Page 23 of The House of Quiet

Chapter Seventeen

A Bird in the Night

The sound of footsteps pulls Birdie out of her fretful sleep.

She sits up in bed, suddenly alert. The footsteps weren’t part of any dream; she’s certain of it. But were they in her room, the hallway outside, or upstairs?

Birdie creeps from bed and peers out her door, expecting the House Wife to be standing there, watching her. Birdie doesn’t see her, but that doesn’t mean she’s not here. The far end of the hallway is shrouded black so deep anything could be standing there.

Anyone, Birdie corrects herself. The House Wife is a person. She just doesn’t act like one.

Rabbit’s door is closed, as is Minnow’s.

Birdie hurries to the stairs and feels her way up to the third floor.

She pauses every step, listening, wondering if she’ll be able to hear anyone else on the stairs with her over the pounding of her own heart.

The higher she goes, the more certain she is that someone is here with her.

That a hand is about to reach out and grab her ankle, throwing her down.

Fear paralyzes her. She wants to get to the top—needs to see who or what is up there—but she’s not alone. She knows she isn’t.

“Hello?” she whispers, her voice small and quivering. As soon as she says it, she wishes she hadn’t. Because which would be worse: no answer…or a voice right next to her?

Birdie flings herself upward, all attempts at stealth abandoned as she rushes the last few steps and trips out onto the top floor. She’s never been more grateful for moonlight. The low, round windows let in just enough to see that no one is up here. Again.

So what did Birdie hear? In a house this quiet, whose footsteps tugged her out of sleep?

Birdie shivers. She’s in only her night shift, not even shoes on her feet.

She turns back to the stairs and then freezes again.

The darkness is waiting, and in it, she’s certain she won’t be alone.

She imagines the House Wife lurking three steps down, that placid, empty smile on her face.

She imagines Cook with a knife, taking care of the problem in the house.

The minister of finance, here at last to settle the score.

And then, worse, that poem whispers through her thoughts. I pray for death before I wake. What happened to the child who wrote it? What if—one way or another—they never left the house?

Whether it’s a ghost or person stalking her, Birdie can’t stay up here forever.

She holds her breath, taking the stairs one at a time, pressing her feet down as silently as she can.

She clings to the wall. Maybe there’s no one else here.

Maybe if she’s very quiet and very small, they won’t notice her.

Maybe they don’t want to hurt her, they’re just unquiet, too, in a house that’s so relentlessly silent.

Maybe, maybe, maybe , she thinks as she descends with agonizing care. The steps seem to stretch into infinity in the blackness. How had she not noticed before how many stairs there were? It feels like too many. Everything about this house is unsettling, like it was designed to keep her off-balance.

There’s a shuffling noise beneath her. Birdie freezes.

“Hello?” a small voice whispers, the echo of her own tentative question earlier. For a moment she thinks it’s exactly that. Her fear, lingering, trapped here forever.

But it’s not her voice. “Minnow?” Birdie asks. “Is that you? What are you doing?”

“What are you doing? Why were you upstairs?”

“I thought I heard a noise. But it must have been a dream.” Or a maid who isn’t a maid, creeping along the hallway.

“I’m headed downstairs. Can’t sleep. And there’s still some bread pudding left over.”

It’s a sensible excuse. But Minnow barely touched the bread pudding at supper. Birdie doesn’t believe for a second that she’s stumbling around in the dark to get an extra helping. “Did you hear anything? Or see anyone creeping about?”

Minnow lets out a small laugh. “Only you.”

“Let’s go down together, then.” Birdie moves past Minnow, accidentally stepping on her foot. “Sorry! Why can’t we have a lamp, or at the very least candles?”

“Bogs burn. Forever, if the conditions are right.” The way Minnow says it, she sounds very small and very far away.

“Can’t very well light the bog on fire if we’re always locked in,” Birdie grumbles.

She unlocks the door at the bottom of the stairs and steps out into the hallway.

It’s dim, but after the pitch-black stairs it feels positively radiant.

“Speaking of bogs,” she says, wrinkling her nose, “is it just me or is the stink even stronger?”

The air feels cold and thick, like someone left a door or window open.

“The windows don’t open,” Minnow says, apparently having the same thought. “They’ve all been nailed shut.” Minnow turns to Birdie with a puzzled look on her face.

Something’s wrong. Birdie’s known it since she woke up. Shewas just wrong about which floor something was wrong on. She rushes down the hallway toward the foyer and turns to face the front door.

It’s wide open. And standing there, framed by the hungry night, is Nimbus. His hands are on his head, squeezing, as though trying to hold something in. Birdie rushes forward and pulls him all the way inside. Her heart is racing. He could have gotten out. He almost did.

How did the door get open? And how did Nimbus get out of his room in the first place? Minnow is standing, staring out at the night. Birdie thought she caught Minnow going down the stairs. Maybe she caught her coming back up them, though.

Minnow shuts the door and turns around. Her face is drained of color, round eyes so wide Birdie can see the whites all around her gray irises.

“We never would have found him,” she whispers.

Birdie doesn’t think even Minnow can fake this reaction. She’s horrified. So maybe Minnow was up to mischief, but Nimbus wasn’t supposed to be the victim.

“Nimbus?” Birdie prods, hoping for a reaction. Silent tears trace down the boy’s face. The thought of him out there, alone and cold and lost, makes her feel physically sick.

Minnow gently guides his hands away from his head. “Come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”

Birdie walks ahead of them. Nimbus’s door is open.

There’s no sign of anyone else. Wild conspiracies run through Birdie’s head.

Someone else broke into the house. This is a trick, designed to catch her being up and about when she’s not supposed to be.

The house is haunted by the child who scratched that poem into the wall.

Then the most likely explanation occurs to her: Cook is drunk and neglected her nightly door-locking rounds.

She really does need to lock the doors for everyone’s safety.

This house might be too quiet, it might hold vicious mysteries scrawled onto walls, it might echo with mysterious footsteps, but it’s still safer than what’s all around them.

Nimbus climbs onto his bed, silent but obedient. Birdie can’t shake the thought of him sinking, his halo of tight curls floating around him. She stays by his open door, hands over her stomach, finding it hard to breathe.

Minnow is doing Birdie’s job. She leans down and tucks Nimbus in, then lingers, stroking his forehead.

“Don’t leave alone,” Minnow whispers. “If you want to get out of this house, you need a guide. Take me with you, and I promise I’ll get you to safety.”

Birdie frowns. She doesn’t know if Minnow realized Birdie could hear her. What kind of promise is that? And how can Minnow make it? None of them can get through the bog. Not without the driver and his well-practiced horses.

Minnow begins humming a song. Nimbus closes his eyes.

“What is that melody?” Birdie asks.

Minnow doesn’t look at her, keeping her gaze on the boy they saved. “My mother used to sing it to calm down scared patients.”

“She was a doctor?”

Minnow nods. “A surgeon, when she had to be.” She picks the song back up and it finishes, trailing off on a sweetly melancholicnote.

The song works. Nimbus’s breathing becomes even and regular.

Someone leans in the doorway next to Birdie. She turns and sees River, her eyes shadowed and hollow. River is staring at Minnow.

“I couldn’t find you again,” River says.

Minnow hurries to them and Birdie closes Nimbus’s door. She can’t lock him in, because then River and Minnow would know how adept she is with lock-picking tools. Besides which, her tools are upstairs, along with her dress and her shoes.

“Can’t go back to bed tonight,” Birdie says. “I’ll stand sentinel and make sure he doesn’t wander.”

“What do you mean you couldn’t find me?” Minnow asks River. “Did you try to go upstairs? Seems like that’s the only door in the whole house that’s still locked.”

River shakes her head, eyelids heavy. “That’s not where I was trying to find you.”

Birdie gives Minnow a puzzled look. Minnow shrugs, then tries to make her voice sound annoyed and teasing. “Did you need me to sing you to sleep, too?”

River’s eyes can’t seem to focus on anything as she stares at the ceiling above them. “I don’t want to sleep again.”

Minnow looks at Birdie. This time it’s Birdie’s turn to shrug. She doesn’t know what to do with River, either. They can’t really force her back to bed if she doesn’t want to go.

“No sleep it is, then,” Minnow says. “I’ll make bread. You can both sit in the kitchen with me. And Birdie, you’ll be able to see down the hallway if Nimbus wanders again.”

Birdie nods. It’s as good a solution as any. Birdie takes a seat on the bench against the window so she can keep sentry while Minnow prepares the dough. River sits at the table, resting her head on her arms, face turned to watch Minnow.

“Do you make bread often?” she asks.

Minnow smiles, but it’s a sad, faraway smile. “My father died going out for bread. After that, my mother never wanted me to visit the bakery. As though it was the bread’s fault. So I had to start baking.”

Birdie’s learned two things about Minnow.

Her father is dead, and her mother was a doctor.

And possibly also dead, given the past tense.

Then again, both of those could be lies.

But there’s something raw about Minnow tonight, something vulnerable that Birdie hasn’t seen yet.

Maybe it was the fear of what could have happened to Nimbus.

Birdie took it so personally because she cares about Nimbus; why was Minnow so shaken up?

If Birdie had known she’d be up all night, she would have left herself some dishes to do. It feels wasteful, sitting here, doing nothing. Once the dough is rising, Minnow joins her on the bench. River immediately moves to sit next to her, resting her head on Minnow’s shoulder.

Birdie tries not to feel jealous that the two of them seem capable of defying rules and decorum to find comfort in touching.

“Don’t let me sleep,” River whispers.

“We won’t,” Minnow promises.

There’s movement in the hallway. Birdie stands, ready to rush out.

But instead of Nimbus wandering and lost, Forest walks into the kitchen.

He’s wearing his customary button-down white shirt and dark gray trousers even now, though he has a soft-looking blue robe over them.

Birdie feels her cheeks burn, being seen in nothing but her night shift.

“Door unlocked?” Minnow asks.

Forest nods. He sits at the table, facing them. For the briefest moment, Birdie wishes she were sitting alone on the bench to see whether or not he would have sat next to her like River is sitting beside Minnow.

The silent, beautiful boy pulls out a pack of cards and begins shuffling.

Minnow perks up. “Do you know Soldier-Run-Knife?”

River’s voice is so deliberate that Birdie feels like she’s missed something. “I think you mean Draw-Pass-Stab.”

“That’s right. I always forget the name.” Minnow gives Birdie a bland smile. The deception is back in place. What is Minnow hiding? River clearly knows something about it.

Forest deals the cards. Birdie sits across from him with the hallway in full view, just in case. River and Minnow join them. Only two rounds in, though, River’s head droops.

“Wake me if I start screaming.” She puts her head down. Birdie gives Minnow a questioning look, but Minnow just stares back. If she knows what River’s worried about, she isn’t saying. But she sits protectively close, where she’ll be able to wake the other girl at a moment’s notice.

Maybe the deception Birdie’s picking up on is something innocent. River and Minnow are in love. It’s the simplest, sweetest answer.

Maybe , her mother echoes in her head.

They play hand after hand, the games blurring together.

Forest smiles every time Birdie lays down a winning set.

They’re so careful not to touch each other’s fingers, they might as well be holding hands.

It’s almost like a game within a game. Getting as close as they can without ever actually brushing against each other.

Birdie wonders if the game is one-sided, but that secret smile keeps tugging at Forest’s lips.

When Birdie starts shivering, Forest takes off his robe and drapes it across her shoulders. She would have said no if he’d offered, but he didn’t. He just gave it to her. She’s never felt something so soft; it’s her favorite color, and it still holds his warmth.

Maybe Minnow isn’t the only fool putting herself in harm’s way with an impossible flirtation. But Birdie’s the only fool who risks losing her sister forever if she messes up here.

Despite that, and despite knowing how brutal the next day will be with so little sleep, it’s a pleasant night. Birdie hasn’t felt this way in so long, it takes her a while to settle on what this is. When she finally realizes, it makes her want to cry.

Young. She feels young.

She never got to be young. As a child, she took care of Magpie, and then as soon as she turned ten she was sent out to work to earn money for Magpie’s procedure.

Judging by the way Minnow is quietly but determinedly trying her best to cheat and hissing as Forest’s insurmountable lead continues to grow, Minnow, too, needed a night to feel like just a young woman among friends.

Because they are her friends, Birdie realizes. She’s down here in her nightgown and Forest’s robe, and she knows she’s not going to get in trouble.

Just as Forest deals the last hand of the game, River speaks. Her voice is soft and garbled, her eyes still closed.

“They’re in the red circle now. It’s coming for us, too.”