Turning Darkness into Light

by Marie Brennan

  Lord Gleinleigh barely looked up from his plate. He only said, “Excellent; I am pleased to hear it.”

  That man! I said, “Do you not want to know what it says?”

  This is the thing that frustrates me the most about him. He is all in a rush to make certain these tablets are translated, but I swear he doesn’t care a toss what they’re about. He only wants to be famous as the man who found them. I simply cannot understand it. They’re lumps of fired clay, for pity’s sake! They have no value at all in their own right; I could go make my own if I wanted, like I did when I was nine and Mama and I got stranded on that island in Trayarupti Bay. Their only worth is in what they can tell us. And yet that is the part he cares about the least.

  So my tone may have been a bit on the sharp side. Enough so that Lord Gleinleigh put his knife and fork down and said, “Yes, of course. I will read it tonight, if you like. But give me the general sense of it now.”

  “It is a creation story,” I said eagerly. (I may have played up my enthusiasm a bit beyond what it naturally was, in the hopes of getting him to be enthusiastic, too—but it was mostly genuine.) “But not the one the modern Draconeans tell! Of course that’s only to be expected; after all, thousands of years have gone by, not to mention a great deal of change in their society. You wouldn’t expect people living in villages in the frozen mountains to tell the same stories as the masters of a worldwide empire. But there are some intriguing similarities. Are you familiar with how the modern Draconeans say they came into being?”

  He returned to his beef, but gestured for me to go on. Warming to my subject, I said, “According to their story, the sun’s heat made wind, the wind became four Draconean sisters, and the scales they shed became mountains. And I suppose the mountains created gravity or some such—they don’t say it that way, but the weight of the mountains dragged the sisters down to earth, which sounds like gravity to me.

  “The sisters were heartbroken because they could no longer fly, only glide a little. They wept, and that created the waters of the world, all the rivers and lakes and so forth. Then they bathed themselves, and that created new creatures. Because male Draconeans are associated with writing and language, they say the water the sisters used to rinse their mouths made the first brother. Then the waters they used to wash their fronts made the first humans—the front of a Draconean being more human-like—and the waters they used to wash their backs and their wings made the first dragons.”

  “And this is not the story in my tablets.”

  I bridled a bit to hear him call them “my tablets.” Never mind my own proprietary feelings toward them; they are a treasure for the world, not just one earl. But I made myself smile. “No, the tablet story puts the creation in a different order. But it speaks of a trinity—three gods, though it doesn’t use the word ‘god’; I imagine the ancients didn’t need that spelled out—who echo the modern story a little bit, because it sounds like they’re the sun, the wind, and the earth. The order of creation is different, though. They make the world, then dragons, then humans, and finally Draconeans, instead of the Draconeans coming first.” I did not tell him that the tablet makes both dragons and humans out to be failed prototypes on the way to creating the best people. That might get up his nose, right when I wanted him to be in a good mood. And it isn’t as if our own Scripture is all that flattering about some things.

  “Fascinating,” Lord Gleinleigh said. “Do send it along to my study, and as I said, I will read it tonight.”

  Up to this point, everything was going just as I’d anticipated. My plan then was to put on a look of artful disappointment and tell him how sorry I was that I couldn’t tell him more yet, that Cora was very helpful but not well-versed in the finer points of Draconean orthography and poetics, and the work would go so much faster if I had someone to puzzle it out with . . .

  Then Lord Gleinleigh said, “You know, Miss Camherst, it has occurred to me that in my rush to secrecy, I have overlooked something very important.”

  I tell you, diary, I nearly choked on my beef. After I got it to go down the right pipe, I said, “Oh?” with very little art at all.

  He said, “We’ve agreed that it would be best to have the translation published before the Draconean congress in Falchester next year. And it seems to me that it would give a great insult to the Draconeans if they were not at all involved in the process of translating this epic. Your family is renowned for your friendships among them; is there a scholar you would recommend to me? Not to replace you, of course—your work so far has been quite satisfactory. But you said before that it was sometimes necessary to consult with an outside scholar, so perhaps someone you could work in partnership with.”

  Words utterly failed me. I have spent so many nights trying to plan the best way to ask this of him, but not one of those scenarios featured Lord Gleinleigh suggesting this to me. I stammered for a moment, thrown utterly off my stride, until he frowned and said, “Unless you are not amenable to the idea.”

  “I’m more than amenable,” I said vehemently. “I know exactly whom to ask. Have you heard of a Draconean named Kudshayn?”

  He had to have heard of Kudshayn. Hadamists know Kudshayn, because he is the very public emblem of everything they loathe. When Lord Gleinleigh nodded, I said, “He and I have been good friends since childhood. His knowledge of the ancient tongue is even more extensive than mine, and he has a great deal of prestige among his own people—not to mention among humans. Even working by post, I am sure his contributions will be invaluable.”

  Lord Gleinleigh paused in the middle of lifting his wine. “By post?”

  “I know you don’t want me sending letters,” I hurried to add. “We can use all kinds of subterfuges to hide it, if you feel that’s necessary—though honestly, the odds of anyone reading my letters are really quite low. But with sailing time factored in, it would take months to get him here. I can’t afford to wait that long, not if the translation is to be published before the congress. And continuing to work while he is on his way here would really defeat the purpose. Caeliger post is the only practical way.” (Not a cheap one, of course—but I was prepared to pay out of my own pocket. Though I suppose that amounts to Gleinleigh’s pocket in the end, since he’s paying me.)

  “Hmmm.” Lord Gleinleigh sipped his neglected wine, then put it down thoughtfully. I hadn’t somehow made him reconsider, had I?

  When he said, “No, that won’t do at all,” my heart sank into my toes. I castigated myself for mentioning the post; I should have waited, letting him get attached to the idea of recruiting Kudshayn, before I pointed out that I would have to breach my promise of secrecy to make that work.

  But Lord Gleinleigh wasn’t finished. “If he is to come here, we must make the most of his time. The post is far too slow—and coming by ship would take him through the tropics, which I imagine would be terribly hard on him, even if he stays belowdecks. No, I shall arrange for a caeliger.”

  My heart rebounded from my toes as if it wanted to pop right out through my skull. “You would pay for that?” A caeliger trip from here to, say, Eiverheim is one thing, but flying halfway around the world is quite another!

  Lord Gleinleigh frowned at me. I have spent too much of my life around sailors, which is to say around a great many merchants, and Mother’s family are proud of being traders; I never quite learned that men like Lord Gleinleigh pretend money doesn’t matter. “For a scholar of Kudshayn’s stature,” he said, “anything less would be an insult.”

  Kudshayn doesn’t think like that, of course. He’s even worse about money than I am, except with him it’s that he doesn’t think about it much at all. But it hardly matters, because Lord Gleinleigh has agreed to bring him!

  I’m just so shocked that the earl himself suggested it. Given all his concern with secrecy, I was sure he’d be reluctant to bring another person in—especially a Draconean, when I doubt he’s ever met one face to face in his life. Instead it’s like he read my mind.

  I will write
to Kudshayn tonight!

  From: Charlotte Camherst

  To: Audrey Camherst

  23 Pluvis

  #3 Clarton Square, Falchester

  Dearest Audrey,

  As you can see, I am in Falchester! We arrived last week, and have been so busy since then, this is the first moment I’ve had to sit down and write to you. Is there no telephone where you are? Papa tells me Stokesley is not so very far away, just across the border in Greffen—please tell me you will come for a visit while I am here. I know you detest formal balls and such, but it would mean so much to me to have you with me for at least a few days.

  If nothing else, you simply must see the dress I wore for my presentation at Court. It is a positive antique—not literally, because of course it had to be sewn for me specially, but it’s not much different from the one Grandmama must have worn when she was presented. Why must stuffy old ceremonies be carried out in stuffy old clothing? [. . .]

  [. . .] But I don’t mean to bore you with talk of people you don’t know and don’t care about. I only brought up Lady Cossimere’s because I wanted to tell you the peculiar thing that happened that night.

  At one point when I had stopped to catch my breath, I heard Lord Gleinleigh announced. So of course I immediately bolted for someplace I could get sight of the entrance, because I wanted to know what he looked like. I thought, well, if my sister is translating tablets for him, I should say hello. (There are still people here who insist that a lady should never strike up a conversation with a man she hasn’t been introduced to—can you believe it? Luckily I have Cousin Rachel on hand to deliver a withering stare as required.)

  So I saw Lord Gleinleigh. But then I had to dance with Mr. Trunberry, and what with one thing and another a whole hour went by before I got a chance to even think about talking to Lord Gleinleigh, and then of course I had to hunt through the crowd. I finally found him up in the gallery that rings Lady Cossimere’s ballroom . . . talking to Mrs. Kefford.

  I was as shocked as you are! And yes, I’m sure it was her. Don’t forget I was with you that day we went to meet Grandpapa for lunch—you remember, after he got the Synedrion to vote in favour of hosting the congress and wound up having that incredibly public row with her in the colonnade outside.

  It shouldn’t surprise me that she was at Lady Cossimere’s. Everybody who is or wishes to be anybody comes to her parties, and Mrs. Kefford is undeniably somebody, even if I wish she weren’t. But talking with Lord Gleinleigh? And it looked like a proper conversation, too. I mean that they clearly knew each other, and if they were just discussing the weather, then I never knew rain could be so serious. It looked as if Lord Gleinleigh was trying to persuade Mrs. Kefford of something; he was very earnest and energetic, and she looked intrigued but also a little annoyed. I really wanted to get closer and listen in, but there was absolutely no way—especially not when there are so few girls as dark as I am at these events. Lord Gleinleigh was bound to recognize me as your sister, and Mrs. Kefford might have remembered me, especially since I would have had to get quite close to hear anything.

  But isn’t that peculiar all on its own? I had no idea Lord Gleinleigh even knew Mrs. Kefford, let alone was on such close terms with her. I suppose he might have encountered her husband in the Synedrion, but they hold seats in different houses and are not known to be intimates. Or perhaps he and Mrs. Kefford met on the Continent; I hear he spends a great deal of time there, and she could save us all some headaches if she went to live in Ecraie permanently. (Well, it would save Scirland some headaches. But then the people of Thiessin would have them instead.) They both collect Draconean antiquities, so they might have met through those channels. But she’s positively vicious about them—the Draconeans, I mean; not the antiquities—and Lord Gleinleigh isn’t, not if he’s having you translate those tablets for him. I’m surprised he’s even willing to exchange a civil word with Mrs. Kefford, or she with him. If she didn’t spend so much of her fortune on antiquities, I would swear she was a Hadamist, even if I can’t imagine her running around in a red mask.

  Now I’ve brought the mood down entirely with nasty speculation. And yet the only other thing I have to talk about is frippery and husband-hunting, so I will stop before I make anything worse. I remain, as always,

  Your silly and frivolous sister,

  Lotte

  From: Audrey Camherst

  To: Charlotte Camherst

  24 Pluvis

  Stokesley, Greffen

  Dearest Lotte,

  Never apologize for writing to me about frippery and husband-hunting. I might not have any interest in that for my own sake, but I care about it a great deal for your sake, because it makes you happy.

  I used to not care, you know. I thought I was obliged, as Lady Trent’s granddaughter, to sneer at all things feminine and frilly. I made the mistake once of saying something about that in Grandmama’s hearing, and oh, did she ever set me down hard. She didn’t raise her voice. She only explained to me, very calmly, that if any obligation accrued to me as her granddaughter, then it was to acknowledge the right of any person to pursue their own dreams instead of the ones I felt they ought to have. By the time she was done, I wanted to crawl under the rug and die . But I’m glad she did it, because of course she was right. Grandmama pursued dragons instead of sitting quietly at home like everyone else thought she should; Papa went away to sea because he had no interest in dragons. If either of us is the true heir to Lady Trent’s legacy, it is you, dear Lotte, because you have rebelled by running into the arms of high society, while the rest of us run as fast as we can in the other direction.

  There, have I made you blush? I hope so. I’m told it’s good for the complexion.

  But of course, being who I am, it is your tale of Lord Gleinleigh that I find the most interesting. Mrs. Kefford—ugh! I wish I could say that I think she’s a Hadamist, because then it would justify how much I dislike her. In some ways, though, Calderites are almost worse. I mean, not really; they don’t think Draconeans are demons or trying to restore their empire so they can grind humanity under their clawed feet or anything like that, and I doubt Mrs. Kefford has ever thrown a brick at a Draconean’s head. But there’s something especially nasty about a person who will smile at a Draconean and collect their artifacts and then turn around and do everything she can to make sure they stay cooped up in the Sanctuary, like animals in a zoo.

  I do find it odd that he was talking to her. I mean, he’s never met a Draconean, and he clearly has the Calderite tendency to hoard ancient things, as if we have more claim to the relics of the past than modern Draconeans do. They might have met through the antiquities market—Mrs. Kefford would hardly be the shadiest person he’s dealt with on that front. But I can’t imagine anybody with even a whiff of Calderite sympathies would pay so much money to fly Kudshayn here. (He’s coming to Scirland to work with me on the tablets!) So who knows.

  Well—someone might know. Now that I think of it, you’re ideally positioned to sift for information. Heaven knows there are plenty of Mrs. Kefford’s sort in high society, and while I know that isn’t exactly your set, gossip is the very air people breathe in Falchester. Would you at least keep your ear to the ground for me? Let me know if you hear anything that might shed light on this. I don’t like the thought of Mrs. Kefford anywhere within a hundred miles of these tablets, figuratively speaking.

  There is a telephone here, but it is in Lord Gleinleigh’s study, and when he is away—as he often is—that room is kept locked. (I think his housekeeper, Mrs. Hilleck, is afraid of the ’phone.) But of course I will contrive to get a few days in town if I can. Lord Gleinleigh may be terribly secretive about these tablets, but unless he means to lock me up here like a prisoner for the next year, he can’t object to me visiting my family. He already has my word of honour that I won’t prattle to anyone about what I’m reading here, and how can I miss out on seeing your absurdly pretty dresses? You will tell me all about your suitors and I will tell you all about irregul
ar noun declensions, and we’ll both be delighted that the other is having so much fun.

  Your eternally ink-nosed sister,

  Audrey

  FROM THE NOTEBOOK OF CORA FITZARTHUR

  I can’t find any reference to Calderites in Uncle’s dictionary, and Mrs. Hilleck has no idea what that means. Is it an insult? I wish I had known about this when I ordered those books on Draconeans, so I could have gotten a book on Calderites at the same time. Except that I don’t even know how one goes about finding a book on a topic when one doesn’t even know what the word means.

  I could ask Uncle when he comes home, and then order a book if I still think it’s necessary. But Audrey thinks he is not one, whatever it is, so maybe that doesn’t qualify as the kind of thing he wants me to look for. I wish he had given me clearer instructions on what exactly he does want.

  She doesn’t say it outright, but I don’t think Audrey likes him very much. I can’t blame her. I don’t like Uncle very much, either.

  Received at #23 Sanwood Street via Darvis Street, Falchester

  Ecraie Thiessin 7 Ventis

  Marcus Fitzarthur, Lord Gleinleigh

  catastrophic engine malfunction repairs two

  weeks passenger delayed please advise—Bralt

  Reçu à #68 Rue Courbée par Place des Oiseaux, Ecraie Falchester Scirland 7 Ventis

  William Bralt

  book passenger first available commercial flight will

  reimburse—Gleinleigh

  Received at #23 Sanwood Street via Darvis Street, Falchester

  Ecraie Thiessin 7 Ventis