires that crowned the roof were golden against the red night sky, straining impossibly toward heaven. At the point where the roof seemed to vanish into the sky, a heavenly maiden reigned above all, arrayed in gold and crowned by stars. The cathedral wholly dominated the square, looking as if it had been carved from the ivory bones of some ancient and gargantuan dragon, or had otherwise grown in that location over slow eons like a thorny mantle of coral.

As the bells rang out their last, Demi realized with a start that the archbishop was speaking to her.

“How did you like Santa Maria's welcome to you?” he asked with a genuine smile, then he blanched. “I hope I haven't embarrassed you,” he asked with sudden concern. “It just seemed the appropriate thing to do. It's not-so-very often that we welcome new residents. I’m particularly pleased to have you and honored that Tristan put you in my care.” His smile bloomed again as he said, “I hope you’ll enjoy your time here. You’re at an exciting point in your life.”

Her own smile flickered briefly. “Yes,” she said, not quite sure of what else to say. “I suppose I am.”

They stood looking at one another for several seconds, and Demi felt slightly awkward. She wasn’t quite sure if she ought to think of the archbishop as an archbishop or as a family friend. She could remember having seen him once or twice in the past, but she hadn't ever spoken to him. As an archbishop of one of the seven apostolic cathedrals, he was a noble of the cup, one of the Lords Spiritual of the Curia, which meant that he currently held a higher rank than she did. He had been made her de facto guardian, but she didn't know him well enough to know whether or not he expected her to be polite or familiar.

But it was hard to focus on that when standing before the great church. She ended up staring silently, her eyes cast upward, still and reflective in the lightly falling rain.

“The Cradle is your home now,” he said with a sweep of his arm, “And the Duomo is the heart of it. I know you’ll come to love it as I do, all the strange crannies and nooks.” He smiled wryly. “As of today, you've become a church mouse.”

Demi pulled her eyes away from the great cathedral with difficulty and regarded the archbishop curiously.

“I think you’ll come to love the chapterhouse as well,” he said warmly. “You’re a positively voracious reader, aren’t you? The original chapterhouse is the greatest library in the Cradle, and you’re welcome to read anything you find there without worrying about asking permission.” He put his hand behind his head and laughed sheepishly. “It is a bit — well, you’ll see, but that’s part of the adventure, isn't it? You’re a girl for adventure, as I recall.”

She smiled at that and nodded.

“I am,” she admitted.

“Any daughter of Haiko’s would be,” he laughed. “It may take a bit of getting used to, but I have a feeling it’ll grow on you. I know you’ll find it much more interesting than you would living at the great house. I’d live there myself if I could get away with it,” he said with a wink. “It’s a labyrinth of treasures. Now come along,” he said with a light clap of his hands. “You ought to meet the other church mouse.”

He moved toward the cathedral, and Demi followed along behind, thinking over the peculiar events of the day.

The archbishop had turned out to be a mild and easy-going man who seemed far too young to occupy such an exalted position. He was also extraordinarily amiable, and before Demi realized it, she found that she was chatting along with him like a little sparrow. Demi could not fathom why the pleasant man was such a close friend of her father.

Well, it was more that Demi could not picture the substance of their friendship, given her father’s personality and general demeanor. She was very willing to believe that the archbishop might have made friends with anyone, including a rock from the back garden. Perhaps that was the secret of it: the archbishop was her father’s best friend because he was his only friend, and had arrived at that exalted position through sheer persistence

But it was still very hard for Demi to reconcile the fact that her father and the archbishop were the same age. The archbishop had a warm and infectious boyishness that her father was altogether lacking. Demi did not believe that he had even been a boy himself. He gave the general impression that he had sprung into existence fully formed and over forty.

It was difficult to understand how the things that had come to be, had actually come to be.

Demi had expected some sort of altercation when Lord Eisenreich had arrived before her father and Lord Lysander and announced his intention to take her as a squire. She had stayed safely behind him, peering out from behind his broad back as if she were a small child afraid of meeting strangers.

One of those strangers had been her close kin, but she felt more certain of her standing with Eisenreich than she did with her own father.

But there had been no altercation.

None at all. It had been confounding.

Her father had said nothing noteworthy. In fact, he hadn’t even seemed surprised by this altogether shocking development. He had been formal and polite and had shown his keen mind and his impeccable manners, but hadn’t given Demi any real impression of what he thought of it all.

He acted as if Eisenreich declaring his intention to take her as a squire was a perfectly ordinary outcome.

It had been much easier to detect Lord Lysander’s animosity, but the lord himself had said nothing at all. He seemed to have a flair for the dramatic from what Demi could discern just by looking at the way he chose to dress and stand, but he did nothing to openly communicate his displeasure before Eisenreich, despite the fact that it looked as if he was spitting nails to air his grievances whenever the mask of his politeness slipped at all.

Demi had thought back to what Clarence Darby had told her about Matthias Eisenreich, the Iron Duke.

He can be a very intense person.

Demi got the distinct impression that Lysander was frightened of Lord Eisenreich, and that was why he was very polite and restrained throughout the whole episode.

He’ll probably throw himself onto a fainting couch later, she had thought.

And so the ceremony for which she had ostensibly been preparing for her entire life, the one that would govern so much of her future, had played out without incident.

She had been sworn to Eisenreich.

He had then inquired about her living arrangements, and Tristan Serraffield had explained his intentions.

And it was at this moment that Demi discovered that she wouldn’t be living at one of the Serraffield properties at all.

She would be living in the Cradle of St. Mary, under the watchful eye of the archbishop.

After making a few other inquiries with the archbishop himself behind closed doors, Eisenreich had apparently been satisfied, and had allowed Demi to leave with him so that she could be introduced to her new accommodations.

It had been a strange day in a strange season. This was surely a strange hour.

And that was how she had found herself in a cathedral, speaking casually to an archbishop.

It boggles the mind, Demi thought. Certainly, everything that had happened was enough to leave her head spinning.

But there was really no time for that.

Just inside the great doors of the church, the archbishop stopped and looked at her carefully.

The apostolic guard had left them at the threshold of the cathedral, and now they stood quite alone.

“I want you to know that I am not your keeper,” he said seriously, a strange departure from his earlier sunny warmth. “You are free to do as you like for as long as you live here. Go where you like, when you like. Spend time with anyone you choose in any way that you choose. Nobody’s going to be looking over your shoulder.”

Demi started and her eyes widened. “Archbishop!” she cried out before she could stop herself.

Did he really mean that? Demi wondered. Her head was spinning so fast now that she felt emotionally dizzy. Although she was no longer living at one of the Serraffield properties, she had expected to be closely monitored, as she had been for the whole of her life. Not by the archbishop, certainly. He was too important a man to spend his hours trailing her, but surely someone would be tasked to do it. If not by the archbishop, then by her father, certainly.

“Didn't expect that, did you?” he said with a wry smile. “But that was one of the conditions for you living here, in the Cradle,” he said. “Find your feet,” he advised. “Find out who you are, and who you want to be. You can only do that if you’ve got the freedom to try all sorts of different things. You don't have to ask my permission for anything,” he said, once again serious. “If you feel like you need guidance, you can come to me if you want, but from this point forward, you are responsible for yourself. I trust you, Demeter Serraffield.”

Demi blinked, the color having risen to her cheeks in a rush. It was very difficult to wrap her mind around all that the archbishop had said.

Freedom.

Was that really a thing she might have?

It still seemed impossible. It felt too good to be true, like wishes from a genie bound to contort themselves contrariwise until they spelled her doom.

She was afraid that it was all a trick, that if she dared to stray a step out of line, that all of heaven and earth would fall down upon her.

First Eisenreich had delivered her from being the squire of Lord Lysander, changing the fate that had seemed so unchangeable, and now the archbishop was telling her that she could do as she liked without fear of reprisal.

From the time of her mother’s death, Demi had finally begun to truly understand the future that had loomed open before her. Robert Grave and the other precious people she had left behind at Forest Home had done their best to shield her even after the passing of her mother, but Demi had seen and she had understood. She wasn't a foolish girl.

All of the hours and minutes and years had piled up in the past, pushing her forward to this inescapable day. Demi had always thought that everything had been laid out in stone, that her future had already been written, and that it could not be changed. And yet here she was, standing in that unknown future, and everything had turned out differently from what she had expected.

And this had led to a new thought: maybe she didn't have to simply accept what was given to her, what was done to her. Maybe there really was a way out.

It was like striking a match in the darkness. Her whole soul lit up.

The idea was warm in her chest, rising, but fluttery. She felt like she had to fold her hands over her heart to keep it from slipping away, into the dark sky that yawned somewhere overhead, on the other side of the stone vaults of the cathedral.

The archbishop was still speaking.

“Now, keep in mind, I really can’t control what Tristan does,” he advised sensibly. “He’s a worrier, and I know he’s always worried about you. He’ll probably keep an eye on you from time to time, but he won’t interfere unless he absolutely has to. So live the way you want to live.”

He looked up at the high ceiling overhead.

“I have only one piece of advice for you,” he said, raising a single finger. “Don’t be afraid to fail. Growing up successfully requires a lot of failure.”

At that the uncertainty and tension inside of Demi broke, and she could not help but laugh. The archbishop grinned.

“I guess I expected some esoteric and profound holy wisdom,” she admitted helplessly. “Or a warning against sin at the very least.”

That was probably a very irreverent thing to say to an archbishop, but Demi felt as if she had gotten a good sense of him, and so she’d said exactly what was on her mind.

“That is my esoteric holy wisdom,” he said with a laugh.

The inside of the cathedral was cavernous. The ceiling rose high overhead, held up by the tall arches of the vaults. There were enormous tapestries and paintings hanging between the great columns of the arches, heavy with age and meaning, and the columns themselves had finely carved capitals depicting saints and angels. Everywhere there was ornament: sculpture, colored glass, gilt and gold. The stone underfoot had been laid out in a pattern of geometric flowers and far ahead she could see the apse was lit with warm light. Above it was the night dark rose window, which crowned three tall stained glass windows, like a blossom on three stems. The stained glass was illuminated by spotlights, giving the place a very mystical feeling, as if they were glowing under their own power.

Demi followed the archbishop down the central aisle, her footsteps echoing after his, and marveled at the forest of pews, all beautiful polished wood. It truly was one of the seven great cathedrals. She thought it might hold as many as fifty thousand people at once.

That was staggering to think about.

Besides their footsteps, all of the rest of the sound of the great building seemed strangely muffled. She wasn’t taking particular care to be profoundly quiet or reverent, and yet she was.

Perhaps it was simply the space.

Even at this late hour there were some people still seated in the pews, apparently lost in silent contemplation. When such a person looked up, the archbishop smiled and acknowledged them, so it took a little time for them to get to the place that they were going. Demi didn’t mind it all because there was so much to look at, so much to think about and consider. It would take her a very long time to fully digest all that she experienced having stepped over the threshold of this great place.

Just as they reached the central nave, they stopped.

There was a small figure sitting at the end of a pew, with a great book lying on her lap. Her short, slender legs dangled from the seat without quite touching the ground, but she held them very still. Only once in a long while would one of her feet bob absently from the ankle. Her face was turned away. She was apparently in contemplation of the expanse of stained glass above her.

The archbishop politely cleared his throat and the little figure turned very deliberately, after a slow moment. One got the feeling that she had known that Demi and the archbishop were there, waiting for her attention, and had granted them an audience in her own time. Strangely, this imperiousness did not strike Demi as being spoiled or vain. It seemed natural and appropriate, as if it were ordinary to wait on this small person as if she were an imperial majesty.

She was a little girl with long, dark hair that was carefully braided into two low pigtails. She seemed uncommonly small when she got to her feet, just as she had seemed uncommonly small when she had been sitting. Her skin was so fair that it gave the impression of being alabaster, and it had an opaline, bluish cast to it that made her seem just slightly uncanny. Her eyes were large and clear, a strange color somewhere between lavender blue and silver. She had a grace when she moved that was very unusual to see in a girl of her age, or so Demi supposed.

She certainly could not recall having been as elegant and poised when she had been a girl of the same years, although quite a lot of money and time had gone into instilling just these qualities in her.

The affable archbishop smiled as the little girl got to her feet and when she and Demi came face to face with one another, he said, “This is the other church mouse, your roommate, Miss Lumina Calloway. Miss Calloway, this is the young Lady Serraffield.”

Lumina very gravely offered a small, white hand, and Demi moved to take it.

They stood looking at one another for a long, queer moment, and then Demi shook the cobwebs out of her brain and smiled.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Lumina,” she said. “I’m Demeter Serraffield. Please call me Demi.”

“The pleasure is mine, I’m sure,” the little girl answered seriously.

The girl had folded the prodigious book that had lain open on her lap under her arm when she had stood, and given the distinct advantage of height, Demi found she could read the title: Philology in Regards to the Mythology of Linnean Lepidoptera.

Well, that was certainly light reading for a little girl.

“Miss Calloway has been here for — “ he paused and gave a wry laugh. It was clear that he wasn’t entirely sure for how long the small girl had been his ward.

Fortunately for him, the little girl had a more exacting personality, and provided his answer.

“Nineteen months,” she said gravely. “I have been here at the cradle for nineteen months.”

“Of course,” he agreed with a warm smile, and gave Lumina a gentle pat on the head. It did not appear that she disliked the patting, as she got a very faint flush on her otherwise serious face. “And I’ve been glad to have you all this time,” he said. “I know that you and Miss Serraffield will get on famously.”

He turned his attention back to Demi.

“You’ll be living in the original chapterhouse along with Miss Calloway,” said the archbishop. “Although it may be a bit strange at first, buck up, hang in there. It’ll be a cozy home before you know it. Miss Calloway will teach you the way of things,” he said. “ Don’t worry,” he assured. “Everything makes its own kind of sense.”

He pulled something from his pocket and opened his hand so that a chain of lovely keys dropped one by one, like strings plucked on a harp.

“Here are your keys,” he said solemnly. “The keys to the kingdom, you might say. The keys to your own private castle. Guard them carefully.”

Demi swallowed as her hands closed around the string of keys, and she nodded. They were beautiful keys. She felt as if she had been entrusted with a great treasure.

Demi liked keys. She had a whole collection of them on rings chained together like daisies, and they had come with her, to the City. She couldn't remember the purpose of many, if not most of the keys that dangled and jangled, old, new, borrowed, and bartered. Lots of them were probably dead keys, keys that no longer opened any lock at all, but Demi kept them because she liked them. They didn't need a purpose. Their purpose was simply to exist. Demi liked to dream that the dead keys were to doors and treasures that had not yet come to be, or that had been lost, but would come again.

She was a whimsical girl, and her mind was filled with such strange, fey thoughts.

After having given her the string of keys, the archbishop was apparently satisfied that his duties were concluded, at least for the evening.

“Good luck,” he said warmly, “And enjoy Wonderland.”

With that, he departed, and the two girls were left alone.

After a moment, Lumina said what the both of them had apparently been thinking.

“The archbishop is an unusual person,” she said.

Demi giggled at that.

“Aren't we all?” she asked philosophically.

Lumina did not dignify this question with an answer.

They stood silently and simply looked at one another for a long second, as if sizing each other up, but then Lumina turned, saying, “We should go on to the chapterhouse. I’ll only be a minute.”

She returned to the pew where she had been sitting and gathered four other heavy books. There were far too many to fit into her little girl backpack, so she fit what she could into her bag, and carried the rest in her arms. Demi thought that all of the books together might well have weighed as much as the little girl herself.

Kindred spirit, Demi thought to herself. Bibliophile confirmed. Where were you when I was your age? We could have had splendid story hours. Story days. Story months.

She didn’t realize it, but the thought brought a smile to her face, and she couldn’t help a quiet and affectionate laugh.

Lumina heard the laugh and raised a solemn eyebrow.

“What is it that you find funny?” she asked gravely, loaded down with her arms full of heavy books.

Demi’s smile flickered, and then she shook her head.

“Oh, it's nothing,” she said absently as she tapped a finger against her lips. “You just remind me of me,” she said, then smiled again weakly. “I’m sorry if that’s rude of me to say. It's strange,” she admitted. “I feel like if we had met as children, we would have become great friends.”

Lumina’s poker face didn't change at all as she observed, “You’re right. That was rude. Besides, we are meeting as children,” she said. “You have not yet reached your majority. You are still, technically speaking, a child. Whether or not we will become friends remains to be seen.” She pursed her lips slightly, but then relaxed. “Although, I will admit that I am partial to the idea. You are another unusual person. I like unusual things.”

Demi laughed because it was a funny thing for the little girl to say, but it was also obviously an honest one. And Demi could understand the sentiment. She also loved unusual things.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized with a genuine smile. “I know I was being condescending. Please forgive me?” she asked, putting her hands together and bowing her head briefly. “I know we’ll end up being good friends.”

Lumina seemed to consider the apology for a moment, but then she nodded gravely.

“Very well,” she said. “You’re forgiven.”

Demi held out her arms. “Now that we’ve resolved to be friends, let me help you carry your spoils of war,” she said.

Lumina again considered her, but ultimately acquiesced, although she did not hand over all of her books. They split them as evenly as possible.

Then Lumina turned her head and looked up at the high ceiling of the cathedral. “Now come along,” she said. “There’s quite a lot for you to learn and it's already late.”

Then the two girls, laden down with treasures of the written word, went off into the shadowed recesses of the church.