Fog Season

by Patrice Sarath

  “Tea, miss? Or brandy?”

  “Neither, thank you. Just a moment to pull myself together. You’ve been very helpful,” she said. “Do you have a washroom? I must look a fright.”

  “Not at all,” he said gallantly, but he pointed her to a door at the back of the office. “There’s a pump for water; let me help you.”

  The washroom was dim, lit only by the somber daylight coming in through a high window, but she managed to straighten her dress, pin her hair up, and wipe away most of the mud on her hands, from when she clambered over the wheel. There was a pump outside the door, and the young manager pumped diligently. The cold water gurgled up the pipes, so cold it bit, but was refreshing at the same time. She looked down at her fingers – red with cold and buzzing with power. Her trembling slowed, and full understanding of what had just happened sunk in.

  There was only one explanation. Despite every attempt to keep Noe on a short leash, the housemaid had wasted no time in informing her contact that a very large sum of money was en route from the Mederos address to the bank. We must stop underestimating our enemies, Tesara thought. She looped the purse strap around her wrist, feeling the reassuring weight of its contents.

  She came out of the washroom to find the young manager hovering anxiously. “We’ve sent for the constables. In the meantime, is there anyone we can send word to?”

  “Yes. I must send a message to my sister.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Tesara sat down at the manager’s office desk – where the name Ravietti was written in prominence on the door and the stationery – and scrawled a few lines to Yvienne, then sealed and sanded the letter with hands that still shook a bit.

  Vivi, the cabbie tried to rob me. I took care of him but he must be in on it with Noe. I’m waiting for the constables at the Ravietti warehouses.

  The young manager – he gave his name as Christofre Ravietti – sent a messenger boy with her note up to the Crescent.

  “The constables will be here soon,” Mr Ravietti said, when he had dispatched the page. “They’ll get to the bottom of this and find your man.”

  Even though she had turned down refreshment, young Mr Ravietti, wise beyond his years, brought a tray with both tea and brandy, and then stoked the small fire in the grate, bringing welcome warmth to his office. “Is there anything else I can do for you, miss?” He watched her anxiously. She gave him a brilliant smile, though chagrined that she had made a conquest of the susceptible young man.

  “Mr Ravietti, you have gone above and beyond the call of duty for me. I thank you for calling the constables. I’m afraid we will have to take over your office for the interview.”

  “It would be my honor, Miss…?”

  “Mederos.” She saw his face alter slightly in recognition of her notorious surname, but he continued gallantly.

  “Miss Mederos. And then you will allow me to carry you home afterwards in my carriage.”

  “Mr Ravietti, I have imposed upon your kindness enough,” she protested. “I could not possibly ask you to drive me all over town.”

  “You can hardly be expected to take a public hack, miss. I would be honored to give you a lift home. I have a carriage right here at the office stable.”

  Tesara took a deep breath and gave in. “I thank you, sir, for your generosity.”

  He took her hand and pumped it enthusiastically, and then let her be, saying the constables would be in shortly. And in truth, she admitted to herself, she did not want to set foot in a public cab, not any time soon. She poured herself some tea and laced it with a splash of brandy. She drank and coughed, and only then came to terms with what had just happened.

  The cabbie had shot at her. Fury gripped her, partly borne of reaction. First she trembled, then her feelings calmed, and at last became ice cold.

  If we ever cross paths again, Noe’s unknown accomplice, she thought, the next time I won’t give you the chance to get the drop on me.

  Abel watched from the mouth of the foul alleyway as the constables converged on the overturned hack and the trembling horse. They would not find the cabbie. Abel had watched the big man pull himself to his feet, groaning and cursing, finally limping away, furtively looking around for pursuit. Most likely, Abel thought, the man feared the younger Miss Mederos was coming back to finish him off.

  That’s what I would be afraid of.

  If he hadn’t seen it, he wouldn’t have believed it himself. Abel had been watching the Mederos house when the rickety cab drove up and the young lady got in. Concealed by the fog and rain he had jogged alongside the cab and attached himself to the back like a limpet as it headed down the cobblestone hill. Consequently he had a ringside seat for the attempted abduction and Miss Mederos’s counterattack. She had handily defeated the man, and it confirmed Doc’s intelligence that the girl was an unnatural. No wonder he wanted her, Abel thought. Untrained, she had a powerful talent. Once Doc got his hands on her… Abel felt a sickening lurch in his belly. It’s not my concern, he told himself. The girl would survive or not – his job was to bring her to Doc and that was enough.

  If the plethora of ten-groat novels were to be believed, the random abduction of well-bred, wealthy young ladies was a common hazard. Abel knew better. Some other faction knew the younger Miss Mederos had powers and had made a move. Abel needed to grab the girl and fast, before whomever it was made another attempt.

  Chapter Twelve

  After Tesara left in the hack, the rain came down in earnest. Such was Fog Season, Yvienne thought – drizzle and fog and rain. She went off to her study, and had barely settled in to review the House books when Albero knocked on the door with a most puzzled expression.

  “Miss, a hack is here, and he says he’s the driver the boy reserved.”

  Yvienne could feel the blood drain from her face. Struggling for calm, she said, “That’s unusual, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, miss. And I don’t like it. Not after everything that’s happened.” His flat declaration confirmed her own fears.

  “Nor I, Albero. I wish there were a way to warn my sister.”

  “I can send the boy for the constables,” he said, “but what would we tell them?”

  She nodded, thinking hard. Noe had heard them discussing the money. Noe knew Tesara was going to the bank. Noe had not wasted any time. I should have tossed her from this house the moment I caught her listening at the door. Well, she was about to rectify that situation. She said, “Where’s Noe?”

  Albero’s confusion deepened. “Noe? She told me she was going on an errand for Mrs Francini. I’ll ring for her, and she can explain.”

  As expected, Mrs Francini had not asked Noe to go on an errand and was baffled by Albero saying she had.

  Uncle Samwell chose that moment to return to the house, damp but self-satisfied, reeking of spirits, coffee, and cigars.

  “What’s the fuss?” he asked, when he found them gathered in the study.

  “Noe is missing,” Yvienne said. “And Tesara may be in a bit of trouble.”

  “The girl has a knack,” Samwell said.

  “Noe’s things are still in the servants’ sitting room,” Mrs Francini said. The kindly woman’s expression was angry, and her countenance appeared unused to the emotion. “She must be intending to return. I’ll send her packing, Miss Yvienne. This is beyond flightiness.”

  “I counted the silver last night, but I’ll count again,” Albero said, the first thought of a competent butler.

  Yvienne totaled the ways into and out of the house, and she went running to the solar, the others following in her wake. Sure enough, the portofinestra doors that led to the garden were unlatched. Of course, she thought. We just closed off this part of the house. No one would see Noe sneak out this way.

  She and Albero exchanged glances. “She’s never had a key, miss, that I know of,” he said. “And the fact that she’s left the door unlocked means that she hasn’t had a chance to borrow one or have a copy made.” He
blanched. “I hope.”

  “Oh!” Uncle Samwell said, handing over a crumpled bit of paper from his waistcoat pocket. “I was so astonished by you all it completely slipped my mind. A runner was at the front door when I came in. Cheeky bugger wouldn’t go ’til I gave him a groat and he looked at me as if he expected a guilder.”

  Yvienne wanted to scream, but settled for giving her uncle a glare and tearing open the letter. She read Tesara’s note. She didn’t say she was hurt, but then, Tesara wouldn’t want her to worry. She passed the note to Albero and Mrs Francini, and then Uncle Samwell. The latter gave a long, low whistle.

  “Sounds like a housemaid’s ring,” he said. “I’ve heard that Cramdean’s involved in that one.”

  A sound at the glass doors caught their attention. It was Noe, and it was just her bad luck that when she stepped inside the house through the portofinestra, breathless, wet, and disheveled, everyone was standing there waiting for her.

  Noe’s expression went from shock to shame to defiance, her face red with embarrassment. She straightened her back and clasped her hands together, but she said, “I know, I know. You’re disappointed in me. You’ve given me a chance, and see what I did. I’ve let you all down, treated you all so badly. Well, I don’t care. You can sack me all you like, and I won’t care.”

  “It’s not being turned off without a reference that you’re facing, Noe,” Yvienne said. “You’re an accessory to a crime.” She held up the letter. “You told your accomplice that my sister was going to the bank, didn’t you? He was waiting at the hack station at the foot of the Crescent. You just had to run down there and give him word that the youngest Miss Mederos was going to make a deposit. A sturdy girl like you could make it down there in five minutes; maybe ten to fifteen minutes to walk back up. I know; that hill is quite steep.”

  Noe tried to interrupt but Yvienne bored on.

  “All you had to do was find a pretext to run down there, and you could be gone as long as necessary. Neither Albero nor Mrs Francini would question, because they trusted you.”

  “Miss Yvienne, I–”

  Yvienne was relentless, fury rising in her. “And you knew no one would be coming in or out of the solar, because we were closing these rooms off for the season. My only question is, why did you come back? Was it because you knew that there would be more where that came from? And all you had to do was leave the portofinestra doors open in the solar for easy access to my home?”

  She finished on a shout, her voice cracking. Everyone jumped, even Noe.

  Silence. Albero broke it. “I’ll call for the constables,” he said, his voice quiet.

  Struggling to keep her calm, Yvienne turned away without saying anything else, heartsick and furious all at once. Behind her, Noe began to cry.

  “Miss, I don’t know anything about the cabs. Miss, please, you can turn me off, but I didn’t – I couldn’t – whatever’s happened, that wasn’t me.”

  Yvienne turned around. Noe was sobbing, gulping down tears.

  “Where did you go?” she asked, expecting a lie.

  Noe gulped again. “I – I did go to tell someone about the money, but I don’t know anybody at the cab stand, and it was someone else, and he makes me do it, miss. I swear.”

  “The money?” Albero said.

  “The money?” Uncle Samwell repeated.

  “You’ve been spying on us, haven’t you?” Yvienne said. “Running around the house, trying to learn our secrets? Who are you telling, Noe? Have you already given him a sample of the goods in this house? If we look among your things will we find missing spoons?”

  Noe was out of words. She was trying hard to stop crying, which was good, as it was the one thing that was apt to put Yvienne even the slightest bit on her side. I cannot abide crying, she thought, because I stopped crying when I was fourteen, the day my family lost all its money.

  She looked at Noe, really looked at her. The girl was only a few years younger than Tesara, perhaps sixteen or seventeen. At that age, Yvienne was at Madam Callier’s, doing the same scullery work for her room and board. She and Noe had the same reddened, rough hands from the caustic soaps and boiling water used for cleaning. She had escaped; Noe would not. In a few years, the freshness that remained of her childhood would be burned out of her, her hair turned drab, her teeth rotten, and her cheeks hollow from deprivation. I was a Gentleman Bandit, robbing my peers, Yvienne thought. Was I so different from Noe?

  “Who is he?” she said, her voice far more gentle than before. They all looked at her, at her change of attitude. Noe gulped.

  “I don’t think I should tell you that, miss,” she said, wiping at her eyes. Her nose was redder than ever but the rest of her complexion was wan. “He’s – not a good man.”

  “No, I imagine not,” Yvienne said. “But I won’t allow him to continue on like this, corrupting perfectly decent housemaids. You’re one of us now, Noe, and I won’t have any more nonsense like this.”

  There was a ringing silence. Noe made to speak, then subsided, lips parted as if speech were stolen.

  Samwell said what everyone else was thinking. “Vivi, you’ve run mad. Sack her and call the constables. Going up against the dock gangs isn’t a good bet for business.”

  “Maybe it’s time the dock gangs should know they shouldn’t go up against me,” she snapped. There was another ringing silence. “Noe, you have been warned. You’re lucky this time this wasn’t your doing. But if anything like this happens again, I will have no scruples about sending straight for the constables. Have I made myself perfectly clear?”

  This time Noe managed a response, her voice quiet. “Yes, miss.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “So it wasn’t Noe after all?” Tesara said, after young Mr Ravietti had driven her home.

  “Apparently not,” Yvienne said. “I could be a fool, but I believe her. Someone else is after you.”

  They sat on the floor in front of the fireplace in the sitting room, as they had done as children, toasting bread and cheese over the fire on long forks. Tesara’s hair was in a braid draped over her shoulder, and Yvienne had let hers out of the prim bun she always wore. Her hair was dark and dappled in the firelight – Tesara’s had turned from white blonde as a child to a light golden brown. Her face stung, but she had put Miss Gentian’s Salve on the scrapes, and the soothing balm quieted the pain.

  The two junior constables had taken her report, writing down her description of the cabbie with great excitement. Tesara had given an abbreviated recital of events, saying only that the cabbie had held her at gunpoint and fired his pistol to cow her, but frightened the horse into bolting. She omitted her own defense. After getting assurances that the City Constabulary would get their man, young Mr Ravietti drove her home in his understated, yet comfortable, modern curricle drawn by a well-kept carriage bay. He handled the reins with great competency and no little pride, but was refreshingly un-showy about it. She had a notion that he would have wrapped her in Qin traders silk and laid a hot brick at her feet if he thought she would accept it. He was sweet and earnest, and she was exhausted and grateful.

  The reaction from the attack had drained her – the explosion of power had left her limp, even sleepy. This felt as if something was taken out of her, even as she knew she had learned an important part of managing her unusual talent. The power required to attack on the fly was more enervating than if she had been able to prepare and center herself. As a child my power was naïve, she thought. And it came without question and I used it without a thought. But now when I need it most, it requires careful handling. It’s not the power that’s draining. It’s the control.

  While she was thinking about it, Yvienne was considering her answer. Her sister set down her toast on the plate but she didn’t bite in right away, though the smell of the cheese and warm bread was heavenly. “I keep wondering why the cabbie would try to handcuff you,” Yvienne said. “That made no sense until I realized – it wasn’t a robbery;
it was an abduction.” She gave her sister a long look. “And I can think of only one reason they would be after you.”

  Someone who knows. The memory of the ships, sliding down the side of a giant wave, slowly toppling over into the sea, made her shudder. They know what I’ve done. They know what I’m capable of.

  “Trune,” Tesara said. He had kidnapped her six months ago and tried to force her to use her power at his bidding. And the cabbie – she remembered him now. It fell into place. “Oh, Vivi. The cabbie was the coachman.” Tesara shook her head, sickened. The brute of a coachman had done Trune’s dirty work six months ago. “They’ve come back.”

  “Trune,” Yvienne agreed. “We all thought it was Noe, of course. She was the obvious suspect. But Trune must have had someone keeping an eye on the house. They knew that when Albero sent the boy that we were ordering a hack for one of us. If it had been me, they would have used me as leverage. They just got lucky.” Her voice was dry.

  “How does he dare? He’s been sanctioned by the Guild. If they find he’s returned, he’ll go to prison.” Tesara felt a rising sense of anxiety. “We must go back to the constables, Vivi, and tell them what we know.”

  “We could,” Yvienne said slowly. “But what would we tell them?”

  “He tried to kidnap me! Again!”

  Her sister was silent for a long time. Finally, she said, “It’s bad enough the Harrier is here, poking into our business. If the constabulary investigates, what will they find?”

  They will find I sank the fleet. They would find out that Vivi was the Gentleman Bandit. An investigation by the constabulary could sniff out secrets best left hidden.

  “So Trune can operate with impunity,” Tesara said, her words laced with bitterness.