Midnight Jewel

by Richelle Mead

  “Then why—”

  “Because . . . . well. Just because.” He moved to the door, brushing against me as he went by. “Oh, and take your letter to Silas. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

  And then he was gone, leaving me—as usual—bewildered.

  I took a minute to collect myself and then picked up the china cup. My hands were steady, so that was something. As I returned to the party, I tried not to think about Grant because that was a puzzle I couldn’t solve. Shifting my thoughts to Abraham Miller’s conversation didn’t provide any answers either. I wished I could discover more, but he’d left the party.

  I delivered the rum to Rupert with a bright smile. He took a sip and looked up at me in wonder. “Miss Viana, be careful, or I’ll stop encouraging you to marry someone else.”

  I told him it was my pleasure and then decided to make a sweep of the room in case I might happen upon the man from North Joyce. As I walked toward a cluster of people I hadn’t yet met, I saw Cornelius step away from them and wave. I immediately turned off in a different direction, like I’d actually been on my way to see someone else. I had no desire to hear him try to sell poor Rupert to me again. In my haste, I nearly ran into Clara.

  “Smart move on your part,” she said. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  After tonight’s series of events, I couldn’t even guess what she was referring to. “What?”

  “Pursuing old Mister Chambers.” Her eyes drifted across the room to him before returning to me. “That’s playing the long game. Or maybe not so long. Won’t be much fun in the beginning, but he can’t have many years left. And then you’re a rich widow, free to do as you please.”

  My jaw dropped. “What? I’m not doing that!”

  “Well, you’re certainly friendly with him. And word gets around. You’ve been putting off other men.”

  She wasn’t entirely wrong about that. Over the last week, I’d realized that, once I could be sure Lonzo was taken care of, I had two paths for myself. One was to earn enough money from my work with Grant and Tom to buy my own freedom. That was a long shot. So, if I did have to get married, an open-minded husband like Rupert—who would respect me and give me my space—was preferable to most of the men I’d met. Once I’d settled on those two options, I saw no point in encouraging other suitors. I wasn’t rude to anyone—but I also made my indifference clear.

  “I’m still considering my choices,” I replied.

  “Well, I don’t care what you do. I think it’s brilliant, and he certainly hasn’t caught on.”

  She sauntered off, and my stomach sank. With everything else happening in my whirlwind of a life, I had never considered how choosing an older man might look to others. If I accepted the offer, it would be because it promised an honorable marriage with an interesting companion. I hated the idea of people thinking I was waiting for Rupert to die. I hated the idea of people thinking he was a naïve old man who didn’t know he was being used.

  Martha waved at me across the room, signaling it was time to go. As guilty as this revelation about Rupert made me, I would have to decide what to do about it later. Too many other matters sat higher on my list of priorities right now.

  “What a lovely dinner,” Martha said as I joined her. “And such a splendid house! But these shoes are hurting my feet. It’ll be nice to get home and rest.”

  “It will be,” I agreed, though I knew there’d be no rest for me. I’d promised to meet Tom for a job, and then I’d have to make sure I took Lonzo’s letter to Silas in time.

  My night was just beginning.

  CHAPTER 21

  TOM’S JOB THAT NIGHT WAS A QUICK ONE, DEALING WITH a landlord who had plans to drastically raise rents in one of the city’s poorer wharf districts. Most of his tenants couldn’t afford the new rates and would be turned out on the streets. Tom knew several of the residents, and one of his own men even lived there. But, as he told me, our task went beyond that: “It’s just the right thing to do.”

  I was inclined to agree when I saw the landlord’s opulent home, which was a far cry from the slums he charged so dearly for. We did our usual routine, subduing servants and clearing out as many valuables as we could find in the house. Tom made an abrupt flip from jovial to menacing, warning the landlord that we’d be back if the rents weren’t reconsidered.

  “Will he listen?” I asked Tom, once we’d left. I always wondered if any of these threats ever actually did any good.

  “Maybe. He looked like he took the message to heart. My guess is he’ll still raise it but not nearly so much. Saves face, gives him a little extra coin—hopefully keeps us away. And if he doesn’t do anything?” Tom shrugged. “We’ll find time to visit again.”

  “It’s sort of an . . . erratic system.”

  “It works, though, doesn’t it?”

  “Sometimes,” I said. We’d returned to the city’s heart and were nearing the Dancing Bull. “But we pick and choose who we ‘punish.’ And there’s no consistency in how we deal with these people.”

  “You don’t seem to mind dealing with them.”

  “I don’t. I know they’ve all done something. But the problem with selective justice is that it’s, well, selective.” I thought back to Osfro and the bias against Lonzo. “Laws exist to make sure everyone’s held to the same standards and treated the same way.”

  “You know as well as I do that even when you’ve got an ironclad set of laws, with people to enforce them—which this city doesn’t—there will still always be those who slip through the cracks. We deliver justice, my dear. Sometimes you have to operate outside the law for that.”

  My father had always said the same thing to justify his actions. I often soothed myself that what I did with Tom didn’t go to my father’s extremes, but there was no question that I was treading in ethically gray areas.

  Tom turned even more melodramatic than usual when I didn’t respond. “Oh, the agony you cause me. The pain. To suggest paperwork and procedure is preferable to me! You’re lucky my faith in you is so unwavering.” He handed me a gold coin. “And inconsistent or not, our system pays better.”

  I pocketed the coin but said, “This technically belongs to some of the tenants he gouged.”

  “Oh, we’ll make sure some of it cycles back to them. But first, we have another good deed to take care of.”

  The urgency of writing Lonzo’s letter had hung over me all evening. “No more jobs. I can’t stay tonight.”

  “It’s a deed, not a job.”

  Most of the crew remained at the tavern, but Lesser Tom joined Tom and me in carrying heavy sacks gathered from the tavern’s subterranean storage room. From there, we traveled to a poor neighborhood on the city’s west side where I’d made deliveries before. The houses were older and run-down, the people lean and desperate. No one harassed us. Those we passed waved and offered greetings—to all of us.

  We knocked on the door of a house belonging to one Mistress Smith. We usually brought our gifts straight to her for distribution. She knew who needed what in her community and was fair about spreading it around. Not even the most desperate would dare steal from her. She opened the door wearing a thin nightgown and a cap over her wispy curls. Despite the late hour, a smile lit her lined face when she saw us. She’d lived in this neighborhood longer than anyone and was a matriarch of sorts. Her diminutive frame housed a ferocious heart.

  “Tom, Tom, and my lady,” she said. “Come in, come in. Let me make you some tea.”

  Tom greeted her with a flourish of the cape. “No time to stay, I’m afraid. We just want to pass on a few gifts.”

  She exclaimed with delight when she saw what was in the bags: fruit, something scarce and expensive this time of year. The hosts whose parties I attended had the means to pay the current exorbitant prices. I’d been served apple tart just last night. Many of the guests had pushed their dessert away hal
f-eaten, claiming they were full. Thinking of that excess and looking at Mistress Smith now, I no longer felt so guilty about stealing the fruit. Besides, we’d actually taken it from another group of smugglers. Thieves stealing from thieves.

  “Oh, wait until everyone sees,” Mistress Smith said. “The Six’s blessings upon you all.”

  Tom basked in her adoration. He hadn’t made many deliveries in person for some time. “It’s our pleasure. Lady Aviel doesn’t sleep at night if she hasn’t given away a bit of my wealth.”

  Mistress Smith laughed as she watched Lesser Tom pass the sacks of fruit to a sleepy boy inside. “It’s good for you. And good of you. Wally, go get the present I made for Lady Aviel.”

  “What?” I asked, seeing the boy dart away.

  “Since you’ve been coming around, we’ve eaten better than ever. We all know who’s nudging Tom. I wanted to give you something in return.”

  “It’s not necessary. Not at all.” These people had so little, I couldn’t even imagine taking anything.

  “Hush,” she scolded. Wally returned and handed her a bundle of cloth. When she held it up, it unfolded into a black cloak with golden stars stitched all over it. I was so surprised that I didn’t refuse when she handed it over. The material was a sturdy but very basic wool. Mistress Culpepper would have turned her nose up at its plainness, but the gold thread bore the same quality I regularly saw in the Glittering Court. Tom noted it too.

  “Fit for an angel. Where’d you get the thread?”

  “Sold one of those jars of honey you brought us,” Mistress Smith said. “Bought just enough of a scrap to do up this cloak. I’d thought it’d match your hair.”

  “Take it,” Tom told me. “Yours is battered, and you need to dress up your image anyway. Mistress Smith has obviously put a great deal of work into it.”

  “I’m honored to wear it,” I told her, removing my old cloak and replacing it with the starry one.

  “Not many of your lot help us out. And never so generously.” Mistress Smith proceeded to tick off names on her fingers as she spoke. “Joanna Steel. Howard Gilly. They come around sometimes. But we never see the likes of Joseph Abernathy or John Gray anymore. Or that new one. Saddler.”

  “Sandler,” corrected Tom. “And that’s good to know. Keep me apprised of who else does or doesn’t visit.”

  Sandler! The name Miller and the North Joyce conspirator had mentioned. Could it be the same man?

  I could barely contain myself as we walked away. Trying to sound casual, I remarked, “I’ve never heard of any Sandler.”

  “New, as she said.” Tom grew thoughtful. “He gets some leniency for that, but he needs to learn the system. The veterans can get away with hoarding their loot, but newcomers need to establish goodwill.”

  “Someone’ll raid him,” Lesser Tom added. “Just to make a point. I heard he keeps his stash over in that ugly old boardinghouse on Water Street. Wouldn’t be too hard to, ah, stop by.” His voice held a hopeful note.

  Tom shook his head. “We have better things to do than harass some novice—especially since we may need to hire some extra hands soon. Which reminds me . . . what are you doing the night of the Flower Festival, my lady?”

  I was still reeling from the slip about Sandler and took a moment to process the question. “I have some commitments that evening.” That was downplaying it a bit. The Glittering Court would be attending a gala second only to our debut ball.

  “Well, this would be late, around the usual time you materialize, actually.”

  “What is it?” I asked, suspicious of the buildup.

  “A job, of course. But a big one. I’ll need more than my usual team, and I won’t lie to you: There’s very little that’s noble about it. We’re just stealing from a merchant who’ll be in the wrong place at the right time. It’s purely selfish. You may have to get your hands dirty, but I guarantee they’ll be filled with gold afterward.”

  “How dirty?”

  “Not at all, if I can help it. You know I try to keep that in check.” Seeing my hesitation, he asked, “I assume you still have debts? Make a dent in them.”

  The need for money had become much more critical, now that I knew where Lonzo was. Slowly, after much deliberation, I gave a nod of assent.

  “Excellent.” Tom lifted my hand and kissed it, and I wondered what I’d just agreed to. “Find me the night before, and we’ll have all the details finalized.”

  We parted ways, and I headed down a road that would take me to Silas’s. Before entering the busier areas, I found a quiet spot to adjust my wardrobe. I swapped my starry cloak for the battered one. A red wig stuffed into the cloak’s inner pocket replaced the blonde. I couldn’t move freely as Lady Aviel anymore.

  I walked a few streets over to the tailor shop and knocked on Silas’s door. He didn’t look thrilled to see me.

  “Aren’t you married yet?”

  “Grant said to come here because he’s out with the patrol.”

  “I know.” Silas shut the door behind me. “He told me about how you two overheard Miller. I didn’t even know you were still a part of this.”

  Ignoring the accusation in his voice, I took off my wig and mask and accepted a plain wooden chair, which seemed luxurious after Grant’s sparse loft.

  “You’ve got some kind of letter for me?” Silas asked, arms crossed.

  “Er, I actually need to write it here. If that’s okay. But before I do . . . I found out something else that might help you. Did you figure out who Sandler was? Grant didn’t know the name.”

  Silas shook his head. “No. But I’ll ask some contacts in the morning.”

  “Well, I think I already know. He’s a new pirate. And he keeps his goods at a boardinghouse on Water Street. One that’s allegedly ugly and old. That’s probably where those supplies will be moved from in the morning.”

  Both bushy eyebrows rose. “And how in the world do you know that?”

  “I have a source. A very reliable one,” I added, seeing his eyes narrow in skepticism. “I guarantee this is accurate. Can you get to the boardinghouse in time?”

  “Maybe. There are a few boardinghouses over there.” Silas sat down at a desk and sifted through stacks of paper until he found what looked like a map of the city. After a quick scan, he rolled it up and tossed it aside. “Not what I need. There’s paper and ink over there to write your letter.”

  I retrieved it and, with no other clear writing surface, sat on the floor. Silas continued rummaging around.

  As intimidating as I found him, I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “What about the North Joyce man? Could he have been one of the couriers on the list we stole from Abraham Miller?”

  “We?” Silas paused in his search. “You were there?”

  I squirmed under his gaze. “I thought Grant told you.”

  “There’s a lot he’s not telling me, apparently. Ah, this is it.” He spread out another map.

  I wrote a few lines of the letter, using an old Sirminican code of my father’s. Silas made a grunt of what sounded like satisfaction. I looked up. “Did you find the boardinghouse?”

  “Likely. There are three on that street. One’s new. I’ve got a hunch on which of the others is ‘ugly.’ Grant was just over there—he’ll know. I expect him any minute.”

  A sort of excited nervousness fluttered within me at that. His job finished, Silas sat back in his chair with the map, occasionally glancing down at me. Shifting so that I had a better look, I worked up the courage to speak again. “Mister Garrett, may I ask you something?”

  “Sure.” He stood up and walked over to me. “But I might not answer.”

  I hadn’t expected him to loom over me while I spoke. “Why isn’t there any law enforcement in Cape Triumph?”

  He did answer, so that was promising. “Well. There’s us. And the militia. And the army.”<
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  “The militia and the army are two separate groups with two separate ways of operating,” I pointed out. “And neither actually works consistently in the city. It’s not their main job, and a lot of the militiamen take bribes. As for you—the McGraws—you don’t enforce citywide laws. I know you have some authority from the king, but you only use it to serve your cases. There’s nothing unified here like there is in Evaria. No central city patrol or watch.”

  “Forming something like that would be the governor’s decision,” he said slowly. “Remember that Cape Triumph started off as a few shacks in the woods. Organized city watches weren’t really part of any master plan, and the army was enough muscle. Then the militia came along. And even though it’s sloppy, it’s what has held up here.”

  “Not from what I’ve seen. Pirates are enforcing justice.”

  He snorted. “Then go submit a proposal to Governor Doyle. You’re plucky. Maybe you could convince him to organize something.”

  “I’m Sirminican. And a woman. It’s hard to get any credibility at all—let alone permission to form a city watch.” I half expected Silas to agree. Instead, he just kept studying me, like this was the first time we’d met. He had a gruff, no-nonsense air and obviously didn’t suffer fools. I honestly wondered how Grant—who had his own share of headstrongness—managed to work for an authority figure like this. Or any authority figure, really. Pushing my luck, I asked, “Can I ask something else? About Grant?”

  “The less you know, the easier your life will be.”

  “Please, Mister Garrett. I just want to understand him.”

  Again, a delay. I kept wondering if Silas was trying to unsettle me or just needed that much time to think over his responses. “You really are ambitious. What’s your question?”

  “Grant said when he came to Cape Triumph as a child—when he was sent away from the Balanquans—that a couple took him in. Was that you?”

  “He told you that too?” That seemed to astonish Silas more than learning I’d helped steal the list. “Yes. It was me. And my wife. She passed a year after he left.” He paused again, letting that memory linger. “I tried to talk Grant out of going with him—his father—but Grant didn’t want anything to do with me at that point. He went off on his own and had to learn alone.”