Chapter 18
There was no coming back from such a dinner.
No amount of forced joviality could stop Lady Lisbeth from flinching at every sound.
No amount of tea could thaw the frosty glares Lady Theresa threw her stepdaughter.
And no amount of offered entertainments could ease the feeling they were all holding their breath.
“Well, that did not go according to plan,” Leaf said, making a bid for the greatest understatement ever as she drew Nic away from the others. “That was definitely the same automaton, though, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, still wearing my waistcoat.” Nic dropped into a chair, his whole body feeling like lead. “And that darkness was the same as what it spewed at me in the service passage.”
“Do you think it has something to do with the murders? That passage was where the chandelier mechanism was, but I don’t know how exactly an automaton commits murder.”
Nic realised with a flicker of shock that he’d never told her what he’d found out from Master Everel about Lord Francis’s death.
He had been too unsure of it, too wary, but he told her now, everything from the old vowsmith’s words to his insinuations—the only possible conclusion that, whoever else may or may not have fallen prey since, Lord Francis had been killed by something on an automaton’s reel.
“Then we have to find it,” Leaf said. “Tomorrow.”
“Find the murderous automaton?”
“You have a better plan?”
“No, I just wanted to be clear that was the plan.”
“I don’t see what else we can do, although if I’m entirely honest, Nic, your house is starting to frighten me.”
Monterris Court had never been friendly.
The company Nic had snuck into his bed over the years had inevitably found the house dreary and strange.
He’d always laughed at them, as he’d always laughed at the ghost stories the servants told and the tales the townsfolk spread, but he didn’t feel much like laughing anymore.
“Last time we searched we didn’t find anything,” he said. “Although… we didn’t go to the grotto. That’s where most of the automata parts are, you know. It’s not a light and cheerful space, though, I warn you.”
“You shock me. We will just have to take very heavy candelabras for whacking things, because we have to find out what’s on that automaton’s reel. Did you decipher the tape we found off the negotiation chamber yet?”
“No, there hasn’t been a lot of time.” Words both true and false, for perhaps there would have been more time had he not been so caught up on Dashiell. “I’ll work on it tonight.”
“Would it be faster if you asked Master sa Vare for help?”
He glanced across the room to where Dashiell stood staring down into the fire, one foot on the grate and his back to the assembled company.
Nic yearned to go to him and offer reassurance, or at least company that might take his mind off the evening’s troubles, and that was the problem.
He wasn’t sure they could be in the same room alone without closing the space, without risking what couldn’t be risked.
Leaf’s hand closed around his arm. “It’s important, Nic. Apart from searching the style wing, we don’t have any other leads.”
“You’re right. I’ll ask.”
She squeezed and let go.
At the other end of the room, a pair of chessboards had been set up and Lady Lisbeth had been coaxed to play against Lord Charborough.
The duke was calling upon his other guests to play as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Away from the parlour, the strange darkness did seem less real, like it truly could have been a figment of their collective imaginations.
Yet every now and then glances flitted to the ceiling between forced smiles.
“Master sa Vare,” the duke said, causing Dashiell to flinch and look around. “Will you play?”
“No, thank you, Your Grace. I think I shall turn in early.”
The tea tray had not yet been brought in, but the duke swallowed whatever surprise he might have felt and nodded.
Good nights were exchanged, and pausing only to light a candle at the door, Dashiell let himself out into the darkened house. Nic watched him go, caught by how particular it would look for him to follow now.
“Go,” Leaf whispered, and with another brief squeeze of his arm, she got to her feet. “I will play, Your Grace,” she said, making her way toward the others. “No doubt you are a far better player than I, but I do so like to learn.”
“Ah, don’t be taken in by such wiles, Val,” Lord Charborough said, grinning at his daughter. “Leaf is by far the best player in the family.”
“I find myself unsurprised.”
With his father thus distracted, Nic murmured an excuse and escaped as hastily as he dared. He caught up with Dashiell on the second-floor landing.
“Dash.” The diminutive leapt so naturally to his lips. Nic tried to swallow it back as the vowsmith turned, his candle burnishing raised brows.
“Nic. Is everything all right?”
“I… I need your help with something. Can you meet me in the library?” It had seemed so simple a question, but once out it became the most presumptive thing he’d ever said.
“If you’re not too tired, of course, Master sa Vare.
If you truly intend to turn in early, then by all means do not let me keep you. ”
“Yes. I mean no, I had no intention of doing so. I… Now?”
“As soon as you can—as long as you’re sure you can spare the time. I just need to fetch something first.”
“All right, good, yes. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
It took Nic no time at all to collect the tape from his workbench, yet he reached the library to find Dashiell already waiting.
“There you are.” He sounded relieved, his gaze shying to the thin blanket into which Nic had bundled the tape. “I was worried something had happened.”
Something like murder or something like getting eaten by darkness? A question Nic swallowed rather than give Dashiell reason to truly worry. He’d already made poor work of Leaf’s suggestion that he not go anywhere alone.
Keeping his tone light, Nic said, “Oh, don’t worry, I know my way around this house far too well.”
“I know you do, but I saw how fast you moved away from that black smoke. Something you’ve seen before?”
For a moment, Nic wondered how little he could get away with saying, and gave up. “Yes. A few days ago, when I found this.”
Unwrapping the blanket, he spilled the slippery bundle of tape onto one of the tables.
“Sigil tape?”
“It had gotten hooked on some wood in one of the service passages.”
“Which service passage?”
Nic met Dashiell’s troubled look. “The one off the original negotiation chamber. After Gillingham died.”
For a long time, Dashiell didn’t reply, his gaze seeming to bore into Nic as though seeking answers without having to ask the questions. Then he said, “I only saw it for a moment, but that thing at the door tonight looked a lot like one of those torn-apart automata from the old grotto.”
“It did, didn’t it.”
Dashiell turned away, throwing his arms wide in surrender. “All right, keep your secrets if you don’t trust me. I—”
“If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t have asked for your help.” Nic caught his hand to stay his retreat, desperate to reassure. “I just don’t know all the answers yet.”
Having been pulled to a halt, Dashiell stared at their joined hands as though at a problem that needed solving.
An easy fix, yet Nic lifted Dashiell’s hand instead, turning his own to bring them in line.
And there, palm to palm in the candlelight, he imagined interlocking their fingers, imagined kissing Dashiell’s palm, imagined never having to let go—each urge growing its own gravity.
At the edge of falling, Nic all but threw himself back. “I’m sorry.”
“No. Don’t be.” Dashiell shook his head as though clearing away a cloud. “I want what you want, and these snatches of time together… they hurt, but more and more it’s a hurt I cannot help but crave.”
“I know what you mean.”
They shared a wry smile, all too fond at the edges. Only when it began to grow its own tension did Dashiell finally sigh and look away. “Well, let’s look at this tape then, I suppose.”
He moved to the table and lifted one end of the snarled tape.
“Miir aht von… Hmm. I was hoping to amaze you by being able to tell from the first few sigils what it was for, but no. If it had started with bah semit kep, it might have been a protective charm often built into old houses, and vivol lu ah baht is the beginning of a lot of old prayer wheels often used the same way. Sadly, you are not to be amazed.”
He’d rattled off the meanings without thinking, all just knowledge he kept stored in his head.
“Not amazed?” Nic scoffed. “When this is why I need your help? You know so much more than I do.”
“Ah, but my knowledge is just endless repetition, not talent like yours.”
“You’re wrong, but I’m honoured you think so highly of my showy nonsense.”
“Showy nonsense? Don’t sell yourself short, Nic.
I can recall sigils, yes, but I can barely make even a globe with my hands.
” As he spoke, he moved his fingers, achieving a golden disc rough around the edge like a cog.
“That,” he said as it faded away, “was even worse than expected. How embarrassing.”
“Your taree wasn’t connected properly and you missed ze and petam.”
“Oh.”
Nic’s heart tightened at the sight of Dashiell silently moving his lips as he ran through the required series, his lined brow adorably confused. “That’s a lot of sigils in a short time.”
“It is.” Nic grinned. “Globes are actually quite hard.”
“Ah, but I’ve made my point.” Still he tried again, this time managing something like a half-inflated balloon. “Just lacking speed now, I think.”
“No, it’s your rhythm. Singing them aloud can help.”
Dashiell looked through his lashes, a wicked smile curving his lips, and everything Nic knew about conjuring flew from his mind.
“Are you correcting my rhythm?” Dashiell said, his voice low and vibrant. “I thought you liked my rhythm.”
Nic parted his lips upon a reply, only to cough and snap his mouth shut.