Reluctantly, I followed Wister into the corridor, where she spoke quietly. “She’s quite exhausted.”
“Yes—it’s concerning.”
“Don’t forget; she’s lost a sister, and the furious energy that propelled her toward that journey is now spent. She’s feeling grief as well as physical fatigue. Give her a little time,” Wister said reassuringly. We’d reached the library, where Maxwell stood by the window. A tray with tea and toast waited on the round table.
As we came in, he stared at me with amazement. “So it’s true,” he said. “Miss Quinn has returned with a thew.”
I took a few steps toward him and gave a small bow. “Good morning, Constable Maxwell. We’re already acquainted. Perhaps you recognize me?”
His amazement turned to puzzlement. “I apologize—I don’t. Would you remind me how we’re acquainted?”
I smiled, unable to resist prolonging the intrigue a little longer. “We met during the summer, in Gloucester, while you were seeking the identity of Beth Baines.”
“?‘In Gloucester…’?” he echoed, frowning.
“And since then we’ve met almost weekly, on Saturday mornings. My name is Samuel May.”
His eyes lit with understanding. “Sam!” he exclaimed. He stepped toward me with hands outstretched, taking one of mine in his without any apparent repugnance and pumping it enthusiastically. “Samuel May,” he repeated, with an air of wonder. “I’m delighted to meet you. I feel that we are old friends already. I never…” He shook his head. “I never dreamed that I would meet you in this way. I’d speculated that you were a constable.”
I smiled. “No, I’m definitely no constable. But I can see how you would think so, eager as I’ve been to insert myself into your investigations.”
“To my great benefit,” he declared. “Without Sam,” Maxwell said to Wister, “I would be exactly where I was last year, which is nowhere. And I certainly wouldn’t have the list of Cisneros members.”
“Ah,” Wister replied, smiling sagely. “Then you are practically a member of the Sor Juana Alliance already, Sam.”
Now it was my turn to be amazed. I looked from Maxwell to Wister, realizing what should have been evident from the beginning. Theykneweach other. Of course they did. Their conversation in Clem’s apartment had been a discussion between confederates, not a dispute between a constable and an illegal practitioner of enchantment. I had a sudden vision of the spiritoscope, the knob engraved with the lettersSJA, and all became clear. “You’re part of the Sor Juana Alliance,” I said to Maxwell.
Maxwell imitated my little bow, smiling. “Roy Marcel, of Port-au-Prince, known in Massachusetts as Constable Roy Maxwell. I’ve served the alliance since I was sixteen, and I’ve been an agent in Greater Boston for the last three years. I answer to Wister Amsel, the head of the Massachusetts chapter.”
Wister looked at Marcel proudly. “It was Roy who managed to seize the Providence portal from the Cisneros Society.”
“I had help,” Marcel said, smiling at Wister.
“You astonish me.” I shook my head. He was an islander, like me! He was not really a constable at all. “I wondered how…why you were so inclined to my suggestions.”
“Yes. Sor Juana members are doubtlessly more open to the influence of spirits, given our work.” He smiled. “But Iconfess—I’m a little dismayed at the prospect of what I’ll do without your omniscience.”
“Perhaps I can still be of assistance in my new guise.”
“Of course. You know more than any of us how all these many threads—Miss Quinn, the Cisneros Society, the stoning deaths—are connected. They’re all part of a single weaving.”
“Or of a single knot, perhaps. But yes. All are intertwined. And between us perhaps we may untangle it.”
“Excellent. It will be much easier to understand the nature of this knot now that you can speak directly. Please, Mr. May. Tell us everything.”
Sam: Low Spirits
The outer reaches of the realm, closest to the portals, are inhabited only by younger spirits. The most ancient spirit I have encountered in the realm had passed into the realm one hundred and twenty years before. Where, then, are the other spirits? They are farther in the realm, presumably, beyond the first isle.
—Wister Amsel,A True Account of Explorations in the Realm
Wednesday, September 19, to Friday, September 21, 1888
Once again, more slowly this time without the currents of the Weer all around me, I told the story of my involvement with the Cisneros Society and the damage its enchanters had done after my death. The Sor Juana Alliance, for all its strength in numbers and long history, had not known about the ropers. I could see how this revelation deepened their disgust for Cisneros, but it didn’t offer an immediate course of action. A direct confrontation between Cisneros and the Sor Juanas was to be avoided, for the Cisneros thews tipped the scales severely. And taking advantage of Maxwell’s—or I should say Roy Marcel’s—position as a constable would be difficult without better evidence. Even the moth fairy in the woods, a clear embodiment of illegal bone enchantment, couldn’t be decisively tied to Cisneros, and an enchanter of Draken’s stature would have no difficulty concealing the armor. Roy would need to catch them in the act. We agreed to consult again the following day, when Clem would perhaps be somewhat recovered and we’d all considered the problem at length.
But Clem was not recovered by the following day.
All Wednesday afternoon she lay in bed, eating only a little ofthe tempting food Gertie brought her. I thought about Wister’s counsel, wondering whether grief over Rosetta had destroyed her sense of conviction. But when her thoughts were visible to me, I didn’t see sorrow for Rosetta. I saw the realm. I saw the vast expanse of stones, and the penetrating cold, and the dark shadow of the Oaring overhead. Something about the place would not let her go.
