He felt a welt of shame for how he had left things with his parents weeks ago. His father not so much, but his mother? Roman hated to think of causing her any more grief and anguish.
There will be time for this later, he thought, stepping away from the flowers. Don’t get distracted.
He removed his map, Iris’s wedding ring, the two letters from Dacre. That was all he had carried from below to above, and he quickly changed into a crisp white button-down and a pair of black trousers before clipping leather braces over his shoulders. His trench coat, because the morning looked like rain, and then a fresh set of socks that made him wiggle his toes in relief. Lastly, his favorite pair of brogues.
He returned all four items to his inner pocket, although he held on to Iris’s ring for a moment, watching it gleam in the morning light.
Val had instructed him to meet her at Gould’s Café. Roman had no doubt that Val would follow him up the stairs to watch him the entire time he was out in the open, moving from place to place. Above all, Dacre would want eyes on Roman.
The most important thing was to keep Iris as safe as possible. Which meant Val couldn’t know that they were married or had any sort of affection for each other. They needed to fall back to their old patterns during the café meeting, just to be careful.
Roman sat at his desk. He wrote a quick message and then folded it into thirds, tucking it behind Dacre’s envelope. Without his typewriter, there was no way to give her a warning. She was going to be blindsided, and he could only hope that she would know to play along.
Roman stood and glanced around his room a final time. He hid his Underling jumpsuit and worn boots in his wardrobe and then realized he needed one more thing before he headed downtown.
A telephone.
* * *
Iris hadn’t heard from Roman in over a day.
This wasn’t exactly unusual, but ever since that moment in Hawk Shire when his memories had come flooding back, he had written to her at night when he was safe in his room. She didn’t want to let worry overcome her thoughts, but she also couldn’t help but feel like fate had shifted, like a star falling from a constellation.
Something must have happened.
She paced her bedroom, glancing sidelong at the wardrobe door. It was always best if he wrote first, since he was mobile with his typewriter, spending hours in Dacre’s presence. But there was still a way for her to initiate the contact. She had taken advantage of it multiple times before and didn’t see why it couldn’t be used now.
Part of her bid herself patience. But the other side, the one that was smoldering like coals, told her to do something. Don’t just sit back and wait.
Iris sat on the floor and typed out:
This is a test to see if the strike bars E & R are in working condition.
EREEERRRRR
E
She kept it brief this time, sliding the paper under the wardrobe door. She waited, but as the minutes spread into a dark hour, she settled on the edge of her bed, her hands icy.
Iris slept very little that night. But when she woke in the morning, she didn’t feel any better. Her heart felt bruised when she saw there was no letter on the floor for her to read.
There was no word from Roman, and it was time for her to go to work.
Iris washed her face and combed the tangles from her hair. She found a clean sweater in her wardrobe, a pale blush color that made her feel brave, and a brown plaid skirt. She drew on her knee-high stockings and boots and left for the Inkridden Tribune.
Forest was already at work, but he had left her a scrawled note on the kitchen table: Sarah is coming for dinner tonight. Help me decide what to make? She doesn’t like olives or mushrooms. Also, please don’t be out past dark.
It was the only bright spot in Iris’s morning, making her worry dwindle during the tram ride. Imagining her brother cooking dinner for the woman he fancied was amusing. But by the time Iris stepped into the Tribune’s office, her fears had returned tenfold. It felt like a brick had settled in her stomach when she wondered where Roman was, and why he had gone silent.
Attie was already at their desk, looking over notes. She glanced up when Iris collapsed into her chair.
“You’re here early,” Attie remarked.
“So are you,” Iris said, but before she could say another word, her attention was drawn to Helena, who strode from her office to pour a cup of tea from the sideboard.
Their boss looked haggard, as if she hadn’t been sleeping. Her shoulders were stooped, her auburn hair lank and dull. Purple smudges marked her eyes as she took a sip of the scalding hot tea, but Helena didn’t even wince. She returned to her office, not saying a word to anyone, and Iris exchanged a worried look with Attie.