Finally, in the last row, the spine of the cypher leaned, waiting for her, against a book titledMr. Kipper’s Clumsy Canary. The cypher looked ludicrously oversize among a set of books for children.
She lurched forward and pulled it out on an exhale. “Here.” She smiled, looking down at it. It bore no title. In the corner were initials—her grandfather’s. “This is it.”
Theo, too, seemed relieved. He had grown pale again, his hand clutching his side.
With the Stewards’ book and her notes tucked into her coat, they found a table and lamp in a small study corner between classical poetry and music. She set out her things just like any other scholar—binding, parchment, and no quill or inkwell, of course. Polly even nodded politely to a few passing Artisans as she set down the cypher and sat.
“Top of the hour,” Theo mumbled to her after a while. “I’ll be back in a moment.” He left, winding into the shelves.
Polly looked up at the ceiling fresco and sighed outwardly, flexing her fingers. The idium left in her throbbed like an overused muscle, the way it did just before another dose was due. She felt a thrill of disquiet at that—that after this, no more idium would run through her. She would use these final dregs to complete the translation, buy her ticket out ofthe Trench, and start anew on some continent that didn’t harvest magic from the ground and consume it. She’d be no different, then, from any other.
Polly smiled wanly. A trade worth making, she thought. If it meant she could go where she pleased without her blood pounding in her ears, without looking over her shoulder wherever she went. To be without fear, there was nothing she wouldn’t sell.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVENNINA
The square was rabid with activity. It was easy enough to look purposeful. Busy. There were enough shadows between buildings in which to lurk.
John remained somewhere at the rear of the library by the servants’ entrance, while Patrick and I kept our eyes on the library itself as each half hour gave way to the next. Theo appeared on the steps on time, not a second too late, pretending he was buying a pear, a newsprint, or else simply stretching his legs in the sunlight before returning inside. No one paid him any mind.
Patrick and I kept a careful distance from each other, but I felt his eyes on me as I wandered in aimless circles. Twice, I was approached by Artisan men, asking if I needed accompaniment somewhere, since a lady rarely traveled by herself. Each time I shook my head politely and pointed in any direction. “My father will only be a moment.” For a woman without a ring, the mention of a father was the best way to dissuade an Artisan man. They nodded and carried on.
Theo came to the steps again, right when he should. He perused a nearby cart at the bottom of the steps with his hands in his pockets, then reentered among a large group of Artisans.
I sighed. Noon had passed. Four hours lapsed, then five, and still no Polly. My back ached from sitting proper on a wrought-iron café chair, listening tothe Crafter buskers. Patrick moved from one shadow to the next, the light of his smoke flaring in the dark.
I narrowed my eyes in his direction, and he lifted an eyebrow in return.
Lord, it was difficult not to look at him. Impossible, even. Just now, several young Artisan women in a group were looking over their shoulders, whispering with their foreheads lowered toward one another, giggling. How scandalous it would be for one of them to break the pack and approach that daunting Craftsman who lurked in the alley. How shocking. Should they do it?I dare you, one of them would urge.I dare you to ask him for a cigarette.
The girls in the Artisan School had been the same, turning their noses up when it suited them but flushing at the idea of some sordid encounter with a miner, a welder, a miller. All that brawn was difficult to ignore. Too alluring by far. More than enough good Artisan girls had fallen victim to it. The perceived wickedness of it, was, at times, too tempting. There were devils all over the brink.
I scoffed. Maybe I ought to scandalize them myself. Walk right up to Patrick and pull his mouth down to mine. Push my body against his. Take the smile off their faces, off Patrick’s. Maybe he’d forget for a second that he wasn’t supposed to want me. Maybe he’d finally forget about those fucking lines.
I felt if he didn’t soon, I might go mad.
The hour was closing. Two more minutes until Theo would appear. I reasserted my attention to those stone steps, the revolving doors. Maybe this time, Polly would appear at Theo’s side,The Stewards’ Testamenttucked safely away.
The hands of the clock tower ticked.
One minute remaining.
A coach and its horses clopped into the square, halted before the library steps, and blocked my view.
I stood, annoyed, trying to see over it to the entrance. Theo would arrive any moment.
But a man alighted the coach, tall enough to garner attention. He was followed by four others, all of them uniformed in Artisan blue.
The tall man climbed the steps, long ministerial robes sweeping the stone behind him, and I lurched forward one step, then two. Patrick left his shadows to stare, eyes bulging at the man and his contingent.
Lord Terrence Shop went through the revolving doors and disappeared within.
The clock chimed.
Something cracked in my core.
Theo. Polly.
The Stewards’ Testament.
