“Red doesn’t care. He wasn’t willing to cut them up here. He did as thorough an examination as he could, given that, but that’s it. The Sergeant wouldn’t give leave to have the bodies moved; apparently the Dragon Court had a word or two to say about that.”
Kaylin had a few words to say, too. She kept them to herself and turned to Gilbert. Gilbert was staring at the three corpses. She wasn’t certain what a healthy skin color was supposed to be in a member of Gilbert’s race—but she was pretty certain that white-gray wasn’t it.
“They are not dead,” he said again. She walked to where the bodies were laid out and knelt. Or tried to kneel. Gilbert had grabbed her shoulder.
“I’ve touched them before,” she pointed out. Gilbert released her shoulder reluctantly, and she poked the small familiar. He sighed and lifted a translucent wing so that it covered half her face. She didn’t watch him do this; she was looking at the corpses.
They vanished.
She’d expected that, given her previous experience.
What she didn’t expect to see—inches beyond where the top of each man’s head was positioned—were three oddly luminescent, standing stones.
At first glance, they were uniform in size. She frowned and once again readjusted the familiar’s wing until it covered both of her eyes; he bit her hand in annoyance, but not hard enough to draw blood. The bodies were no longer visible.
With the exception of the lack of bodies and the presence of the stones, the room was the same. So, to Kaylin’s relief, were the people standing in it.
“Gilbert,” she said, as she cautiously approached the closest of these standing stones, “what do you see here?”
“I see three of your kind.” There was a moment’s pause and then he continued, “They are far, far clearer to me than anyone in this room, save Kattea. If I understand what Kattea has said about mortality, these men are not dead.”
Kaylin opened her mouth.
Gavin spoke first. “Red had some concerns. I told you: you want that information, you’ll need to mirror in for it, or talk to Red yourself.”
Thanks, Gavin. Grimacing, she moved again. “Gilbert, can you see standing stones here?”
“Stones?”
Kaylin took that as a no.
“Private,” Gavin said sharply.
She glanced back at him while the familiar complained.
“What are you doing?”
“When I look through my familiar’s wing, I can see three stones; they’re in a triangular pattern. I’m examining them.”
“That’s not what he means,” Kattea said. She hesitated and then added, “What he means is, you—you’re kind of standing in that guy’s face.”
“On?”
“No. In.” She started to come out from behind Gilbert’s back, and Kaylin realized he was holding her in place. His third eye hadn’t closed, and she could see reflected light across the whole of its surface. “It’s kind of creepy.”
“This place—it is not stable,” he said. He turned to Kattea. “Kattea, return home.”
“I’m not going without—”
“Now.” This last word was not uttered quietly. Kaylin wouldn’t have been surprised if the whole neighborhood heard it. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the inhabitants of the Palace heard it.
Kattea surprised Kaylin; she hung on, but she was pale in her resolution and visibly trembling.
His shoulders sagged and he lifted her. “I am sorry. I am not accustomed to company; not like yours. You are too slight for this, and I do not want to see you hurt.”
Pale, she said nothing.
“What did you see, Gilbert?” Kaylin asked quietly.
He was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on Kattea, who was now seated in the crook of his arm as if she were a baby. An angry baby, but still precious. “I told you that when I met Kattea, it was difficult for me to see her. To perceive her.”
“You said she was like Lord Nightshade.”
“Yes. And you disagreed.”
“I disagreed less profoundly than Kattea would.”
“That is true. But regardless, it was difficult to see her. Difficult to hear her. It is...difficult for me to see the boundaries of your buildings, your streets. It is difficult to eat your food. It is like...grasping the smoke from your fire would be to you; grasping it and trying to make it solid, to make it functional.
“There are key areas, geographies if you will, in your world that are not as insubstantial or difficult, to me. The Castle was one. Your Helen is another. If I look out across the breadth of your city, there are a handful of monuments that are as solid—to my eyes—as your city is to yours.
“What you did for me, what you called healing, was helpful in this regard. I do not see you as you see yourself—I do not think that is possible—but I see you more clearly than I did before.”
“The basement of your house?”
“It is real, to me.”
“And the basement of this one?”
“It is real.”
“The stones?”
“They are not, in any sense of the word, stone.” He exhaled. “Seeing you at all, seeing Kattea, is an act of...translation? You are writ in a tongue of which I have only rudimentary understanding. I glean meaning, but it takes effort, and it is exhausting. Your familiar is real to me. He is a comfort. He understands the difficulty—but he does not share it. He speaks my tongue as comfortably as he speaks yours, in a metaphorical sense.
“The bodies, and the stones that you can see only with the help of your familiar, are not like you, or Severn, or any of your other friends. But they are nonetheless much more like you than I am.”
Kaylin could only barely understand how someone could look at standing stones and confuse them with actual people. “How are they like us?”
Squawk.
“If you saw what Gilbert sees, you could’ve tried harder to communicate it.”
Squawk.
“Could you speak with the stones?”
Gilbert frowned.
“You can speak with us,” Kaylin pointed out.
He turned to Kaylin. “You will have to take Kattea.”
Kattea threw her arms around his neck. She would not look at Kaylin at all.
“Every attempt at communication is an act of inversion,” Gilbert explained. “And I am not certain that it is safe for Kattea to be in my physical presence while I make the attempt. It caused your Nightshade some difficulty.”
“Kattea—”
“No.”
Gilbert closed his eyes. “You understand that I am concerned for your cohesion?”
The girl nodded into his shoulder. “You promised.”
“I did not promise—”
“You promised you would let me choose.”
“I did not promise that I would let you commit suicide.” Above Kattea’s head, he asked, “Is that the correct word?”
“Pretty much. You understand that Kattea is much, much younger than Nightshade, right?”
“Yes.”
“Letting Nightshade choose—”
Kattea cursed.
“—or not. If the stones are alive, if the stones are like us, why do you think there’s a risk to Kattea?”
Squawk.
“They are not like you; they are more like you than the basement of my house, or your Helen. They are attempting to communicate,” he added. “Can you not hear them?”
She couldn’t, of course. But...she could see them, could see the light they shed. She wondered if that light was the Gilbert equivalent of a foreign language. She exhaled. “You hold Kattea,” she said. “I’ll touch the stones.”
“No.”
“Kattea is a mortal child. I’m the Chose
n.”
“You have already said you do not understand what that means.”
“I don’t understand what it means to you, no. Or even to the Ancients. But my arms are starting to ache. I think I can survive talking to a stone or three.”
Squawk.
The familiar abruptly lowered his wing. In case his meaning was too subtle, he also smacked Kaylin’s cheek with it.
“Tell me again why I missed you?” Turning to Severn, she said, “Three bodies. Three stones. Gilbert says both the bodies and the stones are alive.”
“I do not understand,” Gilbert added, “why you speak of them as if they are distinct and separate.”
“...They’re not separate to you.”
“No.”
Kaylin grimaced, stepped forward and placed her hand on the nearest stone. Her hand passed through it. The stones were not solid. They weren’t speaking to her, either. “Fine. Gavin?”
He nodded.
“Apparently the three dead men walked across the street last night—or the night before—and attempted to break into Gilbert’s house. We don’t have to cut them up—but I’d suggest we move them.”
“I’ll mirror the request in—” He stopped. Had he been Kaylin, he would have cursed. “I’ll send Lianne to the Halls with the request.”
But Gilbert shook his head. “If you mean to move the bodies you can see, it will make no difference. This is where they are.”
Kaylin exhaled. “If I move—”
“Yes. If you move—or any of your compatriots, save your familiar, and Helen, who cannot—you move. Moving these three will not materially change anything; in any real sense, they are, and will remain, here.”
“Fine.” She looked to Severn. “Elani or Tiamaris?”
He tossed her a coin.
Chapter 18
Kattea explained what a coin toss meant while they trudged their way toward Elani Street. Gilbert did not set Kattea down, but she seemed willing to forgo the dignity of being treated like an adult for the duration of her explanation.
“I’m not certain you’re going to be invited in,” Kaylin told him.
Gilbert nodded.
“Is this one of the buildings that looks real, to you?”
“Yes.”
“Does it look dangerous?”
“I don’t understand the question.”
Given that Gilbert could confuse an attempted murder for an act of communication gone wrong, Kaylin supposed that made sense. The small dragon did not consider Elani Street worth much effort and was sacked out across her shoulders. He lifted his head when she reached Evanton’s door.
It opened before she could touch the knocker.
A wild-eyed Grethan stood in the door, the stalks on his forehead weaving like a drunk. He was dripping wet. “Kaylin!”
She almost took a step back. “Are you going to stand in the doorway or can we come in?”
He moved. He moved back, and Kaylin understood why he was soaked: it was raining. Inside the store. The familiar squawked in obvious displeasure and bit Kaylin’s hair when she was stupid enough to enter anyway.
Severn followed; she was surprised to hear a familiar Aerian curse from him, although it wasn’t loud.
Gilbert, however, remained outside, which implied he had more common sense than Kattea was willing to acknowledge. He bowed—awkwardly, since he was still carrying the girl.
Grethan said, “Evanton’s not accepting visitors today.”
“I cannot enter without your permission. It would be irresponsible and very unsafe.”
Grethan looked to Kaylin. Evanton’s apprentice was not at his best today. “I trust him,” Kaylin told the Tha’alani youth. “Or at least I trust his intent.”
Grethan knew the difference. But he wasn’t Evanton. “I’m not sure it’s my permission you need,” he said.
Gilbert, however, smiled. “Your permission will do.”
“But I’m not—I’m not the Keeper.”
“I am uncertain what you mean by Keeper; I am not uncertain about permission. If you are willing to grant me entry, I will enter. If you are not, I will wait. It seems less unpleasant outside,” he added.
Grethan muttered, “Tell me about it. Yes, if you’re stupid enough to want it, you have my permission. I’m sorry about the rain,” he added.
* * *
The Keeper was not, as the rain suggested, in the store. He wasn’t in the kitchen, either. “Where’s Evanton?”
Grethan hesitated. Kaylin assumed this meant he was in the Garden—and if it was like this outside of the Garden, she wasn’t certain she wanted to enter it. She needed to speak with the elemental water, but water, when enraged, was like a death sentence. Evanton could be drowned in a deluge and survive; he apparently didn’t need to breathe.
Kaylin, Severn and Kattea did. She wasn’t sure about Gilbert.
“He’s—he’s upstairs.”
“He’s upstairs?” Kaylin knew that there was an upstairs to the storefront. It wasn’t a secret; a second and third story could be seen from the street. Neither had ever been relevant to Kaylin. She assumed that they were where Evanton and Grethan lived. Or she had assumed that, until now.
“Can you tell him we’re here?”
“He’s not—” Grethan swallowed water. Then again, they were all pretty much swallowing water until Grethan thought to offer them umbrellas. Kaylin noted he didn’t take one for himself. “I can try.” He hesitated again and then offered Kaylin a very bedraggled smile. “I’m glad you’re here.”
* * *
Kattea wanted to know how it could be raining inside the shop, when it was bright and pretty much cloudless outside. It was a good question, but Kaylin’s best guess wasn’t suitable for children, so she didn’t answer.
The stairs that led to the upper floors reminded Kaylin very much of the hall that led to the Keeper’s Garden: they were sloped and rickety, and they had to be walked single file. They were also steep. Grethan, however, forged ahead without apparent hesitation.
The hall the stairs ended at was a bit wider and seemed to be in better repair. It was not wet. The rain appeared to affect only the ground floor.
“Has it been like this all day?”
“It was worse yesterday,” Grethan replied.
“When did it start?”
“Yesterday. Evanton was in the Garden.”
“I don’t suppose he had much to say?”
Grethan flushed. “He wasn’t happy. With anything. Or anyone.”
And the only other person living with Evanton at the moment was Grethan. Kaylin cringed in genuine sympathy. She liked Evanton; she couldn’t imagine actually living with him. That had never been more true than today. Not even her most creative nightmares involved waking up to rain on the inside of a house that still had a functional roof.
The ceilings were shorter on the second floor. More than that, she didn’t have a chance to see, because Grethan continued down the hall to another flight of stairs. Judging by the dust on the handrails, these weren’t used often.
Kaylin glanced at Gilbert. His third eye—his unfortunately visible third eye—was open. It moved in a way that the other two, which looked comfortably human, didn’t. He didn’t seem to be worried, but he didn’t set Kattea down, either.
He stopped at the foot of the stairs. “Are you certain this is wise?” he asked. He didn’t appear to be looking at Grethan.
“Probably not,” she replied. “But we’re going to need to talk to Evanton eventually. Do you understand what a Keeper is?”
“I am not certain. I do not know the word in the context you have used it.”
No, Kaylin thought, he wouldn’t. Kattea wouldn’t know it, either. “The Keeper binds the wild elements that exist
as an intrinsic part of the world. He stops them attempting to destroy each other, which keeps our world stable. I’d like to know your word for it—I’m certain you must have had one.”
“How so?”
“You live in the world. Even if you live in it differently, you live here.” She followed Grethan up the stairs.
* * *
The stairs didn’t lead to more hall. They led to a door. Like the door that led to the Garden, this one was narrow; it was the width of the stairs. It was shorter, as well. For someone Kaylin’s height, this wasn’t a problem—but a Barrani would have to duck to get through the frame.
If, she thought, the door actually opened.
Grethan knocked. This produced a very muffled, but distinct “Go away.” This was not promising. Grethan looked down the stairs at Kaylin, and there was a bit of shuffling while they traded places. Kaylin’s knock was nowhere near as timid as the apprentice’s.
“I said go away.”
“Heard you the first time,” Kaylin replied. “But we’re in a bit of a pinch.”
“That is not my problem.”
“Actually, I think it is.”
The door opened to a very cranky Evanton. He was wearing his store apron, and tufts of wayward hair suggested he’d been pulling at it in frustration. His eyes were also bloodshot. “It had better be” was his sour reply. He had more to say—when he was in this mood, he always did—but stopped when he looked down the stairs. He exhaled inches of outraged height. “My apologies,” he said—to Gilbert, as Kaylin had never rated apologies. “I wasn’t expecting guests; I apologize in advance for the state of my abode.”
“I don’t think he cares,” Kaylin told Evanton. “He’s not necessarily looking at the clutter the way the rest of us do.”
“I care.”
“...Sorry, Evanton.”
“You did not pick a particularly good time, no. I would make tea, but the kitchen is—”
“Flooded, yes.” Kaylin exhaled. “What’s happening?”
“Would it surprise you to know I am not entirely certain?”
“Yes, actually.”
“Then be surprised quietly.”
“Fine. This is Gilbert. And Kattea. Gilbert, Kattea, this is Evanton.”
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