by C. L. Polk
“That’s what we think too,” I said. There. It was out. “The King tried to sweeten the pot by doubling the reward and adding a royalty payment, but when Zelind didn’t immediately agree, he sent round an order to surrender the turbine.”
How could Albert make hay with that information? How would knowing the truth about the King’s desperation and greed help him or damage us? It couldn’t.
Preston set down his water glass on a colorful crocheted coaster. “And Zelind, undaunted, gave the invention to the people.”
“Zelind wants to design a turbine kit a homeowner can mount on the roof,” I said. “That way no one is forced to pay APL for their aether, or they can subsidize their network costs with a turbine of their own.”
“You don’t have the capital for that,” Preston said. “And the movement is squashed flat after financing the election. Where are you going to find that kind of money?”
Now this. This Albert could use. He could even convince his family to start up the same idea himself. He had the capital, the connections. What I said next could only help him.
Never lie when the truth will do. But the truth wouldn’t do, not at all.
“We have a plan,” I said. “An opportunity for small investors and large. Zelind wants the manufacturing process to make jobs, but khe wants everyone to own a share of the business operations.”
“But if that doesn’t work, the King wins,” Gaby said. “Without the money to start a business, we’re stuck paying whatever the monopoly decides to charge.”
“I can’t say more at this time. It’s Zelind’s business, not mine—but when khe’s ready to share, we will announce everything.”
And maybe this wasn’t a lie so much as it was anticipating the truth. If we could convince enough people to chip in, or order a turbine in advance, maybe Zelind’s dream would get off the ground. But if Tristan was right, someone in this room would pass it on.
It made me sick. But I stayed behind as the committee left the basement clinic. I hid in the break room and washed teacups until the kitchen door opened again, and Preston Grimes entered, bearing a stack of small plates.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I wanted to talk to you, anyway,” Preston said. “I’m not sure we’re getting anywhere on Jacob’s murderer. There’s been nothing about it in the papers, and the incuriosity bothers me.”
A bowl slid from my grasp and landed in the water with a splash. Was this a coincidence? It could have been. Did I have more than one spy in my midst, then, both of them fishing for the same information?
My mind buzzed with anxiety. “What would be a good reason for the police not to investigate a high-profile murder like Jacob’s?”
“They could be holding back information because they don’t want to scare their best suspect into leaving town. The trains are running now.”
“Could be the killer already left town.”
“Do you know what I think?” Preston asked, but he didn’t wait for my response. “The killer was obviously a sharpshooter. There are three tenements directly across from the stage. How hard could it have been to get up on the roof?”
I nodded. “That’s probably how it happened. But we’re stuck. Albert Jessup wasn’t standing on that roof, but he probably hired the assassin. But without access to him, we can’t prove it.”
“The people who live in those buildings are witnesses. We should ask them if they saw anyone suspicious. Why haven’t you done that?” Preston shook his finger at me. “I have a friend in the police. We could find out if anyone with ties to criminal organizations trained as a sniper in the army.”
Our own guesses, echoed back to me. “Preston,” I said. “That’s either a long leap or it’s brilliant.”
But I relaxed a little. Preston wasn’t fishing for information. He was trying to push me into doing the detective work he’d guessed at. “Do you want me to look into it?”
“Yes,” Preston said. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Where is your friend in the police stationed?”
“Halston Circle,” Preston said.
“Please keep me updated.”
Preston flashed me one of his rare smiles before he left the stack of plates for me to wash and left.
I cleaned until everyone had been gone ten minutes, and then I quietly let myself out the back way and walked around the hall, headed toward Water Street.
But when I turned the corner, my world narrowed down to the yellow strand of ribbon tied to the handle of the community hall’s mailbox. I held my breath as I came closer, trying not to appear overly concerned, and glanced behind me as I walked past that bit of sunny betrayal on the handle.
The clockface chalked on the side called for a meeting at two o’clock.
Somebody in the steering committee had something to tell.
SEVENTEEN
The Tyranny of Paper
I was nearly late meeting Zelind and Miss Minerva for tea. A cat greeted me inside the Princess Mary Hotel, moving to rub herself on my legs and purr. I petted her striped back and spotted a gray cat perched atop a shelf full of canned preserves. A third slinked out from behind a stack of crates, his tail curled like a question mark as he strutted away.
The first cat paid them no mind, meowing every time I tried to stand up straight.
“Oh, fine,” I muttered, and bent. The cat leapt into my arms, rubbing her furry jowl against mine.
It was harder to worry with a cat’s purring affection lavished on you. My frantic vision of first Tupper, then Judita, then every member of the steering committee tying that ribbon onto the mailbox … Why hadn’t I taken the risk and gone in the front? I would have seen it. And then—
What good would knowing have done? I was trapped, no matter what. I had to forget about that and figure out who was spying. Which of them had betrayed us all. Which of them had let slip the information that put Jacob in a sniper’s crosshairs.
The cat butted her head against my cheek and meowed.
“I know. I’m supposed to pet you. That’s my only job in the whole world.” But the cat’s fur was soft, her skin thrumming with her satisfied purr, and her fishy-smelling breath brought me back to the Princess Mary. Minerva wasn’t in her apartment. The kitchen was dark and empty. Voices rose and fell, hollowed out by the vaulted roof in the lobby.
I’d stumbled in on a meeting, and from the mood of the voices floating down the hall, it wasn’t a happy one. Someone cried out, “They can’t do this to us!” and I hurried my way past another tawny striped cat, this one dining on a mangled little mouse.
Clan Cage gathered around Minerva, who held pink sheets of paper in her hands. Pink paper could be personal correspondence, but the shadow of block letters at the top spoke of something official.
“What’s happening?” I asked, and Jean-Marie burst out crying.
Zelind hugged her, patting her shoulder, and said, “The newest move in Nolene’s battle, I’m afraid. Listen,” khe said, talking to everyone. “We have to do everything we can to improve the place. That means we have to clean the whole building, top to bottom. Not a speck of dust. We have to inspect all the gas fittings, test the plumbing, assess the ceilings and walls and floors. We only have a week before they come, so we can’t waste any time.”
“A week before who comes?” I asked.
Minerva stretched out her hand to give me the notices.
Health and safety inspectors were going to inspect the Princess Mary for hazards and determine whether the structure was safe for habitation. I pored over the documents, having practice with forms and records from working at Beauregard so long, and looked up.
“Under line 8, reason for inspection, they all list 22a, and according to this, reason 22a is citizen complaint. You’re being sandbagged.”
“You understand all this stuff,” Zelind said. “How can we defend ourselves?”
“The only way is counter-inspections, so y
ou can appeal the decision brought down by the city inspectors,” I said. “But if the city inspectors declare the building uninhabitable, you have to vacate while the appeal is happening.”
Cora cried, and Emma hurried the infant away, half in tears herself.
“So we have to get the building up to code in a week.” Zelind swiped one hand across kher brow, rubbing it as if it ached. “How are we going to do that?”
“We ask for help,” I said. “Every one of you come from clans who have someone who can help do repairs.”
“Honestly the building’s in pretty good shape,” Zelind said. “I’ve been around construction and renovation sites. It doesn’t need that much.”
All around Zelind, the clan relaxed. But the cat pushed away from me, thumping to the floor and wandering off. The warmth from the cat’s furry body faded in the cool air.
I couldn’t not tell them my suspicions. I couldn’t leave them unprepared. I cleared my throat, and fifty pairs of eyes gazed at me. “It might not be that easy.”
Jean-Marie turned her tear-spattered face toward me. “Why? Why can’t we just fix it and pass the inspection?”
I gave the pages back to Minerva. “A citizen complaint shouldn’t be enough to set this process in motion so quickly, but the form has a line for number of occupants, and it says approximately one hundred. That means the complaint is recent. Which means—”
“Birdie,” Zelind said. “She made the complaint—and she bribed someone to push the paperwork through.”
I nodded. “That’s what I think. And she’ll bribe them to declare the building unsafe. You have the right to appeal—but the damage will already be done.”
All around me were angry faces, tearful faces. Clenched fists. Arms wrapped around skinny ribs, trying to protect their hearts. But I hadn’t told them what I worried about the most, and I took a deep breath before handing out more doom.
“I think they could use the inspection against Miss Minerva in her competency hearing, as proof she can’t manage her household independently,” I said. “It’s all a trap.”
“It’s so like Birdie,” Zelind said. “Never defeat an opponent when crushing them utterly will do.”
“How do you know Birdie?” Minerva asked. “You seem to know her quite well.”
Zelind sighed. “She’s my mother.”
“And that’s how you know so much about building,” Minerva said. “You’re a Bay.”
“I was,” Zelind said. “I married out.”
“But you could talk to her,” Jean-Marie said.
“We don’t speak anymore,” Zelind said.
“But I saw her at the train station. She came to claim you. She wanted to take you home. You turned away from her.”
“Jean-Marie—”
“No.” Jean-Marie lurched out of Zelind’s arms. “You can fix this. I know you can. She’ll listen to you. Just please make her stop this. Don’t let her take our home.”
Zelind hugged kher arms around kherself. “But I know what she wants.”
“Then give it to her!” Jean-Marie cried. “Give her anything she wants! Don’t let her take our home away! You’re the only one who can save us!”
Zelind’s face crumpled. Khe lowered her head, squeezing tight. “Please don’t ask me to. Please. I’ll fix everything. I’ll stay, and I’ll fix everything, and they won’t take the Princess Mary away.”
“They will!” Jean-Marie cried. “You know they will! And I won’t ever forgive you, ever!”
“Jean-Marie!” I shouted. “How can you say such a thing?”
“Because it’s the truth,” Jean-Marie shouted back. “Zelind can fix this, and khe won’t! The whole clan needs this, and khe won’t do it!”
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” I said.
“I do! I’m asking for my home! For all of us to have somewhere we’re safe and we belong, only kher mother is trying to take it away and khe won’t stop her!”
“I can’t,” Zelind whispered. A tear dripped off kher nose. “Please, I can’t.”
“Get out of here! Get out!” Jean-Marie shoved Zelind toward the door. “If you won’t help us, then leave!”
I pushed her away from Zelind. Jean-Marie stumbled. I grabbed Zelind around the waist and steered kher away, guiding kher around the cats and the crates and out into the street, where the cold air froze kher tears.
* * *
Zelind went quiet and miserable all the way home, but khe wouldn’t let me go. We huddled together through the streets, faces half-frozen from the wind off the river, silent except for the crush and squeak of our boot soles on the snow. Zelind’s misery radiated off kher, and I was caught inside its aura.
Clan Cage had no bigger supporter than Zelind. Khe had helped them revive the hotel, taking it from an empire of cobwebs to a haven. Khe had brought in the colony of cats the clan had bribed with promises of meat and warmth in exchange for mousing and affection. And Jean-Marie spared no thought for any of that when she demanded even more of kher.
That wasn’t fair. Jean-Marie was, for all her initiative, still a child. She had been through unimaginable horror. Clan Thorpe had never been her home. I had watched her wincing politeness, the hesitance of a guest who was trying their best not to impose. She never quite lost the fear of living through the hospitality of strangers.
Zelind let go of me once we were inside. Khe ignored Bernice’s call to step into the parlor and climbed the stairs, leaving me to the tender curiosities of the clan.
“What’s the matter with kher?”
“Bad news,” I said. “The Princess Mary Hotel is undergoing a safety inspection, and we’re pretty sure Birdie Bay and her bribe money is behind it.”
Bernice looked up from her knitted cables. “That woman. Her parents spoiled her, and now she thinks that the world only exists to give her what she wants. Go on up; we won’t keep you.”
I nodded to Bernice and ran up the stairs, the pleated hem of my skirt caught in one hand, and tiptoed into our rooms.
Zelind wasn’t in the chair by the window. A splash of water and the running faucet sounded behind the closed door of my tiny bath chamber, and I scooted into the narrow channel between my bed and the cot Zelind slept in. I sat on the edge of my bed and listened until the water drained and the taps fell silent.
The door lever slid open. The door creaked. Zelind sidled between cot and bed and sat beside me.
“I don’t want to talk,” khe said. “I don’t want to discuss options. There are no options.”
I had already thought of one. Between us, we could come up with three more. There was a way to solve this. But I leaned against kher, and khe folded kher arms around me and rolled us up onto the bed.
“Just … let me be right here,” khe said. “Let me stay here. Let me stay.”
Here, in the cedarwood-and-orchid scent of kher perfume, mingling with the sheep-lanolin smell of kher sweater. I found a bump along one of its mended patches near the elbow, and ran my finger over the seam, again, again. Zelind’s arm draped over my waist, elbow crooked so kher arm pressed against my back.
We hadn’t moved the throw pillows, and so stiff cotton knotted into lace pressed against my cheek. My braids scattered everywhere, and Zelind laid kher cheek on them to breathe in the smell of moss sap and palm butter, roses and rosemary.
We cuddled closer, pressed our foreheads together, and fell into breathing in the same rhythm. My idea danced impatiently in my head, but I kept my tongue still. Zelind didn’t need my ideas. Zelind needed the calm anchor that khe usually was for me, the steadying breath and the consistent hereness of touch. Khe needed comfort. Safety.
So I kept silent and let us be. I ignored my itchy nose. I ignored the urge to shift my legs, to flex my ankles. I was what Zelind needed, until khe finally pulled me closer, wiry strong arms wound tight around my ribs.
“You have an idea,” Zelind said. “You thought of a compromise.”
“She wants you back in her life,” I said
. “That’s what you have to offer her in exchange for the Princess Mary.”
Zelind sighed. “I know.”
“So she can have some of what she wants,” I said. “Promise her you’ll visit her regularly. Once a week, for dinner.”
Zelind shook kher head. “She won’t—”
“And make her feel like she’s needed. Ask her for help. Let her advise you on the turbine business—”
“These things would work if my mother was reasonable,” Zelind said. “But she’ll never settle for a finger when she wants the whole arm.”
“Then turn it around on her,” I said. “Tell her if she doesn’t leave the Princess Mary alone, you will never see her. Not even if she’s dying. Threaten her.”
Zelind smiled at me, and a needle pierced my heart.
“I love the hotel,” khe said. “She’s so grand. Her walls are nine inches thick. Her bones are made of steel. That’s why she’s so tall for her age—every scrap of the best building skills of the time went into her, and every last detail is as thoughtful as it is beautiful.”
The smile faded. “And Mother will bash it to the ground so she can build condominiums. I have to stop her. Not just for the clan, but for the grand dame herself—”
“Wait,” I said. “That’s it.”
“What?”
I propped myself up on one elbow. “The Princess Mary. She’s historically unique, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“The last of her kind, even?”
“She was one of a kind when they built her.”
I squeezed Zelind’s arm. “That’s how you save her. She’s a heritage property of social and historical significance. If Birdie thinks she can knock down a monument, she’s going to have to think again.”
“She’ll be furious. I can hardly wait to see her face.”
“You might have to be more politic than that,” I said. “Tell her that you’ll have dinner with her once a week—and if she disagrees, then we’ll wrap the Princess Mary in so much red tape she’ll never get her hands on the property. The carrot and the stick. Zel. This will work.”
“It might,” Zelind said. “I’ll choke on every bite, but I will eat dinner with that woman if it will keep the Princess Mary safe.”