“Listen to this,” Brevart announced, switching from the Gazette to the Almanac. “‘Dockside Doings: Has a merchant vessel from Terebrin been the first to round the Cape of the Moon for the year? Lighthouse keepers of Nag’s Head signaled the Harbor Master the night before last, our correspondent Junipre has learned. Guildmasters have been mum on the possibility, as it would be a blow to the prestige of Port Saint Frey.’ Man’s incorrigible. Everyone knows it’s Treacher himself.”
Not any more, Yvienne thought, direly. She blinked back tears, willing herself to regain control. Soon the word would get out, and Junipre and his column would be no more. Then she wondered when Treacher had time to print his Almanac. He must have put the paper to bed in the early evening, and had the newsies come and pick up copies for sale the next day.
“Ah,” Brevart went on. “And here’s another column by Arabestus.” He snorted. “Treacher’s been busy, grant him that.”
What? Yvienne jerked to alertness. She had not written another column.
“‘The business of the Guild of Port Saint Frey is business itself. Trade is the city’s lifeblood, and its streets and avenues its veins. But while trade hums and the Guild busies itself with governing with an iron hand, the city ages from within. The lovely dowager weakens, and criminal gangs have taken over. While the Guild slaps down those who it claims transgress against it, shouldn’t it use its considerable forces for the benefit of the city as a whole? Criminals, petty and otherwise, roam Port Saint Frey, and it would be fair to say that the Guild should raise itself above these rogues and not sink to their level. – Arabestus.’”
Treacher fired his own salvo in the war, she thought. He’s gigging the Guild even more than I did. Did he foresee the attack that killed him?
“He’s poking a hornet’s nest,” Brevart said, shaking his head. “Not sure what he means to gain by it.”
“At least he didn’t mention us,” Alinesse said with a delicate shudder. “We don’t need any more of his help.”
Their attention was riveted by the sound of someone hammering at the front door. Her parents flinched. Even Tesara sat up, and Yvienne felt a jolt of alarm go through her, making her heart race. It is the Guild, come to arrest me. No one spoke, but it was clear all were thinking it: knocking meant nothing good to the Mederos family. Tesara got up to open the door but Alinesse held out her hand.
“No,” she said, her chin up. “We have a housemaid.”
They all sat as still as mice as they heard Mathilde leave the kitchen and walk toward the front door. They heard the lock draw back, then her voice and the male voice of whoever was at the door. They heard the rush of footsteps, and then the door to the dining room was flung open. Uncle Samwell thrust himself inside, coat and hat askew.
“My God, did you hear?” he shouted, his eyes avid with news to tell. “Treacher – Treacher is dead.”
“What?!” Everyone’s voice commingled, except for Yvienne, who sat stock still, a bundle of nerves. She was grateful that no one was paying attention to her.
“His shop went up in flames last night and when the fire brigades finally doused the fire, they found him inside, his body hanging from a beam. Suicide, they say. The place was flooded with kerosene.”
Yvienne let her parents express their shock while she thought about what must have happened. Someone must have moved the body, or else the official word was an arrant lie – and why not? The Guild had committed murder, after all. An image of Treacher in the water closet flashed in her memory and she closed her eyes and opened them wide to banish it. Tesara was looking straight at her, and Yvienne looked away.
There was no better way to hide a murder than by making it appear to be a suicide, and her impulsive decision to burn down the shop had only helped the Guild hide their crime. Anyone who came forward and told the truth would only bring the wrath of the Guild down upon them. Treacher’s death would go unavenged, and the Guild would continue to run roughshod over the city.
No. I’ll not let them get away with this, she thought. They must not get away with this travesty of justice.
Samwell sank into his empty seat, after throwing a furtive glance at the door, and helped himself to coffee. “Word on the docks is that it wasn’t suicide at all,” Samwell said, keeping his voice low. “Seems that Treacher was poking his nose into things that he oughtn’t.”
“Like what?” Brevart challenged.
“Like us,” Samwell said. He gave his brother-in-law a pleading look. “We have friends, Brev. Or at least, if not friends, they know we’ve been hard done by. You – both of you – need to understand that.”
“With friends like these, Samwell, I don’t know but that we’re better off the way we are,” Alinesse said. Her voice shook and she moved her eggs around on her plate. “It’s all right for you, but I was used to a certain respect in this city, and it is clear that we have no friends here.”
“And I’m telling you, if you made an effort–”
“Enough!” Alinesse threw down her fork and it skittered onto the floor. No one dared make a move for it. “I shouldn’t have to beg for the scraps of their affection! They should beg my pardon!”
Everyone was shocked into silence. Alinesse kept her chin up while she folded her napkin. Then with a deep breath, she said, “Yvienne, how is your throat this morning?”
Yvienne and Tesara exchanged small glances. This was a time-honored Alinesse tactic: divert, redirect, pretend as if she had not just breached all the laws of propriety.
“Fine, Mama. The sleep helped.”
“Good. Wear a flannel for a few more nights. It will prevent a recurrence.”
“I will.”
“You must also have needed a full night’s sleep, Tesara,” Alinesse went on. “I peeked in on both you girls before bed and you were dead to the world, the two of you.”
Tesara gave her mother a wary smile. “I did.”
“I’ve often thought that when a person is overly tired, it can affect the mood terribly. I know you were out of sorts yesterday. I hope that your good sleep helped.”
Tesara took a deep breath, and Yvienne braced herself. But instead of taking up the gauntlet, her little sister evidently decided now was not the time to defend herself.
“It did, Mama.”
They heard the thump of letters hitting the floor and in a moment Mathilde came in with the post.
“Thank you, Mathilde,” Alinesse said, reaching out for the letters.
“They’re for the Misses Mederos, Madam,” Mathilde said.
“Oh!” Alinesse was surprised, and even Brevart looked up. Mathilde handed a small letter to Yvienne and a fashionable cream-colored envelope to Tesara. “What on earth – who could be writing to you?”
Yvienne slid her thumb under the seal, breaking it. She scanned it quickly, then read it more carefully. She nodded to herself. This was good, very good.
Miss Mederos,
Mrs TreMondi will interview you at half past ten on the morning of the 18th. Please do be prompt.
Signed,
Alfebed Mastrini
Chapter Thirty
“Well?” Alinesse, Brevart, and Samwell demanded. Yvienne took a breath. The moment of truth had come.
“It’s from Mastrini’s. I didn’t tell you in case nothing came of it, but I gave them my vitae to see if they could find a governess position for me.”
“WHAT?!” It seemed her family was to be surprised by everything that morning. She waited for them to calm down. She could hardly shout over their demands for an explanation.
“It makes the most sense, you all know that. I am well able to teach, especially older girls. It would be foolish for my education to go unused.”
Especially the actual education, the one before she wasted six years at Madam Callier’s.
“Yvienne, my dear – you can’t be serious,” Brevart said. Her father set down the paper and peered at her, his spectacles perched on the top of his head as usual. His eyes were unblinking and wet.
She felt a pang. Where was the long-range thinking merchant of her youth? Her father had grown old.
“I am serious, Father. It’s the best way to help the family. I can earn a wage and add it to our small annuity. It’s not much, but we can begin to get ahead at last.”
Such a poor ambition. And her plan to trade information with Treacher had turned to cold ashes. But that doesn’t matter, she thought. Because a governess is in a position to hear things and see things, and she fully intended to take advantage of her new position.
Uncle Samwell grunted. “Not sure that I approve. Governesses have a reputation.”
“Nonsense. No one would treat Yvienne that way,” Brevart said. Samwell just raised his eyebrows at his brother-in-law’s naiveté and went back to his coffee.
“Which House is it?” Alinesse asked.
“It’s the TreMondis. They have two daughters, ages twelve and eight, and a son, age six.” Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Even as a cover, she would have to take care to do a respectable job as a governess.
“The TreMondis,” Alinesse said. She tsked. “Small, but I suppose it could be worse.” Yvienne hid her exasperation. So like Alinesse, first to take umbrage at Yvienne’s position, and then look down her nose at the House that hired her. She glanced at Brevart.
He grunted. “Not very steady, is he? Married that foreign woman? A bit more money than business sense; not sure what they’re doing with expeditions East across the Chahoki wastelands.”
“Word at Æther’s is they did quite well with the last one,” Samwell pointed out, grabbing the last biscuit and slathering on butter. “Maybe this is a good thing. The girl can get us in on the next venture. Do your best, Vivi. Talk business with Alve TreMondi. Impress him. Men like a smart girl.”
“The sea I understand,” Brevart objected. “The desert – no. Chahoki horse soldiers, for one thing. Bandits, for another. Don’t listen to him, Yvienne. Your uncle’s head is full of dreams.”
Samwell rolled his eyes and Yvienne gave him a rueful look. Too bad her parents never listened to Uncle. He was impulsive, a liar, and completely full of himself, but he thought like a merchant. They underestimated him, just the way they did Tesara. She glanced over at her sister, who had opened her letter and was reading it with a curious expression. Interesting, she thought. What was Tesara up to? With no expression, Tesara laid the letter down next to her plate, as if to draw no attention to it.
“What’s that there?” Uncle Samwell demanded, loud and intrusively. “What do you have, Monkey?”
Alinesse and Brevart turned their attention to their second daughter. With all eyes on her, Tesara said, “It’s quite amusing, actually. It’s an invitation to a salon, for Saint Gerare’s Day. From the Idercis.”
This time the parents and Samwell were struck dumb with astonishment. Alinesse leaned over and snatched the letter from her daughter.
“Let me see that.” She scanned the letter, a wrinkle appearing between her eyebrows. “What on earth? Why on earth? The Idercis! You don’t even know the Idercis! We don’t even know the Idercis! This must be some kind of joke.”
“Maybe it’s an olive branch,” Tesara suggested. “I can’t remember if Mrs Iderci gave me the cut direct on the Mile, but if she did, perhaps she’s feeling bad about it.”
“Well, you can’t go. That’s final. It’s absurd. They must have you mistaken for someone else. You aren’t even out, not that that is a possibility right now, but–”
“Mama,” Tesara interrupted. “It’s all right. I don’t intend to go.”
Alinesse settled her ruffled feathers. “Of course you won’t.”
Uncle reached for the invitation, snapping his thick fingers. “Well, if she won’t have it, I’ll take it, Alinesse. I keep telling you two, business isn’t anything except relationships. And the Idercis’ salon will be full of beautiful, profitable relationships. Hiding in here won’t get you back in the game.”
Alinesse pulled the letter out of reach. “Don’t even think it, Sam,” she said, biting off each word. “As for what we’re doing hiding in here–” she cut herself off with a glance at Brevart. “Stay on the docks,” she said instead. “Don’t go to their salons. It will just attract attention.”
After helping to clear the table and put away the breakfast things, Yvienne was on the stairs going up to the bedroom when Mathilde called out to her. She held out another letter. “This one got stuck in the letter slot. I just now saw it when I was shaking out the mat.”
Yvienne took it. There was a hard lump inside it; no wonder it had gotten caught in the slot. “Thank you, Mathilde.”
The maid went on about her work, and Yvienne went up the stairs, opening the letter as she went.
If you’ve received this, it’s because I’ve met with an accident. No doubt you’ll think it’s due to you; perhaps it is, but may you take comfort in knowing I’ve tweaked the nose of the Guild for a long time until I lost my nerve. Reading the Arabestus letter made me realize how much. I’m old, sentimental, and decidedly unafraid of Death. She comes for us all; better to make a noise before we go.
I’ve taken the liberty of using your nom du plume to make a final rude gesture. I hope you don’t mind. Now it’s up to you. The Guild is good at hiding the records of its long history of crimes, which go back long before your House existed, but be sure of one thing – the records exist. Good merchants always keep clean accounts. Remember to follow the money. Who has benefited the most from your family’s downfall? There’s your first clue.
I have every confidence you will unearth the evidence and bring its members to justice.
Go get ’em, tiger.
Sand Piper Cottage, Old Crooked Way, Five Roses Street
–J
She was going to cry. Tears threatened to turn her into a sobbing mess on the stairs. To distract herself, she turned the envelope and shook it over her palm. Out dropped an ornate key. Yvienne stopped halfway up the stair, the heavy key weighing in her palm. She had no idea where Five Roses Street was.
Chapter Thirty-One
Tesara pulled the purse with her winnings out from under her side of the bed. The borrowed purse was a sweet little silk bag with a drawstring made of braided cord and beaded tassels hanging from the bottom. It was a lovely trifle that meant nothing to Mirandine, who had dozens of them.
The door opened and she looked up as Yvienne slipped into the room. Her sister closed the door behind her and locked it for good measure. Her eyes were wet and her face was haggard and drawn. Tesara was about to ask when with measured calm, Yvienne asked,
“What is that?”
Tesara poured out the purse on their bed, shaking it a little to dislodge the roll of bills and the loose coins. Yvienne ruffled the bills and gave a sudden, unaccountable laugh.
“Where did you get all this?”
Tesara gave a slight, satisfied smile. See if you can top this, favorite daughter. “I won it playing cards. Jone Saint Frey and his cousin Mirandine Depressis staked me.” Tesara let the coins run through her fingers. “When I was a kid, Uncle taught me to count cards. You really don’t forget.”
“Is that where you went last night? The Saint Frey salon?”
Tesara nodded. She braced herself for Yvienne’s displeasure. Instead, her sister said, “Do you think you can do it again?”
Tesara glanced up sharply at Yvienne. Her sister’s eyes were bright and her breath came fast. Tesara grinned. “Oh, Vivi. I could have taken them for a lot more, had I wanted to, but I thought it best to let them get away thinking it was beginner’s luck.” She leaned forward. “They underestimated me. They thought I was poor little Tesara Mederos, too woolly-headed to know what she was doing. So, they will keep inviting me to play and I’ll keep winning because of ‘beginner’s luck,’ and it will be extra sweet to win against the ones who cut us in the street.”
The thought was seductive. Take it all back. Cheat them the way they cheated House Mederos. It would take cunning and courage, timi
ng, and above all a certain amount of acting ability. Alinesse and Brevart couldn’t know, nor could Uncle Samwell – certainly not, as he would just blab it to all and sundry. All the while she would have to evade Trune, avoid being pressed into an arranged marriage, oh, and try to get her powers back.
Easy peasy, as Uncle would say.
Yvienne’s smile matched her own – a bit delirious and not at all innocent. “We are quite a pair, are we not?”
“Indeed we are,” Tesara agreed. But that reminded her. Tesara gave Yvienne a narrow-eyed, suspicious look. “What exactly did you do last night, big sister? You did leave me a note.”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t remember,” Yvienne muttered.
“I know you were. But if we’re in this together, we can’t have secrets. We have to work together.”
“And have you told all your secrets, Tesara?”
That hit home. Tesara tacked and came around on the offensive. “At least I’ve come clean about the gambling. You still haven’t told me where you went last night.”
Yvienne sighed. “You know what we have to do.” She held out her hand, littlest finger curved outward.
Surely she didn’t mean… “Pinky tell?”
“Pinky tell.”
They linked pinkies in the old childhood ritual, Yvienne’s straight and healthy pinky to Tesara’s bent and broken one. Tesara thought fast. She had only one chance and she had to choose carefully. Tell Yvienne about visiting their old home and being recognized by Trune – or tell her about her powers?
She had to deflect her sister, and she had to do it with a truth.
“One… two… three…” they chorused.
“I burned down Treacher’s shop.”
“I sank the fleet.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
I sank the fleet. Tesara became aware that she held her breath, and let it out slowly. Almost at once, she experienced a light-headed sense of relief that she had said the words, a great weight lifted from her. Even though she had confessed as a distraction, it felt so lovely to finally be free of her secret. She became aware that Yvienne was staring at her with an expression of incomprehension.
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