Fog Season

by Patrice Sarath

  “Do you need water or tea or another plaster?” Yvienne asked. Tesara shook her head to each suggestion.

  “The sun is out. Can you believe it? Mid-Fog Season. I know we get these mid-season breaks, but it was so unexpected.” Yvienne knew she was chattering, but she couldn’t help it. “Do you want me to open the window?”

  Tesara nodded, and Yvienne could detect eagerness. She cranked the window open, and once again sunlight and calm air flowed into the room. A few discarded handkerchiefs lifted up as the breeze caught them. Yvienne smiled, but then her gaze sharpened and she looked at her sister.

  Tesara, even sick, had a beatific expression, her hands weaving about as if she were conducting a piece, leading the scraps of soft cotton in a gentle dance. Then she tired, and her hands lay at rest once again, and the handkerchiefs fell to the floor. Yviene watched her for a moment, but her sister had sunk back into sleep.

  Sleep was probably the best restorative she could possibly have, Yvienne thought, as she straightened up the room, gathering up tea cups and strainers, and plasters, and other noxious nostrums. A putrid sore throat, which her sister appeared to suffer, could turn into a rheumatic fever if the sufferer did not rest, and last night’s adventures could not have done her sister any good at all.

  And what else had happened to her? It was clear she was no longer herself. The young girl had aged, and it was not just her hair or her shocking thinness. She had become someone quite different, and Yvienne knew that unless they were very careful, they would lose her.

  And I am not sure that the creature she becomes will be my sister at all.

  She made her way downstairs, still in her robe, and stopped short at the bottom when she saw Albero, still in his striped and tattered robe and his pajamas sticking out from under, his hairy ankles protruding from the lot. He was standing before of the open front door, head thrown back, drinking in the sunlight in front of God and all of Port Saint Frey, were anyone watching.

  A note of birdsong came trilling in through the open entrance.

  He must have sensed her presence, or else she made a noise, as he turned and looked at her. She set down her pile of sickroom trash and joined him. They both looked out at the glorious day. Even the gravel of the carriage drive sparkled under the rays of the sun, and distant sea birds wheeled over the tree-lined cliffs across the Crescent.

  Albero sighed and sat on the front steps, sticking his long legs out in front of him. Yvienne joined him, and they leaned companionably against one another shoulder to shoulder, fuzzy robe to fuzzy robe. She lifted her face to the sun and the light.

  A noise caught her attention and she turned. Uncle Samwell stood in the doorway, yawning and stretching. He padded over to them, and she scooted over to make room on the wide steps. Albero leaned back on his elbows.

  “What do you reckon will happen to Trune?” Albero asked, gazing out at the dark trees and the bit of harbor that could be seen through the branches.

  “He was escorted to headquarters for questioning,” Yvienne said. “I hope that Renner throws him in gaol and the key in the sewer, but one can only hope for the best and expect the worst.”

  “Good riddance to bad rubbish,” grumbled Uncle Samwell.

  She doubted that Trune would confess to the murder of Barabias Parr, or for that matter that of Treacher the newspaperman, the first murder in this whole adventure, who had first tipped her off to the Guild’s machinations, but perhaps Renner would be able to extract the truth from him.

  “And what do you think will happen to us – this house?” Albero said, a note of worry in his voice. Yvienne sighed.

  “We’re not out of the woods yet. Trune accused me of being the Gentleman Bandit, and I am sure that Chief Constable Renner will follow up.”

  “Well,” Samwell harrumphed. “I can’t see Renner giving that credence–” he stopped when he looked at Yvienne and then Albero. “No,” he said. He looked straight at Yvienne. “Vivi? How? I mean, what? How…?” His voice weakened and trailed off.

  Yvienne sighed. If Samwell knew for sure, the entire city would know. “Don’t be absurd, uncle. Of course it’s a ridiculous untruth.”

  “Anyone would be a fool to believe it,” Albero added.

  “Well, you never know,” Samwell grumbled. “I wouldn’t believe it, but with Tesara’s oddness, who knows?”

  “And that must never be spoken of. Not even to Mother and Father,” Yvienne said. “We must keep her secret so that she can recover in peace.”

  For a moment Uncle Samwell looked bitter.

  “How is she this morning?” Albero asked.

  “Better,” Yvienne lied. “She’s sleeping anyway.”

  They settled back into their own thoughts. Mrs Francini joined them, sitting next to Uncle Samwell, her small broad feet bare on the warm steps, her robe a splendid silk of butter yellow and pale green. Her hair was still up in a night cap, and she looked haggard and exhausted.

  One by one the houses along the Crescent woke up, with servants walking to and fro on brisk errands, pausing only to catch the sight of the bathrobed tableau on the front steps of the Mederos townhouse and then hastening on. We’ll be the talk of the town, Yvienne thought. Again. This time, the thought only made her sigh.

  A creaking sound caught their attention, and they watched the postman appear with his rolling cart up the Crescent. He stopped at the front gate and busily sorted through his letters until he found the ones addressed to the Mederos house. In the act of putting the letters in the mail slot in the front gate, he looked up and saw the foursome on the steps. He froze, letters in hand, then dropped them and pushed off, the cadence of his creaking cart rising in a sort of panic. If Yvienne had the energy to laugh, she would have.

  “Well,” Mrs Francini said at last, leveraging herself up with a groan. “The kitchen waits for no one, and lazing about never got breakfast on the table or the washing up done.”

  “Mrs Francini,” Yvienne said, rising to her feet too, the cozy moment forgotten. “Does that– does that mean you’re staying?”

  Do anything, she could almost imagine her mother and father saying, but whatever you do, do not frighten the cook.

  Too late.

  Mrs Francini took a breath and said, “It means I’m staying for now.”

  It would have to do. She would not do Mrs Francini the discourtesy of begging or pleading for her to stay on, no matter how much she wanted to. And the woman was right – there was still work to do.

  “I’ll help you in the kitchen,” she said. “No, Mrs Francini, I insist. Albero, I place the household in your able hands, as always. Uncle, the family business could use your oversight and if you choose to breakfast at the docks, it would do us good to know what you find out.”

  He chuckled, and rubbed his berobed belly. “See there, Vivi? No wonder they call you the smartest girl in Port Saint Frey.”

  Sun-warmed sea air wafted in through the open window. Sunshine. It was Tesara’s old affinity, and she could feel it warming her, strengthening her, even beyond the painful throat and the sweating and chills caused by her fever. The sun was so bright she had to keep her eyes closed, but she turned her face toward it, and felt its fire deep in her core.

  Home. She was home. How long had she been gone? She couldn’t even remember. With shivering aches she pushed herself upright and eased the covers away from her shoulders, pushing them down to her waist. She cracked open her eyes, and then, when they adjusted, she opened them fully.

  Tesara knew better than to try any more of her talent. The tiny bit of control she had expended on the handkerchiefs had wasted all of her strength, and she had so much power that even in her weakened state she was buzzing with static electricity, and her veins carried more potent electricity to her heart. Poor Vivi, she thought – I shocked her good that last time.

  Another knock at the door, and then Vivi crept in again, this time with a bowl of beef broth and tea on a tray.

 
“How do you feel?”

  Tesara shrugged. She gestured for the cup of broth, and sipped it herself, rather than being fed. Yvienne watched her anxiously. How can I tell her I’ll be all right? All she needed was sleep and time. But even though she knew she would get well, she would always be forever changed by the ordeal. Her power, combined with the fever and illness, had burned away everything extraneous from her. She was, now more than anything, just a framework that contained a vast amount of power, but a moment away from exploding.

  Had I not been sick, Tesara thought, sipping at the tea, this wouldn’t have happened. The sickness itself transmuted the power.

  I don’t feel frightened, but I know I should be.

  She looked up at Yvienne, and her heart sank.

  She might not be frightened, but Yvienne was.

  What have I become?

  Chapter Fifty-One

  That day the post brought three letters. One, from Alinesse, carried the news that they had landed in Shad Harbour. The letter had come overland, via the express riders that began their stages at the edge of the Wilderness and then galloped across nearly three thousand miles of Chahoki Empire.

  We scarcely docked when Father and I met with the port authority, and he brought us to the ship. Rather than prolong your anticipation let me tell you immediately: she is our ship. She is the Main Chance. The keys that Father had for the cabinets in the captain’s quarters still fit the locks, and we also brought the shipyard’s plans, so after the port agent confirmed she was ours I sat to write this to have it sent home by express rider immediately.

  She is much changed and there was significant damage. At some point she was caught in a terrible storm, although the current captain said it had not happened under his watch. At this time the port agents say there is no word of the Fortune and Fortitude, but I’m sure we will hear soon. Your father thinks they may have gone down in the same storm that damaged the MC, but I am optimistic that we will find them.

  I must say I am impressed with the port agents in Shad Harbour. They have been diligent in investigating our claim and are sympathetic to our situation. A young clerk by the name of Antoni Savaran* has taken a personal interest and is investigating the Fraud from this end. I am sure we’ll find out what happened to the Fortune and Fortitude soon. We will have our fleet back!

  I must close – I do not want to miss the mail coach. All our love, and we’ll be home as soon as we can.

  Love,

  Alinesse B Mederos

  PS. The crossing was quite peaceful – only one squall, and the rest fair winds and brisk seas.

  PPS. *You should meet him, Yvienne. I think you two will have a great deal in common. And he’s quite handsome in his way.

  Yvienne shook her head and folded the letter back into the envelope. Trust her mother to matchmake, she thought. She wondered if Alinesse had told the promising clerk that she had a daughter who was quite nice-looking in her own way.

  What was more vexing was that there was still no clear answer on what had happened to the ships. Yvienne was confident that the ship was the Main Chance. The blueprints and the keys were substantial evidence on their own.

  And any ship could have suffered damage in a storm. It didn’t have to be a storm that a twelve year-old girl thought she had created from her bedroom window six years before.

  At any rate, Yvienne thought, the Main Chance lives. She didn’t go down in a magical storm, and her presence was more evidence of the Great Fraud, though it was not conclusive enough to satisfy her. She would make sure that Dr Reynbolten received the letter.

  The second letter bore the Demaris seal. Yvienne felt a pang of sadness and guilt, and sighed as she unfolded it. A few dried petals dropped out of the paper, exuding sweet, fresh scent. They were blue lupines from the mountains, also known as forgive me blooms.

  Inigho was a man of few words.

  I’m sorry. Friends? –ID

  He was a good man, and her sadness intensified. She knew that if she wanted she could make a match with him. It wouldn’t be one of love, but it wouldn’t be one of indifference or expediency either. And it would have been a good, satisfactory life, she thought. Good, obedient Yvienne, making a brilliant match, once again meeting her family’s expectations. But the other part of Yvienne, the Gentleman Bandit, could never settle for goodness or obedience, and if Inigho ever found out, he would never understand. She could never be with Inigho Demaris, and she could never explain to him why.

  And then there was the matter of Tesara, or more exactly, Tesara’s secret – a cloud over the household. It wasn’t even that she didn’t think Inigho could accept Tesara: he was a merchant through and through. First he would ask about the limits of her power, and then he would be thinking about ways to use it – to use Tesara – to make money. And that was exactly what Trune had wanted, and why Trune had been so eager to kidnap Tesara.

  She wondered what happened to Abel and thrust that thought away. He was not her problem. In the end, he had not kept his promise, and it was just as well. His only reason for arriving at Kittredge Mews would have been to deliver her sister to their enemies, and the fact that he didn’t show up meant nothing. Perhaps he had an attack of conscience. More likely, he watched the chaos of the night unfold and decided not to get involved.

  The final letter was addressed to Tesara, with the initials JSF in the upper left corner. It was a simple letter, with no grand seal marking the noble lines of a noble family. Jone Saint Frey had adopted a new personality and character for his new life. Should she wait until Tesara was stronger to give it to her? Don’t be ridiculous, she scolded herself. Neither she nor her sister needed that kind of protection, as if their sensibilities were so fragile. On the other hand, her sister was really very sick.

  And very changed.

  You must give her the benefit of the doubt.

  She picked up the letter from Jone and then paused again, looking at the letter from her mother. More than anything Tesara wanted proof that she had not sunk the fleet, and Alinesse’s letter cruelly did not provide that proof. Instead, it only offered more uncertainty. Yvienne made her decision.

  She would give her sister the letter from Jone Saint Frey, but she would not give her their mother’s. Not yet. Not until she was well.

  And she would wrestle with the consequences of that decision when the time came.

  While she was in the office, Albero knocked and poked his head in. He was back in his uniform again, as they all were – she wore a gray day dress with a faint pink stripe, and had dressed her hair simply.

  “Elenor Charvantes is here. I’ve put her in the parlor.”

  “Elenor! My God.” What could possibly bring Elenor to House Mederos? “How is she?”

  “Sad. Agitated. Frightened.” He made a deprecating face at his own forthright honesty.

  “Of course,” she said. She got up. “I’ll see her at once.”

  “Should I bring tea?”

  “I doubt tea will do it,” Yvienne said, grim.

  Elenor was pacing when Yvienne entered the parlor, whirling around at her approach. Albero had not misspoken – there were huge shadows under her eyes, and her face was blotched with tears. Her dress and overcoat were in disarray, and she had come out without a bonnet, exposing her fair skin to the sun. When Yvienne took her hands, they were trembling.

  “Oh, Elenor,” Yvienne said, drawing her to the sofa. Elenor sank down, covering her face in her hands.

  “I’m such a fool,” she said. “I am such a fool.”

  “You are not a fool,” Yvienne said. She reached for the brandy decanter and poured them both a healthy portion. Elenor drank hers and coughed, laughing through her tears.

  “Dear Yvienne. You’re kind to say so. You, the smartest girl in Port Saint Frey. I’m just the prettiest, and it means nothing. My marriage – my mother and father – of all things, I regret bringing embarrassment to them.” She turned to look at Yvienne. “You’re the only person who can help me, and I ca
n’t imagine that you would want to. After all, my husband tried so hard to bring you down. You and this House. He was the one who brought the Harriers here, and who helped Trune return.”

  “How can I help, Elenor? You know I’ll do anything in my power.”

  “I went to the Bailet Hotel last night to say good-bye. And–”

  “The Bailet! It was burned to the ground last night!” Yvienne set down her brandy. “My God, Elenor, what were you doing there?”

  Elenor looked straight at her, and gone was the fearful young woman. “I know, Yvienne. I burned it down.”

  Yvienne found that she was at a loss for words. “Elenor,” she managed.

  Elenor took a breath, speaking in a low voice. “I went to his room to say good-bye. I’m leaving Port Saint Frey. I cannot stay, not after causing so much shame. And…” her voice sunk further. “A man was there, abusing Mr Fresnel most abominably. He had him shackled to a chair and– and…” she couldn’t finish.

  And that was why Mr Fresnel was not at Forty-seven Kittredge Mews, Yvienne thought. “Did he hurt you?”

  Elenor gazed into the distance at a horrible memory. “He tried. He would have killed me, Yvienne, were it not for Mr Fresnel. Somehow he got free and they fought terribly. That was when I picked up the lamp from the dressing table and hit the man with it.”

  “Well done!” Yvienne exclaimed, and Elenor smiled through her distress, but it was more of a twitch than a smile.

  “We escaped, but in the chaos of the fire from the burning oil, I lost Mr Fresnel. He was so badly hurt, I’m sure he’ll succumb to his injuries if we don’t find him and bring him to hospital.” She looked directly at Yvienne. “I know he was your enemy, but please help me find him. I just want to know he’s going to be all right.”

  Yvienne nodded. “Of course I will help, Elenor.”

  Upstairs retrieving her overcoat she checked under her bed, feeling foolish, but there was nothing but empty floorboards. Yvienne looked both ways down the hall and then ran to her parents’ suite, but it too was empty, and the window to the balcony securely locked. Satisfied that Abel was not recuperating in her house, and a bit exasperated that he was not, she ran down the stairs. Elenor waited in the front hall, again pacing anxiously.