A Sea of Purple Ink (23 page)

The man studied it for a moment, then bowed and swept his arm out in an exaggerated wave. “Welcome, Master Tyrone and guest.” He stepped smartly to one side and held the door open.

Reese’s pulse pounded through her ears.
I’m going to have to be vigilant. If I see a reader, the only thing I can do is hide.

Tyrone clambered out of the rocking carriage and offered his hand.

Come to think of it, my outsmarting of a reader at the city gate wasn’t really outsmarting a reader. It was mastermind against mastermind.
Reese gathered her skirt and slid forward on the bench.
I hope I don’t have to try it again.
She rested her hand on the merchant’s and stepped from the doorway.

The roof of the inner courtyard loomed above them, reflecting the light of enormous chandeliers.

Reese let Tyrone take her arm and usher her toward the doors at the far end. She kept one eye out for any stray tendrils of mist, ready to pull her cloak tighter if needed.
I wonder how many guests are turned away at the door for accidental staining.
The gravel crunched beneath her feet. Behind them, more carriages arrived, discharging their laughing and talking occupants in swarms.

As they reached the door, Reese peered out at the waiting servants.
No sign of readers’ uniforms…
None of the silent men appeared to be studying the guests with more than a distant, snobbish interest.

The blue-painted door swung open, and they were through.

32

Relief flooded through Reese’s veins as they worked their way through the cloak room.
We’re in. First entry accomplished.

Tyrone halted beside a half-filled coatrack and began tugging at the clasp on his cloak. “Do we have to get right to work, or can we have a dance first?”

“I don’t know,” Reese replied. She reached up to her hood as a group of five men and women breezed past them. Her mind registered their idle chatter and gossip even as she struggled to pull the hood down.
It’s okay,
she told herself.
There will be very few people here who would recognize me as being either Reese Davis or Reese Darren.
With a quick motion, she flipped the hood down and unbuttoned the clasp. “I’m having to work this out as we go.”
Too bad it isn’t a masked ball.

Tyrone started to slick back his hair, then turned to face her. His hand halted halfway through.

Reese felt suddenly self-conscious. “It was the best I could do in three minutes,” she said. She hung the cloak on an empty peg. “Please tell me it isn’t too obvious.”

The merchant’s eyebrows were raised. “Ah, no,” he said, disengaging his hand. “Actually, you look a lot more like one of the upper class than I thought you would.”

A flicker of the old days and social evenings flitted through Reese’s mind. “Are you saying I’m pretty?” she asked, tipping her head into an affected pose.

“You’re the mastermind. Figure it out for yourself,” Tyrone said. He strode past her toward the coatroom door, one elbow out.

Reese hurried to catch up and laced her hand through his arm.
I’m pretending to be a socialite friend. Act the part.

Outside the cloak room, a long curving gallery swept away to either side. The far wall was comprised of enormous white pillars that swept up from the ballroom below. Musicians ensconced by the dance floor played a lilting melody, while chandeliers, candles, and colored lanterns provided more light than Reese had ever seen at night.

Her grip tightened on her escort’s arm as she pulled him forward to a gap between the colonnade.

“The stairs are over there,” Tyrone hissed. “What are you doing?”

Reese kept to the shadows of the pillars and scanned the room. “Trying to figure out our next move,” she whispered back. “Give me a minute.”

The ballroom floor was awash with dancers, orchestra, tables and chairs, and a long gallery of refreshments.

Four staircases,
Reese calculated.
Looks like a service entrance behind the food.
She let her gaze travel up the opposite staircase. The colonnaded hall wrapped all the way around the upper level of the room, and on the far side an enormous set of double doors stood back from the hall, with four watchmen in front.
The most direct way in, blocked.

“Okay, we can go down now,” she whispered. “Go slowly.”
Of course the most direct way in would be blocked. What was I expecting?
She followed Tyrone’s lead to the gigantic, sweeping staircase and began descending.
What is wrong with my calculations? I haven’t been this easily distracted in years. When did this start?
She ran back through the last couple of days.
When Joplin went burner.
A chill crawled down her back.

“If it’s all the same to you,” Tyrone whispered. “You’re crushing my arm.”

Reese snapped back to the present. They were only a few stairs from the bottom of the curving stairway. “You don’t suppose Joplin is the writer, do you?” she asked.

Another couple brushed past them.

Tyrone stopped on the bottom stair and turned Reese to face him. “You’re asking for my opinion on your own conclusion?” he asked. A hint of foreboding crossed his face. “You’re really that worried?”

Reese looked past him at the throng of circling dancers. Bright-colored gowns contrasted with the men’s dark doublets.
No. He couldn’t possibly be the writer. It doesn’t add up. If he was the writer, he would have had to stage all of this just to get inside a small operation like mine. And he would have had to be a very convincing actor. Letting Niela and me push him around when he had unlimited resources.
Reese shook her head.
He can’t be.

“You’ve got to tell me what’s going on in your head,” Tyrone whispered. “I can’t guess.”

Chaos is what’s going on.
Reese managed a smile. “Dance me over toward the refreshment tables, will you? I want to see something.”
I suppose getting burned twice would be enough to scramble my abilities for awhile.
She glanced at the orchestra in their purple and white clothing.
I wonder how they got in here. Do they have a special exit? It wouldn’t be practical to carry all those instruments up and down stairs.

Tyrone stopped on the edge of the marble floor and pulled Reese into dancing position, one hand around hers, his other lightly pressed against the small of her back. He grinned down at her. “May I have the honor?” he asked, then swept her into the throng.

The familiar rhythms came back to Reese in a rush.
It’s been years,
she thought, gliding right, then stepping left. She followed each of Tyrone’s steps as he expertly worked them across the floor, through cluster after cluster of other dancers.

“You’re rather good at this,” Reese said. She allowed herself to be twirled out, then back in again. “Have much practice?” Her back felt warm beneath his touch.

Tyrone smirked and drew himself up. “Nonsense,” he said. “It’s my classical background and studies.”

They sidestepped an overweight count and his partner.

“Classical my eye.” Reese glided up on tiptoe and peered over his shoulder.
There’s the refreshment table. Now where’s the service door, and can we get to it?
“Any time you were supposed to be studying we were playing cards or raiding the kitchen.” She spotted a small door set into the side of one of the marble staircases. “While I did your mathematical work,” she added.

The smirk grew to a grin. “I was always better at finding people to do the job than doing it myself,” Tyrone said brightly. “I suppose that’s why I’ve managed to stay in business so long.” His face clouded. “Until now.”

Reese felt a change in his hands and looked up. “Did you lose the business?” she asked.

His face told her all she needed to know.

“I’m sorry,” she said. She squeezed his hand gently.

The merchant cleared his throat. “That’s all right. Just ignore me and do what you need to do,” he said. “Are we close enough to the food?”

Part of Reese wanted to stay, to linger in the discussion.
But we’re running out of time.
She leaned back on the next wide step and caught a glimpse of the service door.
Not too many people standing around.

A grey-haired gentleman stepped up to the table, an overweight blonde on one arm, effectively blocking her view.
Blast.
Reese veered the other direction and stepped on Tyrone’s foot.

He grunted. “What was that for?”

“I’m trying to see.” Reese leaned farther over.

The gentleman looked up.

Reese’s stomach dropped clear to the dance floor. She straightened, heart pounding. “Tyrone, your father’s here.”

A dull purplish hue suffused Tyrone’s face. He swallowed. “As much as I hate to hear that, he really didn’t ever catch on as to who you were, did he?”

Reese tugged backwards, trying to speed their progress to the other side of the dance floor. “It doesn’t matter,” she hissed. “My mother is with him.”

Tyrone’s face turned white. “Confound it.” He increased his pace, pushing Reese across the floor with long strides.

Reese followed his lead, mind full of keeping her skirt out from underfoot and a mounting pile of options. Then, a set of doors behind the columns caught her eye.

“Tyrone,” she whispered. “You see those doors up there? All those little ones side by side on the colonnade.”

He planted his feet and swept her into a grand backbend. For an instant his gaze flashed up to the pillars, then he brought her back to standing. “Yes. They go to the old banquet room.”

Perfect.
“We need to get up there without attracting too much attention.”

They swirled to a halt on the edge of the dance floor, a few feet from the original staircase.

Tyrone released her. “That’s easy,” he said. “Just go on up there and wait. Pretend you’re overheated or have a headache or something. I’ll go fetch a couple of cold drinks and meet you there.”

Something in his easy air grated on Reese. “You sound like you’ve done this before,” she said.

He shrugged. “Maybe.” With a bow, he turned away. “Better be quick,” he whispered, then plunged into the dancers once more.

Reese hesitated at the foot of the stairs.
What if he meets his father? Will they be too busy arguing to—
In a flash, she realized she’d lost the thread of calculations again.
That does it.
Reese closed her eyes and took a long breath.
Tyrone is distracting me. I’m distracting me. From now until we succeed, focus on the calculations.

For a moment her thoughts sputtered. Then pieces fell into place.

Wait five more seconds before going up the stairs in case anyone is watching Tyrone.
She ran her hand along the red folds of her dress and felt the weight of the hidden gun bob and sway.
Now.

Reese glided toward the stairs, head up, shoulders back, every inch the noble woman.
One step. Two step.
Her hand met the cold marble of the banister, and she climbed upward.
If my mother looks this way, she’ll only see the back of my head. She won’t recognize me at this distance.
Three more steps.
Especially after all this time.

A tall nobleman with red hair approached her on his way down the stairs. He gave her a smiling nod as she passed, eyes lingering a little too long for comfort.

Reese tensed but kept walking.
If needed, one kick in the knee, and down he goes.

She reached the colonnade and turned left. Her lace-covered train whispered against the red carpet as she walked.
Don’t be too close to the pillars. Someone below might see you.
She glanced out through the gaps.
A rather strategic set-up, actually. Anyone up here could easily shoot down someone on the floor.

A few more strides and she reached the paneled doors. Reese took up a position beside the end one and fanned herself with one hand.
If I remember right, the old banquet hall had plenty of service doors and hallways leading away from it. We should be able to find a relatively empty one.
She feigned a yawn and stole a look at the doorknob.
Probably locked. And I have a hairpin.

A sickening realization swept over her.
I don’t have a silencer for my gun.

Two partygoers strolled past her at a leisurely pace. The woman, a thin brunette with a nasal laugh, clung to her escort’s arm. “You really think so?” she tittered. The dark bangles on her blue gown flashed in the lamplight.

“No. He was probably too dazzled by your beauty to come,” the man replied. “You know how royals are.” Something in his voice caught Reese’s attention.

They’re talking about the king.

The two moved onward, their voices blending with the noise from below.

Reese strained to catch any extra words.
People are noticing that he’s absent.
She reached up to her hair and removed a pin.
Strange that Stryker wouldn’t have come up with a counter for that. He seems clever enough to have planned some sort of cover.
She sidled toward the door, still mulling it over.

Tyrone appeared at the top of the steps, two wine glasses in his hands and a tight scowl on his face.

“For you,” he said, holding out one of the fluted glass goblets. White wine shimmered in its depths.

Reese took it in her left hand. “Thank you,” she said. “Now if you’ll stand over here and block the view to this door…”

Without missing a beat, Tyrone eased into position and swept the room with a look of bored disdain.

Reese raised the glass to her lips and rammed the pin into the door’s lock. She took a long drink, eyes closed, barely registering the taste of the cold liquid.
Tip it up and right, twist, push in farther.

“I didn’t expect to find you here, Tyrone,” a male voice murmured.

The same voice from before. Like oil on water.
Reese’s eyes popped open.
It’s Dirk from the fights.

A fancily-dressed couple stood a few feet away. The woman gave Reese a scathing look while the man, dark-haired and dark-eyed, studied Tyrone.

Tyrone stiffened. “Evan, I thought you were out with Reginna.” He grinned. “Is this charming lady the best you can do?”

The woman’s eyes widened and she looked up at her companion in confusion.

Reese eased herself in front of the doorknob and let the pin fall.
Has he recognized me? Why is he here?

A cold gleam settled in the man’s gaze. “I understood that only successful merchants were invited to the king’s ball,” he said. He gave Tyrone a thin smile. “Not convicted smugglers.”

Reese’s grip tightened on her glass.
How quickly would this end if I spilled some wine on her dress?
She kept her head high.
Be the noble. I know nothing about the fights. I’ve never seen this man before. And I don’t think he’s the type to recognize me.

Tyrone finished his wine in one long, luxurious swallow, then regarded his opponent. “Why, didn’t you get an invitation?”

Dirk’s smile grew even thinner. He darted a look at Reese, then at Tyrone. Then, slowly, his gaze went back to Reese.

Blast.
Reese drew herself up and regarded him over the top of the wine glass.
I dare you to say anything about it.

“Speaking of companions,” Dirk oozed, “I see you’re taking in just anyone off the streets.”

He’s trying to be subtle in front of his lady.
Reese pasted a knowing smirk on her face. “Only when I have to,” she said, diverting the question from its intended target. “But then, new fighters are hard to pick up without help.”