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Hicks, bless him, had developed a disinterested languor in his years as proprietor at the Quiet Canary. If no one was dead or dying, Hicks preferred to be left to his hobby of whittling toys and trinkets, like the puzzle box I’d bought from him to give to Conrad. He certainly wasn’t going to lift a lazy little finger to interfere with the results of a fair round of Betwixt and Between.
Delphinia did not look convinced, but I turned to Father Cesare. “Any news for me today?”
The soft-spoken priest began feeling around in his robe. “Yes, my dear,” he said. “As a matter of fact, a parcel arrived at the sanctorium this morning, addressed to you from one Simon Silvis. It’s why I came tonight.” At Delphinia’s smirk, he added, “Well, one of the reasons.”
“Simon?” I asked incredulously. In the aftermath of Achlev’s fall, Simon had decided to retreat into the solitude of the abandoned Assembly Hall, telling us that he preferred to dedicate the remainder of his years to quiet study, free from the daily sorrows and strain of a kingdom at war with itself. That he chose to retire to the one place in the world that could not be found by those who did not already know its location was significant; he wanted to be left alone. I could hardly blame him, but I never thought I’d hear from him again. “Why would he send something for me to you?”
Father Cesare handed me a small parcel and said, “It happens more often than you’d think. We at the Stella Regina sanctorium are well-known for our . . . discretion . . . in certain matters. We keep a more open mind than most of our fellows, especially those of the judicial arm of the faith.” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully; he was referring to the Tribunal.
I untied the twine from the package and pulled off the paper. Inside was a book of indeterminate age, bound in leather dyed a deep emerald and inlaid with a pale rose-gold design that looked like spindly branches. I cracked it open and began to slowly thumb through the delicate pages. They were filled with archaic drawings of circular patterns and strange figures, annotated in a tongue I didn’t recognize.
“I don’t understand,” I said finally. “Why would Simon send me this? I can’t read it.”
“I’m the sanctorium archivist.” Cesare leaned over, lifting his spectacles from the chain around his neck to squint at the book. “I’m not as well-read as an Assemblyman, to be sure, but I don’t think it is immodest to say that I do have a knack for ancient vernacular. Ah, yes! This is written in the pre-Assembly dialect preferred by the female-led clans of the Ebonwilde. About 450 PA would be my guess.”
“You’re saying that that little book is two thousand years old?” Delphinia gaped.
“Maybe not the book itself, but the language in which it’s written, yes. Give or take a few hundred years, yes.”
“But what does it say?” I turned another page to find three humanlike outlines overlaid on one another, each inked in a different color.
“I could make out only a few of the words,” Cesare said. “Let’s see . . . Life. Or flesh, maybe? Sleep. Soul . . .” He shrugged. “The translations aren’t exact, and I’m rusty. But I do have a few texts back at the sanctorium that might help you with translation. If you want to come by before the coronation tomorrow.”
I stiffened but forced a smile. “Perhaps I will, if I decide to attend.” I slipped him one of my new-won coins. “Thank you for bringing this to me,” I said. “I know it’s a long way to travel just to drop off a book.” I glanced at Delphinia. “I’m glad to see you making good use of your trip.”
“Oh, it is always a pleasure ministering to the faithful here at the Canary,” Father Cesare said, his stout arm around Delphinia’s waist. “Shall I buy you another drink, my dear, with this new wealth?”
Her red-currant lips curved into a smile. “If you must.”
* * *
Back in my room, I tucked Simon’s unusual gift into my satchel next to the bloodcloth that still carried a round, rust-colored drop of his blood before spreading my winnings out across the desk to count them. I almost had enough saved now. As soon as the coronation was over and Conrad was officially installed as king with Fredrick as his regent, I would be able to buy a room on the Humility, the ironically named pleasure boat owned by Dominic Castillion. The floating fortress of Achleva’s self-proclaimed new king was renowned for its beauty and brutality. It was of an unusual design, powered not by wind or rowing but by coal and steam from great furnaces housed in the ship’s belly, freeing up room for ballrooms and banquet halls and baths on the decks above while malnourished and mistreated prisoners toiled in oven-like heat below.
The first coins I’d won at the Canary had all gone to procuring a copy of the ship’s plans from an Achlevan refugee who came through, got wildly drunk, and claimed he was formerly employed as a shipbuilder by the Castillion family and had helped the ambitious noble-man build his fleet. Even if it was an embellishment of the truth—or a complete fabrication—I paid him ten silver coronets to reproduce diagrams of the ship on the back of the elegant Canary-stamped stationery Lorelai had ordered in sheaves to pen elaborate and illicit letters to her favorite lovers.
The man had re-created the Humility’s schematics from his memory while completely stewed, but the sketches were startlingly intricate and full of minute details suggesting a deep familiarity with the ship’s layout. I decided to operate on the assumption that his claims were true and spent the last eight weeks studying the drawings to memorize every crucial detail, every weakness. As the vessel was protected by a fleet of well-armed fighting sh
ips, the only way to get to it was to buy my way aboard and attend the balls and feast at the banquets. Though the idea of that disgusted me, I’d do whatever it took to end his ill-conceived attempt for Achleva’s crown.
The man was a monster, and I would not rest until he and his ship met their final resting place at the bottom of the cold Achlevan Sea.
There was a soft knock at the door. “It’s open,” I said, sweeping my ship notes and coins into the top desk drawer alongside some of my favorite past prizes: a silver hand mirror, bottles of perfume from the continent, and jewelry too pretty to sell and too outlandish to wear. As an afterthought, I took the luneocite ring from my pocket, setting it on top of the pile before closing the drawer. If I didn’t have it with me, I wouldn’t be tempted to wager it again.
I shut the drawer and moved to sit on the bed just before Jessamine poked her head inside.
“I have something for you,” she said, sweeping her wealth of auburn locks over one shoulder, her brown eyes bright. She had to stoop to enter, nearly hitting her forehead on the low-hanging eaves of the steeply pitched ceiling. “I don’t know how you stand this,” she said. “I really don’t.”
“I’m almost a full head shorter than you are,” I pointed out.
“An infant would still find this room stifling,” she said, settling next to me. “And that window, and the noise . . . How do you sleep?”
“I don’t sleep much,” I admitted. “And when I do, I rest better with people nearby, coming and going . . .”
“Oh, yes,” Jessamine said, “You do so love people.”
“I like knowing they’re there,” I said. “I don’t need to be best friends with them.”
“Stars save me,” Jessamine said, dimpling, “you are a strange creature.”
