On the Isle of Sound and Wonder Read Free Page B

night.”
    The duke smiled widely. “Oh, yes,” he chuckled. “I shall be sure to rest up. And you, good-mother, you must also keep up your strength.”
    “I’ll be fine, thank you,” she muttered, turning away.
    His hand closed like a vise-grip on her elbow, stopping her sharply. “You will not fail us, will you? We’re both depending on you, Corvina. For different reasons, of course. You will be greatly rewarded for our mutual success. But, of course, you know that, don’t you?”
    “Yes, my lord,” she breathed. “I understand.”
    “And you also understand what is likely to happen if you fail us?”
    The midwife was silent. He released her, letting his hand run along the back of her arm as he did. Snake , thought the midwife. The duke chuckled and stepped back.
    “Of course,” he smiled. “You’re a very clever raven.” He turned to enter the palazzo and the midwife descended the stair, climbed into the trundling motorized trolley, and let the mechanical servant drive her to the edge of town.
    * * *
    The midwife sank against the gate, her breaths strained and desperate, the exhaustion from the hike almost too much to bear.
    “You have to let me in,” she cried, banging the staff against the gate. It resonated with an unusually deep clang, deeper than it should have been. She glanced anxiously at the knotted head of the staff. The last time she had allowed the staff to sing with purpose had been the last time she’d been forced into exile. She swallowed the fear and old bruises and drew herself upright again, leaning on the gate for a moment before stepping back to get a good look at it.
    “I swore to protect that mother and that child,” she muttered, “and you’ll have to let me in before I’m too late.”
    The midwife hauled the staff back and slammed it against the gates. With a monastic gong, the gates exploded inward, the tin birds falling to the ground as easily as apples from a tree. Rejuvenated by the sudden surge of magic, the midwife hurried through the gates up to the palace door and, finding no one outside to admit her, repeated the process.
    The gong sounded again, shuddering in her bones as it did in the fancy window panes of the palazzo, and the door flew inward on its shrieking hinges. She burst into the foyer, a wild, half-drowned ghost, terrifying servants both flesh and metallic.
    In the duchess’ chambers, the lady herself was indeed in the throes of labor. Several chambermaids fretted over her with cool rags. The duke himself paced in the anteroom.
    “Where have you been?” he demanded, white-faced. His boyish confidence and sly manner of the past months were gone. “She’s in pain!”
    The midwife flung a hand at him and twisted her fingers in a strange gesture. His mouth clamped shut and he made a muffled exclamation, unable to part his lips. “Shush,” she said, her hair wild and wet, her eyes bright. “I am here. Now, go,” she added loftily, twirling her hand at him. The duke did an about-face and left the room. She went to the duchess and slid her cold, damp hand into the moaning woman’s hot, fevered one. “Sophia, my lady, I am here.”
    “Oh,” Sophia groaned, grasping her hand in joy and terror. “My baby . . . I have had such dreams, again. I fear these visions!” Her eyes fluttered closed again, her brow furrowing. “My belly was filled with dark clouds, a cold wind, and flashes of lightning . . . I dreamed that my baby will be taken from me.”
    “Sweet lady, do not speak of it,” the midwife soothed. “There is no time; we must work.” She glanced back, but the servants did not appear to have heard the duchess’ mumblings.
    “I have dreamed that there is no baby,” whispered the duchess, “and that there is nothing within me but a tempest!”
    “Sophia, be calm,” ordered the midwife. “I am here, now. You must breathe much, much deeper than that if you want to bring this baby to the light. Now, breathe!”
    She made another