The Cipher

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  “I wore my sapphire taffeta.” As if her mother hadn’t directed Blythe to put Lucy into it.

  “Good. You look quite well in it. And did you enjoy yourself?”

  “Indeed. The evening was more entertaining than I expected.”

  Her mother’s interest sharpened. “Oh? Did you meet someone, then?”

  Lucy hesitated. She shouldn’t say anything about Marten. But the same heady recklessness that had seized her when she’d met him in the garden sang through her again. Surreptitiously she closed her right hand around her left arm, feeling the cipher beneath her sleeve. Was that the culprit? Was it driving her against common sense? Even so, she couldn’t stop the words.

  “Actually, I did. A very handsome man. Well connected, also. Captain Marten Thorpe.”

  “What? You didn’t. When?”

  Lucy smiled sweetly at Jack’s astonishment. “Shortly after you abandoned me for the card room. He and I are dining together this evening.”

  Her mother straightened, her hands closing around the arms of her chair. “I forbid it. Do you know the man’s reputation? He is a gambler and a rogue—he either wants to ruin you or steal your money. You cannot possibly be involved with him!”

  “Ruin me? Is that even possible?” Lucy cringed from the irony. The answer was yes, but not in the way her mother meant. And it wasn’t Marten who had in mind to ruin her.

  “I won’t have you making a spectacle of yourself. You’re a Rampling. Do not forget it.”

  “I doubt I could,” Lucy said, rubbing the pendant hidden under her clothes. “But even so, I don’t expect to make a spectacle of myself. Marten Thorpe is merely an agreeable companion.”

  “Nonsense. He is a rogue. You mustn’t have anything to do with him. And that brother of his—he’s done nothing but undermine William’s rule, accusing him of corruption and saying the merchants could run Crosspointe better. It’s all treason. And they say he murdered his first wife. Monstrous! Stay away from that family, Lucy. I forbid you to see this man.”

  “Mother, they say a lot of things that aren’t really true. What about the things they say about Cousin William? Besides, I am dining with Marten, not his brother.”

  “Absolutely not. He is not right for you and you may not see him. Now,” Lucy’s mother said in a bright voice, folding her embroidery and setting it aside, “tell me your news, Jack.”

  Lucy sat silently as Jack told stories about his work and the people he’d encountered. Her mother had made up her mind and expected that Lucy would accept her decree. Ordinarily, she would, having no real interest in Marten Thorpe. But then, ordinarily she wouldn’t have bothered with him in the first place. She’d have let him walk away in the garden, if not chased him away. But things had changed. More than her mother could possibly understand. Even if she outwitted her blackmailer, there was no way to save herself from the cipher. The knowledge filled her with a growing wildness, her habitual prudence and caution having washed away like it had never been. She wanted…to feel, taste, touch, smell, and hear everything she’d never had the courage to experience before. And she was going to start with Marten.

  Jack continued to talk, covering Lucy’s silence. But when carriage wheels clattered in the drive, their mother dispatched him to greet their father and elder brother.

  “Tell them to wash and change quickly,” she ordered. “And tell Soames we’ll dine in half a glass.”

  Lucy waited expectantly as the door closed. It was clear her mother had more to say, and she wanted to do so in private.

  “I want you to promise me not to see Marten Thorpe.”

  Lucy answered simply and baldly. “No.”

  Her mother’s mouth dropped open and then clamped shut. She began to speak and then caught herself, her eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong?”

  The change of subject took Lucy by surprise. “What do you mean?”

  Her mother frowned, bending forward and scrutinizing Lucy as if trying to see inside her daughter. Her fingers tapped the arms of her chair. “Something has happened. You aren’t yourself. You’d never entertain the notion of this man otherwise. What is it?”

  Lucy shook her head. “Sorry, Mother. This is something I have to take care of alone.”

  “No, you don’t. Whatever it is, we can help. And if we can’t, then Cousin William will certainly be able to do something.”

  “No. Not with this.” She spoke adamantly, then hesitated. If the blackmailer exposed her, her family would have no warning. Unless she said something.

  Lucy stood, pacing across the room and back. She felt ambivalent about confessing her stupidity to her mother. It surprised her. She ought to feel more embarrassed, making every attempt to conceal what she’d done. But her pride seemed to have vanished, leaving behind brash stoicism and heedless bravura. She halted.

  “All right. The truth is that I am in trouble and plenty of it. There’s not a thing you or anyone else can do to help,” she said bluntly. “Better that the family is as far from my mess as possible. Especially Cousin William. If I’m lucky, I’m the only one who’ll pay the price.”

  Her mother blanched. “Dear Chayos, you’re frightening me. It simply cannot be that bad. Now, sit down and tell me about it and we’ll see what can’t be done.” Her mother sucked in a horrified breath, her eyes widening. “You’re not pregnant?”

  Lucy’s sudden bark of laughter tore at her throat. “No.”

  When she said nothing else, her mother prodded her. “Breakfast will be on the table in a few minutes. Do you want to discuss this in front of your father and brothers?”

  “I don’t really want to discuss it in front of you, Mother.”

  “Lucy! Don’t be insolent. I am not going to let this go. If I have to, I’ll follow you home. Your dinner with Captain Thorpe will be all the more cozy for my presence.”

  Her mother’s chin jutted. She had that obstinate, predatory look, like she’d rather die a painful death than lose this argument. Which she probably would. Lucy shrugged. This wasn’t an argument she needed to win.

  “All right. Remember when I was a little girl and I told you I could sense majick?”

  “Of course. You were lonely and wanting attention. Stephen and Robert didn’t have time to play with you, and everybody else was cooing over how cute Jack was and then I had my accident. You told stories so that we’d pay more attention to you. Our fault, really, for not trying harder with you. But you grew out of it. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Actually, I didn’t grow out of it. I just stopped telling you about it when I was nine and a man who was wearing ciphers nearly killed me when I told him I could see them.”

  Her mother’s cheeks turned the color of milk. Her mouth opened and closed, but no words issued forth. Lucy almost laughed.

  “I decided that since my talent only seemed to get me in trouble, I should stop mentioning it. It wasn’t good for much, anyhow. But as it turns out, it’s helped me find a number of true ciphers. I’ve taken up collecting them, you see. I keep them in a vault cut into the rock beneath my house.”

  “You didn’t…can’t!” Her mother’s hands crept up to cover her mouth.

  Lucy continued on. “The problem is that someone else discovered my secret and I’m being blackmailed. He will expose me if I don’t do as he asks. Well, actually, that’s a problem, but not really the problem. On the night of the salvage, I sensed another true cipher. I couldn’t resist; I had to find it. Unfortunately, this time my luck ran out and it attached. It’s begun to work on me and I don’t think I have a lot of time left. So you see, there’s nothing to be done. I’ve worked out a way to frustrate my blackmailer, but if it doesn’t work, you need to be prepared for suspicion. You should warn Cousin William. I cannot. I am constantly watched.”

  Her mother sat rigid, her face turned to gray stone. She hardly seemed to breathe. Lucy watched her, waiting. She should have felt a certain triumph for disconcerting her imperturbable mother, or guilt for causing her such
shock and pain. But she felt neither. Since she’d woken that morning, she’d felt removed from herself, from all the fear and worry she knew she ought to be feeling. It couldn’t last. Soon her emotions would overwhelm her and she’d turn into a gibbering idiot. But for the moment, she was depending on that distance to get through the morning.

  Suddenly there was a knock at the door and a footman announced breakfast.

  “Give us a moment,” Lucy said. When the door closed again, she turned back to her mother. “Will you be all right? Do you want me to explain it all to Father, Jack, and Robert?”

  “Explain?” Her mother’s voice was strangled. She paused, her mouth crimping. Lucy watched with something akin to wonder as her mother visibly pulled herself together. Her expression smoothed. She pinched her cheeks until they were pink and then folded her hands loosely in her lap. Only her eyes remained turbulent, with a hollow, haunted look. As she met her daughter’s gaze, Lucy felt the first crack in the inner shielding that kept her safe from her own emotions.

  “There shall be no mention of this during breakfast. When we are done, we will retire to privacy and discuss the matter further,” her mother announced in a brittle voice that firmed as she spoke. “Call the footman to carry me in, please.”

  Lucy’s father and brothers were waiting in the dining room, deeply involved in a discussion about the missing blood oak and Cousin William’s unexpected plans for a new port on the Root. Her mother let the conversation go on, despite her usual rule against political or work-related conversation at the table. When Lucy’s father eyed her with quizzical surprise, she waved her hand.

  “Go on, then, get it out of your system.”

  Lucy ate and listened, adding nothing to the discussion.

  “Everybody knows the majicars are incapable of creating a new Pale. What is Cousin William thinking?” demanded Robert on the opposite side of the table. His curly black hair was slicked back and clubbed tightly at the nape of his neck. He resembled their father, with blunt features, a wide mouth, and tea-colored eyes. He was clean-shaven with broad shoulders and a paunchy waist. His meaty hands were scarred from years of working in a warehouse.

  “The Jutras are trying to strangle us—they’ve swallowed nearly every country east of here. If they surround us, they’ll own us,” their father said.

  “We have ships and majicars. We’ll fight. A port on the Root does nothing for us.”

  “They have majicars of their own,” said Jack around a mouthful of bread. “And besides, we’d need an army. They won’t be stupid enough to march down to the shores so that we can use our ships against them. They’ll just sit beyond the Verge and blockade every port. It’ll be a siege. They’ll just wait for us to starve, or ambush us when we come looking for a fight. A port on the Root gives us a safe base and it will help the freelands maintain their economies and finance defenses. Cousin William will be able to organize an alliance of the free-lands against the Jutras.”

  “Pie in the sky,” Robert said scornfully. “And a waste of blood oak. Better for the majicars to use it to create weaponry. We could sell it to the freelanders, which would accomplish the same things and not cost us a million drals.

  “And what if the majicars waste all that blood oak and still can’t make a new Pale? Then we’ll be without a new port, and without a source of power for weapons. It’s too valuable to take chances with. This is the largest find of blood oak in more than twenty years!” Robert thumped his fist on the table, then glanced at their frowning mother, ducking his head.

  “I think we’ve said enough on the subject,” said their father. “Cousin William is a careful man and will not begin this project without some assurance of success. Now, Lucy, tell us about the wrecks—did you have any part in the salvage?”

  She flicked a glance at her mother, whose gaze hardened with warning. Lucy didn’t need it. It was one thing to announce her problems to her mother, another thing entirely to speak of them in front of the servants.

  “I happened to be the senior on-site,” she said. “I took the van on the salvage.”

  Then followed a barrage of questions from her brothers and father. Most of it concerned the logistics of the salvage and the ships, but there were two that hit Lucy hard, sending cobweb cracks across her emotional shields.

  “Did you see any of the collection?” Jack asked eagerly.

  “Yes,” she said tersely.

  “What happened? What was the sylveth spawn like?” He sounded like a young boy looking for a scary bedtime story.

  Lucy rested her hands on the table, staring down at her plate as she sought a reply. At last she looked up. “We didn’t have a majicar. Ours went to help with the cordon and the rest couldn’t get across the strait. We put one knacker in a box—she’d been infected. We cut another man’s arm off there on the ground. As for the sylveth spawn? They were out of a madman’s nightmares. I hope we caught them all.”

  She stopped abruptly, picking up her teacup in a trembling hand. She drank blindly.

  A turgid silence fell, broken by the scrape of silverware and the clink of porcelain. At last her father broke it. He clearly was looking for a safer topic. And found another nettle patch.

  “What did you hear about the blood oak? Any scuttle-butt at customs about who might have it or how it slipped through the cordon?”

  Lucy pushed her plate away. “Yes, I’ve heard a rumor.”

  “And?” prompted Robert, uncowed by Lucy’s withering look.

  “Jack, you were telling me quite a funny story about bringing a ship into dry dock. Please tell it again for Robert and Thomas.”

  Jack obliged their mother with a sidelong look at Lucy. Before long, the moment was forgotten as everyone began chuckling. Lucy pasted a smile on her face, but felt the tension inside her rising. She was like a trapped animal, wanting nothing more than to retreat to the safety of her burrow. Except there was no place safe for her anymore. She thought of Marten and wild desire surged inside her. He was like the promise of a drug—something to make her forget for a little while. With him she wouldn’t have to worry about questions or even being polite. With him she could let go a little. Stop trying to hold herself together.

  It took all her willpower not to stand and walk out right then and there. But there was one more ordeal to come. If only she could keep herself from shattering before then.

  Jack kept everyone laughing until breakfast ended. Back in the morning salon, Lucy retreated to the window while her mother dismissed the servants.

  “Lucy has news you need to hear,” her mother announced when everyone had settled. The strain had returned to her voice.

  Lucy obeyed the implicit command and told her story again. She ignored the exclamations from her brothers and father, pushing on to the end. “And to answer your question, Father, the shipowners have accused me of stealing the blood oak. There is an investigation under way.”

  If she expected a reaction, she was disappointed. Her father and brothers stared in blank shock, like wooden dolls.

  “What have you done?” Robert muttered at last.

  “Are you all right?”

  Jack came to stand beside her, his hands stretched out but not touching, as if he might break her, as if he might be contaminated by her. Her mouth stretched in a tight smile and she stepped back, resting her hand against the window. She shivered. She felt cold and realized that it was creeping up her left arm from the cipher. She swallowed and stared in horror at the rime of frost spreading across the glass. She pulled her hand away, aching pain leaching through her flesh to her bones.

  “I have to leave,” she said, fleeing toward the door.

  “No—we have to figure out what to do.” Her mother was frantic. “Thomas, stop her.”

  “I cannot stay.” Lucy held up her hand. Sparkling flakes of ice drifted to the floor and crusted on her sleeve.

  Her family gaped. Panic rushed through Lucy as the rug under her feet crunched with cold. She grasped the door handle and then jer
ked back. A slab of ice a finger-width thick glazed the doorway and crept outward over the paintings on the wall and up to the ceiling. Her father pulled her mother nearer the fire as her brothers leaped to help him. Lucy remained standing, ice sluicing from her like water out a broken dam.

  She couldn’t hear anything but the pounding of her own heart. She saw her father’s lips moving, but was deaf to the words. She glanced down at her arm. Light glowed beneath her sleeve and shone out the cuff over her hand. Pain wrapped her in a cocoon of thorns. It was hard to breathe. Suddenly she knew this was the end: She was going to die. Fury shook her. She would not kill her family too.

  She lumbered across the room, her steps slow and graceless. Her fingers fumbled around a small marble-topped table. She picked it up, determined to break through the chessboard glass doors and make an escape for herself. She turned, swinging the table with all her might. Glass shattered and a number of wooden cross-frames splintered. She swung again and again. Each time, more of the wooden window scaffolding broke away. She tossed the table away, pulling at the wreckage until there was a hole large enough for her to squeeze through. Without a backward look, she grasped the edges of the door and pulled herself out. Her dress caught and she jerked free. Deep cuts laced her palms and fingers, the blood hardening into ice.

  Frost formed on the grass as she stumbled out onto the lawn, heading for the pebbled driveway. She lurched along, following the scrolling curve of the drive. The house had disappeared from sight when Lucy realized that she no longer felt the searing cold. Blood ran from between her tightly fisted fingers. She stopped, bending and retching violently. When she was done, a wave of dizziness struck her. She swayed, sinking to the ground.

  “Lucy?”

  She looked up. Her father and Jack had followed her. They stood twenty feet away, hands outstretched as if in supplication.

  “It’s passed,” she said hoarsely. “I have to go home.”

  Home. To what? She was dangerous. She shouldn’t bring her danger back to Blythe and James and everybody else. She’d have to go somewhere else. Regretfully, she thought of Marten. He didn’t deserve this either. She was a pariah.