realized, she would be in New York. The thought sent a nervous thrill through her entire body. Her throat was tight, her heart suddenly racing. She looked at Stanton.
“He will help us, won’t he?” she blurted suddenly. Stanton, looking up from an evening edition of The New York Times, met her eyes quizzically. “Professor Mirabilis, I mean. He will help us. Everything’s going to turn out all right, isn’t it?”
“Professor Mirabilis is the most powerful credomancer in New York City,” Stanton said. “He’s the Sophos of the Institute—its leader. Its Heart. He’ll know exactly what to do. Everything will be fine.”
Each of Stanton’s words fitted carefully against the last, building a comforting wall of syllabic certainty. But still, Emily rubbed her finger over the cool metal of the ring she still wore on her thumb—the ring Stanton had given her in San Francisco. She frowned, not looking at him.
“At Cutter’s Rise, Caul said that Mirabilis had no faith in you.” Emily spoke softly. “He said that he wanted to make you a failure.”
“Caul was doing his best to squink me.” Stanton’s voice was dismissive, but his brow knit slightly. “For all Caul derides credomancy, he’s not above using its tools.”
“What exactly is a ‘squink’ anyway?”
“It’s a minor credomantic tactic. It is an attempt to undermine the power of another by attacking his sense of self-worth. It’s a contraction of the words ‘squid ink,’ because it’s like a squid squirting ink to muddy the waters. A successful squink makes one question oneself, and questioning oneself leads to muddleheadedness and uncertainty.”
“But what was he trying to make you question? What did he mean about squandered opportunities?”
“Speaking of Central Park,” Stanton said, folding his paper and tilting his head to peer at her. “Did you know that it has a castle with enchanted swans?”
She blinked.
“A what?” Emily said.
“A castle,” Stanton said. “With enchanted swans.”
“But what does that have to do with—”
“It’s called Belvedere Castle, and it’s built on top of Vista Rock.” Stanton’s voice was low and rhythmic. “The second highest natural elevation in Central Park. Before it stretches a beautiful smooth lake dotted with irises and blue flags. It’s actually a reservoir full of Croton water, but they’ve done a lovely job disguising that. Anyway, the enchanted swans swim around on this lake, and on nights with a full moon, they can talk. One of them has a very cultivated Afrikaner accent, though no one knows where he picked it up. He’s called Charlie.”
Emily blinked at him again. His eyes held hers, and in their green depths she felt, for a strange moment, that she could almost see the castle—a pile of white stone reflected in a rippling lake, blue flags and irises stirring in the wind.
“He can do what? In what kind of accent?”
“All of the swans have excellent conversational skills, but Charlie is the most celebrated. Someone, though no one quite knows who, has taught him to recite several cantos of Dante’s Inferno. Someone with an Afrikaner accent, it stands to reason. It’s really quite a mystery.”
Emily’s head was suddenly a stew of castles and talking swans and mysterious Afrikaners. She scratched a place behind her ear as if that would bring her thoughts back into some kind of logical arrangement.
“How did we get on enchanted swans?” she said with vague irritation. “What were we talking about, anyway?”
“Sophos Mirabilis,” Stanton said. “And how he’s going to help you.”
Emily nodded, remembering.
“He’ll know what to do? You’re sure of it?”
“I’m absolutely certain of it,” Stanton said. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. Don’t lose heart now. Everything’s going to be fine.”
Emily breathed out. The force and sureness of Stanton’s words made her feel warm and hopeful.
The feeling of pleasant optimism lingered for the rest of the evening. The porter made up the beds, and Emily took the bottom berth, drawing the velvet curtain closed. Snuggling under the blankets, looking forward to a good night’s sleep, she found that some of the excitement she’d felt at the beginning of the trip had returned. They were almost to New York, and New York was sure to be a wonderful place.
“You know, Mr. Stanton,” she said drowsily, as she heard him douse the lamp, “I find that I really am looking forward to seeing Central Park.”
Rocking, swaying gently in that soft bed, Emily dreamed.
She dreamed that the whole world pulsed and throbbed around her like the heart of a giant beast.
She dreamed that she was standing in the middle of a