by Carrie Patel
The seats inside were upholstered in red velvet – much more comfortable than the hard, practical benches she’d sat on when traveling with Bailey. Lady Lachesse had taken the backward-facing seat, and so Jane sank into the opposite seat. The whitenail pulled the door closed.
“For just a moment, I was sure you were going to bolt,” Lady Lachesse said. Jane’s eyes were still adjusting to the pale light that filtered in through the gauzy curtains, but the other woman’s voice was colored plainly enough with amusement.
“I’m not used to being received in this fashion,” Jane said.
The whitenail gave a low chuckle. “You are too modest, Miss Lin. As I understand it, you’re keeping ever more fashionable company these days.”
A surge of panic surged in Jane’s stomach. Was she referring to Roman or merely to her latest meeting with the Qadi? There was no way the whitenail could have known about her secret meeting at the Jeweled Pheasant, she told herself. Then again, there was no way she should have known about any of it.
And sitting there, trying to guess what exactly Lady Lachesse knew and how she might use it, Jane understood what Freddie had warned her about.
The carriage rumbled into motion.
Lady Lachesse smiled. “I do hope you don’t mean to be so coy for the entire ride. It is charming, but it makes for a rather tedious journey.”
Jane sat up straight, her back pulling away from the cushion as if from flame. “Where are we going?” Her gaze shot to the street outside the window, all but featureless through the diaphanous curtains.
“Patience, girl, I know you have to get to work. We must keep up appearances.”
The queasy feeling in her stomach settled, but she had to fight the urge to twitch the curtain aside, just to check.
It was moot anyway. Wherever they were going, she would be in the carriage until Lady Lachesse decided they’d arrived.
“Now,” Lady Lachesse said, leaning forward. “Tell me everything.”
Jane swallowed, tasting a dozen different versions on the tip of her tongue. She chose the one that began with her reaching the Majlis three days ago to find the place turned upside down by the presence of two men from outside the city. Lady Lachesse’s posture angled forward even further, and on a whim, Jane let her story trail off.
“Well?” Lady Lachesse said. “Go on.”
“Oh.” Jane shrugged. “I didn’t catch much about those two.”
“Their names? You must have heard something.”
Jane’s thumbs hooked together as she pretended to concentrate. “People seemed rather careful when talking about them. I’m not sure I heard names, only...” She sighed. “One wore a long black garment, like a stiff robe with buttons up the front.”
“Father Isse,” Lady Lachesse said.
“Yes, that’s him.” She paused again. “And the other...”
She looked at Lady Lachesse again and saw the other woman eyeing her like a snake considering a morsel. She couldn’t ham this one up too much.
“The chancellor,” Jane said.
Lady Lachesse sat back as if coiling up to spring again.
“These men,” Jane said. “Do you know what they’re here for?”
The whitenail smiled. “I’d rather hear the rest of your story before I begin mine.”
Jane nodded. Even through the luxurious padding, it felt as if the carriage driver were finding every rut and ridge in the road.
“I was met by a man named Bailey,” Jane said. She mentioned her conversation with the strange man and their tea with the Qadi, careful to include every detail she could remember, hoping to make up for her rather transparent prying a moment ago.
“And then,” she said, “we went to see the envoy.” There was little to tell of the journey in the flagrantly anonymous carriage. But when she reached the part in her story when Roman walked into the meeting house, the words again died on her tongue as she wondered again about what the older woman already knew.
Jane took the split second of hesitation to study the whitenail’s face for some sign of awareness or suspense. It was studiously blank.
Either way, Jane took a risk, either that Lady Lachesse already knew of Roman’s role and would note his absence from her story, or that Lady Lachesse did not yet know about him and would find leverage once she mentioned him.
Jane coughed before the pause could seem significant. “That’s when the envoy arrived,” she said.
Lady Lachesse nodded with what looked tantalizingly like satisfaction.
Jane continued, recounting the careful dance of words and intentions between the two men, careful all the while to refer to Roman as nothing more than “the envoy.”
“And what did Chakrun want?” Lady Lachesse asked.
Jane blinked at her, dumbfounded but knowing better than to ask the question in her mind.
The whitenail made an impatient winding motion with one hand. “Ambassador Chakrun. What did he want from Bailey?”
Jane realized suddenly that Lady Lachesse had already cast the envoy in her mind, luckily enough. She didn’t dare ask more about Chakrun, but she could only assume that he was someone who’d come to Recoletta with Sato.
“Normal, peaceful relations with Madina,” Jane said. “Specifically, he asked about restoring trade.”
“And what did Bailey say?”
“A lot of nothing, if you’ll pardon my saying so.”
The whitenail chuckled again. “You are quick to learn. But surely he wanted something.”
Jane thought back to the musty old parlor, the air thickening with dust and tension as Bailey laid out his requests. “He called them reassurances,” she said. “He wanted information about Recoletta’s current operations – trade data, census information, the like. And he wanted to put a so-called advisor in Recoletta’s Cabinet.”
Lady Lachesse laughed again, deep and hearty. “I’m sure Chakrun loved that.”
Jane felt an uncertain smile on her lips. “If Sato will never agree to those terms, then what was the point of suggesting them?”
The whitenail paused, pursing her lips. “Sometimes, the purpose of a question lies not in the answer, but in the asking. Questions can communicate intent. Reveal gaps in knowledge.”
The world was momentarily silent but for the squeaking and rumbling of the carriage. “What do you think the Qadi intends?”
The older woman angled her chin. “That’s only one part of the question. We must also ask what Chancellor O’Brien and Father Isse intend.”
“But who are they?”
“Leaders of other cities – the Hollow and Underlake. That they’ve made this rare effort at cooperation should tell you something about the common threat they perceive.”
Jane waited.
“Our current and former Recolettans are not the only ones having trouble with the new way of things. The changes in Recoletta have been even more distressing for some in power out here.” It was clear enough that “out here” referred to the wide world of cities that were not Recoletta.
“More so because they still have much to lose,” Jane said.
“Precisely.” Lady Lachesse was leading her through a careful dance.
“So what do the three of them – Father Isse, the Qadi, Chancellor O’Brien – what do they want?”
The older woman smiled again. “If I know them, they all want something different.” She took a deep, slow breath, her eyes searching the dark roof of the carriage as if for answers. “In most regards, the chancellor is a direct man. He’ll prefer the direct solution. By his reckoning, that likely means another battle on Recoletta’s doorstep.” She shifted on the luxurious cushions. “Father Isse, on the other hand, is careful. He’ll want to see all the angles and look for leverage between them. No doubt it was his idea to probe Sato with these impossible requests.”
“And the Qadi?” It was odd that Lady Lachesse would volunteer so much information, but Jane was not one to waste a good opportunity.
Lady Lachesse�
�s eyes dropped back to Jane like swooping hawks. “That’s what you need to find out.”
“Me?”
“I don’t talk for my health, Jane. Why do you think I’ve shared so much? I want you to know what to look for.”
Of course. “And just where would I look for that?”
“Oh, Jane, I wouldn’t presume to tell you your business. Rubbish bins, desk drawers, the mouths of domestics? And that’s assuming you can’t find your way into any more secret meetings.” Her smiling lips just barely covered her teeth. “I’m sure you’ll find a way.”
Left unsaid were the words “you’d better.” But Jane felt them clearly enough, tiny hooks sinking into all of the places where Jane was making herself vulnerable to the old woman. With each new meeting, it felt as if she were tilting her head back, showing Lady Lachesse a new patch of tender flesh.
She thought back to Fredrick’s warning. To Fredrick, adrift in this city that he hadn’t actually chosen. And as loath as she was to put herself in Lady Lachesse’s pocket, it occurred to her that there was another boon she could ask. “I’ll need something else first,” Jane said.
Lady Lachesse’s eyebrows arched in inquiry.
“You’re asking me to find considerably more than my position will allow. You know what this will require of me. So I’ll need another...” she shied away from the word “favor.” “Another resource from you.”
“Ask.”
“Fredrick needs a job. It doesn’t have to pay especially well,” she said. The last thing she wanted was for Lady Lachesse to think this was some clever way of asking for money. “But it needs to make use of his skills.”
“How fortunate he is to have a friend like you.” In the low light, it was impossible to tell what kind of smile Lady Lachesse wore.
Jane shivered.
“I’ll find something for him. But let us not get sidetracked. You had your meeting, heard Bailey and the ambassador trade terms. Was there anything else?”
And here was the moment of truth. Did Lady Lachesse know that she’d snuck off for a private meeting after the official one had concluded? It was possible, even, that the spies, the scouts she and Roman had diverted, were connected to her.
But she wagered not. The man who had stopped her hadn’t been Recolettan, and Lady Lachesse seemed to be under the impression that Bailey had met with this Chakrun, not with Roman.
Besides, if sharing information with Lady Lachesse up to this point constituted showing her jugular, then telling her that she was having secret one-on-ones with Recoletta’s spymaster would be the same as putting her head on the chopping block.
So Jane pretended to think back. “No,” she finally said.
Lady Lachesse nodded. Sitting back in her cushioned bench with a glassy-eyed expression, she had the look of someone digesting a large meal.
After the silence had stretched on long enough, Jane cleared her throat. “You were going to tell me about my parents.”
Lady Lachesse’s eyes slowly swiveled back to her. “I wasn’t certain if you still wanted to hear it.”
“Why–” Jane forced herself to take a breath. “Yes, I want to hear it.”
The whitenail cocked her head and ran a long, pointed fingernail over a cheek that looked as crinkled and delicate as crepe. Jane began to wonder if the older woman was waiting for her to say “please.”
“Your parents were acquainted with Augustus Ruthers.” Lady Lachesse was the only person Jane had ever heard refrain from calling him “Councilor Ruthers.”
Of more immediate concern, however, was the fact that Jane had already known of their acquaintance on some level. “I know Ruthers had them killed,” she said before she could stop herself. Belatedly, she wondered if she’d given away too much, but she hadn’t wanted to spend her credit with Lady Lachesse on old news.
“Oh?” The whitenail’s voice rose with polite interest. “And how did you know that?”
Jane considered lying. Or saying nothing. But the slow lowering of Lady Lachesse’s head and the too-casual tone of her voice suggested that she’d have none of it.
Besides, this was ancient history. She had nothing to lose by telling the truth. “Roman told me,” she said.
Lady Lachesse responded with a careful nod. “Did he tell you that, for a time, they were political allies?”
It was all Jane could do to shake her head.
“Your parents were ambitious, but they didn’t have the social or financial capital they needed. And so they sought it from Ruthers.”
“What do you mean?”
“They were rising stars in the Bureau of Architecture.” Most of Recoletta was run by various bureaus, agencies, and directorates. The Bureau of Architecture was responsible for approving any new construction and excavation in the city. Each such agency operated under the auspices of a particular councilor.
Ruthers had headed the Bureau of Architecture.
“But as they learned, there’s a wide gulf between resourceful middle managers and executives with real power. And on the other side, your parents saw wealth. Authority. Prestige. All the things that come from – and return to – the Vineyard.”
Jane felt as though the air had been sucked from her lungs. This wasn’t the story she’d expected, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the rest. But she knew she needed to.
Besides, she didn’t dare show her discomfort to Lady Lachesse.
“Your parents were clever enough to realize they needed a patron. And they found one in Ruthers for a time. But with such an asymmetry of advantages... well. When a man like Ruthers racks up favors, the interest is steep. I think your parents realized that too late.”
“What kinds of favors?”
Lady Lachesse almost blushed. Almost. “I don’t relish indelicacy. And it’s all perfectly mundane, to be honest. Promotions, disregard for certain rules and procedures, introductions to others who offered certain opportunities. You get the idea.”
Jane’s mouth felt dry, her tongue numb. “But what got them into trouble with Ruthers?”
Lady Lachesse peeled the curtain away from the window with a long fingernail. “I’m afraid we’ve reached your stop.”
Jane looked out on an empty, unfamiliar street. “You must be mistaken.”
The older woman stiffened. With so many other concerns prominent in her mind, Jane did not immediately register that she’d indiscreetly contradicted a whitenail.
“Appearances, Jane,” the other woman said. “Just keep going in this direction, toward the larger shops. It would not do for us to be seen together so close to the Majlis.”
“But the rest about my parents–”
“A story for another time.”
Heat rose in Jane’s face. “You promised me answers. You’ve told me almost nothing.”
“Your expression says otherwise. Besides, you still owe me more information.”
The carriage door popped open, likely at the hand of the unseen driver who had borne them this far.
“Don’t worry,” Lady Lachesse said. “I’m sure there will be future opportunities for me to finish the story. In the meantime, be a resourceful girl and figure out which way the Qadi’s leaning and what her coalition is planning. You have three days.”
“You expect me to find something in three days?”
“Events are moving fast, Jane. You’d better keep up.”
Jane climbed from the carriage onto the even cobblestones. It felt good to have something solid beneath her feet even if she was being dismissed like a serving girl.
“Oh, and Jane,” the whitenail called from her perch. “Do be careful around the Qadi. She seems to have taken you under her wing, in a manner of speaking, but favors like hers don’t come for free. And you can see the danger of crossing someone like her.”
Jane turned away to follow the row of shuttered shops to the Majlis. The blood pounding in her ears barely muffled the sound of rolling wheels and clattering hooves as the carriage turned and pulled away behind her.<
br />
Chapter Seven
Another Version
By the time Malone had summoned a doctor for Parsons and tucked Dalton and his other two compatriots – Cabral, the woman, and Macmillan, the older man – into a quiet holding cell in Callum Station, it was well into evening. Nevertheless, Farrah had still been at her desk, and when Malone had explained that she’d brought in detainees who needed to be monitored quietly, Farrah had agreed without question.
“I’ll see that they’re comfortable,” Farrah had said, already on her way out. “Message on your desk.”
And, as indicated, Malone had found an envelope on her desk. It was blank, but the single piece of paper inside had been signed by Sato, and it instructed Malone to meet him at his office as soon as possible.
She’d glanced at the clock with its spiderleg-thin arms pointing to eight o’clock. Knowing Sato, he’d still be ensconced behind his desk, and he’d expect her to meet him there.
She’d set off for Dominari Hall, considering what she would tell him about her progress with the pamphleteers.
She hadn’t mentioned anything to him about their episode in Maxwell Street Station, and she and Arnault had agreed that it would be best to say nothing about their capture of Dalton and his fellows. And as grateful as she was that Arnault was of one mind with her on this, she didn’t yet know why, and they hadn’t decided what they would tell Sato when he asked about their progress. Which, invariably, he would.
She’d arrived at Sato’s office to find him poring over reports, assessments, and dog-eared books with the focus of an accountant scouring a balance sheet. He hadn’t abandoned his conviction that fixing Recoletta was simply a matter of finding the missing information, lining up the proper facts, and building an argument that everyone could agree upon.
While Malone had waited for him to pull himself from his reports, she worked on lining up her own facts.
Still hunched over his desk, Sato had turned his face up to her. She’d noticed the change then – his eyes seemed to have sunken into his skull, and what little fat had once graced his cheeks had since been shorn off by sleepless nights and gnawing worry.