While the physiognomy of these slaughtered siblings may have fascinated the deranged Turg, it became clear from his findings (before he was taken to sea and sunk) that he had been asking the wrong questions.
When a twin expires, the living sibling has two options: he may either live or die. Because a spirit will sometimes have a firmer grasp on one child than the other, the second brother’s mortality is likely to be determined by whether or not the spirit remains with him or moves forward into the next life. Because the spirit will go one way or the other, killing a twin, though terrible, is not the cruelest of punishments.
It’s when twins are separated for long periods of time and over long distances that things may become particularly unstable, magically speaking. There will be a point at which the two bodies between which the spirit travels are put at too great a distance. As the connection between siblings fails, the spirit will either abandon a sibling, leaving him soulless, or be split in two. In the latter scenario, these separate parts are not necessarily symmetrical, but they are both, by their nature, vastly incomplete. Each sibling lives still, it’s true, but it’s a feeble sort of life—lived with only a fraction of a soul.
* * * * *
Rose’s head buzzed pleasantly as she watched the Captain throwing his weight against the tall lever while his crew hurried to lift a shifted board back into place. His muscles strained against the tanned skin of his shirtless torso and the sweat of his effort glistened in the sun. There was a strange leaping sensation that passed throughout her body—a desire to be near him…to touch him.
With a start, Rose realized she was being watched.
From a shadow emerged the Scribe, his gaze piercing. Rose tore her eyes away from the Captain, fighting the embarrassed blush that came to her cheeks.
“You’ve been getting too much sun, Master Rose,” said Fenric kindly, giving her a reason to appear so red. “Perhaps you should consider asking for a position on the night shift. There would be fewer distractions, I should think.”
Rose realized that her gaze had strayed once more to the Captain. The board had been shifted and the crew moved to nail it in place. No longer needed, Kaille stepped back to rest his muscles. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a broad, sinewy arm.
“I’m heading out,” said Fenric, clearing his throat.
It took a moment for Rose to register his words. “I should go get—” she began.
“No, I shall be heading out,” he repeated, changing his emphasis. “You shall be finding your own way.”
“But how would I—” Rose attempted to ask.
“It’s not my wish to tell you the how,” explained the Scribe. “That’s not our arrangement. I’ll be giving you the tasks and you’ll be figuring out how to accomplish them. That’s the bargain.”
The light, giddy feeling in Rose’s chest had vanished. It was replaced by fear. She gave Fenric her full attention. “What are my tasks, then?”
“You built the groundwork for getting into the estate on our last visit—” the Scribe started to say.
“But I didn’t get in,” Rose felt the need to point out. “The master of the house was on to me.”
“No, you didn’t get in, but as I was saying, you’ve laid the groundwork for future attempts,” explained Fenric patiently. “You now know, for instance, the layout of the estate and the loyalty of the servants.”
Rose frowned and said nothing. She supposed that what he said was true after a fashion, but she didn’t feel any more sure of her ability to get inside this evening than she had before.
Taking her silence for a newfound confidence, perhaps, Fenric pulled from his overcoat a crisp, sealed letter. It had a name upon the front that Rose couldn’t read, made up of symbols she only vaguely recognized.
“You’ll find the Lord Delahaye’s study and set this at the bottom of his pile of correspondence, do you understand?” Fenric asked.
“No,” Rose answered. “Why would I do that?”
“I’m not asking if you understand why I’ve given you this task,” Fenric said sternly, “only if you understand the task itself.”
“Aye, I suppose,” Rose said, nodding uneasily.
“Good,” Fenric said, sounding pleased. “And after you’ve done that, you’ll go down to the party and dance with the girl in the pink dress. You have the clothes I sent you for?”
Rose thought about the bundle of dark garments she’d shoved into her trunk. She hadn’t been neat about it, considering her fear that Auk was on her heels. “Aye, I do, though I don’t know if they’re—”
“Are they black?” Fenric demanded to know. Rose answered in the affirmative. “Then they’ll be fine. Here, take this,” Fenric said. Reaching under his shirt, he lifted an ornate golden chain from around his neck. Large opals drooped decadently down from its stout metal links. Rose examined it in awe, wondering what else the Scribe might be hiding in plain sight. He placed the jewelry over her head. The weight of the chain’s large stones weighed heavily on her chest, making it hard to breathe.
“Richness is in the details, you see,” the Scribe explained.
“So you’re serious?” Rose asked, swaying under the weight of the neckpiece and the gravity it lent to her task. “You want me to go to a ball at that giant house?”
“The Estate,” Fenric corrected, “and yes. But, as I said, you must find your own way.”
“But why?” Rose asked, suddenly frightened. “I thought the whole point of this was—”
“The ‘whole point’ as you say, is for you to do as I tell you,” Fenric said.
“But wouldn’t it be faster if I—”
“This isn’t about what would be faster,” said Fenric patiently, “it’s about what would be better.”
“You want me to dance with a girl?” Rose murmured, trying to recall his requests. “But I don’t know how to dance…”
“Everybody knows how to dance,” Fenric said dismissively. “Have you tried?”
“Well, no,” Rose admitted, “but I don’t think—”
“That’s exactly right,” Fenric interrupted, preparing to leave, “don’t think. Just do as I say. Oh, and this will help.”
Unexpectedly, the Scribe produced a dagger and handed it to her. Rose took it, releasing the blade from the scabbard, and felt herself shiver as the knife edge twinkled fiendishly in the twilight.
“But…but where are you going?” Rose asked nervously, holding the blade loosely in her confusion.
“To see an old friend,” said the Scribe vaguely. “And to put my own plans in motion.” He dropped an expectant look at the dagger and walked off, leaving Rose standing, bewildered, in his wake.
* * * * *
Simone calmly made a final twist in her sleek, auburn hair and inserted a pin to keep the strands in place. She smiled at Gerhin, who was nearly finished with the back. “Do you think Papa will like it?” she asked, taking in her appearance and seeing herself resplendent in light blue silk.
“Him and every other man,” said Gerhin with a knowing smile. She patted her charge affectionately on the shoulder.
From off to the side came a cry, however, and their shared smiles disappeared.
“No, oh no,” sobbed Lucy in a panic as she attempted to pull the purple dress over her underclothes. She was finding it to be a poor fit. “This can’t be happening!”
“What is it Lucy?” Simone inquired as Gerhin hastily finished her work and moved to the family’s ward.
“The dress…it won’t close!” Lucy called, still struggling. “Please, please no!”
“How far open is it?” Simone asked, rising from her stool and falling down at Lucy’s feet. “How can I help you, my sweet? Maybe I can sew it?”
“It’s whole inches, Miss,” said Gerhin, tugging roughly at the purple fabric. “It’ll never work.”
“Just tighten your corset,” suggested Emibelle, applying rouge to her lips while trying to hide her amusement. “I forgot how much thinner I am than you.�
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Simone frowned. “She can’t do that Emi, she’ll faint.”
“I would anyway,” Lucy said, continuing her desperate shimmy, “but it’s already as tight as it’ll go.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” said Gerhin, showing her reddened fingers. “I couldn’t pull no harder.”
Lucy dropped herself in a heap in front of the looking glass, meeting her own bright gray eyes. “I don’t understand!” she cried to her reflection.
“Well, you’ve grown a lot in the last year, Lucy,” Simone answered. “You’re almost a woman now—”
“Stop talking!” Lucy screamed, throwing her head back. She took several deep breaths, fighting so that the tears in her eyes wouldn’t overflow. Realizing she’d snapped at the girl she adored, she turned and tried to explain, “I need to fit into this dress! I have to go to the ball! Can we add fabric, make it bigger?”
“I don’t have anything that dark, Lucy,” Simone said uncertainly.
“You’ll just have to wear the pink,” observed Emibelle with a sneer, now tucking a few stray strands of hair into her elaborate updo.
“No!” Lucy spat, twirling back to the mirror. “No, I won’t! I’d rather die!”
“Well, I guess you could skip the party…” Simone suggested softly.
Lucy wheeled around to face her, incredulous, “Never!”
Simone swallowed her sense of pity, “I don’t know what else to do, Lucy…”
“Get out!” the Ward cried.
“Lucy—” Simone begged.
“Get out!” Lucy wailed again, slamming her closed fists into the dressing table. Pins, ribbons, and ointments clattered about. “I hate all of you! Go away!”
“Gods, tantrum much?” Emibelle said with a sniff, looking to her older sister. “I told you she’s too young to handle it.”
“You’re not helping, Emibelle,” Simone said with a sigh. She looked back to her foster sister, eyes full of sympathy, “Lucy—”
“Fine, I’ll go,” said the crying girl, fighting the sympathetic hands that held her. “Let me go!”
“Who said anything about helping?” Emibelle continued, turning back to the looking glass. “You can’t reason with her: she’s practically an infant.”
Lucy gave Emibelle one last, mortified look before rushing away, purple gown still hanging open at her waist. She tripped over the excess fabric, heard it rip, and kept running.
“You can’t give the dress back if you ruin it,” Emibelle called out the door upon hearing the tearing sound. “You’re mine for a year!”
“Just wear the pink, Lucy,” Simone called from the doorway, her tone worried and hopeful. She wouldn’t have given an ungenerous look to her younger sister, but she did wish the two of them could find a way to get along.
* * * * *
Rose couldn’t begin to comprehend how to make Fenric’s commands a reality. She tried to brainstorm, but even the task of ordering her unruly mind seemed impossible: like recalling a dropped tear from the briny sea.
Instead, she contemplated the precisely straight line where the crystal water met the open blue sky. The sea looked so peaceful from far away, but she knew by now how violent it could become, and how endlessly deep it must be.
She attempted again to consider the tasks that Fenric had given her. Try as she might to focus on the future, the needle-sharp dagger at her side kept recalling her to the present.
Rose had never owned a weapon before. Besides what seemed obvious, she didn’t know how to use one. Fenric’s tasks took on an ominous light when seen through the sparkle of a piercing blade. Had he meant to couple his final request—to dance with a girl in pink—with the gift of the dagger, or had that been a coincidence? Rose wasn’t sure she believed in coincidence.
It was too overwhelming. Shaking her head, she cleared from it all thoughts, doubts, and suspicions. It was pointless. Besides, hadn’t he instructed her not to think?
Of course, doubts can’t usually be willed away within an undisciplined mind, which was exactly the type that Rose possessed. As thoughts continued to surge through her brain like waves battling a rocky shore, she was joined by a miserable-looking Tappan.
“I didn’t realize the prank would make things worse,” he said, collapsing upon the rail.
Rose, frustrated with her attempts to both think and refrain from thinking, didn’t feel that she had time for problems as small as a ship’s bully. “We did it to give him a taste of his own medicine,” she said, as though it was obvious. “We weren’t trying to make things better.”
Tappan bent his head, chided. “Okay, fair enough,” he said. “But what do we do about it? I haven’t slept for fear that he’ll get back at me. I’m so tired, Ben.”
“He thinks Auk did it,” Rose said with a frown, amazed at Tappan’s simpleminded logic. “Why are you worried?”
Tappan thought about this for a moment too and looked sheepish once more. He wasn’t through feeling apprehensive, however, and continued, “Well, what if Auk realizes it was us and then he comes and beats me in my sleep? I mean, Cricket—”
“Shh!” Rose hissed, spying the red-haired shiphand himself walking up behind them. She searched for another topic. “I’m getting pretty good at the clove hitch,” she said nervously. “I couldn’t get it through my head at first, but now I think it’s my favorite knot.”
“What?” Tappan asked, straightening his back in confusion. Then, seeing Cricket join them, he caught on, “Oh, aye, it’s dead useful.”
“You monkeys are stupid,” Cricket observed. “There’s no such thing as a favorite knot. What a stupid conversation.”
“Hey, Crick,” Tappan couldn’t help himself saying, “how’s your head doing?”
“Shut up! Nobody asked you!” Cricket yelled, smacking Tappan’s shoulder. “Go away, I have to talk to Ben.”
“I don’t know if—” Tappan muttered, looking protectively at Rose. She nodded that she would be fine.
“Get out of here,” Cricket demanded as Tappan had already turned to leave. He focused his attention on her. “Look, I’ve been thinking about what we saw.”
“About that,” said Rose, feeling uncomfortable, “I’m not sure I saw anything.”
“What are you, a sissy?” Cricket cried. “Come on, we found pure gold! We control that fat slob now.”
“He’s Second,” Rose argued uncomfortably, “he can’t be controlled—”
Cricket laughed at her naivete. “You want me to call him over here and prove it?”
“No!” Rose cried, thinking about how much the Second detested idle musing. “He’ll say I should be working and box my ears!”
“Ugh, don’t you understand?” Cricket practically gagged on his superiority. “He has no power over us now. You and me, we’re set for life.”
Rose shook her head. “Look, Cricket, I’m not trying to be simple. I really don’t understand what—”
“Do I have to spell it out for you, Misses Monkey?” Cricket asked, disgusted. “He’s a pickle-sniffer. You know…a ditch digger.” When Rose returned a blank look, Cricket practically fell over himself. “Come on, were you born under a rock? He does the deed with other men!”
Cricket’s shocked expression told Rose that this must be a very bad thing. She couldn’t tell if she was supposed to be ashamed or proud that it didn’t bother her. It wasn’t that she was ignorant about sexual intercourse…it was more that she had always lacked an interest in it. She’d been too busy chasing her twin brother back and forth across the hills and canyons of Kentshore in play to have been pursuing boys or romance. It didn’t feel right to form an opinion of something that seemed to concern her so little. She shrugged at the young shiphand.
“Illiam and Arion, are you kidding me?” Cricket shouted. Slapping his palm upon his forehead, he recalled, “Oh wait, what am I thinking? You’re from Kentshore, you were born under a whole kingdom of rocks. If you need me to explain, then here it is: we got him by his saggy, brown balls, a
lright? He can’t ever criticize us again, because if we tell, he’ll be kicked off the ship.” With a depraved cackle, he added, “If we play it right, we’ll get him kicked off while we’re in the middle of the sea, and you have to know the worm-licker can’t swim.”
“Wait, he can’t swim?” Rose asked, finding this fact far more curious than the ones that came before. In truth, the whole situation seemed far-fetched. She couldn’t imagine how even the most dreadful secret could turn a proud man into Cricket’s puppet. He had to be lying about this—exaggerating his own power—but he had no reason to lie about Auk’s inability to swim…
“No sailors can, dummy,” Cricket said as though this was common knowledge. “Anyway, that’s why I was thinking we should wait to start a fight with him until we’re back under sail.”
“I don’t think I can do that, Cricket,” said Rose, feeling sick. How could she be part of sending a man to his death in the deep blue? “I don’t even know—”
“What’s wrong with you monkeys?” Cricket implored, throwing up his hands. “It’s like you’re all a bunch of women! Life’s tough out at sea, and here you are crying over pole dancers and savages. You’ll never make it as a sailor if you go on this way.”
Rose was beginning to think this might be true when the Captain’s voice called out, “Ben!” Happy for an excuse to leave, Rose moved to answer him.
“He’s not calling for you,” said Cricket with a disgusted shake of his head. “Stop trying to be all special by answering. I’m handing you as much power as you’ll ever need right here.”
“Ben!” came the repeated call.
Rose shook her head at the freckled boy. “I’ll see you later, Cricket.”
“Ben!” the Captain called again as Rose approached. Upon seeing her and realizing his mistake, he swore loudly. “I meant—never mind,” he muttered.
Rose was as disappointed by the distress on his face as she was upon seeing that his muscular torso had been put away inside a ruffled shirt and doublet. His curly black hair was wetted and combed, though the discomfort at being so well dressed was evident in his every gesture.
Kaille scratched his head, his sense of command lost. He nodded at her, “I only need someone to hire a carriage and then stay with it while I talk to Fenric’s contact, so I suppose you’ll do. Run down and fetch us a ride.”
The Secret's Keeper and the Heir Page 19
