Chapter Eighteen Nina #2
Minutes later, we were led up a claustrophobic stairwell of velvet carpet.
The walls either side boasted further art that grew more provocative with each flight.
First, it was merely the suggestion of nakedness and sex—couplings shielded by swaths of curtains, heads thrown back in ecstasy—but soon, every frame depicted limbs flung at impossible angles, and my cheeks grew hot.
Theo remained silent behind me. John whistled or snorted with increasing regularity, and Patrick, by the third flight, cursed incredulously. “You’ve taken some creative liberties, Tamir.”
Tamir held his cloak away from his feet and continued to ascend. “Yes, well, the lease says I can decorate how I see fit.”
“We imagined it with less tits, is all,” John said. “Not that I’m complainin’.”
I rolled my eyes.
Tamir led us to the third floor and indicated two opposing doors. One door was labeled THE MENAGERIE and the other, BELLA’S TRENCH.
“This floor is yours, as well as the one above,” Tamir said, nervously looking anywhere but at Patrick. From a higher floor, there came a rhythmic thumping, a shout, a woman’s laughter.
Patrick tracked the sound as though he could see its source through the ceiling. “For fuck’s sake,” he said, closing his eyes, and then to Tamir, “I pulled you out of a gamblin’ den and handed you this place on a silver platter.”
“And I’ve made a good business of it!” Tamir exclaimed, every word a performance. He grasped his chest in affront. “Never once have I been late in my rent.”
“Our company name is in the deed, Tamir. You were instructed to keep a low profile, run a quiet hotel.”
“It is a hotel!”
“Yeah? And what do you call that?” Patrick asked, nodding to the ceiling, where the thumping had resumed.
Tamir bit his lip. “It’s… a creative liberty.”
“It’s a fuckin’ brothel.”
“Oh. Well, yes.”
Patrick looked away from the paintings, ears reddening. John only hiked up his trousers, a chuckle breaking free of his lips. “Not exactly subtle, is it, Tammy?”
“I keep a discreet clientele,” Tamir assured them. “I am also known as Richard now.”
“Richard?” Patrick repeated, his patience clearly waning.
“Yes. It makes me sound genteel, no?” Tamir pulled proudly at his waistcoat. “All the rich men, they invite me to their swank parties. I am the ball’s belle, as they say.”
“No one says that.”
“I assure you, Meester Colson, they have a fondness for me.”
“I can’t imagine why,” John scoffed. “Couldn’t be all the whores, could it?”
Tamir waved away the suggestion. “It is my charm, I think. But I’ve paid off every debt, Meester Colson. Do not worry.”
Patrick remained unamused. “Just unlock the damn door.”
After a moment of stern contemplation, Tamir produced a key for The Menagerie.
The door opened onto a wardrobe of a room with badly clumped emerald carpet, exotic birds papered onto the walls, and a lumpy canopy bed complete with fake hanging vines.
“Fuck me,” Patrick hissed, then proceeded to push Tamir inside.
John put his hand at my back to guide me over the threshold, and I balked.
“Just need to convene before we part, darlin’,” he said gruffly, holding his hands up for show. “In you get.”
Theo followed warily, closing the door softly behind him, and we were all assaulted by sudden darkness and thick incense. Tamir rushed to open a curtain, and light sprayed across the dust motes.
“Before we rest,” Patrick said, his voice somehow deeper, gruffer. “We should know where we all stand.”
I eyed what appeared to be a loincloth hanging over the arm of a chair. “In here?”
Patrick’s jaw ticked. “This is the only Union-owned enterprise in Morland. It’s here or it’s the tunnels, and last I heard, they were filled with mud.”
I pictured that tunnel, lurking somewhere beneath. “And why are we in Morland?”
“And, er… how long will you be staying?” Tamir added. “Not that you aren’t most welcome—”
“As long as we need, Tamir,” Patrick said. “And you’ll not be breathin’ a word of it to anyone. Not even Union members.”
“No,” Tamir agreed sagely. “But I must say, this is quite a dangerous place for an Alchemist to be. These streets are filled with these important government types, you know? They love the drink and the topless ladies—”
“How do you know he’s an Alchemist?” Theodore interrupted, his arms crossed tightly across his chest.
“Oh, everyone knows this,” Tamir said, gesturing flippantly. “It is all about the gossip in town! Even the newsprint! This is why I am most surprised to find you here, Meester Colson. The papers say you are finding a truce with the House?”
“Tomorrow, I think you’ll find ’em sayin’ somethin’ different,” John muttered darkly.
Tamir gulped. “This city is not a good place for hiding,” he implored. “So much navy blue, Meester Colson. Better that you head for your tunnels, I think. I can provide some provisions—”
“We need guns and clothes,” Patrick said bluntly. Indeed, Theodore and I were still adorned in Artisan blue—ministry garb, no less. “But we’ll be goin’ nowhere yet.”
Tamir seemed to deflate. “Of course.”
“What word is there of Kenton Hill?” Patrick asked now.
Tamir bowed his head. “My condolences on your loss, my friend. I heard the infantry broke through like a battering lamb.”
“A battering ram.”
“Yes, that. The Union have been tittering since you were captured, Meester Colson. It was quite a shock. The members are in disarray. But the whispers assure me that Kenton Hill is resuming its business. It seems its people were quite eager to return once the navy dogs retreated to the kennel.” He eyed Theo warily as he said this, sensing that one of their kind stood among us.
Then he looked at me. “And you must be the infamous Nina.” His eyes swept over my face and all the way down to my feet. “The posters did not do you justice, my dear.” His smile was not unkind. “You are a very brave woman indeed.”
I gave an awkward nod in thanks.
Tamir tilted his head as though I confounded him.
“I’ll ensure you’re repaid,” Patrick told Tamir, regaining his attention. “As soon as possible.”
“Ah, it is not necessary, Meester Colson. When last you saw me, I was in the hands of those book men—”
“Bookies.”
“—and they were threatening to cut off my testicles, do you remember?”
“I could hardly forget.”
“But thanks to him”—and he addressed Theo and me as he slapped Patrick on the shoulder—“I am now a fashionable businessman!”
Patrick eyed the bird feathers at the man’s ear dubiously. “Just get the guns, Tamir. And the clothes.”
“I’ll bring supper, also,” Tamir said, bowing his head. He offered Patrick four keys. “And if you please, no urinating in the stairwells.” Then, in a flourish of satin, he left.
My lips twitched upward despite myself, and the smile felt foreign.
“Well,” barked John into the silence, slapping his hands together. “Let’s get to business, shall we?”
“Yes,” I said, which served to turn all attention to me. “The three of you can begin by telling me why we’ve come to Morland, of all places.”
I eyed Theodore, then John, but could not bring myself to sweep my eyes to Patrick again, lest I lose the momentum building in my chest. “Since I seem to be the only one who doesn’t know.”
There was a pregnant silence, John and Theo shirking an answer and waiting for Patrick to speak.
But Patrick only went to the window and turned to lean against the ledge. A cigarette appeared from nowhere, and he put it between his lips. A matchbox slid from his sleeve to his palm.
John whistled. “You pull that from Tamir?”
“The dockmaster,” Patrick corrected, lighting his smoke.
“Got another?”
“Haven’t yet decided,” he said darkly, giving his father a pointed glare.
There was still blood caked in the man’s nostrils. “You holdin’ grudges, son?” his father asked.
“At least a little longer.” Patrick drew deeply on the cigarette, his tired eyes closing as he exhaled. “You remember the deal I told you Lord Shop offered us, Nina? The truce?”
He did not look at me, but I thought it was a good sign, at least, that he said my name. That he hadn’t bid me away yet. “Yes,” I said.
“The deal was made on the promise of terranium. Enough of it to last the next few generations, maybe more.”
My brow creased. “The mines are near empty,” I said. My tone was vacant, uncomprehending. “The deal was a con.”
“It certainly was,” Patrick said. “Though not all of it. A discovery was recently made.”
“What discovery?” I asked, turning to Theo and searching his face for answers.
Theo sighed heavily, more drawn than I’d ever seen him, and said, “A book that may reveal the whereabouts of Idia’s Seam, if such a thing exists.”
The name clattered somewhere in the stores of my memory, a Scurry schoolyard where children clawed the mud with their bare hands. I’m diggin’ all the way to Idia’s Seam.
My gaze flickered between Patrick and Theo both. “Idia’s Seam?” I parroted. “The fable?”
“Not a fable,” Theo said, his face in shadow. “Just a well-covered secret.”
And I believed him. The House was built on lies—if they believed this real, then they would have kept it close.
“The book was found in the Morland archives,” Patrick added, and the rest of the tale was not needed, for I could feel the sudden fervor in the room emanating from John.
But not Theo, who appeared merely trapped.
“And what now, Patrick?” I asked him, for surely there was some grand plan turning in the cogs of his mind. I could see that he was trying—and failing—to hide his own zeal.
“You’re here to thieve yourself a copy of the book from the Morland archives? Is that it?”
“Don’t need one,” John grunted. And he pulled from his coat a much-abused book. “Young Theodore thieved the original, didn’t you?”
Theo looked darkly at the object. “And as I told you back in the National House, I’d feel better if I could carry it myself—”
“Don’t give a rat’s arse how you feel, boy. You just be grateful you’ve been allowed along.”
I stared at the book, my breaths shortening. Embossed on the cover were the words The Stewards’ Testament.
Hide, hide the witches,
The Stewards they hid three…