Fog Season

by Patrice Sarath

  “And I needed someplace warm to recuperate.” A fleeting expression swept across his face and was gone. “And I need food. Can you send up for a meal?”

  His poor bruised and beaten ribs; his jutting hipbones. Despite herself and her vulnerable position, her heart went out to him.

  She was about to say something when she heard footsteps. She froze. He put a finger to his lips, and got up, locking the door.

  “Miss Vivi?” came Albero’s voice.

  “Yes, Albero?”

  “Are you well? Do you need anything else?”

  “Quite well. The bath was wonderful. Just what I needed.” Abel jerked his head at the door, and she made a face at him. “But – I’m still peckish. Do you think Mrs Francini could send up some more of the soup? And are there any biscuits left? And… well, if there’s any hot chocolate to take off the rest of the chill…” She sounded exactly like Tesara when they were kids, she thought, always begging for extra. And because she was reminded of her sister, she felt a pang of loneliness for her.

  Perhaps Albero remembered too, because there was a smile in his voice as he answered through the door, “Of course, Miss Vivi. Hot chocolate, exactly the way you like it with extra whipped cream.”

  “Thank you, Albero.”

  They waited until his footsteps faded away. Yvienne let out her breath, only just aware that she had been holding it. She got to her feet, struggling to keep the towel around herself.

  “Turn around, please,” she whispered.

  He did. She rummaged hastily for her dry, warm clothes, and got dressed, feeling the warmth envelop her as she drew up the socks and buttoned the shirt and trousers. Waistcoat on, she glanced over her shoulder. He was staring conscientiously at the far wall. “You can turn around.” He did.

  There was another knock on the door. Before responding, Yvienne threw on her jacket and then looked around for Abel.

  He was gone. Stunned, she scanned the room again and again, and even knelt to look under the bed. Nothing. How–?

  “Miss Vivi?”

  “Oof, sorry. Coming.” She got to her feet and opened the door. Albero came in with a tray, followed by Uncle Samwell bustling in behind him.

  “Uncle!” she said, trying to keep her shock and annoyance out of her voice. “What–”

  “I wanted to catch you,” he said with pride in his voice. “I thought, while you’re eating, we could go over some ideas I had for the business.”

  Was he joking? Surely he had to be joking. “Uncle, this is hardly the time for a strategy report.”

  “Nonsense. You sit and eat, and I’ll do all the talking.”

  Oh, God. Poor Abel. Laughter welled up at the thought of him watching – from wherever he was – his breakfast being consumed right in front of him. And she was so stuffed, she couldn’t put another bite in her mouth.

  “I’ll just set this here,” Albero said, putting the tray on her dressing table. “Do you need anything else before I go?” He waited expectantly. Behind him, Uncle Samwell settled his bulk on her bed, which sagged in an unusual way, and he even frowned and shifted, trying to get comfortable.

  It was time for drastic measures.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Yvienne drew herself up. It didn’t take much to bring forth tears and a cracking voice.

  “Do I need anything? Yes, I need something. I need… I need warmth, and quiet, and food, and my own bedroom, and not to talk to anyone or listen to anyone talking to me! My sister is missing, I was arrested, there’s a mob surrounding the house, and I can’t even have a moment to myself!

  “It’s Vivi do this, and Vivi solve that! Vivi, turn your sister over to the police, Vivi, dislodge the dead man from the dumbwaiter, Vivi, mislead constables and… and… there’s a great big mob of reporters outside my house! What do I need, Albero? I need peace and quiet in my own bedroom!”

  She burst into tears.

  The two men stared at her in shock and horror. Albero responded first. He tapped Uncle Samwell on the shoulder and nodded at the door. Uncle Samwell hustled out in a hurry, not even looking back. To her dismay, Albero stayed put.

  “You’re right,” he said. “You’ve had to bear a lot. I forget that – you’re so capable, you see, it’s like having your mother in charge.” He handed her a handkerchief, and she wiped her eyes, at the same time stricken that he could liken her to Alinesse. Was that what she had become? A humorless, snappish woman? Had she missed girlhood completely? This time to her horror the tears were entirely involuntary.

  Albero was quiet for a moment and then said, “I’ll let you be, Miss Yvienne, but you should know, it’s about time you saw us as more than just your household. We can do more. We can take some of the burden off your shoulders.”

  He stood there for a moment, hand lifted, as if he meant to wipe away the tears from her cheek but realized at the last moment that he was the butler, and she his employer. She was caught in the same frozen instant, really seeing Albero as a handsome young man, not just a correct and competent servant.

  They came to their senses at the same time. Yvienne’s face flooded with embarrassment, and Albero coughed, dropping his hand. He made as if to apologize, and then just left without another word. As he closed the door behind him, she sighed. What am I doing? It made no sense to have feelings for Albero. And she hadn’t taken them for granted, she added, but she hadn’t exactly thought of them all as partners, just… competent underlings, to be protected from her actions. Maybe she had brought some of this down on herself. Maybe asking them to help her find her sister was the first step in lightening the burden.

  But she couldn’t tell them the complete truth. If they were ever questioned by the police they would give her up in a heartbeat. She couldn’t imagine Mrs Francini approving of her night-time scrapes. Rule number one of a successful household, she thought: never frighten the cook, especially one as superior as Mrs Francini. She sighed. Albero meant well, but no – she had to keep her secrets and Tesara’s, if only to protect her household.

  She realized she had been ruminating before the locked door, and turned around. Abel stood there as if he had always been.

  “How…?” she began. He saw me with Albero. Her face flamed again.

  Instead of responding, he sat himself down at the dressing table and tucked in. “Get into bed. It will warm you up.” She grumbled, but took his advice. Yvienne sat with her knees drawn up and her chin resting on them. It was satisfying to watch him eat; he took such pleasure in it.

  “Tell me about these leads of yours,” she said, as he tore into a biscuit and dunked it into the soup.

  “To let notices,” he said through a mouthful. “There are a half-dozen or so in the Gazette, of houses rented by single gentlemen with no families. There are two that I think we should start at. Twelve Bretenneau Bay Street off Cathedral Place, rented by a single gentleman named Astrielle.”

  She was shaking her head even before he finished. “Not Cathedral Place, unless Trune wants to be recognized. It’s almost as fine an address as the Crescent, and the owners of homes to let have to permit their neighbors to approve of any tenants.” Inigho and his mother lived on Bretenneau Bay. She had no doubt that Master Trune would not willingly beard that dragon in his rented den. “What’s the other one?”

  And the other is Forty-seven Kittredge Mews, rented by a Mr Gillien.”

  “North Town,” she said. “It’s respectable. Some of the most successful shopkeepers and tradesfolk live there.” They weren’t merchants, but they were the third level of the Port Saint Frey hierarchy, behind the judges and advocates and brokers. The Alcestris lived in North Town.

  “Does it have pillars and red brick and a black roof?”

  She looked surprised. “Yes, it does. It’s a Carmagetti house, by the famous architect–” she could see she was losing him. “Kittredge Mews houses are all in that style.”

  “Then that’s the one we want,” he said.
r />   “How on earth…?” She stopped when she saw his expression. He wouldn’t tell her how he knew, and in any case, it wasn’t important. Trune could easily hide there and send his man out to capture Tesara. For once, she thought, we have a real lead.

  “Then what are we waiting for?” she said. “Let’s go.”

  He gave her a quick smile in response to her eagerness, and it transformed his face from plain to charming. He liked what he did, liked the danger and the discomfort. Before she could stop herself, she grinned back. The Harrier and the Gentleman Bandit, she thought – two birds of a feather.

  “You need to teach me that trick,” she said.

  His smile vanished. “What trick?”

  “How you disappeared. I know you were under the bed, but I looked…” She trailed off uncertainly. Whatever she had said, it had set up an alarm for the young man. His expression, engaging but a moment before, had become if anything even more forbidding. A chill ran down her spine.

  “You don’t want to learn that trick,” he said, with finality. “It comes at too high a price.”

  Left unspoken was the conclusion that he had paid dearly.

  “All right,” he continued, as if the conversation had never taken place. “I have to pick up my kit, so, let’s say we meet at Forty-seven Kittredge Mews at midnight. Can you provide a distraction?”

  She nodded. It was time Malcroft earned his keep. “We’ll be there,” she said. “Thank you,” she added.

  His expression was complex – regret, understanding, and something else so fleeting she almost missed it. “I said I would help you,” he said, his voice gruff, edged with an accent that she couldn’t place. “And I will. You saved my life and I pay my debts. But after that, we’re square, right?”

  Was he warning her of something? Danger tickled the back of her neck, but she only nodded. “We’re square, Mr Fresnel,” she agreed.

  He got up without saying anything more. In a moment he was out the door, closing it behind him. Yvienne waited a second longer and then threw herself out of bed and opened the door. The hall was empty, the household sounds as before. Abel was gone as if he had never been there.

  The warmth of the fire finally settled over her. Rain pattered against the windows. Only a few minutes, she thought. She had time for only a few minutes’ worth of rest, until she could go out to find Tesara and bring her home.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Abel crouched on the roof overhang outside his old room at the Bailet, a living gargoyle. He was spattered by the fine mist of a Port Saint Frey night. It stung his face and his bruised body even through his tattered clothes. He shunted the awareness far below the surface of his mind, concentrated on his breathing and the peculiar skill of a Harrier, to blend into his surroundings. Should any curious bystander on the street look up, they would not even notice that there was a deeper shadow above the eave.

  A trick, Miss Mederos had called it, and perhaps it was, but it was hard-earned. Doc did not suffer slow learners, and everyone was a slow learner, even the bright, quick Miss Mederos. He didn’t want to think what would happen to her, should Doc decide to bring her into his fold.

  And the more time he spent in her company, the more likely he would bring her to Doc’s attention. He needed to discharge his debt to her, and quickly.

  The Bailet had not waited long to let his room. It was already occupied with a new guest. There had been a light in the window, long since extinguished as the traveler went to sleep.

  The cathedral clock tower boomed eleven solemn notes. Under cover of the noise, Abel slipped down from his perch and landed lightly on the windowsill. In an instant he had the window unlocked and pushed open, and he swung inside.

  The shape in the bed muttered and stretched, but did not waken. Abel waited, then by feel he tugged at the bit of the sill that concealed the anesthetic. The wood came loose and he grabbed the vial, and tucked it into his pocket.

  He checked the sleeper; no change, his breathing deep and artless. Abel made quick work of moving the mirror and grabbing the wad of bills, tucking it into his belt. He set the mirror back on the wall, looked into it, and froze.

  Behind him loomed a presence in the darkness, large and menacing.

  “Hello, Abel,” said Doc.

  Yvienne yawned as she brought her household plus Mr Malcroft together for one last kitchen summit.

  “We’ll need a distraction,” she said. “Mr Malcroft and I will get into the house and search for Tesara or Trune. We know that Mr Trune has a very large coachman who does his dirty work. And according to the Let notices in the Gazette, the house was rented to a single gentleman with two servants. So there must be a butler.”

  “Maxis is the coachman, and Marques the butler,” Albero said, and Mrs Francini nodded. They had both worked for Trune when he took over the Mederos home. “He’s rather an insecure sort – a bully if he could get away with it.”

  “Never liked him, but he was a fine enough butler,” Mrs Francini put in. “Now Mrs Aristet, the housekeeper – a proper barbarian, she was. No saying what trouble we’d be in if she were there.”

  Noe spoke up for the first time. “I know the police are not in your ledger right now, but if this is a trap, Miss Vivi, I think you need to engage them.” She glanced at Malcroft and ducked her head nervously.

  Malcroft merely raised an eyebrow, and to everyone’s astonishment said, “She’s right. Yeah, I know what you’re all thinking but it takes a thief to know when it’s time to call in the coppers. You’re out of your depths here. No disrespect, Miss Yvienne.”

  “None taken, and I appreciate your honesty. I wish I could turn to the police, because I do trust them to do the right thing, if they have all the information they need. The problem is, my sister may be guilty of everything she’s accused of. For good reasons, I hasten to add, but I doubt the police will be so understanding. I’d rather she come home first than be arrested.” And if Tesara were arrested, if she struck out with her powers, it could go badly indeed.

  “Miss Tesara is a lively girl, but she’s not bad,” Mrs Francini objected, which was rather sweet, Yvienne thought. At least one person thought the best of her disreputable little sister.

  “We can’t just walk up to the front door and demand Trune and his man hand Tesara over,” Albero said. “Not unless we know what we’re getting into.”

  “I can do it,” Uncle Samwell said. He had an expression of resolve mixed with sickening fear. “I’ll go, take a look around, use the gift of the gab to get inside.”

  Yvienne smiled, but gently. “I’m afraid not, uncle. You’ll be too easily recognized.”

  “Miss Vivi,” Mrs Francini said with a steady thoughtful look. “How many servants did the paper say?”

  “Just the two.”

  Mrs Francini smiled. “Well, I can tell you that with those two servants, they will need someone who knows her way around the kitchen. Neither of them had any skill in the culinary arts. And Mr Trune was always partial to my cookery. No doubt if I went in offering my services he would accept.”

  Yvienne shook her head. “Mrs Francini, it’s far too dangerous. Trune will know you work for me now and he’ll know you’re spying for me.”

  Mrs Francini stood her ground. “I don’t think so, Miss Vivi. For he fled before you engaged me. For all he knows, I haven’t worked since that moment, although,” she added thoughtfully, “it isn’t likely that a cook of my caliber would not be snapped up at once. But there, Miss Vivi. That gives me an idea. I can tell him I have news of you.” She sat back, obviously pleased with her own cunning.

  Everyone was awestruck.

  “Mrs Francini, you astound me,” Malcroft said with great admiration, with his wicked grin.

  “Oh, now,” Mrs Francini said, but she was clearly pleased as punch at the stir she had made.

  “I don’t know that we want to risk the cook,” Uncle Samwell grumbled, but he made no other objection.

 
Noe bit her lip. When she spoke, she spoke in a rush.

  “Miss, I don’t want you to think badly of me, because I am trying to be good, I swear, but – there’s a two-person flip, miss, and if Mrs Francini wanted to, she could get their attention, and while she was distracting them, I could… get in and look for Miss Tesara. And in the meantime, you and Malcroft could come in the front and take care of the coachman and Trune.”

  Yvienne was conscious of the profound silence in the parlor, except for the ticking of the mantel clock and the crackling of the fire. My entire household, she thought, is made up of disreputable adventurers. And on the heels of that thought – and who else would work for a Gentleman Bandit?

  “It’s a thought,” Yvienne said. “Though it could be quite perilous. You must both be very careful, and pull out at once.”

  Noe nodded and turned to Mrs Francini. “We’ll have a signal. And all you have to do is make sure I get five minutes to get inside. Then you walk away in one direction, and I another.”

  Mrs Francini nodded, but she had turned very pale, as if she regretted her bravado. “We shall say, ‘cheesy biscuits,’” she said. “For they are an abomination and will never be made in any kitchen I run.”

  Noe nodded.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Yvienne said. She felt dreadful. “Mrs Francini, I’m so glad you want to, but you don’t have to do it.”

  “If it helps bring Miss Tesara back, then I’ll help,” Mrs Francini said, with a firm nod of determination.

  Yvienne sighed, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on her shoulders. It will be all right, she told herself. They would just be two upright, hard-working citizens of Port Saint Frey, and no one would look twice at them. “Right. Remember, caution first. Let’s go.”

  At least, she thought, the Harrier would be there.

  They gathered at the kitchen door, all crowded in their warmest clothes. Malcroft passed around a flask for luck. Yvienne took a swig and coughed, and even Mrs Francini had a tot, drinking the rough whiskey with remarkable aplomb.