Mirror Sight (34 page)

T
he hired carriage sent by Dr. Silk arrived precisely as the city bells pealed out seven hour. Lorine ushered Karigan from her bed chamber. Clad in her midnight blue gown, Karigan attempted to peer beneath the bottom fringe of her veil so she would not miss a step as she descended the staircase. She steadied herself with one velvet gloved hand on the railing, and her bonewood clasped in the other.

No, she was not leaving the bonewood behind. Even if Mender Samuels knew she didn’t need it, the other attendees at the party wouldn’t know. At least she did not have to fuss with a purse. It was considered crass, she learned, for a woman of Preferred status to carry one, and it was left to her escort, whether a servant or a gentleman, to handle the lady’s purse.

It was, Karigan thought, just another way for the empire to constrain its women. In her case, she possessed no coins so the point was moot. However she felt about the empire’s controlling even the use of purses by its women, it was a relief not to have to tote around a useless accessory all evening.

There appeared to be a small reception committee waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, consisting of Mirriam, Grott, the professor, and Cade. Cade looked ill at ease in a stiff woolen suit. It appeared to be a faded brown, and too bulky on him as though acquired second hand. It did not flatter him. He cast her nervous glances, but refused to hold her gaze. Not that doing so was easy with her gauzy veil between them.

“Well, well!” the professor exclaimed in a jovial tone. He, in contrast, cut a dashing figure in a well-tailored suit of deep gray. “You look lovely tonight, my dear, brighter than the stars, doesn’t she, Cade.”

Cade mumbled something unintelligible.

The professor turned to his staff. “I need a moment alone with my niece and protégé.”

“But Dr. Silk’s carriage awaits,” Mirriam protested.

“And it can continue to wait. Now shoo.” He did not speak again until only he, Karigan, and Cade remained in the foyer. In a low voice he told Karigan, “Remember, you are my niece from the asylum. You won’t even have to act insane for them to believe it. They’ve heard it, it is your reputation, and that is enough. If in the unlikely event it is not, and you find yourself in an awkward situation? Then . . . act mad.”

“But how?”

The professor shrugged. “Be creative, my dear. And be alert. As I mentioned before, Silk is wily and may try to extract information of one kind or another from you. Cade will be your constant companion and will divert Silk as necessary. He will look after you.”

Karigan flicked her gaze at Cade. Really? He was having enough trouble just looking at her now.

“By the way,” the professor added, “try not to break any heads with that bonewood. I should hate to have to answer to the Inspectors, especially when they’ve been so suspicious.” He started to turn away, then paused. “One more thing. Luke will follow behind you with my carriage, should you need to leave early, and to keep an eye on things from the outside of wherever this dinner party is being held should anything untoward happen.” In a louder voice, his joviality back on display, he said, “And you two shall have an enjoyable evening, eh?” He clapped Cade on the shoulder and left them alone in the foyer.

Shortly Grott returned to place Karigan’s matching cloak over her shoulders and to see them to the carriage.

“Huh,” Cade said as they stepped through the front door.

“What is it?” Karigan asked, startled just to hear him speak.

“I guess I should not be surprised, but Dr. Silk hasn’t sent just any cab to pick us up.”

“No, indeed, sir,” Grott said in awe. “This is from the Hastings Livery Company, all the way from the Capital.”

Karigan, of course, did not know the Hastings Livery Company from any other, but she noted that the coats on the matched pair of standardbreds gleamed in the light of the streetlamp, the silver on their harness shimmering. The carriage itself was a spotless lacquered black with a filigreed “H” on the door. Three coachmen in uniform accompanied the carriage, one up front driving, the other two riding the footboard at the rear. One of the attendants stepped down to open the carriage door as Karigan and Cade approached. He expertly handed Karigan up into the carriage, and she found herself in a commodious cab of shining brass, gold burnished oak, and deep red brushed velvet. A crystal lamp cast a warm glow. She sank into one of the luxuriant cushioned seats, as Cade sat opposite. She had never ridden in anything quite this elegant.

“Would the gentleman and the lady care for some refreshment?” the coachman asked.

“No,” Cade said definitively.

Karigan opened her mouth to protest but stopped, remembering she was supposed to be Miss Goodgrave, not Rider G’ladheon.

“Very well, sir,” the coachman said, and he closed the door.

“What if
I
wanted something?” Karigan demanded.

“Invariably what they’d offer is wine or brandy or something like that. We need to avoid drink.”

When the carriage started forward, Karigan marveled at how distant, almost faint, the hoof beats and the grind of the wheels sounded outside. Little noise seemed to permeate the interior of the cab. “It’s so quiet,” she remarked.

“It’s a hallmark of a Hastings. The cab is almost impervious to noise inside and out. Just as very little sound comes in from outside, conversations inside are not overheard from without. This is why Hastings is the vehicle preferred by those in the Capital seeking discretion. Those who are wealthy enough to hire one, that is.”

“So they cannot hear us?” Karigan asked, vaguely gesturing to indicate the coachmen.

“Not likely, but . . .”

“Dr. Silk sent it,” she said in a low voice.

Cade nodded. “Most likely he just wishes to impress his guests with his wealth.” He leaned toward her and spoke softly. “If word got out that guests were overheard in a Hastings, it would be a tremendous breach of trust, and it would ruin the company’s reputation. Not only that, but it would put Dr. Silk in ill odor among his peers. Still . . .”

“It’s Dr. Silk,” Karigan finished for him in a whisper.

He nodded, and sat back in his seat. He pushed the drape away from the window of frosted glass and squinted, trying to peer through it. “Looks like Luke is following right behind us. I suppose it’s better to be obvious than have him sneaking around and looking suspicious.”

How did one sneak around in a carriage anyway? Karigan wondered.

Not only was the cab quiet, but the carriage itself rode very solidly with no jarring bumps or thuds. No doubt as much attention had been paid to the engineering of its workings as to the luxurious passenger compartment.

The carriage made several turns, and Karigan was entirely disoriented, able to see little through the frosted glass. “Can you tell where we’re going?” she asked.

“I haven’t the faintest,” Cade replied. “I lost track a few turns ago.”

Even though Karigan had known their destination was supposed to be a mystery, and even though she knew Luke followed behind, trepidation of the unknown gnawed at her. She did not like having so little control, and she gripped the handle of the bonewood more firmly. At least she had this weapon, if nothing else.

It further displeased her that Cade continued to avoid looking at her or initiating conversation. It was as if nothing had happened between them that night in the mill. As if—as if she were naught to him.

She thumped him soundly on the leg with her bonewood.

“Ow! What was that for?” He rubbed his calf where she’d struck him.

Karigan smiled beneath her veil. Not only had she roused his attention, but she’d forced him to look at her.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said. “I thought—I thought after . . .” Now she found herself at a loss. Why did things never go well for her when it came to men? She shook herself and flipped the annoying veil out of her face so there was no barrier between them. Did Cade actually flinch upon seeing her face bared? “I thought,” she now said with resolve, “that after that night when we . . . well, that you might be a little more . . . that you’d at least talk to me.”

The light of passing street lamps flashed across his face. He squirmed in his seat and stared at his knees.

“You can’t even look at me,” she said, her voice higher in pitch from frustration.

“It’s not appropriate,” he quietly replied, balling his hands together on his lap.

“Looking at me is not appropriate?”

“No. I mean, none of it. I shouldn’t have . . .” He shuddered.

She leaned forward and spoke in a whisper in case Dr. Silk had chosen to breach the trust of his peers and the Hastings Livery Company by finding a way to eavesdrop. “Is it because I’m not like the empire’s women, obedient and modest?”

“No, no!” he said hastily. “Nothing like that. On the contrary. I . . .” And now he also leaned forward and whispered. “I like that about you, that you are different. I find it . . . stimulating.” He actually blushed. Karigan said nothing and waited for him to go on, which only seemed to add to his discomfort. “Well, it’s inappropriate.”

“Why, because the empire likes to hide its women behind veils and cloth and treat them like children?”

“No.” He paused, then, “Like children? Really? Is that what you think?”

She fixed him with a stony glare.

“All right, I guess I can see that,” he mumbled. “But no, that is not the basis of my feelings of impropriety.”

The carriage gently rocked as it rounded another corner. Improper. Impropriety. She was getting sick of those words. “Then what is the problem?”

“Something I thought you of all people would respect,” he replied.

“And what is that?”

He licked his lips, moved in even closer so he could whisper directly into her ear. “My aspiration to be a Weapon, a true Weapon.” His breath was warm against her cheek. “To protect Arhys without distraction.”

“But I’ve helped you with your training. I wouldn’t call that a distraction.”

“I am to be celibate.” He’d whispered it so softly she almost didn’t hear him. “I must be so I can focus on my duty alone.”

Celibate,
she thought, and then realized that it insinuated he’d considered its opposite. With her. She did not know whether to laugh or be pleased that the idea had entered his mind. They were cheek to cheek, nearly touching. Her neck and face warmed. She felt that urge to kiss him coming over her again.

“Weapons do not marry,” Cade continued. “You must know this. They commit themselves wholly to those whom they serve.”

Karigan thought maybe he was reading too much into one kiss to be worrying about marriage.

“It’s true, Weapons do not marry,” she whispered, all too conscious of his pleasant musky scent, of the heat he radiated from so intimate a proximity, “but it does not mean they are celibates.”

“You know this for certain?”

The Order of the Black Shields was secretive and there had been plenty of speculation among her friends as to what actually went on in the private lives of the Weapons. Although the Weapons had allowed her into their world more than any other outsider she knew of, it wasn’t like she’d casually chatted with them about the state of their private congresses, or lack thereof. “No,” she admitted, “I don’t know for certain.”

“For me,” Cade said, “it is assumed.”

This time it was Karigan who looked away, suddenly tired and defeated. She wrenched herself away from him, sliding back in her seat, and pulled the veil down over her face. She’d done it once again, opened herself to someone, exposed herself only to be rebuffed. She was glad she could hide her humiliation behind her veil.

I should stay celibate myself,
she thought.
Forget about men, period.
Probably it was all for the best, wasn’t it? That he didn’t want her? It would be less messy that way when it came time for her to leave.

Cade took her hand into his. “Look, Miss Goodgrave . . . Karigan . . . I—”

She snatched her hand away. “Forget I brought any of this up. Just forget it.”

“But . . .” The word hung in the air for a while, then Cade gave up and leaned back into his seat, his posture rigid, and a painful silence followed. It engulfed the cab, and the space felt too close, stifling.

“I am sure you will find a proper gentleman to settle down with,” Cade said eventually.

“What? Settle down?
Here?”
she whispered harshly and then laughed. It was a bitter sound. “If you think I’m staying here, you are most profoundly mistaken.”

“Where will you go?”

“Home. Back where and
when
I belong.”

Cade looked like he’d been punched. It was a mixture of surprise and hurt. “How?” He mouthed it more than whispered it.

She did not answer him for she did not know the answer. A moment later, the carriage eased to a halt. She was relieved when a gentleman in a long-tailed serge coat, with a tall silk hat atop his head, opened the door. He smiled at them, and she found her relief short lived when she realized who he was.

“Welcome,” said the ringmaster of Rudman Hadley’s Imperial Circus. “Dr. Silk awaits you in the big top.”