Page 73 of Hawk & Sparrow

Vesper thought of Ada and nodded.

“Basalton law says that a married woman automatically yields her rights to her husband—her money, her land, her agency. It doesn’t matter if the husband is cruel, or foolish, or both; once married, it all belongs to him. The wife has no say.

“Well, once I learned that, I pleaded with my parents. I was a quick study, particularly in areas of accounting, and I tried to convince my father that I would be more than capable of running his businesses after he was gone.” Some of the light in the woman’s eyes faded. “Of course, he would hear nothing of the sort. When I turned twenty-one and still refused to marry, he unceremoniously cut off my inheritance and cast me out without a gild to my name. I later learned that our family’s fortune was bequeathed to a distant male cousin who squandered it within a few years of my father’s death. My family’s impeccable pedigree and its old name, Thalheimer, fell to extinction, nothing more now than a line or two in a history book that no one will read. But not me.” Her eyes glinted. “I flourished in this city’s underbelly. As it turned out, my gift for accounting coupled with years of watching my father’s work in trade and finance proved quite useful. I knew how the rich behaved because I’d once been one of them, which meant I also knew the best ways to fleece them. In a matter of years, I had a fortune that rivaled my father’s. Eventually, Josephine Thalheimer became “Jo Thally,” and Jo Thally created the Thally Rousers, the most successful and lucrative crime syndicate in all East Victerra.” She leaned back in her chair, looking smug. “It’s funny now, my mother had once hoped that I might marry some foreign aristocrat and become a duchess, or viscountess.” She spread her arms, grinning. “If only she’d lived long enough to see that her daughter became something better: a queen.”

Vesper thought of Ada, of the broken look on her friend’s face. She’d thought then that to be a woman was to always live in some sort of cage, but as she stared back at Josephine Thalheimer, a woman who had sacrificed everything to maintain her freedom, she started to wonder if that was really true. Perhaps a woman didn’t have to live in a cage if only she was brave enough to break free of it. She found that she could relate to the old woman, that she could even respect her.

“Does that satisfy your questions, girl?” Miss Thally asked.

“Yes,” said Vesper, and to her surprise she found it did. “Thank you for your help.”

“And thank you, for your excellent journalism. I do so like to see a woman thrive in a male-dominated field.” The old woman steepled her fingers. “With that, it seems our business is concluded.” She jutted her chin. “I don’t expect to see the two of you in Rouser territory again, am I clear?”

Her words were interrupted by a crash. All three of them turned to the door, and Vesper was surprised to find Richard standing in its frame. His chest was rising and falling fast.

“Boss,” he said between gasps. “We’ve got a problem. I just heard from some of our scouts.”

Miss Thally stood at once. “What’s wrong?”

Richard swallowed. “Pierce Street is burning.”

TWENTY-FOUR

SATURDAY, 19TH OF NOVEMBER—9:13 P.M.

The gas lamps flew past in a procession of yellow blurs as Maximilian’s coach raced through the city streets.

Every few seconds, Vesper glanced out one of its windows, checking the night sky for smoke. She chewed on the corner of her thumbnail, tapped a frantic rhythm against the coach’s floor with the heel of her boot.

Pierce Street is burning.

“Evans.”

Vesper looked up. Maximilian’s expression was concerned, and sympathetic.

“I’m sure everything’s fine, it won’t be as bad as he made it sound.”

Vesper swallowed. She wanted Maximilian to be right, but … she remembered the look on Richard’s face. She was trying to keep calm, but already her mind was filling with terrible images. The memories she worked so hard to keep caged were rattling their shackles. She heard Ethel’s voice.

Vesper, it’s so hot.

Vesper shook her head. No, this was different. Maximilian was right. The fire probably wasn’t as bad as Richard had made it sound. Everything would be all right. She took several deep breaths, and had just leaned back in her seat, when she felt the coach slow to a stop. She looked at Maximilian, and knew he was thinking the same thing she was. They’d only been in the coach for ten minutes. They couldn’t possibly be back at the Globe already. Seconds later, the door opened, and the footman’s head popped inside.

“Sir.” The man’s voice sounded slightly strained. “We may have a problem.”

“Where are we?” Maximilian asked.

“We’ve reached the start of Pierce Street, but the traffic is bad; it may take some time to get through.”

Vesper stiffened. With the coach’s door now open, the smell of smoke thickened the air. She looked out the window again, and this time there was no mistaking it: A thick vertical of black smoke was billowing into the air several blocks down. She pushed past the footman, and bolted from the coach.

“Miss Evans!” Maximilian called after her. “Wait!”

Vesper wove past the horses, people, and coaches that congested the road and headed down Pierce Street. Her heart pounded harder in her chest as she reached a slight curve in the road. She turned around the bend, then stopped short.

She knew at once that Maximilian had been wrong. Massive flames licked the second-highest floor of the building before her, and several arms were waving bits of cloth frantically from the story above that. Uniformed firefighters had surrounded the building, but they seemed to be at a loss as they stared up at its top floors. Vesper’s eyes searched until she found a face she recognized.

“Cliff!”