“I can’t say that I did either,” Charlotte said. “But this place is different. The sisters here don’t know, and won’t be concerned with, who you are. Besides, we won’t be here long.”
Satisfied with Charlotte’s reply, Grave continued into the building and Charlotte followed.
They gathered in the antechamber, a small but airy space occupied by a circular reflecting pool, at the center of which stood a bronze statue of Athene.
A door on the opposite side of the fountain opened and one of the priestesses came forward to greet them.
“May I be of assistance?” She was of middle age with gray-streaked auburn hair. She wore a sleeveless dress of simple gray and a long cloak of the deepest blue.
Charlotte stepped to the front of the group. “We seek the protection of the goddess.”
The priestess inclined her head. “No seeker of Athene’s mercy shall be denied. My name is Sister Annelle; please follow me.”
Falling into step beside Sister Annelle, Charlotte motioned for the others to follow. They left the antechamber by way of the door from which Sister Annelle had emerged. The room they entered was much larger and humming with activity. Other priestesses sat at tables with children of various ages. Some were reading, some practicing their letters, while yet others sketched or were simply at play.
So many. Charlotte winced at the sight, wondering what each child’s story could be. What events had driven their short lives along this course? It was impossible to tell who among them had been born into the Resistance and who’d been orphaned for altogether different reasons.
The arrival of Charlotte and her companions drew curious gazes from the children, but none left their places. A few did cast pleading glances at their supervising priestess, as if hoping to gain leave to investigate the Sanctuary’s new visitors.
Sister Annelle beckoned two of her peers.
“Please meet Sister Delphia and Sister Elsbeth.”
The pair of priestesses were as different as January is from May. Elsbeth was older yet than Sister Annelle. Her snow-white hair ringed the crown of her head in a braid, and her olive-toned skin bore the deep creases of age. Sister Delphia looked barely old enough to have completed her initiation into the temple ranks. She wore her hair long and straight, its shade that of polished ebony, while her skin was a tawny hue.
All three sisters looked at Charlotte expectantly.
“Thank you for welcoming us into your Sanctuary,” Charlotte said. “My name is Charlotte.”
Sister Elsbeth smiled, causing her face to wrinkle even more. It had the effect of making her look impossibly kind. “Charlotte, your company appears to have traveled many miles to reach us and must be weary from the journey. Let us offer you food and drink to restore yourselves, and then we shall speak further of your needs.”
The priestesses demonstrated their familiarity and ease with the circumstance presented by a group of ragged, displaced youths. Without waiting for Charlotte’s response, Sisters Annelle and Delphia gathered up the youngest children, shepherding them across the room and through an open set of double doors.
“The kitchens.” Sister Elsbeth explained to the remaining travelers. “Why don’t the rest us of sit for a moment.”
The elderly priestess gestured to an unoccupied table. Charlotte and her fellows drew up chairs. Elsbeth took her seat, and addressed them in a frank but not unsympathetic tone.
“You know the small ones are welcome here,” Elsbeth said, looking at each of them in turn. “But the rest of you are too close to being of age for the Sanctuary to offer you shelter.”
“Not even for a night?” Pip’s outburst was hurriedly shushed by both Birch and Scoff, who sat on either side of her.
Elsbeth offered the girl a patient smile. “I’m afraid even a night counters our neutrality, and if that position is compromised, it endangers all who would seek refuge within these walls.
“Of course,” the priestess continued, “if any of you have decided against joining the Resistance—or for that matter the Imperial military—and wish to keep peace in your lives, then I may extend our protection to you.”
“We understand the boundaries of your mission, Sister,” Charlotte said. “We only seek assistance for the youngest of our party.”
“Though I’m sorry I can’t offer more, I am happy to share from our stores with you.” Sister Elsbeth rose. “I’ll gather some provisions that will help you on your way. In the meantime, some of my fellow sisters will bring you food and drink to restore you before you depart.”
After the priestess left them, Pip dropped her head into her hands, elbows resting on the tabletop. “I can’t believe they won’t let us stay one night! I’m so tired!”
“Keep your voice down, Pip,” Birch said. “What the Sanctuaries provide helps many in need. The Empire would shut all of them down if they were viewed as full supporters of the Resistance. We’re all tired, but that’s no reason to be resentful.”
“Come on, Pip.” Scoff nudged her with his elbow. “Aren’t you excited to build a camp? Maybe a voyageur will stop by our fire and teach us songs. It’ll be fun . . . I think.”
Pip laid her head on the table, grumbling under her breath.
To Charlotte’s surprise, Birch perked up. “I quite like the idea of learning their songs. My mother used to tell me wonderful stories about the French trappers, their portages, and all their singing.”
Scoff reached over Pip to give Birch a light punch on the shoulder. “See, Pip? Birch is going to sing for us too. Care to give us a preview, friend?”
“No, thank you.” Birch slid his chair over so his head was out of Scoff’s reach.
“But how will we know whether to cover our ears tonight around the fire?” Scoff asked, elbowing Pip again.
This time she giggled.
As the two boys became immersed in their friendly quarrel, and Pip vacillated between sulking and snorting with laughter, Charlotte turned to Grave.
“You need to know,” she said to him very quietly. “If you wanted to, you could stay here.”
Grave’s eyes filled with alarm. “Stay here? Why?”
“What the priestess said,” Charlotte replied. “If you aren’t fighting for the Empire or the Resistance, the protection of the Sanctuary is yours.”
“You don’t want me to come with you,” Grave said with a frown.
“That’s not it at all,” Charlotte told him. “But what you said on the train, about whether the cause of the Resistance is worth waging a war, that’s not for me to tell you. You’re free to fight or not fight, to go with us or to stay here where it’s safer. This choice is yours. No one but you should choose your path.”
“But where you’re going is dangerous,” Grave said.
“I’ve always thought anywhere but the Catacombs was dangerous,” Charlotte said. “But it turned out they weren’t safe, either. The world is dangerous when you’re an enemy of the Empire.”
Grave’s jaw tightened with resolve. “I don’t want to stay behind while you go to fight. I want you to be safe.”
Charlotte was about to object, I don’t need you to protect me, but a flurry of images silenced her. How many ways had Grave protected their band of exiles? How much more likely was their safe arrival in New Orleans with Grave rather than without him?
So she simply said, “Thank you.”
THE OHIO DOCKS of Moirai teemed with the scents and sights of those sorts of labor that followed the course of waterways. There was the warm saltiness of sweat and the cool damp scent of cobblestones. Piles of coal were shoveled into barrows that were rushed onto barges. Gnarled fingers of bent, white-haired women stitched together torn nets. Tobacco smoke curled from the pipes of fishermen who strung up the day’s catch, while others wielded knives that sloughed away shimmering scales in steady showers. Sailors, merchants, and travelers crowded the
docks, elbowing each other aside as they went. It wouldn’t be a hard thing to get lost in this press of bodies, Charlotte thought. She wondered if her little troupe should try to tie on to each other like the boats she’d seen strung together like a necklace as they approached the junction of the Ohio and Mississippi.
Despite the frenetic activity of the docks, Charlotte had yet to pull her mind free of the Sanctuary and all it implied about her past . . . and suggested regarding her future. However brief their time at the crèche had been, it nonetheless pushed Charlotte’s thoughts toward her family. She hoped that Ash would still be in New Orleans when they arrived, but whom else might they encounter? The Resistance used New Orleans as a secure site where its leaders could live and continue to develop strategies and issue orders that would further their cause, but the missions executed by its members took them far afield from the French city. It was possible that Charlotte’s mother and father would be in New Orleans; any of their parents might be, but it was just as likely—probably more so—that they would not. Charlotte didn’t want to hope for something that had little chance of coming to pass. And yet it was difficult not to wish for a reunion with her family. At the same time, Charlotte found it difficult to envision what such a reunion would be like. She hadn’t seen her parents in years. Would they even recognize her?
The question troubled her more than she liked, and Charlotte was glad for the distraction of Birch’s voice demanding her attention.
“Moirai’s split into three parts because of the river crossings,” Birch told them. “We’re most like to find a passenger vessel at the southwest docks across the Great Iron Bridge.”
Scoff grunted as he shifted his load from one shoulder to the other. “Are we finding a boat today?”
“I don’t want to rush into a poor deal.” Charlotte had reached the bottom of the gangplank and stepped aside to make way for the others. “But I’d like to secure passage on a boat that’s heading downriver tomorrow. I’ll speak with crewmen from the vessels at port and see what sorts of fares are on offer. If they’re within reason, we’ll camp near the boat tonight and board first thing in the morning—or even tonight, if they’re amenable.”
“Hopefully I’ll have luck adding more coin to our purse,” Birch said. His load was a quarter the size of the others, but its value was likely the greatest, and its contents would suffer only slight jostling. Birch and Pip had spent their days in the boxcar putting together trinkets and gadgets that could be traded in the stores and stalls of Moirai. With luck they’d fetch enough to guarantee passage south and still have some to spare.
“Come on, then.” Birch was already pushing forward into the teeming crowd.
“Grave, stay right behind him,” Charlotte said hurriedly, for Birch was already being swallowed up by the crowd. “Pip, keep close to Grave. Don’t lose sight of him. Scoff and I will follow you.”
Pip dove into the current of bodies, intent on her target. The girl’s vivid green hair was easy to spot as Charlotte kept after her. Charlotte trusted Scoff to keep up and to not diverge from their intended course. Leaving the Sanctuary had been easy, but getting away beyond the docks proved something of a battle. It seemed to Charlotte that every other step found her fending off an elbow, or keeping her balance when someone shoved into her. The crowd offered no easy channels to follow; instead, people moved every which way, knocking into each other and shouting blame for the bruising traverse at random passersby.
A reprieve from the struggle forward came as they drew farther from the docks. While they remained surrounded by bustling activity, the crowd thinned enough that Charlotte bumped against someone only every few minutes instead of every few seconds. Their pace slowed from a frenzied push ahead to a comfortable but swift clip as the world around them shifted subtly, transforming from a hub of harried labor to a slightly more ordered collection of businesses. The buildings of East Moirai were the result of opportunity rather than method. The only unifying quality of the line of shops, saloons, and inns was that all appeared to have been constructed of wood, and very swiftly. They cut a ragged silhouette of sloped, rounded, flat, and sharp-angled roofs against the sky. Some were freshly painted in pale blue, pine green, or brick red. Others wanted badly for attention—whatever hue had adorned those walls long faded into altogether different shades: blue into dull gray, yellow to muddy brown, violet to sickly rose. New and eager or old and tired, all bore signs proclaiming their purpose.
The Lonely Paddle was a forlorn-looking saloon, whose decrepit appearance belied the waves of patrons that surged in and out of its doors. Maud’s Table offered “home-cooked meals and polite company.” Polite company seemed to hold less allure than the Lonely Paddle, given the stout woman standing at the restaurant’s door with a spoon in her hand, watching potential customers pass with a mixture of contempt and desperation.
Pandora’s Box served as a general store, but Birch suggested that such a name implied potential danger, and thus there must be a tinker’s workshop inside the store. Knowing that Birch would likely pepper the local tinker with questions irrelevant to the rest of their party, Charlotte suggested that Birch wait until after they’d surveyed all the shops before committing to trade at this one.
They passed a smithy, a haberdashery, a tanner, and an apothecary with a window display so mesmerizing that Charlotte had to drag Scoff away from it. When they’d finished taking stock of the full array of commercial establishments in East Moirai, the sun sat low on the horizon, lending a bronze gleam to the wide river. Birch and Grave took their leave, heading back to Pandora’s Box in the hopes of good trading—both in material and information. Scoff, Pip, and Charlotte had the task of finding a boat that would take them to New Orleans. Dusk’s arrival lulled East Moirai to a sauntering pace, its denizens filling the air with effervescent chatter and unrestrained laughter—a welcome change from the gruff determination of the working day. Sounds of mirth grew louder and gained the accompaniment of drums, fifes, tin whistles, banjos, fiddles, and an array of voices belting innumerable songs. This odd chorus filled the air with strange melodies both fascinating and ominous.
“What in Hephaestus’s name is that?” Scoff tilted his head, listening intently.
“I have no idea,” Charlotte said, but she needn’t have replied at all, for the answer loomed before them as the road bent to the south.
Hugging the swath of land at the juncture of the Ohio and Mississippi stood a bizarre, haphazard assortment of tents, stalls, and stages. So tightly packed was this hodgepodge that each structure appeared to be shoving up against its neighbors in a battle for space. A banner strung between two tall, ribbon-wrapped maypoles announced that Charlotte, Scoff, and Pip had stumbled upon “The River Carnival.” Signposts at the base of each pole boasted of the fair’s “impossible wonders” that “could not be missed!” and lent urgency to their message with the notice that “The Mississippi’s Most Marvelous Attraction” would be in East Moirai for “one week only!”
At first glance the carnival’s appearance turned Charlotte’s mood sour. Her only experience with this sort of attraction had been the Tinkers’ Faire in the Floating City, which had been nothing other than a disaster. She was about to walk on when she saw the way Pip’s mouth had frozen in the shape of a O; the girl’s eyes widened and grew bright with yearning.
I’ve been too cross with her, Charlotte thought. She’s been through so much with no reprieve.
“Scoff, why don’t you and Pip take a turn around the carnival,” Charlotte said. “I can manage the docks on my own.”
“Really?” Pip’s voice came out as a burst of breath trailed by a hopeful squeak. “Can we, Charlotte?”
“As long as you don’t accept any invitations to join one of the acts,” Charlotte teased. She saw no harm in letting the pair split off for a brief diversion—and could more than manage assessing the range of fares required for transport from Moirai to New Orleans herself.
Pip beamed at Charlotte. Though he hid his eagerness more ably, Scoff’s eyes lit with anticipation too at the promise of a carnival’s excitement.
Unable to contain herself, Pip grabbed Scoff’s arm and dragged him into the pandemonium.
Charlotte laughed, her heart lightening at Pip’s unrestrained joy. As she walked on, that cheer spilled over into her regard for the present state of affairs. It hadn’t been an easy journey, but they’d reached the Mississippi and soon they would be en route to New Orleans and the heart of the Resistance. Anxious thoughts had been Charlotte’s constant companions from the moment she’d seen smoke billowing into the sky above the site of the Catacombs. For the first time in a long while, the fear knotted in her chest began to untie itself, and she knew beyond a doubt that they needed to do more than survive. Moments like this one, surprises that could foment happiness amid a long struggle, nurtured the spirit as food nourished the body.
The docks on the eastern bank of the Mississippi were only a short walk from the River Carnival and offered just as much for the eye to marvel at. The steamboats at port towered above their moorings, behemoths at rest. Great paddle wheels at the stern of each boat now lay still, but evoked the image of the ferocious churning that would power the vessel downriver. Charlotte approached the line of boats with some consternation; they’d been designed to impress, and she surmised that only passengers with deep pockets could afford travel in any of them.
Dismissing the grand steamboats, Charlotte continued along the docks hoping to find less ostentatious boats farther afield from the center of East Moirai. Though the sun had disappeared, crews remained busy aboard their vessels, scuttling from task to task as they readied for the next departure. The boats were getting slightly smaller, but not as small as Charlotte thought would accommodate her limited means. Unless Birch fetched a handsome price for his trinkets, they had little coin to offer. Perhaps a trade in kind could be made, work aboard ship in exchange for transport.
The Conjurer's Riddle Page 6