“Fleeing the Lady. Hiding. He spoke of the sea,” replied the homunculus.
“He should’ve been quicker about catching a ship, then. If he hadn’t wasted time browsing bookstores, he might still be breathing. Feels off.”
Satchel remained mum.
Viv shook her head. “Here’s what we really need to find out, though. She sent someone after Balthus. Does Varine know where you are? Is she coming here?”
Satchel raised both hands in a distinctly human gesture of helplessness. “I cannot say, m’lady.”
She frowned. “You don’t know … or you can’t say?”
“I cannot say,” he repeated miserably. “I must keep the Lady’s secrets.”
“Did she bind you in some way?” whispered Fern.
His skull turned to regard her. The glow of the hurricane lamp turned it the color of ruined cream. “Fear is binding enough,” he replied.
* * *
After that, Viv wanted to speak more privately with her friends. “So … can you go back to sleep, then? Just for now?” she asked Satchel. “I promise, we’ll wake you again later.”
“At your command, m’lady,” he replied resignedly. He carefully placed his skull into the bag before a waterfall of bones followed. The sides of the satchel didn’t even bulge at the skeletal inrush.
Viv couldn’t convince herself he wasn’t listening. She folded the flap over and latched the bag shut, then handed it to Fern. “Maybe tuck this away in the back? Just in case?”
Fern opened the door in the rear to do so, and Potroast burst from his confinement, paws scrabbling on the bare wood as he snuffled and hooted around the room while Gallina and Viv put the chairs and carpet in their original positions.
Viv leaned against a bookshelf while the other two took the chairs. They sat quietly while rain chattered against the east-facing window. The entire building creaked in the breath of the storm.
“Well,” said Fern, breaking the silence. “What now?”
“What can we do?” asked Viv. “You heard him. He serves Varine and keeps her secrets. We don’t know anything about him or what he might do. It’s a risk to have him out and about. Maybe even to have him here at all.”
“So we just leave him?” Fern was aghast.
Gallina chewed her lip. “I dunno. I feel bad for him.”
Viv tossed up her hands in exasperation. “I guess I do, too. He’s like a slave. It’s terrible. But also, he’s something she created. How much can we trust him? How much is he like us, really?”
“Enough to be frightened,” Fern said sharply.
That was hard to argue with, so Viv didn’t even try. “Okay, you’re probably right, but still. Do we want to chance him running to Varine in the night? Or sending her a message or … I don’t know.” She made a vague gesture. “Doing something … untoward?”
“Could hand him over to Iridia,” mumbled Gallina. When they both looked at her, she shrugged uncomfortably. “Maybe he should be her problem?”
Viv was surprised at how vehemently she rejected the notion. But not as strongly as Fern, apparently.
“We will fucking not.” The rattkin’s voice was firm. “You don’t pass people around like … like luggage. Even if they’re inside luggage.”
Sighing, Viv stepped away from the bookcase. “Well, we don’t have to figure it out tonight. Let’s sleep on it.”
They were all too tired to argue, and nobody had a better idea. After awkward goodbyes, they left Thistleburr, each of them thinking of the creature folded up in the bag—waiting or asleep or gone to some netherworld they couldn’t imagine.
Viv and Gallina hiked the slope to The Perch as fast as they could through the lashing rain and whipsawing wind. Lightning scattered between the churning clouds, and in the distance, the mournful cry of some creature in the hills made them hurry even faster.
23
“It’s a lie. All of it,” said Beckett. He gestured with his snake’s-head cane at the disarray: the overturned table, the lens shattered across the floor, the debris spilling from the window, and even the splash of blood that trailed up the wall.
“A lie?” Leeta’s expression was dubious as she capped a phial and shook it vigorously, examining it for changes in hue.
The old man raked his fingers through tangles of gray hair, and his grim smile was half admiring. “This is Aramy’s work. She’s giving me just what I want to see. Of course we’ll believe it’s the groundskeeper, and of course we’ll believe Lady Marden is dead. I’d warrant that’s even her blood.”
The gnome narrowed her eyes at him, searching his face for signs of fatigue or misgiving, but there was only certainty chiseled there. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because it’s all too obvious. Because she’s toying with me. She said as much in that damned cryptic letter.” His expression soured. “But that’s what vexes me most. She’s been too obvious. Which means there’s something else I’ve missed, and we have to find it before it’s too late.”
“So you believe Lady Marden is alive?” exclaimed Leeta. “Then that’s what we—”
“Hey there, hon. Thanks for waitin’。 Got another one, huh?”
Viv glanced up from her seat on the boardwalk in surprise. Maylee closed the door behind her with a jingle, forehead still damp with sweat, cheeks sparkling like fresh-washed fruit.
“Hey.” Viv smiled back, glad of the distraction. She’d read the same page at least five times, plagued by thoughts of the bone homunculus sitting in the back of Fern’s shop, of Balthus lying dead in the sand, and wondering if Rackam had cornered Varine yet. Maylee’s company was much more welcome.
She snapped the book closed and tucked it away. “Yep. Fern’s still picking them for me.”
Maylee squinted at her. “Somethin’ botherin’ you?”
Viv shrugged awkwardly. “Yesterday was … a lot.”
Maylee bumped Viv’s left leg with her hip. “Well, let’s get movin’， and you can tell me about it. I’ve got an hour before the bakery falls to shambles without me.”
Viv grabbed the walking staff from where it leaned against the clapboard. She figured if she had it in hand, Highlark was less likely to use the sharp side of his tongue.
“Back with the stick, huh? How’s the leg, then?”
Viv considered the question. “Little stiff today, but on the mend.”
They walked together toward Murk proper. In Maylee’s company, Viv didn’t struggle against her own deliberate pace. The sand was still soaked and hard from the prior night’s storm, and the sea had a gray, sullen look about it. The smell of waterlogged wood and spent rain was heavy.
She saw Gatewardens patrolling on top of the fortress wall. True to her word, Iridia was taking the potential threat of Varine seriously. Viv wondered what other preparations the tapenti might be making.
As they strolled, Viv relayed all that had happened the previous day, from the discovery of Balthus to the appearance of Satchel.
“Eight hells,” breathed Maylee, eyes huge. “So, what’re you gonna do?”