“Is that right?” Quinn asked faintly. He opened the swinging door, wincing, and held it open for Vera.
“Yes. Clem, you repaired the gown! It looks like new.”
Quinn smiled weakly. “You caught me.”
“That’s well beyond first-year enchantment.” She led him into a long, sunny room with windows high up near the ceiling. Here, hooks on the walls and shelves below them stored the servants’ personal belongings. A cluster of chairs stood around a low table with an unfinished card game. She turned to confront Quinn, arms crossed. “Are you some kind of prodigy? It would be nice to know.”
Quinn looked around. “Do you have a sink?”
Vera looked at him quizzically. “Through there is a lavatory.” She gestured toward the rear of the room.
Quinn made for the lavatory with unsteady steps. The heat and pain—perhaps, too, the loss of blood—had finally caught up to him, and Vera reached out with alarm. “You’re hurt!” she exclaimed. Quinn didn’t answer, only dropping the cape and sinking, his hand on the wide bowl of the sink basin, to his knees. If anything, the blood looked even more revolting now, beginning to dry at the edges on the white shirt, making a stain that ran from brown to crimson red. It was atrocious.
Vera gasped.
“Can you lift the shirt?” Quinn asked, through clenchedteeth. “I’m sorry. I am truly very sorry to have to ask this. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
After a moment’s horrified paralysis, Vera took charge. She disappeared into the lounge and returned with a stool. Seating Quinn before her, she gently lifted the shirt and examined the bloody letters on his back. “I didn’t tell anyone,” she said quietly.
“Oh, I know,” Quinn replied. “Of course. I didn’t come because of that. I came because I can’t clean the cuts myself. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll take care of you, love.” Vera softly dropped a hand on Quinn’s head. “Don’t worry.”
I’d seen more than enough. Enough blood for one day. I left them to the unpleasant task of tending to Quinn’s broken skin.
I imagined, foolishly, that he would heed the warning.
PART IIArmor Conceals
Clem: September 3, 1888
Dearest Mother,
Do not worry yourself. The cuts are minor.
As the needles lifted, they made a figure in the air: a swan with wings outstretched. Thecisne. Its signature couldn’t have been clearer. Warning me away. I’m certain this is ordinary intimidation, not something more informed. If they knew about you, then Throckmorton would know, too. No, it is mere bullying for being an outsider.
But it wasn’t the only warning I received. Before the swan took shape, I felt an inner pressure, a surge of fear, that I might have mistaken for my own instincts if I ever had such instincts. I don’t—my fears feel quite different. Earlier in the day I felt something similar, in my Medical Enchantment class, moments before Simeon appeared in the doorway.
I believe it must be Father, urging caution upon me from the spirit realm. Who else would understand the danger? Who else would care to warn me? It reminded me painfully of an argument we had, some months before he died, when I told him my intention of attending Commonwealth. He was desperate with worry, so desperate that it made him furious. “They are villains, Clem,” he shouted, “consummate villains!” I argued with him that not everyone at Commonwealth was acisne, that notall of them were villains, and that the learning of enchantment was worth the risk. He couldn’t see it—wouldn’t see it. He was shaking—with fear, I think, not rage—and I felt terrible.
Now he is warning me again. I hate to think of the worry I cause him, even now. When he should be resting.
But it can’t be helped. Neither warning can be heeded. Our plans continue.
All my love,
Clem
Sam: Fundamentals of the Spirit Realm
A spirit in the realm can see most of thevisibleworld, one thing at a time. A spirit thew in the world can see most of theinvisibleworld, one thing at a time. But there are limits. A thew cannot perceive thoughts at a distance, and a thew cannot penetrate the thoughts of another thew. There is no omniscience, for spirits are not gods.
—Elián Erquiza,The Nature of Thews
Monday, September 3, to Wednesday, September 5, 1888
Some spirits among us focus on a single person for long stretches of time—months, even years. A fixation of fury, or concern, or love, may ensnare one’s attention indefinitely. Naturally, the effect will be felt by the living, though they will be unable to explainwhythey suffer from a feeling of unrelenting lassitude, or incessant paranoia, or redoubtable good cheer. I’ve never done this. Although I nursed a particular grudge for Simeon, I understood that he was only one small part of a larger whole. He was the venom of the spider’s bite, but he wasn’t the spider.
