The Conjurer's Riddle

by Andrea Cremer

  “We know he’s arrived without incident in New Orleans,” Ott told her. “That means he and Jack will have begun their attempt to unite the Resistance and the dissenters within the Empire. Not a simple task. The potential for treachery will be the foremost thought among the Resistance’s leadership.”

  Birch leaned forward, his food as yet untouched. “I must confess, as much as I trust Jack, I find it hard to believe that any among the upper echelons of Imperial society would be happy to see it toppled, much less help bring it down.”

  “Your doubts aren’t unreasonable,” Ott told him, sopping up gravy with a hunk of bread. “And I’d think the same if I didn’t see the cracks in the Empire’s foundation multiplying every day.”

  “But why is that?” Birch asked.

  “The problem with empires is their inability to accommodate change,” Ott said. “Britannia often behaves like a sullen child, nursing old rivalries and treasuring antiquated ideas. As the Empire ages, so do its rulers, but the longer in years they become, the more unwilling they are to relinquish control. In their fear of their losing grip on power they refuse to share it, thus denying would-be heirs a place among them.”

  “Um noff shoe a fuloh,” Scoff said, then finished chewing and repeated, “I’m not sure I follow.”

  But Charlotte thought she did. “Coe, Jack, other young officers like them. They can’t advance in the ranks of authority, can they?”

  “To be honest, the situation in the military isn’t nearly as dire as it is elsewhere.” Ott sliced himself a good section of the roast venison. “The greatest tension lies among those seeking lordships and the lands that go with them.”

  Linnet flipped a pea off the flat of her knife and caught it in her mouth. “It’s tough, you know, when everyone wishes they could live on the same little island.”

  “What a clever observation.” Ott smiled at Linnet, until she flipped a pea that hit him in the middle of the forehead.

  Pip began to giggle, but Scoff asked, “What about all the land between here and the eastern seaboard? That all belongs to Britannia.”

  “Indeed it does,” Ott said. “But doling out that land would mean handing over its resources to whatever lord builds his estate there. The wildlands are valuable to the empire because they feed its machines. The decision to prevent private settlement away from the coast was made with absolute purpose. Wood, stone, farms—the wildlands offer an endless harvest, and all the goods and all the profits go directly into Imperial coffers.”

  “And they won’t give that up,” Birch said, finally taking a bite of pork.

  Ott leaned back in his chair, folding his hands atop his great belly. “There is always talk of expansion to the west, past the Mississippi. But should the day come when Britain tries to claim the west, it will surely mean war with France and likely Spain as well, which means that the Empire’s leaders spend most of their time squabbling with one another and nothing changes.”

  Birch was chewing his meat slowly, thinking on Ott’s words.

  “But what about you?”

  Everyone looked at Grave in surprise. He’d been so silent that Charlotte assumed he had no interest in the conversation.

  Grave kept his attention on Lord Ott. “Why do you want the Empire to fall? You’re already a lord.”

  “Yes.” Ott’s eyes narrowed very slightly. “I do hold a title and have lands to my name in the north of England.”

  Charlotte was taken aback by Grave’s question, but she realized she’d never thought to seek the reason for Ott’s position herself. Her trust in Lord and Lady Ott had been an extension of her faith in Jack—and Charlotte no longer had that same faith.

  Grave’s face was open, bearing not a hint of hostility, as he waited for Ott’s answer.

  Lord Ott scratched his beard, smiling to himself. “It would be a fine thing if I could claim some noble purpose or staunch belief as the source of my . . . disloyalty, but the truth of my tale is that the life of a lord proved too dull for my taste. I still hold my lands and collect revenue from them, but my interests lie here. I prefer to be a mover of pieces, a player of the game.”

  “I don’t understand,” Grave said. “You speak of a game. Of taking joy from it. But all I’ve seen in this war is violence, death, pain. How is that a game?”

  Ott’s smile vanished. “Have you succeeded in retrieving your memories, boy?”

  “I’m—”

  “Some of them,” Charlotte broke in. Given Ott’s sources, Charlotte wouldn’t have been surprised if he knew the truth about Grave’s past. All the same, if Lord Ott didn’t know that Grave had once been a sickly boy who, if Hackett Bromley was to be believed, returned to life through a mix of mechanical invention and dark magic, then Charlotte wanted to keep that information hidden.

  “We’ve come to believe he once was very ill,” Charlotte continued. “And while pieces of his past have resurfaced, it may be that his memory will never be fully restored.”

  “I see.” Lord Ott gave away nothing in his expression, but he said to Grave, “Game is a metaphor. I merely wished to convey that I am not content to watch the world transform while I remain still. I choose instead to be a traveler of the times.”

  Ott pushed his chair back and stood. “I’ll bid you all a good night, then. Linnet is spending the night here and will bring you to the Calypso in the morning.”

  When he’d gone, Linnet pulled his plate over and picked at the roast pork he’d left behind.

  “That may be the first time I’ve seen Lord Ott ruffled by someone,” she said. “Then again, most people know better than to ruffle him.”

  “It was an innocent question,” Charlotte said. Uncomfortable as the exchange had been, Charlotte didn’t fault Grave for inquisitiveness.

  “I agree,” Linnet replied. “Though I might call that question ‘tactless’ rather than ‘innocent.’”

  She glanced down the table. “If you’ll pardon my saying so, Grave.”

  Grave shrugged. “I just wanted to know.”

  “And that’s fair enough,” Linnet said. “Don’t worry, Ott’ll get over it. He’s not used to being challenged.”

  “You challenge him all the time,” Charlotte said.

  An impish smile overtook Linnet’s mouth. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

  THE CALYPSO BORE no resemblance whatsoever to the trading vessels lining the Ohio docks. Charlotte and her companions had arrived on the shore of the glittering Mississippi early that morning. Now porters carried their belongings to quarters provided by Lord Ott, and while the others reveled in the fine appointments of their rooms, Charlotte returned to the shore with Linnet to take another look at the vessel. The Calypso rested at the dock, pristine, elegant, and white as a swan, except for the great blue paddlewheel at its stern. The giant steamboat’s four decks were ringed by promenades decorated with intricately carved arches inlaid with mother-of-pearl. When sunbeams hit the boat, the Calypso threw back a gleam so intense that Charlotte had to look away.

  “It helps if you shade your eyes,” Linnet said, holding her hand horizontal against her forehead. “Still pretty bright, though.”

  Imitating Linnet’s pose, Charlotte still had to squint, but was able to continue her examination of the boat.

  “She’s kind of a beast,” Linnet said. “Lord Ott hates it when I say that, but I always tell him that there are plenty of attractive beasts in the world. Elephants, whales, moose. Well, maybe not moose.”

  In terms of size, Charlotte had to agree that the Calypso was indeed a beast. If the boat had a great maw it could have swallowed four smaller vessels abreast with no trouble. Passengers kept the decks teeming with activity. Couples strolled arm in arm along the promenades while children raced past, consumed with their games of tag. Whether an unspoken rule or an expectation of travelers, it appeared common practice to garb oneself in pastel hues th
at complemented the shining surfaces of the Calypso.

  Charlotte gazed at the well-frocked passengers and uttered a soft curse. “Who do I have to be for this trip? And what will I have to wear?”

  It had been a relief to return to her familiar, if limited, wardrobe when she left the Floating City, and she wasn’t eager to trade in her clothes for society’s costume.

  Linnet gave a little cough of laughter. “River life isn’t city life, kitten. You’ll discover that all manner of folk seek passage aboard Lord Ott’s steamboat. From this angle it might appear only the refined and dainty are traveling south, but that’s a fiction. A good many of the passengers are still sleeping off last night’s fun. They won’t show their faces before noon; some don’t bother to leave their quarters in daylight hours at all.”

  When Charlotte answered Linnet’s narration with a puzzled look, Linnet said, “Better to see for yourself.”

  “So we’ll be mingling with the other passengers?” Charlotte asked. “And no one will be suspicious of who we are?”

  “Plenty will be curious,” Linnet answered. “But I’d be very surprised if anyone made that admission. But you needn’t concoct an elaborate identity like that of ‘Lady Marshall’ on the Calypso. Not that you’ll be honest about who you are. Don’t ever be honest about who you are—and I mean that as a life rule, not just in this instance.”

  “Does that mean I’ve never witnessed who you truly are?” Charlotte asked, her mouth twisting as though she’d bitten into something sour.

  “I didn’t mean when you’re among friends,” Linnet said, resting her hip against a dock piling. “But it’s the wisest course in mixed company.”

  Charlotte spared her companion a sharp smile. “Is that your answer to my question?”

  “Hmm.” Linnet drummed her fingers along her cheekbone. “I suppose it is. Would you like me to concoct another answer?”

  “You’re a terrible and dangerous friend, I think.” Charlotte’s smile became part grimace.

  “Of course I am.” Linnet pushed off the piling and walked to the end of the gangplank. “But that’s why I’m your most irresistible and wonderful friend.”

  Charlotte didn’t bother to comment. She followed Linnet up the walkway and onto the vessel.

  They stepped onto the broad main deck, where a troupe of musicians welcomed them with a cheerful melody played on fiddle, drum, flute, and accordion. A celebratory, playful air suffused the steamboat. Everywhere around her, Charlotte heard laughter, singing, a lightness of spirit in snippets of conversations. Giddiness fluttered through her, a welcome change from the tension that had been her companion mile after mile. A white-gloved butler bearing a silver tray laden with fresh fruit paused beside the girls, inviting them to partake of the bounty. He was trailed by another servant who provided them glasses of champagne. As peach juice mingling with the crisp effervescence of champagne tickled her tongue, Charlotte felt she could have floated right off the deck from pure delight.

  “Oh dear.” Linnet’s sour mutter curbed Charlotte’s sensory transport.

  “What?” Charlotte asked, and, unable to resist, took another bite of peach and sip of champagne.

  Linnet cast a sidelong glance at her. “I was hoping we’d have a little more time, but there’s no use avoiding it.”

  Charlotte’s brow crinkled, but Linnet’s eyes were focused on a point behind Charlotte.

  “A lovely morning,” a man’s voice said, quite near Charlotte’s shoulder. “One to be savored.”

  “If you start spouting poetry, don’t think I won’t hit you.” Linnet’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  Charlotte turned to find a tall, lean figure standing so close that it startled her into faltering back.

  “Hello, Charlotte. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” Commodore Coe Winter was much as she remembered. His bright blue eyes, speckled with brown, were intent upon Charlotte. He wore his dark brown hair loose so that it brushed his shoulders, instead of tied back in the popular style of Imperial society. Coe had also traded his clean-shaven face for a close-trimmed beard.

  Charlotte suddenly wondered if she had peach juice running down her chin. Her stomach had tied itself into a knot, but one not altogether unpleasant. Coe wasn’t wearing his uniform, having abandoned his military garb in favor of a linen shirt paired with a dark vest and trousers. A pair of gun belts were slung low on his hips. The changes in his hair and clothes made Coe appear more rugged, like he could have grown up in the Catacombs, but also less severe.

  “Coe!” Her voice came out much too high. “I didn’t . . . how . . . this is a surprise. With your beard I almost didn’t recognize you.” She bit her tongue for allowing such foolish words to roll off it.

  Linnet snickered, and Charlotte took another step back, so she could stomp on Linnet’s toe. Linnet hissed an oath, but Charlotte kept smiling at Commodore Winter.

  Coe took Charlotte’s hand in his and bent to kiss her fingers. His lips lingered on her skin just long enough to send a shivering warmth up her arm.

  “How is it that you’re away from the city?” Charlotte kept her voice low to avoid other passengers overhearing. “Won’t you be missed?”

  “I’m enjoying a leave that’s been long coming.” Coe smiled.

  Charlotte had forgotten how disarming the Winter boys’ smiles could be. Her body’s reaction unsettled her. On the one hand these waves of sensation were sweeter than the loveliest of daydreams, but Charlotte couldn’t separate Coe’s physical effect on her from the similar feelings Jack provoked. She pulled her hand away from Coe’s, hoping he wouldn’t think her rude. She tried to make up for it with a fond smile.

  “And you thought a holiday on the Mississippi was the best place to spend this leave?”

  Coe laughed and raked his hair back from his face. Charlotte’s throat tightened. Had he been this handsome in New York? Or has the journey here left me ravenous for affection?

  “I will be quite happy when the world has become a place in which I’m able to take holidays in good conscience,” Coe said.

  Linnet stepped alongside Charlotte. “Jack sent word that the leadership of the Resistance was amenable to talks. Coe’s high rank in the military made him the best emissary for dissenters within the Empire. He’s coming to New Orleans to discuss the possibility of an alliance.”

  “And when I learned that Lord Ott was also traveling to New Orleans, I decided to join him,” Coe added.

  “It would have been faster if you’d flown,” Linnet snipped.

  Coe grinned at her. “How could I miss the chance to spend day after day with my beloved sister?”

  “What a sentimental creature you are, dear brother.” Linnet smiled back at him. “If you’ll excuse us, I’d like to show Charlotte the rest of the Calypso before it’s overrun with passengers.”

  “Never in a thousand years would I attempt to thwart your noble task.” Coe moved aside and bowed deeply. When he lifted his head he winked at Charlotte.

  Linnet stuck her tongue out at Coe, and Charlotte covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. Light in spirit from their encounter, she threaded her arm through Linnet’s as they walked along the deck.

  “When he’s not in that uniform he becomes a complete rascal,” Linnet said.

  “It did seem quite the change in character,” Charlotte said. It seemed silly that she was still smiling to herself, but she couldn’t stop.

  Linnet cast a sidelong glance at Charlotte. “He’s much more like Jack this way, isn’t he?”

  Charlotte’s smile stiffened.

  “I’ve always thought they seem more like brothers when they’re apart,” Linnet continued. “When they’re together they spend too much time snapping at each other. It’s easy to forget they have much in common. Don’t you think?”

  “I don’t think I’ve known them long enough to make a judgment
.” All the bubbling joy in Charlotte had drained away.

  “Spear of Athene.” With that mutter of frustration, Linnet disengaged her arm from Charlotte’s. “You know them. Granted, you know Jack better than Coe, but you know them.”

  Charlotte jerked back, resentful and defensive. “Why are you badgering me about this?”

  “Because I care about you,” Linnet snapped. “And, boorish as they may be, I care about my brothers, too.”

  “I haven’t done anything wrong,” Charlotte said.

  Linnet shook her head and let out an exasperated breath. “This isn’t a matter of right and wrong.”

  “Then what is it?” Charlotte’s hands were tight fists at her sides.

  “Remember what Lord Ott said, about playing the game?”

  When Charlotte nodded, Linnet went on. “War isn’t the only game. People are always playing games of all kinds. There are no rules, but there are very real costs. And the one you’ve stepped into can be devastating.”

  “I’m not playing a game.” Charlotte glared at Linnet. “Do you think me that fickle?”

  Linnet’s gaze remained steady. “You might not want to believe you’re playing a game, but you are. We all play this game. From everything I’ve seen of this world, there is no way to avoid it.”

  A kindness crept into Linnet’s eyes, the same blue eyes that Coe had. Tears began to well in the corners of Charlotte’s eyes and she hated it. She wasn’t sad, she was furious.

  I will not cry. I will not.

  “I don’t think you’re fickle, kitten,” Linnet said softly. “But I hope you know what you’re trying to win.”

  • • •

  Though they each enjoyed a cabin of their own, Charlotte and her friends still ended up gathered in Charlotte’s cabin in the late afternoon and into the evening. The relief of Lord Ott’s assistance and the excessive comforts of his steamboat had buoyed their spirits, leaving them eager to share stories and laugh with one another. Birch confessed to an excess of joy at being able to retain the profits from selling his trinkets. When he began to describe the designs of new gadgets he hoped to build, Grave and Pip were enraptured, while Charlotte and Scoff soon fell to their own conversation. Scoff, too, wished for the chance to return to creating his experimental concoctions in New Orleans.