The Cipher

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

Marten ran his tongue around the inside of his teeth, saying at last, “Certainly, Edgar. The accommodations are all that might be expected.”

  Edgar chuckled. “All that someone in your humble position might expect, eh? You’re quite mistaken, actually. You’ve been treated far better than others in similar circumstances.” He gestured languidly at the kneeling Jutras. “However, I have made concessions, being that you are my brother. I hope that the last sennight has not spoiled you into thinking you don’t have to earn those concessions.”

  “Earn them?”

  “Indeed. Of course, one might expect you to be sufficiently grateful that I kept you out of the hands of some vicious master who would use you mercilessly.”

  “Grateful you framed me for murdering Jordan,” Marten couldn’t help saying bitterly.

  “I did warn you to behave. But that is neither here nor there. At the moment, I want to discuss you. I am a man of business, and I have a considerable investment in you. I could easily put you to work in a base occupation, but I would rather have the use of your considerable skills and experience as a sea captain.”

  Marten couldn’t help the flood of eagerness that washed through him. To be out on the waves with the wind blowing in his face…the thought of it nearly made him sick with want.

  “Oh?” he asked diffidently.

  “Just so. But that means no more foolishness about Lucy Trenton. She’s been convicted of treason.”

  “She’s been caught?” Marten said, dread slithering into his stomach.

  “Not yet. But it’s only a matter of time. When she is, she’ll be sent to the Bramble. No doubt of it. There’s nothing you can do, brother. I advise you to look after yourself. If you cooperate, perhaps you will even win back your freedom.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Marten said with disgusting eagerness.

  Edgar smiled again, folding his hands over his belly. “Captain Micawber has fallen ill. I want you to helm the Firedance when it departs on Moonday.”

  “The Bramble ship?”

  Edgar sat forward, his calculating gaze latching tightly on to his brother. “Yes, the Bramble ship. Except that you’ll not be leaving the prisoners on the Bramble. Rather you’ll be sailing to Bokal-Dur.”

  Marten was certain he couldn’t have heard right. But the two kneeling men had jerked their heads up at the name of the Jutras port city. “What?”

  “You’ll be sailing to Bokal-Dur. It’s a kindness really. The prisoners don’t have to endure the horrors of Chance, of becoming sylveth spawn. Instead, they have the opportunity to live out the fullness of their lives.”

  “As…Jutras slaves?”

  “You certainly don’t think they should be freed, do you? After all, they are criminals. Slavery is far less cruel than being exposed to the Chance storms, so you may set your mind at ease, if it should bother you at all. It’s a profitable venture, one that requires keen discretion. Captain Micawber has served well, and will be missed. I hope that you will be equally reliable. Indeed, I am counting on it.”

  He stared expectantly at Marten, whose mouth opened and closed as he sought an answer. Taking the prisoners to the Bramble had always seemed monstrous, if expedient. Crosspointe couldn’t afford to feed useless mouths; food was far too expensive. On the Bramble, they faced a dreadful fate: being turned into sylveth spawn. Oh, a few might survive and remain relatively human. But most did not. The gods determined their doom. It was said that any who returned from Chance on the Bramble would have their sentences forgiven. The gods’ will would be done. No one had ever returned. Nor would they, going to the Jutras slave pens. Marten wondered whether, given the choice, the prisoners would choose the Bramble or the Jutras. He knew what he would choose. And he knew what he had to choose now.

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Very good. In that case, I have a reward for you. See how agreeable I can be? How generous?”

  Edgar waited, expecting a reply. Marten nodded jerkily.

  “Quite,” was all he could manage through the rocks clogging his throat.

  “You will dine with me tonight. I’ll have a new uniform brought to you; you can’t be seen in those rags. You may also have your man Baskin. Do have a shave and a trim. You’re looking dreadfully shaggy. I’ll have someone call for you.”

  Marten returned to his room, his hunger forgotten. He was disgusted with himself. He dropped down onto the bed, holding his head in his hands. Captaining an illegal slave ship. This was lower than anything he’d done in his life. Except perhaps what he’d done to Lucy.

  He swore, thrusting to his feet and slamming his fists against the top of the dresser. He yanked his right hand back, shaking it. The damage to his hand from punching the wall in his cell at Chancery had only begun to heal. But he welcomed the pain. It was no more than he deserved.

  Suddenly he felt the walls closing in on him. He had to get out. He banged on the door and it opened.

  “I’m going to clean up,” he said, and strode out, not waiting for his guard.

  The servant bathing rooms were squeezed in a slot between two large pools. There was a separate one for women and for men. A long, gloomy passage divided the two, with doorways at one end accessing each and one going upstairs to the servants’ quarters. The guard did not follow Marten down the hallway.

  His shoulders brushed the walls as he walked and a chill prickled over his scalp. It felt like the walls were squeezing him. He hurried, his lungs constricting. This shouldn’t bother him. He was at home in the close confines of a ship. Yet he couldn’t seem to grapple his nerves underground in the bagnio.

  He was muttering epithets as he reached for the door to the men’s side. It was painted black, the women’s side red. He turned the handle just as the door to the stairway opened and a scrub maid came through dressed in a drab red and cream uniform. She glanced at him in startlement. Marten froze, the breath rushing out of him.

  “You!” he whispered hoarsely.

  Lucy just stared, her eyes wide. Hardly thinking, Marten reached out and snatched her wrist. He opened the bathing room door, looking inside. As he’d hoped, no one was there. Quickly he drew her after him. There were shelves at the far end piled with towels, scrubbers, and soap. He dragged her along, ducking out of sight behind them.

  “What in Braken’s name are you doing here?” A swarm of emotions boiled up inside him. Relief, anger, fear, and something else he didn’t like to think about.

  Lucy yanked her arm out of his grasp, glaring balefully. “I was about to have a bath.”

  “Crack it! What are you doing in Sweet Dreams? Dressed as a maid?”

  She bared her teeth. “I’m looking for answers. Some pox-ridden lobcock stole my seals and framed me for smuggling. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?”

  Marten flushed and looked away. His throat burned.

  “Don’t bother lying. I know it was you. I know about the drops you put in my tea. Though why you hung about after, I don’t know. Or perhaps you were overcome by my magnificent charms,” she said acidly.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think any harm would come of it. I never thought he’d do this to you.” The words sounded hollow, even to him.

  “Who?”

  The word was sharp. Marten looked at her in surprise. She’d put so much together already.

  “Edgar. My brother.”

  “Why? Why me? What does he get out of this?”

  Marten shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m not sure. He hates the crown, and certainly he wants to discredit your family and raise public discontent with the Rampling rule. But why he’s going after you so rabidly—I don’t know.”

  She only lifted her brows in patent disbelief. He gritted his teeth. She had a right not to trust him. But then a realization struck him.

  “If you’re not here about Edgar, then why are you here?”

  She hesitated, clearly unwilling to reveal herself to him.

  He swore softly, then gripped her should
ers. “I know I used you badly. And I regret it. That’s what this is about.” He hooked a finger under the collar around his neck. “Edgar put it on me so that I couldn’t come forward and tell the truth about what I’d done. I don’t have a legal voice anymore. Let me help you. Let me try to put this right.”

  Lucy snorted softly, but then grudgingly spoke. “There’s a man staying here. I think he’s involved.”

  “Who is he?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to discover. He’s wealthy. A merchant of some kind. I haven’t seen him since I’ve been working here. I’ve just become a boarder maid, which should let me into places I haven’t seen yet and give me more time to look for him.” She paused, considering him. “Reckoning is only a few days away. My friends and family are going to be on the Bramble ship if I don’t find something to say they are innocent.”

  Marten bit his tongue at the mention of the Bramble ship. He should tell Lucy about Edgar’s scheme, that the Firedance was really a slave ship destined for Bokal-Dur. But it would serve no purpose. Not now. “What does he look like?”

  “He’s not much taller than I am, with dark hair streaked gray. It’s curled and oiled. He’s slender and dresses fashionably. The last time I saw him he was carrying a cane.”

  “Why do you think he’s involved?”

  Her expression tightened and her eyes went flat. “I have my reasons.”

  Reasons she did not want to share with him. He nodded, accepting it. He didn’t have any choice.

  “I haven’t seen him, but I’ve been largely confined since my arrival.”

  Silence fell between them. Marten wanted to apologize again, but he doubted she would listen any better a second time. At last he settled on saying, “How can I help you?”

  The look she turned on him was cutting. She wrapped her right hand around her left forearm, clutching them close against her stomach. She looked like she’d rather swallow a vat of sylveth than suffer his help.

  “Do you read Jutras?” she asked at last, her nostrils flaring white at the effort.

  Marten felt his face go slack. “Jutras?”

  Her head jerked in an affirmative. “I found a document. Written in Jutras. It may tell me something.”

  “I know some,” he said. Any ship captain who sailed east on the Inland Sea where the Jutras were swallowing up countries like a gluttonous pig had to learn enough to read the broadsides and papers and get a fix on the way the winds were blowing. The danger came from not only the Jutras but desperate people trying to escape them.

  She was looking at him, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she wrestled with trusting him. At last she came to a decision.

  “I have it hidden. Can we meet again?”

  “I am being held in Edgar’s private apartments, so I do not have freedom to wander. I think I can get away for another bath tomorrow. Or I’m allowed to go to the kitchens.”

  “Or maybe I can come find you,” she said thoughtfully. “Surely maids must be assigned to his quarters. I might be able to learn something.”

  Marten shook his head adamantly, fear streaking through him at the thought of Lucy sneaking into Edgar’s quarters. She’d be caught. “The doors are majicked against intruders. My door is also majicked and guarded. It would be a fool’s mission,” he said brusquely.

  Her brows arced. “And I wouldn’t want to be a Pale-blasted fool twice, now, would I?”

  “I won’t betray you again.” Marten spoke as forcefully as he could. He wanted her, needed her, to believe him. The trouble was, he wasn’t sure he believed it. He wanted it to be true, hoped it was, but the doubt niggled at him. His record so far was abysmal. He’d given Lucy’s seals to Edgar to dig himself out of debt, and he’d agreed to helm a slave ship. The fact was, when he was up against it, he didn’t know how low he’d sink to save himself. The realization made him queasy.

  “Just at the moment, Marten, I can’t imagine trusting you if I don’t have to.” She hesitated. “I am grateful that you took me to Keros and had my hands healed, and I take no pleasure in seeing you in the iron collar. I knew what sort of man you were. I called you corrupt and cancerous. Should I be surprised to find out that’s who you are?”

  He looked away. “You don’t understand. Edgar had Jordan killed.”

  Her face went pale, but she didn’t seem surprised at the news of Jordan’s death. “Why?”

  “A lesson to me. I had gone to him to get help uncovering what my brother was up to, and to help me find you.”

  “Jordan was killed because he was trying to help me?” Her voice was thin and anguished.

  “Because of me,” Marten said, taking her hand in his. It was trembling. “Edgar told me not to push and I did anyhow. He had Jordan killed and has created evidence to frame me if I don’t cooperate with him. If I hadn’t asked for Jordan’s help, he’d still be alive.” His lips tightened. “When I told Jordan what I did to you, he hit me. Repeatedly.”

  “We were good friends,” she said, pulling her hand from his grasp. She wiped her eyes, blinking away tears.

  “So were we. Until I told him. That was the end of it. Lucy, if he catches you, the very least my brother will do is turn you over to the Crown Shields and send you off on the Bramble ship. He’s dangerous. You cannot go wandering about in his apartments. He keeps everything majicked, anyhow. There’s little that you would find.”

  Lucy’s expression was bleak. “I don’t have much choice, do I? I’d better leave before someone finds me here. I need to get washed and back to work.”

  Marten nodded reluctantly. “I’ll be here tomorrow at this same time. I don’t know how long the guard will let me dawdle, or if there will be anyone else here. You might look for me in the kitchen midmorning.”

  He couldn’t find anything else to say as he walked her back to the door. She reached out to pull it open and he put a restraining hand on her arm.

  “Be careful. Please.”

  She looked down at his hand and then back up at him. “Don’t you understand? I’m not like you. I don’t care what happens to me. I only want to save my family and friends before Reckoning Day. I can’t afford to be careful. And another thing. I was convicted of Jordan’s murder yesterday.”

  With that, she slipped out the door and across the corridor to the women’s bathing room, leaving Marten feeling as if she’d punched him in the jaw.

  Chapter 26

  The warm water of the baths did nothing to thaw Lucy’s numb arm. The cold from the cipher that had begun as soon as she’d seen Marten was unrelenting. She washed quickly and returned to her room at a trot. She pulled the Jutras contract from beneath her mattress and tucked it back in her shirtwaist. She hadn’t dared leave it with her clothing in the bathing room, where someone might have found it. She shied away from thinking about her meeting with Marten. It was strange how little anger she felt for him. She wanted to believe he meant what he said, and he probably did. For now. But he followed the tide of fortune wherever it went. He was entirely unreliable.

  Her stomach growled and twisted and she smothered all thoughts of him, going downstairs to eat. She sat in a corner and avoided meeting anyone’s eyes, all too aware that Lora Clump might have friends among the other maids. She ate quickly before returning to the safety of her room.

  She itched to go begin her search for the stranger, but knew she should wait for her summons to duty. She’d have to wait until after her shift if she wasn’t going to raise suspicions. But seeing Marten had given her a jolt of hope. He could read Jutras and might be able to translate the contract. It was a step closer to the truth, to freeing her family and friends. For a moment, she found herself wondering about her mother and her brothers’ wives. What had become of them? And Jack? She’d not had time to worry about them. The paper had not mentioned them and she’d assumed they’d managed to find someplace safe to hide. She bent her head, sending a prayer to Meris to keep them safe.

  She was summoned by an imperious bell before the two girls she
shared a room with returned. She was sent to clean in the guest rooms on the second floor. She collected her cleaning supplies and set to work. Emptying the slop jars was the worst. Her stomach revolted at the stench and she wished she hadn’t eaten. She swept out the grates and rebuilt the fires, cleared dishes, dusted, and set out bowls of nuts, dried fruit, and candy, and bottles of wine. She filled the kettles for tea and ewers for washing, and straightened the rooms. Most of the guests were preparing for dinner. She scurried quietly in and out of the bedrooms and dressing rooms, averting her eyes from the half-dressed men and women.

  Majick permeated Sweet Dreams like a cloud. There were charms on the floors and the walls, no doubt to deaden sound, and others on the roof and walls, probably to keep the heat in and the cold out. There were spells on the lamps and the sconces, on the chairs and the bed tables. It made Lucy feel like she was being pursued by an insistent swarm of wasps. Her ears hummed and her skin twitched. Still, it was bearable. It was the cipher, she decided. Somehow, it was insulating her talent to feel majick. So it is good for something besides starting fires and icing up rooms, she thought sourly. Probably the poor fool that Errol Cipher had destined his gift for had not been as grateful as she for the deadening effect.

  She’d just returned from fetching one guest’s forgotten shawl from the bagnio when she saw the stranger at last. She froze on the top step, her heart thumping as she watched him walk down the hallway away from her. He leaned lightly on his cane, his limp trivial. He was followed by a footman carrying several bundles. They stopped outside a door. The stranger produced a key and they went inside. Seconds later, the empty-handed footman withdrew. Lucy watched from the landing, twisting the delicate fabric of the shawl so tightly she heard threads snapping.

  She pulled herself together with an effort, turning up the opposite direction at a sedate walk, hearing the foot-man’s quick steps going down the stairs as he departed. She returned the shawl in a daze, her hands shaking. What should she do now? But she knew. No one noticed her as she gathered up her things and retreated to the service passage. Abandoning her supplies, she hurried up the passage until she passed the long stretch of blank wall that indicated where the sitting area at the top of the landing was. Lucy slowed, trailing her fingers along the wall. How far down the hallway was his suite of rooms?