Vera pointed to the stairs. “Let me show you the way back.”
Quinn followed her up the wooden stairs. “But what if they’re still outside?”
“You should stay in your room until the storm passes. But I’ll be fine. They won’t even recognize me,” Vera said confidently.
The sound of the fiffle grew louder as they climbed the stairs. On the landing, Vera opened a door and led the way onto the familiar main corridor.
“Wait. The dress. Surely they’ll recognize you if you’re carrying the dress.”
Vera hesitated. “Perhaps you’re right.”
“Let me keep it for you. I’ll bring it to you tomorrow.”
“No need,” Vera said brightly. “I’ll come by to pick it up. Which room are you?”
“Forty-five.”
“Good.” She turned and gave Quinn a broad smile. “Thank you, Clem. See you tomorrow. Good night!”
She hurried across the hall, opened the main door, and was gone.
For a moment, Quinn stood motionless. Then he rushed to the stairs, taking them two at a time, until he’d reached the fourth-floor landing. A large casement window gave him an unimpeded view of the quadrangle. There she was—I could see her, too.
Don’t trouble yourself, Quinn, I wished to say.I’ll follow her home. Flitting out behind her like a good ghost, I followed Vera’s assured steps across the quad. Every now and then, her feet tripped into a little run, and when the paths grew dark, she moved very quickly indeed. Vera reached the servants’ hall without incident, and I watched her breathe a sigh of relief as she slipped through the door.
She was safe. But not so Quinn, I feared. For he had now run afoul of Simeon twice, and there would be no escaping the consequences. Simeon’s pants and shoes—soiled, charred, and soaked—lay in a pile outside the door of his dormitory. Inside the room, Simeon sat bare-chested by the window, tossing a small, smooth stone into the air. He tossed it, and the stone remained suspended for a moment before dropping. He tossed it again, and the stone made a graceful twirl in the air. Then again, and the stone made even more elaborate movements, gliding through the room with energy. Finally, the stone returned to Simeon’s palm and he began again with a simple toss.
Simeon was practicing.
Now all was quiet, and the moon shone down on the campus, full of its silent schemes, and its secrets, and its wickedness.
Clem: August 31, 1888
Dearest Mother,
The first thing I did when I arrived was to walk by your window, and I did see you there, I think, but it was hard to tell. In the past it has always been nighttime when I arrive to leave a letter, and I had not noticed then how very dirty the window is, and how the others are practically barricaded with objects from the inside. What manner of room is it? Is it that he keeps you in a storeroom of some kind, surrounded by crates and boxes? You assured me that you weren’t in any physical discomfort or danger. It pains me to think that you said so only to assuage me. For when I see that filthy window and I think of who would keep someone in such a space, I imagine the most horrid jailer.
But that is not why I’m writing. I wanted you to know that I’m here.
I have heeded your warning about the Commonwealth students. And yet…they are mere children, Mother. Malicious children, yes, but so terribly young in their abilities and aspirations. It’s true that at first I felt some unease walking among them. They have a kind of recklessness to them, many an air of abandon almost, that feels like walking with my back to a knife thrower. But soon enough I realized that the knives are all dull.
As luck would have it, I have already encountered Simeon twice. The first time I avoided him, thinking he would recognize me, but I needn’t have been concerned. He sees what he wishes to see, and so he sees admirers all around him.
Please don’t worry; I’m being careful. I will come to see you on Monday, at last.
Your loving,
Clem
Sam: Amanuensis
The reader who is tempted to contemplate other uses of bone should remember that the advisor to Philip II of Spain, a man who famously used bone to make minotaurs, was exhuming a cadaver a day at the end of his life simply to sustain himself. Bone erodes with use, and creatures transformed by bone decompose quickly.
—Joaquín Rubio Villaseñor,Encanto avanzado
Saturday, September 1, 1888
It is true that being confined to the realm of the dead presented a significant obstacle to the pursuit of my murderer. But I wasn’t entirely alone in my quest for justice. During the summer, I’d recruited an assistant. His name was Constable Roy Maxwell.
