Gemma Silvestre's Arc

Chapter 4 of 7

The road stayed empty after Edna's carriage left, but Gemma had a new problem by morning. She had the Mirrorstone pinned to her dress. She had students. Seven of them waited on the grass at dawn, tools in their satchels, ready to learn gem-cutting. She had no walls to put them behind. She had no roof. A school was not a stone. A school was a place, and she had none. She led the students to the chapel, thinking the kind pastor might lend a corner. The cedar doors stood open. Inside, the carved beams glowed, but every bench was full. A choir practiced. Children napped in the pews. There was no room for seven students bent over workbenches. Gemma thanked the quiet and backed out. The Mirrorstone warmed against her chest, catching her worry and throwing it back. That was when the raccoon washerwoman came down the path with a basket on her hip. Rosemary Thornwood washed magical clothing. She had helped move the dragons once, Gemma remembered, slipping heavy things past watchful eyes. Rosemary set down her basket and looked at the students, then at Gemma. "You need a building," Rosemary said. Not a question. "I need walls today," Gemma said. "I have the stone. I have no room." Rosemary wiped her paws on her apron. "There is a house that drifts. Birds carry it on the wind. It lands when the air goes still." She pointed past the chapel, where a pale shape hung low over the fields. A flock of birds held it up. Curved walls, red tiles, a small iron balcony. "Owner left years back. It answers to whoever stands under it when it sets down." Gemma studied the floating house. "How do I bring it down?" "Still air," Rosemary said. "Birds climb on wind. No wind, they rest. House rests too." The wind blew steady across the open grass. Gemma turned to her students. "We make a wall," she said. "A windbreak." They dragged the chapel's spare benches, stacked crates, and a tall laundry line Rosemary strung with wet sheets. The sheets caught the gusts and held them. Behind the barrier the air fell dead and quiet. The flock above tired. One by one the birds folded their wings and perched along the red tiles. The house sank slow and sure. It came to rest on the flat grass right where Gemma stood, doors swinging open, tiled floor cool and wide inside. "It is yours now," Rosemary said. "You stood under it." Gemma walked in. The rooms were empty and bright. She could set seven workbenches here, and more. She unpinned the Mirrorstone and held it up to the first student. The face inside went steady and clear. Then a bird on the balcony lifted its head and screeched. Gemma stepped to the window. On the far road, a line of carts rolled toward the house. At the front sat a folding table, a thick ledger, and Edna Mull. She had come back, and this time she was not alone.