They were all too tired to argue, and nobody had a better idea. After awkward goodbyes, they left Thistleburr, each of them thinking of the creature folded up in the bag—waiting or asleep or gone to some netherworld they couldn’t imagine.
Viv and Gallina hiked the slope to The Perch as fast as they could through the lashing rain and whipsawing wind. Lightning scattered between the churning clouds, and in the distance, the mournful cry of some creature in the hills made them hurry even faster.
23
“It’s a lie. All of it,” said Beckett. He gestured with his snake’s-head cane at the disarray: the overturned table, the lens shattered across the floor, the debris spilling from the window, and even the splash of blood that trailed up the wall.
“A lie?” Leeta’s expression was dubious as she capped a phial and shook it vigorously, examining it for changes in hue.
The old man raked his fingers through tangles of gray hair, and his grim smile was half admiring. “This is Aramy’s work. She’s giving me just what I want to see. Of course we’ll believe it’s the groundskeeper, and of course we’ll believe Lady Marden is dead. I’d warrant that’s even her blood.”
The gnome narrowed her eyes at him, searching his face for signs of fatigue or misgiving, but there was only certainty chiseled there. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because it’s all too obvious. Because she’s toying with me. She said as much in that damned cryptic letter.” His expression soured. “But that’s what vexes me most. She’s been too obvious. Which means there’s something else I’ve missed, and we have to find it before it’s too late.”
“So you believe Lady Marden is alive?” exclaimed Leeta. “Then that’s what we—”
“Hey there, hon. Thanks for waitin’. Got another one, huh?”
Viv glanced up from her seat on the boardwalk in surprise. Maylee closed the door behind her with a jingle, forehead still damp with sweat, cheeks sparkling like fresh-washed fruit.
“Hey.” Viv smiled back, glad of the distraction. She’d read the same page at least five times, plagued by thoughts of the bone homunculus sitting in the back of Fern’s shop, of Balthus lying dead in the sand, and wondering if Rackam had cornered Varine yet. Maylee’s company was much more welcome.
She snapped the book closed and tucked it away. “Yep. Fern’s still picking them for me.”
Maylee squinted at her. “Somethin’ botherin’ you?”
Viv shrugged awkwardly. “Yesterday was … a lot.”
Maylee bumped Viv’s left leg with her hip. “Well, let’s get movin’, and you can tell me about it. I’ve got an hour before the bakery falls to shambles without me.”
Viv grabbed the walking staff from where it leaned against the clapboard. She figured if she had it in hand, Highlark was less likely to use the sharp side of his tongue.
“Back with the stick, huh? How’s the leg, then?”
Viv considered the question. “Little stiff today, but on the mend.”
They walked together toward Murk proper. In Maylee’s company, Viv didn’t struggle against her own deliberate pace. The sand was still soaked and hard from the prior night’s storm, and the sea had a gray, sullen look about it. The smell of waterlogged wood and spent rain was heavy.
She saw Gatewardens patrolling on top of the fortress wall. True to her word, Iridia was taking the potential threat of Varine seriously. Viv wondered what other preparations the tapenti might be making.
As they strolled, Viv relayed all that had happened the previous day, from the discovery of Balthus to the appearance of Satchel.
“Eight hells,” breathed Maylee, eyes huge. “So, what’re you gonna do?”
“Wish I knew. You got any ideas?”
Maylee thought about it as they continued, two strides to every one of Viv’s. She stared out over the breaking waves, and finally asked, “You think there’s any harm in him?”
Viv thought it over as they walked, then sighed. “Maybe not in him. But maybe he drags it behind?”
“So you’re tellin’ me you want to stay out of trouble? Who’re you kiddin’? Remember, I used to do this stuff, too.”
“Well, it doesn’t mean I want to bring trouble down on everybody around me.”
“I’ll risk a little trouble. I’m a big girl.” Maylee looked Viv up and down. “Relatively.”
“You are trouble. A nice kind of trouble.”
“Maybe someday you’ll be lucky enough to find out how much. Also, I want to meet it. Him.”
“Fair warning. I don’t think he eats much.”
“Well, half a loaf is better than none.” Maylee swatted her arm, but Viv wouldn’t have minded if the touch had lasted longer.
* * *
Having Maylee along did more than lift Viv’s mood. It also worked a remarkable transformation on Highlark’s attitude. Not a single long-suffering sigh passed his lips as he cleaned, examined, and rebound Viv’s wounds. Healing appeared to be proceeding well, and the elf administered a new and pungent salve that he said would reduce stiffness and scarring.
As she examined the model skeletons suspended from their metal arms, Viv thought idly of asking if he knew anything about osseoscription, but reconsidered. Instead, she nodded in all the right places, and soon the two of them were back outside his office.
“I should’ve had you with me from the beginning,” said Viv. “I think that’s the first time he’s treated me like he was getting paid to do this.”
“Sourdough loaves,” Maylee said in sage tones. “He picks ‘em up at least three times a week.” She leaned into Viv and said seriously, “Don’t mess with your baker.”
“Especially when your baker has a mace upstairs.”
“Oh, the rollin’ pin works just fine, hon.”
* * *
“He’s out,” Viv said flatly as the door to Thistleburr closed behind her.
Satchel regarded her from where he was sweeping the back hallway, his eyes twin blue rings of flame. Fern glanced up from the counter with a start, and a guilty expression stole across her face.
Viv couldn’t decide if she was annoyed or not. Did she even have a right to be? She’d assumed they’d talk it over and decide together what to do about him. But it was Fern’s shop, and the homunculus—Satchel—wasn’t a thing.
Still, she felt a prickle of dread. A premonition.
“And you have him sweeping? Like some kind of—”
“I tried to stop him,” blurted Fern. “I tried. I stared at that gods-damned bag all morning. Couldn’t keep from looking at it, thinking of him folded up in there, and I just … couldn’t leave him.” She wrung her hands anxiously. “But as soon as he was out and about, he insisted on being useful. Eventually, I gave up trying to get him to relax.”
“I’m quite incapable of that,” agreed Satchel. He resumed sweeping.
“At least the shades are drawn.” Viv sighed. “But I walked right in, and he was the first thing I saw. What if somebody else gets a look at him?”
“Well …” Fern said slowly. “What if?”
Viv opened her mouth to reply and then couldn’t think of one.
“Right? What are they going to do?” asked Fern.
Still, Viv couldn’t bring herself to give up the argument so easily. “What if whoever killed Balthus wanders in? Or somebody like him? What if it’s Varine?”
Fern made an exasperated noise. “Well, we’re fucked anyway at that point, right? What difference does it make? And as long as we keep the bag out of view, nobody else is going to make any connections. All they can do is ask questions we don’t have to answer.”
Viv looked at Satchel, as though for assistance.
He shrugged.
She couldn’t stop a burst of laughter from escaping and tossed up both hands in surrender. “Eight hells. Okay! You win. I guess that means I don’t have to put Maylee off meeting him.”
Viv made her way to one of the chairs and gently lowered herself into it. Highlark might not have aggressively probed her wound with Maylee around, but it was still tender after the hike into Murk and back, on top of the previous day’s activities.