Inside, Aurelie and her party found a scene of controlled chaos. Servants ran down the stairs, carrying armfuls of stiff white fabric from the attic.
"Fire law says everyone helps with the buckets and pumps," the night-man told them.
Count Sicard drew himself up. "You can't mean to endanger our princess."
"Got two arms and legs, don't she?" The man looked frightened rather than angry.
The guesthouse cook laid a meaty hand on the count's arm. "Canvas cloaks and bonnets made out of old sails protect us pretty well," she said.
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"I don't mind," Aurelie told them. "But my maid must have shoes, and we'd better wear leggings; these skirts will slow us down."
"Sure, sure--go get 'em, sweetheart," the cook said.
Elise scampered up the stairs while Aurelie reassured her adviser. "Dorisen seems well-prepared for fire. We could take some of their ideas back to Lumielle. And most of the buildings here are stone, aren't they?" She appealed to the cook, who seemed the calmest person present. "What's to burn?"
"Ships and goods, mam'selle." The woman pulled on a floppy canvas bonnet. "Gotta keep the sparks off the docks and outta the rigging, that's the main thing."
The guesthouse's residents put on the capes and assembled in the dark courtyard. Aurelie thought they all looked ghostly, shrouded in white.
"Remember," the cook said. "Gotta keep yourselves wet down, like so." She demonstrated by emptying a bucket of water over Count Sicard's bonneted head.
Aurelie held her breath as Elise did the same for her. It made the bulky cape heavier and the bonnet clammy, but she could see the sense of it. A hot rain of ash and embers dropped from the sky. As instructed, Aurelie pulled a wet strip of fabric over her mouth, which helped. At street level, the air was breathable, though smoke swirled in gusts, stinging her eyes.
The roaring sound had quieted; the bells still clanged. As the Jocondagnans squelched in a line after the cook, the night-man bringing up the rear, more people flooded down the step-ways. The street filled with wet, pasty-looking creatures, as if the drowned had
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risen from watery graves and marched on the city. Aurelie shook off the unpleasant image.
Ants, she decided, were preferable. Industrious insects, passing buckets of seawater, instead of leaf bits, along their endless columns. She wasn't afraid until she reached the harbor and saw the size of the fire. A row of ships burned, some distance along the inside curve of the shore. Smoke billowed out of a building at the head of the same dock.
"D's gone," a man shouted at the cook from an oxcart full of wooden buckets. "They're pulling back to F-dock."
The cook nodded. "We'll aim for H, wash 'er down," she shouted back, and turned to her crew. "Take a bucket and follow me."
One by one, each person collected a bucket and tramped toward the docks, merging into the swarm of white-caped figures. In moments, Aurelie was just a pair of hands in a chain, passing buckets of sea-water to other hands to splash over furled sails, masts, bowsprits, decks, hulls, dock timbers, carts--anything that might burn. They started close to shore. As more people rushed down from the city's heights, heeding the bells' summons, the fire-lines extended until each finger of dock was carpeted in white.
When Aurelie's bonnet dried out, she stuck her head in a bucket. When a spark burned through to Elise's arm, Aurelie doused her white cape again. The wind blew off the sea, pushing the worst of the smoke from their position on H-dock. Still, the air tasted thick and sour. Aurelie coughed behind her mask. Unused to such hard labor, her arms tired quickly. She kept on, turning and lifting. More people came; she knew because she didn't have to reach as far to pass the
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heavy buckets. Blisters rose and popped on her palms, stinging with every splash of saltwater.
The night became a blur of bells and heat and smoke. Salt crusted on her cloak and stiff fingers; heavy buckets hit her in the stomach, Reach, pivot, shove. Next bucket. For hours and hours. For the first time, Aurelie was glad Netta hadn't come to Dorisen. At least her friend had been spared this ordeal.
Once, distant white figures yelled and retreated from a dock. Two ships lit up like fireworks, and it seemed the whole city groaned in dismay as they burned to the waterline. As the blaze consumed a merchant's precious cargo, the air filled with the exotic scent of charred spices, Bucket by bucket, Dorisen's residents fought back.
"Here, you girls. Other side." The guesthouse cook pulled Elise and Aurelie out of their line and into a different one, empty buckets returning to be filled, and that was a little better. Still, the breath rasped in Aurelie's throat. Exhausted tears washed soot down Elise's cheeks. They must be equally freckled tonight, but it wasn't funny, not really, when Aurelie realized with a pang of despair that she could see Elise's face clearly. The fire had found something new to burn, and the nightmare would never end.
She was wrong. The sky continued to brighten, first in the east, and then all around. Sullen light filled Dorisen's stone-walled bowl; the sun glowered red-orange behind a pall of smoke. Suddenly, it was morning and the fire was done,
"Come, my chicks." The cook took empty buckets from Elise's and Aurelie's cramped hands, and then the three women sat on the dock and cried together. "Saved H-dock, blessed if we didn't." The Skoeran wiped her broad face on her sleeve, smearing the caked soot.
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Aurelie sniffed and blinked. Black specks clung to her lashes; her eyes felt full of grit, and she didn't know whether she could find the strength to stand. Flecked with ash and floating pieces of charred wood, the greasy water pushed against the pilings. Other people shuffled past them or lay where they were, rolled in dirty canvas capes,
"Can we sleep here?" Elise said.
"Folk do, what live in the heights," the cook said. "But the guesthouse isn't so far. Pot of coffee, bit of a wash, you girls be up 'n' dancing."
"No dancing and no coffee," Aurelie groaned. Stiff in every joint, she hauled herself to her feet and held out a hand to Elise. "A bath and bed."
"Indeed." Count Sicard stood behind them, his eyes red from smoke, but courtly as ever in his filthy cape. He offered his arm to the cook. "Today, madame, a cup of your Skoeran brew will be most welcome."
"Aye, get along with ye." The woman mustered a smile. Wearily, they all marched back to the guesthouse.
In their absence, the gray cat had done his part to protect them. Aurelie found the evidence on her coverlet: two large headless spiders and a lizard's tail, likewise detached, "Bravely defended, puss." She scratched the purring animal's chin, then gathered the sorry collection in a handkerchief and tossed it out the window. She collapsed into bed and directly into a dream where she, Loic, Hui, and the decapitated spiders chased one another through a maze of fire.
Loic cackled. "Did I get him?"
"Off me!" Hui's handsome face twisted in disgust.
The spiders, being headless, said nothing. Their furry legs simply scuttled faster, carrying Aurelie with I hem into the smoke.
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Chapter 9 Garin
The house stank of burned wool. I'd come through a side door, past the heap of capes dripping sooty black blotches onto the stone floor. It was a risk, going home, but any servants not asleep should be packing their bags and hoping to find employment with a luckier family. Down two corridors and up a flight of stairs, I didn't pass anyone but a sulky lutine. She was occupied snapping the heads off the daisies arranged in a tall glass vase and didn't spare me a squint. I left her alone. Why chase her? She'd only come back later and smash the vase. We were going to need every last coin the house and its furnishings would bring at auction.
I found my mother in her parlor, which I had expected, and Fat her, too, which I hadn't.
"Garin." Mother stood up from her writing desk and opened her arms. A person who didn't know better might have mistaken her for
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a society matron who'd spent the night dancing and risen late to sip coffee an
d answer her correspondence. She wore a blue silk wrap and a pair of feathered slippers, her hair bundled under a scarf. The coffeepot was there, and a biscuit crumbled on a china plate, and a pile of letters next to a silver opener.
But the papers were covered in angry PAST DUE AND NO FURTHER CREDIT stamps. Fresh bandages covered the blisters on her hands, and ashes had sifted out from under the head-scarf to dot the back of her wrap.
If I said anything, I'd cry like a baby. So I hugged her. She smelled like lilac and soot. On this evil morning, everything in Dorisen smelled like soot. Me, Father's old coat, the bare floor where I sat, since my clothes were too dirty to touch the velvet seats.
"What news, son?" My father stood by my mother's chair, one hand on her shoulder. To give strength or draw it? He looked as if years had been added to his account with every hull that burned.
"Are we quite ruined, dear?" Mother asked, almost playfully. She must know. Bowed shoulders said they both did. Still, Mother sought to spare me grief by acting as if it didn't matter.
"Yes," I said, before my throat closed, and I had to stare hard at the rug. Not the keenest head for business, my mother. But brave. The bravest woman in Dorisen.
The silence stretched. Father stumped over to the coffeepot and poured me a cup, cold and tarry. I slugged it down, realizing I hadn't drunk anything for hours. Or eaten, either. Not that I was hungry.
Father sat down at last. "We've the two ships still out."
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I turned my empty cup around. "If they've had a good run, we can salvage the smaller repair yard, with the apartment in back."
A tiny sigh escaped my mother. "And the hulls? Can't we send them out again in the spring?"
"No. They'll both go to Inglis. Her share of the cargo was in our warehouse. Whatever we can raise from the house will go to settle that debt." I set the cup down, wanting to grind it into the saucer. But we were too poor for me to smash valuable crockery like a cranky lutin.
"I blame myself," Father said. "My idea, going into partnership with that vulture."
"No, dear." Mother perched on the arm of his chair and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. "We all agreed. You can't spear sharks from the dock when they swim in deep water."
"It seemed like a good plan." Father's chin sunk onto his chest. "As partners, we'd see one set of books, and if Garin could get to the figures she showed for her taxes"--he thumped his fists together. "The money's not coming out of the air!"
I hated to add to their troubles. "Maybe it is."
"What?" They both stared at me.
"Inglis hired a Fae to helm her iceboat."
"A Fae?" My mother's forehead wrinkled. "Like a lutin, you mean?"
"Not a lutin, more like a drac. I've told you about them."
Father leaned forward. "Why would she want one? And what could she offer that would tempt such a creature? They don't have much to do with men, as I understand it."
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"Not usually, no. They mind their business, and we mind ours." Except sometimes.
"Wait--didn't a drac blind your little friend?" Father said, remembering that one exception. "Does this Fae understand that you've recognized him?"
"Her," I said. "And no, she doesn't; I've been careful. Knowing Inglis, there's probably a threat involved." I thought of Burgida's sad, sad eyes and couldn't believe she was crewing for Inglis except under duress. If the princess hadn't interrupted our conversation...but remembering the way Aurelie had looked at me and how it felt to hold her was another fist to the gut. I had to keep my mind on saving my family, not the princess. Especially if she was mixed up with that arrogant--
"Son." My mother's gentle voice. "Do you want out of there?"
My fists clenched, but that hurt. I spread my blistered hands on my knees. The Woolies weren't bad. It was realizing that my labor put money in my enemy's pocket that made my working hours so hard. And that when my family needed me, I wasn't with them.
"No, Mother. Now more than ever, I've got to find out what she's up to. If she's got one Fae working for her, why not more? A matagot, a couple of suck-breaths, or a White Lady?"
My parents looked confused. I kept forgetting; they hadn't lived in Jocondagne, hadn't seen what I saw or heard Madame Brebisse's stories. "Matagots are treasure Fae, I guess you'd call them," I explained. "They take the shape of big cats, apes, rats, or foxes. To catch one, you stake a chicken at a crossroads on a moonless night. If a matagot comes for it, you stuff the Fae into a sack and carry it home without
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looking back. That binds the matagot to serve you. Every morning, more gold appears in your treasure chest."
In ordinary Dorisen, it sounded unbelievable, but my parents nodded, trusting me to know. "What price the creature's aid?" Father asked. A merchant's question. No one gives something for nothing.
"Your soul," I said. "Unless you can pass the matagot to someone else before you die."
Mother pursed her lips. "But wouldn't anyone greedy enough to trap one in the first place find it difficult to give up? No matter how much treasure they'd gathered, they'd always want one more morning's worth."
"Exactly. And White Ladies--actually, I don't think they travel very far from the place they're born, or made. Created." I'd seen one once, in the woods near Cantrez and never mentioned it to the others. We hadn't played near that cave again, but those bony fingers sometimes reached for me in dreams.
Mother frowned. "Jocondagne sounds like a frightening place. How do people live there, prey to creatures most of them can't see?"
"The Fae don't interfere much in our world. Except for lutins, like we have sometimes, they don't care for human settlements." I don't know why I defended the place, or the Fae, considering what one had done to my friend. No aid without price, but only Netta had paid for Loic's gift. What happened when my account came due? Or the princess's? I reminded myself I wasn't thinking about her. "And they can be beautiful, like the Fee Verte or a troop of farfadets dancing in a meadow on a summer's night." It hurt to talk. Better save my breath for what needed to be said. "No, I'll keep on with the
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Woolies, find out what's what. I just wanted to make sure you were all right."
"Better, after seeing you," Mother said.
"I'll go down to the docks again later," Father added. "I'd like to know where the fire started."
"A dud firework, I thought." Mother turned to him. "Didn't it light the warehouse and burn outward from there?"
Father's mouth twisted. "Probably."
Our warehouse had a slate roof. A dud should have burned itself out without reaching the cargo inside. Why hadn't I realized?
I felt like I'd been carrying a lutin disguised as a log. Just when I didn't think it could get any heavier, the weight doubled. Did Father suspect sabotage? If so, he wasn't saying, for Mother's sake, until he had proof. My mind raced. The only warehouse that had burned to the ground last night belonged to the Deschutes, along with the ships tied in front. C-dock had lost two hulls, but most of Carnwell clan's ships were late returning this year and not expected for several days. Accident or design? Who hated us that much?
"I'd better go." When I stood up, each separate bone ground in its socket, another painful reminder of the previous night.
My mother embraced me, grime and all. "Shall I--"her hands fluttered. "Is there anything you'd like me to keep out from the auction, sweetheart?"
I thought I'd steeled myself to our losses. The fire hadn't killed anyone, thankfully. But even though we'd extinguished it at the docks, the beast's hunger hadn't been satisfied. Its red jaws still gnawed, sharp teeth tearing my liver.
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What did I truly care about in the room upstairs? Clothes? Skates? Throwing knives, climbing gear, all could be replaced. I'd never spent much time in that room, anyway, between fostering for years with Aurelie's family in Jocondagne, then spending the winters since in the warehouse or repair yard with Father and summers with the fleet. My ham
mock in Far Venture must have burned with the hull, ashes in the water.
There was a box of boy's treasures behind a loose wall panel: fish hooks, shells and beach glass, an owl pellet embedded with a tiny skull, a lutine's golden hair wrapped around a twig. Nothing I needed; I could leave it for the room's next occupant. Except for two items. "The model of Far Venture," I said, "and the miniature on the dresser."
"Of course." Mother smiled. "We saw her at the supper the other night. She's grown into a beauty, your little princess."
"Not my princess."
"Have you spoken with her?" my father asked.
I shrugged. "What's she going to say to an iceboat cook?"
They had no answer, and so we parted.
Plodding down the step-ways, I couldn't stop thinking about Aurelie and the shadow I'd seen in those dark eyes. Had the war put it there? Or losing her mother? We'd heard that Queen Basia had died, but at the time I couldn't find a smuggler willing to carry a message as far as the court in Lumielle. And I hadn't wanted to embarrass the princess by sending a Skoeran's condolences in the diplomatic pouch with our council's demands. To be truthful, I also hadn't been that eager for Captain Inglis to Find out we were on friendly terms. The less the councillor knew about me, the better I liked it.
Especially if she wanted her son to marry the princess. For
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Aurelie's fortune, or her title, or her royal blood? All of the above, probably. One seat on the council had never satisfied Captain Inglis; she wanted her family to rule Skoe forever. Or so my parents worried, and I hadn't seen anything to convince me otherwise. Still, whatever his mother's ambitions, no woman with half a brain deserved to be shackled to that windbag Hui.
"Hey, Gar-boy. You coming with us?"
Outside Gargouille's shed, half a dozen Woolies milled by the door. A rigger was tapping a barrel of the pitch we used to seal cracks in planking. The sticky liquid oozed into a bucket.
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