Fewer people milled in the city center, compared to yesterday. Those that were out walked across the marketplace with their heads bowed, or resolutely looked in the opposite direction from the Pinnacle—as though determined not to see the working clock.
The faint ticking was like music, calling to me.
Once more, awed by the sheer size of the Pinnacle, I stared up, admiring the exposed workings of the clock. Despite seeming unfinished—the symmetrical form of the metal struts holding the enormous clock aloft were naked and unadorned—the clock tower had functional beauty. Even from this distance, I could see the large gears and joins as they rotated.
Today, several workmen dressed in bright yellow vests were standing on the balcony from which the late Queen had once addressed her subjects. They pointed at the clock and waved their arms as though engaged in animated discussion.
I raised a hand to my forehead to shield my eyes from the sun as I stared up. If they can get to the balcony to see the inner workings of the clock, I can too. I marched straight up to another yellow-vested man standing at the base of the ladder.
I acknowledged him with a nod and, with no hesitation, stepped around him to put a foot on the ladder.
“What are you doing, miss?” the man said, putting a hand out to stop me from climbing farther.
“The clock is working,” I replied. “I should like to see it.”
The man’s eyebrows drew together. “Why would a lovely young lady want to do that?”
“I like clocks.”
“This is no ordinary clock.”
“So I gathered,” I replied. “It hasn’t worked in some time.”
“Not since the fall of…” The man looked over his shoulder.
“Yes, I know,” I replied. “Since the Queen died.”
The workman started. “Lower your voice, miss. You never know who’s listening.”
“Thank you for the advice. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I grabbed the next rung and pulled myself higher.
The workman reached out to stop me again, avoiding—but only just—physical restraint.
“I can’t let you, miss. It’s a long way up.”
“I have no fear of heights.”
“It’s just boring, dirty gears.”
I pursed my lips. “I want to see. I’m curious.”
“Curiosity killed the cat,” the workman replied. “A young lady like you has got no cause to be curious.”
I gripped the rung of the ladder tighter. “I don’t see that it’s any of your concern what—”
“This area is closed,” the workman insisted. “we allow only authorized people up there.”
“Authorized by whom?”
“By the President.”
I smiled. “I see.” I took my foot from the ladder.
The workman’s expression softened with relief. “Wise choice, miss.”
“I’ll get authorization from the President if that’s what’s required.”
The man blinked. “You’ll do what?”
“You heard me.” I gathered my skirts and strode away from the man, leaving him open-mouthed in my wake.
Alice sat in her office behind a desk, obscured by piles of papers. Over several a fat, ginger cat, Young Dinah, purred while Alice scratched her ears. In the center of the room, a petitioner, dressed in formal coattails and clutching a hat in his hands, trembled as he spoke to the President.
“So Your Majesty—”
“Please, call me Madam President,” Alice interrupted him.
The petitioner went white. “S-s-sorry, Madam President. Force of h-h-habit.”
Alice inclined her head, though the slight sag of her shoulders was a sign of the weariness that Mother felt at the constant burden of leadership. Even eighteen years after the death of their previous monarch, the citizens of The Forge still feared the retribution of the Queen of Hearts.
“Please, continue,” Mother said. “You have concerns about vampires?”
“That’s right, Your… M-m-madam President. I work across from the Blood Bank on Fourth Street, you see—in a patisserie. I’m a baker. I bake the finest danish in The Forge.” The petitioner paled. “I should have brought some for Your Maj… Madam President to sample. I’m s-s-sorry.”
“I’m sure the danish are excellent. What about the Blood Bank on Fourth Street?”
The petitioner fidgeted with his bowler hat. “Vampires go into the blood bank at night, when I’m just coming onto shift. I start work at 2am so that the pastries are ready for breakfast when people wake up, see? I often see vampires going into the blood bank. When they go in, they look angry—hungry, you know? When they come out, they look refreshed. Still pale, but glowing.” The petitioner shook his head. “Abnormal creatures.”
“That’s not unusual,” Alice replied, ignoring the petitioner’s last utterance. “The vampires go to the blood bank to feed, they come out well-fed. That’s why we set up the blood banks—so vampires can feed without endangering other citizens.”
“Yes, Your M… Madam President. But lately, the vampires have come out as angry as when they arrived. They look at me as though I was… food.”
Alice frowned. “Go on.”
He shuffled his feet. “They should investigate it,” he said. “I don’t want to be out at night with hungry vampires.”
Alice touched a finger to her temple, then noticed my presence at the back of the room. She waved a hand at me.
“Ivy, there might be an issue with low supply at the Blood Banks. Please investigate and bring me a report.”
The petitioner shuffled his feet again and gripped his hat so tightly that his knuckles went white. He glanced over his shoulder, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. “There’s something else. Rumors…”
Alice raised an eyebrow and waited. The petitioner cleared his throat.
“Rumors that… she… has returned. The white rabbit is gathering her supporters.”
I stared at the man, my mouth dropping open. The white rabbit?
Alice pressed her lips into a straight line. “Does this have anything to do with the Pinnacle clock?”
The petitioner nodded, eyes widening. “It’s another sign.”
“The Queen is dead,” Alice said in a firm voice. “She has not returned. The white rabbit is not gathering her supporters.”
“But—”
Alice raised a hand to stop the man from speaking further. “If the white rabbit were here, I would know.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The petitioner bowed deeply. Alice sighed, waving a hand at her assistant, Jack Chambers, who quickly escorted the man out of her office.
“Shall I bring in the next petitioner?” Jack asked once he’d closed the door behind the man.
Alice shook her head. “I need a moment.”
Jack nodded, quietly excusing himself from the room.
“You look tired, Mother,” I said. Alice leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. Wisps of gray streaked her blonde hair, now tied back in a bun, and fine lines marked the edges of her eyes. Her normally rosy cheeks were pale.
Alice reached out to take my hand, giving me a brief half-smile. “I’m sure it’s nothing. People need something to complain about.”
“Of course, Mother,” I replied. “Shall I also look into the rumor about the white rabbit?”
Alice waved a hand dismissively, though her mouth turned down at the edges. “The Queen is dead. The white rabbit left The Forge long ago.” I remembered the painting I’d seen on the wall and was about to tell her about it when she patted my hand.
“You’re a comfort to me, Ivy,” Alice said. “I’m so thankful to have a daughter who helps me shoulder this burden.”
“I’m happy to do it, Mother,” I murmured. “Actually, there’s something else I wanted to speak to you about.”
Alice shifted in her chair, suddenly tense, and took her hand from mine. “I don’t really have time just now. There’s a queue of petitioners outside. I don’t see how I s
hall see them all today.”
I didn’t protest and was about to excuse myself when Alice reached out to grab my arm. “You will follow up on stocks at the Blood Banks, won’t you?”
My dream of being bitten by a vampire came vividly to mind. I bit my lip.
“Please—I don’t need a problem with the vampires right now. A report will assure the baker that there is nothing to fear, and his complaint about vampires will go away. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
My heart beat a little faster, but I discreetly wiped the palms of my hands on the fabric of my skirts. “You can rely on me.”
Alice patted my cheek. “Thank you, dear.”
At that moment, the door swung open, and Jack strode in, holding a red rose between two fingers.
“For you, Madam President,” he said, but he didn’t give the rose to Alice. He stared at it with a horrified look.
“An admirer?” I raised an eyebrow, a half-smile touching my lips. Alice had never had a special man in her life, but she was still beautiful.
“The Queen sent a red rose to those she planned to execute,” Jack whispered. “Do you think…”
The smile fell from my lips as I turned to Alice. She fixed her blue eyes on the rose and was white as a sheet.
“Shall I burn it?” Jack asked.
“Mother?”
Alice shuddered, then straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath. “The Queen is dead,” Alice said, firmly, and forced a smile. “Put the rose in a vase. As Ivy said, perhaps, I have a secret admirer.” Alice gave me a wink, and the tension in her posture fell away. “It’s about time.”
3
14 August
I paused outside the shop window to Bertha’s Bag Emporium on Fourth Avenue, which boasted over a hundred different handbags in all colors, shapes, and sizes. Displayed in the window were three examples of the handiwork contained inside. I ran my hands over my clothes and glanced at my reflection.
A person could not claim to be an aesthetic inspector without being properly turned out. I tucked a stray curl under my hat, pinned my official badge to the lapel of my coat, and slid on white gloves. Then I pulled out my List of Aesthetic Indicators, the official checklist.
I didn’t really need it—the list was just for show. Since my eighteenth birthday, when I started working as an inspector, I had memorized the checklist. I wiped a finger over the store window and held it up.
A light brown smudge colored the tip of my glove. An acceptable level of dust after a hot summer, I decided. I made a note on the list. I stepped back and ran my eyes over the window display. Pleasing, though unimaginative. The colors of the bags did not clash, but the placement was not symmetrical and gave a sensation of lopsidedness.
I made another note on my checklist.
I tucked the list under my arm and pushed on the shop door.
The woman standing behind the counter stared at me, then quickly ducked out the back. A moment later, a small, shapeless woman, dressed in black, hurried out. A set of glasses were perched on her nose, and her white hair was tied back in a severe bun.
“Welcome, Inspector,” she said as she hurried towards me. “I am Miss Bertha, the owner. May I ask…,” Bertha hesitated briefly. “Has there been a complaint?”
“Inspector Rowntree,” I said, pulling at the fingers of the glove on my right hand to take it off as I reached out to greet her properly. “Just a routine inspection.”
Bertha was visibly relieved, though her eyes darted around, checking that everything was in place. “May I offer you tea, Inspector Rowntree?”
I shook my head. Although offers of refreshments, samples, and gifts were frequent, I rarely accepted. It was too difficult to judge an establishment according to code after accepting such niceties. “I won’t be long, Miss. Bertha.”
The skin around Bertha’s eyes tightened, but she nodded. “Let me know if you need help.”
I ran my eyes over the displays, first considering the layout and look of the shop as a whole. It was orderly, without mess, but there was a fussy, cluttered atmosphere—too many items on display.
I turned my attention to the smaller details, ambling over to the nearest shelf, and noting the positions of the display cases and their contents. Another dusty smudge dirtied my gloves. I frowned, making another mark on my checklist.
I picked up one of the handbags, studying it carefully. The stitching was fine, and the leather was of good quality. The inner lining was well sewn and fit. There were no scuffs on the item, and the color was rich and consistent.
“Is everything all right, Inspector?” Bertha hovered at my shoulder.
I put the handbag down. “A high-quality item,” I replied, as I wrote the fact down on the list. “I won’t be much longer.”
“Miss. Bertha?”
The woman hovered at the door leading into the back room. As she called out, I glimpsed her.
She had a defect of the left eye—it didn’t follow the right one, but gazed off in a different direction, making it appear she was looking past me.
Miss. Bertha shooed the assistant away but caught my expression. “The poor girl just works in the back. Customers don’t see her. It’s charity, really. I keep her on because her parents can’t work just now.”
“She was in the front when I came in,” I said.
“She rarely works in the front.” Miss. Bertha wrung her hands, frowning. She looked over her shoulder, then leaned toward me. “Don’t shut me down. Not for a bit of mercy. Please, Inspector.”
I looked at my checklist. A mixed report. “There is some dust on your display cases, and the general layout of your shop is too fussy. However, the quality of your goods is high, so I’m willing to overlook those things.” I paused, my eyes drawn to the place where the assistant stood a moment ago.
“Inspector Rowntree, I’d be thrilled to make you a gift. I’ll wrap it up nicely.” Bertha moved to take the handbag I’d inspected out of the display case.
I held up a hand to stop her. “That won’t be necessary. I warn you—keep your assistant out of sight. I’ll return in one month to ensure that you have rectified the cleanliness and improved the display. If these things are attended to, I’ll give you a passing report.”
Miss. Bertha clasped her hands to her chest and dipped a quick curtsy. “Thank you, Inspector. I am most grateful.”
I scribbled the note on my checklist, omitting the assistant. As I handed Miss. Bertha a copy of her receipt, I noticed a small business card on the floor, as though someone had dropped it.
There was no writing—only the image of a white rabbit on a black background.
Just like the one painted outside the First Forge Bank.
Miss. Bertha cleared her throat. “Is there something else? Are you sure you wouldn’t like that handbag? I am happy to wrap it—”
The shop owner’s words drew my attention back to my immediate work. “No, thank you. Remember, I’ll return in one month. I shall expect improvement.”
The door of the Fourth Avenue Blood Bank swung closed behind me, and I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the relative darkness. I had never entered one of the city’s blood banks before—I’d never wanted to donate blood, nor experienced any dire need for additional income—so the number of people in the waiting room surprised me.
A chill ran down the length of my spine as I remembered my dream—the sharp fangs sinking into my throat. I froze in the doorway, overcome by a sudden fear of coming face-to-face with thirsty vampires. As I stood there, someone tried to come in, and the door hit me in the back. I stumbled forward, and my throat bobbed as I turned, frightened of who might be behind me.
The man who entered was no vampire. He was ruddy-faced and short of breath, with pock scars on his face.
“Why are you standing in the doorway?” he grumbled, barely glancing at me as he pushed past and approached the reception desk that I hadn’t yet seen. He grabbed a number and went to sit on one of the few empty chairs.
I straightened my vest and hat, pulling myself together, before approaching the desk. I glanced around the waiting room, searching for vampires but saw none. The people seated in the waiting room weren’t the usual crowd that frequented the establishments of Melfall. Their clothes were unfashionable, too worn, and they were all too short, too dumpy, or too odd-looking to be considered beautiful. Some of them were too unusual even to be considered plain.
“Are you waiting for an invitation?” the receptionist crossed her arms and raised one eyebrow as she watched me. A blush rose to my cheeks before I squared my shoulders and marched over, putting my clipboard down on the desk with more force than was necessary.
“I’m here to inspect your premises,” I said, noticing her name badge read Audrey. I flashed my badge at her.
Audrey’s demeanor changed instantly. Her eyes widened, and her arms fell away from her chest. She fiddled with the papers on her desk with one hand, while the other smoothed the stray hairs from her face.
“I’m sorry, Inspector. I didn’t see you properly.”
I turned toward the waiting area. “I must see each of your public spaces. Would someone show me around?”
Audrey tapped her fingers on the desk. “I have to stay here.”
“Anyone else?”
“Err…” she looked across the waiting room. A door swung open, and a woman in a white coat stepped out, spattered with droplets of blood.
“Number 24?” The woman called out, casting a bored gaze around the waiting room.
A man jumped up, waving a ticket.
Audrey hurried over, “Miss. Crispin,” she called.
“I’m next,” the man insisted, pushing his ticket in Miss. Crispin’s face.
“Sit down,” Audrey snapped at the man. “This is—”
“I’m next,” he insisted. “I’ve been waiting. She just got here.” He jabbed a finger at me.
Ivy: Daughter of Alice Page 3