Category: The Germhacht Episode

Chapter Six–The Events in the Sitting Room

Chapter Six–The Events in the Sitting Room

The shrill woman with the robe and the laquered fingernails smoothed out a sheet of crumpled paper, fussily.  Kara waited, impatient, while the woman meticulously unwrapped each fragile object and inspected it, as well as each crushed bit of paper Kara had used for wrapping.  She made distressed little noises over a smeary wet wad that had met an accident with a puddle on the long slog here.   Kara waved smelly incense smoke away from her nose and sighed.

Masked Woman“Well, it all does seem to be here,” the woman said thinly.  “Rather more, even, than we were expecting of you, I must say.  You have earned our trust.”

“Yes, well, I’m talented.”  Kara made a face.
Continue reading “Chapter Six–The Events in the Sitting Room”

Chapter Five–Dangerous Rubbish

Chapter Five–Dangerous Rubbish

Kara crept silently along a marble hallway, laden with a very full bag. The gilded cabinet had contained more than she’d imagined—folders of papers, and lots of small, breakable objects. Kara suspected the lady didn’t want the fragile things broken, so she’d had to waste precious time wrapping them in the papers. The bag was so big she had to drag it. Happily, the floor was smooth marble and the bag slid easily and quietly along. She would deal with the stairs later.

She peered around the next corner and froze in place, seeing lamplight in the rotunda ahead. Who would be here still reading at the dinner hour? Kara left her bag and crept forward to scout. Oh. Him.

Djaren Blackfeather sat at a table in the center of the room, in a circle of lamplight and books. He’d arranged the stacks of papers and volumes like towers around the table, pen pots serving as spires and ink wells as minarets. His too-pretty face was intent over whatever he was reading, and his long white fingers flipped through the pages of an adjacent volume. As always, Kara felt immediately annoyed with him. One, he was in her way, two, he was effortlessly reading any of eight languages that Kara couldn’t spell a word of, and three . . . three, he was Djaren Blackfeather. And then he looked up, into the dark shadows where she was standing, and his expression transformed into a look of joy. “Kara! You came! I knew you would.”

Djaren in the Library

Kara tried to swear, but found nothing to say that fit the situation without being horribly awkward.

Djaren’s expression turned puzzled.  “I wasn’t expecting to see you in the library.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  Kara left the heavy bag out of sight and stepped forward.

“I’m sorry, that was stupid.  I’ve been putting my boots in my mouth all day.” Djaren looked pained.  He stood, dropping a volume on the floor.  “What I should have said is that I’m very happy to see you here.”

Kara didn’t answer.  She stared at the book he’d dropped.  “What’s that?”

Glaring up at her from an open page at Djaren’s feet was a sketch of the artifact she had recently thrown into a sewer.  Djaren blinked and looked down.  “Oh, that’s the seal of Kesh.”  He bent and retrieved the book, holding it out to her.  “Legend has it that it binds the powers of a demon god who once smote the earth.”

Kara took a step away from the book, more grateful than ever that she had thrown the thing out.

“It’s important that it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands,” Djaren informed her. “We’re researching what to do if it should wake.”

“Yeah,” Kara said.  “So you’re still digging up trouble.”

Djaren grinned at her.  “I wish.  We can’t get into Narmos at all, much less under it.  So we’re all quite bored and safe.  You should come by the hotel.  The others would love to see you.”

“Maybe later.”

“Is something wrong?” Djaren looked concerned.  “I’m just heading back.  Mother probably has dinner waiting.”

Food sounded wonderful, but Djaren was a walking door to nameless calamities and Kara had a sack of stolen archeology to deliver.

She tried to think of a way to put him down coldly, but couldn’t come up with anything very clever.  “I’ve got a place to be,” she fumbled.

Djaren gave her a questioning look.

Kara glared at him. “I’m not here to play with you and your little friends.  Unlike you, I have a life.  Enjoy your books.”  She spun on her heel before Djaren could say anything, gathered her sack from behind the pillar and dragged it off toward a back exit.

On her way out the conservatory doors, Kara glimpsed a man’s face through one of the library windows.  It had a hooked nose and face powder, and was looking right at her.  Kara swore and ducked out of sight under the rose bushes.  By the time she managed to retreat into the maze of houses and alleys she was breathless, scratched, and in a foul mood.

*  *  *  *  *

Ellea dropped the Pumphrey book onto the sitting room table, where the family was gathering to go down to dinner.  “Book of rubbish for you, Mother, from the lady with too much perfume.”

Mother looked at the thing, and sighed.  “I’m so sorry, dears.”

“I want a cake.  Anna said I could have the lemon ones.”

“Very well,” Mother relented.  “One.  As long as you can eat your dinner after.”

Jon poked at the Pumphrey book with a finger.  His hand was no longer glowing.  “The book smells of perfume.”

“Come have a cake as well, Jon, or some tea,” Mother invited, pulling back a chair.

Jon’s gaze moved to the door, where Djaren was just entering with a large stack of books in his arms.

“Hullo, all.  I brought these back for you, Jon.”  Djaren grinned around the books.  “I’m sorry to have been so long.  I got all caught up in trying to find the useful volumes.”

Jon’s face lit up. “Hurrah!  Now we can research.”

Mother laughed.  “I won’t stop you, but again I will insist you eat dinner first.  No matter how fascinating your research.  And, dears,” Mother’s face grew serious.  “If you are going to be reading about Narmos, you really oughtn’t read just before bed.”

“She thinks the bits about plagues, human sacrifices, and the depredations unleashed by demon gods will give us nightmares,” Djaren told Jon.

“Oh, that,” Jon said.

“Where are Anna and Tam?” Djaren asked.

“I’m right here,” Anna said, entering the room.  “Before the discussion of depredations, I distinctly heard something about tea.  And Tam is visiting the stables to see about a coach.”

“Tam doesn’t speak Germhacht, does he?” Djaren asked.

“I gather he’s just seeing if there is a coach in the stables.”

“There is,” Tam said, from the door.  “A right gaudy one.  They’ve some fine horses, though.  Well looked after.”  Tam stopped on the mat and stared down at his boots, which had acquired deposits of muck from the stables.

“Thank you, Tam, I’ll fetch you shoes.”  Anna grinned and slipped out.

“Would you like some tea as well?” Mother asked Tam.

I would.”  Uncle Eabrey came in from his room, and looked down at the Pumphrey book.  “What is this?  And what is that smell?”

“It’s either Tam’s boots, or the gospel of the Pumphrites.”  Mother sighed.  “Having failed to storm the citadel, they are attempting to convert the children.”

Uncle Eabrey picked up the book and flipped through it.

“Don’t go losing your appetite for dinner,” Mother warned.

“I’m sorry about the boots,” Tam began.

“The smell is certainly the book,” the Professor said.

“Don’t you worry, dear,” Mother told Tam. “We’ll get you gum boots. The most useful things Pumphrey’s ever been behind.”

Dinner consisted of sausages, gravy, noodles, and potatoes, along with a smelly cabbage dish that Tam liked and Ellea didn’t.  Having been reprimanded for reading at the table, Djaren began making little buildings with his potatoes.  “At the temple at Narmos, there is a ziggurat on a terrace, like so, and no one but the high priests were allowed to ascend to the top.”  Djaren placed a precarious piece of sausage atop his potato ziggurat.

“You had better eat your civilization before it topples, dear,” Mother advised.

Potato Ziggurat

“This is why no one lets you lecture on archeology,” Anna observed, as Djaren’s potato ziggurat slumped.

Djaren sighed.  “Lucky Varden Chauncellor.”

“Not really,” Anna said.  “The lecture is off.  Evidently they’ve had awful trouble with thieves.”

“Well, there’s justice.”  Djaren brightened.

Anna frowned at him.  “Some thief stole their artifacts since they arrived here.  It’s terrible for them.”

“Oh!” Djaren exclaimed.  “Kara’s here!”

“Ten to one that explains everything,” Tam said. “She was on the train too.”

“The guards were looking for a thief.” Jon glanced about the table.  “You don’t think–?”

“Good old Kara.”  Djaren grinned.

“May I remind you that no lecture means no information on what the Chauncellors have been up to in Narmos,” Anna said.  “You’re just very lucky that I’ll be able to ask Varden all about it myself tomorrow.”

“What?”  Djaren dropped a forkful of potato ziggurat.

“He’s taking me to the Berdrach collection.”

“That’s out of the question. Why would you want to go anywhere with that–” Djaren began.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be going off alone with him,” Tam said.

Anna pointedly ignored Djaren and addressed Tam.  “But I won’t be alone.  You’ll be there all the time guarding me.”

Tam opened his mouth and shut it, evidently unsure whether to be annoyed or flattered.

“The whole idea is ridiculous,” Djaren objected.

“If you can spend all afternoon with a thief, there’s no reason at all I shouldn’t have a day at a gallery with a gentleman,” Anna said acidly.

“She has the high ground, dear.”  Mother patted Djaren’s hand.  “Now eat your dinner.  I am sure Anna will be careful and intelligent in all her decisions.”  Mother gave Anna a long look, which Anna met.

“I will, Ma’am.”

“Tam will go with you only if he doesn’t mind, and you will behave like a perfect lady.”

“Of course.”  Anna nodded.  “Thank you, Lady Blackfeather.”

“Mother,” Djaren objected.

“Where did you see Kara, Djaren?”

“At the library, but—”

“Whatever was she doing there?”

“I don’t know.”

“But we can guess,” Tam said.

“Oh,” Djaren said.  “She really isn’t here to see us, is she?”

Mother sighed.  “Eabrey, must you read at the table?”

“Sorry, Hellin.” Uncle Eabrey hurriedly set down the Pumphrey book.  “But this is the most amazingly dangerous rubbish.”

Djaren looked immediately interested.

“It romanticizes the idea of possession terribly.”

“Of owning things, you mean?” Tam asked.

“Not that kind of possession.  He means like when an evil bodiless entity takes hold of a mortal human and makes him a helpless slave to its destructive will,” Djaren said amiably.

“How do you romanti-whatever that?” Tam looked horrified.

“Well, Pumphrey doesn’t consider them to be evil entities,” Uncle Eabrey said, “just mysteriously wise and benevolent spirits—”

“—who just want to borrow ones body for the greater good,” Djaren finished.

“A mortal usually cannot be possessed without having first consented to the possession,” Uncle Eabrey said.  “Unless one surrenders one’s mind in pride, despair, or even,” he glanced at Djaren, “in curiosity, no entity can take hold. This rubbish suggests that all ‘enlightened souls’ should surrender their wills and good sense to whatever ‘the spirits’ will for them.”

“So, in time, a bunch of perfumed fools might be controlled by evil entities?” Tam asked.

“I suppose that’s up to the entities.”

“If I were a powerful bodiless evil,” Ellea reflected, “I shouldn’t choose any of Pumphrey’s people.  I think he’s a just a fool.  The most sinister thing about the man is his silly moustache.”

“Aren’t there any good entities?” Anna asked Mother, curious.  “Isn’t there always something, to balance?”

“I’d like to hope there are, dear.”

“The good weren’t the ones rendered bodiless in the war before the breaking of the world,” Uncle Eabrey said softly.  He tapped the cover of the Pumphrey book.  “Or so the writings of the Ancients suggest.”

“So, to use the Sarvarthi terms, there is evidence of demons, but not of angels?” Djaren asked.

Ellea considered her memories of Father’s wide black wings, his beautiful serene features, and the sword of flame he carried.

Mother caught something of her thought, and smiled.  “There is evidence of evil leveling cities and civilizations.  Good tends to be, I believe, a bit more . . . subtle.  It doesn’t mean it’s not there, merely that it chooses not to interfere with the free will of people.”

“But that’s what Pumphrey is telling people to do.  Give over their wills.  We have to stop him, don’t we?”  Djaren looked to Mother.

Mother frowned, speculatively.  “Well, we all know that not everything that whispers in the ear or lurks in ancient tombs is friendly and polite.  The question is, does Pumphrey?”

“I don’t think he has the sense to pour water out of one his own gumboots even by examining the patent on the heel,” Ellea muttered under her breath.

“He may be worth investigating,” Uncle Eabrey said.  “We should at least discern whether his intent is benign, or malicious.  Whatever his intentions, the books he’s publishing are as potentially devastating in their consequences as anything written by Doctor Ash.”

“And that is a name I absolutely forbid at dinner,” Mother said.  “No more talk of evils until after dessert, please, dears.”

Chapter Four–What Came of a Day’s Excursions

Chapter Four–What Came of a Day’s Excursions

The library of the International Archeological Society was a large and imposing marble edifice attached to several other buildings very like it that housed artifacts and curiosities.  It opened onto a street featuring theaters, art museums and galleries, and the entrance to the botanical gardens.  Only nicely dressed people came here, Ellea noted, holding Mother’s hand as they all walked down together toward the library.  Uncle Eabrey was explaining to Djaren and Jon about the research they were conducting, and how they might split it up.  Anna pointed out to Tam all the museums she wanted to visit, and Tam was quietly shocked at the advertisements for a new play in town that featured an exotic foreign princess who didn’t like to wear much.  They were all brought up short by the attendant at the wide library doors.

He noted Hellin’s card of admittance, but frowned at the crowd of children.  “No small children are allowed within the library, Madam,” the man said, with a pointed glance at Jon and Ellea.

“But–” Jon looked surprised and more than a little heartbroken.  “I’ll be very good.  I’m in libraries all the time.  I never bend pages.  I promise.”

“It is our strict policy.”  The man sniffed.

Mother looked to Anna.

“We’ll go to the museums,” Anna said brightly.  “You and Ellea can see all the paintings with me, Jon.  We’ll have a fine time.”

“We will,” Tam agreed, cheerfully adding himself to the group not heading for a long spell in a library.  “I’ll look after them, Lady Blackfeather.”

“We’ll share all our notes later, Jon,” Djaren said, with a look of sympathy.  “You won’t be left out.  We’re depending on you.”

Jon nodded, still miserable, and followed Anna as she all but bolted for the museum.

“Finally!”  Anna grinned.  “We’re going to go see the works of Veriscinthe DeAngelli!”

“Who?” Tam asked.

“I’ll look after them, Mother,” Ellea said solemnly.  “Excuse me.”

Mother’s smile was bemused.  “We’ll meet you for dinner at the hotel.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“And Anna, take these gelenmarks to buy yourselves some tea,”

“Thank you, Lady Hellin.”

Ellea spent the next hour trailing after Anna and Tam through halls of paintings and statuary, side by side with a still disconsolate Jon.  “I’m very good with books,” he murmured plaintively.  “I’ve always been careful.”

Tam couldn’t seem to find a decent way to appreciate art, as every room had at least one prevalent nude, and one was entirely full of white marble men wearing nothing at all.  Anna giggled at the boys’ faces, and steered them on to the next gallery.

“I don’t think this place is suitable for children either,” Tam said.

Jon peered up at a big battle scene.  “That horse is going to land on that man.  And that lady is only wearing a sheet.  Won’t she be cold?”

“That’s not very practical for fighting, either,” Ellea agreed.

“I can’t take you lot anywhere.”  Anna sighed.  “Tam, can you take them to the tea hall for cakes or something?  I really do want to see the next room, with the DeAngelli’s, and I know you won’t like it.  There are Bocchelli marbles in there.”

Tam craned his neck.  “Why do you want to go in there?”

“Verescinthe DeAngelli, the greatest female Shandorian painter ever, left only so many paintings in the world, and four of them are through that door.  No one is going to spoil that for me.  Please?” Anna gave Tam a look.

He relented immediately.  “I’ll get them cakes.”

Anna pressed the money Mother had given her into his hand.  “Thank you!” she said, and was off to the last gallery.

Tam looked at Jon and Ellea and sighed.

“I want lemon,” Ellea informed him.

Jon was frowning at his hand.

Tam took the hand, and led them to the tea hall, where a lady at a marble counter was selling tea and pastries for an amount of money that seemed to surprise Tam mightily.  He settled them down at a little table and looked round.  “I’d like to see Anna’s DeAngelli’s after all.  Will you two stay here and keep out of trouble?”

“You know I don’t cause trouble,” Jon told his brother.

Ellea blinked at Tam demurely.

“Right, then, I’ll be back soon.  Stay here.”  Tam gave them five backward glances on his way to the gallery.

Jon pushed at a cake on his plate.

Ellea divided her lemon cake into neat little pieces and ate them one by one.

Jon pushed his cake about some more, then ate the icing.

Dear children, what a lovely surprise!”  A shrill voice interrupted the brief silence.  The sparkling lady and a few other bright people were standing nearby, with a thin man in a tweed coat who wore a rather silly moustache.  The lady had a turban today, with a big purple crystal like something off the hotel chandelier.

Ellea and Jon blinked up at the sparkling people.  Ellea gripped her fork.  Jon wiped icing from his mouth, looking alarmed, and gripped the napkin tight.  A silver glow leaked around the napkin’s edges.  Jon hurriedly stuffed his glowing hand into his lap.

Tea Room

“These dear children are Ellea Blackfeather and her little friend,” the sparkling lady told the man with the moustache.  “Children, this is Mister Pumphrey.”

Mister Pumphrey coughed and looked awkward. “Mmm,” he said.

He didn’t look like much to Ellea.  He was thin, and had no chin really, just a large ball in his throat that bounced up and down.

“I was hoping to see your mother, dear,” the sparkling lady told Ellea.

“She’s in the Society Library,” Ellea said, with a sudden smile for the lady and Mister Pumphrey both, as she reflected that they couldn’t get in there any more than she and Jon could.

“Oh,” the lady said, “Well, I’ve brought her a copy of Mister Pumphrey’s latest book.  I do know she wants it, to give to your father.  Be a dear and hand it on to her, will you?”

The lady set a book upon the table, wrapped with a bow.

Ellea looked at it.  It was titled, “The Divine Mysteries of the Ancient World.

“I’m a small child.  We aren’t trusted near books,” Ellea said blandly.

“You seem a bright boy,” Pumphrey said to Jon.  “You can see that Doctor Blackfeather gets my book, can’t you?”

“Er.” Jon glanced at Ellea.  A pale silver glow was emanating from his lap.  He grabbed another napkin with his other hand.  “Um.”

The sparkling lady sighed, picked up the book and set it down in Ellea’s lap.  “I know you’ll give this safely to your mother.”  The woman smiled tightly.

“Has Doctor Blackfeather spoken to you about whether he will be attending my lecture?” Mister Pumphrey asked them.

The light from Jon’s hand was getting brighter.  Ellea stood quickly, snatching up the book.  Jon got up too, leaving his uneaten cake, and clamping his two hands, filled with napkins, together and low.

“Is there something wrong?” the lady asked.

“He has to go to the bathroom,” Ellea said.  “We should leave.”

Jon gave her a brief aggrieved glare, but he hurried after her as she turned and dashed off back toward the galleries.

*  *  *  *  *

Anna stared in delight and awe at the paintings of Verescinthe DeAngelli.  There weren’t just four, there were six!  True, two were small studies, but they were brilliant.  The gallery also displayed, unusually, two paintings by Verescinthe’s husband, Davi.  Both were wildly colorful landscapes, lovely and mountainous and very Shandorian.  Anna had spent only a few moments on them, though, before going to stand before the DeAngellis.

She picked out one at once as her favorite.  An armored figure stood at the window of a white tower.  The sky was the red of sunset, and the figure, a strong featured but beautiful woman with gold hair, wore a crimson cloak.  The figure was a common one in Shandorian art: the hero Amryn at the castle siege, from the Corestemarian war, but Verescinthe had made the scene moody and heartbreaking, rich with color and shadow.  The woman’s hand, wrapped around the hilt of a black greatsword, had the thin delicate lines of old scars and her eyes, deep set and haunting, were a brilliant glowing green, catching the dying light.

The next painting was more airy, full of clouds over mountains.  A man in the foreground was laughing, his handsome face daubed with a few spots of blue paint.  He had a canvas, too, and his style was carefully and fondly mimicked upon it.  Beside him, in a dark corner of the painting amid tumbled rock formations, a neater and more subdued young man with black hair seemed nearly to disappear into Verescinthe’s rich shadows.  Children climbed rocks on the other side of the canvas, under the eye of a red-haired girl who had her back to the painter.

The red-haired girl appeared again in one of the small studies.  She looked about Anna’s own age, with freckles and green eyes, and a bit of a similarity to Lady Hellin Blackfeather.  She was quite possibly an ancestor, Anna considered.  The painting was almost a hundred years old.  She decided to bring Lady Blackfeather here next time so she could ask if any of her grandmothers and great-aunts had known the famous artist, or even apprenticed with her.  With Lady Blackfeather, at least she would have an ally about art.  One who wouldn’t go shocky at every single nude.

Tam had returned, she noted, and was trying hard not to stare at the large reclining statue in the center of the room.  Instead, he studied a battle scene on the other wall.

Anna put all thoughts of annoyance out of her head as she drank in yet another stunning DeAngelli.  This one showed a family of darkly warm-skinned people in a library of books and scrolls, their bright clothing echoing the jewel tones of the stained glass in the background.  A paler elderly man was reading to them, and one very small child vied with the book for a place in his lap.

“That’s where I’ve seen colors like yours,” a low male voice with an Arienish accent said, behind her.  Anna turned to find Varden Chauncellor standing there, in a severe dark blue greatcoat, holding Morly’s hand.  “Your style is similar to DeAngelli’s.”

Varden and Morly in the Gallery

“She’s my favorite,” Anna said, smiling at Varden and Morly.  There was a cough from across the gallery. Anna looked over at Tam, who gave Varden’s back a pointed glare.  She ignored him.  “Verescinthe DeAngelli was the greatest Shandorian painter.”

“She was Arienish,” Varden said, though not disagreeably.  “She married a Shandorian landscape painter.”

“Davi Sheridan, yes.” Anna said.

“Her style changed a good deal, between her work in Arien and that done in Shandor.”

“I thought there was no work surviving from her early years,” Anna said.

“There’s some controversy over it.”  Varden directed Anna’s eye to another painting, rich with shadows, of a cathedral interior where a dark scene from Arienish mythology was unfolding.  “You see the plaque says this was by the master of Sente Gavrelle, but it was rumored at the end of his long life that most of his last work was done by his promising secret pupil.”

“Verescinthe,” Anna breathed.  The shadows and the rich reds and blues were unmistakable.

“But then came the revolution.  She fled, Sente Gavrelle’s studio burned along with a quarter of Logansburg and the royal palaces, and she resurfaced years later in Shandor, with a different style.”

“You don’t like it as well,” Anna guessed.

“She painted battles and histories when she was younger.  Later it was landscapes, flowers, and children.  Her subject matter became . . .” Varden trailed off, perhaps looking for some polite phrase.

“Softer?  More feminine?” Anna raised an eyebrow.  “Maybe she’d seen enough blood.  She did paint battles later, though, and histories.  There are some especially large and impressive works at the castle in Shandor.”

“Where no one can see them without venturing into the wild wastes.”

Another cough, sounding aggrieved this time, came from Tam’s direction.  Anna ignored it, but not Varden’s comment.  “The wild wastes of Shandor might surprise you. This is the view from the north tower of that castle.”  She indicated another DeAngelli, a sweeping vista of mountains and waterfalls with tiny figures climbing down the tumbled rocks.

“You’ve traveled a great deal then.”

“All my life,” Anna said amiably.  The K’shay tanna clans of Shandor were nomadic, after all, and her own family more than most, following the Blackfeathers everywhere.

“Have you been to Narmos?” Morly asked, with curiosity.  Varden hushed him quickly.

“No.”  Anna wondered when this was leading.

“We have,” Morly said.  “We were.  We didn’t see much.”

“There’s nothing to talk about there.”  Varden frowned.

“But isn’t your father giving a lecture all about it?” Anna asked.  “I thought you might present a paper there.”

Varden blinked at her, his intense blue eyes surprised.  “I didn’t know you’d read any of my, er . . .”  His face clouded.  “Well, it’s all off anyway.  There won’t be a lecture.”

“Father’s really angry.  Thieves took everything we brought back,” Morly said.

“Hush,” Varden told him, a little sharply.

“And it’s a secret, so don’t tell,” Morly added, apologetically.

“I’m so sorry,” Anna said.  There was misery in Varden’s eyes and in Morly’s too.

“Father is yelling and throwing things, so we wanted to be somewhere pretty instead,” Morly continued, encouraged by Anna’s sympathy.

Varden looked pained.  “Morly, the lady doesn’t need to hear all this.  It isn’t polite to say.”

“Oh.”  Morly’s voice was small.

“I’m very sorry to hear you won’t be speaking,” Anna said to Varden, sincerely.  “I was looking forward to that lecture.”

Varden’s lips parted.  “Oh.  Well . . . have you seen the Berdrach collection?  It’s across town.  My father knows Lord Berdrach.  I could get us in.  Did you, would you, like to go?  Tomorrow?  I could send my coach for you.  That is, if you wished it.”

Anna’s world spun a little.  The Berdrach was not a collection anyone but well connected nobility got to see.  “I, I’ll have my, er, coachman bring me.  Tomorrow.”  Anna glanced over at Tam.  Varden followed her gaze.  “Ah, so that’s what that lout is doing in the gallery.  Tomorrow, then.  At two?”

“Um, yes, thank you.”

Dear young lord Chauncellor,” a familiarly shrill voice exclaimed, interrupting them.  “You will be attending Mister Pumphrey’s lecture of course, won’t you?”

Varden turned incredulous eyes on a woman in a violet turban who was crossing the room with a small collection of people in clashing colors, and a thin man with no chin and a funny moustache.
“There will be a seance beforehand, in the Derdrien house, at dusk.  The place is an anchor for spirits, you know.  We shall be calling on the spirits of departed loved ones.  If you came we could perhaps even contact your dear mother,” the woman gushed.

Anna saw the flash of fury and disgust in Varden’s eyes before he spoke.  “I’ve seen my share of charlatans and bald-faced liars, thank you.  I am not interested in your parlor tricks.  Pray go practice your weak wiles on the dull-witted.”  Varden wheeled on the mustached man, whose eyes opened wide.  “Unscientific fools and the uneducated masses may have tolerated you, but here you’ll find people aren’t as gullible.”

Varden grabbed Morly’s hand firmly and wheeled away, leaving the gallery and the shocked spiritualists behind him.

Tam collected Anna in much the same way.  “Let’s get out of here.  Those people aren’t right, somehow.”

They were halfway down the gallery passage when Tam at last slowed and frowned.  “What was that about a coachman?”

Chapter Three–A Most Unpleasant Artifact

Chapter Three–A Most Unpleasant Artifact

Ellea knew more about her father’s odd talents than he guessed.  She knew about his wings, of course, and the old sword he had taken with him, and that he had gone looking not for history, but for one artifact that could not be allowed to fall into the wrong hands.  Ellea was very good at keeping secrets.  She locked them away in her mind where they wouldn’t show through even in her feelings.  Ellea prided herself on having a tidy mind.  It was like her own half of the room she shared with Mother; spotless and well organized, with neat compartments and boxes.  Secrets, puzzles, memories, other people’s memories, other people’s secrets.  She stood with the Gardner boys in the drawing room, where Mother was carefully unpacking the somewhat squashed cakes onto a silver tray.  Tam glanced out the window from between thick curtains.  “They’re still there.”

No one asked who.

“Well, one good thing about the very exclusive Archeological Society is that followers of the church of Pumphrey can’t follow us in there,” Mother muttered, taking a few roses from the urns and strewing their petals across the tray to disguise squashiness.

“And there is a huge library,” Ellea put in.

“Library?” Jon sounded suddenly very happy.

“That’s why we needed to get admittance.  That, and not all the articles in their journal are rubbish,” Mother said, stepping back and giving the tray a critical eye.  “There was a rather insightful one by the younger Chauncellor that quite surprised me.”

“That looks really nice,” Tam told her, beaming at the tray of cakes.

Ellea carefully extended a hand toward one of the corner cakes, but Mother intercepted her by putting the tray up on a table stand.

The suite doors burst open then, admitting Djaren and Anna, a folding easel, a painting satchel, wet canvas, and the thick smell of turpentine.

“The front was absolutely crawling with Pumphrites, so we had to come in the back way,” Djaren announced.  “Hello, all.”  He would have waved but he was weighted down with the easel, satchel, and canvas.

“I told you I could carry some of that,” Anna told him, sounding a little cross.  She looked up at the Gardner boys and smiled.  “Hello, Tam.  Hello, Jon.”  She smiled up at Uncle Eabrey.  “Hello, Professor.  How was the journey by train?”

Tam grinned, but couldn’t seem to find anything to say.

“We saw Kara,” Jon said.

“Really?  She’s here?” Djaren nearly dropped the wet canvas, but Tam caught it, grinning all over again at Anna’s look of gratitude.  Ellea sighed.  Whoever thought age an indicator of increased intelligence was clearly not examining the evidence sufficiently.  Ellea made another try for the cakes.  She had to climb up onto a chair to get high enough to reach the tray.

“Lunch should be ready downstairs.  If you hurry and get cleaned up we can all go down together,” Mother said, picking Ellea up in both arms, and swinging her gently round.  Mother set Ellea down on the floor while Ellea silently cursed her own small stature.  “Go change for lunch,” Mother ordered her, not unkindly.

Ellea tried being direct.  “I want a cake.”

“And don’t I know it.  After lunch and not before.”

“Oh, those are lovely!” Anna said.

“They’re for you.  You like cake, right?” Tam said.

Ellea rolled her eyes and stalked off to her room to change.

She emerged ten minutes later, tugging irritably at her hair ribbons, to find Djaren causing trouble.  “I’m not going.  Why are you going?  Why are we going?”  He was waving his arms about and looking outraged.

“Because we want to know what Marlton Chauncellor is up to, and what he did in Narmos that’s causing us so much difficulty with our papers,” Mother answered, putting one last amber pin in her high copper colored curls.

“Oh,” Djaren said.  “Well, yes, we should do that.  But to have to sit through a whole lecture of that obtuse and insult—”

“It might not all be rubbish, dear.  Truth hides everywhere, remember?  And young Varden may be presenting his new paper on Narmos’ history.  You remember his piece in the journal.”

“I didn’t think it that original.”  Djaren frowned.  “Hepler had nearly the same conclusions.”

“I’ll be attending.”  Anna emerged from her room in yet another new frock.  Being sick seemed to mean you got everything nice, including your own room.  Ellea was a little jealous.  She’d never been sick.  Neither had Djaren.  She remembered how frightening it had been, watching Anna so pale and motionless, and worrying she might never leave that bed again.  Ellea was immediately sorry she’d been jealous and ran up to give Anna a hug.  Anna hugged her back, and then fixed her hair ribbons.  “Sweet Ellea.  Tam brought cakes.  Would you like some?  I know you like lemon, so I’ve set those all aside for you.”

Ellea gave Anna an extra hug and took her hand. “Thank you.  After lunch, please, I would like the lemon ones.”

Djaren was still frowning.

“I feel badly for the Chauncellor boys.  They’ve been living at schools for most of their lives.  Neither of them has had the kind of experience you’ve enjoyed, dear,” Mother told Djaren, straightening his collar.  “You learned to walk at dig sites and could read hieroglyphs along with your alphabet.  Varden’s only just been published last autumn, and you’ve helped me with your father’s last two books.  I do think the scholarly world will prove big enough for the both of you.  Divergent viewpoints round out the world and make it spin properly.”

“He says the demon god Kesh was a hoax perpetuated by priests to consolidate and hold political power,” Djaren said.  “The god’s possession of wielders of the seal, he claims, was merely something priests pretended at, to make their enemies fear the power of their mythical god.”

“I rather hope he’s right,” Mother said.

An item that gives its bearer the powers of a demon god wouldn’t be friendly to have about,” Ellea said, mind to mind, so only Mother and Djaren could hear.  “Is that what Father is finding?”

Shh,” Mother said, in the same way.  “Here are the boys, and it’s time for luncheon.”

*  *  *  *  *

Kara hated new cities.  People didn’t all talk trade common, like they were supposed to.  Boys with ugly pink faces shouted what sounded like insults at her.  Kara had to bloody several puggish noses and then retreat as more loud foreign boys arrived, attracted by the howls of the first.  Kara hopped three carts, and was chased off two and threatened with a beating before she reached a part of town that looked promising.  She now knew the Germhacht words for “dark,” “foreign,” and “rat,” and had given as good as she’d gotten by teaching them the Corestemarian words for “fat,” “red,” “pig,” and “your mother.” At last Kara found a nice dark corner in a nice dark alley that was uninhabited and had three easy exits.  The smells from the nearby sewer seemed to keep the area clear.  She sat on a coal bin and pulled out her spoils, to unwrap like presents.

Treasure Man

She set the gold face out first to glitter in the coal dust, mirrored its grimace back at it, then grinned.  She unwrapped the next one with deft fingers and found it to be a mosaic of carved gems, very old, on a soft gold plate.  She set that under the face, to make a kind of torso, and unwrapped the next one.  Finding someone to buy these treasures in a strange country might be hard, but somewhere in her future, a very big meal waited.  Kara found several unset carved gems, almost like hard candies, and made them arms and legs, and then a pair of beaten gold earrings with emeralds and little gold goats, which became feet for the treasure man on the coal bin.  The small silver and gem-studded statuette in the next parcel made a friend for him.

Kara unwrapped the very last parcel, a bit bigger than her palm, and shivered with a sudden cold.  She adjusted her ragged coat closer around her and fished a bronze chain from the paper wrappings.  She pulled on it, and out came a large medallion, gold, encrusted with rough-cut gems.  It glittered in suddenly failing light.  The alleyway was very cold now, and shadows played on the high brick walls all around.  There were whispers somewhere, a dark voice speaking words Kara didn’t know, not in her ears but in her mind.  The amulet brushed her fingers on its next swing, and all the stones went black.  Kara swore and dropped the amulet.  On the opposite side from the gems was another gold face, its jaws wide, as if screaming.  Two black gems were fixed in its eyes.  For one moment they blinked at her, like real eyes.

Kara grabbed at the parcel wrappings and used them to snatch up the amulet. She dashed down the alleyway with it, hearing screams in her head now.  At the first corner she found what she was looking for: a sewer grating.  She threw the amulet and its wrappings as hard as she could down into the sewers.  She heard a splash, and then the screams slowly faded.  The air was warm again.  Kara bit back a stream of furious curses and jogged back to find treasure man and his silver friend still sitting on the coal bin, untouched, and perfectly ordinary, at least for treasure.  She wrapped them back up, found a loose brick in the alley wall, shoved the wrapped treasures into the hole, and jammed the brick back in place.  “I hate archeology,” she muttered.  “I hate it.”

She had to move soon, and she knew it.  Her contact was waiting, as was the job she had to do here.  She wiped her face with a dirty sleeve, hopped down off the coal bin, and kicked it for good measure, to relieve a little tension.

The place was easy to find, by smell alone.  The scents of tea and perfumed smoke billowed out from a door in a back alley.  Inside, patrons were too woozy to note that a small, dark skinned urchin could have no honest business here.  Kara held her breath and found the back room.  The air was clearer there, and a man in a blue robe stood by a second door.  Kara said the words she’d memorized, and he opened the door for her.  Inside the room, a robed and hooded figure in purple stood behind a broad table covered with papers.  Different, equally perfumed but less affecting smoke rose from sticks on the table.

“Welcome, visitor from afar,” a woman’s voice said, in overly dramatic trade common.  She paused.  “Johan, are you sure this is–”

“I’m small.  Accept it and move on.”  Kara glared, and stepped up to look at the papers on the table.  They were floor plans for a large building, with writing on them that Kara couldn’t read.  That was not a surprise, as Kara couldn’t read much of anything.

“Um,” the woman said, gathering herself, and adjusting her hood to be even more concealing and mysterious.  “You have journeyed far, to complete an important mission, for which you will be well rewarded.”

“That was the contract,” Kara agreed.  “Get on with it.  I’m hungry.”

The woman in the purple robe made a disapproving little cough.  “All you need to know is on this paper.”  She held out a sheet of parchment, written in flowery script.

“I can’t read,” Kara informed her.

“Oh.  Mmm.  Dear.”  The woman made clucking sounds.

“Just tell me what and where.” Kara sighed.  “I’ll figure it out.”

“It’s a library,” the woman began, sounding unsure now.

Kara sighed.  This was not her day.

“There are certain papers–”

Even better, Kara thought sourly.  I get hired to steal paper.

“–in a room with some antiquities.  You shall retrieve the papers in the gilded cabinet, and whatever objects you find there.  It’s this room,” the woman indicated on the floor plan with a long laquered fingernail.  “In the library of the archeological society.”

It would be, Kara thought.

“Know that your work for us will harm no living creature.  This important task is for the good of all spirits, and shall bring you a great reward.”  The woman sounded very earnest and cordial.  Kara disliked her shrill voice immensely.

“You’ll have them tomorrow night,” Kara said.  “I’ll need ten percent of my great reward up front.”

“Of course,” the woman said, and set down a small bag of coins with a theatrical flourish.  Kara opened it to find gold colored disks inside.  She bit one.  It was real.  “Lady, do I look like someone who can walk into a money-changers to get real silver for this?”

The woman made an exasperated noise and produced an ordinary looking handbag from under her chair.  She dug with colored nails in a sequined coin purse and made change in paper bills and silver coins.

“Right.”  Kara pocketed the money and waved.  “See you tomorrow night.”

Chapter Two–An Encounter with a Charming Stranger

Chapter Two–An Encounter with a Charming Stranger

Anna Darvin dipped her brush into a pool of cadmium red, dabbed a few roses onto some loosely set up bushes, and frowned, looking up to compare her painting against the view of the Archeological Society gardens.  There was a quality of light to the blooms that she was missing.  She considered adding a touch of ochre.

“How do you feel?  Are you tired?  I could get you more tea,” Djaren offered.

“I’m not ill any longer.”  Anna made a good-natured bad face at Djaren’s concerned one.  “I’m only thinking.  You needn’t hover.”

The fever had been awful, and Anna wanted to forget it.  Everyone had gone about smiling at her, but then talking in hushed whispers, and speaking in worried voices to the grim-faced doctors who came for weeks.  Anna had been no end weary and frustrated by it all, especially the knowledge that she was missing what could have been a glorious holiday in the capital city of Germhacht, with all its famous art museums and sculpture gardens.  The thought that she might not get to see the paintings of Veriscinthe DeAngelli had been worse than the fear of losing all her hair.  She hadn’t lost her hair, though, and despite all the grim whispers and talk of writing her parents to leave the archeological dig and come to Germhacht, she had gotten through everything perfectly.  She jabbed some ochre about with her palette knife.

“Well, you’re still as pale as an Arienish lady,” Djaren informed her.  “It looks all wrong.  And it’s your first day outside after everything.  You should be careful.”  He picked up the mirror she’d been using for better light and pointed it at her.  Anna’s own reflection glared briefly back at her, and then laughed.  The girl in the mirror was not the usual tanned and grinning Anna Darvin, of the Standing Rocks clan of northern Shandor, but an aristocratically pale and bright-eyed young lady of fourteen in a new be-ribboned frock, with spots of pink on her cheeks and her black hair done up neatly in curls instead of flying about all unruly.  She looked a bit like one of the portraits in the hotel salon.  She batted away the mirror and the stranger in it.

Anna in the mirror

“I’m sitting quietly.  You’re the one hopping up and down.  Put my mirror back at once just as it was.  It was lighting my canvas.”

“I’m sorry,” Djaren said, carefully setting the mirror back.  “I am, it’s just . . . you’ve never been sick before.  It scared us.”

“I know.  Stop bouncing the chair.”

“Sorry.”  He was, too.  Djaren Blackfeather was a slim, apologetic bundle of hyperactive energy with green eyes and spectacles.  Anna had long ago despaired of ever trying to capture his likeness in paint.  He never sat still except while reading.  Djaren was about her own age, more or less, but he really didn’t look it.  Both the Blackfeather children were a good deal smaller than their contemporaries.  It made Djaren’s anxious look rather sweeter than it might have been.

“I would like some tea, I think, Djaren.  Thank you.”

He grinned.  “I’ll go at once, and I’ll hurry back.  Do you want lemon?  I’ll get you lemon too.  And cream.  And cakes.”  He dashed off along the balcony, and Anna found herself able to concentrate on her work again.

She had fixed the roses and started into some details on the windows of the conservatory in the middle ground when she sensed that someone was near.

Anna looked up, ready to send Djaren on some other errand, when she found that her visitor wasn’t Djaren at all, but a tall and good-looking young man in a fashionable longcoat, with very blue eyes and an intent, serious expression.

“Pray don’t let me intrude,” he said at once, when she turned.  “I didn’t mean to interrupt your work.  You’re quite good.”  His voice was low, with a charming Arienish accent.

“Oh.”  For a moment, Anna was lost for words.  Dashing young noblemen didn’t often compliment her work.  Dust-covered workmen and fetching boys sometimes admired her sketches at the dig site, but this was rather different.

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you.  I should not have spoken to you, unintroduced.  I quite forgot myself looking at your painting.”

“No, it’s no trouble.”  Anna found her voice, and smiled at the young man.  He was seventeen, maybe, with good bones in his face, and lovely shading.  The shadows cast by the hair around his deep-set eyes made for some nice, intense darks.  Cobalt blue and a touch of burnt umber, Anna decided.  “I was about to set it aside.”

“Don’t let me interrupt you, please.”

She set her brushes in their porcelain cup of thinner.  “I can’t do much until I’ve more Ellesmere yellow, in any case,” she pointed out, truthfully.

“I could send someone for that.”  The young man seemed a little unsure.  His long fingers fidgeted with a pair of gloves.

“Don’t think of it,” Anna said, smiling.  “I’ve someone coming back who can fetch it.”

“Of course.”  The young man blushed a little.  “I should take my leave.   I’ve some books to collect from the library.”

“Are you a scholar?”

“Yes, oh, I’m terribly sorry, I have yet to introduce myself.  It’s–.”

“Varden!” a boy’s voice cried happily.  A small boy careened around a corner of the balcony and stopped just short of rushing into them.  He stood blinking up at Anna with one hand full of somewhat crushed flowers. “Oh.”  The little boy smiled a little desperately and presented the flowers to Anna.

“Morly,” the older boy moaned.

“I am pleased to meet you both.” Anna nodded to each of them.  “Are you brothers?”

“Yes.  I’m Morly.  I’m eight,” the little boy announced.  “You’re pretty.”

“We should be going,” Varden said, looking a little pained.

“Yes, you should.”  Djaren’s voice, oddly stiff, came from behind them.

“Blackfeather.”  Varden turned, his face going hard.

Anna felt the urge to strangle Djaren.  He circled the chair and easel, spectacles crooked, gripping an over-full tea tray.  “Chauncellor, the lady is trying to paint.  Do you mind?”

“Is this who fetches your paints?” Varden asked.  “You could do much better.”

“Go away.”  Djaren frowned.  “We were having a pleasant day before you appeared.”

“I’m sure you were having a pleasant time, at least,” Varden said.  “Come along, Morly, we’ve people to see.  I must beg my leave, Lady–”

“Anna,” Anna said.

“Now leave,” Djaren said.

“Perhaps I will have the pleasure of crossing your path again, Lady Anna, in one of the galleries.”  Varden bowed to Anna.

Anna smiled, and Djaren glowered.

Varden took his brother’s arm gently and led him away.  Morly waved as he was propelled out the door.

Djaren set down the tea tray stiffly, and Anna tossed the flowers down on it.  “Why ever were you so rude to them, Djaren?”

Me rude?”  Djaren stared at her.  “That was Varden Chauncellor.  He’s a Chauncellor.  They’re born rude.”

“The little one certainly wasn’t.”

“Just wait.  Marlton Chauncellor is one of the most despicable of Father’s rivals.  He had an entire temple stolen from the ruins of Etruenai, and he keeps it in his garden.  He deals with thieves and corrupt officials, and he’s sold more treasures than ever he’s donated.”

“That wasn’t Marlton Chauncellor.  That was Varden.”

“He’s just as bad.”

“How?”

“Well, he doesn’t think much of Shandorians, or Father, or Uncle Eabrey, or any of their research.”

“Isn’t most of their real research secret anyway?” Anna asked.

“That isn’t the point.  He wouldn’t speak to you twice if he knew who you were, and that you worked as a simple documentation artist for Father.”

Anna frowned.  “You think that.”

“I know that.”

“I believe I’m quite ready to go in now,” Anna said stiffly.

“What did I say?” Djaren asked.

*  *  *  *  *

Ellea Blackfeather walked beside Jon Gardner and his bigger brother, her hand held in her mother’s.  The walk from the train station to the hotel was not far, but Mother had sent the luggage on with porters so that they could take the stroll slowly and see the sights.  Ellea had already seen the sights, so she watched the Gardner boys see them, which was more interesting.

Jon was taller than last year, his blond hair was a little longer, and he still had very nice blue eyes that looked at everything like he saw stars and mysteries and treasures.  Tam looked at things and people as if they might try to fall on him or take his last piece of luggage away.  Tam was taller too, and awkward about it.  He would be grown-up sized in a few more years, and a big grown-up, too.

“Who needs buildings all that tall?  You can’t even see them all, piled up like that,” Tam mumbled quietly.  “And with naked folk all over them, that can’t be right,” Tam blushed, passing a cornice overhung with nymphs and roses.

Jon turned, blinked, and then looked off at the horizon again.  “Is there a fire there?  Look at all the smoke.”

Uncle Eabrey, catching up to them after fetching a stack of waiting papers, spoke a little breathlessly. “Those are smoke towers, from the factories.”

Mother paused, letting Uncle Eabrey catch his breath.  “What are factories?” Jon asked.

“Places where they make the same thing hundreds of times and very fast.  I think they are ugly,” Ellea said.  They had toured one once, while Anna was sick.  It was one tour Ellea could honestly tell Anna she would not have missed one bit.

“Djaren was fascinated with all the machinery,” Mother said.  “He was all about seeing where they made papers next.”

“More big machines, for printing.”  Ellea sniffed.  “Dull.”

“Not to Djaren.  He dirtied up the carpets with ink, trying to build a model printing machine to show Anna.”

“Is she really better now?” Tam asked for the fifth time.  “Can she have cakes?  We brought cakes for her.  From Merigvon.”  The oddly shaped parcel he was clutching defensively made more sense to Ellea now.

“Anna is recovering very well, and I am sure she will like the cakes,” Mother said, guiding them on to the hotel.  “I expect she and Djaren will be arriving by carriage quite soon.  We can have the cakes waiting on a nice platter.”

“Are there cakes for me too?” Ellea asked.  She looked at Jon.  He had no parcel.

Jon looked at Tam.  “Aren’t the cakes for everyone?”

“They’re for Anna,” Tam said, a little indignant.

“Perhaps she’ll share,” Mother said.  “And we’ve luncheon waiting as well, so you, little bird,” she smiled at Ellea, “won’t go hungry.  Hurry along.”

The steps to the hotel, just ahead, were crowded with brightly dressed strangers.  One woman darted forward, her purple hat glittering with little silver stars and white plumes.  Her voice sang out high and annoyingly shrill.  “Lady Blackfeather!  We had just come to call on you and your husband the Doctor!”

Mother winced, her fingers flexing briefly over Ellea’s.  Only Ellea heard the whispered, “Bloody hell.”

The flock of bright people, all feathers and bangles, followed after their shrill spokeswoman in a flutter and had surrounded them in a moment.

Pumphrites

“Dear Lady Blackfeather,” the shrill woman gushed, “we’ve had the most difficult time making an appointment with you!”  She smelled heavily of perfume and incense. Large crystal earrings swayed on either side of the woman’s face, twice the size of her considerable nose and much the same shape.  Ellea watched them, fascinated.  “We’ve been ever so eager to meet with you!” the woman said.  Feathered hats bobbed, and a few men’s hats also waved, all around them.

“Yes, um,” Mother said, attempting to push politely through the sudden crowd.

“We’re here on behalf of that great unrecognized scholar, Mister Pumphrey, you know.”  The woman stayed close beside Mother, following her every step, with a bright smile.

“Mmm.” Mother looked hopelessly for a way through the crowd.  Tam had to hold his parcel up above his head so it would not get jostled.  He made an unhappy face.

Uncle Eabrey seemed puzzled.  “A relation of the inventor of the Pumphrey Ever-last Wonder Gumboot?”  There was a large advertisement for the things on the back of one of the newspapers he was clutching.

“Ah!” The woman’s eyes transferred to Uncle Eabrey.  “Mister Pumphrey is that same wealthy industrialist, yes.  But since making his fortune, he has turned his attentions to the most noble of academic and philanthropic pursuits.”  She beamed at Mother.  “Mister Pumphrey is a great scholar now, you know, and will be giving a lecture all about his discoveries on archeology and mysticism.  You simply must come.  Others might not acknowledge Mister Pumphrey’s brilliance, and might try to discredit his theories about spiritualism and the guiding deities, but we are so sure you and your husband will attend.  It will be ever so enlightening.”

Mother’s eyes narrowed.  “Pardon me?”

“Well, of course we heard what a simply awful time Dr. Blackfeather had getting into the Archeological Society, if you will pardon me for mentioning, what with all his terribly obscure research, but now he’s a member, we thought he might feel for dear Mister Pumphrey and his sad troubles.”

A man in a maroon suit stooped to smile rather sickeningly at Jon and ask him his name.  A lady in loads of lace inquired whether Uncle Eabrey had ever read Mister Pumphrey’s works.  Mother took Jon’s hand in her other one and attempted to politely but forcefully propel them all through the crowd.  The shrill woman kept pace with them, still chattering.  “Mister Pumphrey’s brilliance is being simply ignored, as your husband’s was.  It really is his time, you know.  The guiding deities have ordained it.”

“A Professor, really!  You look so very young.  Except for your eyes.  You must be an old soul.  Have you felt that?” the lacy lady was saying to Uncle Eabrey.  He threw a look of desperation over to Mother.

With a mumbled “Excuse me,” Tam stepped in front of the lacy lady, being very careful of his cakes, and managed to clear them all a path to the hotel doors by looking large and clumsy with a big, precarious parcel.  The shrill woman followed them right up the steps, still speaking.  “We know you’re not as close minded as some others in the Society.  If you were seen giving your support to Mister Pumphrey, well, his inevitable induction into that academic body would come about expeditiously.  He is really such a great man.  And quite generous, to his supporters.”  The woman glanced pointedly at Uncle Eabrey’s patched jacket elbows.  “He is quite the boon to suffering academics.”

“Well,” Mother forced a smile, and blocked the open hotel door with her parasol.  “We shall bear the lecture in mind.  However, as I mentioned before in the botanical gardens, and the salon, and at fountain square, my husband is unable to attend lectures at this time.  We’ve had a serious illness in the household, and Doctor Blackfeather is currently indisposed to company.”

Ellea smiled at the ground.  Not a word a lie.  But all the words did not make a truth either.  Where Father was, no one but Mother knew.  Ellea had her guesses.  And Father was never much of one for visitors.  They made him very dull, and short, and he had to hide his nice burning green eyes.  Visitors were inconvenient.  Especially this kind.

“Is the Doctor unwell?  Oh dear.  Has he tried a dose of poppy?”

“That works so well for my headaches,” another brightly dressed person chirped.  Jon darted in through the door, and Tam after him.

“I know it must be such a dreadful time for him, with the bans on digging at Narmos,” the shrill woman piped up again, her eyes less vacant now, and more calculating.  “Have you heard anything about your request?  I thought not.  So terrible.  What an awful little country, turning away scholars like that.  When Mister Pumphrey is admitted to the Society, he’ll make sure honest researchers aren’t banned from their places of research.  Ah well, we shall call on the guiding spirits for Doctor Blackfeather’s swift recovery.”

Mother pushed Ellea and Uncle Eabrey inside the hotel, after the Gardners.  “Pray don’t,” she said to the crowd, with just a touch of genuine worry, “You don’t know who they are.”  Some hidden memory in Mother’s mind set off a little shiver in Ellea’s, though she wasn’t trying to listen in.  Mother was very firm about mental privacy.

Mother closed the doors on the glittering crowd, and sighed, turning to face everyone else. “Well.”

“Excuse me, madam,” the doorman said.  He’d evidently been hiding inside. “Will you be having any other guests today?”

“No, indeed no, Franz. Thank you.” Mother said.  She bundled everyone through the grand foyer and to the broad stairs.  The Gardner boys stared at the marble pillars, the tall glass-paned windows, and the view of the garden grounds beyond.

“What’s that little house with only half walls?” Jon asked.

“That’s a gazebo,” Ellea explained.

“Well, what’s it good for?” Tam asked.

“Having tea and parties and violin ensembles in the shade, and other dull things.”

“What’s wrong with trees?” Tam wanted to know.

“Whoever were those very perfumed people?”  Uncle Eabrey asked, as they walked up the stairs.

“Sad rich people who want divine direction from tea leaves,” Ellea answered, blinking up at her uncle.  She was feeling benevolently informative today.

“I don’t want you near them, Ellea,” Mother warned, leading the way down a hall to their rooms.  “If any real supernatural thing ever intruded on their world they would all run screaming.”  She opened the door to their suite and the Gardner boys gawked all over again at the room, white and window filled, with urns of wild roses, and crimson curtains.  The carpet was thick and green, and happily resisted ink stains.

“Anna’s room is there, my own and Ellea’s there, here is where you will be, Eabrey, in the blue room, and you boys will have a room here.  You will have to share with Djaren.  I’ve told him to clear away his things to make space.”  Mother opened the door to the green-walled room and sighed.  Precisely one third of it was covered in precarious towers of books, model buildings made of paper, blocks and paste, reams of paper, bits of new rubbish, and under it all, a bed.

“And Corin?” Uncle Eabrey asked.

“Father isn’t here,” Ellea said.  “It’s a secret.”

“Oh.”  Uncle Eabrey looked at Mother.  “Has he gone . . .”

“Yes.  With all our prayers.”  Mother sighed. “I hope he returns soon.”

“They won’t let us dig at Narmos, is that what the lady said?” Jon asked, looking stricken.

“No archeologist from outside Narmos may walk, ride, or take a train into Narmos at this time,” Mother said.

“What about flying?” Jon asked, softly.

Mother smiled and put a finger to her lips.  “We are staying put in Germhacht, where we are going to have a lovely holiday.”

Chapter One–The Adventure on Board the Train

Chapter One–The Adventure on Board the Train

Kara gripped the ladder rungs and clambered swiftly up to her favorite place atop the moving train.  There was a breathless instant as she moved from the steel rungs to the smooth roof surface, and a windy scramble for a good seat, and then she had it.  For a moment, Kara was completely happy.  The mountains of southern Germhacht flew by like something from a picture card.  Little cottages perched about blue lakes full of little boats, seeming as unreal as toys or a window display.  The air smelled of mountain meadows and pines as it whipped in her short cropped curls and her big black coat.  It was almost like flying.

Sadly, Kara was not flying.  In another moment the men following her would discover where she’d gone.  Kara sighed and edged out further along the top of the train toward the next car.  She made the giddy jump and won the scramble for good footing on the other side.  Things were never easy, at least not for a professional thief.

Kara on the Train

Kara was a good thief, possibly the best of her age.  She didn’t know precisely what that age was, apart from older than twelve.  She looked about ten, but knew she had to be older than that.  It was an advantage sometimes to have no age, no parents, and no responsibilities in the world.  This was not looking like one of those times.  A shout came from several cars back.  Kara looked over her shoulder to see one of her pursuers climbing up to the top of the train car she had started from.  She let out a few of her favorite curses and, deciding it was time to be reckless, began to run along the top of the train and took the next gap at a flying leap.  If she could get to the passenger cars well ahead of pursuit she might find a good hiding place.  And if she could do that before the approaching tunnel it would be even better.

Kara swore again, seeing a head emerge over the top of a car four down, in the direction she was heading.  She dropped and flattened her small body to the top of the train, and watched with a grin as the men before and behind took cover between cars as they approached the tunnel.  The moment they were in darkness, Kara pushed herself to the edge of the car and looked down over the side.  Her eyes adjusted perfectly to the dim light, as they always did, and she found the nearest window and pried it open.  She slid down and flipped over, vaulting in through the small window to drop, rolling, into an upper class sleeper car.

She heard people approaching from the stateroom beyond, but a steamer trunk stood unlocked just feet from her.  Kara pulled the window shut and pushed open the trunk, curling into it and closing it behind her even as the train emerged into light again.

Kara found herself in what were obviously a noble’s belongings and began systematically rummaging about for useful items.  It was a man’s trunk, and smelled of some kind of cologne and shaving cream.  Her fingers found a tin of complexion powder, and she concluded that the man was vain, or the victim of bad skin.  She paused in her investigation as she heard the stateroom door open and waited, frozen, to be discovered or not.

“I’ve won us a victory, Varden.  Stop sulking,” a man with an Arienish accent said.  “The find is mine, is ours if you like, and that backwoods mystic with the irregular degree is left empty-handed and looking a fool.  You might try to celebrate.”

A younger man’s voice answered with the same accent and a low, bitter tone.  “We’ve been banned from the country, father.  All foreign nationals of every academic discipline have been banned from the country.  No one will get any kind of discovery for fifty years or more.  But you’ve won.  Should I order champagne?”

“You might try to be a little grateful, Varden. ”  There was disappointment and a certain oiliness to the older voice.  Kara decided the face powder must be his, and set it aside.  “This was for you, as much as for anything.  Your dissertation–”

“Has to be entirely re-written,” the younger man snapped, “now that my area of research has been slammed shut because you wanted to deprive a rival of some artifact.”

“Listen to me, boy.”  The older man’s voice went cold.  “Governments are made of men.  All that is required is to be a greater man.  The greatest explorers and discoverers of our time have known how to work beyond the laws of the ignorant.  Science and learning can’t be bound by the restrictions of the uneducated.  The great make the laws, and the lesser live by them.  I’ll write a letter to Lord Halsingram.  He has some influence in that area since his company bought the salt mines.  We could be back in a few months.”

“Through bribes and blackmail, wonderful,” the younger voice retorted.  Kara grinned dryly.  Nobles, sure enough. Well, that meant there should be some good finds in this trunk.

“I will not be spoken to in that tone,” the older voice said.  “Change your precious dissertation.  Write whatever you like about Narmos, or choose another ruin.  There are plenty of ancient civilizations to choose from.”

“For you to plunder without the least documentation, and to sell to whatever museum will mislabel them–”

“For you make your precious reputation on,” the older voice said.  “And if you want to keep attending strings of universities on my benevolent fortune, you’ll be civil.  Any other son might be happy to have a prestigious archeologist as a father.”

And I thought I was a thief.  Someone had told her once that archeologists and tomb thieves were the same.  She’d met an assortment of both now, and had to conclude that certain tomb thieves and certain archeologists were far from being anything ordinary at all.  Judging by the contents of this trunk, these were the ordinary thieving variety of archeologists.  Good.  Kara rifled quietly through support stockings, several starched cravats, and a coat with tails, and then she heard the name that froze her in mid-action.

“And if he brings a petition to his contacts as well?”

“Blackfeather can petition the Society as much as he likes, but he won’t get a permit.  And I already have what he’s after.”

Kara had mixed feelings about hearing the name Blackfeather.  When she’d first found the job in Germhacht she had been pleased, knowing the Blackfeathers would be there.  That feeling had shifted toward annoyance as she realized that the Blackfeathers being there meant they would interfere while she was trying to pull off her job.  She’d been hoping recently that she might just avoid them entirely.  She ought to have known she wasn’t that lucky.

“You think Blackfeather planned to dig up all of the lost empire of Narmos for a single item?”  The younger voice sounded skeptical.

“Oh, he pretends to catalogue everything, and to turn in full and tidy lists to the governments and the Society, but he pockets things like everybody else, and I’ll swear it’s the seal of Kesh that he’s after.  I saw that lackey of his, Sheridan, in the library poring over texts about it.  Mark my words, he wants it.”

The younger man’s voice was like ice.  “You jeopardized my entire academic career on a petty—”

“I told you I will not be addressed in that tone.  I created your career and I can end it.”

Kara was getting bored with the family bickering.  She stopped listening and ran her hands around the lining of the case, looking in all the usual places for secret pockets and compartments.  The back of a drawer proved to have a false bottom, and Kara was made happy by the discovery of several small parcels.  She pocketed them for later.

The boring argument was abruptly broken off by a sharp and insistent knock upon the door.  It was a knock of authority, and Kara froze again, knowing what it meant.  The younger gentleman opened the door with an annoyed question, and the train guard answered him with a half-heard apology and inquiries as to whether either gentleman had seen any trace of a ragged dark-skinned boy in a black coat.  The younger gentleman answered rather rudely that they had not, and when the train guard suggested that he might make a search of the compartment, the older gentleman tiraded him with language that impressed even Kara.  The danger of the train guard having been soundly rebuffed, the door shut again, closing Kara in with the two bickering nobles.

Kara unwrapped one of the smaller parcels and deduced by feel that it was a metal face.  She tried her teeth on it and decided it was gold.  Her luck was getting better.  The door to the train compartment opened again, and both men abruptly stopped speaking.

“Father, Varden, is something wrong?  I heard shouting from this carriage.  The guard says there’s been a thief through some staterooms.  Did he come in here?”  The new voice was a child’s, accented like the others.

“No, Morly, everything’s well,” the younger man said quickly.

“If the thief had tried coming in here, we’d have pitched him out the window,” the older man said, in a voice both jovial and false.

“It’s terribly exciting, isn’t it?  And we’ll be rounding the Hillesbrau falls in another minute, come see!  Please come see.”

“All right, we’ll come.”

“Lead on.”

Kara sighed with relief as the compartment door slid shut behind them.  She crept out of the trunk, rubbing at her cramped legs, and slipped to the door.  Peering out, she saw that the noble family had not gone far.  They all stood looking out the window across the narrow passage: an older man in a frock coat and face powder; a tall, thin young man, handsome but for his scowl; and a small boy with long, messy black hair and a wrinkled cravat.  The small boy was bouncing excitedly and pointing at things out the window.  Kara paused for a moment, unsure where to go next, and then the little boy pulled the two men further along the corridor for a view out another window.

Kara eased the compartment door open soundlessly and crept down the corridor in the opposite direction.  After crossing three cars without incident, Kara breathed easier.  All these cars had already been searched, and she was in lower-class territory now.  If people could find anything to steal from the passengers in these cars, no one cared.  A compartment door opened suddenly just ahead of her, and a small boy with blond hair stepped out into her path.

“Kara?”

Kara stopped, frowning down at the boy.  She recognized him.  He was a little taller, but no less wide-eyed and gullible-looking than he’d been last year.  If anything, Jon Gardner’s blue eyes had gotten bigger.  He smiled at her.  “You’re here!  Djaren said you would come.  How are you?”

“Fine.”  Kara looked both ways, watching for guards, and peered into Jon’s compartment.  His older brother Tam was there, too, a bit taller and even more awkward than last year.  His hair looked like it had been cut by way of a bowl and some pruning shears.  His big hands fumbled with a paper, and he dropped it as he looked up and saw her.  “Kara?”

“Shut up, you talk too loud.”

“Hello, Kara,” a mild adult voice greeted her.  Kara jumped, as the scar-faced and slender Professor Sheridan looked around the corner of the door.  He unnerved her even when he wasn’t popping unexpectedly around corners.  He wasn’t right, somehow.  He was too young to be a Professor, his clothes were a good forty years out of date, his ears were strange, and his otherwise handsome young face along with all his visible skin was covered in a web-work of faded scars.  That, and he shared some kind of mysterious past with the undead monster that had attacked him, the Gardner boys, and the Blackfeathers last summer at an archeological dig Kara happened to be robbing.  He smiled at her, seeming unbothered by her grimace.  “You may want to speak inside the compartment.  There were some guards through earlier looking for someone.”  His look said that he guessed who that someone was.

“They were rude fellows, too,” Tam put in, his backward Shandorian accent much thicker than his little brother’s.  “They gave us suspicious looks.”

“I can’t stay.”  Kara frowned.  “I’m not here to chat.”

Jon looked hurt, but before Kara could be ruder, or instead say something nice, she noticed a silvery glow emanating from his hand.

“You still have that thing you found in the tomb, eh?”

Jon looked down, surprised, “It doesn’t normally show so much.”  He stared at his palm, glowing with a lacy silver design, and then shoved his hand deep into his pocket.

“Explaining that to Ma was difficult,” Tam said.  “She still seems to think that enough soap will eventually make it go away.”

“But really,” Jon said, “most of the time it’s quiet, nearly invisible.”  He glanced down worriedly at his now glowing pocket.

“Right.  Well, I don’t envy you.”  Kara sensed movement a car down, and looked up to see a guard walking the length of the car ahead.  “Look, I’ll see you later.”

She walked off without waiting for an answer, trying to walk casually.  Time to find a nice quiet luggage car to hide out in for the rest of the trip, and avoid people, noble and strange, altogether.  It would be nice, just for once, to have an uneventful summer.  She could steal things in peace and quiet.