suffering, nothing more, and perhaps endangering everyone in this house.”
“The professor tells me you have an unusual mind,” says Mrs. Och. “Think of something unusual. We need him.”
“Mrs. Och, I entreat you to consider other options.”
“There are no other options.”
“And if we fail?”
She answers that by opening the door abruptly, and I leap back.
“Is he all right?” I ask meekly, pretending concern.
“Come with me, Ella,” she says. I follow her back to her reading room again. She sits down at her desk and begins to write.
“Ma’am?” I ask tentatively after a moment, but she shushes me.
When she is done writing, she slips the notepaper into an envelope and writes upon the envelope. Then she hands it to me. It is addressed simply:
Miss Bianka Betine, Madam Loretta’s, East Spira.
“I need this delivered,” she says. “Find a hackney to take you. It’s not a safe area. You may ask Mrs. Freeley for money for the driver.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say.
“And, Ella,” she calls after me as I back out the door, “tell the girls to set up the back parlor as a guest room.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say again. And then, because I cannot help myself: “For whom?”
“A woman and a child,” she replies.
SEVEN
D ek and Gregor are the only ones in the parlor when I arrive. I used the hackney money to pay a messenger boy to take the letter to Bianka Betine, freeing myself to take care of a few other things in the meantime, before anyone expects me back. Wyn is out but has left me a message:
Clarisa Fenn at Ry Royal Pub Mt. Heriot,
and beneath, a quick sketch of a pointy-faced barmaid offering me a drink. I smile and put it in my pocket.
Dek and Gregor are sitting with a large bottle of cheap whiskey between them, lists and charts spread all across the table.
“I was hoping you’d turn up soon,” says Gregor. “The client is waiting for a report, my girl.”
I give him the copy of Bianka’s letter, along with a hastily scrawled note about the things I fetched from the Edge for the professor and about Mr. Darius’s sudden illness. I’ve left out the witch-smuggling business and the rest of what I saw in Mrs. Och’s study. I don’t know enough yet. I don’t know anything yet. Or that is what I tell myself. I can’t stop thinking about that witch they sent off to Sinter. Perhaps she has children, and they didn’t have to watch her drown.
“It’s not even noon,” I say, nodding at the whiskey.
“All the more day to get through,” says Dek, giving the bottle an affectionate pat. I don’t like to see him drinking with Gregor but I can’t very well tell him not to. He’s a grown man. I know he keeps his mouth shut when he doesn’t approve of things I do. Wyn, for example. The two of them got on very well until I took up with Wyn. Wyn still makes a brave attempt at camaraderie, but Dek has turned chilly toward him. We’ve never spoken of it.
“How is that magnetic opens-everything lockpick coming along?” I ask. “Am I going to get a crack at it? I’ve got a room I can’t get into.”
“The mysterious Mr. Darius,” says Gregor, and takes a long drink straight from the bottle. “Taking your time with that, aren’t you?”
“Because I can’t get into his room,” I reply coldly.
“Oh, that?” says Dek, brightening. “I got sidetracked, but I’ll finish it if you need it.”
“What’s all this, then?” I ask, picking up a sketch of what looks like a cannon.
Dek snatches the paper from my hand and says, “You wouldn’t believe what a couple of Lorian thugs have offered to pay for this. If I can make it and it works, that is.”
“I am advising your brother that if he’s going to design weapons, he needs to be careful who he sells them to,” says Gregor, slurring a bit. He’s drunker than I realized.
“But ten silver coins!” cries Dek. “Only Julia is likely to bring in anything like as much right now.”
“Twice that,” I say
“The professor tells me you have an unusual mind,” says Mrs. Och. “Think of something unusual. We need him.”
“Mrs. Och, I entreat you to consider other options.”
“There are no other options.”
“And if we fail?”
She answers that by opening the door abruptly, and I leap back.
“Is he all right?” I ask meekly, pretending concern.
“Come with me, Ella,” she says. I follow her back to her reading room again. She sits down at her desk and begins to write.
“Ma’am?” I ask tentatively after a moment, but she shushes me.
When she is done writing, she slips the notepaper into an envelope and writes upon the envelope. Then she hands it to me. It is addressed simply:
Miss Bianka Betine, Madam Loretta’s, East Spira.
“I need this delivered,” she says. “Find a hackney to take you. It’s not a safe area. You may ask Mrs. Freeley for money for the driver.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say.
“And, Ella,” she calls after me as I back out the door, “tell the girls to set up the back parlor as a guest room.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say again. And then, because I cannot help myself: “For whom?”
“A woman and a child,” she replies.
SEVEN
D ek and Gregor are the only ones in the parlor when I arrive. I used the hackney money to pay a messenger boy to take the letter to Bianka Betine, freeing myself to take care of a few other things in the meantime, before anyone expects me back. Wyn is out but has left me a message:
Clarisa Fenn at Ry Royal Pub Mt. Heriot,
and beneath, a quick sketch of a pointy-faced barmaid offering me a drink. I smile and put it in my pocket.
Dek and Gregor are sitting with a large bottle of cheap whiskey between them, lists and charts spread all across the table.
“I was hoping you’d turn up soon,” says Gregor. “The client is waiting for a report, my girl.”
I give him the copy of Bianka’s letter, along with a hastily scrawled note about the things I fetched from the Edge for the professor and about Mr. Darius’s sudden illness. I’ve left out the witch-smuggling business and the rest of what I saw in Mrs. Och’s study. I don’t know enough yet. I don’t know anything yet. Or that is what I tell myself. I can’t stop thinking about that witch they sent off to Sinter. Perhaps she has children, and they didn’t have to watch her drown.
“It’s not even noon,” I say, nodding at the whiskey.
“All the more day to get through,” says Dek, giving the bottle an affectionate pat. I don’t like to see him drinking with Gregor but I can’t very well tell him not to. He’s a grown man. I know he keeps his mouth shut when he doesn’t approve of things I do. Wyn, for example. The two of them got on very well until I took up with Wyn. Wyn still makes a brave attempt at camaraderie, but Dek has turned chilly toward him. We’ve never spoken of it.
“How is that magnetic opens-everything lockpick coming along?” I ask. “Am I going to get a crack at it? I’ve got a room I can’t get into.”
“The mysterious Mr. Darius,” says Gregor, and takes a long drink straight from the bottle. “Taking your time with that, aren’t you?”
“Because I can’t get into his room,” I reply coldly.
“Oh, that?” says Dek, brightening. “I got sidetracked, but I’ll finish it if you need it.”
“What’s all this, then?” I ask, picking up a sketch of what looks like a cannon.
Dek snatches the paper from my hand and says, “You wouldn’t believe what a couple of Lorian thugs have offered to pay for this. If I can make it and it works, that is.”
“I am advising your brother that if he’s going to design weapons, he needs to be careful who he sells them to,” says Gregor, slurring a bit. He’s drunker than I realized.
“But ten silver coins!” cries Dek. “Only Julia is likely to bring in anything like as much right now.”
“Twice that,” I say
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