Mirror Sight

by Kristen Britain

  And now she could satisfy her urge to scratch, which she did furiously, raising flakes of dead skin and plaster dust.

  Mender Samuels slapped the back of her hand. “None of that,” he said. “I have a jar of cream to relieve the itch.”

  He took her forearm into his hands, prodded it, and bent the wrist, while Mirriam at his side observed through her monocle. He then asked Karigan to bend it on her own, and rotate her hand, and wiggle her fingers. Her wrist felt dull and weak, but it worked. Mender Samuels grunted with satisfaction and turned to Mirriam.

  “See that Miss Goodgrave does not do too much at first, that she uses it gently. It is still fragile. Gradually she may increase its use.”

  “Yes, Master Samuels.”

  Karigan held her tongue despite the fact that the mender did not address her directly.

  “By the way, why is she using that cane?” he demanded. “I’ve heard no complaints of her leg injury worsening.”

  Mirriam raised an eyebrow at Karigan. “Has your injury been bothering you, Miss Goodgrave?”

  Karigan didn’t know what to say, fearing to be caught in a lie and not wanting the bonewood to be taken away from her.

  “Let me see your leg,” the mender said.

  Karigan’s heart sank, but she hitched up the hem of her dress and rolled down her stocking so he could see the well-healed injury.

  “Hmm,” he said. “This looks good. I see no reason for the walking cane.”

  To Karigan’s surprise, Mirriam came to her defense. “Her uncle gave it to her. I expect she’s attached to it.”

  Karigan nodded eagerly. “It was a gift.”

  The mender stopped his probing. “There is no medical purpose for it, but if her guardian approves?” He shrugged and told Mirriam he’d be back in a week to check on Miss Goodgrave’s wrist. Then he collected his satchel filled with tools and devices and departed, Mirriam escorting him out.

  Karigan wasted no time in bathing her wrist and slathering it with the cream he had left behind, then she gazed at her forearm, acknowledging it would take some work and time to bring it back to its former condition. But she smiled and whirled across her floor in a little dance of pleasure at having it free of the unlamented cast that lay in pieces on her table.

  • • •

  Over the next couple of days, she was frustrated that neither the professor nor Cade invited her to the mill where she could fully work on strengthening her wrist. She thought to ask the professor if she could go on her own, but a safe, private moment to do so never presented itself, since she saw him so rarely. She supposed she could always sneak over to the mill on her own, but doing so felt like it would violate the professor’s trust, and that was one thing she could not afford to lose. She could not say for sure, but she did not believe Cade and the professor ventured to the mill either. Perhaps with all the unrest following the sabotage on Dr. Silk’s road in the Old City, the professor did not want to be caught engaging in perilous behavior should any suspicion be flung in his direction.

  It was hard for her to know exactly what was going on outside the house, except for whatever Luke told her when she visited Raven. Close to a hundred men, he told her, had been rounded up for questioning, and rumor had it that an Inquisitor had arrived from Gossham to lead the interrogations. The number of Inspectors and their Enforcers patrolling the streets, he added, remained uncommonly high.

  The professor told her nothing, let on nothing, but he was quieter than usual during the rare times she saw him at meals, indicating to her the level of his concern. Of Cade, she saw only glimpses.

  There was nothing she could do about it, so in the privacy of her bed chamber she practiced with her bonewood and bided her time gazing into her mirror shard, but to no avail. She spent hours in the professor’s library poring over his atlas of the empire, this one free of Arhys’ scribbles. Viewing her own world redrawn and transformed once again exacerbated her feelings of loneliness and sorrow, but she resisted caving in to them, reminding herself she’d find a way home and change this future from the past.

  She could not help but stare at the portrait of Amberhill at the front of the book, with his aristocratic face rendered in flattering detail. How did he come to be emperor? she wondered over and over. How could he betray his king? She had never cared for his haughty ways, and while every aristocrat she had ever met vied and schemed for power, she had never sensed in Amberhill the monster who would wreck so much of what was good in Sacoridia to create this empire of his.

  When she got home, she’d destroy him if she had to, to prevent him from bringing about this future. If she didn’t make it back? Then she’d make him answer for it in the here and now. She’d avenge her family, her friends, and the realm. Yes, she would.

  She glanced up from Amberhill’s portrait, startled to see Arhys one step into the library and staring at her.

  “What are you doing?” the girl demanded.

  Karigan considered telling her to go away and mind her own business, but she thought maybe this would be an opportunity to make peace. “I’m looking at the atlas of the empire,” she replied.

  “You’re just looking at pictures. I bet you can’t even read.”

  “You’d lose.” Karigan proved it to her by reading from the preface.

  The girl sniffed and tossed her golden hair. “I can read very well. Mr. Harlowe says so. I can write, too.”

  “I’m sure he’s correct.”

  “Bet I can write better than you.”

  “Perhaps you can.”

  Frustrated that Karigan didn’t challenge her, the girl stomped and declared, “You’re ugly.”

  Just then Lorine paused by the doorway and looked in. “There you are, Arhys. Cook needs you in the kitchen.”

  Arhys gave Karigan one last contemptuous look that would have rivaled even one of Amberhill’s, and flounced out of the room.

  Lorine rolled her eyes, then seemed to note what Karigan was looking at. “Ah, I used to spend much time gazing at the atlas, dreaming of far off lands,” she said with a smile. “I’ve never been outside the city.”

  Karigan found it hard to believe, for she had traveled often, whether with one of her father’s merchant trains or as a Green Rider. She could not imagine being confined to one city.

  “Then I figured out that all the lands, the whole continent, and lots of islands besides, belong to the emperor, and I stopped dreaming.”

  “Really?” Karigan asked in surprise. “Why?”

  “I figured that since it was all the empire it would be just like Mill City. I wouldn’t mind seeing the Capital, though. It is supposed to be wondrous.”

  There was a knocking on the front door of the house, followed by the even footsteps of Grott the butler as he went to answer it.

  “I came to tell you,” Lorine said, “that I saw Mistress dela Enfande’s carriage drawing up. She’s come for the final fitting of your gown for the party.”

  The gown the seamstress had made for Karigan this time was midnight blue, with threaded silver stars on the front panel of the bodice and sleeves that glimmered in the light. Mistress dela Enfande had said that this would be her most daring design yet. Karigan wasn’t sure what made it more daring—it fit much the same as her other dresses—and she could not yet judge how stylish it was in regard to this time. Maybe the neckline was lower, her throat revealed, and that was what was considered “daring.” Regardless, the gown was exquisite and lent her, she thought, an air of maturity.

  Mistress dela Enfande, however, was not satisfied, and she clucked her tongue over the right sleeve. It was sized, Karigan realized, to fit around her cast. The sleeves were made to be more snug around the forearms with lace spilling from the cuffs like foam.

  “I shall have to refit the sleeve, and the right glove as well.”

  Karigan stood patiently as the seamstress’ assist
ants took measurements, and tweaked and adjusted the fabric with pins.

  “I shall have the dress and its accoutrements delivered in the morning,” Mistress dela Enfande told Karigan and Mirriam. Then her gaze turned on Karigan alone. “You, Miss Goodgrave, shall tell me how the design is received, especially by those from the Capital, and you will tell me what they are wearing, every detail. Yes?”

  “Um, yes,” Karigan replied. She had a good eye for such things, having grown up a textile merchant’s daughter, but thought she might be focused on other matters at Dr. Silk’s party, such as portraying Professor Josston’s mad niece and not compromising her true identity.

  Mistress dela Enfande and her young ladies took their leave, Mirriam hustling them out of Karigan’s room. Karigan closed the door after them and sprawled on her bed. She was of the decided opinion that these fittings were more exhausting than a sword training session with Arms Master Drent.

  Her eyelids grew heavy, drooped, and finally closed. She drifted to sleep and dreamed of exquisitely attired cats dancing . . . or was it people dressed as exquisitely attired cats? They swept around a ballroom beneath a chandelier of shattered mirror shards that reflected fragmented light upon the dancers. A chronosphere appeared in her hand. It popped open, and the mechanical man inside, who resembled the professor, swiveled back and forth on his rotating disk tapping out random numbers with his cane.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Karigan sensed time racing. Time, she was running out of it.

  Tap, tap.

  She sat up with a start, groggy and disoriented. She looked about, her gaze settling on the window where Cloudy the cat sat on the sill outside. He raised his paw and tapped the glass.

  Oh, Karigan thought with a chuckle, the source of my dream.

  She was going to let the cat in, but at that moment Mirriam entered her room, and Cloudy leaped out of sight.

  “Miss Goodgrave,” Mirriam said, “you are late!”

  Karigan raised her eyebrows. Late? Was she still dreaming?

  “For what?” she asked with a yawn.

  “Why, the midday meal. Didn’t you hear the bells?”

  No, she had not. “I’ll be down in a moment.”

  Mirriam nodded, giving Karigan an assessing look that said much without her having to actually say a word. Then she left.

  Karigan shook her muddled head. What had she been dreaming about? Something about cats. And running out of time. She laughed.

  It was too bad Mirriam had arrived when she had, Karigan would have liked to have invited Cloudy in for a scritch. Hopefully the housekeeper hadn’t permanently scared him off.

  At last she rose, stretched, and left her room before Mirriam could return and scold her for being late.

  CARRIAGE RIDE

  The hired carriage sent by Dr. Silk arrived precisely as the city bells pealed out seven hour. Lorine ushered Karigan from her bed chamber. Clad in her midnight blue gown, Karigan attempted to peer beneath the bottom fringe of her veil so she would not miss a step as she descended the staircase. She steadied herself with one velvet gloved hand on the railing, and her bonewood clasped in the other.

  No, she was not leaving the bonewood behind. Even if Mender Samuels knew she didn’t need it, the other attendees at the party wouldn’t know. At least she did not have to fuss with a purse. It was considered crass, she learned, for a woman of Preferred status to carry one, and it was left to her escort, whether a servant or a gentleman, to handle the lady’s purse.

  It was, Karigan thought, just another way for the empire to constrain its women. In her case, she possessed no coins so the point was moot. However she felt about the empire’s controlling even the use of purses by its women, it was a relief not to have to tote around a useless accessory all evening.

  There appeared to be a small reception committee waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, consisting of Mirriam, Grott, the professor, and Cade. Cade looked ill at ease in a stiff woolen suit. It appeared to be a faded brown, and too bulky on him as though acquired second hand. It did not flatter him. He cast her nervous glances, but refused to hold her gaze. Not that doing so was easy with her gauzy veil between them.

  “Well, well!” the professor exclaimed in a jovial tone. He, in contrast, cut a dashing figure in a well-tailored suit of deep gray. “You look lovely tonight, my dear, brighter than the stars, doesn’t she, Cade.”

  Cade mumbled something unintelligible.

  The professor turned to his staff. “I need a moment alone with my niece and protégé.”

  “But Dr. Silk’s carriage awaits,” Mirriam protested.

  “And it can continue to wait. Now shoo.” He did not speak again until only he, Karigan, and Cade remained in the foyer. In a low voice he told Karigan, “Remember, you are my niece from the asylum. You won’t even have to act insane for them to believe it. They’ve heard it, it is your reputation, and that is enough. If in the unlikely event it is not, and you find yourself in an awkward situation? Then . . . act mad.”

  “But how?”

  The professor shrugged. “Be creative, my dear. And be alert. As I mentioned before, Silk is wily and may try to extract information of one kind or another from you. Cade will be your constant companion and will divert Silk as necessary. He will look after you.”

  Karigan flicked her gaze at Cade. Really? He was having enough trouble just looking at her now.

  “By the way,” the professor added, “try not to break any heads with that bonewood. I should hate to have to answer to the Inspectors, especially when they’ve been so suspicious.” He started to turn away, then paused. “One more thing. Luke will follow behind you with my carriage, should you need to leave early, and to keep an eye on things from the outside of wherever this dinner party is being held should anything untoward happen.” In a louder voice, his joviality back on display, he said, “And you two shall have an enjoyable evening, eh?” He clapped Cade on the shoulder and left them alone in the foyer.

  Shortly Grott returned to place Karigan’s matching cloak over her shoulders and to see them to the carriage.

  “Huh,” Cade said as they stepped through the front door.

  “What is it?” Karigan asked, startled just to hear him speak.

  “I guess I should not be surprised, but Dr. Silk hasn’t sent just any cab to pick us up.”

  “No, indeed, sir,” Grott said in awe. “This is from the Hastings Livery Company, all the way from the Capital.”

  Karigan, of course, did not know the Hastings Livery Company from any other, but she noted that the coats on the matched pair of standardbreds gleamed in the light of the streetlamp, the silver on their harness shimmering. The carriage itself was a spotless lacquered black with a filigreed “H” on the door. Three coachmen in uniform accompanied the carriage, one up front driving, the other two riding the footboard at the rear. One of the attendants stepped down to open the carriage door as Karigan and Cade approached. He expertly handed Karigan up into the carriage, and she found herself in a commodious cab of shining brass, gold burnished oak, and deep red brushed velvet. A crystal lamp cast a warm glow. She sank into one of the luxuriant cushioned seats, as Cade sat opposite. She had never ridden in anything quite this elegant.

  “Would the gentleman and the lady care for some refreshment?” the coachman asked.

  “No,” Cade said definitively.

  Karigan opened her mouth to protest but stopped, remembering she was supposed to be Miss Goodgrave, not Rider G’ladheon.

  “Very well, sir,” the coachman said, and he closed the door.

  “What if I wanted something?” Karigan demanded.

  “Invariably what they’d offer is wine or brandy or something like that. We need to avoid drink.”

  When the carriage started forward, Karigan marveled at how distant, almost faint, the hoof beats and the grind of the wheels sounded outsi
de. Little noise seemed to permeate the interior of the cab. “It’s so quiet,” she remarked.

  “It’s a hallmark of a Hastings. The cab is almost impervious to noise inside and out. Just as very little sound comes in from outside, conversations inside are not overheard from without. This is why Hastings is the vehicle preferred by those in the Capital seeking discretion. Those who are wealthy enough to hire one, that is.”

  “So they cannot hear us?” Karigan asked, vaguely gesturing to indicate the coachmen.

  “Not likely, but . . .”

  “Dr. Silk sent it,” she said in a low voice.

  Cade nodded. “Most likely he just wishes to impress his guests with his wealth.” He leaned toward her and spoke softly. “If word got out that guests were overheard in a Hastings, it would be a tremendous breach of trust, and it would ruin the company’s reputation. Not only that, but it would put Dr. Silk in ill odor among his peers. Still . . .”

  “It’s Dr. Silk,” Karigan finished for him in a whisper.

  He nodded, and sat back in his seat. He pushed the drape away from the window of frosted glass and squinted, trying to peer through it. “Looks like Luke is following right behind us. I suppose it’s better to be obvious than have him sneaking around and looking suspicious.”

  How did one sneak around in a carriage anyway? Karigan wondered.

  Not only was the cab quiet, but the carriage itself rode very solidly with no jarring bumps or thuds. No doubt as much attention had been paid to the engineering of its workings as to the luxurious passenger compartment.

  The carriage made several turns, and Karigan was entirely disoriented, able to see little through the frosted glass. “Can you tell where we’re going?” she asked.

  “I haven’t the faintest,” Cade replied. “I lost track a few turns ago.”

  Even though Karigan had known their destination was supposed to be a mystery, and even though she knew Luke followed behind, trepidation of the unknown gnawed at her. She did not like having so little control, and she gripped the handle of the bonewood more firmly. At least she had this weapon, if nothing else.