“Lillias’s bletsian?”
Evanton nodded. “I ask you to wait here while I retrieve it from the garden.”
Kaylin nodded. And had another cookie.
Chapter 8
When Evanton left, she turned to her partner. “An Aerian Arcanist. Any bets?”
“What are we betting on?”
“Which flight the Arcanist belongs to.”
“As long as you’re betting against dar Carafel, yes.”
Kaylin shrugged. “Shadow as simple power?”
“It’s Elani,” Severn replied.
“Meaning it’s a bill of goods we’re being sold?”
“We’re being asked to buy. But he’s probably not entirely wrong. I don’t understand how—or why—the Aerians had Shadow nets. The study of magic related to Shadow is illegal, even in the Arcanum.”
“The Arcanists don’t follow their own bloody rules. They’re certainly not going to follow the Emperor’s when they can avoid it.”
Severn, however, continued to stare at his hands, as if they vaguely displeased him. She could take a guess at why, but didn’t have to waste the mental energy. “Gilbert.”
Since this was more or less some part of what Kaylin had been thinking, she nodded, pensive now. “Gilbert’s the only Shadow I’ve ever met who wasn’t...”
He nodded, freeing her from the search for descriptive words. “Evanton’s not wrong. The first time you really spent time in the garden, it’s because an Arcanist—with an Imperial death sentence hanging over his head—tried to co-opt the Keeper’s powers in order to change the world.”
“To rule it.”
“To rule it by changing it. The heart of the elements weren’t the Arcanist’s concern. The power was. We have evidence—in the form of Leontines—that the powers of creation or transformation used there were, at the very least, susceptible to Shadow.”
“You think it’s more than just susceptible.”
“I think there’s a chance that the heart of the power is similar. The Towers were created to stand against Shadow—but the Shadows that have managed to breach a Tower knew what to look for, where to find it, what to do with it. They were trying to transform the Tower by rewriting the words at its core.” He was talking about Tara and Tiamaris indirectly.
Kaylin nodded slowly. “But what if the Shadows knew what to do because they’ve been at war with the Towers for so long? Bellusdeo understands Shadow better than any of us because she lost a world to it.”
Severn nodded, allowing the point. The problem was that Kaylin wasn’t certain she believed it. Because Shadows—or at least Gilbert—had words at their core. Whatever and wherever that core was.
“You remember the Fishmonger?” Severn asked quietly.
Kaylin flinched. There wasn’t a Hawk on the force who didn’t remember that case, and no Hawk who’d joined the force after the Fishmonger was caught who hadn’t been informed. The whole city knew about the Fishmonger. The Swords had been on full alert for almost a month by the time he was run to ground.
As a name for a man who had killed dozens in gruesome, horrible ways, it was stupid. But he’d earned the moniker because of where he’d found his victims, and how. He’d sold fish. He’d sold fish predominantly to the poorer citizens of Elantra, and on occasion, those citizens had vanished.
Parts of their bodies had been discovered in the fish, later. The Fishmonger had probably known more ways to kill a man than Red, the coroner, did.
There were still a few cookies left in the tin, but Kaylin put the lid firmly back in place, appetite completely absent. “Why are you bringing him up now?”
“Because he was human. We’re human. We’re not the Fishmonger. He didn’t require magic. He didn’t require power—elemental or Shadow or other. He did what he did with what he was born to. The Wolves were hunting him,” Severn added quietly. “We had a different view, but we were looking at the same thing: the damage done, the victims.
“Gilbert is, in theory, of Shadow. You felt it the first time you met him. You knew it. But he’s Shadow the way you and I are human. The Fishmonger was Shadow the way the creatures that come out of Ravellon are.”
Kaylin nodded, frowning. “Do you think that Ravellon was like one big holding cell for the criminally insane? I mean, the Shadows? I hadn’t really thought of it before now, but maybe it makes sense. Gilbert wasn’t what any of us were expecting. I think that hit Bellusdeo hardest. But is it really smart to look at Shadow as if it were fire or water, elementally speaking?”
Severn hesitated. “When elementals are summoned—”
“They’re sentient, if they’re of any size.” Kaylin struggled to catch the rest of the thought. “Shadow might be sentient the same way. But—fire wants to burn things. At any size. The trick to the summoning is controlling or denying that impulse.”
“Water wants to drown or crush things, Air wants to throw things into other things. Earth wants to crush or smother things.”
“And you think Shadow is somehow like the elements?” Kaylin asked Severn. Her first instinct was to deny it. So was her second. “Life needs the four elements. If the elements desire destruction when they’re summoned, that’s sort of understandable. No one likes to be practically enslaved. But what do we need Shadow for?”
“Your guess is probably as good as mine. Maybe we don’t need it—but it’s possible that the Shadows we’ve seen are like uncontrolled elements.”
“And Gilbert?”
“Doesn’t require the control.”
She shook her head again. The idea—to Kaylin—was preposterous. If Shadow was like the elements, there should be a single whole Shadow that existed, as the elements did, in the Keeper’s garden. Kaylin had spent enough time in that garden to be certain there wasn’t.
Evanton cleared his throat. He was standing in the doorway, waiting for a break in conversation. Evanton demanded a lot of patience—it was, he said, simple manners and common sense when dealing with the elderly—but was terrible at actually giving any of it.
Kaylin rose. “Sorry, we were just talking.”
“Yes, I noticed. And unlike many of the conversations you have with your fellow Hawks while waiting, this seems to be of actual relevance. I am loath to interrupt you.” Which meant, of course, he would. He lifted a hand; draped around his left palm was a slender chain that looked to be made of silver. “This is Lillias’s gift to Moran.”
“Is Moran going to be angry if I give it to her?”
“That is not my concern. The sergeant is not my customer.”
“It’s my concern,” Kaylin said, staring pointedly at the pendant that dangled from the chain. It, like the chain that held it, appeared to be silver; it was, to no one’s surprise, a small, stylized depiction of a feather.
“Yes,” Evanton agreed. He handed her the item he’d made. “It is. Your problem, that is. If you will excuse me, I have work to do.”
* * *
The rest of Elani was its usual fraudulent self. The merchants and street hawkers weren’t happy to see Kaylin and Severn, but they never were unless discovery of their fraud prompted former customers to get a bit of their own back from the fraud’s hide. Kaylin considered this attempt justified, and had pointed out to many that it was a consequence of lying and preying on the foolish dreams of the desperate. The criminals, though, pointed out that this was assault, possibly heading toward murder.
Today, however, no street brawls came to interrupt them. No commotion outside of Margot’s. The only people who seemed to want the attention of the patrolling Hawks were people who hadn’t seen—or hadn’t yet paid attention to—the familiar draped across Kaylin’s shoulders. To be fair, when he was like this, he didn’t seem to be particularly real. He might have been a very unusual shoulder adornment; gods knew the merchants here
sold some very strange ones.
“Where did you buy that?”
Since the answer was complicated, Kaylin didn’t bother. “He found me,” she said. “And stuck around.”
A predictable offer of money in exchange for the small dragon followed, the amount escalating with each refusal. On Elani Street it was practically criminal to refuse to sell something for the right price. The right price, however, was elusive.
* * *
“Please don’t tell me that Margot is trying to get our attention.”
“I don’t think she’s trying to get mine, if that’ll do.”
Kaylin muttered a short Leontine curse. Leontine wasn’t really a good language for quiet cursing when on duty. “Can we ignore her? I’ve had a bad week and I don’t want to add to it.”
“She probably can’t make it any worse.”
“She’s inventive. She probably can.” Kaylin grimaced and gave in to the inevitable. She waited by the sandwich board in front of Margot’s window until Margot came out to speak with them.
“I know you’re not happy to see me,” the redhead said.
Since this was more or less true, Kaylin shrugged.
“I’m not particularly happy to see you, either,” Margot continued. “And I seriously considered ignoring your presence—but you didn’t trip over my board today.”
This made Kaylin flush. “I usually pick it up.”
“Your partner usually picks it up,” Margot corrected her. She was a very, very attractive woman. Her hair was a bright red, her skin was the type of pale that redheads of that variety usually sported, her eyes—today—were green. They changed color, not with mood, but with money and magical enhancements. Kaylin had no idea what their natural color was.
“I had a new client today.”
Kaylin said, “Was he Aerian?”
“Funny you should ask that. No, he wasn’t.”
“Why is it funny I should ask that?”
“His questions seemed to revolve around Aerians. He was not young,” she added, “and he was very, very well dressed. Almost too well.”
“Is that even possible?”
“I’m thinking out loud. He was extremely expensively dressed. And I didn’t recognize either him or the name he left. He was human,” she added, as if this were necessary. It wasn’t, really—most of the dupes that came willingly to Elani to empty their pockets were. But Margot’s clientele spanned the gamut. One of her clients had once caused Kaylin extreme difficulty, being related to a castelord.
“I’m listening,” Kaylin said when Margot paused. Margot didn’t usually offer anything like help to the Hawks.
“You’re wondering why I’ve approached you.”
“Kind of, yeah. Can we go inside?”
Margot nodded, turned, and led the way in.
* * *
“I don’t have much time,” Margot told them. “I have an appointment later this afternoon.”
“With the same guy?”
She shook her head. “With a very important client.”
“And the rich man wasn’t?”
She shook her head again, her gaze falling to the floor. “I’m not sure I’ll see him again.” She lifted her head and met Kaylin’s eyes. “I know you think I’m a fraud. I’m not. Not entirely.”
Kaylin nodded.
“Ever since the incident on Elani, I’m less of a fraud.” She looked pretty bitter about it, too.
“Let me guess. Most of the people who pay you money don’t actually want the truth.”
“Got it in one. Look, we all need to eat, right?”
Kaylin said nothing.
“I don’t have many other skills. The offers of employ I received when younger would probably curl your toes.”
Kaylin said, “I grew up in the fiefs.”
“...Or not. Look, I know you don’t like what I do. I don’t particularly care for what you do while you’re here, either. But there are times I’m grateful for the Halls—mostly the Swords—and you could be a lot worse. I’ve had beat Hawks proposition me—”
Kaylin held up one hand. “I just ate,” she lied. She didn’t want to believe Margot, and she wanted to have less to disbelieve. But the implication that she’d lost her appetite was true.
“Right. The man wasn’t asking about Aerians, not specifically. But the answers I received were about Aerians. And Hawks.”
“Hawks?”
“Yes. Neither of these are guesses,” she added. “I’ve seen that tabard for all of my tenure on Elani. I know it when I see it.”
“And the Aerians?”
She hesitated. “I don’t do much business with Aerians, so I don’t know a lot about them. I know that they’re generally normal people, but with wings attached. The wings differ in color. But I haven’t seen wings like the ones I saw in my vision before.”
“Go on,” Kaylin said, her jaw tensing.
“They were pale, but speckled gold.”
The speckles were brown. Kaylin did not correct the description. No one expected information gained in Oracles or visions to be accurate.
“You don’t look surprised.”
“No comment.”
“You do look pissed off.” She hesitated. “You want to know why I’m talking to you about this.”
“You said that already.”
“Yes.” Margot exhaled. “I’ve spent a lot of time to get where I am. I’ve made my own decisions, my own choices; I have my own money now. I’m not beholden to—to anyone. Got that?”
Kaylin nodded.
“I’m telling you this because of the client. He did—or said—something just as I sat down.”
“Show me the room you sat in—if you don’t mind. Also, keep talking.”
Margot said, “I don’t want you to touch anything without my permission. Everything in the room I used is expensive. Everything.”
“It’s meant to impress the wealthy?”
“Yes. I have another two rooms, both of which see more frequent use. This room is meant to impress.” She pointed to a curtain composed of long strands of beads. Or of what appeared, at a distance, to be beads. Margot clearly meant the “don’t touch” part; she pulled the beads back to either side of the open arch herself, hooking them carefully in place before she entered the room.
Kaylin slid her hands behind her back and clasped them loosely as she followed.
* * *
Kaylin expected the room to be a gaudy, bright den of things—sort of an upscale version of the dust-covered, cobweb-anchored shelves in Evanton’s store, but more practical. It wasn’t. It was almost austere in its simplicity. There was, of course, a table, and on it a crystal ball, which was a prop for fraud as far as the Hawks were concerned.
Kaylin had visited the Oracular Halls a number of times, all on duty—she knew that Oracles and their prophecies didn’t require something as fixed as a large glass ball. Vision was not confined, in Kaylin’s experience, to fixed locations. She glanced at the rug, the wall hanging, the painting; she saw a vase, flowers and four chairs, all of which were empty.
The chairs, however, would have been at home in the palace. They were upholstered and very heavy. Margot indicated that the Hawks could sit, but her expression made clear that the chairs were far more valuable than her current visitors. Kaylin declined. It wasn’t like she was ever going to be comfortable in Margot’s company, anyway.
“First, I want it to be clear that I never talked to you.”
“Well, at least it’s believable,” Kaylin replied. “What made you overcome your normal reluctance?”
Margot’s smile was leaden. “I know you believe me monstrous,” she said, “and in general I don’t care. But the man who came to visit me today was unusual.”
“Go on.”
Margot turned to the painting on the wall. “Records.” It was a good thing Margot’s back was turned, because she missed seeing Kaylin’s jaw fall open. By the time she turned again, Kaylin was back in control of her face.
What Kaylin had assumed was a painting was, in fact, a mirror. The colors of mountain and city and sky broke into tiny pieces, recombining into an image of this room, and one of the occupied chairs. “This is the visitor.”
“Anything unusual about him?”
“Yes—but not visually.”
Visually, however, he was impressive. Not a single hair was out of place. If he hadn’t so obviously been human, he might have been Barrani. His eyes were a gray blue, which accentuated the subtle ice of his expression. He didn’t look familiar to Kaylin, but she understood why Margot had pegged him as a wealthy mark. It wasn’t his clothing—although that, to Kaylin’s eye, was costly—but his carriage, his demeanor. He was clearly used to both having power and wielding it to gain obedience.
She didn’t like him. Then again, neither did Margot.
Severn was staring at the man.
“Another one of your former clients?” Kaylin asked, half joking.
“I’m not completely certain,” was the serious reply.
Margot frowned, but said nothing. Kaylin, however, flinched. “What name did he give?”
“He didn’t.”
“You didn’t ask?”
“Many of my wealthy clients come to me on the condition of secrecy. As long as their gold is good, I don’t care what they call themselves, even if it’s nothing. I usually recognize them regardless.”
“Not this guy.”
“No.”
“You think he’ll be coming back?”
“Not if I have anything to say about it. He came because he wanted the usual glimpse into the future.”