by Neil McGarry
A good thing she had, too. Cecilia had shown up at her door at sixth bell, some three hours earlier than they’d agreed. The scholar’s barely restrained joy was so endearing that Duchess, tired as she was, lacked the heart to complain.
“It will take me some time to copy them. I dare not use the Scriptorium—”
“Take them.”
The girl blinked. “You don’t mean...”
Duchess laughed. “You trusted me, Cecilia. The least I can do is return the favor.”
Duchess didn’t think Cecilia could look any happier, but she was wrong. The scholar bounced out of her chair, sailed around the desk and swept her up in a hug, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Then she was pulling away, blushing furiously. “I’m sorry...I didn’t mean to be so—I’m so sorry!” she managed, staring at the ground, her cheeks as red as her hair.
Duchess raised an eyebrow. It’d been a simple kiss on the cheek. What was wrong with—
She suddenly remembered Cecilia’s remark that her father knew she would not be married happily, and she felt her own cheeks start to burn. Jana had once pointed out that there was no Rodaasi word for men like Lysander, which of course meant there was no word for women like Cecilia. Then she felt ashamed of herself for blushing.
She smiled. “It’s fine, Cecilia.” The girl did not look convinced. She laughed. “Really. It’s fine.”
The girl was still bright red as she gathered up the books. “I just...thank you! Just glancing over these is such a...a vindication. You don’t know what it’s like, how I’m treated by the other scholars...”
Duchess resumed her seat. “I can guess.”
Cecilia blinked. “Of course you can. I’m...I’m making a fool of myself.”
Duchess didn’t manage to hold back another laugh. “In a good cause, I assure you. Now that I’ve done as I promised...”
Cecilia seated herself across the desk from Duchess. “Of course! I’ll keep my word. My own thesis can wait. I’ll read the diaries and find everything I can.”
Duchess nodded. “I’m sure you will. I just have one more request.” All night she’d thought long and hard about what came next. P was a force in the city, as he had been for an impossibly long time. He had influenced the career of Pete the Pearl, just as surely as her own, and gods only knew those of how many others. Now she needed to know who, or what, P was, and more, what he intended. The firebreak of Pete’s rumors hemmed her in from every side.
It was a risk, but the time had come to roll the dice. She reached into her pocket and placed the brass coin—P’s mark—on the desk between her and Cecilia.
“May I?” Duchess nodded, and the scholar picked up the coin, turning it over in her hand. “It's not Rodaasi, that much is certain, but I'd like to check my sources before I say any more. I’d need to take this—” She bit her lip. “You’ve trusted me far enough, I think.” She dug into her satchel and produced a slender piece of charcoal and a sheaf of paper. She laid a single sheet across the coin’s surface and gently took a rubbing of each side. “Obviously much older than anything we ever minted,” she murmured as she drew the charcoal across the paper, “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if this was an artifact of Old Domani itself. Currency was something else the Rodaasi never used, at least until we came to the hill. Even the words we use—florin, sou—aren’t Rodaasi, although we seem to have invented ‘penny.’ It’s believed the ancient Rodaasi used a barter system, as one still sees among the Nerrish today.”
“But that changed when we came to the city?”
Cecilia nodded, finishing with the charcoal and returning it to her pack. “Though our ancestors must have known of currency even before. Most of the known world—the Ulari Archipelago, the Ahé Confederacy, the Territories, the Southern Duchies—was a client state to Old Domani. But those cultures retained their integrity after the old empire collapsed.”
“But not the Rodaasi.”
Cecilia shrugged and handed the coin back to Duchess. She stood and carefully gathered up the books, hugging them lovingly to her chest. “I’ll find everything I can—about what you asked, and about this coin. I’ll be in touch as soon as I know anything useful.”
Duchess saw her out, then sat on her bed, carefully avoiding the hole left by the Shard. She glanced over to the floorboards under which it lay, hidden. She thought again of the Key. The Uncle had passed it back to Eusbius. Tyford himself had stolen it a second time, at Amabilis’ request. And Finn had taken it to Morel in the Narrows, based on a vision Adam Whitehall had witnessed—a vision ending in a poison that even Jadis would not know.
She should try to get some sleep. The day would be upon her soon enough and the shop awaited with a thousand thousand worries and duties. As she drifted off, she dreamed of the Key and of Morel, the keeper of the Narrows. In her dreams, he wore his black robes and her father’s face, and he whispered the secrets of the Domae in her ear as he drew the blade across both their throats.
Chapter Sixteen: Family business
“We still have a choice to make,” Jana pointed out.
Duchess made a wry smile. “Lysander would say that you either fuck the man or leave the bed.” Jana, clearing stray threads from her largest loom, blushed furiously and Duchess was amazed that a woman who had seen the things she had seen could be so shy when it came to carnal matters. Still, Jana was right; they’d both been avoiding this. Duchess had given multiple excuses for putting off a decision—she’d had to deal with Pete the Pearl, with Cecilia and the Uncle—but the time had come to choose between Gloria Tremaine and Ferroc.
Duchess sighed. “We’ve gone over it a hundred times and I still don’t feel any closer to knowing what’s right.” Castor was upstairs visiting with Far, and Lysander hadn’t yet turned up, so she and Jana were alone in the shop. “Tremaine’s got the contacts up the hill—the Davari party made that clear enough—but I don’t trust her as far as I can throw her.”
“Then we should choose Ferroc, yes?”
Duchess shrugged. “She’s offered more money, certainly, although where she got it I can’t imagine. Ferroc’s shop is in the Shallows, for Mayu’s sake, yet she’s got a note from the Countinghouse. It just doesn’t add up.” Duchess hated feeling in the dark. “I just wish I knew where her money was coming from.”
“Who cares where it comes from, as long as it’s good,” said Lysander, entering from the rear of the shop. “You concentrate on entirely the wrong things, if you ask me.”
“Nice of you to eavesdrop,” Duchess remarked dryly. “I don’t recall asking you at all. Where have you been anyway? It’s after noon.”
“I was supposed to meet the girls for a look at Doctor Domae, but Deneys had a last-minute client and Brenn was in one of his moods so I ditched them and came here, where my wisdom is obviously required.”
“Doctor Domae?” Duchess asked in a strained voice. “You’ve got to be kidding.” She glanced at Jana, who was still clearing threads, as if she had not heard.
Lysander hopped up on the counter and drew his legs up, looking like a cat in cream. “As I see it, you started this. Before you made Jana’s cloth the talk of the city nobody cared about foreign things, but now anything vaguely Domae is all the rage. The good doctor’s even been seen in Garden District, which tells you whatever he’s selling is definitely in style. Prettiest boy on the lane, remember?”
“Just what is he selling?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t seen him myself, but Deneys says it’s a cure for this and a potion for that—the usual hokum. Different pitch, same con. He’s been peddling his wares in Trades lately; we should go see him. It’ll get you out and about, at least.”
Jana kept working, but from the tightness of her mouth Duchess didn’t need to ask how she felt about this Doctor Domae. “I don’t think either of us would like it.” Lysander’s eyes shifted to Jana and only then did he seem to realize his mistake. Without hesitation he slid off the counter and gave the weaver a warm hug. Duchess was amazed at the casu
al intimacy, and more than a little jealous; she would have fumbled about with apologies and awkward silences, but Lysander cut straight to the heart of the problem in his usual affectionate way.
Jana sat stiffly for a moment, then leaned back against him, patting his hand. “Thank you, but it is fine,” she told him gently.
“It’s not fine,” Duchess insisted, angrier than she expected.
Lysander looked at her. “People have had a problem with foreigners long before Doctor Domae showed up,” he pointed out, “and they’ll have a problem long after he’s gone.”
“Maybe,” Duchess grudgingly conceded, “but it doesn’t mean we have to pay to see it.” She was about to say more when she saw both Jana and Lysander staring at the door. Turning, she saw a strangely familiar figure standing in the open doorway; a tall and slender young Domae boy with blue-black hair. Mikkos, she realized, the boy from the Vermillion. Had Minette finally chosen to send her a message?
“Well, hello,” Lysander purred, but Jana sat frozen, her mouth an O of surprise.
Before Duchess could even think to say or do anything, Jana was out of her seat and running across the room, arms outstretched like a child. The boy—young man, really—smiled brilliantly, his long arms opening to enclose Jana in a hug. He was so much taller that she barely came up to his chest and he easily placed a cheek lovingly against the top of her head.
“I guess they’ve met,” Lysander said wryly, moving to stand next to Duchess.
“I don’t—” Duchess had barely gotten the words out when Jana suddenly pushed herself away from the boy, looking up at him sternly, her dark eyes flashing. A rapid stream of Domae words flowed from her angry lips, and Duchess didn’t need to know the language to recognize a reprimand. Mikkos made as if to reply but flinched away when Jana brandished an accusatory finger within an inch of his nose. Duchess looked helplessly at Lysander; she’d never seen the weaver so angry.
Finally, Jana took the boy by the arm and pulled him forward to greet them. “Duchess, Lysander,” she said through tight lips, “I am sorry to be discourteous. Please allow me to introduce my brother, Mikkos.” She glared up at him once more and he withered under her gaze. “I may have mentioned him once or twice.”
* * *
The tea was delicious, the conversation uncomfortable.
They’d locked the door and spread themselves out on floor pillows while Duchess saw to the refreshments. Jana would normally have taken care of this task, but she had more sharp words for Mikkos. Those had been in Domae until Mikkos had pointed out that it was discourteous to speak in a language the edunae did not understand. Jana had then proceeded to berate him in Rodaasi. Clearly Lysander had been teaching her some choice words, among them liar and sneak.
“So how long have you been in the city, Mikkos?” Duchess asked, to head off another reprimand.
“Since the end of last winter,” Mikkos muttered, his eyes flicking between Duchess and his cup. That almost set off another rant, which Duchess headed off by refilling Jana’s cup. She glanced over at Lysander but he was staring starry-eyed at Mikkos. She elbowed him and he blinked.
“So,” he said loudly and everybody turned to face him. His eyes widened and Duchess shook her head. She’d never seen him like this. “You followed Jana all the way to Rodaas,” he stammered. “That was very sweet of you.”
“Yes. Sweet.” Jana’s face was stone, her tone acid. “Tell them, adelphos mou. Tell them why you came.”
Mikkos’ dark eyes were suddenly full of tears. “If it hadn’t been me she would have sent someone else! Someone who wouldn’t understand!”
Duchess looked between Jana and her brother, confused. “Who sent you?”
“Adelpha,” Jana replied, fixing Mikkos with a gimlet eye until he squirmed. Then she looked to Duchess. “You remember what I told you after the Godswalk?”
“The Vessel of Mnemosyne?”
Mikkos’ eyes widened. “You told an edunae of—”
Jana’s finger was suddenly an inch from his nose. “You,” she said in a calm but warning tone, “do not get to speak of what should and should not be done. And if these people—” she indicated Duchess and Lysander “—are soulless, then what are you and I?” Mikkos gulped and said nothing more. Jana turned back to Duchess. “I was to be Adelpha’s heir, the next vessel. When I left I am sure it caused much trouble. I am not surprised Adelpha would send someone to spy on me.” She glanced pointedly at Mikkos. “I am surprised that it was my own brother, and that he kept this from me for so long.”
“I stayed hidden because I knew you would never believe me,” Mikkos protested, his slender hands raised before him as if in defense. “What was I supposed to do?” He slid off his cushion and went to his knees in supplication. “If I had come to you when I first arrived, you would have sent me away. Adelpha would have sent another, perhaps one with orders to bring you back, will you or no. Don’t you see?” Jana said nothing, but Duchess could see the anger draining from her eyes, and she herself felt a stab of pity at the boy’s plea.
“Mikkos,” Duchess said, trying to break the stalemate. “I saw you at the Vermillion. How long have you been working for Minette?”
Mikkos returned to his seat. “When I first got to the city, it was hard, so hard. The edunae would have nothing to do with me, and the Domae living here were afraid of Jana, and would have nothing to do with her.” He sighed. “After awhile, I learned she was living in the Deeps. I even lived for a time not far away, but it was...difficult. Dangerous. I worried all the time that she might see me or hear about a strange Domae living nearby. And there was the matter of making a living. I was sent with some small coin, but it soon ran out. No one wanted to hire a Domae, especially one fresh from the Westerlands, but then...” He trailed off uncomfortably.
“Let me guess,” Duchess said, finally. “Minette found you.”
He nodded unhappily. “She knew who I was, and, somehow, why I was there. She said I could live in her Vermillion, where I would be fed and protected. She also said she could help me keep an eye on my sister.” He frowned. “She made me an offer, a good one. I would...work...for her and she would keep an eye on my sister. She seemed to know so much that I could not say no. The...work...was not always what I—” He broke off, eyes shining.
“You did what you had to,” Lysander said quietly and Mikkos looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. “I lived in the Deeps, too, and you do what’s necessary to get out alive.”
Mikkos nodded gratefully, swiping at his eyes. “Minette gave me regular reports, and I turned those over to Adelpha through a Domae trader. I hated to spy on you, Jana, but it was the only way to protect you. I never wanted to make you go back, and would never have tried. You know she would have known if I were lying to her.”
“So why show yourself now?” Duchess asked, and the other three all looked at her, confusion clear on their faces. “Your arrangement with Minette was working fine. What’s changed?”
Mikkos glanced away. “A woman came, saying that she had purchased my services from Minette. My time at the Vermillion was over, she said, and I was to present myself here as her assistant.”
Duchess’ eyes widened in understanding. “Ferroc.” Mikkos nodded and Duchess sighed. “So you’re the new apprentice she promised, the one she said we could trust absolutely.” Still, something wasn’t quite right here. Although Mikkos seemed to be telling the truth, Minette was not one to easily give up what she considered valuable.
Jana looked to Mikkos and her last resistance crumbled. She leaned forward and embraced him again. The young man clutched her with almost panicky strength, and Duchess struggled to hide her own tears. How might she react if her own brother, Justin, suddenly showed up on her doorstep? She glanced at Lysander and saw that his eyes also seemed to shine.
“Well, Mikkos,” Duchess said after a moment. “Welcome to our little family.”
* * *
“I was about to warn you,” Lysander whispered as
they stepped out of the shop, “that if you didn’t hire the boy, I was going to personally stab you in your sleep.”
They’d cleared out to give brother and sister some time to themselves and now they were watching the endless flow of people up and down Dock Street, tending to normal life matters: buying and selling, washing laundry, a quotidian rhythm Duchess had always found comforting.
She sighed. “He’s a spy, Lysander, even if he never admitted it.”
“But he’s a really adorable spy...”
She rolled her eyes. She’d definitely never seen Lysander like this. “Regardless. We don’t keep people around just because they’re cute. You’re the exception that proves the rule.”
He frowned and leaned against the doorframe. “You think Tremaine’s spies will be any better? Can you imagine working with the likes of Rebecca?”
She thought about that a moment. “You’ve got me there.” She watched the people go by. “But it’s not just Ferroc we’re dealing with.”
He was not slow to catch her drift. “Minette.”
“Exactly.” She turned to him. “She had to have known we’d figure out she was involved in sending Mikkos, and it’s not like her to be so obvious. Sure, it’s another way to keep an eye on me without anyone else knowing, but...” She thought of the conversation she’d heard between the Uncle and Antony. She’s on the move. “I think I know where Ferroc’s money is coming from.”
Lysander’s eyes widened as he caught her drift. “But why? What is Minette up to?”
“She’s moving her pieces into position. Minette’s been playing a very long game. I think Ferroc knew she’d have Minette’s help before she made me her offer. She knew she’d have both a Domae that would have no problem working with Jana and the money to match Tremaine’s offer.”
“First Galeon, now Ferroc?”
She nodded. “She’s calling in her favors, maneuvering people in her debt into positions of power. Galeon over Ophion, Ferroc over Gloria Tremaine. The Uncle was right to be worried.”
