Page 28 of Hawk & Sparrow

Maximilian shrugged. “As you wish.”

“Hang on,” Vesper pressed. “Where exactly are we going tomorrow?”

“You’ll see.” A mischievous glint touched the sorcerer’s eyes. “We’re going to do a bit of reconnaissance.”

“Reconnaissance?” Vesper repeated. “What do you mean?”

Instead of answering, the sorcerer offered a polite bow. “Have a good afternoon, Miss Evans. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned on his heel before she could press him any further, and headed down the road. Vesper watched him go, bemused, then headed in the opposite direction.

The Basalton Public Library was a welcome sight to Vesper’s eyes.

She relaxed as she passed through its entrance, taking in the slightly musty smell of aged books and worn leather. Afternoon sunlight filtered in through towering windows on either side of the main room and picked up tiny motes of dust floating among the bookshelves. Vesper searched until she found who she was looking for: a woman sitting behind a large oak desk and sifting through a stack of folders.

“Hello, Ida.”

The librarian looked up from her work. She was a dark-skinned woman with silver-white hair and kind brown eyes behind crescent-shaped spectacles. “Vesper? This is a lovely surprise,” she said. “What can I help you with?”

Vesper leaned in. “I’m trying to build a profile on someone from Basalton’s high society crowd, and I wondered what resources the library might have to help me do it.”

Ida paused. “If they’re a member of high society, you might check the Social Register of Victerra first.”

“The Social Register?”

“It’s a publication that lists members of high society throughout the country,” the librarian explained. “It’s updated annually, and includes the kind of basic information you’d expect—births, marriages, academic pedigrees, et cetera.”

“That sounds like exactly what I’m looking for,” said Vesper.

Ida led her toward a shelf at the front of the library with several volumes of black leather books with the same golden font written down their spines. She ran a finger down the line, then stopped on one, pulled it from the shelf, and offered it to Vesper.

“This is the most recent edition.”

Vesper flipped past an introduction and table of contents, leafing through to the G section of the book. She skimmed the page, then looked up.

“He’s not listed.”

“Who?”

“Francis Gladwell.”

Comprehension dawned on Ida’s face. “You’re looking into that man who got murdered Friday, aren’t you? The inventor?”

Vesper nodded. “I can’t say much more.”

“Of course, I understand.” Ida took the book back and drummed her fingers against it a moment. “Entries in the Social Register are determined by a private advisory board,” she explained. “It’s possible that, even if Mr. Gladwell was a member of high society, they may not have voted to include him.”

“Where else could I find information about him?” asked Vesper.

Ida chewed her bottom lip. “If he was an inventor, there’s a chance he’s in the Victerran Almanac of Inventors. That one’s in our reference section. I’ll show you.”

This time, she led Vesper to the back of the library, to a shelf of plum-colored books. She pointed.

“The almanac has information on every notable inventor in the country, along with a list of things they’re officially credited with inventing,” she explained. “It’s updated and republished at the start of each year. If Mr. Gladwell was a credible inventor, you should be able to find at least some basic information about him in one of the more recent editions.”

Vesper pulled one of the volumes from the shelf and nodded. “Thanks, Ida.”

The librarian smiled. “Good luck. I’ll be at my desk if you need me.”

Vesper sat at a nearby table and opened the almanac. A brief introduction from its contributors took up the first page, followed by a list of inventors alphabetized by their surname. She flipped through the pages, noting the photographs of stern-faced men staring back at her in black and white. Not a single woman. She wasn’t surprised. Few universities admitted women, and even at the ones that did, she’d heard horror stories. She found herself wondering how much further Victerra might be if women were given a true seat at the table instead of a chair missing one leg. Her attention returned to the book as she reached the G’s and slowed. A list of four gentlemen took up the page.