“I was going to tell you everything, Patrick,” I said, fresh tears falling. “I waited all night for you to come back. I waited…” I could say no more. I was suddenly bone-tired. When I closed my eyes, images pervaded.
I heard him sigh heavily from his place on the floor. Then he stood. He went to get a fresh bowl of water and a damp washcloth and came to where I sat. He knelt before me and took one of my forearms into his hands to clean it. The cold water stung.
“I believe you,” he said, his voice low and close. He moved from one arm to the other. “But I told you once that there should be trust between us.”
“And you don’t trust me,” I finished for him.
“Youdidn’t trustme,” he corrected. “I told you I’d protect you. Keep you safe—”
“Patrick—”
“—and it’s clear to me now that you could betray me in the worst ways, and I’d forget every code I have to defend you.” He finished his ministrations, wrung the washcloth dry. “A bigger weakness, I can’t forsee. So there are lines I can’t cross with you again, do you understand?”
My eyes cinched closed, if only so I didn’t have to see his perfect face when I asked, “Can you never forgive me?”
I felt him breathe once, twice. “You’re already forgiven, Scurry girl, but it don’t fix much.”
I opened my eyes, and his face was far too close to mine. And I wondered how he could suffer the remaining distance. How he could ignore the compulsion to close it.
“Patrick, do you ever regret going into that cellar?”
After a moment, he said, “Despite it all, I still can’t say I do.”
CHAPTER TWENTYNINA
By the following day, my head felt lighter, the infection cleared.
We converged in Tamir’s living quarters soon after waking, and John pulledThe Stewards’ Testamentfrom his coat pocket. When I laid my eyes on it again, something more than grief and guilt ignited within me. I felt hunger.
I imagined bursting seams of black ore beneath the earth’s crust and Lord Shop digging his way toward it.
We needed to find it first.
The little book lay open on Tamir’s unvarnished kitchen table. A scrawl of indecipherable faded symbols stared back at us.
Tamir remained two steps away, his hands twisting together in the sleeves of a teal housecoat. His small flat unfolded behind him in a collection of upholstered furniture and antiques. Compared to the rest of his establishment, these two rooms were quietly elegant, refined. The walls were adorned in mournful abstract landscapes instead of women’s vulvas. A cat slunk around the curve of an armchair.
Tamir came to peer around John’s frame at the first page, unable to help himself.
“But what does it say?” he asked.
“Fuck if I know,” John responded. “But it’ll lead us to a treasure trove.”
I frowned at the pages, some eaten through by moths. “How can we be sure it says anything about the Seam?”
“I don’t know yet,” Patrick answered. “Expect that Shop seemed to think it of great importance.”
“And there’s supposed to be a Scribbler somewhere in this city who can translate it?” I asked. “How are we to find them?”
“It ain’t that big of a city,” John said, crossing his arms. “We’ll find ’em.”
“You have a name?” I asked.
“Better. I’ve got a place,” he said. “Some swank club not far from here.”
“The problem isn’t just in finding someone who can translate it,” Theo interrupted. “It’s in convincing the Scribbler to break their oath to the House to help us.”
“What oath?” John asked.
