“Almost done,” I said hoarsely. “Just have to check the rest.”
There were four others: three pairs of cubbies with no birds, and one pair of cubbies with two birds—that meant four sent messages in total, and one received. At each pair I sniffed my vial and traced the words on the plate with my finger, praying that my body remembered the movements if nothing else.
As I finished the last one, I felt a hand on my shoulder, the fingers hard as iron. I turned, surprised, to see the axiom standing behind me, her skeletal face staring into my own.
“You are done here,” she said softly. “As the lady said.”
Shaking, I stood, brushed myself off, and descended the stairs, the axiom following behind me.
What a thing, what a thing, I thought as I trotted back down. What a thing it was, that I had to encrypt this memory and smuggle it within myself, translated into movement so my mind could keep it—though I had no idea if I’d been successful. Perhaps I would return to Ana, try to trace those letters upon some parchment for her, and discover I was drawing utter nonsense.
And then she would know, I realized. She would know of my affliction, and my lies, and I’d be found out and discharged, if not jailed.
My stomach sank as I approached the bottom of the stairs. What had I just gotten myself into?
I came to the door, sweaty and weak from all my attempted reading. Fayazi and her engraver studied me with a look of faint disgust upon their faces.
“Are you all right?” said Fayazi. “Or did you actually stumble across any contagion up there?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” I said hoarsely. “Now—the walls, ma’am?”
Her cold amethyst gaze searched my face. “Yes,” she said. “Follow, and we shall take you.”
I did so, treading along after the axiom and the engraver—but Fayazi walked behind me, and whenever I glanced over my shoulder, she was watching me very closely.
* * *
—
WE EXITED ONTO the back grounds of the estate, where a wide patio of white stone awaited us. Though I felt weak, I was again stunned by the sights: here huge bright-orange-leafed trees stretched high overhead, shimmering like they were aflame, and all along the edge of the patio stood enormous slender, curved sculptures of pale green. They were nearly forty span high, almost taller than the house—but then I felt a fluttering in my eyes, and I recognized them. I had seen these once, on the Plains of the Titan’s Path.
“These are…bones, again,” I said quietly. “Ribs.”
“Correct,” said Fayazi. “From a little one. Too hard to move the bigger bits these days—at least over land. Tell me—what do you expect to find at my walls, Signum?”
My eye lingered on the curling arrangement of gleaming ribs. A gruesome sight, I felt. “I don’t know, ma’am,” I said. “It may be the poisoner has a preference—they prepare early and come early. Last time they communicated to the staff at your household by throwing a yellow ball over the walls.” I gazed at the walls in the distance. “That likely won’t be the case here, given how tall the ones here are…But walls come first in their mind, perhaps.”
“Fascinating,” she said. She waved a hand to her trailing retinue of servants. “That will take some time, though. You must partake of some refreshments before you examine them, Signum.”
A servant strode forward to me, a wide copper plate in her hand. Placed upon it was an assortment of candied fruits, nuts, and dried flesh that had been cunningly spiraled through some artful butchery I’d never seen before.
My stomach reacted instantly to the sight. I had not eaten in hours, and desperately desired to taste these treasures. But I remembered what Ana had told me: take nothing, eat nothing, drink nothing.
“No, thank you, ma’am,” I said. I bowed. “I appreciate the effort. But I will not partake.”
Fayazi surveyed me coldly. “It is rude to refuse. Are you aware of this?”
“It is rude for me to be here,” I said. “My entire presence is rudeness. I can only appreciate your goodwill and apologize.”
She looked at me a moment longer; and for a moment I thought I saw a strange expression steal over her face: something akin to pure, mad terror. She glanced sidelong at her two Sublimes, who stood behind her, watching me.
Fayazi Haza, I realized, was very frightened of something. And I did not think it was me.
Yet then the expression faded, and Fayazi laughed, a high sound like pewter bells tinkling. “If you’re sure…I do think you’ll need your energy later. Go off, then, and do your spying about, Signum. I will be most curious to see what you will find.”
I bowed again and strode off toward the walls, but her words weighed upon me. Something was wrong with Fayazi Haza, I was sure. But what, I could not yet tell.
CHAPTER 29
| | |
I WALKED THE GROUNDS of the Haza estate as the afternoon shifted into early evening, snuffing at my vial. I was trailed all the while by Fayazi’s guards, who followed me like I was some imprisoned gentryman wandering his enclosure, but I ignored them as I studied the high fretvine walls.
The walls were enormous, nearly as high as the house. The idea of anyone trying to climb them or throw anything over was preposterous. The only thing I found of interest was the small stream that ran across the property, entering at the western wall and exiting at the east. I came to where it passed through the western walls first, and found it was protected by a sluice gate: a complex construction of steel and stone that slid up and down in the walls on huge metal tracks. The bottom half of the gate was woven steel, permitting the river water to run through. I crouched and peered at it, studying how the bottom of the gate sank into the muddy riverbed.
I looked over my shoulder at the closest guard trailing at me. He stood atop a small knoll, scowling in my direction.
I whistled at him and waved. “Hey!” I said.
His scowl deepened.
“I’ve got a question for you.”
He didn’t move.
“You can stand there and watch me whistle some more,” I said, “or you can just come over.”
He glared at me for a moment, then stomped over, careful not to get his fine boots in the water. “What?”
“What’s this gate for?” I asked.
“For when the river floods after storms, of course,” he said.
“Does it always stay like this?”
“No. They raise and set the gates to let the water through, then lower them when the flood’s done.”
I looked up at the massive sluice gate. “How do they lift it, though?”
“There’s a pulley at the top. They run a rope through it, fasten it to a slothik, and have it haul the gate up.”
“And when’s the last time they had to lift it?”
“How am I supposed to know?” he snapped at me. “Weeks, maybe months. Are you done?”
“No,” I said. I turned and walked away eastward, and he swore quietly as he followed.
* * *
—
IT WAS NEAR dark when I got to the eastern sluice gate. It was almost exactly like the first, except its riverbed was rockier, the stones poking through the mud like the backs of beetles sleeping in the soil.
Yet a few seemed different: the stones had been overturned, their stained, muddied sides facing up.
“Hum,” I said quietly.
I looked in the direction of the house, thinking. Then I walked in a straight line from the eastern sluice gate, checking the landscape to my left and right for sign of any disturbance.
Then I spotted something: an oval of yellowed grass, there below one of the pale trees.