The Cipher

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  At last her legs and feet obeyed. The hot wetness dampening her legs soon turned cold, the stink twining with the rotting smells of the streets. But Lucy hardly noticed. Every scrap of concentration she had was going into taking the next step.

  She didn’t know how much time had passed before she found herself outside Keros’s house. It looked the same. Refuse was piled against the walls and Lucy started when a lump twitched and rolled, a roaring snore emitting from it. It was only a beggar woman, wrapped in rags and curled up in a nest of paper, dead leaves, and rotting burlap. Lucy edged past her.

  The door had no knob, no handle. Lucy stared in consternation. Marten had opened the door. Majick. The word trailed through her mind like mist. Of course. Only friends of Keros could so easily gain entrance. Lucy leaned her forehead against the rough wood, taking a deep breath. She lifted her foot and kicked. The resulting thud was dull and hardly broke the silence of the dawn. She kicked again. And again. She continued as long as she was able and then exhaustion and pain overwhelmed her. She sank down, her legs jackknifed against her chest, her back against the door. She laid her head on her knees, her hands lying helpless on the ground on either side. If he wasn’t home, if he wouldn’t answer, then she would wait.

  Once again she lost track of time. It might have been an hour later or a hundred when she felt a hand on her shoulder and a baritone voice spoke to her.

  “Come on, then. You can’t lay about here. Move along, old mother.”

  Lucy lifted her head, raising a ruined hand to push back her hood. Keros was bent over her. The shock on his face was palpable.

  “Not so old,” she croaked. “Can I come in?”

  She stared at him, willing him to let her in. His face was haggard with dark circles beneath his eyes. He hadn’t shaved in several days, and his curly hair flopped greasily over his forehead, veiling his eyes. At last he nodded, hooking his hands under her arms to help her up.

  “Come on.”

  Every muscle in Lucy’s body screamed protest as she stood. Her hands brushed something and barbed agony burrowed down her nerves. Keros opened the door, motioning her to precede him.

  “How did you find me?” he asked, removing his cloak and hanging it on a peg. His voice was hard and suspicious.

  “I have a knack.” Her voice cracked and she coughed.

  He scowled. “What do you want?”

  Slowly Lucy lifted her hands out from beneath her cloak. “Help.”

  “Braken’s cods,” he muttered. “What in the depths happened to you?”

  “I…hadan accident.”

  His brows rose. “An accident. Like the other night.”

  “Exactly.” The word was slurred. “I can pay you this time. I have very valuable gemstones.”

  “Why aren’t you seeing a Merstone majicar? One with a proper illidre and guild-sanctioned?”

  “Several reasons. I should probably tell you the jewels are stolen.”

  Keros grinned, a lopsided, boyish expression that gave Lucy hope.

  “And that’s not the worst of it,” she added, compelled to warn him.

  His look weighed her. “Come on, then. Let’s have a look.”

  He led her into the kitchen, motioning her over to the table against the wall. She staggered after.

  He helped her off with her cloak. “By the gods, you smell. You need to burn your clothes.”

  “They’re all I own.”

  Keros glanced at her sharply, clearly wanting to press her for more information, but he held himself in check. Instead he helped her up onto the table.

  “It’s not comfortable, but I’m not putting you in my bed. I don’t need lice.”

  “You’re a majicar. Can’t you just—” She waved a hand in the air, and then sucked in a pained breath.

  “I heal. I don’t clean,” he replied haughtily.

  “Yes. I don’t steal either.”

  Keros didn’t answer, but took a cushion from a kitchen chair and put it down for a pillow. He went to a cupboard and took down a tin of tea and spooned some in a cup. He lifted a kettle from the cold hearth and murmured something, touching a finger to the copper. When he poured the water out, it steamed. He stirred in a dollop of honey.

  “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  He returned quickly carrying a leather case. The tea was wonderfully fragrant, smelling of bergamot and chikri, a mellow yellow tea from Glacerie. Keros unlatched his case and withdrew a green cut-crystal vial the size of his pinky finger. He pulled the stopper and dripped five drops into the cup.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’ll make you sleep. This healing wouldn’t be easy under normal circumstances, but so soon after the last…it will go better if you’re unconscious.”

  He held the cup to her lips. “Drink up.”

  Lucy stared down at it, a sluggish memory stirring in the back of her mind. Marten, her office, a cup of tea, waking up in bed with him making love to her…

  “Come on, then. Or do you like suffering?”

  She swallowed the hot liquid. It tasted delicious and spread fingers of warmth through her. She finished it and looked at the majicar.

  “What now?” She didn’t hear the answer. A wave of black heaviness swamped her and she slumped senseless.

  She slowly came back to herself. It felt like she’d been floating and now was sinking back down into her body. She blinked, her eyes gritty. Above her head was an unfamiliar beamed roof. She turned her head, smelling roasting chicken and vegetables. Her mouth watered painfully. She recognized the kitchen now, the polished wood floor, the parchment-colored walls with a black-and-white tile mosaic in a liquid pattern.

  “Keros?”

  Her voice caught and she began to cough. She sat up. Keros appeared by her side, patting her back.

  “Easy, now. Here’s some water.”

  He handed her a mug and she drank greedily. Suddenly she stopped, staring at her hands. They were pink and pale, like they had never seen sun. The calluses were gone and so were the glass scars. But they were whole. Likewise, the pike wounds were gone. She met Keros’s gaze, her throat knotting.

  “It appears I owe you thanks again,” she said thickly.

  “And some valuable stolen jewels. Come on, you’ve been asleep since yesterday morning. You need food. Careful of those hands. They’re delicate. It’ll be a few days before you can use them much. You’ll want some gloves to protect them.”

  He steadied her as she slid to her feet.

  “Easy, now,” he said. Then his lip curled. “You still stink. I’m not about to try to eat with that stench. Let’s get you upstairs.”

  He stopped at the counter and sliced off a hunk of bread, spreading it lavishly with butter before handing it to her. “That should tide you over.”

  Lucy gobbled the bread as she followed Keros up the back stairs to a small bedroom. It was spare, with plain furniture and white linens. A serviceable pair of brown woolen trousers, stockings, and a buff-colored shirt and tunic were laid out on the bed. Beside them were a towel, a washcloth, and soap. Coal was piled in the grate and a hip bath sat before the hearth.

  Keros used his majick to light the fire and heat the water so that steam curled from its surface. He retreated to the door.

  “Take your time. And put your clothes in the chamber pot. Or better yet, put them on the fire and burn them.”

  Lucy was more than happy to peel off her filthy clothing, wrinkling her nose at the sharp odor of urine on her trousers. She dropped them in the fire, preferring the smell of charred cloth.

  She washed quickly, marveling at her hands. But soon anxiety descended. She’d been asleep a day, Keros had said. And it had taken her two nights and a day to cross Sylmont. What had happened to Sarah and Blythe and James? Were they safe? Were they free? Was the fire still raging? What about the Jutras?

  She washed her hair as best she could, but it was so tangled that the comb on the night table did little good. Impatient for food and news, she
abandoned the project and dressed hurriedly. She rolled up the trousers so they didn’t drag. As soon as she was ready, she returned to the kitchen. Keros greeted her and served her a bowl of chicken and stewed vegetables with bread and butter. She ate ravenously. When her stomach felt swollen and she could eat no more, she pushed her bowl away and sipped her tea, eyeing Keros through the steam. He’d been watching her as she ate, and now leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table.

  “You had three broken fingers and six shattered knuckles, and your skin was all but burnt away. I scraped away the damaged tissue and then healed you. Then I found some stab wounds on your legs, back, and arms, which I assumed you also wanted healed. I have to warn you—anything like that happens again soon, and you’ll lose your hands. I don’t think even a guild majicar would be able to help you.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “You really have to be careful,” he insisted.

  “I didn’t really plan to cut my hands or burn and mangle them,” she said.

  “It just happened, is that it?”

  She lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Yes.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, visibly reining in his frustration. He opened them again, glaring. “Perhaps you ought to try less hazardous pursuits.”

  “Clever idea. Wish I’d thought of it.”

  “What happened?”

  Lucy looked away, swallowing. “Let’s just say I’ve had better days.”

  Keros was silent, his brown eyes boring into hers as if he could force her to tell him what had happened. But she only returned the look obdurately. He sighed and changed the subject.

  “What will you do now?”

  Lucy set her cup down with a soft click. “I have some business to take care of before…” Before the cipher burned her to ash. “Anyway, the sooner I can take care of it, the better.”

  “I guess so.”

  Keros reached down onto the chair beside him and picked up a stack of newspapers and set them on the table before her.

  “Makes for interesting reading. Not that you can believe everything they write. They get so much wrong. Still, it’s quite riveting.” He stood. “I’ve got an errand to run. I’ll be back soon. Try not to undo all my hard work while I’m gone.” He gestured meaningfully at her hands. “You’re likely to get tired again soon. Don’t fight it. You need the sleep to finish the healing. You know where the bedroom is. More comfortable than the table.”

  Lucy’s hands settled lightly on top of the papers. She wanted to snatch them up, but waited as Keros cleared the dishes and set them by the sink. There was a pump next to it to draw water. Lucy was surprised to see such a convenience in a house in the Riddles. But then, Keros wasn’t poor. He, like her, was merely hiding.

  When he’d gone, she snatched up the first paper. It was the evening edition from Moonday, when she’d broken into the warehouse and stolen the jewels. The headlines were focused on the arrival of the Jutras ship. But low on the page was a story about her, just as the blackmailer promised. It reported her collection of true ciphers and speculated on her involvement with the salvage and theft of the blood oak. There was a hint that she had been hiding majickal abilities and that because she was a member of the royal family, her crimes were all the more heinous, even treasonous, and that they’d been deliberately overlooked by the crown. This was all based on the word of an anonymous “highly respected citizen.”

  She tossed the paper aside and grabbed up the second. This time, her name dominated the headlines. She was an unregistered majicar. She’d started a majickal fire in Salford Terrace and it raged unchecked, burning everything in its path. It even burned stone to ash. It was confirmed that she had a collection of seven true ciphers hidden in her house, and that the king himself was being questioned regarding her majickal abilities, as were her father and two of her brothers.

  Lucy’s head rocked back. She drew a shaky breath, her chin starting to crumple. Her father being questioned. And her brothers—which ones? The paper didn’t say if they’d been arrested, only questioned. She soothed herself with that knowledge. Surely if they’d been taken into custody, the paper would have trumpeted it.

  Another story just below the first reported that she was being investigated for smuggling. Her seal had been found on salvage items that had gone missing from the salvage sheds. They were found in the vault of Faraday, which had mysteriously been spared from the terrible fire. Her partner, Sarah Nettles, and employees were being held for questioning.

  Lucy stared unseeing as the words ran together. It wasn’t possible. She never let her seal out of her sight except when she locked it in her vault at night. And no one else could use it. She hadn’t touched any of that cargo. Not a single crate or barrel. How was this possible?

  A worm of memory wriggled deep in her mind. She caught at it. The report for Alistair Sylday morning. Marten bringing a cup of tea. Should I be distressed that you abandoned me so quickly for a cold chair, parchment, and ink? She’d been in the middle of reading over her report. She had her seal out of the vault, reviewing the document before she signed it. Marten sitting on the edge of the desk watching her. Like he was waiting for something.

  Lucy rubbed her hands up over her head, pressing her temples between her palms. The next thing she remembered was waking in bed with Marten kissing her, his hands on her breasts, his leg between her thighs as he pressed himself urgently against her. She didn’t remember leaving her office and returning to bed. Later when he was gone, she found her report and the seal on her desk. She thought again of the drops Keros had put in her tea. And she knew. She knew.

  Marten had drugged her and when she was asleep he’d put her seal in her unconscious hand and stamped who knew how many seal blanks. When he was through, he’d carried her to bed and made love to her.

  Lucy almost didn’t make it to the sink. She retched, feeling the already strained muscles in her chest and ribs wrenching with the violence of it.

  It was several hours before Keros returned. Lucy was sitting in the same chair as when he’d left, the papers spread out before her. He came in carrying a canvas bag slung over his shoulder. Lucy looked up as he entered.

  “You gave Marten some of those drops, didn’t you? And he drugged me.”

  He put the bag on the counter and leaned back against it, his dark gaze unreadable. “I gave him some drops, yes.”

  She nodded, her lips tightening. She’d hoped he would tell her no. Not that she would have believed him. She slid her hand across the table. When she withdrew it, the purple dawnstar and silver-flecked Braken’s heart remained. She stood, feeling feeble and old.

  “That should cover what I owe you for the two healings and the clothes.”

  She didn’t look at him as she headed for the doorway, her satchel in her hand.

  “The doors are warded.”

  Lucy halted, a slow burn firing in her stomach. Deliberately she turned.

  “I thought you said you didn’t want me wrecking my hands again. Because if I have to, I’ll tear a hole in your wall. But trust me on this—I won’t have to.”

  His jaw went slack a moment. “Are the papers correct, then? You’re a majicar.”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Then go ahead and try.”

  Lucy’s chin lifted. “All right.”

  She turned again and walked down the hallway, taking her cloak from a peg. It had been cleaned. Keros followed her, standing close, his nostrils flaring like those of a hound sniffing after a fox.

  “You may want to stand back,” she said, reaching for the door.

  He grabbed her arm. “Don’t. Rest here a day or two. Until your hands finish healing.”

  She turned. “Why?”

  “Can’t we say I don’t want to see my work go to waste, and leave it at that?”

  “Marten drugged and framed me for smuggling, and you helped him. Why should I trust you?”

  “I didn’t know what he wanted with the drug when I gave it
to him. And I did heal you. You need a safe place to recuperate. I won’t tell anyone you’re here. I owe you that much.”

  Lucy hesitated. He sounded sincere. And she had nowhere else to go. “All right.”

  “Good. Then go upstairs and sleep while I cook.” He took her cloak.

  She obeyed, fatigue wrapping her like a shroud. She trudged back to the kitchen and went to the stairs, stopping on the first step.

  “You won’t tell anyone I’m here?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Marten?” she pushed.

  “He’ll not hear it from me.”

  She nodded and began up the stairs.

  “Lucy. I’ve known Marten a long time. He’s got his flaws. Some more serious than others. But he has only ever hurt himself. This…” He shook his head, frowning. “This is difficult to believe.”

  “People change. Most everyone I know wouldn’t believe that I’d ever break into a customs warehouse and steal something, much less—” She bit off the rest, taking a breath. She smiled grimly, motioning toward the table with her chin. “You should be careful where you sell those jewels.”

  With that, she went upstairs.

  Chapter 17

  Marten burst through the doors of the morning salon where Edgar was eating breakfast with Cecy. Marten flung the papers he was holding down on the table in front of his brother.

  “What in the holy black depths have you done?” he demanded.

  Edgar’s welcoming expression faded, turning icy. He set aside the letter he was reading and stood, bending to take his wife’s hand and kiss it.

  “Your pardon, Cecy. I’m sure Marten doesn’t mean to distress you. We shall step out for a few moments and I’ll rejoin you as soon as may be.”