Arsenic turned her back on him and bustled about with the food, while he squeezed himself into the attire and felt quite as if this were an opera costume and he ought to start grandstanding about with delusions of tenor.
“I seem to be decent again,” he said. “Although only nominally.”
Arsenic turned, regarded him. Her eyes went big. She unsuccessfully smothered a giggle.
“I know,” he said, with as much dignity as he could muster under circumstances of fawn-coloured buckskin breeches.
“Percy, m’eudail, those are…”
“I know, breeches.”
“Very tight.”
“I know!” He was grateful the ruddy things stopped at the knee. They’d been challenging enough to get on with his splinted ankle. Whoever had owned them originally must have been about his size, with perhaps a little less meat in a few key areas.
“And fawn-coloured,” Arsenic persisted.
Percy wondered if it was a doctor thing to be driven to blurt out the blindingly obvious, or perhaps it was a method of coping with shock. The breeches were shocking.
He made his opinion clear. “I know.”
She pursed her lips together. “They’re verra fetching.”
“I know… wait, they are?” He couldn’t tell if she was being serious or not.
“Mmm-humm.”
“I’m ridiculous.” He languished. Percy wished to impress Arsenic. That seemed unlikely to occur, ever in his whole life, at this juncture. Fawn-coloured breeches were the definition of unimpressive.
She laughed. “Aye. But on the bright side, you’re also fully dressed.”
He perked up. “True. Very well then, but you’ll explain to my sister? I mean if we are ever fortunate enough to reunite with them, she’ll mock, and I’ll come off as defensive.”
“Aye, I’ll explain.”
He tore his eyes away from her delight in his misfortune, which made her eyes bright and her smile easy. The outfit could not possibly be that bad if it pleased her so much.
He realized that there was something quite exciting set out on one side of the room.
“Food!”
Not that he hadn’t seen it earlier, it was only that he finally noticed it. There were little dumpling-like things in wooden bowl-baskets, some slightly mysterious-looking fruit, and vegetative matter. Some of the produce he supposed was for display purposes, as it was offered up whole and in naked glory.
Rather like his posterior only moments before.
Percy scooted on his cushion across the floor, so as not to bother with his leg.
Arsenic walked back to her cushion and sat with a lacquered tray-plate in her lap from which she began daintily sampling foodstuff. Her peaked eyebrows occasionally wiggled in interest. “This bright yellow thing is pickled, I think. Sour and a little salty. Are you a fan of pickling?”
Percy could murder a gherkin given the slightest opportunity. “Absolutely.”
He grabbed up a bowl, because it felt safer than the tray-plate and more familiar, and dumped some of the yellow pickled vegetable into it. He added a few other things, pleased to find recognizable white rice, dismayed to find only squat ceramic spoons for utensils.
He admitted to sampling a few things right there at the spread, which was bad form, but he was hungry and bewildered, and he didn’t want to have to scoot back to get more of something he unexpectedly enjoyed.
His eye was caught for a long moment on a spectacular mound of root vegetables. They were arranged as if for the paintbrush of an Italian master. They looked faintly familiar and yet not, thus holding his attention rather long.
Percy had gone through an admittedly somewhat depressing agricultural phase, with a particular focus on researching root vegetables. He couldn’t remember why. It had lasted only a few months, but one of the offerings on the table reminded him vividly of a vegetable that he’d studied in depth. He simply couldn’t remember which vegetable. Perhaps a radish of some kind? He tried to recall the name.
“M’eudail, you’re meant to eat, na stare.”
Percy plucked up the confusing root and scooted himself back using his good leg, carrying his bowl in one hand and the root in the other. “Darling, what about—”
“Not darling. Darling is what my mother calls my father when she’s cross with him.”
He stared at the root. A turnip of some kind? “I did ask what form of endearment you’d prefer.”
“Dinna think endearments ought to come along naturally?”
“Arsenic, I hate to say it, but endearments, as a general rule, may come naturally to some stout gentlemen of fine moral fibre, but certainly not to me.” He set the root on his thigh, which was not at all slippery because buckskin, and grabbing up the stubby spoon, tucked in.
“Give it time. Now, how long will we be safe in this temple? Will an ordinance be required to extract us? A higher power? Or could it be stormed by the army or an angry mob?”
Percy blinked at her. “Do you think that likely?”
“Weel, clearly some authority knows that we’re here and wants us. We’re na supposed to be in Japan at all. The temple canna simply dash around, scooping up any peely-wally foreigner it wishes. That grossly undermines government authority.”
“Unless there are politics to that effect in play?” Percy liked the rice, it was a little sour and sticky. The root continued to confuse him. It had what looked like more roots at one end. Was it a tuber or a large legume?
“Weel, I suppose we’re safe for now, but we should probably suss out passage back to Edo, or better yet the Custard.”
“Rue will come for us.” Percy was convinced on this matter.
Arsenic put down her spoon and stared at him intently. “The captain will try to come for us, no doubt, but if the entire Japanese government is set against her? What can one ship do? An unarmed ship, no less. In fact, the Custard might have already been hounded into the aether.”
Percy was incensed. “She would never abandon us and I resent the implication!”
“You are delightfully loyal, m’eudail. I only meant to imply that they could be lurking in the grey, scheming on how to extract us. We must determine how to get back to them. And I ken we must save Lady Sakura as well.”
“Absolutely,” Percy agreed. What was that one root called? Rotunda? Roberta?
“Percy, are you following?”
“Rutabaga!”
“Absolutely not,” said Arsenic instantly.
“It isn’t a rutabaga?”
“You canna use rutabaga as a pet name. Na even for a façade marriage.”
“No, no. This root thing.” He waved it at her. “It’s a rutabaga, isn’t it? Or perhaps mangelwurzel?”
“’Tis lotus root. Water lily, aye?”
“One can eat water lily? Remarkable.”
“If you cut it open ’tis full of holes, like a loofah.”
“So not rutabaga?”
“Nay.”
Percy sighed at the root. “Would you include Lord Ryuunosuke in your scheme to save us all?”
“I thought you hated him.”
“He did push me overboard. But I’m beginning to think I was mistaken in his character.” With the root quandary solved, Percy let his mind finally latch on to the thing that was bothering him the most. “Married werewolves, you know, they’re always better. They work more for the common good, they fit easier into mortal life. It’s like pack, only civilized. We talk about it as being tamed. But it’s not that simple. It’s being loved. It makes werewolves fit.”
Arsenic’s eyes were sharp. “It makes them good. Like a moral compass for a diminished soul.”
“Lady Sakura is staying in Edo for him. Lady Manami said goodness, remember? Lady Sakura is her pack’s tether, but something else is holding her there, in the Paper City. Her own tether. Her own reason. She stays because she needs to and that can only mean one thing.”
Arsenic blinked spider lashes. “Love.”
Percy nodded.
“And they may act like vampires but kitsune means fox. She’s a shifter. And shifter means that any hold over Lady Sakura has got to include Lord Ryuunosuke because he’s her, you know…” He let himself trail off, hoping Arsenic might follow his reasoning.
“Mate,” she said. “Oh dear.”
Shortly after they finished eating, whatever was going on with the soldiers in the courtyard got sorted, because the temple closed its doors and departed the station. Arsenic and Percy stayed aboard.
Arsenic suspected that the authorities would follow them, but for now the temple won the day. She and Percy were safe.
Percy, silly man, returned the lotus root to the table as if it had disappointed him. He then rearranged the cushions a bit to lean back and, without any apparent effort at all, fell asleep.
Arsenic was also exhausted. The terror of having run across rice paddies, not to mention the fall that preceded it, rather rocked her mind and body in such a way as to weigh her eyelids down.
Percy had co-opted most of the available cushions to make himself an improvised bed. For lack of any other option, and because he looked ridiculously inviting, Arsenic curled up next to him. His normally frowning, mobile face was at rest. Up close she noticed that his eyelashes were red as his hair and his cheeks faintly freckled.
There was something about the man, secretly sympathetic, or emotionally harmonious. Others seemed to find him frustrating, but Arsenic found him restful. Touching him was comforting, and from the little smile and the way he curled an arm about her, she thought he might feel the same. She used his chest as a pillow and enjoyed his warmth. He was not entirely asleep, as it turned out. For as she nuzzled tentatively, Percy wound one long arm about her and tugged her close until she pressed against his whole side.
And it wasn’t, it fairly wasn’t that Percy made her feel safe, it was more that she made him feel that way. He valued her, for all he nearly called her rutabaga.
She had a sudden thought of curling up against him just so, in the library while they both read and petted the cat. Perhaps she might persuade him to get a bigger chair. If they ever made it back.
Arsenic dozed off, the motion of the train lulling her to sleep.
Arsenic woke to find her body had become one massive ache. Under her ear Percy groaned.
“I feel like a potato.”
“Why the sudden affection for root vegetables?” Arsenic levered herself to one elbow and looked down on him.
It was still light in the room. The place was illuminated by high windows. She supposed it must be afternoon but it was disorientating, not to know how long she’d slept.
“A potato.” Percy did not open his eyes, but tugged her back against him in a proprietary way that Arsenic found she didn’t mind. She leaned on his chest with her forearms and looked down at him.
“Why a potato?”
“I feel as if I’d been boiled to within an inch of my life, then mashed, then whipped with butter.”
“Sounds tasty.”
“Painful was what I was alluding to.”
Arsenic tensed suddenly. There was someone else in the room, someone watching them.
She forced herself to sit up. “Who’s there?”
Percy remained lying down. “Are we under threat again? I’m too tired, let them have us.”
Arsenic assessed the room. It wasn’t big. It was well lit. There weren’t exactly places to hide. Yet, when a strange woman appeared, it was as if she’d materialized out of the tapestry on the wall. Or as if she’d been there all along, yet so calm and quiet that the eye simply skipped over her.
Arsenic forced herself to look at the stranger. Her gown was simple and made of Japanese embroidered cloth, but cut in the manner of an Englishwoman’s day dress. It was entirely devoid of fancy-work, almost painfully plain. The stranger was Arsenic’s mother’s age, but whereas Preshea kept herself trim and spent hours with cold cream of an evening, this lady did neither. She was matronly, well padded but over muscles, in the manner of a farmer’s wife. She seemed the type of redoubtable woman who might whip up a custard with one hand and plough a field with the other. Her face was forgettable. Her hair had started life blond or red or somewhere in between but was now predominantly grey.
Her eyes were on Arsenic. They were not friendly. “Of all the ones they might send after me, they send Preshea’s get?” She moved a little closer.
Arsenic stood defensively in front of the still reclining Percy. Her thigh muscles screamed at her, but she relaxed back to the balls of her feet and prepared to kick.
Her mother was a noted proponent of kicking, should physical combat become necessary.
“Dinna get ornery. He’s the one they sent.” Arsenic pointed down at Percy. “I’m an unplanned addition.”
“A coincidence of such magnitude cannot possibly be unplanned,” replied the Wallflower, husky-voiced and narrow-eyed.
Percy explained, from the floor, “It’s complicated. But basically Aunt Softy sent me. Aunt Alexia sent Rue. And Arsenic is here because of a letter from my mother, which is probably also Aunt Softy’s fault. But it seems the Kingair Alpha might be involved because she lives close to where Arsenic grew up and they all went to school with her mother. And there’s also Madame Lefoux to take into account.”
“Honestly,” added Arsenic, “I’m beginning to question whether any of us actually have free will at all.”
The Wallflower sighed and the strain in her voice faded. “They like to organize the world, my friends.”
“Don’t they just,” grumbled Percy.
The Wallflower continued as though he hadn’t grumped at her. “A long way of saying that the people who love me sent me a rescue. But you’re veritable children and I’m doubting their methods. Neither of you seems particularly capable of a sophisticated extraction.”
Percy said, “Fair point, since I’m currently doubting my ability to sit upright.”
It was Arsenic’s turn to bristle. “You’re the expert who got stuck.”
The Wallflower winced. “Terribly careless of me. My transport, erm, exploded.”
Arsenic pressed her advantage. “Weel, we brought along the finest in modern dirigibles to fetch you back. We simply canna determine how to get us all up to it. And we’re still trying to untangle the Lord Ryuunosuke situation.”
“You’re wondering what hold the government has over him that keeps him in Edo?”
“And by default Lady Sakura.”
The Wallflower moved closer and it was almost as if the room brightened with her trust.
Arsenic pulled a cushion out from Percy’s hoard and tossed it to her.
The Wallflower sat, oddly graceful for a matron taking up position on the floor.
“Will you tell us what you know, please?” Arsenic asked.
“It’s not in my nature.”
Arsenic sighed. “I’m Arsenic Ruthven.”
“Yes, clearly. Preshea’s girl.”
“One of them.”
“You look like her.”
“I ken that makes things challenging.”
“She was horrible.”
“I’m na my mother.”
“Understood. And you, boy? You’re connected how exactly?”
“I’m Percy Tunstell.”
“One of the twins. Thissleweight or Wisstlestop or…”
“Hisselpenny. Mother was a Hisselpenny.”
The Wallflower looked at them silently for a long time. “I find your generation exhausting. Was I ever so young?”
It was a rhetorical question but Percy took it literally. “Must have been. Still are, if that wedding is anything to go by.”
“Wedding? Never mind.”
The Wallflower was not the type of woman Arsenic would suspect of being an intelligencer. She was the type of woman who ought to be home in Cornwall with too many cats and a lapful of something chartreuse and badly knit. Which was, no doubt, exactly what made the Wallflower an effective spy. If Arsenic Ruthven knew anything, it wa
s how to manage a spy.
So Arsenic was generous with information. She explained exactly what she and Percy had determined about the Edo situation. She articulated probable risks and likely prospects of rescue, and what they did not know and what they’d only guessed.
The Wallflower listened, face impassive but focus infinite. “You’ve done better than I thought.”
“So tell us what we dinna know?”
“That is mathematically impossible.” The Wallflower tried to be funny.
“You ken what I mean – about this situation.”
“Lady Manami is strong. Alpha if you like. She might take over the kitsune pack, if Lady Sakura dies. Or has to die, to solve the tether problem. But that is only half Sakura’s function in Edo.”
Percy opened his mouth but the spy held up her hand. “Death is not my recommended solution. Just a conditional outcome. The kitsune are causing strife. Japan’s government is fracturing. Those who want to open up entirely to foreigners, versus those who wish only the Paper City open for trade, versus those who want Edo destroyed. And that’s the progressives. There are also those who argue for more secure borders and increased isolation. The kitsune go out among them all, needling and prodding, whispering in ears, seducing and manipulating with no other goal than chaos. Imagine, if you will, a pack without their Alpha but all of them disinclined to outright battle, and more inclined to social mischief.”
“So what else holds Lady Sakura in Edo?”
The Wallflower stared at her own hands. Finally she said, “We British learned the wrong things from our supernaturals. We went out into the world with no idea but them. We built our armies around werewolf packs. We built our government around vampire hives. We failed to realize that it could be different. We failed even to understand there might be others. Supernaturals are not the same the world over. Any more than countries, governments, or people are the same. Our failure as a nation is in thinking not only that our method is best, but that it is the only option.”
Arsenic tilted her head. “That’s na verra patriotic.”
“I’m not a patriot.”
Arsenic tried to understand what the Wallflower was implying. What’s the weirdest pairing I can imagine? What would be strange about Lady Sakura and Lord Ryuunosuke? A vampire and a shifter pairing, that would be madness. Or perhaps two shifters of different species? She knew that werewolves took wives, and even vampires married on occasion. But that was humans, they married humans.
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