Avalante.
I’d have been impressed, were I not so engrossed in my new aches and pains. My right eye still stung from Mama’s soap, and my hips were sore where Sara had snatched me up. So all I can recall is a maze of oak-paneled corridors and gold-plated lamp holders and mirrors set in silver frames. That, and the hush, and the constant strong smell of fireflowers.
I was ushered through half a dozen lavish sitting rooms, each done in fussy pre-War Kingdom style, lace and claw-footed tables and tiny swooping dragons, each biting the tail of the last, carved along the door-frames. I was greeted by half a dozen human household staff, each one more polished and reserved than the last. By the time I was finally shown the anteroom outside Evis’s office, I’d guessed I’d met all the most trusted and highly placed of House Avalante’s daytime staff. Each one called me Mister Jones, and each knew they spoke a lie.
I sat. A butler dusted a forty-candle candelabra and eyed me. I yawned at him. I’d worn my good coat and my new hat and he still lifted his eyebrows and bit back admonitions to keep my feet off the furniture.
Yet another butler appeared, and at last I was presented to Evis. He was seated behind a massive ironwood desk, in a dimly lit forty-by-forty office with red-gold Gantish carpet covering the floor. Three of the walls were lined with cherry bookcases crammed with leather-bound books. The other wall held a glass case filled with curios and old swords and glittering spinning things I took to be sorcerous knick-knacks but couldn’t see well enough to identify. There were, of course, no windows. In fact, by my count of stairs, we were three stories underground.
“Good morning, Mister Markhat,” said Evis. He signed a paper, blew the ink to dry it, and rose. “I trust you slept well?”
I crossed to the empty chair at his desk. “Well enough. How’s Sara?”
Evis motioned for me to sit, then seated himself as well.
“She is recovering.” The room was dark. There was a small candle burning in each corner, but I still couldn’t read Evis’s expression. “I shall tell her you inquired.”
I nodded. Evis reached into a pocket, found his dark glasses, put them on before whispering a word.
Light flared, bright and white, from a pair of glass globes hung on silver chains from the ceiling.
“For your comfort. By the way. Sara’s husband Victor wishes to extend to you his apologies. He fears his manner was brusque, in the carriage.”
I shrugged. “He didn’t tear my head off and eat it. I thought we got along famously.”
Evis grinned. “Nevertheless. We were all disturbed to distraction by what we discovered last night.”
“Oh, we most certainly were. That was…let’s see…” I unfolded and consulted my list, picked out the tenth name. “Milly Balount, wasn’t it? Or maybe Allie Sands?”
Evis nodded. “Allie Sands, we believe. Examination of the body revealed a tattoo, which matched one Miss Sands was said to possess.”
“Allie Sands. She was number nine. Snatched just before the new moon three months ago.”
“Indeed.” Somewhere, a clock ticked and tocked. Evis sighed. “How much do you know about halfdead physiology, Mister Markhat?”
“Very little,” I replied. “I’m not sure anyone does.”
Evis nodded, not in agreement but acknowledgment.
“Miss Sands was bitten many times. We estimate that some eleven halfdead fed on her.”
I stared. Halfdead usually hunt alone, that much I knew.
“Multiple bites result in the unfortunate condition you saw last night. To do such a thing is anathema, even to the oldest and most depraved of my kin. But it is not the first such attack we have discovered. I believe this is significant.”
“I’ll tell you what I think. You stop me when I’m wrong.”
“I shall.”
I took a breath. “Someone—maybe one of the Houses, maybe not—decided that snacking on Curfew-breakers wasn’t good enough anymore. This person or
I’d have been impressed, were I not so engrossed in my new aches and pains. My right eye still stung from Mama’s soap, and my hips were sore where Sara had snatched me up. So all I can recall is a maze of oak-paneled corridors and gold-plated lamp holders and mirrors set in silver frames. That, and the hush, and the constant strong smell of fireflowers.
I was ushered through half a dozen lavish sitting rooms, each done in fussy pre-War Kingdom style, lace and claw-footed tables and tiny swooping dragons, each biting the tail of the last, carved along the door-frames. I was greeted by half a dozen human household staff, each one more polished and reserved than the last. By the time I was finally shown the anteroom outside Evis’s office, I’d guessed I’d met all the most trusted and highly placed of House Avalante’s daytime staff. Each one called me Mister Jones, and each knew they spoke a lie.
I sat. A butler dusted a forty-candle candelabra and eyed me. I yawned at him. I’d worn my good coat and my new hat and he still lifted his eyebrows and bit back admonitions to keep my feet off the furniture.
Yet another butler appeared, and at last I was presented to Evis. He was seated behind a massive ironwood desk, in a dimly lit forty-by-forty office with red-gold Gantish carpet covering the floor. Three of the walls were lined with cherry bookcases crammed with leather-bound books. The other wall held a glass case filled with curios and old swords and glittering spinning things I took to be sorcerous knick-knacks but couldn’t see well enough to identify. There were, of course, no windows. In fact, by my count of stairs, we were three stories underground.
“Good morning, Mister Markhat,” said Evis. He signed a paper, blew the ink to dry it, and rose. “I trust you slept well?”
I crossed to the empty chair at his desk. “Well enough. How’s Sara?”
Evis motioned for me to sit, then seated himself as well.
“She is recovering.” The room was dark. There was a small candle burning in each corner, but I still couldn’t read Evis’s expression. “I shall tell her you inquired.”
I nodded. Evis reached into a pocket, found his dark glasses, put them on before whispering a word.
Light flared, bright and white, from a pair of glass globes hung on silver chains from the ceiling.
“For your comfort. By the way. Sara’s husband Victor wishes to extend to you his apologies. He fears his manner was brusque, in the carriage.”
I shrugged. “He didn’t tear my head off and eat it. I thought we got along famously.”
Evis grinned. “Nevertheless. We were all disturbed to distraction by what we discovered last night.”
“Oh, we most certainly were. That was…let’s see…” I unfolded and consulted my list, picked out the tenth name. “Milly Balount, wasn’t it? Or maybe Allie Sands?”
Evis nodded. “Allie Sands, we believe. Examination of the body revealed a tattoo, which matched one Miss Sands was said to possess.”
“Allie Sands. She was number nine. Snatched just before the new moon three months ago.”
“Indeed.” Somewhere, a clock ticked and tocked. Evis sighed. “How much do you know about halfdead physiology, Mister Markhat?”
“Very little,” I replied. “I’m not sure anyone does.”
Evis nodded, not in agreement but acknowledgment.
“Miss Sands was bitten many times. We estimate that some eleven halfdead fed on her.”
I stared. Halfdead usually hunt alone, that much I knew.
“Multiple bites result in the unfortunate condition you saw last night. To do such a thing is anathema, even to the oldest and most depraved of my kin. But it is not the first such attack we have discovered. I believe this is significant.”
“I’ll tell you what I think. You stop me when I’m wrong.”
“I shall.”
I took a breath. “Someone—maybe one of the Houses, maybe not—decided that snacking on Curfew-breakers wasn’t good enough anymore. This person or
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