by Jeff Ayers
“How am I supposed to be able to read if I don’t learn words?”
“Patience,” had been the old man’s only response. It was frustrating, but she trusted him to know how to teach reading, because he knew how to do it. After the second lesson, her frustration boiled to the surface again, and the wizard pointed out that she could start practicing what they’d already discussed. She stuck some of the letters together on her board at random and sounded them out with laborious effort.
“‘Thhhhhhaak.’ I wrote ‘thak.’” She showed him her work, and he nodded with a smile. “That ain’t a word, but it’s what I wrote. Does that count?”
“Of course. You’re practicing what you’ve learned so far. That’s all words are, after all: sounds pressed together that mean something. If you work on the skill of blending the sounds, you’re halfway to reading anything you want. In this language, anyway,” he clarified.
When she wasn’t eating, bathing (a luxury she’d been able to experience only, at most, once a year before now), or studying, she was talking with Petre, trying to tease some more information out of him about Belamy. Anything the imprisoned man could tell her about the lich might give her a clue as to which item might be the storage box of his soul. However, Petre was very reluctant to speak more about Belamy, always steering the conversation to familiar waters or changing the conversation entirely.
On any subject that wasn’t Belamy or himself, Petre was very willing to answer questions and ask them freely, wanting to know about the goings-on around town, about Skate, about Belamy’s friends, or about any other topic of any possible amount of interest. His view of the street outside did not give him much in the way of specific details about the world passing by.
“It’s slightly maddening at times,” he said when learning about rumors of price gouging from some of the merchant families. “I like to know these things from my own efforts, so I sometimes ask Rattle to crack the window so I can hear snippets of conversation, but I can never catch more than half a sentence before the people chatting below have moved on or are else drowned out by a passing carriage or hollering salesman.”
“You could ask to be freed and walk down yourself to ask them what they’re talking about.”
He scoffed. “It’s not much of a penance if I end it for every passing fancy, is it?”
Skate was still very curious about the specifics of his crime (Whom had he killed? And why, besides “selfishness,” whatever that meant? And why come to Belamy for judgment?), but he had offered no more information, so she had not pried. Leave the man in a glass ball whatever privacy he still wants, she’d told herself. It’s not like it matters for your job, anyway. Even though he was less than forthcoming about the old man and his secrets, he still made a fine conversation partner.
On the fifth morning, as Skate ate her scrambled eggs and a seared slice of a sugary meat (ham, she guessed), Belamy came downstairs carrying a burlap sack wrapped around something heavy-looking and squarish. He plopped the sack down next to her with a thud.
“Wassat?” she managed to get out around the large bite she’d just taken.
“Laribel’s book. The Chronicles. It was most informative, and a riveting read, but it’s time for it to go back to its owner. And of course, you’ll get another week of food and lodging, as promised. Or lessons, as you prefer.”
Skate swallowed and smacked her lips. “Sounds good, then. When do you want it given back to her?”
“With all speed. Tonight, if you can.”
She thought about it. The streets were more slush than snow, now. The sun had been out and shining, bringing with it a warmer wind that helped to dissipate the collected piles of white nuisance.
“Not a problem.” She scooped up her empty plate and took it to the kitchen. “How do you want it given back to her?” she said over her shoulder.
“It doesn’t matter to me, so long as she gets it undamaged and anonymously.” He came to the doorway to speak to her, keeping an eye on Rattle as it floated about doing the work of cleaning up. It deftly snatched Skate’s plate from her hands as it passed, causing her to jump a bit and laugh. “I mean it, young lady,” Belamy said, mistaking her light mood as unconcern. “She’s seen you and knows you’ve been here with me. The last thing I need is Laribel knowing I borrowed one of her books without permission.”
“I get it; it’ll be fine.” Skate laughed again as Rattle went through a small juggling act with the plates before dropping them in the water in the basin. She slid past Belamy into the main room and sat down by the fire, which she changed to a blue color with the Dwarvish words.
“Good, then. Be sure to do so. And make sure my door is shut when you leave. Rattle will let you in.” Belamy moved toward the front door. “Rattle will oversee your lesson for the day, as well. Just practice the sounds you’ve learned so far. Eventually, it will become a matter of automation for you. But you’ve got to practice to get there.”
“Wait, you’re leaving?”
“Yes,” he said, stopping with his hand on the handle of the heavy door. “Is there a reason I should not?”
At a bit of a loss, she said, “Well, no, I guess not. It’s your house, ain’t it? You just never leave, is all.”
“True. I rarely have a need. But today, I’m off to meet with people who might help me track down the unpleasant trio bent on extorting money from Jack. I should be back before evening comes, but I can’t say for sure.”
“Who you gonna talk to for help with that?” It was unlikely he’d have any contacts with the criminal underworld if he didn’t know the name “Hajime,” but it was possible that he might be able to find something out about the Ink if he looked hard enough.
“Various hedge wizards who may have supplied them with the spells or trinkets. I’m also going to pay Lady Flandel a visit, since she apparently felt comfortable enough inviting them to her soirée. Wish me luck.” Without waiting for the wish, he swung out the door and swept into the cool morning. The door shut behind him.
“Good luck!” she called out. “You’re gonna need it,” she muttered, turning back to the kitchen. “Rattle!”
The eyeball turned toward her at the call, somehow hearing over the din of the dishes it was cleaning in the basin. It didn’t stop cleaning as it turned, and the effect was disconcerting. Its legs continued to shift the dishes around and clean them even though it was not focused on the work.
Skate shook her head and forced herself to remember what she’d come in here for. “Did Mr. Belamy tell you what the plan is for the day?”
It extracted two of its legs from the chaos long enough to click them together before shoving them right back into the wash without missing a beat.
“Well, I’m going to be in the library until you’re ready, all right?” Another quick shuffle and click. Skate nodded and left it to its work, and she saw the eye swinging back to the washing as the door came shut.
She went up the stairs and found the library as it had always been. Normally, she only came in here to talk to Petre, but this morning she thought to try her hand at a challenge. She scanned the rows of books until she found a spine with a title she could make sense of.
“Th…e L…a…ast Dra…g…on…” she sounded out aloud. It was not the entire title, but it was enough to get her to gingerly take the book off the shelf and place it on the nearby empty desk. She opened it up and took in the first page. “The Last Dragon,” she said again, smiling because she knew she’d gotten it right; at the bottom of the very first page was a detailed illustration of a dragon reared up on its powerful hind legs, breathing fire and snarling. Underneath the words she had read were five more. “…O…f…th…e L…o…st Br…ink…‘is lands’? What’s ‘is lands’?” Not having an answer, she read the words over and over again to herself. “The Last Dragon of the Lost Brink Is-lands.” Rattle’s clicking told her it was coming up the stairs, so she read the words one last time before closing the book gently and putting it back in place on the shelf. She me
t Rattle in the hallway, and they both went to her room to continue her lessons.
It was early afternoon when Skate needed a break. Her eyes were tired, and the chalk Rattle was using to mark the board was worn down to a near-useless nub. Rattle moved to the kitchen to prepare lunch while Skate rubbed her face in front of the blue flame in the main room. The past few hours had consisted of an interminable series of letters together on the board, with Skate sounding out the noise they made together. After the second hour, she found herself not needing to think about the letters individually anymore; this must have been part of what Belamy had meant when he talked about it being a matter of “automation.” By the third hour, she hated everything and wanted to be doing anything else. She thought they must have been in there for at least five hours but wasn’t sure.
Rattle brought out a plate of cheese and fruit. She took it and set it down. “Thanks,” she said, taking her hands from her face. “That’s probably enough for the day, you think?”
It did its imitation of a shrug.
“I think it’s enough for me. I’m gonna go lie down after I eat this. You go read or something,” she said, taking a bite out of the hunk of cheese.
Rattle clicked once and floated up the stairs. Skate took a few more nibbles of the cheese before moving to the little purple fruits. She didn’t get to eat fruit much, and she supposed very few got to eat fruits at all this time of year. Belamy’s cabinets were a marvel. “Work of genius,” she muttered to herself, savoring the sweet juice in each berry. They complemented the cheese flavor nicely. She set her plate down and realized with some surprise that she was alone. With Belamy out of the house, this might be her best chance to explore that “storage closet” in the basement.
Skate moved to the bookcase and put a hand on the false book that acted as the lever. She pulled the lever and pressed the bookcase with all her weight, keeping it from banging open upon being released. This also had the added benefit of keeping that release mechanism from making any noise. She waited a few seconds, fearing the sound of curious flapping wings, but the quiet sound of Rattle’s floating came no nearer, and she heard a page turn. Undiscovered, she made her way down to the cellar, which was still lit up from the last time she’d been down there without permission or anyone else’s knowledge.
With practiced silence, she moved to the locked door, ignoring the instruments and bottles stacked along the walls and cabinets. She pulled her wire out and began her work. This, too, was both familiar and quiet, with only an occasional and almost imperceptible click accompanying her efforts. Seconds turned into minutes as she explored the tumblers of the lock that kept the door shut, blindly shifting them where they needed to be by the feeling and sounds of the clicks.
Skate felt the last tumbler fall into place, and the door swung open from the latch in its frame. She caught the door and continued to open it slowly, careful to keep it from squeaking. The light from the lab poured into the unexplored room and cast bizarre-looking shadows on its walls. She stepped in.
Belamy had called this a storage closet, and to his credit, it did appear he had been using it for that exact purpose. Unused cleaning tools were piled in one corner, and a large, scratched chalkboard sat discarded on one wall. There were cracked and burnt alchemical tools on a worn-looking cabinet. Why not throw those out or fix them? She didn’t have time to consider the question too deeply before her eyes were drawn to the center of the room.
There was a large glass display case that would have dominated the room in better lighting. Within, a mannequin stood on a single metal leg draped in one of the most intricately decorated pieces of clothing she had ever seen. It was a robe, a rich red robe bedecked with blue stones along the hem and cuffs. Red rubies peppered the chest and waist. All around these stones swirled interweaving and precise lines of gold. She tried to follow the path of a single line of the golden thread, but she soon got lost and had to abandon the attempt. In the process, another detail of the fabric caught her eye: the red fabric was also inlaid with swirling patterns of a deeper red color. Staring too hard at the design made her dizzy, so she backed away from it.
At the latch of the collar, which looked unyielding, Skate saw the royal seal on either side of the metal clasp: the scepter, helm, and blades of Old King Rajian. “The war robes,” she muttered to herself. She realized she was looking at the extravagant gift from King Hilan to Belamy for his military service. She reached out a hand to rest on the glass. It felt cold.
She frowned, working out what to do with this new information. Is this the thing he tied his soul to? If Petre was to be believed, it was certainly valuable enough. Did it matter that much to Belamy, though? He had taken the care to enshrine it here in the room but did not seem interested in watching over it too closely. He was using the room for garbage, after all.
Skate stepped back from the glass. She couldn’t know for sure if it was the focus of her search or not, so she couldn’t make any decision yet. As she turned back to the open door, a glint caught her eye. She moved in that direction, taking care not to trip on any of the clutter on the ground. The glint was curved, as if shining off of something round and smooth. When she reached it, she recognized it for what it was, and her breath caught in her throat. It was the statuette from the mantle of the fireplace.
She picked it up and held it in her hands. It was weightier than it looked. It was carved out of some dark gray stone and was a figure of a woman in the midst of performing some kind of dance. One of her arms was outstretched toward the ground, holding an intricately carved wand or rod, while the other hand was lifted in a flourish, her flowing dress sweeping around her in a graceful arc. The stone lady’s face was pensive, as if in deep concentration on her task. A multifaceted blue gemstone was set in the tip of the wand in her outswept hand. Even though the scant illumination barely managed to reach this corner, the stony figurine managed to catch the light and reflect it beautifully, especially the precisely cut blue stone.
This could work, Skate thought. It looked valuable enough in its own right, and who could say what sentimental value the old man placed on it? Plus, she reminded herself, he took the trouble of taking this out of the room and keeping it away from me. That may have been enough to convince her that this was what she’d been searching for, except for a nagging voice that brought objections from the back of her mind. He didn’t show you the robes, either. And what about the gemstones in the cushioned case? It was true that there was more than one item he’d kept hidden from her (one of which he had specifically told her that first night not to touch), and she had no way to tell which was his most cherished possession. She racked her brain, trying to remember anything that Petre had told her that might hint one way or the other. He didn’t care very much about the robes when he received them. He has them deliberately displayed in a place he cares nothing about and hardly visits. On the other hand, she knew nothing about the statuette, not whom it might be depicting or what attachment Belamy had to it other than wanting it out of sight with a known thief in the house. And he put the statuette down here, too, she reminded herself. If he truly didn’t care about what went into this room, then neither of these objects was a likely candidate, otherwise valuable or not.
Getting this wrong would be disastrous; two unclear options was not really an option at all, much less three. She could take the robes and the statuette both, but what if neither of these was right? She would have blown her cover, and Belamy would remain out of the reach of the Ink forever. And there were still the red gemstones she was not allowed to touch, and which she had not found. The location of these gemstones was, she decided, worth waiting for.
The only other room that had not been open to her up to this point was Belamy’s own bedroom; the door had been, as far as she knew, closed and locked since her first night here.
What need did a lich have of sleep? He’s not alive, so the bedroom is probably storage, too.
Skate placed the statuette back into its place in the pile of rubbish w
here Belamy had chosen to store it, making sure that its position was no different than when she’d found it. The blue glint of the woman’s wand shone after Skate as she walked, as if winking at her. She caught herself looking back several times on the short trip to the door.
Skate stopped in front of the tall display case and looked over the magnificent red-and-gold robes again. It seemed a shame that this piece of uniquely beautiful clothing was relegated to such ignominy, that it was deliberately on display to no one. It was a piece of art—and powerful and magical besides, according to Petre. “Iron Wind,” she muttered, before turning back toward the lab. She watched as the stream of light into the room shrank to a beam that seemed to hesitate as it crossed the robes before it shut out altogether as the door clicked shut. She tried the handle to make sure the lock had reset. Finding the door unyielding once more, she left the “storage closet” behind, and chuckled to herself as she took the short spiral stair up. I’m probably one of the only living people around who can say they’ve seen that stuff.
After she reached the main room and gently closed the bookshelf behind her, she made her way up to the library. She heard the turning of a page as she approached the second floor. Rattle was reading, and had placed Petre near itself. Rattle kept looking between the foggy sphere and the open book. It took Skate a moment to realize that Rattle wasn’t the one reading; Petre, having no hands to speak of, needed someone to turn the pages for him. She cleared her throat and got their attention.
“I’m going back to my nap now,” she said, feigning a yawn—or trying to, as the attempt turned into a genuine example. “Try not to get too crazy in here, okay?” Rattle looked at the blue sphere and shrugged, then clicked at her to let her know they’d heard her. The flying eyeball bat returned its attention to the open book, and Petre must have done the same, because Rattle very soon turned the page.