Colorless

by Rita Stradling

  Leaning against the press, I examined her expression. My grandmother’s words about the lady’s education ran through my mind again. Whenever I’d overheard Lady Annabelle’s conversations in the past, gossip had been her central topic. I’d always thought of her as rather superficial in her interests. But I’d heard other’s gossip about her. It was whispered with scorn that Lord Klein spent long hours not only educating his daughter, but also his wife as well. I overheard a couple of the maids even calling it an embarrassment to the Klein name that Lord Klein was such an eccentric and was passing that shame to his daughter.

  “I’m curious about your opinion—and why you made that face,” I said.

  “This is likely to be an unpopular opinion. But I think that seeking patronage from a person outside the nobility would be a grave mistake.” She looked me directly in my eyes, her face clearly showing how poorly she expected the comment to be received.

  “That sounds elitist.” Perhaps I hadn’t judged her wrong before when I thought her superficial.

  A quiet creak came from the direction of the ladder. I glanced that way, expecting we were about to have company, but none emerged.

  Lady Annabelle continued, “I’m not meaning it in an elitist way. But you’d be going from the patronage of a party with only a moral interest, to the patronage of a party with a financial stake in the outcome.” She held up the paper. “The message would change—not right away. But before too long, you would be promoting a financial agenda.”

  Folding my arms over my chest, I smiled at her. “Your father said something similar when we suggested working out a deal with some of our suppliers—when the money started running out. He said that if a man gives you a tin coin, he’d expect you to earn him ten silvers in return.”

  She pointed to the drawing I’d been referencing for the most recent etching. “This message isn’t in the Merchant and Manufacturing class’ best interest. They want a voice in the House of Lords—I’m sure they want reform. But they’d only profit from a strong middle class and a destitute lower class. My uncle had to bring up workers’ rights cases eight times in the House of Lords before the Council ruled that children under the age of ten should not be allowed to work in potentially fatal conditions—each of those cases were from fatalities in shipping or mining—”

  “Yes, but while the lords might not be running those businesses, they’re the ones making most of the profit from investing in them.”

  “That is a good point.” She hid a grin. “And while it is true—it only furthers my point.”

  “How so?”

  She gestured to the paper. “Because it goes directly against any lord’s fiscal interests to promote the rights of the lower and middle classes; therefore, his motivation would have to be an ethical one.”

  “Perhaps you’re right.” I smirked. “Any suggestions on ethical lords who’d be interested in joining a venture to lose their fortunes?”

  She made a face. “I see your point.” Looking to the table, she reached for the sketch. “It’s too bad my uncle passed as well as my father—my uncle was a hard and cold person, but he devoted his life to litigating for the betterment of the common man. Even with all his wealth, he ended up unpopular with the peerage.”

  “I know. He was our original patron.” I glanced away, not quite able to hold her gaze with the admission.

  “Oh.” She sounded surprised. “Oh, I see. The mortgages and personal loans to my father. I see. Quite a scheme they had going—my father took out loans against the manor and funneled the money here?” She tapped the table.

  “I believe the plan was for your uncle to forgive the debt after a couple of anni.”

  “But he died first, along with my aunt.” She blinked rapidly. “This is all beginning to make a grave sort of sense. The press didn’t need to be destroyed, just the funding for it. Do you think the Congregation discovered the scheme?”

  “I’m not sure what to think.” I pushed off the press to stand straight. “But your uncle died less than a fortnight after our last pamphlets went out. I-I think I have one, give me a second.” I walked over to the rear of the workshop. From a shelf, I pulled down a stack of test prints I’d saved, with the most recent one on the top. Of the ten print runs we’d run, this one wasn’t near the most critical of the Congregation.

  I’d actually thought it rather tame in terms of statement, almost dull. Yet, from the reports Lord Klein told me, it had been our most popular pamphlet to date.

  The scene was of a basic commoner’s home with a family inside. The commoner mother, however, wore Ester’s crown of sunrise. In her arms, she didn’t hold a baby. Instead, she cradled a full-grown woman in a servant’s dress who stared up adoringly. The father in the scene held out a log to a child, clearly showing his son how to build a fire. Yet, like the mother, the father showed obvious signs of truly being Sun, from the scythe at his feet to the wolf dog lying beside him, and the details of his features. The child he was teaching was also not truly a child, but a small man.

  Beneath it all was a message in letters.

  “May I see?”

  I glanced up abruptly to see her just beside me. “Yes, of course, I meant to grab them for you.”

  She glanced around. “Could you lay them on a counter for me? I don’t want to risk touching them.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  When I laid them out for her, she leaned over the drawing I had just been inspecting. “Be welcome in our home,” she read.

  “That’s what it says?” I asked, staring down at the letters.

  “Can you not read?” She glanced up. “Would you like me to read them to you?”

  “Oh—uh.” I scratched my neck as heat licked up my cheeks again. “I really should be heading off to work now. Your cousin is in residence, and he seems an unforgiving employer.”

  “Oh, yes, of course—may I make one… observation? Tony is unlike his father in his sympathies. I do not suggest seeking support from him. Actually, I don’t suggest working for him at all. Truly, if I had the power to end your employment, I would do it now to spare you from his temperamental nature. His moods are dark of late—suspicious and angry all the time.”

  I grinned. “Are you worried about me?”

  “Not—no—that is to say, I am, but only as I would be for any servant,” she stammered. Her chin rose and stronger, she added, “You are in my employ and that means your welfare is my responsibility.”

  “If you say so.” I laughed.

  Her eyes narrowed at me. “Why are you laughing?”

  “No reason—and I won’t be working there for much longer. But I need to keep up appearances with the monks. Also, I figure I can be your eyes and ears at the manor for a couple of days.”

  “I’m heading there myself,” she said.

  “That’s up to you, I suppose. But I’ll be there to keep an eye out for your friend as well as watch what those monks are doing. I really don’t see why both of us need to put our lives at risk, and I have to go.”

  “I never asked you to put your life at risk for my sake.” She shook her head. “No, I refuse to use you for this purpose. If the danger is that great, I should go and you should stay away.”

  I leaned in. “My apologies, lady, but I’m not your servant anymore. Also, my life has been at risk because of you for a while now, and I never needed your permission for that, either.”

  This close, I couldn’t help noticing that the lady smelled strangely like the wind. It was an odd thought, especially to have while she stood there, glaring so intensely at me. She smelled distinctly like a breeze as it came skipping over an open field.

  “If you are this impertinent by nature, I definitely don’t suggest you work for my cousin.” She frowned. “You are going to land yourself in quite a bit of trouble, I think.”

  “And I think I’ve landed myself in quite a bit of trouble already, lady.” I leaned in even closer, wanting to see if that smell was real or if I was just imagining it.


  She didn’t move away. Her hands went behind her, and she glared all the harder. “If you’re foolhardy enough to go there—then you’ll be seeing me at the manor later today.”

  “Do what you want, lady. I’m going there, and I’ll be returning with a full report of information in the afternoon.”

  “If you’re going to say lady like an insult instead of a title, I’d rather you not use it at all.” Her hand moved up quickly.

  I dodged, thinking she was going to strike me. But when I glanced down, I saw she’d taken the glove off her uninjured hand and had been grabbing for my shirt.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” I backed away between the worktables.

  “You can’t work without your uniform!” She lunged again.

  I dodged out of her way, sprinting for the ladder. At the base, I leapt, springing to catch a high rung, and then climbed quickly. Halfway up, I paused to look down, seeing her waiting at the bottom with a glower set on her pallid features. “If I’m not supposed to use your title, then I suppose I’ll just be calling you Annabelle, then?”

  “Ugh!” She turned on her heel and stomped into the workshop.

  Daily Devotion to the God Weire

  As the sun sets in his westward heading, I give thanks to the god Weire. In his crimson fires of death, he awaits me, his judgment sound and true. May he always grant me his gift of acumen.

  I will fear the gods, worship the magicians, and forsake the iconoclasts forevermore. Let it be so.

  11

  In the Employment of Lord Anthony

  Dylan

  I climbed out of the iron stove to the sound of low voices in the kitchen. Quietly, I padded across the length of the house to where my boots waited by the door. As I wiggled my feet into each boot, I peered over to the kitchen table where John was whispering something to Grandmother and Joseph was glowering at his food.

  Perhaps feeling my attention, Joseph’s head rose and his gaze met mine. “What are you doing skulking around over there?” He sat up straight. “Hey!” His chair screeched across the floor as he stood from the table. “That’s my shirt!”

  Jumping up, I dove for the door.

  As I threw it open, a crashing came from behind me. I sprinted into the lightening day, darting around a group of kids and a woman dumping slop onto the road.

  The crash of Joseph’s footfalls grew louder behind me. He was gaining on me. I ducked into a side street, pulling my shoulders in and running between houses.

  “You’re dead!” Joseph yelled.

  “You’re slow,” I called as I leapt over a sleeping dog and sprinted into another alley.

  A door opened beside me, and I leapt just in time to avoid a splash of waste.

  “Damn it!” Joseph bellowed behind me.

  I dodged into a wider pathway, trying not to waste my breath with laughing, but wanting to anyway. Coming out onto the thoroughfare, I dodged through the carriages, ignoring the irate calls and whinnies from the horses.

  A loud crash boomed from behind me and a holler of, “Damn it, man! Look where you’re going!”

  “You look where you’re going!” Joseph growled. And then there came the grunts and yells of a scuffle.

  Not slowing for a second, I finally let my laugh out as I sprinted through the streets all the way to the road leading up to Hope Manor.

  It wasn’t the best idea to enrage my brother first thing in the morning, but I’d rather his ire be directed at me than at anyone else. Spending all day working in my damp shirt would ensure his anger centered on me. The chase, accident, and scuffle had also made it so Joseph would barely have time enough to go home, change, and run to work to not be late, leaving him no time to even think about Lady Annabelle.

  I, however, was going to be early. Slowing to a walk, I wandered down the familiar road toward the manor, following behind a couple of other maids heading the same direction. I hung back, walking as slowly as possible, but they still noticed me about halfway to Hope Manor. Two of the girls glanced over their shoulders before leaning in to each other, whispering. The third girl turned around completely.

  It was a face that I didn’t mind seeing, so I grinned and waved. “Hi, Jane.”

  She stopped, crossed her arms over her chest, and waited for me to catch up. Jane’s deep black hair stood out from the white kerchief she’d wrapped around it like singed parchment. As I caught up to her, the disparity in our heights only increased. Both her green eyes and expression were stormy as she watched me approach, but that wasn’t anything new.

  I held my hands out. “What did I do this time?”

  She pointed at me. “I told you—you stupid, stupid boy. I told you not to fool around with her!”

  “Fool around with whom?” I laughed and patted the top of her handkerchief.

  She smacked my arm. “Savannah!”

  “Damn, that hurt…” I rubbed my arm. “Who are you even talking about?”

  “I’m so mad I could kill you, Dylan Miller. I told you she’s the bane of my existence! And now all I hear is her going on and on about you two fooling around in the stables!”

  “All right, fine, kill me.” I shrugged and kept walking. “But just so you know, I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

  She rushed to catch up with me. “Savannah—from the laundry! You know, pretty face, pure evil.”

  “Savannah. Oh. Oh—I thought her name was Samantha… I’m almost sure I even called her Samantha. She didn’t correct me,” I mumbled as I tried to remember.

  “You are not helping your case here!”

  I dodged as she tried to hit me again. “Stop hitting me, you little pest! I didn’t fool around with her.” Shaking my head, I laughed.

  She glared. “You didn’t?”

  “No.” I raised my hands in surrender. “Not even a little bit.”

  She walked beside me for a ways, peering over periodically, seeming entirely unconvinced. Pointing into my face, she said, “Well, Savannah has told the entire laundry and half the staff that you two rolled in the hay for a while and that you wanted to take it further, but she chastely said no.” She said the last part in an affected high-pitched voice.

  “I don’t remember her voice being that high.”

  “And look at you. You love that she said that about you,” she accused.

  “No. To be honest, I find it rather annoying.”

  “Then why are you smiling like a fopdoodle?”

  I realized I was smiling like an idiot. Consciously, I tried to force it down. “I just—I had a good morning is all.”

  “Had a good morning?” She pointed to the sky. “The sun isn’t even in the sky yet.”

  “I guess I didn’t really sleep.” I shrugged.

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

  “Not like that, I swear… again.”

  “You’re still smiling,” she accused.

  I laughed. “My mistake—I’ll be sure to stop. So this Samantha, am I supposed to be desperately in love with her, too?”

  “Likely,” she said, turning what could almost be mistaken for a smirk to the path. “She didn’t speak too highly of the whole affair, I have to tell you. Says you kiss like a dog. And it’s Savannah.”

  “I wonder how many dogs she’s kissed to be able to qualify that.”

  “Well, I wish I’d known that you hadn’t kissed her,” she scolded.

  “Now you’re mad that I didn’t kiss her?”

  “It would have been nice to know that you didn’t. I thought I had to defend your honor, so I announced to the laundry…” Her face turned bright red, and she said the rest in a fast whisper, “I announced that you were the best lover I ever had.”

  “You did?” I guffawed. “Wow, you must have not had very good lovers if the best you ever had was a chaste kiss when you were twelve.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She tried for a smirk, but it wasn’t that convincing with her cheeks the color of raspberries. “And now look what I have to deal with.” She ges
tured forward.

  I peered up from the pocked dirt road to where the maids were still a few paces ahead of us, peering back. Catching me looking, they giggled and hurried ahead before peeking over again.

  “See what my life has become now?” She elbowed me. “Next time, tell me.”

  “I would have told you if I knew there was something to tell you.” I shook my head. “If that makes any sense.”

  We lapsed into silence, wandering past the thick trunks that encircled Hope Manor’s expansive grounds.

  “New master today,” I commented.

  “Lord Anthony Klein.” She rolled her eyes. “Obviously, Sun has a particular hatred for us at Hope Manor. We all stayed on when Lord Klein lost his fortune—taking the pay cut for love of the lord and lady. They both die and we’re passed over to a lord with a hundred times their fortune—and the day he arrives, he’s threatening to make yet another pay cut. I’m not staying on if he does, I’ll tell you that now.”

  “I had my first interaction with him—beyond being ordered to saddle his horse. He accused me of stealing a gelding.”

  She regarded me. “I know the story—and by I know, I mean everyone knows. I wasn’t going to say anything, but everyone is talking about you and the monks and them offering you Hope Manor. And, of course, about the iconoclast,” she whispered the last word. “Not that I believe in them.”

  Looking away, I tried to sound casual as I said, “Neither do I, but the Congregation definitely seems to.” I forced a smile her way. “To think, I could have been your master this morning.”

  “Oh, that’ll be the day, Dylan Miller.” She shook her head.

  “And the best lover you’ve ever had.” I clicked my tongue.

  She gave me a look. “And that was the biggest lie I’ve ever told.”

  As we approached the gates and the divide between shadowy, wild forest and the sunny, manicured grounds, I turned to Jane. Lowering my voice, I whispered, “Do you think you could help me get a dress… in secret?”

  She blinked slowly. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to find one in your size.”