“Well, then, perhaps I should have delayed my arrival further. I’m sure you’ll find my company dull by comparison.”
“That’s impossible. For there is no one in the world I’d rather see than you, dear brother.”
She went to him, kissing his cheek. He was at once bemused and delighted. How often in the past had she rebuked him when he arrived past the hour he had promised?
Yet those had been different times, and he had left her in far different places than this—shabby inns or rude boardinghouses. Nor had she understood that it was for her own good he had done it. To Sashie, Westen had been only handsome, richly dressed, and mysterious. However, before the end, she had finally seen the highwayman for what he truly was.
Eldyn had never told Sashie about Westen’s fate. All the same, news of the notorious brigand’s hanging had been all over the city for a quarter month, and printed on the front of every broadsheet. There could be no doubt she had heard of his execution, yet she had never spoken of it. Nor had she ever mentioned his name since that night they fled to St. Galmuth’s.
Now, as brother and sister walked from the apse of St. Amorah and through the echoing space of the choir, he listened as she spoke about how she had passed the lumenal at Graychurch. Brightday was approaching, and the verger had asked her to dust the niche of every saint along the ambulatory, and she had also polished all the brass in the chapter house. As always, Eldyn was perplexed—if pleasantly so—by her apparent relish for the tasks the old verger set for her. He could not recall her ever willingly dusting or polishing anything in her life before they came to Graychurch.
All the same, he could not complain. Between his work, his time spent with Dercy, and his occasional meetings with Rafferdy, he was often away. He was grateful he had no reason to be concerned with how she occupied herself when he was gone. Nor could he remember a time when Sashie had seemed so happy. Yet it was more than that. There was a modesty about her manner that he had never observed before; the capriciousness she had demonstrated so often in the past was nowhere to be seen.
As they walked along the transept, it occurred to him that this change might be credited to the wholesome influence of their present surroundings. Sashie had never known the benefit of a church prior to this. Certainly their father had never taken them to a service when they were young; drinking and whoring away the Garritt family name and fortune had been too consuming a task to allow any time for attending sermons.
Perhaps it was because Vandimeer had held churches in such disdain that Eldyn was so fascinated with them. As a boy, he would lurk outside the doors of St. Galmuth’s, peering in and watching through the haze of incense as the priests worked their holy mysteries. For a time, he had even fancied he would become a priest himself—until he made the mistake of speaking aloud of his ambition. Which had been the graver blow—the hand across his face or his father’s words—he could not say.
No son of mine will ever be a priest, his father had said. I’d sooner break your neck. He had uttered this with a kind of fierce glee, as if he might in fact relish the act.
Even after the world was rid of Vandimeer Garritt, Eldyn had continued to avoid setting foot in churches. He wasn’t entirely certain why. Perhaps it was because he imagined his soul, haunted by the deeds of his father, was too tainted to permit him to enter such a sacred place.
Only it wasn’t. He and Sashie had found sanctuary at St. Galmuth’s cathedral that terrible night. And now, by a stroke of good fortune, it was to the Church that he owed his living.
Except maybe it wasn’t luck at all. Maybe it was God’s hand that had snatched them up and saved them, just as He had reached down to save St. Amorah from her precipitous fall. For three days after the night they fled to St. Galmuth’s, Eldyn and Sashie had dwelled in the cathedral. Once free of Westen’s power, though, there was no basis for them to apply for protection. Eldyn and Sashie had made ready to leave the cathedral, though where they would go, he hadn’t known. They were all but penniless, and he had no work.
Yet even as he and Sashie moved reluctantly to the cathedral doors to make their departure, a white-haired deacon hurried up to them.
“Pardon me, Mr. Garritt,” the deacon had said, “but is it true what I have heard, that you are a clerk by vocation?”
Eldyn was unsure what to make of these words, but he nodded and explained that he had indeed been recently employed as a clerk.
“It seems providence provides for us in our very hour of need!” the old deacon had exclaimed, casting his gaze heavenward.
He went on to explain that the priest who had kept the ledger over at Graychurch had recently passed from this life. Soon after, it was discovered that the old fellow, while a devout soul, had not been blessed with much ability when it came to ciphering, and the books were in great disarray.
It was a surprise to Eldyn that the Church had need of clerks at all. However, the deacon said that, while their attention was ever directed toward the next world, they yet dwelled in this one, and here there was much to be accounted for. Thus a clerk was required at once at Graychurch to put the ledger back in order, and if Eldyn was interested, he was to leave the cathedral, go over to Graychurch across the way, and present himself to the rector there.
Eldyn could only accept such an extraordinary and timely offer, though he wondered why the deacon would offer him such an important position when the Church knew nothing about his abilities or character. Even as he thought this, movement above had caught his eye. Up in the clerestory of the cathedral, he saw the tall silhouette of a priest before a stained-glass window, his hooded head bowed as if in prayer.
At this sight a feeling welled up in Eldyn—one as brilliant as the light from the window. Perhaps it was simply an act of faith, he thought. Nor would he betray that faith. That very afternoon he went to Graychurch to begin clerking. Thus Eldyn came to work for the Church of Altania.
And the ghost of Vandimeer Garritt be damned.
AS THE LAMPLIGHTERS began their work, Eldyn walked with Sashie the short distance to the place where they had dwelled these last few months: a slate-roofed building that was nearly as ancient as Graychurch.
In years past, the building had housed a monastery, but just as fewer people attended church these days, so, too, fewer people were willing to devote their lives to it. Thus the monastery had been converted some time ago into apartments to accommodate visiting clergy, as well as to house some of the various laymen who served the Church.
Even as the Church of Altania’s congregations had shrunk over the centuries, its holdings had grown at an ever-increasing rate, thus proving that, next to the power of God, there was no power in creation so miraculous as the mathematics of compound interest. As a result, the Church owned a great deal of capital, and many people were required for the management of its lands and buildings.
Eldyn’s part in this was small, being nothing more than the keeping of the daily ledger at Graychurch—which, while an esteemed institution, was but a fraction as busy (or rich) as nearby St. Galmuth’s. He tallied income and expenses as he might for any business, and if the income came in donations and tithes, and the expenses were for candles and incense and bottles of sacramental wine, the numbers cared little. They added and subtracted just the same for holy purposes as for profane.
An apartment had been granted to him as part of his wage. It was not large, consisting of no more than a sitting room attached to one chamber of goodly proportions (which was Sashie’s) and one rather smallish (which was his). The bare stone walls and wooden furniture were austere, but a lush Murghese rug covered the floor, and there was a window looking out over the courtyard in which a plum tree always seemed to be blooming.
Eldyn sat at the table in the main room and opened a leather satchel full of papers. Recently, he had asked if he might be allowed to bring some of his work home with him, as it was just as easy for him to tally figures here as in the office of the rector. This request had been granted, and so from time to tim
e Eldyn was able to do his ciphering in the apartment, which meant Sashie did not have to be alone so much. He cut a pen, took out a bundle of receipts, and in neat rows of figures recorded transactions for altar cloths, silver goblets, and a stonemason’s labors on a cracked wall.
As he worked, Sashie busied herself setting out their dinner. The foodstuffs had been brought in by a woman he had hired. Despite the many improvements in her behavior, Sashie still had neither interest nor ability with regard to cooking. It seemed some miracles were beyond even God’s power.
Eldyn did not mind; they could easily afford the expense. He made suitably pleased and amazed remarks as she set a plate of cold roast pigeon and candied apricots before him. She smiled as she sat with her own plate, and he set his papers aside as they took their meal together.
Sashie looked pretty in the glow of the oil lamp; he was glad the strain and worry of these last months had not pinched her face or made her wan. However, he saw she wore the same plain gray dress she had worn yesterday. Did she have nothing nicer to wear? He could not remember the last time he had bought her anything new.
“I do not think I’ll be so very busy on Brightday,” he said. “And if The Fox can be believed, the lumenal is to be longer than this one. I propose we go to Gauldren’s Heights, to some fine Uphill shop, and buy you a new dress.”
She set down her fork as her blue eyes went wide. “Oh, but we mustn’t!”
He smiled at her apparent concern. “You needn’t worry, Sashie. We can more than afford it now. You can have any dress you like, and a hat to go with it as well, if you so wish.”
She shook her head. “But we can’t buy anything, not on Brightday. It’s horridly wicked to touch a coin from dawn until moonrise.”
He could not help a frown. “Where did you hear such a thing?”
“One of the priests, Father Prestus, told me, and I am very grateful he did. One is supposed to spend the whole lumenal in prayer and reflection, and to engage in neither work nor merriment. To think, all this time I’ve never known. How awful I have been! I’ve never thought a thing about buying this or that on a Brightday. The angels must consider me the most wretched creature in the world!”
His frown ceased, and now his urge was to laugh. He was certain, if the hosts of Eternum wished to find a paragon of wickedness in the world, they would have many examples to choose from besides Sashie. However, her distress was obvious, and he gave her a solemn look.
“I am sure the angels will not judge you ill for something you did not know. It wouldn’t be fair of them, would it? And angels are very just. But are you certain about not being able to buy things on Brightday?”
“Oh, yes!” she said with great enthusiasm now. “The verger showed me the place in the Testament where it’s written. It is a transgression against the Faith to buy or sell anything on Brightday.”
If that was the case, then Eldyn was certain the city was rife with transgressors, and come the full moon every market and shop in the city would be crowded with people happily stopping to make a purchase or two on their way to the Abyss. He did not speak these things. The Church, the saints, the Testament were all new to his sister, and their novelty no doubt imbued them with a power and mystery.
“Well, we’ll go shopping another day, then,” he said, and this seemed to appease her, for she smiled at him.
“If you wish it, sweet brother. Though really, I can’t think of a thing to get. I already have everything I could possibly need.”
She rose, kissed his cheek, and cleared away their plates.
Eldyn could only smile in return, though a bit perplexedly. How often in the past had she derided him for the poor state of her wardrobe! He returned to his ciphering as she wiped the dishes and put them in the cupboard. After a few minutes he lowered his pen again and looked up at his sister. She hummed a song as she worked, and despite her plain dress she looked quite lovely, her dark hair shining in the lamplight.
He still had every hope of seeing her well-situated in life, and he could only think that her new manner would make that task easier. What man would not be pleased to take a young wife who was both lovely and sweet?
Of course, his ideas of a proper suitor were more humble than he had once entertained. What portion he would be able to offer in exchange for her hand would provide little temptation for a gentleman who had an appetite for fine things. All the same, it was not inconceivable that a lawyer or well-to-do tradesman would consider her beauty and charm to be adequate recompense for a small dowry.
Still, even a modest dowry would take him some time to save on his wages as a clerk. He took up a bit of scratch paper and did some quick ciphering. He estimated their expenses, subtracted the amount from his monthly earnings, and then divided the remainder into a sum he deemed was the barest minimum he could offer as a dowry.
A feeling of gloom came over him. By his calculations, it would take him two years to amass the required portion. Two years! It seemed a long time off. Yet there was nothing else he could do. Besides, as far off as it seemed, Sashie would still be just twenty then—more than young enough to tempt any man except one who favored only the most tender of brides. And in the interim, he could perhaps hope for some small increases in his wages if the rector of Graychurch continued to be pleased with his work.
So there—all that lay between now and Sashie being well-situated was some time and toil, neither of which were things to be dreaded. Much work lay ahead, but despite that he could not help feeling pleased to know that his sister’s happy future was well within his power to assure.
And what of his own future?
Eldyn gazed at the oil lamp on the table. With a thought and a quick motion of his finger he made the flame flare and twist, so that it took on the shape of a woman with long, fiery hair. The glowing figure danced upon the wick, moving in a flickering tarantella.
Crafting a small glamour such as this barely took an effort now. That much at least Dercy had been able to teach him. But it was a minor trick—not even enough to entice a person to enter a theater, let alone impress them once they paid their quarter regal.
Eldyn sighed. The lamp flame guttered, taking on its usual appearance, and he dipped his pen again in the inkwell. Then he held it above the page, not touching it to the paper. He recalled the day at Sadent, Mornden, & Bayle when he got his first position clerking, how a white-haired clerk had expired right before his eyes and was carted off, and how the head clerk had given Eldyn the old man’s pen and seat at the table.
Was that all that lay ahead of him? Working as a clerk, totaling endless columns of numbers, until the day he fell off his stool and they pried the quill from his fingers to give to another, younger man?
The low tolling of a single bell drifted through the window, marking the first span of the umbral and the start of night prayers. It was at once a sublime and a mournful sound, and for a moment Eldyn was thirteen again, standing in the dark on the steps of St. Galmuth’s, waiting for Vandimeer Garritt to return from some meeting, drunk and angry and as likely as not bearing scraped knuckles and a bloodied lip. How Eldyn had ached to go inside, to escape his father and the wretched hovels they dwelled in—to enter that world of ritual and light he glimpsed through the cathedral doors.
So then why didn’t he?
The thought was as clear as the tolling of the bell, resonating through him. Since becoming a man, he had been consumed with the idea of restoring the Garritt family name and fortune. Only, such ideas no longer compelled him. He was free now—free of his debts, free of Westen, and free of his father’s spirit. He could do anything he wanted. He could do more than merely work for the Church.
He could enter it.
This idea sent a thrill through Eldyn. That he might again take up a dream so long ago discarded was like discovering a lost treasure one had shut away in a drawer and forgotten. He was still a clerk, though, and he could not help tallying the columns for and against the notion.
For one thing, he would have
to save a portion for himself, not just for Sashie, as one entering the clergy was required to pay a grant to the Church. That would require at least another year of saving, and he was already getting to be a bit old to start along the path to priesthood. Yet not impossibly so. Dercy was twenty-five, a year older than Eldyn, and his parents had given him to the clergy just two years ago.
Of course, Dercy had left the old church of St. Adaris after not much more than a year within its walls, drawn by the spell of the theaters on Durrow Street. He could not return to the priesthood now even if he wanted. Eldyn had never read the whole of the Testament, but he was certain there were passages in it that condemned what Siltheri did in far stronger terms than the spending of money on a Brightday.
Eldyn had been to tavern after enough performances at the theater to know the proclivities of some illusionists. That the things such men did with one another were sinful was a matter the Church had made abundantly clear. Not that the Siltheri seemed to care. And why should they? If one was already condemned for all eternity, then it could hardly make things any worse to compound one’s sins. On the occasions at tavern when he had happened to spy a pair of illusionists off in some shadowed corner, engaging in kisses, the men had seemed to show no concern about the repercussions of their actions. Eldyn could only watch them in fascination, for they always behaved as if what they did was the most pleasant and harmless thing.
Only nothing the Siltheri did was harmless in the view of the Church, and that put another tick in the column against the idea. Eldyn wasn’t a true illusionist—as his failures at that theater had proved—but he doubted the Church would make so fine a distinction between the small tricks he had done and what the Siltheri did onstage—or off.
Despite this, an excitement continued to vibrate in Eldyn’s chest, as if his heart still felt the thrum of the bell. He could not believe it was impossible that the Church would ever have him. After all, no man was a paragon. It was not any one thing a man did that granted him entrance to Eternum or condemned him to the pits of the Abyss. Rather, it was the final sum in the entire ledger of his existence that mattered. And no one was better at making a column of figures tally out the way he wanted than Eldyn.
The House on Durrow Street Page 4