The Duchess of the Shallows (32 page)

Authors: Neil McGarry,Daniel Ravipinto

* * *

Duchess stared out the window at the Shallows below. The sun was just setting behind the hill but its fading light still made its way through the slightly warped panes of glass. She stood only on the second floor, but it seemed as though the whole of the district were laid out before her. Looking up, she could even make out the temples that ringed the Godswalk and, if she squinted, the tiniest portion of Scholars District.

Uncle Cornelius had been right; it was a lovely spot. The curio shop stood on the amorphous border between Shallows and Wharves, not far from the so-intriguing Foreign Quarter she'd glimpsed after her wild ride from the cold house. She'd get some of the breeze of the harbor, which didn't always smell appealing but would help cool the place in summer. She had indeed said hello to Nigel, the proprietor of the curio shop and, she imagined, also a member of the Grey. He'd greeted her amiably enough and had done the little dance of unspoken word and earnest implication that was
fruning
, making it clear that any interesting items she came across could most assuredly be taken off her hands at a fair price. She, in return, had thanked him and told him that if there were any odd jobs in the neighborhood that needed taking care of, she'd be more than glad to help. Evidently Duchess was not the Uncle's only Grey friend, but she had to admire his cleverness. By lodging her in an apartment owned by Nigel, he was showing his favor openly to the Grey and thus deflecting any claims that Duchess was a spy, without ever saying a word. She found herself growing ever more impressed by the Uncle's subtlety, which was a thing to emulate. She'd keep it in mind.

The stairwell which led to the apartments above the shop bore a freshly painted red hand, which put Duchess' new home under the protection of the Red. She could leave her door unlocked and gold on her windowsills without fear of thievery. The key from the Uncle's letter fit perfectly, and she was reassured to note that the lock was fairly good; she'd practice on it later. Inside she found a mid-sized room with a crumbling hearth and a chipped but serviceable table flanked by two long benches. Two rooms opened off this area: one was a small bedroom, already complete with a straw-filled mattress, and the other was set up as a rude office with a battered desk. "I have a desk," said Duchess wonderingly. She'd hadn't had a room to herself since she was a child, much less three rooms and a desk.
She could barely imagine what she would do with so much space. All of the rooms had windows which would admit lots of light and save her on lamp oil, she noted thriftily. The florin she'd gotten from Hector wouldn't last forever, after all.

She walked through the apartment, naming each piece of furniture as if convincing herself it was really there. "I have a desk and a bed and a table. And there's a mattress." None of it was as impressive as what she'd seen in the Vermillion, but then again she was just starting out. The straw in that mattress was fresh, she noted as she plopped down and sighed with pure satisfaction. Yes, she would very quickly get used to having her own place, particularly since she hadn't been asked to pay for it. She wasn't sure how long that would last, but she hadn't gotten this far by thinking too deeply about the future. As she learned in the cold house, sometimes it was best to jump right in and trust that you could survive the current. It wasn't Hector's way, or Minette's way, or the Uncle's way, but perhaps it was her way.

She got up and went to the window, looking out at the city, which stretched out before her like some giant game of tiles. So many things in Rodaas were like a game, with moves, countermoves, gains and losses, but of course on the board all one stood to lose was some coin. When the game was for real, you gambled with your life, but if you played the tiles right everything you won belonged to you and none other. And this time, by the gods, there would be no night of smoke and fire to take away the things that were hers. The gray cloak she'd left at the garret (although not for much longer) was the only visible sign that Duchess had won the first round and was better positioned for the second. She could do whatever she wanted. The thought was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

Though perhaps not so terrifying as what lay ahead. She'd been stripped of every illusion she'd held – of the enemies of House Kell searching for her, of her father finding her and taking her to safety – and in their place she had only the fragments of an even larger story. Her father had told her that hard truths were unwelcome visitors, and she now knew why. So much of her life had been ruled by fear and uncertainty, and with much of that gone, she had no clear path forward. The mystery of the fire had been solved, and even though it hurt to know her father had taken his own life, she knew at last that he had never willingly abandoned her. It had been P, and not Lord Kell, who had packed her off alone to the bakery, for reasons she did not yet understand.

Perhaps Noam had been right; for now it was better that the world think that all of Marcus Kell's children had perished that night. Perhaps it was best to remain Duchess, at least for the moment. Until she'd unraveled more of the mystery that surrounded her, retaking her old name was just too risky. Besides, although Marina Kell was who she had been born, Duchess was who she was.

Still, she vowed that one day she would know the reason she'd been hidden away, just as she would one day find out where Justin and Marguerite had gone. On that day, she thought grimly, P would have much to answer for.

And P himself was only the first of so many things she still didn't understand. She still had no idea who he was, or why he'd taken an interest in her life on the night of the fire and then again eight years later. If the Uncle were to be believed, P either led the Grey or was the face of those who did.

And between the Grey and P lay Minette, always manipulating, never telling the whole truth. She'd confided to Duchess a tale of a pattern of ever-repeating storms, but had conveniently left out the connection between the snake symbol and a possible leader of the Grey. What else had she neglected to mention?

And if P were indeed the same force that Domae mythology named He Who Devours, and the gray figure that she had seen in her dreams...well, that was even more worrisome. For that meant that whoever or whatever P was, he had been part of Rodaas for a long time, impossibly long for any single person. He had either caused periods of great stress or simply moved during them, and to what end she could only guess. But given the utter fall of Domani, and the haste with which the Domae had abandoned their city, she doubted P meant to usher in a golden age. Every time P had shown his hand the city had suffered, and the coin in her pocket signaled that his time had come round once more. She thought of the fog in the sewer, and the presence she'd sensed even further below the city, and shivered.

Whoever had snatched her from her father's house and ensconced her in the Shallows was a master player, but was he was not the only one in the game. P, who was connected to the Grey, had directed her to Hector, who had been manipulated by the facets, who had struck a blow against Eusbius, who was connected to the Uncle, and in the middle of it all was Duchess, seemingly the smallest of pieces.

It was too much. The only thing she could be certain of was herself and the knowledge that she could face whatever threats might come.

There was a knock at the outer door. That would be Lysander, responding to the cryptic message she'd left with Lorelei. She'd show him the new place, and then they'd buy some wine and drink it while they ran over the day's gossip. As she ran to greet him, she remembered the name the lightboy had used, and despite the danger, the many mysteries and uncertainties, and her low rank on the Grey, she felt at least for the moment very like the Duchess of the Shallows.

About the Authors

Neil McGarry and Daniel Ravipinto are, collectively, a computer programmer, afraid of heights, a former technical writer, a rabid Go-Go's fan, a board-game designer, a founding member of the Alan Turing Fan Club, an award-winning interactive-fiction author, a native Philadelphian, an ex-drummer, one heck of a party thrower, from New Jersey, the holder of three degrees, an avid role-player, an improvisational actor, an uncle, a stand-up comedian, not particularly fond of flying, a video gamer, a lover of Halloween, a pianist, a story-game/RPG developer, and an Ultimate Frisbee enthusiast.

They are currently hard at work on the next installment of Duchess' story,
The Fall of Ventaris
.

Table of Contents

Chapter One: The color of her coin

Chapter Two: In the market

Chapter Three: Over a barrel

Chapter Four: What the fire forged

Chapter Five: A beggar at the gate

Chapter Six: Chasing the Grey

Chapter Seven: Houses high and low

Chapter Eight: Laying out the tiles

Chapter Nine: Letters and lightboys

Chapter Ten: The job before the job