HiWo01 - Secrets to Reveal

by Wallace, Tilly

  He laughed. “Oh, Aster. I can give you fiendishly difficult if you want. What would you do with a list?”

  She conjured a list in her mind and then thought about how she would tackle it. “Context would help.”

  “Names, Aster, what would you do with a list of names?” His gaze burned, a night sky lit by the moon. Indigo with flashes of deepest inky blue.

  What would make a list even more diabolical and difficult? “Ensorcelled?”

  He nodded. “Yes. The letters change of their own accord. Although our mages have developed a spell to infuse into paper that will fix the letters so we might decipher them.”

  She tried to unravel such a puzzle—how to decode a magical list? “Quite apart from any magical rearrangement, names obey no laws of regularity or construction. A list would be virtually impossible to translate; it could consume a hundred years and never yield its secret. There are only three possible ways to reveal its secrets. If the code were a simple transposition of the alphabet then it would simply be a matter of time and trial and error. Secondly, you would need the key to unlock it by ordinary means. Or lastly, you would require the original spell used to obscure the words.”

  He sighed and his shoulders slumped as he stared at the papers on his desk. “Yes, without the key or spell, such a list would resist all attempts to wring the names from the cypher.”

  “If the mages cannot furnish the spell, then you need to determine the key so you can unlock the list.” It sounded simple, but a key could be anything. Keys were often hidden in another message, a letter, or even a book.

  A sad smile crossed his face. “Quite right. Who would imagine such battles as we fight with mere pencil and paper?”

  “Do you have such a fiendish list to share? We might not be mages but perhaps if we put our heads together we could uncover the required key?” She needed some occupation for the long night ahead. Anything to stop her thinking about the years alone that stretched before her. Or stray thoughts about a certain Scottish captain who would never be within her reach.

  He blew out a long sigh, and the sadness stayed locked in his indigo gaze. “Some lists are dangerous, Aster. I’m not sure I want to risk you for the sake of a few names. Go home. It has been a long day for both of us.”

  She said her goodnights and packed away her work, ensuring her desk was scrupulously tidy before she donned her spencer and bonnet. She walked home in the fading light with her thoughts wrapped tight around her, while Dougal rushed on ahead, sniffing at things only a dog noticed.

  Some lists are dangerous. When she’d started with Sir John, he gave her simple puzzles such as words with missing letters like you would give a child to improve their spelling. Over time they became more difficult. And real. As she proved her skill and trustworthiness, Sir John placed more dangerous secrets in her hands. No longer did she labour at childish stories: Now her work revealed troop movements, hints of allegiances, warnings of magical strikes, and correspondence between foreign parties.

  She knew the danger that seeped into the papers she held, but at times it didn’t seem real. War swirled around them and patrolled past their windows, but stayed away from their quiet corner. They had laboured in obscurity until a Scottish captain plucked her from the air and in a rash moment she blurted out her true role. A momentary lapse of intelligence that she regretted, and now the words could not be recalled. Had she compromised Sir John’s work?

  A shiver ran down her spine. Had Captain Logan really tried to read the work on her desk, and why? Was it idle curiosity, or something else? Sir John’s motto was ‘trust no one, verify everything’. Wearing the British uniform did not always mean that a soldier carried the best interest of England in his heart. There were those who worked in stealth to undermine the war effort. Both sides employed spies to ferret out secrets.

  In her early days they had decided that Aster would be hidden in plain sight. Most thought her the maid; only a small handful knew her true work alongside Sir John. It was another way to protect her. If the enemy tried to silence the cryptographer they would fixate on the man behind the desk, not the woman wielding the duster.

  Perhaps it would be better when Captain Logan’s buttons and uniforms were finished and he returned to his regiment. Then she would no longer be tormented by such thoughts about his intentions. Nor would her body be distracted by his presence, or her heart develop a yearning that could never be sated. But the thought of never seeing him again opened up the emptiness inside her, that hollow part that craved connection with another person.

  At the boarding house she climbed the stairs to her room and hung up her bonnet and jacket before heading down to the kitchen. She paused before walking in; conversation and laughter came from the other side of the door. This moment was always the worst, knowing the other girls sat at the table and chatted, but there was no place for her. There would be an empty chair for her physical presence, but no accommodation for her in their light banter.

  She smiled and said hello as she entered. One or two responded, but few looked her way. One had encountered a night wight on her way home and was horrifying the other women with her tale. Then conversation flowed to their beaus, who sniffed around the door until Mrs Roberts chased them away like stray dogs. Men were not allowed over her threshold. She didn’t run that sort of house. It didn’t stop the others from having several suitors, however, and they compared gifts to see whose admirer was the most ardent.

  Aster took her dinner serving and sat at an empty spot. Voices faded as the other women finished their meal and, one by one, stood and left. Aster said goodnight as each slipped from the kitchen. They would change their dresses and head back into town for the evening, or gather in a room upstairs and devise their own entertainment for the night. By the time Aster was halfway through her meal she had only Mrs Roberts left to keep her company. The older woman bustled around cleaning up, and they stuck to mundane topics, like the weather and the new stock in the haberdashery.

  To delay the inevitable walk to her room, she helped dry the dishes, which earned Dougal a treat—he was given the leftovers. The terrier slurped up his dinner and had the bowl licked clean and spotless by the time she finished. Aster took a candle for the walk up the dark stairs. Chatter drifted along the hall from one of the other girls’ room, and she paused for a moment to listen before carrying on to the end of the corridor.

  The quiet of her room enveloped her as she set the candle by the bed. There was little to do now except wait out the long hours until dawn. She undressed, shrugged on her nightshift, and hung her clothes in the wardrobe. Then she curled up in her bed and drew the quilt over her shoulders. Dougal circled before settling by her feet.

  Was this her life? Day after day on her own, starved of conversation or the touch of others? Emptiness gnawed in her chest. Her existence had seemed tolerable until Captain Logan barged into it. She was resigned to her quiet life as a spinster. But when he caught her in his arms, she caught a glimpse of a world not meant for her. How cruel fate was, to show her how wondrous a man’s attention could be, to awaken a slow heat in her limbs, and then remind her of her lowly place. He would leave in a week, and was probably engaged to a society beauty. Before she fell asleep, a solitary tear slid down her cheek.

  6

  Aster

  The next day dawned much like the one that preceded it. Spring advanced another step and fought off winter. The morning temperature rose, however slightly. Aster stretched and yawned before letting Dougal out into the garden for a frolic. The dog re-joined her for the walk to the Arsenal. Today Sir John was working on a particularly fiendish piece and asked to be undisturbed. Aster worked in silence, no voice to fill the void except her own. No company except her faithful dog. She patted his head often, simply for the physical contact.

  In the early afternoon, Sir John called her to his office.

  “Take the afternoon off, Aster. I want complete silence while I work on this translation.” He rattled in his desk drawer and held
up his hand to her. “Here, your reward for finishing the piece I set you earlier. You could use it to find better accommodation.”

  “I am perfectly happy at the boarding house.” Aster took the offered coins and slipped them into her pocket without looking. It was bad form to tote up the value of a gift under the gaze of the giver.

  “Do you need an increase in your wages? I do wish you would reside somewhere nicer or buy some pretty fripperies for yourself.” Concern pulled his brows together.

  “Stop worrying. Mrs Roberts’ boarding house is a well-run and respectable establishment. A freshly washed exterior would not add to the quality of my sleep.”

  His eyes narrowed. “But the gardens are frightfully overgrown.”

  Aster bit back a laugh. There was his true objection: The gardens lack order. “Dougal loves them. They are his own private jungle. I shall use your kind bonus to buy him a bone and a new book for me.” The extra would be squirreled away. Aster’s wages were ample for her frugal life and she spent only what was necessary. Growing up in the countryside, she had learned make hay while the sun shines. Extra coins were tucked away in what she called her Winter Fund, to ensure she had something to eke out her existence in her lonely old age.

  “Thank you, Sir John. I will see you bright and early in the morning.”

  He waved her away, his head already bent over his papers. When he lost himself in his work, he often complained that even her light tread over the rug was a distraction, although she suspected it was more to do with his rampant paranoia. He would lock the door as soon as she left and activate a guarding spell the mages crafted for him. Enemy agents could be anywhere, even in the Royal Arsenal, which crawled with bright red uniforms. Or did they wear frock coats and top hats and make her skin tingle?

  What free time Aster had she employed in delving into the formation of the Highland Wolves, but details were sparse and cryptic. A small unit, it did not exist until two years ago. The men were all recruited from a particular Highland region but Aster couldn’t find any mention of why. While it was not uncommon for the army to create new regiments, it was uncommon to be so clandestine about it. A hunch told Aster to dig in another direction and now she traced magical activity in the Highlands, looking for a connection between the two.

  She shut her papers away in a drawer until tomorrow, then grabbed her spencer, bonnet, and cane basket. Her employer had been too generous with his money and had given her enough to keep Dougal in brisket for a month, if she succumbed to those pitiful brown eyes. This week she’d paid her monthly rent and deposited the remainder in her Winter Fund. She wouldn’t turn aside Sir John’s money; it would give her and Dougal a marvellous respite from frugal budgeting. She would ensure she reserved enough to supplement their dinner one night and to acquire a book or two from the town’s book dealer.

  Outside was a glorious day. Spring scented the air, the breeze warmed, and trees were smothered in blossoms and bees. Dougal was excited whatever the season. He would dive off the path into the lush grass and then bound back out again. The roads bustled. People sold wares from carts, and wagons went back and forth to ships on the river.

  A mage-blooded woman peddled charms and spells from her small gig. Aster almost asked for a love potion, then chided herself and hurried onward to leave temptation behind. She did not want a love that was compelled; it would be like eating a lush apple that was dry and flavourless.

  Her first stop was the bookseller, where she found two volumes to add to her small library. Then Aster visited the butcher’s shop and pointed to a spot by the step. “Stay right there, Dougal. I’ll not be long and your patience will be rewarded.”

  Inside she purchased a meaty brisket bone and the butcher wrapped it in paper. Mrs Roberts’ rats would be safe for a number of days once Dougal saw the bone. Treat secure in her basket, she left the shop and found the dog’s spot empty.

  But not Captain Logan’s arms.

  “Captain Logan? Whatever are you doing with Dougal?” She paused on the step and frowned into the full afternoon light. Even with her tinted glasses the sun seemed over-bright, and she had no parasol to provide shade. At least her bonnet kept her hair securely away from the grasp of the wind and provided a little shadow for her sensitive eyes.

  “Miss Simmons, Dougal and I are old friends now, and I thought to introduce him to my men.” Hamish offered her his free hand as she stepped to the street. “May I introduce Sergeant Alick Ferguson, Private Quinn Muir, and Lieutenant Ewan Shaw?”

  Each man bowed as his name was given. Aster gave a start at Mr Alick Ferguson. The enormous soldier looked as though someone had tried to cleave his face in two. A large scar started on his forehead, kissed his eyelid, and carried on down his cheek. Remembering her manners, she dropped a curtsey. “Gentlemen.”

  Today she wore a functional grey cotton dress with a red stripe underneath her charcoal spencer. She grasped the handle of the basket tighter to stop herself from picking at her coarse clothing. She felt like a little peahen next to the immaculately attired men in their polished Hessians, beaver hats, and tailored jackets. Yet despite their fine clothing, the aura of the Highlands clung to them. Or what she imagined the Highlands were like: wild, fierce, and untamed.

  Mr Ferguson was wilder and fiercer than the other three. He pulled his lips back to snarl at Dougal and the dog retreated deeper into the captain’s grasp. Then he gave a throaty laugh and ruffled the dog’s ears.

  “May we escort you somewhere?” Captain Logan took her arm and drew her closer to his side, out of the way of the pedestrians who scuttled back and forth. Once he had hold of her, he seemed reluctant to let go.

  “I was headed to a quiet spot by the river to read. Dougal likes to chase ducks. You must put him down, Captain, he will completely ruin your jacket.” The terrier had dusty paws, and the captain’s snowy cravat was in danger of turning muddy brown.

  He grinned at her, revealing his dimples. She was glad he kept his face clean-shaven. The dimples would be invisible if he grew a beard or moustache.

  “I think I shall hold him hostage until you agree to let us join you. I shall induct Dougal into the Highland Wolves as an honorary member,” the captain said.

  She narrowed her eyes and glanced from one man to another, on the point of declining, when the dog wiggled and squirmed in the captain’s grasp and barked. Hamish set him down, and he ran off, ducking between legs and around skirts.

  “Very well, since it would seem Dougal has made up his mind.” She would have to follow him now, and her heart beat a little faster at the thought. She had no idea how to converse with one man, let alone four. Or perhaps they would ignore her and talk amongst themselves? Yes, that seemed more likely. She would just sit and listen while she pretended to read her book.

  The captain smirked as though he had somehow conspired with the terrier and everything had unfolded to his plan. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Alick, stop at the bakery and meet us by the river.”

  They strolled along the busy road. Although outside the perimeter of London, Woolwich was a bustling town, servicing both the armoury and the wharves. In daylight, there was minimal unnatural activity apart from a few women either promising to commune with those on the other side or selling low level spells and charms. At night, wights and shades were drawn to the mages’ tower and circled it like moths to a flame.

  The captain sheltered Aster against his side, ensuring no one jostled her. The remaining two men trailed behind, talking to each other, while the third disappeared into the heavenly smelling bakery.

  “Does it take three extra men to make a uniform order, Captain? I thought your men were still in Edinburgh,” she asked. There was something about his solid presence at her side and the warmth from their contact, as though he were an enhanced version of Dougal. A woman could become used to having someone there as she strolled through the years. Even more intoxicating, he saw her. For a short time she was not invisible or a shade, and his attention, howev
er fleeting, warmed her blood and made her pulse thrum.

  “We four are on leave for the next month, and thought to take in the sights around here. And how many times must I ask you to call me Hamish?” He leaned his head closer to hers as they talked.

  “At least once more, Captain. Or would you prefer ‘my lord’?” She smiled and looked at him from under her lashes, suppressing a laugh when he frowned. Was this gentle teasing considered flirting? She really had no idea. Perhaps she should stick to topics like Napoleon’s latest foray through Europe and whether the Unnatural population was on the rise. There was something about the man’s presence that upset her usually rational thought processes. He was like a magnet set down next to a compass, making the needle swing wildly.

  “I much prefer the former over the latter, but I will not stop asking you to use my Christian name, even if it is a woeful breach of etiquette to do so. We Scots are more relaxed about such things, compared to the English.” He winked, and for some strange reason, that little action caused her to blush.

  She turned her head, hiding her face behind the side of her bonnet and using the flimsy shield to try and gather her wits. They reached the end of the road, and it split off to run alongside the river. Finding a quiet spot away from the hustle, they sat on the grass under a spreading oak. Hamish took a spot close to Aster’s side, reclining on one elbow. His well-muscled body was a little too close, but she couldn’t really move away without drawing attention to her actions. Her attention roved from his boot tops up his long legs. For some inexplicable reason, when she reached the fall of his breeches she blushed and had to drop her gaze.

  Dougal approved of the location; he promptly leapt into the water after a duck. The terrier splashed around for a while, unable to find the bird, and then hauled himself out of the river. He had the good sense to shake himself out away from Aster before plopping down at her feet. She fretted that she had no blanket to offer the men to sit on. Their pale breeches would have grass stains when they stood up.