Rafe nudged the door shut and sank down onto the chaise that served as Joshua’s bed. The two rooms occupied by Rafe, Joshua, Thaddeus, and now Micah were on the third floor of a rickety residence around the corner from the Inkpot. They had long been rented out by University students, who tried to pack as many of themselves as they could into one lodging in order to save money. Micah was glad to have a place to sleep at night, even if it meant she had to sleep on a pallet under the table. She could use the table to work on during the day, putting up with Rafe and his roommates constantly going in and out. Rafe, as the senior roommate and longest tenant, had the second room, the one in back, which meant he was the only one with any privacy. Since he was helping her out voluntarily, Micah didn’t complain about the constant disruptions, and she did find it deeply satisfying to solve the mathematical problems he presented to her.
As she bit into the meat pie, her gaze dropped down to her notes. She picked up her pen, dipped it back into the ink, and began to calculate again.
“How goes it?” Rafe asked, sliding over on the chaise to get a closer look at her careful columns of numbers.
“Very well,” Micah said. “I’ve discovered the main problem with the table you gave me. How long have people been using it? It’s so wrong!” She took another bite of the pie; it was only lukewarm, but the lamb and potatoes and carrots were quite tasty. She had a brief pang of longing, though, for Aunt Judith’s pastry. This wasn’t as flaky as hers.
Rafe picked up the thin booklet he had given her and turned back to the frontispiece. “Says here this was printed about twenty-five years ago. What’s the problem?”
Micah launched into a detailed explanation of the issue, and as she spoke, Rafe studied her calculations. “It’s relatively simple,” she concluded. “Or it would be, if the artificial number of unity was zero, and then I could recalculate all the other figures. It would take a while, but I could do it.”
“And if you did it, that would correct the errors?” Rafe asked.
Micah nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! I really don’t know why it wasn’t done this way in the first place. People must have gotten lost if they were using these figures to chart their course—isn’t that what you said they were used for?”
“Yes.” Rafe leaned back against the wall, an odd expression on his face. Micah wasn’t exactly sure what it meant; he often had strange expressions that she couldn’t read.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, having learned that it was beneficial to ask rather than to guess, since she often guessed incorrectly. Human emotions, of course, were not like math—which was why she enjoyed math so much. Everything made sense!
Rafe answered, “Not wrong, exactly—”
“Rafe, you old dog,” cried Thaddeus, throwing open the front door, “what in the name of the Horned God possessed you to bring a nobleman into our rooms? Was that really the Duke Tremontaine?”
Rafe’s face colored slightly. “Well . . . yes.”
Thaddeus bounded into the room and pulled Rafe to his feet, patting Rafe’s head and shoulders. “Let me check—I’m afraid you might have come down with an illness—no, no, you seem solid; nobody’s smacked you on the head.”
Rafe detached himself from Thaddeus with a disdainful frown, settling himself back into the corner of the chaise. “Thaddeus, I’m in the middle of—”
Joshua appeared in the doorway, saying, “You’re back! What happened with the duke? I told you there would come a time when you’d find someone—”
Rafe dropped his head into his hands and groaned. “Will you both leave me alone? I’m trying to talk to Micah, here!”
Micah glanced at the three University students, Joshua and Thaddeus looking gleeful, Rafe hiding his face, and said seriously, “We were discussing the mathematical error in this table of artificial numbers. It’s a problem.”
“Yes, it is,” Rafe agreed, his voice muffled.
Joshua closed the door, leaning against it as if to bar Rafe from exiting, and said, “You’re not getting out of this, pigeon. What did he want? I mean obviously he wanted you—these walls are quite thin—but I heard you arguing at the end.”
Thaddeus leaned toward Rafe with an expectant expression on his face. “Do tell. It’s not every day that we’re visited by the Duke Tremontaine. He’s quite handsome, you know, for an older man.”
“The more wealth a man has the handsomer he gets,” Joshua quipped, sending Thaddeus into a paroxysm of laughter.
Rafe raised his reddened face and said glumly, “He wants me to be his secretary.”
Joshua’s eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline. “His secretary? But what about your school?”
Rafe winced. “Well . . .”
“Secretary to the Duke Tremontaine,” Thaddeus said in an awed tone of voice. “You could do a lot with that.”
Micah was puzzled. “Like what?”
“He could use the position to worm his way into the hearts of all those nobles on the Hill,” Thaddeus said.
Joshua perched on the edge of the table where Micah was working. “That’s a thought. So much for being true to your principles, though.”
Rafe groaned. “My principles haven’t gotten me very far.”
Joshua cocked his head. “I suppose, if you’re stuck with a hostile committee, you might as well consider the duke’s offer.”
Thaddeus bounced on the chaise next to Rafe. “Yes! Damn the degree, who needs it when you’ve got this on the table?”
“Got what on the table?” Micah asked, carefully moving her neat stack of papers out of the way of Joshua’s bottom.
“The job offer,” Rafe explained. “They seem to think I should take it.”
“Does that mean you’d leave here?” Micah asked, suddenly concerned.
“I wouldn’t leave you here,” Rafe said quickly. “You’re the brains behind this operation, Micah.”
Micah wasn’t entirely certain what he meant, but she liked the tone of his voice. “Well, do you want to know more about how I could solve these errors?”
“I do,” Rafe said. “You say that if you made this correction, you could recalculate the figures in the table?”
“Yes. I would make it perfect,” she said enthusiastically.
“How long do you think it would take?”
“Well, if I start from the beginning and go through each degree and minute . . .” She thought it through in her head and realized it would be quite an endeavor. “I don’t know how long,” she concluded, “but I would need some time.”
“What if you had people to help you with the calculations?” Rafe asked. “Could that speed things up?”
Micah considered the options. “I would have to show them how to calculate these correctly, and then I would have to check their work, of course.”
Joshua was leaning over her papers now, and he asked, “What is this you’re working on, anyway?”
“It’s a table of artificial numbers,” Micah said.
“They’re central to the problem of celestial navigation,” Rafe said.
“Navigation,” Thaddeus repeated. “Are you working on something for your father, Rafe?”
Rafe grimaced. “I don’t know. Maybe. But what Micah’s doing is—it’s extremely important. It could affect not only trade but natural philosophy.” He leaped to his feet and began to pace in the small room. “That’s why I need that doctor’s robe! How will I found my school without it? There’s going to be an intellectual revolution, and I must be at the start of it.”
“You do realize,” Joshua said smoothly, “that working for the Duke Tremontaine could be a real lubricant for the wheels of revolution?”
Rafe halted and spun to face Joshua. “I—”
Joshua sighed. “You are so caught up in your intellectual revolution, Rafe, you can’t see the easier path.”
Thaddeus was nodding vigorously. “It’s true. Joshua has a point.”
Micah glanced at the three students, confused. Joshua and Thaddeus always
seemed to speak in expressions that purposely hid the meaning behind their words. “What’s the easier path?”
Joshua looked down at her and said, “If Rafe takes the job with the Duke Tremontaine, he’ll be well positioned to influence many important people.”
“Many wealthy people,” Thaddeus said.
Rafe rolled his eyes. “Micah, they think that if I become the duke’s secretary I can use my job to get what I want.”
“And can you?” Micah asked.
Rafe blinked. “Well, I—I suppose it’s possible.”
Joshua went over to Rafe, put his hands on Rafe’s shoulders, and looked him in the eye. “You have two options, Rafe. Stay here and bang your head against the wall trying to circumvent de Bertel and his cronies, or say yes to that lovely man and take the easier path toward your school.” Joshua gestured toward Micah. “If you won’t think of yourself, think of your protégé. You have young Micah locked up in a drafty room being constantly interrupted by me and you and Thaddeus, which I’m sure is horrible for intellectual progress.”
Micah was pleasantly surprised that Joshua had noticed the interruptions were a problem.
Rafe came over to Micah and looked over the neat columns of numbers. “Tell me: Ideally, what would you need to fix these errors more quickly?”
Micah thought about it. “Paper, of course. Ink, and pens, and a place to do the work. A bigger desk would be wonderful! Of course, I like working here, and it’s so very kind of you to let me stay with you, but Joshua is right—the interruptions make it harder. And, you know, I think this will take a few weeks, maybe more.” The enormity of the task was beginning to sink in, and her eyes widened. “I thought I would only be here for a few days! I can’t keep sending my cousins on the farm so many notes.” She pulled the most recent note she had penned to Reuben from the top drawer of the desk, where she had put it for safekeeping until she could send it out, and passed it to Rafe. He glanced down at it, reading her brief words. Dear Cousin Reuben, I’m still in the University staying with Rafe. I’ve started work on calculations that will be extremely useful, you know how good I am at numbers. I hope I will be able to come home in a day or two. Love, Micah.
“It’s almost time for planting, and it’s my job to make sure we’ve got enough seed and to organize the storehouse. I should really go home,” she concluded glumly.
“But you’d rather work on this, wouldn’t you?” Rafe said, smiling at her.
“Oh yes,” she said eagerly. “This is much more interesting.”
Rafe ran his hands through his flyaway hair in agitation. “You must stay, Micah!” he declared. “This work you’ve done is too important. Other people can help out with the planting—your skills are required here.”
“But what will I tell my cousin?” Micah asked, Rafe’s enthusiasm beginning to make her feel giddy. “And should I go out to the tavern to get up a card game again? I might need to win some more money—”
“I will take care of it,” Rafe said. “Joshua and Thaddeus are right.”
“Oho!” Thaddeus said in delight. “That’s a rarity coming from you.”
Rafe continued to Micah: “I think I can make sure you’ll have everything you need to solve these problems. And your new tables of—what do you call them?—tables of artificial numbers?”
“Yes, artificial numbers. Because they’re not like natural numbers—”
“Yes, yes, exactly,” Rafe interrupted in his excitement. “Your new, improved, and exceedingly accurate table of artificial numbers will be used to support celestial navigation—trade might come on board—natural philosophy—this is the answer!”
“You mean it will help people sail to new places without getting lost?” Micah asked.
“Precisely. And it will prove that I should have my own school.” Rafe opened the door and added, “I’ll be back soon. Meanwhile, continue on!”
“All right,” Micah said. “Thank you for the meat pie!”
Rafe waved off her thanks and opened the front door again. “Wish me luck!”
“Good luck,” she called out dutifully.
“Lucky bastard,” Thaddeus said admiringly.
Joshua smirked. “Thaddeus, how about you and I head out for some chocolate and give Micah some quiet time for those calculations?”
“Lovely idea,” Thaddeus agreed.
Once they left her alone, Micah pulled out a fresh sheet of paper, and began to draw out a new table.
The interior of the Three Dogs was dim, lit only by the small front window and a smoky oil lamp hanging over the bar on the far side of the room. As Kaab’s eyes adjusted to the murk, she saw that a group of people was clustered there, and a man was talking, his booming voice cutting through the small space.
“. . . a wild one from the beginning. We used to play in the Old Market, make a game of lifting little things from the stalls. Dangerous games, to be sure.” The man chuckled. “Once Ben was caught by Crooked Nan, who gave him a bloody lip for making off with one of her kerchiefs.”
“Nan was a hard one,” a woman said. “I bet he learned from that!”
“True, Ben never stole from her again,” the man said. “But I remember that day—after Crooked Nan smacked him, his father turned him over his knee and told him he never should’ve gotten caught in the first place!”
Everyone broke into laughter, and someone added, “His father was even harder, though. You don’t hear of many highwaymen living as long as old Rupert Hawke did. Only just died, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did,” said a different woman. “Ben had just got back from burying him.”
Kaab thought she recognized the speaker. Was that Tess? Kaab stepped forward only to be confronted by a stocky figure about her own height, a hand on the dagger at his belt.
“Who’re you?” came the voice—a woman’s voice, though low and rough.
Kaab eyed her curiously. This was the first Local woman she’d seen dressed in trousers. Her face was pockmarked, her hair wiry and gray. Kaab lowered the hood of her cloak and saw the woman’s eyes narrow on her foreign face. “I’m Ixkaab Balam.”
“What kind of name is that? And what business do you have here?”
The small crowd grouped around the bar had overheard Kaab’s arrival, and they were now all staring at her. Tess stood up, the light gleaming on her fiery hair. “I know her!” Tess exclaimed in surprise. “She challenged Ben, the day he left for his father’s deathbed!”
A dozen hands reached for a dozen weapons; the sound of steel scraping against scabbards caused Kaab to say hastily, “And he defeated me fair and square. He was a good fighter, very honorable.” She had no idea if Ben had been honorable. From what little she’d heard when she entered the Three Dogs he probably hadn’t been, but she was outnumbered and needed to defuse the situation. Praise generally did the trick.
“The finest,” said a man in the crowd. He raised a tankard and added, “To Ben Hawke, one of Riverside’s finest fighters!” Everyone joined in, dropping their weapons so they could raise their tankards and echo the toast.
A plump girl in a gown that exposed much of her bosom leaned over the bar, exposing even more of it, and called out, “Stranger, are you here to honor Ben?”
“Of course,” Kaab agreed, since agreeing seemed to be the best option. “To honor Ben.”
“Then you’d better drink to him,” said the woman who dressed like a man. “Jenny, I’ll buy this stranger a beer.”
Jenny winked at Kaab before turning away to pull a tankard from beneath the bar. A moment later, Kaab had the tankard in hand, and everyone in the room, including Tess, was looking at her expectantly. Kaab thought quickly. Back home, honoring someone after their death involved fasting to show one’s love for the departed, as well as leaving out carefully prepared food for the dead on feast days, when the path to the underworld was open to the spirits. Apparently, in Riverside, honoring someone involved drinking awful, watered-down, bitter beer. Kaab raised the tankard, some of the foami
ng substance splashing over the rim onto her hand, and said formally, “In honor of Ben Hawke, a strong and nimble fighter. May his life be remembered by all.” She had considered translating a Kinwiinik saying into the Local language but wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate.
“Hear, hear!” said Tess, who raised her tankard first. As the rest of the room followed suit, Kaab allowed herself to relax a tiny bit. Nobody had reached for a weapon, so she must have avoided insulting them. She took a sip of the beer, hiding her grimace at the sour taste.
“What was that they used to call Ben’s father in his heyday?” someone asked, picking up the conversation where they’d left off.
“The Gentleman Robber,” Tess said, though judging by the tone of her voice, she didn’t love the name.
“Ah yes,” said the same man who had told the story about stealing from Crooked Nan. “Rupert Hawke, Gentleman Robber, steals your money but spares your daughter!”
Scattered laughter and a few groans went through the tavern. A woman said, “I heard Hawke stole the Farnsleigh fortune from a close-guarded carriage, all on his own.”
“I heard he robbed the ambassador from Arkenvelt, who was riding in a decoy carriage to elude highwaymen, but there was no fooling Hawke!”
“That’s why he never teamed up with anyone. I heard that Wicked Thomas asked him to go in on a job but Hawke refused—said he worked alone.”
“It probably saved him, because Wicked Thomas hanged—d’you remember? There was that street ballad about him. What was it?”
Jenny the barmaid sang in a sweet, clear voice:
“Wicked Thomas is my name
I left my home in search of fame.
But though I found jewels and gold
It wasn’t in me to grow old.
And though I’m only young and spry
I never was afraid to die.
Remember me, my heart was honest,
Even though I’m Wicked Thomas.”
Tremontaine Season 1 Saga Omnibus Page 17
