This room still had furniture, all draped in white sheets. Gauzy curtains billowed in the breeze that slipped through cracked windows, yet even with the sunshine, the loneliness was palpable.
I pulled up the corner of one cloth, revealing the dainty curved leg of a chair. Pink upholstery covered the seat. Very feminine.
I wondered if they had been Annalie’s rooms once, and if she had been moved to new quarters. I glanced around at the shrouded forms of chairs and end tables. A red, fringed Karadul rug covered the wooden floor. The wallpaper had faded rectangles where paintings or photographs had once hung. One cloth concealed a vase glazed in a deep green.
The largest piece of furniture rested under the window. I had assumed it was a desk, and sure enough, lifting the cloth revealed an elegant rolltop. Slowly, I lifted the top to see an array of shelves and pigeonholes, with a few things still housed in them—a book, a few sheets of paper, and a pencil with a chewed end. A tiny spider lay on its back, legs curled.
I plucked a sheet of paper from the group. Mrs. Annalie Swibert Parry, the letterhead read. I thumbed through the rest, but none had any writing.
I picked up the book. The Diaries of a Lady Adventurer, penned by Lady Montswire. I cracked the cover, and a pressed flower slid out onto the desktop. The first page bore an inscription:
To my dearest Annalie—
Soon you will be my own beloved lady adventurer, and the tales we shall tell will put Lady Montswire to shame. Can you imagine—the two of us in the port of Sormesen, dinner on the river &c.? The God’s Gate, the floating city, the tombs of Gyntia—it’s as if the world was built for us. We’ll end with a safari, and we won’t leave until you’ve seen at least one tiger—and no, we won’t turn it into gold!
I’ll be home soon, but until then, read this book and dream of our future, while I remain,
Your Devoted,
Hollin
I stared at the fine, slanting hand for a long time before I returned the pressed flower to the yellowing pages and clapped the book shut.
I moved on. A copper statue of a woman in a flowing dress guarded the fourth-floor stair. Like everything else, she wore a film of dust. The steps groaned under my feet. I walked close to the edge, where the wood wouldn’t bow as much, keeping a light touch on the banister. No dust on the banister. These stairs were still used, then.
On the fourth floor, I passed a number of unremarkable rooms and several more locked doors.
Did I hear something creak?
I froze, looking off down the hall. I heard it again. The stairs. And also, the gentle clattering of silver and china, like the way our dining room table would rattle at Granden’s rowhouse when a train went by.
Oh, God, someone was coming.
I dashed through the nearest open door, heart fluttering like a rabbit’s, nearly tripping over a stack of books on the floor. A desk faced the window, and shelves lined the rest of the walls, full of tiny stoppered bottles containing strangely colored liquids, crystals, and other trappings of sorcery, and books—great musty tomes with strange letters on their spines, with gold embossing, with locks on the covers.
“Someone there?” I heard Miss Rashten call, her voice nasty. She drew ever closer.
My eyes swept the room again and again, to no avail. There was no closet or wardrobe to duck into, nowhere to conceal myself.
Miss Rashten stepped through the door, her curls bobbing beneath her cap. She held a silver-covered tray of food—I smelled boiled meat—which she quickly put on the desk. Before I could move, before I could speak, she set upon me. She struck my arm so hard that I gasped with pain. Then she grabbed me, her fingers bruising, and yanked me from the room.
“What are you doing ?” She spoke close to my ear.
“I—I—”
Miss Rashten pulled shut the door and locked it. “You answer me: why were you up here where Master Parry told you not to be?”
“I—”
“You were
I pulled up the corner of one cloth, revealing the dainty curved leg of a chair. Pink upholstery covered the seat. Very feminine.
I wondered if they had been Annalie’s rooms once, and if she had been moved to new quarters. I glanced around at the shrouded forms of chairs and end tables. A red, fringed Karadul rug covered the wooden floor. The wallpaper had faded rectangles where paintings or photographs had once hung. One cloth concealed a vase glazed in a deep green.
The largest piece of furniture rested under the window. I had assumed it was a desk, and sure enough, lifting the cloth revealed an elegant rolltop. Slowly, I lifted the top to see an array of shelves and pigeonholes, with a few things still housed in them—a book, a few sheets of paper, and a pencil with a chewed end. A tiny spider lay on its back, legs curled.
I plucked a sheet of paper from the group. Mrs. Annalie Swibert Parry, the letterhead read. I thumbed through the rest, but none had any writing.
I picked up the book. The Diaries of a Lady Adventurer, penned by Lady Montswire. I cracked the cover, and a pressed flower slid out onto the desktop. The first page bore an inscription:
To my dearest Annalie—
Soon you will be my own beloved lady adventurer, and the tales we shall tell will put Lady Montswire to shame. Can you imagine—the two of us in the port of Sormesen, dinner on the river &c.? The God’s Gate, the floating city, the tombs of Gyntia—it’s as if the world was built for us. We’ll end with a safari, and we won’t leave until you’ve seen at least one tiger—and no, we won’t turn it into gold!
I’ll be home soon, but until then, read this book and dream of our future, while I remain,
Your Devoted,
Hollin
I stared at the fine, slanting hand for a long time before I returned the pressed flower to the yellowing pages and clapped the book shut.
I moved on. A copper statue of a woman in a flowing dress guarded the fourth-floor stair. Like everything else, she wore a film of dust. The steps groaned under my feet. I walked close to the edge, where the wood wouldn’t bow as much, keeping a light touch on the banister. No dust on the banister. These stairs were still used, then.
On the fourth floor, I passed a number of unremarkable rooms and several more locked doors.
Did I hear something creak?
I froze, looking off down the hall. I heard it again. The stairs. And also, the gentle clattering of silver and china, like the way our dining room table would rattle at Granden’s rowhouse when a train went by.
Oh, God, someone was coming.
I dashed through the nearest open door, heart fluttering like a rabbit’s, nearly tripping over a stack of books on the floor. A desk faced the window, and shelves lined the rest of the walls, full of tiny stoppered bottles containing strangely colored liquids, crystals, and other trappings of sorcery, and books—great musty tomes with strange letters on their spines, with gold embossing, with locks on the covers.
“Someone there?” I heard Miss Rashten call, her voice nasty. She drew ever closer.
My eyes swept the room again and again, to no avail. There was no closet or wardrobe to duck into, nowhere to conceal myself.
Miss Rashten stepped through the door, her curls bobbing beneath her cap. She held a silver-covered tray of food—I smelled boiled meat—which she quickly put on the desk. Before I could move, before I could speak, she set upon me. She struck my arm so hard that I gasped with pain. Then she grabbed me, her fingers bruising, and yanked me from the room.
“What are you doing ?” She spoke close to my ear.
“I—I—”
Miss Rashten pulled shut the door and locked it. “You answer me: why were you up here where Master Parry told you not to be?”
“I—”
“You were
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