Twig

by wildbow

  The Lord Infante was a giant of a man, and his clothes, old fashioned, didn’t make him look any smaller. He and the other nobles wore all black.

  As one, Lamb, stitched, and professor fell to one knee.

  “Good of you to come,” the Infante said. His voice was so deep it could be felt right in the center of Lillian’s chest. “Lambs, Professors, please stand. Others, depart. Augustus, you’ve made your token appearance. Look after those affairs I told you of.”

  Augustus bent his head in a small bow, then left through a side door. Behind Lillian, the entourage of doctors, soldiers, and guards left.

  “War,” the Infante said. “The Reverend is drawing it out. He had to win his first battle if he had to fight on any sort of even ground, and he was never going to win his first battle. Augustus is proving his worth ten times over. Much as you’re doing, headmaster Hayle.”

  Professor Hayle bent again into a bow. “You’re very gracious, Lord Infante.”

  “And the Lambs,” the Infante said. He spread his arms. “Draw closer, draw closer, now. Hayle, Ibbot, wait outside.”

  As a group, the Lambs walked down the path between two fenced sections of crimson plants.

  Lillian glanced back at Professor Hayle and Professor Ibbot, watching as the doors shut, leaving the Lambs with the great noble.

  “I’ve met Sylvester several times now,” the Infante said. “I had no illusions about who or what I was dealing with. On the first meeting, someone in pain, looking to lash out. And lash out, he did, against the Baron Richmond. On our second meeting, it wasn’t pain, but loss. I wanted to meet the people he lost.”

  The Infante set his eyes on Lillian.

  “Lillian Garey,” he said.

  “Lord Infante,” she said, giving him her best curtsey, bending her upper body into a bow.

  “Tell me. How would you completely and utterly destroy him?”

  She froze, head still bent.

  “No answer? That’s an answer unto itself.”

  “If it were me, Lord Infante, I would tell him that he was poison to me, that I was worse off for having him in my life,” Lillian said.

  “That’s hardly of any use to me,” the Infante said.

  “My apologies, my lord.”

  “If you were in my shoes, Ms. Garey, how would you completely and utterly destroy him?” that deep voice asked her.

  Her vision swam.

  There was no good answer. She had to satisfy him, or the Lambs would be deemed useless and wiped out, but answering…

  No. She had to give him exactly the right answer.

  “Lord Infante, in your shoes, I would first ask how to completely and utterly destroy each and every last one of the Lambs, and then I would see it through.”

  “Then you are blacker of heart than I am, Ms. Garey. Are you the one that he fell in love with?”

  “He fell in love with all of us, Lord Infante, but he and I were close.”

  “Tell me, Lillian Garey, were you the one that suggested that Professor Ibbot come?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “It was not Headmaster Hayle’s idea, and it was not by my request, although I allowed it when Hayle presented it.”

  “I believe that suggestion was Duncan’s, Lord Infante.”

  “And in the doing, the small Professor sees his Galatea as the gatekeeper to this realm, and a crisis is postponed,” the Infante said. “Deftly done.”

  “Thank you, Lord Infante,” Duncan said.

  “Ms. Garey,” the Infante said. “You desire a black coat?”

  “Yes, Lord Infante.”

  “With a single instruction, I could give you a coat. Would you want to attend a noble? An Academy? Pursue a project?”

  “Lord Infante, I would run an Academy, given a choice, but given a choice, I wouldn’t want a coat in that form.”

  “Of course,” the noble said. “But if you had it, and if I gave you command of Radham, for an example, what would you do with it?”

  Her heart was hammering. She felt nauseous.

  “With the utmost of respect, Lord Infante, I don’t feel this is a fair line of questioning. I don’t know with any certainty what I would do because I haven’t traveled there yet. The journey there will let me see what is right and what is wrong, what needs to change and what needs to stay the same.”

  “Do you wish to have power for power’s own sake, then?” the Infante asked.

  “No, Lord Infante.”

  “Duncan,” the Infante spoke. “Do you wish for a black coat?”

  “Yes, Lord Infante.”

  “Do you want that power and position for power’s own sake?”

  “I admit I do, Lord Infante. For the access to learning, and for the chance to have a hand in history.”

  Lillian was breathing harder. It wasn’t just panic. There was anger there too.

  Some of it at Duncan. But only some.

  “Lillian,” the Infante said. “I’m at a loss. What did he see in you?”

  For a paralyzing moment, she wasn’t sure she had an answer.

  Then, glancing at the casket, she thought of Gordon. Gordon’s words.

  Gordon had described each of the Lambs in turn as being something elemental in its simplicity. A flame that burned too bright, for too short of a time. Capricious whimsy and stolen breath. Etched memories and a monument. Then Sylvester, fluid, a reflection.

  But what was she?

  “Lord Infante, Sylvester is fluid. He conforms to fit those closest to him. He reflects them. But he doesn’t often get the chance to see himself. He got that from Jamie, once upon a time, I think, someone who saw all of him, even though a perfect recall is harsh, sometimes. He could leave a softer message behind, with me. One that wouldn’t be as stark, and which would carry forward better. And maybe, the lessons he imparted on me would matter, down the road.”

  “He cares about legacy, then. It makes sense.”

  Had she betrayed Sylvester, by sharing all of this? Had she betrayed herself and the Lambs, by sounding too fond of Sylvester?

  “Yes, Lord Infante,” Lillian said, her voice sounding distant.

  “Thank you, Lillian, for educating me about our mutual enemy,” the Infante said.

  “Yes, Lord Infante,” she said, feeling numb and hot with anger at the same time. Staying composed and keeping her voice level was all she could do.

  “I’ve upset you,” he said.

  She couldn’t find the words to respond.

  “I understand. Take a moment, gather your composure. I’ll have a word with the headmaster and the professor. Join us when you’re ready.”

  “Yes, Lord Infante,” she said. She only felt worse now.

  The Infante strode from the room. The doors closed behind him.

  “That wasn’t what I expected,” Duncan said, his voice quiet.

  Lillian frowned, staring down at the ground.

  “You needed to answer his questions, which you did, and you needed to satisfy him, and you did. I think that was a loyalty test, and—”

  “It wasn’t a loyalty test,” Lillian said. “He was sticking the knife in and twisting it.”

  “Oh,” Duncan said. “I don’t think I understand.”

  “You don’t need to understand,” Ashton said, firmly. “You need to recognize that Lillian is upset and you need to respect her feelings.”

  “Thank you, Ashton,” Lillian said.

  She felt arms wrap around her shoulders. Mary.

  “He invaded the relationship,” Lillian said. “He pried. He poisoned things with little comments and doubts.”

  She felt Mary’s head move in a nod.

  “He made me betray Sy, and yet I’m not even sure if I told him anything new.”

  “He would have found a way to get that information,” Mary said.

  “But I’ll never know, will I? He found the good parts of that relationship, and he took it. Or smudged it, tainted it. And I don’t understand why.”

  “To hurt Sylves
ter, in a roundabout way?” Mary suggested.

  “I don’t know,” Lillian said. She shrugged, and in the doing she inadvertently signaled that Mary should end the hug. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Mary said.

  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do like this,” Lillian said.

  “Handle the now, now,” Helen said. “Basics first. Eat, sleep, breathe, murder, drink. Then handle the next most essential things.”

  “I think I’ve got most of the basics covered,” Lillian said. “It’s the complex web of things that has me stuck. Hayle asked if I was a student or a Lamb, back in the carriage.”

  “You identified as a Lamb,” Mary said.

  Lillian kept her voice quiet, “I identified as a Lamb. And I think I disappointed him. I think I disappointed Sy, when I told him I couldn’t be both. Or that I couldn’t be his and be ours at the same time. Or… I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now.”

  “You are a Lamb,” Mary said. “You are a great mind. You’re capable of the number one spot in your year. Don’t fall into his trap. Just because you don’t see it now. Just because you don’t see it right this second doesn’t mean it isn’t possible. It’s like it is with my training and with your lesson plans.”

  Mary had been pacing across the garden, before stopping to turn and talk. She stood near the casket, staring down at the frosted glass.

  She turned away, “Concrete steps.”

  Lillian nodded.

  “Ccome,” the voice said.

  Her blood ran cold.

  She turned her head, and she saw. Sitting in a chair at the other end of the garden, the Duke still sat. So still in the evening gloom, all dressed in black, he was easy to miss.

  “Did he hear?” Ashton asked.

  “More concerning is did he speak?” Duncan asked.

  Lillian, quickly joined by Mary, approached the Duke.

  Stiff, unsure, she bent into a bow.

  “Lilliann,” the word came. Uneven, not flowing as a word should, drawn out, awkward.

  “My lord,” she said. “You can speak?”

  “A tthird off my mind gone. Slow. Unnn-befitting forr aa nobble, I know-w. But aa-ugmmentations… cann speak iff Ii consscentrate. Concenntrating alll my life.”

  “Yes, my lord. Does—does the Infante know?”

  “Nno. You will nott tell himm-m.”

  She glanced at the others.

  “Why us?” she asked. Then, “My lord.”

  “For Ssylvesster. Yyou keep, inn your medicinne bag, W-wyvverrn?”

  “Yes,” she said. She didn’t append the ‘my lord’ this time.

  “Willl hellp mme work arround damaged parrts. Iin exchannge, I willl be ann allly. The innfannte, more dangerrous thann you knoww. I knoww things. Uniite the Llambs. I sso sswear this.”

  She glanced at Mary, then at Helen, then back at Duncan.

  The same question, posed again.

  To do her duty, or to be a Lamb.

  She reached for the pack that was attached to her belt. Not as a decision, but to confirm that the syringe she’d been asked to keep to administer to Sylvester was still there.

  Duncan caught her wrist, and she met his eyes.

  “The Infante knew the Duke was here,” Duncan said. “It’s a trap.”

  “It’s not out of the question,” Mary said.

  The anger was still fresh, clouding her judgment.

  Hayle had been unable to brace her for the Infante. But he’d brought up his devils.

  On the flip side of things, she wanted to be the compassionate Doctor that Sy and Mary both cherished. The one that cared even for gossip-mongers.

  But the nobles were dangerous, this Duke among them.

  “Is that the sentiment?” Lillian asked.

  Both Duncan and Mary nodded.

  She met the Duke’s eyes.

  “Perhaps on a future visit, my lord?” she offered. “It’s something the Lambs will need to discuss.”

  With glacial slowness, the Duke nodded his head.

  Previous Next

  Bitter Pill—15.1

  “Caton’s second rule is where you have to be able to do maths quick in your head. Intake scales. I’m not going to read the numbers out loud, you both can read. Gases, fuels, hydration. Note correlation to size. Where the science stops and the art starts is when you can adjust the scales and numbers as you grow the system, and you start seeing the organism naturally take on the necessary proportions to draw breath, digest, and, of course, hydrate.”

  I nodded, looking down at the book. It was one of Fray’s tomes, not the Academy’s, but the tables were much the same. I commented, “I’m not going to remember numbers like that.”

  “I will,” Jessie said, sitting on the stool next to me.

  I elbowed her.

  “You can always refer to the books, I guess,” our tutor said. “But if you want to be good—”

  “I want to be below average, not good,” I said. “I’m quick. I can pick stuff up. I’m primarily interested in getting a grounding in anything I wouldn’t be able to figure out on my own.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Jessie said.

  “That’s exactly what I’m doing. Speaking for myself. You can manage on your own,” I told Jessie.

  Jessie was wearing a wool dress in navy blue, with a collared shirt underneath. Her hair was braided to one side, the short braid just barely touching the collarbone at her right shoulder, and she had the glasses set so that she was looking over them as often as not, to better complete the ‘librarian’ look. It allowed her to give me a lot of ‘disappointed teacher’ looks.

  She gave me one in response to my teasing, before turning to our tutor. “Anything you can teach us is appreciated, Leah. Do you think you’re up for it?”

  “Mm hmm,” Leah said. She glanced at Jessie, then me, wary. “Possibly.”

  I could understand why.

  “Okay,” I said. “I know I sound like the worst person to tutor ever.”

  “You might just be,” Jessie said.

  “But we can make it worth your while. What did we suggest fundingwise, when we approached you, again?”

  “Six hundred,” Jessie and Leah said, almost at the same time.

  “Right,” I said. “Six hundred crown dollars.”

  I turned, opened a bag, and, blocking it with my body, I picked out some bills. I counted them, closed up the bag, and turned around.

  “One third now,” I said, counting out the bills, “One third at the halfway point. One third at the end. If you’re keen.”

  “I’m… cautiously keen,” Leah said.

  Leah didn’t look like a suspicious individual, which made her all the more perfect for the role of clandestine tutor. She was shorter than me, fresh faced, blonde haired, and dressed in fairly nondescript clothing—a long-sleeved dress, cardigan, and stockings. Her boots were lace-up, almost knee high, and caked with now-dry mud, marking her trip from the Academy to the crummy neighborhood that Jessie and I had set up in.

  If it wasn’t for the dark circles under her eyes from late-night studying, the ink-smudges at one side of her hand where it had rested on notebooks? The faint stains of bodily fluids that her lab coat and apron hadn’t caught and washing hadn’t entirely removed? I wouldn’t have guessed she was an Academy student.

  All the more so because she had found her way to a lantern-lit room in the ass end of town, where everything was covered in cloths and dust. Tools and bits of building material from a job that had never finished were strewn here and there.

  I finished counting out the money, then held it out. She reached for it, then stopped short of taking it.

  “Problem?” I asked.

  “A couple,” she said.

  “Start with the first one, then,” I told her.

  “I feel like the moment my hand takes that money might be the same moment that Academy soldiers kick in the door and drag me off.”

  “Absolutely,”
I said. “Because that’s how it works. They’re waiting for you to touch the money. The introductory lesson to show you know your stuff? Irrelevant. They have to follow very arbitrary rules like you taking the money after sharing the info.”

  Leah frowned at me. “I was thinking they would wait and see if I took money, so they could pose aggravated charges.”

  Fair counterpoint.

  “They don’t need aggravated charges, Leah,” Jessie said. “If you’re found giving a lesson here, or if you get caught in the future, that’s enough. They’ll expel you at best and disappear you into a dungeon or lab somewhere at worst, depending on who your parents are and how badly those parents would miss you. If that worries you, then say so. You can take the initial sum, and you’ll never see us again.”

  “Just like that?” Leah asked. “Two hundred dollars for showing up here, proving I know my stuff?”

  “We want a tutor we can use and we’re willing to shop around. The money buys your silence,” I said. “I’m a terrible student. I used to attend a preparatory school out West—”

  “Very briefly,” Jessie pointed out.

  “Doesn’t matter. It was long enough that—

  “Long enough? A couple of days.”

  “—Long enough for me to know I’m not meant for classes. I’m a student of the city.”

  “I’ll admit he actually is,” Jessie said. “I know how that sounds, that it’s a phrasing that comes out of the mouth of numbskulls and thugs, but it’s actually apt here.”

  “And I’m a quick learner.”

  “Again, I have to confess true,” Jessie volunteered.

  “Devastatingly intelligent, even,” I added, to see if Jessie would acknowledge it.

  Jessie sighed instead.

  “…And we have the money to pay you,” I told Leah, returning my focus to her. “It’s just a question of whether you can endure the risk and put up with me.”

  “That last point is not to be understated,” Jessie said, quiet.

  “I think I could,” Leah said. “And being able to cover next year’s tuition isn’t small potatoes.”

  “Absolutely. Potatoes of significance, these,” I said. I flapped the money lightly.

  “But my second thought is that I don’t even really need the money. Don’t get me wrong, the money is good, but is it…”