Chapter Ten
TEN
Vesper waited for the fall.
She screwed her eyes shut, bracing for a rush of air and the inevitable crash on impact.
It never came.
She opened her eyes. Overhead, the sun was shining. Multicolored rooftops stretched as far as the eye could see, but Vesper couldn’t make sense of the view. A strand of her hair caught in the breeze; her dress billowed around her. It dawned on her slowly.
She hadn’t fallen. She was … floating.
She glanced over her shoulder and saw the balcony of Francis Gladwell’s hotel room growing farther away as they descended. How?
“All right there, Miss Evans?”
Maximilian was still holding her against him. His eyes were focused ahead, and when she followed his gaze, she saw he was angling for the roof of a warehouse directly across the street from the hotel.
“Just hang on,” he said, voice strained.
“We’re almost—” He winced and Vesper’s stomach swooped as they dropped quickly, landing on the roof so hard they both tumbled onto it in a heap.
Maximilian’s grip tightened as he pulled her against him, shifting quickly so that his body hit the roof first and absorbed most of the impact.
For several seconds, they lay there, breathing hard.
Vesper felt the sorcerer’s chest rising and falling beneath hers. She realized, with a start, that she was lying on top of him. At once, she got to her feet and brushed herself off. Maximilian sat up more slowly.
“Apologies,” he said gruffly. “Clearly my landing skills leave something to be desired. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” said Vesper. She stared at the sorcerer. He was leaning forward and pinching the bridge of his nose as though in pain. “Mr. Kite, are you quite well?”
“Of course. Never better.” Maximilian looked up suddenly, grinning. “Nothing like a bit of fresh air to revitalize the senses.”
Vesper turned. The balcony to Francis’s room was still in sight, and she could now make out police officers combing it. They’d jumped at least a hundred yards. She turned back to Maximilian.
“Can all sorcerers do what you just did?”
“No.” Maximilian stood and brushed his pants off before offering her a hand. “That particular incantation is rather difficult, and requires a great deal of focus.”
“I see.” Vesper looked over her shoulder. “We should probably get down, before someone catches us up here.”
“Right.”
It took a bit of searching, but eventually, they found a fire escape on the side of the building and made their way down. Vesper was more than a little grateful to be on solid ground again.
“Thanks for getting us out of there,” she said. “I’m … I’m not sure what I would have done without your help.”
Maximilian’s dark hair was wind tousled, and there was still a bit of color in his cheeks. He smiled at her, and Vesper felt the strangest hitch in her chest.
“You bring a valuable set of skills to our partnership, Miss Evans.” He gave her a small bow. “But occasionally, I can be useful too.”
“Well, thank you again.”
“Of course.”
Silence fell between them, and Vesper shifted her weight. Maximilian was staring at her with an intensity she’d seen before, and suddenly she wished with all her heart that she could know what he was thinking, what he saw when he looked at her. Did he see an “odd girl,” or something else?
“Well.” Vesper cleared her throat. “Francis’s hotel room gave us a useful lead and at least one suspect to look into, but I’d like a bit more information on his background. I was thinking we might head to the Basalton Library and see what we can find.”
Maximilian nodded. “That’s good thinking, Miss Evans. But I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you. I’m suddenly feeling a bit under the weather.”
“Oh.” Vesper couldn’t explain it, but she felt a fleeting sense of disappointment. She took the sorcerer in and noted that he was now paler than he’d been on the roof. Perhaps he was sick. “Of course,” she said quickly. “I can go on my own, then.”
“I’ll look forward to a report of your findings tomorrow morning when I pick you up for our next exploit,” said Maximilian. “If you could, be ready by ten. I’ll have Bisan send clothes for you; what’s your address?”
“It’s…” Vesper hesitated. “Just tell her to send things to the Globe’s office. They’ll get to me.”
Maximilian shrugged. “As you wish.”
“Hang on,” Vesper pressed. “Where exactly are we going tomorrow?”
“You’ll see.” A mischievous glint touched the sorcerer’s eyes. “We’re going to do a bit of reconnaissance.”
“Reconnaissance?” Vesper repeated. “What do you mean?”
Instead of answering, the sorcerer offered a polite bow. “Have a good afternoon, Miss Evans. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned on his heel before she could press him any further, and headed down the road. Vesper watched him go, bemused, then headed in the opposite direction.
The Basalton Public Library was a welcome sight to Vesper’s eyes.
She relaxed as she passed through its entrance, taking in the slightly musty smell of aged books and worn leather.
Afternoon sunlight filtered in through towering windows on either side of the main room and picked up tiny motes of dust floating among the bookshelves.
Vesper searched until she found who she was looking for: a woman sitting behind a large oak desk and sifting through a stack of folders.
“Hello, Ida.”
The librarian looked up from her work. She was a dark-skinned woman with silver-white hair and kind brown eyes behind crescent-shaped spectacles. “Vesper? This is a lovely surprise,” she said. “What can I help you with?”
Vesper leaned in. “I’m trying to build a profile on someone from Basalton’s high society crowd, and I wondered what resources the library might have to help me do it.”
Ida paused. “If they’re a member of high society, you might check the Social Register of Victerra first.”
“The Social Register?”
“It’s a publication that lists members of high society throughout the country,” the librarian explained. “It’s updated annually, and includes the kind of basic information you’d expect—births, marriages, academic pedigrees, et cetera.”
“That sounds like exactly what I’m looking for,” said Vesper.
Ida led her toward a shelf at the front of the library with several volumes of black leather books with the same golden font written down their spines. She ran a finger down the line, then stopped on one, pulled it from the shelf, and offered it to Vesper.
“This is the most recent edition.”
Vesper flipped past an introduction and table of contents, leafing through to the G section of the book. She skimmed the page, then looked up.
“He’s not listed.”
“Who?”
“Francis Gladwell.”
Comprehension dawned on Ida’s face. “You’re looking into that man who got murdered Friday, aren’t you? The inventor?”
Vesper nodded. “I can’t say much more.”
“Of course, I understand.” Ida took the book back and drummed her fingers against it a moment. “Entries in the Social Register are determined by a private advisory board,” she explained. “It’s possible that, even if Mr. Gladwell was a member of high society, they may not have voted to include him.”
“Where else could I find information about him?” asked Vesper.
Ida chewed her bottom lip. “If he was an inventor, there’s a chance he’s in the Victerran Almanac of Inventors. That one’s in our reference section. I’ll show you.”
This time, she led Vesper to the back of the library, to a shelf of plum-colored books. She pointed.
“The almanac has information on every notable inventor in the country, along with a list of things they’re officially credited with inventing,” she explained.
“It’s updated and republished at the start of each year.
If Mr. Gladwell was a credible inventor, you should be able to find at least some basic information about him in one of the more recent editions. ”
Vesper pulled one of the volumes from the shelf and nodded. “Thanks, Ida.”
The librarian smiled. “Good luck. I’ll be at my desk if you need me.”
Vesper sat at a nearby table and opened the almanac.
A brief introduction from its contributors took up the first page, followed by a list of inventors alphabetized by their surname.
She flipped through the pages, noting the photographs of stern-faced men staring back at her in black and white.
Not a single woman. She wasn’t surprised.
Few universities admitted women, and even at the ones that did, she’d heard horror stories.
She found herself wondering how much further Victerra might be if women were given a true seat at the table instead of a chair missing one leg.
Her attention returned to the book as she reached the G’s and slowed.
A list of four gentlemen took up the page.
Raúl Galdamez
Benjamin Gertz
George Gibbs
Maurice Glennon
Vesper read the names again, tracing a line down the page with her finger.
This was certainly the place where Francis Gladwell’s name should have been.
She bookmarked the page with her thumb, then flipped back to its cover.
1897. There was no mistake; this was the almanac’s most recent edition.
She frowned, pulling editions from the last four years from the shelf.
One by one, she flipped to each almanac’s section for inventors whose last names began with G.
One by one, she got the same result. Francis Gladwell hadn’t been listed as an inventor for the last five years.
Vesper leaned against the table, confused.
It didn’t make sense. If Mr. Gladwell had been as renowned as he was made out to be at the exhibition, surely he should have been listed.
She returned each of the almanacs to their place on the shelf, then headed back toward the library’s front. Ida was still at her desk.
“Find what you need?” she asked as Vesper approached.
Vesper shook her head. “I still couldn’t find anything about him.”
Ida considered a moment before her eyes went to the back of the room. “I have one more idea,” she said.