by Gaie Sebold
“Thank you!” Alina held the little figure up to the light. “She’ll love it.”
“That’s like one of your Whirligigs, isn’t it?” Madis said.
“I made this first, to test the basic principles.” Orrie said. “They’re a bit more sophisticated.”
“They’re uncanny,” Madis said.
“I thought you liked them!” Orrie’s hurt expression, magnified by her spectacles, made her look like an orphaned kitten.
“That’s exactly why I like them,” Madis said, grinning.
“When will you send Nib to me, so I can teach her to ride?” Dagri said.
“Not on that terrifying beast outside, I hope.” Alina peered through the window. “I didn’t know horses got that big. Is he yours?”
Dagri shrugged. “He owns himself.”
“Like you.” Alina flung herself onto the bed, pouting. “I hope this job’s a good one, Madis, I’m sick of scraping for every penny because the fucking Adepts’ Guild won’t let me join. Oh, unless I can come up with six thousand gold, that is.”
“Six thousand?” Madis yelped. “I thought guild fee was two?”
“Oh, no,” Alina said. “Even if they did decide to let a mere female join, you see, it would be so terribly disruptive that only an extra four thousand could even begin to compensate them for the trouble. And I’d still only ever have journeyman status, I’d never become a full Guild member.”
“Six thousand, to get journeyman status?” Orrie frowned. “That’s ridiculous. The Artisans will charge me four, but at least I end up a full Master.”
“I know. But unless I can get to journeyman I haven’t a hope of persuading them to let me take full status.”
“Luck with that,” Milandree said.
“Got to try, haven’t I? If Nib turns out Adept I want her to have a chance at Guild membership, proper Guild membership, and it’s a lot easier if you’ve a relative already in. Anyway never mind that. Isn’t this nice? All back together! So? What’s the job?”
“Have you heard that Lord Baridine has found himself a wife?” Madis said. She told them about the belt, and watched their eyes begin to gleam.
“So who’s the bride?” Alina said.
“Lady Casillienne of Darnor.”
Alina sat up, the bells in her hair jingling. “Darnor? Darnor? But that’s...”
“A long way north,” Madis said.
“It’s not just a long way north!” Alina said. “It’s a long way ahead. Women can join all the guilds there! Lady Casillienne’s mother began it, she’s Adept herself. I thought of moving there, but it’s so far, and those winters... Why would someone from Darnor marry into the Baridines?”
“Seems like it was a bit of a whirlwind romance,” Madis said. “Lady Casillienne was travelling near Quat Bay just before the passes closed for the winter, got separated from her entourage, her carriage broke a wheel, Lord Baridine was riding past, offered her the hospitality of his house. She went to stay and... proposal, acceptance, wedding plans. So eager she’s not even waiting for the passes to open so her family can attend.”
Alina scowled. “Baridine must have the charm of an incubus.”
Orrie said, “Any idea where the belt was made? Or who by?”
Madis shook her head. “Not yet.”
“It will help.”
“I have the counterspell, but not the maker,” Madis said.
“The spell might tell me something,” Alina said. “And I’ve got a clerk friend at the Guild. There might be something in the Guild records. Magical foci are a big deal, and dangerous. Anything like that would be on record, unless it was done outside the Guild. If it was that means a very powerful maker working outside Guild law. Which is... interesting.”
“Good, see what you can get,” Madis said. She passed Alina a folded paper. “This is a copy of the spell. Orrie, there’ll likely be a lock on Lady Casillienne’s door, but the main one will be the belt.”
“Are the Baridines Sky God worshipers?” Alina said. “I can deal with little air demons, but I like to know what I’m up against. Remember those toothy things guarding that strongroom in Atriani? I didn’t even know there was a Weasel God until then.” Alina scowled. “I didn’t enjoy finding out, either. Those boots were never the same.”
“Well,” Madis said, “the Baridines are Sky God at least as far back as the Glass Wars – but then, if you’re fighting under the banner of our beloved monarch, it would be unwise to admit to anything else. Before that, the Goddess of the Bay – Ilianu, I think. Something like that. From what I’ve found out so far, some of the servants probably still worship her – I would, too, if I lived on a rock in the middle of her territory.”
Alina nodded. “All right, I’ll prepare for both. So, how are we getting off this rock?”
“We still need to work that out.”
Milandree took out one of her knives and began to sharpen it, with quick, practiced strokes. “Not going in without a full plan. Not after last time.”
“Trust me,” Madis said.
“You, yes. Your brother?” Milandree gave her a look as pointed as the blade.
“All right, all right!” Madis waved her hands. “I’ll keep him away from us, I promise. Milandree, I need you in the palace guard.”
Milandree groaned. “Socks.”
“Yeah, socks. Sorry.”
Orrie blinked. “Socks?”
Milandree gestured at her crotch. “Socks.”
“But what for?” Orrie said.
“Bulging,” Alina said. “You know. You do know, do you?”
“Oh! To look like... Oh.”
“Orrie, darling, you need to get out more,” Alina said.
Orrie was frowning at Milandree’s lap.
“Oh, watch it, she’s getting that look,” Alina said. “I don’t think Milandree wants a mechanical knob, dear.” She paused. “On the other hand, I bet I could sell those...”
“Don’t tell the nuns,” Milandree said.
“I’m sure otherwise they’d be totally happy with a bunch of crooks planning a robbery in one of their rooms,” Madis said.
“And how am I to join the palace guard?” Milandree said.
“I’ve been digging. Once the Baridine’s grants from the crown proved less profitable than they hoped, the reputation they made during the siege was pretty much their only source of credit. They tend to be sentimental about it. So you, my dear, are going to be the grandson of one of the men who was in the siege. He retired over to Green Valley way, after he got injured in the war, took a wife, set up a farm, and died a couple of years back.” Madis dug a sheaf of papers out of her capacious bag and thrust them at Milandree. “This is everything you need to know about your grandpa, and his part in the siege, and any other bits I could dig up.”
Milandree took the papers with a sigh. “And there will be a place going in the guard?”
“Fortunately,” Madis said, “one of them is an Avigani. I’ve arranged for a message calling him home to defend his family’s honour by taking part in the latest feud with their neighbours.”
“And who will you be?” Orrie asked.
“I managed to get hold of a guest list, such as it is,” Madis said. “No one from Darnor, of course, so at least I don’t have to try and get that bloody accent right. Lady Tanisal of fading but influential local gentry has been invited, presumably purely for the look of the thing, since the poor dear hasn’t attended a social occasion outside her own estates in the fifteen years since her husband died. She will startle and delight them all by turning up, if they remember who she is. I’ve even managed to get a picture of her, though it’s twenty years old and I suspect was pretty flattering at the time.”
“And how do you know she won’t turn up?” Alina said.
“Because she’s currently confined with a badly broken ankle and won’t be travelling anywhere for a while.”
“Won’t she have sent an apology?”
“She changed her mind, obviously,
as is the gentry’s privilege. Alina, you’re my maid.”
Alina rolled her eyes. “You think socks are bad? Yes ma’am, no ma’am, let me fasten your corset, ma’am...”
“Listen, if you can think of a better way in than as my maid, feel free,” Madis said. “I’ve got you a background, too... Been with the family for years, you have.” She smirked at Alina. “Loyal as a dog but not very bright.”
“Oh, thanks.”
“Dagri, we need good, fast horses. And I have plans for Shaikan, too.”
“What about getting across the actual sea, though?” Alina said. “The bloody place is an island. Even assuming we get in all right, how the hells do we get out? Dagri can get the fastest horses you like, but unless they can swim... and it’s a big bay. Also, archers.”
“There’ll be boats,” Madis said. “People have to get to the island somehow.”
“Madis,” Alina said, “we’re talking about the only place undefeated in the Glass Wars. Because it sits in the middle of the fucking sea. Once the guests are in it’s going to be closed tight as a lockup, and the second they realise the belt is missing, they’re not going to let anyone leave. What are you planning to do then? ‘Oh, sorry sir, just happened to find this belt lying about, wondered who it belonged to...”
“True,” Madis said. “Until the wedding’s over, there’s no excuse for anything to leave the island... except... What do you really not want around during your festivities?”
“My uncle Fandik,” Orrie said.
“Who?”
“A drunk. Re-fights old wars and tries to dance with people who don’t want to be danced with.”
“Unfortunately,” Madis said, “all they’re likely to do with drunken guests is get their servants to haul them to their rooms, not chuck them off the island. What else?”
“Sick people,” Dagri said. “You get one sick horse in a herd, you take it away before all the others get sick.”
“Wouldn’t they just shove ’em in a different part of the castle?” Milandree said.
“Tricky if it’s full to the brim with guests, and servants...” Madis frowned.
“The dead,” Alina said. “Bad luck to have a corpse at a wedding.”
Dagri raised her eyebrows. “My grandmother had a place of honour at my sister’s wedding in her best robe and headdress, and she’s been dead for twenty years.”
“What? How?” Alina said.
“It’s called taxidermy.”
There was a silence that was approximately three parts fascination to two parts horror.
Madis shook her head, blinking. “Right, now I’ve got an image for my nightmares forever, and thank you so much for that, Dagri... Listen. If we can arrange for a corpse, we’ve got a way to get the belt off the island. Oh, don’t look at me like that. You know I don’t mean killing anyone.”
“They’ll inspect the boat,” Alina said. “Or they will if they’ve any sense.”
“So we use the corpse itself,” Madis said.
Milandree snorted. “So we’re going to get someone who isn’t dead, put the belt in them, and float them away?”
“Hang on. Dagri... You just said. About your grandmother. Can you... can someone provide us with a corpse? That’s hollow? And looks like a typical Quat Region noblewoman in her fifties?”
Dagri scowled. “The preservation is done to highly honoured members of the tribe, not just anyone. It takes weeks. It costs gold.”
“Find out if someone will do it, in time. People die in the city every day. With a corpse and the right makeup, we can make them look like whoever we want.”
Dagri shrugged. “I’ll try. Can’t promise.”
“Good enough.”
“That seems... over-elaborate?” Alina said. “There’s got to be easier ways to get the belt out of there.”
“I have my reasons,” Madis said.
“And how do we get a corpse in?” Alina said.
“Rich ladies attending parties have a great deal of luggage,” Madis said.
“Oh, yuk. And guess who’ll be hauling it.”
“A prepared corpse is lighter than an ordinary one,” Dagri said.
Alina made a face. “That makes me feel so much better. So. The belt, once we’ve got it, is easy enough, but it’ll have to be out of there fast – unless we can get it off her Ladyship and away before she notices it’s gone.”
“All right,” Madis’ face was alight. “Lady Tanisal, that is, me, gets sick with something massively infectious. Thunder plague – that’ll do – and alas, dies. Her corpse, accompanied by her maid, is shipped off the island, with all the haste that can be managed – accompanied by Milandree.”
“And why would they let me go?” Milandree said.
“You will have a dalliance with Lady Tanisal, and will thus be undoubtedly infected with the Thunder Plague. They’ll practically shove you onto the boat.”
“That gets us off the island,” Alina said. “What about you, running around all alive?”
“I’ll work it out,” Madis waved a hand.
“Fine. And Orrie? How do we get her in and out?”
“That’s easy.” Madis grinned at Orrie. “Lady Tanisal is going to order a wedding present from Monsieur Pettigis. Designed by you, and accompanied by you. You can show the happy couple how they work. Until they don’t.”
“The Whirligigs. You want them to go wrong?”
“I want them to distract. To keep as many as possible of the guests – and the guards – occupied far from the bride’s chamber and the family chapel. There’s a few other details I want to discuss with you later.”
“One thing we have not mentioned.” Dagri said. “What is the tsikshala’s part in this?”
“What does that word mean?” Alina propped her chin on her hand. “I’ve been wanting to ask.”
“It means what Orrie wants to make and you want to sell. A prick, without a brain or a heart.”
“A more perfect description of your brother I never heard,” Alina said. “So, Madis darling, what aren’t you telling us?”
“All right,” Madis said. “My brother is the one the buyer approached. He wants us to do the job, and he’ll take half.”
“Half?” Alina squeaked.
Dagri let out a stream of words which needed little translation.
Orrie rolled her eyes.
Milandree sighed, and put the knife away.
“Wait!” Madis said. “All of you, please. I have some thoughts.” She grinned like a shark. “You’ll like them, I promise.”
“Orivine! Orivine!” The carefully-modulated voice Pettigis used for his customers had risen to a rusty creak.
“Yes?”
“Stop what you’re doing and come here!”
Orrie, with some relief, ceased fiddling with the mainspring of a clock of such grandiose ugliness that it achieved a form of magnificence, if not actual beauty. It had been ordered for the Duke of Bendarish and would almost certainly never be paid for.
“What is it?” She emerged to find Pettigis pink-faced and wide-eyed, waving a piece of paper.
“We have an order! A wonderful order! But we can’t do it! It’s impossible!”
“What is it?”
“We are to provide a gift for Lord Baridine’s wedding. But it’s in less than a moon!” He began to flitter around the shop, picking things up, staring at them, and thrusting them back onto their shelves. “No, no... we have nothing, nothing suitable. Why are you just standing there? This could make my name, don’t you understand? Lord Baridine’s wedding to Lady Casillienne of Darnor! It has to be magnificent!”
“What are the chances of our actually getting paid, this time?”
“Oh, really, you have such a mercenary mind. This will be a gift for one of the oldest families in the land. Lady Casillienne is, well, Northern, of course, and a reputation for being very modern... but I’m sure he’ll tame her eccentricities. And in any case... Oh, it has to be exceptional. A clock? No, no, what nonsense,
something truly... that mechanical swan that Brevatish made for Lord Modicar’s wedding, now that was... but two years in the making... It can’t be done!
Orrie allowed him to ramble, occasionally dropping in a suggestion that might almost have been calculated to increase his panic. “There was a cage of mechanical birds for the Prevani wedding. But that took four years, I understand.”
“Four!” His voice rose to a shriek. “And are you suggesting I should imitate another artist?”
She refrained from pointing out that he had been considering just that... and had, indeed, done it on numerous occasions, not only imitating but frankly stealing. Mainly, recently, from her.
“I do have something I’ve been working on,” she said. “In my spare time.”
“Oh, really? Some crude mechanism, some piece of girlish folly? You do realise the importance of this, do you?”
Orrie shrugged. “Given that the time is so short... but that’s the gentry for you. They don’t understand that an artist like yourself needs time to work.”
She could feel her eyes trying their best to roll like marbles on a slope, but Madis had suggested the wording, and indeed, Pettigis was nodding solemnly. “Well, well, the gentry have other responsibilities, you know. Show me what you have, perhaps if it’s not too crude, something can be made of it.”
Pettigis spent so little time in the workshop that he had never noticed the cloth-draped forms in the corner.
Orrie, with a slight theatrical flair she realised, with quiet internal amusement that she had picked up from Madis, whisked the cloth away.
The Whirligigs stood side by side. From the waist up, they were roughly human, from the waist down, each was the shape of an elongated bell. They stood at the height of an average full-grown man. Their faces were stylised masks, with high cheekbones, flying brows, and full lips. Their eyes were large, catlike ovals of bright green glass, backed with mirrors to make them gleam. The ‘female’ torso – the one she called Spin – hinted at the curve of breasts, the mask slightly rounder in its curves – the ‘male’ – Reel – a little wider in the shoulders, a little squarer in the jawline. They spoke as much to the expectations of the viewer as to any inherent quality. Once they were clothed, of course, these suggestions would be heightened.