The Diminished

by Kaitlyn Sage Patterson

  “Looks like that’s our best bet. Shall I see if they can put us up for the night, or do you want me to wait with the horses?”

  I gave him a wry look. After a vendor in Cape Hillate had laughed me out of his shop when I tried to buy supplies for our trip, I’d agreed to let Swinton do our negotiating from then on. While I had a good idea of what it cost to maintain my household in Alskad, and the currency was the same, I’d not the foggiest clue what everyday items ought to cost in Ilor.

  He reappeared a few minutes later. “She’s all full, but for one room. Nice lady, though. Offered to stable our horses for the cost of grain and said she’d give us a bottle of makgee if we buy supper. What do you say? We can flip a tvilling for the bed.” Swinton smiled playfully at me, waggling his eyebrows.

  I laughed. “Whose coin would that be? Yours? I can’t seem to remember you paying for so much as a cup of kaffe since I met you.” The thought of kaffe made my mouth water. I hadn’t even smelled it since I left the ship, and though the headaches I’d had the first few days had now faded, I would have done just about anything for a cup of that particular nectar. “Do you think she has kaffe?” I asked.

  It was Swinton’s turn to laugh. “You can’t wrap your head around the costs of things, can you, little lord? There ain’t been a soul stay in this inn who can afford kaffe, well, ever.”

  We led the horses around back to the stables and surrendered them to the grizzled old man we found there.

  “But kaffe is grown here,” I whined, unwilling to give up the argument.

  Swinton held the back door open for me, saying, “And most of it is shipped to the heart of the Alskad Empire for lords like you.”

  “I’m not a—” I tried to protest, but was interrupted by an enormous woman who crushed me to her bosom.

  “Welcome to Bethesda’s!” she boomed. “I’m Bethesda, and I’m so pleased my boy’s brought you to see me.”

  The pressure of her arms released for a moment, but before I could step back, I found myself nose to nose with Swinton, who’d also been pulled into her tight embrace. He grinned at me.

  “My Swinton’s never brought anyone home to meet his mama.” She let us go and swatted Swinton, whose face turned red.

  I raised an eyebrow. Swinton shrugged, and his mother said, “After Taeb, I kept waiting to hear...” Bethesda paused, and her genial expression flicked briefly. She twitched her apron, but when she looked up, a smile was once again plastered on her face. “No matter. You’re both here now. I am sorry that I don’t have two rooms for you, but business is good.” She elbowed Swinton. “Can’t complain about that, can we? Now tell me, how is my waif of a sister?”

  * * *

  After unpacking our saddlebags, bathing and putting on clean clothes, Swinton and I made our way down to the common room of the inn. I headed toward the only open table in the large, slat-windowed room, but Swinton pulled me to a long trestle table in the corner. Two women and a man sat around a nearly empty platter. Half-full glasses of milky white makgee and a number of empty bottles littered the table.

  Swinton’s hand closed around my elbow, and his breath tickled my ear as he said, “I don’t let it get around that I’m a dimmy, so keep your mouth shut of it, aye?”

  I gave the barest nod, and Swinton clapped an arm around my shoulder.

  The man stood when Swinton and I approached. His collar was open and his sleeves rolled up, revealing deep brown skin and the ropey muscles of his forearms. As we crossed the room, I saw his golden brown eyes pass over me, taking in everything from my shoes to my dark, messy curls and dismissing me, all in a matter of moments. When we reached the table, before introductions could be made, the man grinned and enveloped Swinton in a hug.

  “Good to see you, bully. How’ve you been?” he asked.

  Swinton leaned across the table to kiss each of the women on their cheeks, and sat, gesturing for me to do the same. “Billa, Rue, Mal, this is my good friend, Bo.”

  I climbed over the bench and took a seat next to the two women. A serving boy bustled over with a pair of glasses and two more bottles on a tray. He and Swinton spoke for a moment in hushed tones, and he hurried away.

  “So, Mal,” Swinton said. “When did you get back?”

  I poured makgee into everyone’s glasses, hastily tucking my cuff up into my sleeve before I reached across the table to pour for Swinton. Nevertheless, I saw the glint in Mal’s eyes. He’d clearly seen the gold around my wrist.

  “Almost a month ago, and just in time, too. Billa was about to run off with a paneller and break my poor heart.”

  The woman next to me chuckled, and the other—Billa, I assumed—reached across the table and cuffed Mal on the ear. He grinned.

  “How long are you staying this time?” Swinton gave me a significant look and explained. “Mal’s from Penby, but his uncle is one of the only male captains in the navy—perhaps you’ve heard of him? Hamlin Whippleston? Mal and his brother, Quill, are apprenticed onboard, though by all accounts they’re both terrible sailors.”

  My heart raced, but before I could open my mouth to ask about Vi, Swinton kicked my shin, rather harder than was necessary. He shook his head ever so slightly and poured more makgee for Mal.

  Mal nodded his thanks and continued, all joking conviviality. “We aren’t so bad as all that. We have loads of admirable qualities.”

  “Only one I can think of,” Billa quipped. “You’re awful pretty. Too bad you’re both denser than knotted wood.”

  Mal pouted, and everyone at the table burst into laughter. When the mirth was more or less contained, Mal said, “I’m surprised you haven’t heard. Quill and I are here permanently now. You’re looking at the proud co-owner and operator of the Whippleston Exchange Firm.”

  The serving boy reappeared with an enormous platter and a basket, which he sat between Swinton and me. The tray was heaped with food—there were salads of roasted beets and pickled onions, potatoes in creamy green aioli sharp with the scent of wild garlic and shaved summer squash piled with capers and anchovies. Dumplings in a variety of colors were arranged alongside the salads, all piled atop a thick, spongy-looking crepe. And all around the tray, small copper tureens were overflowing with stewed and potted meats, chutneys and savory jams. The complex, unfamiliar scents made my mouth water, but even still, I was anxious to get to the point.

  “What do you import?” I asked Mal.

  “I import wine and liquor and export a variety of things—kaffe, cloth, sugar, tafia and the like. My brother brings over contract laborers.”

  “It might be that you could help me, then,” I said, doing my best to sound casual. “I’m looking for a young woman called Obedience. She’s from the capital, a dimmy. She may be calling herself Vi.”

  Mal’s eyes narrowed. “Not saying as I do know her, but why are you looking for her?”

  Swinton closed his eyes slowly and shook his head, but I plowed ahead.

  “She’s my half sister,” I said. “A by-blow of my father, and it seems he remembered her in his will. I’d heard that your uncle brought a dimmy across the Tethys not too long ago and wondered if it might be the same girl.”

  Mal’s face contorted into an expression of shock, and he stared at me for a long moment before he managed to collect himself and look down into his glass. Swinton glared at me.

  “I don’t have much interaction with the passengers. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I know her.”

  Swinton raised an eyebrow. “Have a heart, Mal. He’s looking for his sister. All he’s wanting is to meet the girl and give her a bit of money. You sure you don’t remember a girl named Vi? She might’ve been one of Quill’s contracts. Probably earned him a mint. We’d heard a rumor... We’re trying to find where she’s gone.”

  “Can’t say I know her, bully. My apologies. I can ask around for you, if you’d like. Anything special about her? Mem
orable?”

  “She’s one of the diminished. I’d imagine that would stick out in just about anyone’s mind. Especially on a ship.”

  “Didn’t Quill tell me—” Billa started, but Mal interrupted her.

  “If I know my brother, I’m sure he was far into his cups, and like as not there wasn’t a lick of truth to anything he said to a pretty girl like you. Now, speaking of drinks, shall we have another before we’re off?”

  The women agreed, and Swinton amiably called for another bottle of makgee. I laughed and made jokes about the differences between Alskad and Ilor, but beneath the surface, I was stewing. By the time Mal rose from the table, beckoned to the two women and we made our goodbyes, I could hardly contain myself.

  The moment the slatted door swung shut behind him, I looked at Swinton and said, “He was lying, Swinton. I know it.”

  Swinton rolled his eyes. “Was he, Bo? Was he really? How could you tell?”

  “No reason for you to be nasty about it. You know he was lying. Why wouldn’t he tell us the truth?”

  “He lied to you, not me. I’m not the one who asks idiotic questions.”

  I sniffed. “That’s helpful. Thank you so much for your insight.”

  Swinton refilled my glass. “He doesn’t trust you. You were blushing the whole time. He knew there was something you weren’t saying. I’m going to race to his house and see if I can’t beat him there. Perhaps if I can talk to his brother, I can clean up the mess you made. You stay here and finish your supper. Have another glass of makgee. Don’t talk to anyone.”

  I groaned. There was a part of me that thought he was right. I should stay behind. After all, I had managed to make a terrific mess of my only tie—however loose it might be—to my sister.

  “How will you find him?” I asked.

  “Thought I might start with his house.”

  “I’d like to come. I promise to do my best not to bungle things any more than I already have done.”

  Swinton stared down at his empty glass, frowning. I pressed my hands between my thighs to keep my fingers from dancing an impatient jig on the tabletop. The din of the inn’s common room might as well have been the empty silence of a ticking clock as I waited for Swinton’s answer. I desperately wanted him to trust me. To like me.

  When he finally glanced up, the stern look he gave me was belied by the twinkle in his green eyes. “You can come, little lord, but you’ll agree to my terms first, hear?”

  I nodded, doing everything in my power to contain my glee.

  “First, you’ll do your best to follow my lead. I think Quill will be more easily persuaded with a bit of cash. There’s more to your story than you’re giving away, and that’s all well and good. But when you get on with your poor try at a straight face, you look like a half-wit fox what thinks he can masquerade as a hen in the henhouse. Don’t do that. Unless you’re ready to spill the whole story, you keep your trap shut. Agreed?”

  Swinton’s insults stung, but I saw the truth in what he was saying, so I did as he asked and gave my silent assent.

  “Second, money’ll open doors not even my silver tongue can unlock. What do we have to work with, cash-wise?”

  I considered. If he connected the truth of my relationship to Vi to the gold cuff on my wrist and the crown, and thought to sell that information to the right people, my troubles would become far more unmanageable than they already were. However, if I lost Vi because I was afraid Swinton might learn my secrets, I would hate myself. I would have to walk a careful line and play my cards close to the vest.

  “I’ve got a line of credit at a bank in Southill. Bribe away, I suppose.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  VI

  My responsibilities and tasks didn’t let up just because my heart was broken, but Myrna, at least, let me sleep late the next morning. She shook me awake with just enough time to ready myself to face Hepsy—and the fact that the whole of the estate had turned itself upside-down in preparation for Aphra’s birthday celebration as I was mourning the loss of my best friend.

  Serving dinner that night was particularly horrible. Every moment was a reminder of how excited I’d been the night before, and how quickly that single moment of happiness had been ripped away from me. Before I could take my own meal back to my rooms, Hepsy pulled me aside and spent a torturous hour—through which my stomach groaned and yowled resentfully—detailing every aspect of the coming celebration, from the fireworks to the appetizers.

  “This party,” Hepsy said threateningly, “will be attended by every person worth knowing in Ilor. So when you are presented with the rest of Mister Phineas’s gifts, you will not—do you understand me?—you will not embarrass me.”

  That night, as I lay in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling, surrounded by sleeping puppies, I prayed to Pru to help me find a purpose, somewhere to put all the anger and grief and pain that was welling up inside. I was scared, more terrified than I’d ever been, that Sawny’s death would be the thing to break me. I’d made it through sixteen years as a dimmy, but this loss felt like more than I could bear. I wished for a sign, something to show me the way out of all this sadness. But even after the moons dipped below the horizon and sleep finally overtook me, nothing came.

  * * *

  When I sought Hepsy out for my lesson the next day, she scowled and flapped her hand. “I’m too busy to tend to you now. Find somewhere else to be.”

  I glared back at her. “What am I supposed to do, then?”

  Hepsy looked at me like I’d grown a second set of ears. “You’re to do whatever anyone asks of you, dullard. Make yourself useful. Now, off with you.”

  I went to look for Myrna. I was used to feeling like I was a nuisance, but the bustling, prickly servants at Plumleen had a way of making me feel like not only was I in the way, I smelled like rot, had stolen their breakfast and spent every free moment trying to make their lives more difficult. The only place I was comfortable was in the barn with Myrna and the animals.

  The sun was high overhead when I found Myrna barefoot and knee-deep in the manure pile, holding a pitchfork. “Well, well, well, has old stone-eyes given you the afternoon off?” she asked.

  Once again, I wondered about the rift between Myrna and Hepsy. I’d seen siblings fight, but I’d never seen such a thorough and unrepentant loathing between two people whose connection ought to’ve been strong. I nodded.

  “Good. You take the next load, Vi. My heart’s fit to explode in this heat, and some exercise might do you good. Distract you.”

  “Next load of what?” I asked, and then I saw the handcart, half full of manure, and cringed. “Oh. Good. Have anything else that needs doing?”

  Myrna let out a loud, cackling laugh, and dipped her hand into the bucket of well water beside her and splashed it on her face. “The gardeners showed up this morning, demanding manure for all the flower beds by the end of the day tomorrow. This load is going to the jasmine on the back lawn. Do you think you can manage, or are you too much of a delicate Alskad flower to haul a handcart?”

  I scowled at her, faking irritation. The truth was, I liked working in the barn with Myrna, and she was right. I needed something to fill the time, to keep me from wallowing in my dark thoughts. I admired her strength, and somehow, her teasing never felt weighted by truth. I didn’t mind the actual work, either. In fact, I reveled in the idea of developing some new muscles, different from those I’d cultivated swimming or with the exercises I’d learned in the temple.

  “I bet I can do it twice as fast as you, and for twice as long,” I teased.

  Myrna heaved a last pitchfork load of manure onto the heap in the handcart and said, “Have at it. Do you know where you’re going?”

  I nodded and pulled a scarf from my belt to tie back my wild curls. It took a great deal of heaving to get the single wheel of the handcart out of the muck behind the barn, b
ut once I had it on the lawn, the going got easier. The grounds at Plumleen Hall were unlike anything I’d ever encountered in Alskad. The wild jungle plants native to Ilor were cultivated and carefully tended here; their oversized leaves shaded stone walkways, and flowers sprang up and hung like vivid, gaudy decorations from every plant. The vast expanses of lawn were carpeted in hardy, emerald-green grass that sprang up to meet my footsteps.

  Birds sang and chattered in the trees, a far more pleasant sound than the ceaseless hum of adulations echoing through the temple’s halls. It smelled better, too. There was no stench of rotten fish or unwashed reek of too many bodies all crowded together at Plumleen. It was all green growing things, the dusty musk of horses and heady floral perfume.

  I cut a wide path around the manor house, so as to avoid being seen by Hepsy, who would surely find some fault in my hauling manure for her sister—or Phineas, who might be displeased that I wasn’t studying with Hepsy. When I finally reached the bed of jasmine, sweat trickled down my face and chest, and my arms were shaking with effort. I hadn’t met any of the gardeners who helped me unload the manure, but when I said hello, they turned the other way, muttering about dimmys. I bit my tongue. Some things, like good-for-nothing foot-lickers showing their stripes, never changed.

  A bucket of water hung from a thick tree limb in easy reach, but when I moved toward it to get a sip, the gardeners blocked my path, arms crossed over their chests. Cart empty, I trudged back toward the barn, my throat dry and a familiar, lonely gloom curling in my belly like a snake. I’d guessed that folks in the colonies would be more concerned about surviving all the awful diseases and terrifying animals I’d read about than about one teenaged dimmy. But folks like those silent, glaring gardeners made it clear that once again, I’d guessed wrong.

  As I wound my way back through the gardens, I found myself lost in memories of Sawny and Lily. With them gone, I was once more adrift, purposeless. I’d committed myself to a life at Plumleen, at least for the next ten years, and I had to make every day count for something. I had to find a way to channel my anger and grief, to keep it from consuming me. My fury was quickly shaping itself into an arrow directed at one person: Phineas. He was the reason Sawny was dead. He’d destroyed my last tie to Penby, to my childhood, to the only person who’d never been afraid of me.