Dulinea’s eyes twinkled. “You are well-versed in the ways of the theater. Most unusual and most amusing. So many of the lovestruck swains have more notion of their idols’ waist sizes than of the parts they play.”
“I confess to having applied myself to the study of the theater. Being made to look ignorant in such company as this—provided I garnered an invitation—is not something I would’ve enjoyed.”
“Who would?” Dulinea held out her arm. “Come, let me offer you
my
arm, so that we may both get what we want, without appearing the least to compromise our principles. For you, no doubt, were brought up to be polite to women, and I do not balk at being so bold as to instigate it.”
Rafe linked his arm through hers. Female flesh, warm and smelling of perfume, makeup, and some kind of lightly-spiced liquor, pressed close to him. Dulinea’s eyes were large and green and bright, simultaneously laughing and mocking. They followed the rest of her companions to the broad steps leading up to Leonard’s, past a series of chairs waiting to disgorge their more elegant and less mobile passengers.
“Good even Dulinea, Rosmerta.” A woman called to them from beside a chair.
The women stopped, exclaiming.
“Why, Sable! How long has it been since we last saw you?”
“Are you coming to the party? Firenze will be here.”
“Then she should leave quickly, because he will surely not rest until she agrees to play Princess Padmeria.”
Dulinea dropped Rafe’s arm. She didn’t exactly shoulder her way through the others, but there she was at the front, facing the other somberly-clad woman, one hand resting on her hip, coat falling open to reveal more of her costume. She half-turned her head, as if on stage, so that everyone could hear her.
“Why, Sable,” she cooed. “Has the Marquis given you time off for good behavior?”
Sable Monarique replied coolly, “He lets me out of my cage for two stages every Sixthday and every Girdlesday. It’s a hard life, but someone has to wear Rocquespur’s collection of silk costumes and drink Shimmer tea, Dulinea.”
The other girls tittered. Dulinea’s smile didn’t change, though her eyes became harder. “We can’t all have your good luck, Sable. Not all of us have wealthy patrons vying to buy our freedom with bonbons and trinkets.”
Unlike Dulinea, who stood in the light, glitter sparkling in her hair, showing off the bold colors of her attire, Sable was in the shadows. Perhaps she smiled under her hat, but he could make out nothing other than her rich voice.
“We all value different things, Dulinea. Let’s leave it at that.” Sable lifted a gloved hand, a cigar holder between two fingers. “Care for a companionable smoke?”
Dulinea tossed her head. “It’s a filthy habit, Sable. Isn’t it, girls?” She glared so ferociously at the others that they all nodded their heads. “And it’s cold out. Let’s go inside.” She turned on her heel, and the other girls called weak goodbyes to Sable as they, too, turned. “Coming, handsome?”
Rafe shot her a smile. “In a moment. Lighter, ma’am?” He produced one from his pocket and moved closer, so she could see his face.
Sable’s eyebrows rose. “Thank you, young man.”
Dulinea snorted and went inside, trailed by her friends.
Sable leaned the end of her cigar into the small flame, placed it against her lips, and inhaled deeply. “This is an unexpected meeting, Grenfeld.” She blew smoke through her lips. “Though only on my part, I gather.”
“I have a proposal for Rocquespur,” said Rafe bluntly. “Information in exchange for his influence. Are you interested?”
Sable dragged in another breath of smoke. Her eyes were half-closed, full lips pursed and thoughtful. The conventional cut of her coat and the sober colors of her garments only highlighted how striking she was. From her dark skin to her dramatic beauty to her name, chosen to emphasize her foreignness, she was immediately fascinating. Rafe, watching her, understood why Rocquespur might desire such a woman.
From what else he’d heard, she was formidable in areas other than the theater.
Sable’s exhalation ended on a cough. She examined her lit cigar. “Dulinea is right. It is a filthy habit.” She flicked ash on to the street, and ground it under her boot.
“I hate to rush you to a decision, but as you probably know, I have authorities to evade.” Rafe smiled at her and kept his posture relaxed for the benefit of any watchers. He stepped in closer, like a man interested in an attractive woman—and she
was
attractive—and dropped his voice to a flirtatious murmur. “I can offer Rocquespur the opportunity to finally overturn the Dewfleur government.”
“I doubt he needs help from you.” Sable flashed him a mischievous smile and an arch look. “The Dewfleur government, with the help of the Bloodoaks and their harsh policies, is doing an admirable job of undermining itself. Rocquespur is patient enough to let matters run their course and pick up the pieces afterwards.”
“There may not be anything left by that time.” Rafe opened the newssheet in a casual gesture, as if looking for the social calendar. “Foreign-funded anarchist groups. Food-related riots. It’s not just the government that’s in danger; it’s the whole state that’s going to fall apart. Does Rocquespur want to be king of a carcass?”
Sable deftly slid the newssheet out of Rafe’s hand and tapped him playfully on the arm with it. Her eyes still laughed, her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “And you plan to prevent this how?”
“By finding the Tors Lumena.”
Sable’s mask slipped for an infinitesimal moment, but she covered it with an airy gesture. “Impossible. No such thing.”
Rafe shrugged, and put his hands in his pockets. “That entire Blackstone mission was about the Tors Lumena. I’ve learned that the six Renat Keys together can point the way to it. Blackstone believes it, too—they’ve been looking for the Keys.”
“Of which your uncle has three,” supplied Sable.
“Four, actually.” Rafe turned a smile on her that he hoped looked charming. He certainly didn’t feel charming.
“So you want to find the Tors Lumena, do you? What does Rocquespur get out of this?”
“Credit,” returned Rafe promptly. “He gives me whatever I need to find the Tower and when I do, he gets the glory.”
“He is rather resourceful, but he’d have a hard time getting you those last two Keys.”
“He can get me a fast train into Shimmer. They have a Key. I’ll do the rest.”
“And that’s it?”
“No.”
She waited, her look showing she expected this.
“My sister.” Rafe looked out at the starry night sky. “The Guarda Royal have taken her, as hostage. Get Rocquespur to use his influence to set her free. Roland has gone crazy, arresting the kin of dissenters, as if this were Blackstone.”
“Rocquespur to the rescue? Defender of liberties?” Sable said it as if trying the words on for size. She shook her head. “That’s a new role for him.”
“An unlikely one.” Rafe’s fleeting smile was full of black humor. “Do we have a deal or not?”
“I don’t know. I have to…”
Rafe snorted. “Talk it over with Rocquespur? Sel, Sable, this isn’t about deciding whether to upholster the sofa with green brocade, or gold! We have no time. Firenze could be here any moment. You’re Rocquespur’s agent. Make up your mind.”
“And jeopardize my own position?” Sable threw back her head and laughed, in shades of velvet and tones of wildness. “All right, then. I can have you out of here on a train at Seed tomorrow morning.”
“You can be ready quicker,” he told her. “Rocquespur’s private train is just idling at the station. Surely you can manufacture a pressing need to take to the mineral springs of Clearwater by Mold.”
“I suppose. What do you intend to do in the meantime?”
His tone was self-mocking. “Take the other four Renat Keys. From my uncle.”
“That won’t be easy.” Sable eyed him soberly. “He’s been carrying them with him all day. Last I heard, he was at the Assembly building, insisting on looking at moldy old records.”
The mage weapon!
Was Uncle Leo desperate enough to…?
A current of ka roiled over Rafe, and he staggered off-balance. Sable steadied him, just as the ground shuddered. “What is it?” she said. “Another attack?”
“No,” said Rafe grimly, as a web of ka crackled against his skin. “A very stupid venture. Be sure that train is ready by Mold,” he called out over his shoulder, as he ran for the Assembly building.
An entire wing of the Assembly building had collapsed by the time Rafe, having caught two trolleys and run the rest of the way, got to it. Several small fires, caused by the destruction of the gas lines, smoldered in the ruins.
Rafe grabbed the shoulder of one of the bystanders. “Has anyone gone in there yet? Or come out?”
“Er… no. They’re waiting for the machines… hey, what are you doing?”
Rafe sprinted towards the building.
Dust and smoke clung to the air, and Rafe, his head full of ka residue, tied his scarf over nose and mouth. He ducked through the main doors, stout oak that had finally broken after centuries of use, ignoring the shouts behind him. The marble inside was covered in plaster dust. Rafe paused, and focused on the Renat Keys, calling to him like beacons.
He picked his way over rubble, through broken walls, and past cracked pillars. Several times he had to stop to find an alternate way, but urgency pressed him on.
Uncle Leo was in there somewhere. The Guarda Publica and the diggers would be here soon.
The Renat Keys sang to him.
He went past the ruins of the gallery where he and Leo had talked. The L’Amagio that had so offended his uncle was crumpled amidst debris, and the Dancing Woman had twisted herself up into knots and would dance no more. Rafe’s foot kicked a piece of quartz which glimmered for a moment as it skidded across the floor.
Eerily enough, the mage lights were still on and glowed ever more brighter, banishing the shadows, as Rafe went on, down the stairs and into the warm earthy-smelling basement. The walls were cracked all over, and it seemed like the smallest puff of wind, the slightest exhalation would bring the whole building down upon him. Rafe kept his breath shallow as he crossed the floor, and caught sight of a glinting metal wheel half-buried in rubble.
“Uncle Leo.” Rafe clawed away the debris, breaking fingernails and scraping his palms and fingers. The wheelchair was on its side, with Leo slumped in it, eyes closed, blood on his white face. In the console in front of him, the four Keys chirruped happily, brightening in obscene joy. They’d been set into four of its six sockets.
Hush, now
. They came away from their sockets easily, falling like ripe fruit into his hand, lights obediently dimming. Rafe slipped them into his pockets, then turned back to his uncle.
Leo stared at him out of unfocused eyes. “What…?”
“You’ll be fine, Uncle,” said Rafe. “Close your eyes.”
Leo stared at him in confusion, then his lids drooped. “So… thirsty…. Hands… hurt….”
Rafe started to lift his uncle out of the chair, then hissed as he saw Leo’s palms, red and blistered from heat. Leo made a strangled sound, then fell limp again, deadweight against Rafe’s arm.
Better for him to be passed out for this. Rafe hoisted Leo on to his shoulders in the wounded-soldier carry he’d learned in the army. Sharp cracks rang out from above. The whole building shifted ominously and rained dust down on Rafe as he jogged for the stairs. He took the steps as fast as he dared, then loped down corridors turned unfamiliar and maze-like, shaking dust out of his eyes as he went. A ka-induced headache slashed at him above his ear, and his uncle, who was a big man for all his age, was a heavy weight. Loud pops and long groans followed him as the building shuddered all over, and Rafe forced himself to keep his pace slow and to watch his footing.
When he reached the great lobby, he almost sobbed his relief at the sight of the collapsed doors, leaning outward, revealing the outside.
Then even the mage lights flickered uneasily, and from behind him came a long thunderous rumble. Rafe ran for the doorway as the lights blinked out. He caught Leo’s feet hard against the jamb as he threw himself out and down the stairs, landing on his knees at the bottom.
Helpful hands reached out to take Leo from him. “…brave… stupid… Watch out! It’s coming down…” The mouths in the grim dusty faces were moving, but their words were drowned out in an oceanic roar as foundational pillars gave way in the basement. Hands pulled Rafe up and half-shoved half-carried him out of the way, back to the safety perimeter the Guarda Publica had established.
Rafe saw the fall of the Assembly building out of the corner of his eye. Leo was laid down on a somewhat clean shawl, looking worse than ever.
“Will he be all right?” gasped Rafe.
Bodies moved in front of him. “Here, I’m a doctor.” Pushed back by interested gawkers, Rafe realized that some more official-looking people had arrived in sedans, and were climbing down by the light of lanterns. Lords and ministers, he noted, and melted back into the shadows, sliding away from those who would recognize him.
“Rafe! Here.”
Rafe spun, hands clenched, hunching to make himself a smaller target, muscles ready to fight or flee.
Sable waved at him from beside a sedan. “Get in!”
Rafe glanced at the bearers—both tall Monarians who stared stiffly ahead. Sable followed his gaze. “They are my
ahimet.
I trust them.”
Rafe did not know what
ahimet
were, but he nodded and dove into the sedan. Sable followed, sat on the bench opposite, her knees touching his, and twitched the curtains shut. She rapped on the wall, and the pole bearers lifted them up.
“You have them?” Sable asked.
Rafe nodded, hating being blind and muffled and cramped in all that velvet. She could betray him in a number of ways now, and tension kept him on edge.
Sable leaned her head back against her seat. “The train is being prepared as we speak. We’re going to take you to the station now and put you on board. Uphold your end of the bargain, and we will uphold ours.”
Rafe gave a curt nod, hands clenched around the Keys in his pocket. If she tried anything, he still had the Keys to direct his clumsy rohkayan powers into. If he could take down a wing of Leo’s house, he could turn this one sedan into matchwood.