“No, no, turnips will do,” Rafe said, and began selecting turnips from the stall somewhat frantically. He was going to have to at least pretend that he was going to show them to the duchess for Micah’s sake, although he might actually even go through with it. Just to annoy her.
“Can I come to the ball with you, Rafe?” Micah asked.
Damn. Rafe laughed incredulously, causing Kaab to glance at him with raised eyebrows, but Micah pressed the issue.
“You heard my cousin say I should. If I go I can learn more about how it works and what your duchess needs—”
“She’s not my duchess.”
Kaab snickered. “No, but Tremontaine is your duke.”
Rafe pointedly didn’t answer. “Micah, I can’t invite anyone to the ball. It’s not my place.”
“Why not?” Kaab asked. “You wrote the invitations. Write one more, for Micah.”
“I wrote them at the duchess’s direction!”
“You don’t even like her,” Kaab said. “So why follow her orders?”
“I work for her husband, not her. Not that she respects that!”
“And you don’t respect the fact that he’s her husband, not yours,” Kaab said.
Micah stopped dead still in the center of the crowd and put his hands over his ears. “Stop yelling!”
Rafe was very tempted to keep going, but he reluctantly let his perfect witty retort slide away and put up his palms to show the boy that he was calm.
Micah kept his hands over his ears. “You should help me. I play cards even when I don’t want to, just so you can buy tomato pies and beer.”
“I have a job now. I don’t need you to do that anymore. You should focus on your studies.”
“But I did it. So you should help me.”
“I agree,” Kaab said. “Help Micah go to the ball if he wants to. What’s so wrong with wanting to go to a ball?”
“You should know better,” Rafe said, fighting to keep his voice from rising once again. Micah’s hands had only just begun to lower. “Both of you.”
Kaab bristled. “Don’t speak to me like a child.”
“What do you even do?” He rounded on her, his voice low but angry. The crowd began to give them a greater berth, not wanting to be involved. “Micah attends University, at least. What do you do all day? You still haven’t brought those charts you promised us! As far as I can tell, all you do is bother me with stupid questions about what you should wear to the ball and what everyone’s eating.”
“The turnips are important,” Micah said softly.
“No, they’re not!” Rafe clutched at his hair, nearly tearing it out in his frustration. “This whole City is made up of children,” he went on, yelling at no one in particular. “All anyone talks about is food and parties and clothes. It’s bad enough that I’ve already wasted days of my valuable time on this damn ball, so that people can giggle and flirt and wear pretty clothes. Gods damn it, am I the only one who cares about knowledge anymore? Who sees these shallow, idle entertainments for what they are?”
“You shout about flirting?” Kaab said, putting her hands on her hips. “How are you any better? You wouldn’t have this secretary job if you hadn’t flirted with the duke first.”
That dart found its target. “That’s not true,” Rafe said. Kaab smirked. “Or rather it was. At first. But that’s not the point. This is not an idle amusement that I can toss away on writing a fraudulent invitation for a scholar who shouldn’t even want to go to a ball.”
Kaab scoffed. “Fine. You need not worry about these idle amusements. I will help Micah get in.”
“Really?” Micah asked. He was clearly distressed by the fight, his hands clenched into fists and his shoulders hunched.
“Yes. We’ll go together,” Kaab said firmly, taking hold of Micah’s elbow.
“Do whatever you want,” Rafe said. “I don’t want to hear about it.”
“I am happy to not tell you things.” Kaab was clearly angry, but she maintained her control as she led Micah away.
Rafe wished he could be as calm. Now that his outburst was over, he was already beginning to regret it. Joshua knew him well enough to know that Rafe’s rantings weren’t always meant to be taken seriously, but Micah and Kaab weren’t as familiar with him. Of course, it wasn’t his fault that he’d exploded. He was dealing with a year’s delay in becoming a Master, a noble lover with an unsettling wife, a society occasion he dreaded but wasn’t sure he’d be able to avoid, the shallowness of an entire City, and now unreasonable demands that would require him to compromise his own sense of honor. Anyone would have shouted, surely.
Well, he’d find a way to apologize to them later.
“Tell Tess what you need,” Kaab said, pushing Micah forward.
Micah hesitated. She didn’t like asking strangers for favors, but Kaab had promised that Tess wouldn’t mind. Tess wasn’t what Micah had expected from a Riversider. Cousin Reuben had told her never to go to Riverside because the people who lived there were dangerous, and Rafe had said the same thing, but Tess looked nice. She was plump with red hair braided back from her face, and she wore a plain dress with ink stains on her sleeve; that made Micah feel better. Micah’s clothes usually had ink stains on them too, though at least they didn’t show on the black robes she wore at the University.
“I need an invitation to a party, please,” Micah said. “I mean, a ball. The one that Rafe’s duchess is holding soon.”
Tess smiled. “I can do that for you. Invitations are easy, at least as long as you have a real one to copy from.”
Micah’s hopes plummeted, but Kaab patted her on the shoulder and pulled a letter from her pocket. “Don’t worry, I’ve got the one the duchess sent to my family.” She handed it to Tess, who flipped it open and began studying it. The paper was much thicker than what Micah used for her own letters and was a brighter white too. “I’ll need it back, though I doubt she’ll have forgotten about us by the time we show up at her door.”
Tess nodded, distracted. She held the letter up toward the window and examined the way the light shone through the paper. “I’ve got good matches for the paper and ink on hand. This shouldn’t take me very long. If you have the time to wait, I’ll do it right now.”
Kaab smiled. “We have plenty of time. I would be honored to watch you work.”
Tess’s cheeks turned pink. “Oh, it’s nothing, really. . . .”
“No, it’s fascinating.” Kaab moved closer to Tess. “You’re so skilled.”
Micah sighed. Why were they talking so much? Tess spread the invitation out on a bare table near the window, while Kaab sat down next to her. She was so close that occasionally her arm bumped against Tess’s, which didn’t seem helpful for writing, and their voices dropped almost to whispers, punctuated by giggles. Micah didn’t see anything funny about paper and ink.
She decided to ignore them and studied the rest of Tess’s apartment. It was somewhat like Rafe’s rooms, but much bigger and with fewer people, which was nice. It was much brighter, too, both because of the large windows and because of a full-length mirror that reflected their light despite a spider web of cracks in its bottom corner. Silk and velvet scarves were tacked to the walls, hiding the peeling paint with bright blue and purple patterns. There were overlapping rugs on the floor, soft enough for Micah’s shoes to sink into them.
The most interesting thing, though, was a desk not far from Tess’s worktable. It had all sorts of drawers and shelves, and every surface was covered in paper of different weights and sizes, bottles of ink and sticks of wax in a rainbow of colors, dozens of quills and penknives for sharpening them. Micah opened one drawer to discover a pile of seals, made of wood and terra-cotta and one of iron. She closed that drawer and opened the one below it, which was stuffed full of tiny glass bottles and released a strong stinging smell that made her flinch back and cough.
“Those are my perfumes,” Tess said, looking over at the sound. “For when I need to forge a love letter.”
“By the way, who are you?” Tess asked. Micah wondered how Tess had forgotten her name. It wasn’t a long or complicated name. It wasn’t even foreign, and, anyway, Tess could remember Kaab’s name just fine. But to be polite, Micah introduced herself again.
Tess laughed and gestured at the new invitation she was writing. “Yes, but the Duchess Tremontaine wouldn’t invite Micah, the turnip girl pretending to be a University boy, to her ball. So who do you want to be on the invitation?”
“I’m not pretending to be at the University. I am there,” she said, going through the pile of papers on top of the desk. One of them was so strange that it caught her attention: a round circle thickly scattered with what appeared to be randomly sized dots. Each dot was labeled with symbols from a language Micah didn’t recognize and numbers that she did. She held up the paper, turned it sideways and upside down, but still couldn’t make sense of it. “What is this?”
“Don’t mess with Tess’s work,” said a deep voice behind her.
Micah dropped the paper and spun around, finding herself face-to-face with a tall, dark-haired man who hadn’t been there before. “I’m sorry!”
“Don’t scare her, Applethorpe,” Kaab said, getting up from Tess’s side. She picked the paper up from where it had drifted to the floor and handed it back to Micah. “This is for you, actually. It’s the star chart I was telling you about. I had Tess make a copy, so that way my uncle will still have his, and you’ll have yours, and everyone will be happy.” Kaab leafed through the pile of papers and pulled out several other sheets that looked very similar to the one in Micah’s hands. “Here, here, and here. Take them home and study them very closely.”
“What about that one?” Micah asked, pointing at a similar-looking chart in the pile.
“Oh, no, no.” Kaab rolled it up before Micah could get a good look at it and tucked it into a pouch at her side. “This one is my uncle’s. I have to take it back to him. You just use those ones I gave you.”
Micah looked at the charts. “But I can’t read any of it! Tell me what this means.” She pointed to one of the symbols next to a dot; it looked like a human face that had been squished into a square.
“It’s the name of the star. I could translate for you, but I’m sure you have different names for them. Focus on the numbers; I had Tess write those in your fashion.” She looked at Tess. “Right? You did make the changes I asked for?”
Tess nodded, then glanced quickly at Micah before looking away again.
“I’ve never seen anything like these,” Micah said, fascinated despite her confusion. “I don’t know how to use them.”
Kaab shrugged. “They’re stars. Other than that, you’ll have to figure it out yourself, because I don’t know what it means either.” She continued poking through the papers on Tess’s desk, tucking away other star charts that must also have belonged to her uncle. She stopped at a pencil sketch of a piece of jewelry and stared at it for a moment, then held it up to Tess. “Is this what I think it is?”
Tess nodded silently, and Applethorpe moved closer. Micah hurriedly stepped away, but he only took the drawing from Kaab and studied it.
“The locket and chain were gold, I’d say,” Tess said, “and the little chips round the edge were diamonds. The bird was done up in gems too.”
Micah looked at the paper again since everyone else seemed to think it was very important, but it only looked like an oval locket on a chain—with a swan at its center and a balanced pattern of lines and curlicues behind it that was really quite satisfying. If it were real, and not just a drawing, Micah would have wanted to touch it. She turned her attention back to her new charts. She was beginning to figure them out: If the dots were stars, then these six dots here must be the Cockerel, a constellation her uncle had taught her to find in the night sky. Therefore the numbers must be . . . no, she didn’t understand it yet.
Kaab set the locket sketch back on the desk and turned to Micah. “Don’t worry about that,” she said, which was fine because Micah wasn’t worried. “Tell me who you want to be at the ball.”
“I want to be myself,” she said. “Who else could I be?”
“Micah, the real Micah, can’t go to the ball. So we’ll just make you into someone who does go to balls at Tremontaine House. We need to do more than just make you your own invitation; we have to make it so that if the duchess sees you, she believes she might have invited you.”
“That seems like lying.”
Kaab exchanged a glance and a small smile with Applethorpe. “Think of it like a feint instead. A little trick, to make everyone look away. Besides, it’s no different from telling everyone you’re a boy.”
Micah shook her head. “I don’t do that. Everyone thinks I’m a boy. I don’t tell them otherwise, but that’s not lying.”
Tess laughed. “That’s splitting a fine hair.”
“Why do you do it, by the way?” Kaab asked. “Do you want to be a boy?”
“No, I don’t mind being a girl. But people bother boys less; that’s what Cousin Reuben says.”
Tess smiled. “Cousin Reuben’s a wise man. But what do you do when you’ve got your cycles?”
“Rags,” Micah said. “Like anyone.”
“Even at the University?” Tess tilted her head to one side. “I thought the students lived all crammed together, like birds in a nest. Someone must notice.”
“Rafe’s really busy. And dramatic. And messy. He doesn’t pay attention to things like rags.”
Kaab snorted. “Of course he doesn’t. Does he pay attention to anything other than himself?”
“I don’t mind,” Micah said. “No one notices everything. I’d rather he noticed my calculations than my blood.”
Applethorpe laughed with approval, and Micah decided that maybe he wasn’t as scary as she’d thought. “Well, you’ll have to stay a boy for a little longer,” he said. “Noble girls don’t go to parties on their own. At least not until they’re widows, and you’re a little young for that.”
Kaab nodded. “It is the same in my country. What kind of boy do you want to be, Micah?”
Micah bit her lip and thought hard. “I want to be things that are true,” she decided. “I am good with crops. I like mathematics. I go to the University. I am not from the City. I have a big family.”
“How about a rich merchant?” Tess suggested, looking at Kaab. “Merchants aren’t so very different from farmers, so she should be able to pull it off.”
Kaab shook her head. “No, the Tremontaine ball isn’t a ball that merchants go to. My family will be the first Trading family to ever attend.”
“Why not take her with you? She could be your maid or something.”
Micah liked that idea. It would be much less scary with Kaab there to tell her what to do. But she didn’t think it would fool the duchess. Micah looked nothing like Kaab and didn’t speak her language. “That won’t work,” she said.
Applethorpe took Micah by the shoulders and studied her for several seconds, then pronounced, “Minor country nobility.”
Kaab narrowed her eyes in thought. “Will that work? Back home, the nobles all know each other.”
“Trust me. There’s always someone’s second cousin or uncle once removed or discreetly reared by-blow at these sorts of things. Their family trees are too complicated for even the nobles to keep track of everyone. Besides, look at her. Everyone has a dozen forgettable relatives that look exactly like her.”
Kaab turned to Micah. “It’s not so different from the truth. A big family in the country . . . I suppose if you’re minor enough nobility, you might even have helped on the farm. Does that sound like something you can do?”
Micah nodded.
Kaab clapped her hands together and grinned. “Now to the fun part! Let’s get you some new clothes.”
Rafe found himself
left alone in the marketplace with a great deal of annoyance and nothing to do with it. He could have headed to the University, of course, to contemplate Micah’s table of artificial numbers. He could have found Joshua and complained, or other friends who would let him dispel his irritation in a round of cards or a beer or two. But those were sensible occupations, and he wasn’t in the mood for sensible. Instead he remembered that Will had an appointment nearby at his tailor’s.
Durham’s had pride of place in the center of Threadneedle Row. A large window in the front displayed several items of clothing, their cut elaborate and colors exquisite. Rafe imagined that he would be the first scholar ever to pass over its threshold.
He pushed open the heavy oak door, setting off a small bell, and was greeted by the calming masculine scents of lavender and citron. A gentleman lounged in a leather armchair drawn close to the window’s light, idly perusing a broadsheet as he waited for his appointment, or perhaps simply using the space as his own private club.
A clerk emerged from the back. “Yes?” he asked imperiously, one eyebrow raised.
Rafe hated introducing himself as a secretary, but he had no other excuse for being here. Let them make what they would of his scholar’s robe and long hair.
“I will inform the duke of your presence.” The clerk disappeared into the back, leaving Rafe to loiter awkwardly. He told himself he belonged here as much as any man did. If he had stayed with his family and gone into business, he would be buying clothes from fine establishments like this one, or close to it. Of course, his current garments gave no hint of the status he’d so proudly rejected; his scholar’s robe covered most of the wrinkled clothes he wore, but was itself fraying at the hem and in need of laundering. Rafe couldn’t suppress the sense that his presence was improper. This is what working on the Hill has done to me, he thought savagely.
The clerk returned and ushered him back to a fitting room where Will waited, smiling broadly, dispelling Rafe’s lingering fear that he might be turned away.
Tremontaine Season 1 Saga Omnibus Page 27
