he cook at Taya's eyrie brewed tea out of the bitterest black leaves ever exported from Cabiel. Normally the drink was enough to give the twenty or so icarii who lived at the boarding house the jolt they needed to face the day, but this morning Taya yawned over her cup and wondered if she could get away with going back to bed for a few more hours. Her muscles ached, her cuts throbbed, and her wings were in the smith's shop, being repaired.
"Hey, Taya!" Pyke burst in, waving a newspaper. "You're awake!"
"Barely." She grimaced as he sat next to her and spread out the pages of
The Watchman
The ink smelled fresh, and Pyke's fingers were smeared with black as he stabbed at the headline that blazed across the front page.
TERRORISM!
Torn Cards Attack Wireferry, Refinery
Night of Horror!
Taya frowned and skipped down the stack of headers to the story.
"You're in there," Pyke said, pointing. "Both of us get a mention, but you're the hero, see?"
"I don't remember seeing any reporters there." She read further, then gasped. "Look! They quoted me! I never said that!"
Pyke laughed and read the paragraph aloud.
"'I was only doing my duty,’ the modest icarus said. ‘I'm grateful that Lady Octavus and her son are safe and that I was given this chance to serve my city.’ Like you wouldn't have said that if they'd asked."
"I don't think Taya would have used that ‘serve my city’ line," Cassilta said, breezing in and dropping into a chair at their table. "It sounds so fake."
"It's all fake," Taya protested. "The only person I talked to was Lieutenant Amcathra, and that was just to give him my statement."
"Well, that's the glory of having a free press." Cassi grinned at her. "It's free to make up anything it wants."
"You should be flattered," Pyke grumbled. "Nobody faked an interview with me."
"You were just as important," Taya assured him. Without his help, both she and Viera Octavus would have died, or at least been crippled on impact. But only another icarus was likely to realize that.
"I'd love to hear what you'd tell the papers, Pyke." Cassilta pried the cup of tea from Taya's hand and took a sip. "Ick, it's cold. Stay there. I'll get us fresh cups."
"Believe me, I'm not going anywhere."
"Late night at the wedding?" Pyke leaned back in his chair.
"Not really. But—"
"Don't talk about the wedding until I'm back!" Cassilta shouted across the dining room, balancing three cups in her hands. She wove back through the tables and rejoined them. "Okay. How was it?"
Taya began to tell them about the ceremony. After a few minutes Pyke returned to his paper, leaving the discussion of food and dresses and babies to the two women. She didn't mention that she'd nearly been mugged. She didn't want to hear their lectures about walking alone through Tertius at night.
"Hey, Taya, did you see the fire last night?" Pyke interrupted, peering over the paper. "It wasn't far from your old neighborhood."
"I saw it." Taya took a sip of the stomach-dissolving tea to collect her thoughts. "I flew over in case I was needed, but they got everything under control pretty fast." She'd lingered long enough to report the icarus-hunters to the lictors. They'd promised to look for the three men as soon as they had a chance.
"
The Watchman says the stripes think it was a bomb. Apparently they're suspicious because the refinery blew up right at the stroke of eleven."
"Yes, it did." Taya remembered the clocks ringing the hour in Cristof's shop. "Did they find any bomb parts?"
"Not by the time the paper went to press." Pyke turned a page. "I'll pick up a copy of the
Evening Dispatch tonight. Maybe they'll know more by then."
Taya looked at the ink stains on his fingers and remembered Cristof's fingers. She'd thought the repairman's dirty hands had meant he didn't care about cleanliness, but his workshop had been neat, and he'd been annoyed by the mess her bloody hands had made.
And he'd washed his hands as soon as he'd left the room.
So, why had they been dirty in the first place?
Could he have been walking back from the refinery?
No. That was ridiculous. A thousand blessed rebirths did not produce a terrorist. An outcaste, just maybe, but not a terrorist.
"Hey, Taya!" An icarus with her wings folded down walked into the dining room, waving a letter. "Message for you!"
"I'm here." Taya stood, surprised. Mail was usually kept for icarii at the dispatch office. She took the heavy parchment envelope with curiosity. A large, painted wax seal and gold ribbon held it closed.
"I brought it straight from the Octavus estate." The icarus grinned at her. "I was told to put it in your hands. I'm glad you're not out flying messages already."
"You're Ranelle, aren't you?" Taya remembered the younger girl; she'd been a few classes after Taya's.
"Yes." The girl looked gratified at being recognized. "That was really amazing, what you did yesterday. Everyone's talking about it. All the fledglings are begging their teachers to run rescue drills today."
"Thanks." Embarrassed, Taya turned the envelope over in her hands.
"Well… I'd better get going." The girl sounded reluctant. "Bye, Taya."
"Fly safely."
Taya felt the whole eyrie's eyes on her as she sat back down. She put the letter on the table and stole a glance at her friends.
"You might as well open it here," Cassi said pragmatically. "Whatever it says, it's going to be all over the eyries in a matter of minutes."
"It'll be a thank-you," Taya guessed, picking up a butter knife and wiping it clean on a napkin. She eased the seal up, unwilling to break such a beautiful object.
The letter was on vellum, inked in three colors; black for the text, red for the proper names, and gold around each capital letter. Cassi gasped, leaning over her shoulder. Neither of them had ever seen such ornate writing before.
"Must be nice to have that much time to spend on a letter," Pyke remarked. Cassi elbowed him in the ribs. "Oh, sorry, the exalted didn't have to spend any time on it. Some poor sap of a dedicate clerk did all the work."
"'To Taya Icarus, Greetings,'" Taya read aloud for her friends. The rest of the dining hall fell silent as everyone listened. Even the cook stood in the doorway, drying a platter. "'To offer thanksgiving and gratitude for your timely rescue of Exalted Viera Octavus and Exalted Ariq Octavus, and to celebrate perils overcome, you are invited as the guest of honor to Estate Octavus for a formal evening of dinner and dancing.’"
The other icarii in the room broke into applause. Taya turned red, reading further. "Oh, scrap! What am I going to wear?"
Pyke groaned.
"I don't believe that was the first thing to come out of your mouth," he said with disgust. "How about an observation about the comparative value of dinner and dancing to the life of a wife and a child? Not to mention your own life, which was equally at risk."
"What would you want?" Cassilta asked, scornfully.
"A purse of gold masks," he replied at once. "Five hundred, a thousand, maybe. Something useful
I notice the exalted didn't send me an invitation."
"Pyke, you're cute but shallow," Cassi said. "Prestige is a lot more useful than money."
"Sure. That's what they want you to think. That's how they keep us in line. Prestige won't buy an army. Poor people can't fund a revolution."
"Cassi!" Taya turned to her friend, mentally running through her limited wardrobe. She was an icarus, for the Lady's sake! She didn't own any fancy clothes. "Can I wear my armature? Please tell me I can wear my wings."
"You can not wear your wings," Cassi said firmly. "Not as the guest of honor. When's the party?"
"Three days from now."
"No problem. Pyke, tell Dispatch that Taya and I are taking the day off."
"Why? To go dress shopping? The boss will love that."
"He will if he wants our caste well-represented in front of the exalteds," Cassi retorted.
"I'll tell him," volunteered an icarus from the next table. "Don't worry, nobody's going to make a fuss. Taya deserves a day off, anyway."
"Thanks," Taya said, chewing on her lip as she re-read the invitation. Clothes. She'd never thought about clothes. But a diplomatic envoy would need clothes, right? Why hadn't she thought about that earlier? Oh, Lady, she was going to have to learn how to wear fancy clothes.
Cassi led her out of the dining room and up the three flights of stairs to her bedroom, where Taya set the invitation on top of her bookshelf. She pulled on her groundling boots and a threadbare coat bearing a stylized feather on one lapel, then tucked the slim leather wallet that held her identification papers into the coat's inner pocket. Meanwhile, Cassi was rummaging through Taya's wardrobe, shaking her head.
"How can you only have two dresses and one pair of nice shoes? Don't you ever go out?"
"Yes. In flight leathers." Taya pulled out her bank book and looked at the balance. She saved as much of her slim salary as she could, but a fancy dress would set her back by months.
Maybe she could rent a dress. Or — did theaters lend out their costumes?
"Didn't Pyke ever take you anyplace nice?"
"Like where? One of his conspiracy meetings? We mostly stayed in and talked."
Her friend tsked, muttering about brains, biceps and waste — or was it waist? — before closing the wardrobe door.
"Well, this is hopeless. We'll have to start from scratch."
"Do you think I can find something at the Great Market?"
"A readymade for an exalted's party? Taya, you make me despair for all womankind." Cassi grabbed her hand and tugged her down the hall to her own room. There she pulled on a jacket and grabbed her purse. "Don't worry. I have a secret weapon. My nephew just finished his apprenticeship and is opening up his own couture business. You should see his designs. They're fantastic."
"I can't afford a custom-made dress."
"Don't be silly. He should pay you to wear one his dresses to the party." Cassi hurried down the stairs, and Taya followed, feeling out of her depth. "This could be just the break he needs. Now come on. Jayce is a miracle-worker, but three days isn't much time, and we've got a lot to do."
Cassi's nephew had rented a hole-in-the-wall shop in a respectable part of Secundus. As soon as Cassi explained Taya's predicament, he canceled all of his appointments and summoned a small army of friends and associates to help. At first Taya questioned the wisdom of putting herself into the hands of a baby-faced twenty-year-old dedicate, but after an hour of gazing at his designs and listening to his rapid-fire orders, she surrendered to his artistic vision and meekly let him do whatever he wanted.
After an hour, Cassi abandoned her to find shoes and jewelry.
"I can't afford jewelry!" Taya yelped as her best friend vanished out the door.
"Don't worry. She'll get it on loan." Jayce ran a strip of measuring tape around her breasts and Taya flinched. "Straighten up. You do not want your dress to sag here."
Taya stiffened her back.
"I can't believe you icarii," he grumbled. "You're thin enough, but none of you have any breasts. And your legs are too short. And your arms! We'll have to hide your shoulders."
"What's wrong with my shoulders?" Taya protested. "I mean, aside from the cut?"
"You're cut? How badly?" Before she could argue, he'd pulled up her shirt and was groaning to himself. "Not even bandaged. I don't believe this — do you want a scar? Fine, fine, no problem. I can work around it. It's too cold for bare shoulders, anyway. Especially shoulders like yours."
"What's wrong with my shoulders?" she insisted.
"Muscles aren't ladylike." He scowled, his pencil flying over a sheet of paper. "I feel like I'm dressing a boy. Fortunately, I've made dresses for Cassi before, so I know a few tricks."
"I'm not a boy. And my breasts are just fine, thank you very much."
"They're fine for a flier. They don't give a designer much to work with. Too big in front and you need too much internal support. Too little and the front won't stay up on its own." He chewed on the end of his pencil a moment, then started scribbling again. "I'd sell my soul for perfect breasts."
"You and me both." Taya grimaced and sat, sneaking a glance down at her chest. Nobody had ever told her that her breasts were too small before. Great. Now she had something else to worry about.
By the time Cassi returned and dropped several bags in front of Jayce, Taya was ready to go. She wasn't allowed to leave for another hour, though, only escaping a little before noon.
"Don't worry," Jayce assured her. "I won't let you down. Cassi, I need her three hours before the party. Minimum. Four would be better."
"She'll be here," Cassi said, grinning. "Make the family proud, Jayce."
Released from the shop, they hurried to a tearoom not far from the University and took refuge from the cold autumn wind.
"Thanks," Taya said, after half a cup of the house's strongest black brew had steadied her nerves again. "I really appreciate your help."
"Oh, it's no problem." Cassi smiled. "My uncle's a tailor and my aunt makes jewelry. Couture's in Jayce's blood. This is a big opportunity for him, getting his work in front of the exalteds so quickly after graduation."
"He said I wasn't ladylike and I have small breasts," Taya admitted. Cassi laughed.
"Jayce likes to whine. You know, if you get into the diplomatic corps, you're going to need a new wardrobe. You won't be able to wear your flight suit all the time."
"I know. Today made me realize that."
"Well, if the kid comes through for the party, keep him in mind. It'd be a real break for him."
"I'll remember," Taya promised. She wrapped her fingers around the teacup. "If he can make my chest look bigger, I'll owe him one, anyway."
They spent half an hour nursing their drinks, then stood and pulled on their gloves, stepping back out in the street.
"Since we've got the rest of the day off, I think I'll go visit my mother," Cassi said, glancing up at the University clock tower. "She had a cold last week. You don't mind, do you?"
"No… no, that's fine," Taya said, jamming her hands into her coat pockets. "I've got a couple of errands to run, myself."
"See you for dinner?"
"Sure." She smiled and waved, then turned and began walking toward Booksellers Row.
Taya liked to stroll through Ondinium's markets, not because of the goods they sold but because she loved looking at foreigners: cheerful, red-haired Mareauxans drinking shoulder-to-shoulder with canny, brown-skinned Alzanans; fur-clad, snow-skinned Demicans comparing weapons with black-skinned Cabisi wrapped in brightly woven long jackets; and swarthy, bearded Tiziri gesturing earnestly to golden-skinned, hairless Si'sierate. She wandered through the streets, listening for new words to add to her range of languages, until she finally reached the booksellers’ and printers’ line of stalls.
The customers in the Row were mostly Ondiniums, so she dragged her attention away from the crowd and browsed through the newspapers and broadsheets, searching for the latest news on the wireferry disaster and refinery bomb. The most recent printing was a three-hour-old broadsheet reporting the timeline for the wireferry repairs and the new passenger schedule. She looked for news about the disaster's cause, but nothing had been reported.
"You going to buy that, then?" grumbled the old woman inside the news stall.
"Oh… no, thank you. I don't take the wireferry." Taya handed the sheet back over the wooden counter. The woman took it with a gnarled, ink-stained hand, and Taya thought again of Cristof's hands.
Which direction had he been coming from?
Would a terrorist stop to help a woman in distress immediately after he'd planted a bomb?
Annoyed at herself, Taya turned, weaving her way through the narrow streets of book stalls and publishing houses until she reached Gryngoth Plaza. The plaza was dominated by a bronze statue of Lictor Gryngoth on horseback and was built on an outcrop that provided a clear view of the sweeping mountainside below and the majestic range of peaks around them.
She leaned on the low stone wall and gazed down at the smoggy haze that blanketed Tertius.
It was easy to envision Cristof planting a bomb, his long fingers setting the hands of a timer with painstaking precision and getting dirty as he slipped explosives inside grease-covered machinery. He was outcaste. That meant he was unreliable and quite possibly dangerous. Honest citizens didn't reject their caste and carry around air pistols. And he hadn't hesitated to shoot the Demican mugger, had he? He had a violent streak.
Wind disheveled Taya's short, auburn curls and numbed her ears.
On the other hand, Cristof was exalted by birth and by caste, and the brother of a decatur. Could the Lady have let a flawed tool slip through her Forge and get born into a sacred body? Taya wasn't a religious idealist. She knew that accidents happened; that sometimes a good tool was damaged by careless use. Still, exalteds were usually above question.
Usually.
Icarii stand outside the caste hierarchy.
"Fine!" Taya slapped a hand on the top of the wall and straightened. "Let's see if he believes it."
"I beg your pardon?" asked a woman next to her. Taya gave her an apologetic wave and strode back across the plaza, toward Whitesmith Bridge.
Ondinium's bells began tolling noon as she walked down the broad, switchback levels of the bridge, jostled by citizens of all castes and inkless foreigners visiting the city on business or to gape at its mechanical marvels. The sector gate between Secundus and Tertius was wide open, but the number of lictors guarding it had been increased, and the lines were long. Taya wished she had her wings as she stood in one of the citizens’ queues, pulling out her identification papers. A number of the other Ondiniums in line gave her inkless face a curious glance, then saw the icarus pin on her lapel and turned back to their own conversations.
Taya had been mistaken for a foreigner before; it was one of the hazards icarii faced when they weren't in harness, especially if they didn't have the copper skin and dark hair of a full-blooded native. Taya had inherited her father's auburn hair and pale skin. Only her mother's dark eyes suggested that she wasn't pure Mareauxan. Once, when Taya had been younger, she'd dyed her hair black to try to fit in. The color had been flat and lifeless against her pale skin, and the dye hadn't set well. Every time she'd washed her hair, the water had turned dark. She had never repeated the experiment.
The lictor at the gate gave her a close look as she stepped up and scrutinized her papers. After a moment he snapped the wallet shut and handed it back with a polite nod.
"Travel safely, icarus."
"Thank you." She tucked the wallet back into place and stepped into Tertius.
Nothing differentiated the top of Tertius and the bottom of Secundus; smog and soot darkened both equally. But even though no part of Ondinium was completely free of heavy industry, the lowest sector of the mountain grew flatter as it spread out toward the foothills and rivers below, and thus it bristled with more chimneys and smokestacks per square mile than anywhere else in the city. The streets were narrower and dirtier, especially as one traveled further down into the sector's depths, and the residents, on the whole, were poorer.
Taya had studied other countries to prepare for her diplomat corps examination, and she knew that many foreigners, whose first encounter with Ondinium was through Tertius, considered her city to be a sulfurous hellhole. They objected to its smog and dirt, to its cable- and tower-filled skyline, to its tightly built streets and buildings, and to its caste system and strict, sometimes ruthless laws. But at the same time they envied Ondinium's material wealth and rich culture; its high rates of education and employment and low rates of poverty. They wanted her city's technological resources and, most of all, they lusted after its priceless mines of ondium.
Ondinium hadn't sent an army to war in two hundred years, but it had weathered numerous attacks, and its lictors were among the best-trained security forces in the world. Not even Alzana, Ondinium's most aggressive rival, bothered to attack the city directly anymore. Now warfare was carried out with spies and thieves instead of soldiers and cannon; with bombs and terrorism instead of armies and sieges.
Taya glanced around, but the site of last night's refinery bombing was obscured by the walls and rooftops surrounding her.
The streets in the lower sector were darkened by a gritty haze of coal smoke and wood ash and by the crisscrossing cables and iron girders that formed the lowest level of the wireferry transit system. Buildings were constructed with jutting upper levels that formed wooden arches over the narrow streets, leaving only narrow slices of sky open to view like skylights.
When she'd been a child, Taya had spent much of her time climbing to the roofs of those buildings, playing on the broken, sooty tiles and watching the bright-winged icarii swoop overhead. None of her family or friends had been surprised when she'd been chosen to join the icarii after her Great Examination. She'd considered it a dream come true.
But despite being gone so long, she remembered this part of Tertius well. It didn't take her long to locate the street where Cristof Forlore's shop was hidden among a row of small workshops, most of them geared toward mechanical repairs of one kind or another. The outcaste's basement shop had nothing that set it off from the others; nothing to indicate that its proprietor had a wave on his cheek instead of a circle on his forehead.
Taya stopped at the stairs that led down from the street to its basement door. Three grubby children, two boys and a girl, were sitting on the steps, trading small chunks of metal.
One of them looked up at her. He was the oldest of the three, but his bare face indicated that he hadn't taken his Great Examination yet. Still under seven, then.
"Shop's closed," he said. "But the clockwright's coming back soon, should you wanna wait, then."
She glanced at the shop door. Just as the boy had said, a sign hung on the knob.
Closed
.
"He's not hiding inside?"
"Nope."
"Oh." Taya debated with herself a moment, then shrugged. If she had been wearing her wings, she wouldn't have thought twice about leaving and coming back later, but she didn't care to climb Whitesmith Stairs more than twice in one day. The clocks in the shop window showed that it was half past noon. "I guess I'll wait. Are you his friends?"
"Neighbors." The boy jerked a thumb at the shop next door, a wigmaker's.
"You wanna play pick-up?" The younger boy held up a small, vulcanized rubber ball. "We're playing for disks."
Taya crouched. "I don't have any disks." She remembered having them, once. Just like these three children, she and her friends had collected chunks of slag from the forges and used them as a makeshift currency between themselves.
"How about that feather, then?" the older boy asked, pointing to her lapel pin.
"Sorry — it belongs to the government." Taya dug into her pockets and found a few coins. "I'll play you for pence, though. Six disks to a penny."
"Four."
"Five."
"Done."
The youngest child, a girl who couldn't be older than four, drew an unsteady circle on the cobblestones with a nub of chalk. Taya and the three children knelt around it, concentrating on the bouncing ball and the bits of colored stone used as markers.
Taya lost the first five games and then won back three of her pennies as her old skills returned. She laughed, snatching the ball in midair as it bounced off the edge of a cobblestone and angled toward the steps. The oldest boy grinned.
"You did that on purpose," she accused, bouncing the ball into the circle for the next player.
"Just testing you, weren't I?" he replied, cheerfully.
The little girl's head snapped up from the circle and she looked down the street. "Clockite's back!"
Moving fast, the two boys swept up the remaining markers. Taya grabbed her three pennies before the oldest snatched them up — he gave her an unrepentant smirk — and turned. The three children flung themselves on top of the steps again.
Cristof's steps slowed as he drew nearer.
Even after meeting him twice, Taya couldn't help but feel an odd jolt as she compared his castemark to his naked face and simple garments. The outcaste was dressed much as he'd been last night, in a dark suit and greatcoat. He held a paper-wrapped bundle in the crook of one arm. The autumn wind played through his defiantly short hair, making it stand up in dark, uneven chunks that emphasized how poorly it had been cut.
He glanced at her, then fixed his gaze on the three children who stood in a line between him and his shop door. His expression was disapproving as he peered at them from over the top of his wire-rimmed spectacles.
"What are you three loathsome brats doing on my stairs?" he demanded.
Taya drew in an indignant breath, but her protest died as she saw that none of the children were upset by the outcaste's words.
"We cleaned ‘em for you, din't we?" the girl piped up.
"Did you?" Cristof took a step forward and looked past the children. His expression as he gazed at the steps down to his shop door was one of profound disgust. "Am I to consider that clean?"
"Uh-huh." The girl squatted, her ragged smock pooling around her feet, and wiped her hand over the step. She held it up. "See, no dirt!"
Taya bit her bottom lip. The girl's palm was filthy, just as hers were, from playing pick-up on the street. But the shop steps, although stained, were free from the loose layer of ash that covered so much of the rest of the street.
"I see." Cristof gave the boys a skeptical look. "I suppose you two made your sister do all the work."
"Nope. We got three brooms." The youngest boy pointed to the twig brooms stacked at the bottom of the steps. "We all took a turn, din't we?"
"And you all expect to be rewarded for it, no doubt."
"Fair's fair," the boy declared.
Cristof turned his relentless gaze on the oldest boy.
"Nothing to say for yourself?"
"Sixpence for sweeping, then, and one for keeping your customer here while you was gone," the boy replied smartly, jerking a thumb at Taya.
"I doubt she's a customer," Cristof muttered. He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a handful of coins, counting two pennies into each boy's hand and three into the girl's.
"Thank you, sir." "Thank you, Mister Clockite." "See you tomorrow, sir!"
The three grabbed their brooms and hustled off, waving to Taya. She waved back and turned to Cristof.
"Mister Clockite?"
His gaze narrowed, then he turned and headed down the steps.
"Jessica has trouble pronouncing her r's," he muttered.
"I think it's cute, exalted. They don't call you by your title?"
"I get enough titling from the adults around here." He fumbled with his keys. Taya lifted the bundle from his arm, smelling sausage and pickles. He grunted and unlocked the door, pushing it open and flipping the Closed sign to Open. The jangle of ticking and whirring greeted them as they stepped inside the shop's dim interior.
"What do you want?" he demanded, turning and retrieving his lunch. "Where are your wings?"
"I'm off duty today." Taya was suddenly reluctant to ask him about the night before. Cristof's little charade on the steps had made her doubt her suspicions. Loathsome brats, indeed. She went on the offensive, instead. "Why are you so rude to those children?"
"Because I'm a rude person." He pushed aside a large schematic, clearing a spot on the table. Then he unwrapped his bundle, pulling back layers of increasingly greasy paper until he revealed the sausage and pickles she'd smelled, and a hunk of pale cheese. Taya's stomach growled. All she'd had for breakfast had been tea. She made a mental note to buy lunch before heading back to the eyrie.
Cristof walked out of the room through the curtains in back.
Taya unbuttoned her coat and looked around. The jeweled birds were back in place, floating on the little pieces of string that tied them to a shelf. The shop shutters were open, but very little light came through the sooty window panes.
She cocked her head to read the schematic Cristof had shoved aside. It looked like a map of the city sectors.
She reached out and tugged it right-side-up.
It was a wireferry map, showing all the lines that ran from sector to sector and up to Oporphyr Tower. Symbols had been jotted all over it in pencil.
She leaned closer, worried. Was one of those marks over the vandalized spot?
Cristof returned with two tin cups and a short, dark bottle. Taya straightened and pulled her hand back. Ignoring her, the exalted broke off the bottle's wax top and set the cups on the table.
"It's a stout," he said, pouring.
Taya gave him another look, not certain what to make of the implicit offer.
"Thank you," she said at last. Even an ill-tempered outcaste couldn't object to good manners.
He handed her the drink without a word and poured for himself. She cradled the tin cup between her hands, watching. He had a deft hand with the bottle and knew how to keep the frothy head thin as he poured. She wouldn't have expected any bartending skills from an exalted who'd been raised with servants to bring him the very best wines and liqueurs. But maybe lower-caste tastes came with a lower-caste residence.
He finished pouring and looked up.
"I'm still waiting for you to tell me what you want." His voice was edgy. "Unless you have a watch to be repaired, I can't imagine what business we have together."
"I don't own a watch." She paused, considering her options. Honesty won out. "I came to ask you a question about last night."
"I've already reported the attack to the lictors." He took a sip of the beer, absently wiping his mouth with his thumb and setting the cup back down. He picked up a small knife, cleaned it on a smudged rag, and began slicing the sausage. "They said they'd inquire at the hospitals. I'm sure you'll be notified if they find the Demican we injured."
We.
She was glad he hadn't put all the blame on her.
"Thank you. I talked to them, myself, last night after the fire. But that wasn't the question I was going to ask."
He cut the pickles in half and began carving off heavy slices of cheese.
"Then ask."
She set the cup down on the table. "Why were your hands dirty when you met me?"
The knife paused. He cocked his head and gave her a blank look, his grey eyes puzzled behind his spectacles.
"What?"
"Your hands were dirty when you met me last night. Saved me," she amended, to give credit where it was due. "I was wondering why."
He frowned, setting down his knife and straightening up. She paid attention as he reached for the rag he'd used to clean off the knife and wiped his greasy fingers on it.
"That's a strange question," he said, watching her. "Why would you—" He stopped, letting the rag fall to the tabletop. Then he smiled, without humor. "Oh. I see. You think I may have been setting a bomb."
Taya took a deep breath, then let it out and lifted her chin.
"It's a fair question. I wouldn't dare ask it of any other exalted, but you shouldn't mind being interrogated by an icarus."
A twitch of his jaw acknowledged the reference to their argument.
"You know, icarus, if I were a bomber, you'd be in a great deal of danger right now." Without looking down, he touched the knife with one slender finger.
Taya didn't look down at it, either. If Cristof were going to attack her, he'd do it without any warning. He was just being unpleasant again.
"Are you?"
He sighed and shook his head, lifting his hand away. "No. But you should be careful how you accuse a man. If you're suspicious of someone, tell the lictors."
"What about that?" Taya jerked her head toward the wireferry map. "I find that a little suspicious, too."
He picked up the map and folded it, his lips tight.
"I was plotting alternate routes to Primus and the tower. I dislike traveling by wireferry at the best of times, and I find the thought especially unpleasant after yesterday."
Taya frowned. He could be telling the truth, but she thought there was something a little strange in his haste to fold the map.
Cristof set the schematic on a shelf and turned, pushing up his spectacles.
"Now, if the interrogation is over, I have work to do."
Taya shook her head. "I'm sorry, exalted, but you still haven't answered my question. Why were your hands dirty last night?"
"Oh, for the Lady's sake!" Now his voice sharpened, giving her a glimpse of the same bad temper he'd showed last night. Oddly, his irritation reassured her. It was an honest emotion, unlike his strained good manners. "I was realigning the gears on a sector clock. It's been losing time all month, and I finally became impatient with it."
"You became impatient with something?" Taya struggled not to smile. "But you're such a self-possessed man, exalted."
He seemed taken aback for a moment, then glowered at her.
"Why didn't you wash your hands there?" she pressed.
"Clock towers don't come equipped with water pumps. I would have used the Market fountain, but I heard you shouting."
"Oh." Not guilty, then. She was surprised by the distinct feeling of relief the thought gave her.
Noticing that his expression was still dark, she flashed him a smile.
"Thank you, exalted. The question's been nagging me all morning, and I'm glad I have an answer.
Now the interrogation's over."
He let out an annoyed hiss and took another swallow of his beer. His eyes fell on her cup, sitting untouched on the table. He picked it up and offered it.
"Then you won't be afraid to drink with me." His voice was still edged with irritation.
Surprised, Taya took the dented cup. She'd expected him to be eager to get rid of her.
"Your brother offered me a drink yesterday," she said. "And now you're offering me one today. No exalted has ever treated me so politely before. Is it a Forlore family custom?"
"Alister probably offered you a drink because he considered you a good-looking woman," Cristof said, sounding annoyed again. "I'm offering you a drink because it would be churlish to drink in front of you, and I'm thirsty."
Taya drank, not sure how to answer that. Had Alister Forlore considered her good-looking? The thought warmed her. She'd certainly found him handsome.
Still looking nettled, Cristof shoved half the sliced sausage, cheese, and pickles toward her. "Have you had lunch yet?" Without waiting for a reply, he dropped into a chair, picking up his food with his fingers.
"It would be churlish to eat in front of me?"
"Yes."
For a split second she considered refusing, but then her hunger got the better of her. After all, she rationalized, the invitation might have been ungracious, but it had been an invitation. And like all icarii, she had a healthy appetite.
She pulled up a chair and sat down.
"Thank you, exalted."
For several minutes they sat in the ticking, whirring room, working on the food. It was a crude but filling meal, reminding Taya of the workman's lunches she'd brought to her father in the smelting factory, back when she'd been a little girl. He'd shared them with her on a wooden bench outside the factory, covered with dirt and sweat but full of smiles for his oldest daughter.
Not at all like the dour-faced outcaste across from her.
Once the edge was off her hunger, Taya wiped her hands on Cristof's cleaning rag, picked up the bottle of stout, and refilled their cups. Cristof took his without comment.
"Do you get much business here?" she asked, searching for a subject that wouldn't annoy him as they drank.
"Yes." Cristof stared into his cup. For a moment she thought he'd stop with that curt reply, but then he elaborated, almost defensively. "It looks quiet right now, but most of my customers come by in the morning, on their way to work. I have three clocks and two watches to repair this week. I do well enough."
"Do many people on Tertius own timepieces?" Her family hadn't.
"The factories have clocks, and the overseers and managers bring their clocks and watches down from Secundus. My shop's easy to reach from Whitesmith Stair."
"Do you do most of your work for the Cardinal castes, then?"
"I get some work from Primus, too." He sounded sour. "Alister doesn't hesitate to recommend me, and he's so charming that the other exalteds are willing to overlook my eccentricities to please him."
"You must be good at what you do, or they wouldn't come back," Taya said, encouraging him. She felt a certain sense of satisfaction that Cristof was talking to her like a regular person.
"Anyone can do basic repairs, if he's willing to learn." The exalted looked up. "The difficult jobs are restoring heirlooms and one-of-a-kind pieces. That's my specialty, finding or making unusual parts and fixing old clockwork that's been allowed to degrade. I repair imports, too. I correspond with all of the major clockwrights on the continent. And sometimes I make my own timepieces."
"Then you're a more important clockwright than I thought," she said, pleased to have drawn him out. "May I see some of your work?"
His sharp cheekbones turned a darker shade of copper, and he looked away, straightening his glasses.
"I don't have anything here that would impress you," he said.
Taya's eyes were drawn to the wave tattoo on his cheek again. Seeing it here inside of his shop wasn't quite as jarring as seeing it out in the street. Except for his lack of robes and jewels, he could be any exalted who'd doffed his mask in private to speak to an icarus.
"Most of these clocks are common," he continued, the defensive note in his voice returning. "The ones I make on commission are more ornate, but I deliver them as soon as they're finished."
"Don't you have a clock of your own?"
"Nothing unusual." He hesitated, then slid a gold pocket watch from his plain black vest, unhooking its chain from a buttonhole. "I made this a long time ago. It doesn't look like much, but it's extremely accurate."
Taya carefully took the watch from his thin fingers, feeling the chain slip over her wrist. The warm, heavy case was made of pure gold and was the most expensive thing she'd ever held.
The watch seemed very simple, for an exalted's timepiece. No jewels or inlay adorned the case; just a simple engraved design of a gear. The case vibrated like a small heart in her hand, and she held it up to her ear, hearing it tick.
"Here." Cristof stood and leaned across the table, showing her how to open it. His fingers were just as cold as they'd been the night before.
The watch's face was a pearlescent grey, its quartile numbers and hands gleaming gold. Taya laughed, delighted.
"What?"
"Nothing. I mean, the outside was so plain that I was expecting the inside to be plain, too." She tilted the watch toward the dim light from the window, admiring it. "It's beautiful. This shade of grey matches your eyes."
Across the table, Cristof made a strangled noise and sat back down.
"It's mother-of-pearl, isn't it? I've seen jewelry made out of it, in the Markets. Did it come from the North Sea?"
"No. It's imported from the south." He was giving her a strange look. Taya blushed. Had her question been stupid?
"I'd love to see the sea someday," she said, to cover her embarrassment, and then felt even more ridiculous. "I mean, I'd like to see what seashells look like in the wild." She closed the case and handed it back, certain he was laughing at her. "Is the gear your personal insignia? Or is it a clockwright's symbol?"
Cristof dragged his eyes away from her face and slipped the watch back into his vest pocket, a line furrowing his brow again.
"It doesn't mean anything."
"It must mean something," she insisted. "Or you wouldn't have put it on your watch."
"I made the watch years ago." He picked up the stout bottle, realized it was empty, and set it back down again. "I suppose I had some sort of asinine notion about taking the gear as my personal insignia, but I outgrew it. Besides, it's not what a watch looks like that's important, but how accurately it measures time."
Taya nodded. He was withdrawing again. She changed the subject. "That's true. We've got a really nice clock in my eyrie, but it's off by about ten minutes. My landlady keeps resetting it, but in a day or two it's right back where it started. We've all gotten to the point where we look at it and automatically add ten minutes. Then, whenever she resets it, we're ten minutes early to everything."
"Does she wind it at the same time every day?"
"I think so. It's a little hard to tell, with that clock."
"Tsk." Cristof's lips tightened. "What good is a clock that doesn't do its job? I can fix it, if you want."
"I don't think we could afford your services, exalted."
He gave her a sidelong look and lifted one thin shoulder in a casual shrug. "It doesn't cost anything for me to look at it."
Taya lowered her head so he wouldn't see her smile. His offer of help was as awkward and graceless as his offer of food and drink, but she had a feeling he meant it. He really did love clocks.
"That's very kind of you. I live in Three Alcides. I'm sure the landlady would let you in as soon as you explained why you were there."
"Maybe if…" He paused. "You said you're off-duty today? Is it a reward for saving Viera yesterday?"
"Who? Oh, no; well, not exactly." She remembered the morning's rush and blushed. "Exalted Octavus sent me an invitation to a party, so my friend Cassi and I took the day off to find an appropriate dress."
He slowly nodded. "Of course. Viera wouldn't have remembered that some people don't have a wardrobe full of formal clothes. Do you… do you want me to say something to her?"
"No!" Taya recoiled. "Don't do that! What would she think of me?"
"She could send you something to save you the expense—"
"No, please, I'm fine," Taya protested, turning red. "I have an excellent dressmaker."
I hope
.
"Well, if you're certain. I was only trying to help."
"I'm certain." Taya stood to prevent any further objection. "And I'm also certain that I've taken up enough of your time. Thank you for lunch, exalted."
"You don't — are you going back to your eyrie?" Cristof got to his feet, facing her across the cluttered table.
"Yes, I think I should." She checked one of the many clocks ticking around them. "It's a long walk back, and I want to check on my armature before the smithy closes."
"Will it be all right?"
"I think so. It didn't give me any problems on my flight back from the explosion, but I'll be happier when all the feathers are straight again."
"Of course." He blinked, as if suddenly remembering. "And your shoulder?"
"It's not bleeding anymore."
"Did it need stitches?"
"I haven't had time to see a physician," she admitted. "It wasn't bleeding this morning." She looked at the scabbing cuts on her hands. "I assume it'll be fine."
Cristof closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, looking pained.
"Careless."
"Huh?"
"I said last night that you are either careless or unlucky. I've decided that you're careless. You do realize that untreated wounds can become infected?"
"I'll have someone look at it when I get back to the eyrie," she said, nettled. "I've had a busy day."
"Yes, I'm certain that accusing me of being a bomber was far more urgent than seeing to your own health."
"Well, it would have been if you had been a bomber," she retorted.
He drew a deep breath, then slowly let it out and turned, picking up his greatcoat.
"Yes. I suppose you're right."
"Where are you going?"
"To look at the clock in Three Alcides."
"I — you don't have to do that today!" Taya protested. "You told me you had work to do."
"Nothing that can't wait." He picked up a small black bag. "I will examine the clock while you're at the physician's having your shoulder examined."
"Exalted!"
"Icarus." His voice was cool. "Why are you arguing with me?"
She flushed, not certain, herself. If he'd been wearing proper exalted's clothing, she would never have dared to raise her voice to him. It was easy to forget that he wasn't just another famulate, as long as she didn't pay attention to his castemark.
"Why do you want to come with me?"
"I intend to make certain you don't endanger the city by endangering yourself. If you had been injured yesterday, you wouldn't have been able to save Viera and Ariq."
"I promise, I'll see a physician before tonight. I don't need an escort through the city."
"That hasn't been my observation." He paused. "And I have no doubt that Viera would want me to see you kept in good repair."
Taya gave him an exasperated look, then turned and began buttoning up her coat. Fine. He was as stubborn as a lictor.
Still, if nothing else, I'll have someone to talk to on the long walk back up,
she thought.
Or argue with, more likely.
They didn't argue, however, and although she found herself trotting to keep up with his long-legged pace, she discovered one unexpected advantage of traveling with an exalted — the lictors took one glance at his castemark and waved them both through the gate ahead of the lines.
"Maybe I should draw a wave on my cheek, too," Taya mused aloud as they stepped off Whitesmith Stair and into Secundus.
"They know me." Cristof's voice was flat. "I'm the only exalted who lives on Tertius."
"I'm just joking. I don't even look Ondinium." Not to mention that fact that forging a castemark was a serious crime.
He nodded, studying her. "You're native though, aren't you? I've never heard of a naturalized icarus."
"Second generation. My father's grandparents moved here and became citizens when they were in their twenties. My mother was pure Ondinium. How long has your family lived here?"
"House Forlore's birth records go back seventy generations. The books before that were lost in the Last War."
"Is your brother the oldest in the family?"
"No. I am."
"Oh." For some reason that surprised her. "Are you two close?"
"I suppose so." He shrugged. "I'm a dissident and he's a decatur. We're as close as we can be, under the circumstances. I'm pleased with his success, and he does his best not to condemn me for my shortcomings."
"You said he recommends you to other exalteds. That doesn't sound like condemnation."
"Alister's too considerate. He shouldn't have anything to do with me. I'm a threat to his chances of ever becoming the head of Oporphyr Council. If he weren't such a brilliant programmer, they never would have made him a decatur; not with me in the family."
"I thought political positions were awarded on the basis of merit, not family."
"That's the theory. In practice, family is an important variable in the equation." Cristof stared straight ahead. "I try not to embarrass my brother too much."
Taya fell silent. They walked through the Markets, past the University and up until they reached the topmost point of Secundus and Cliff Road, which led into the icarus neighborhoods and then to the practice fields and flight docks. It wasn't an easy climb, and Taya longed for her wings.
"I've never had any reason to be in this part of the city before," Cristof said at last, during one of their rest pauses. He looked up at the tall houses built along the narrow, steep streets. "Who repairs the clocks here?"
"I don't know." Taya shrugged. "The city, I guess. I've never met an icarus who owns a watch, so I wouldn't know who to ask."
"I'll leave my card at the eyrie, then," he said. Taya looked at him, trying to decide if he were joking. She couldn't tell. She'd like to think that he was; that he might be making an effort to get along with her. But… she just couldn't tell.
They started up again. Cristof unbuttoned his coat, letting it flap around his long legs as they walked. The air was cold, but the afternoon sun beat down on Cliff Road and its steep rise was making both of them sweat.
The neighborhood was primarily inhabited by icarii, their families, and the businesses that catered to them. The air was clean; there were no factories in the neighborhood to pump soot into the air, and the coal smoke and wood ash were swept away by the strong winds that blew past the steep cliff. Hawks roosted in some of the highest rooftops, welcomed as good luck by icarii despite their tendency to prey on the neighborhood cats and dogs. Occasionally an icarus flew high overhead toward the docks, metal wings flashing.
Three Alcides was one of a number of barracks-like eyries that catered to unmarried icarii. Taya waved and greeted her friends as they drew near.
"Hey, Taya!" One of the icarii called to her from the eyrie porch, then paused to stare at Cristof, his jaw falling open. Then he collected himself and dragged his eyes away from the exalted's bare face. "Uh, you got another message. It's on Gwen's desk."
"Thanks." She opened the door and stepped aside for Cristof. The exalted's cold glower was back in place, and he kept his face down as he stepped inside.
"You didn't have to come," Taya whispered, giving him a concerned look. He ignored her, his grey eyes falling at once on the long-case clock that stood against the foyer wall, ticking loudly.
"You said you'd see a physician," he reminded her. He set the bag down next to the clock.
"Just a moment." She stepped through the doorway into the salon, where Gwen Icarus, the eyrie's landlady, kept her business desk.
"Oh, good. I have a letter for you, Taya," the woman said. She dug out a heavy parchment square and handed it over. Taya turned it. This one was sealed in wax, too, but it wasn't as ornate as the Octavus invitation.
"I asked a clockwright to look at our clock and find out why it's losing time," she said, raising her eyes. "He said he wouldn't charge anything just to see what's wrong."
Gwen scowled. "Can he be trusted?" She hoisted herself out of her chair. After she'd retired from flying, she'd put on a few pounds, although she had as much muscle as she had mass.
"Yes." Taya leaned forward, touching the woman's arm and dropping her voice to a whisper. "He's an outcaste exalted, so don't be surprised."
"An outcaste!" The landlady's eyes widened. "For the Lady's sake, Taya, what are you thinking, bringing an outcaste into my house? I run a—"
Taya tightened her grip. "An outcaste exalted
! Exalted Cristof Forlore, and he's doing us a favor. His brother's a decatur."
Gwen snorted. "You're flying awful high, icarus."
"Not in his case," Taya said wryly, thinking of Cristof's basement workshop. "But he's touchy, so be diplomatic."
"Diplomacy's your job, not mine," Gwen said. "Now let go. I won't throw him out on his ear, but you know the rules — no strangers in the eyrie without an escort. Lady knows what this place would be like if I let you lot have free run of the place."
Taya sighed, trailing after the larger woman.
"What are you doing?" Gwen shrieked, when she walked into the foyer.
Cristof had taken off his coat and rolled up his sleeves, and he was kneeling in front of the clock as he unhooked its pendulum. He glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to his work.
"I can't figure out what's wrong unless I check the mechanism."
"I'm not going to pay you to put together what you've taken apart!"
"I'm not going to ask you to." Cristof laid the pendulum on the wooden floor and turned. He gave Taya a sharp look. "Don't you have someplace to go?"
"All right! Can I leave you alone here?" Taya was worried about Gwen. The landlady was staring at Cristof's castemark, her eyes wide despite Taya's warning. Gwen was a kind, motherly woman, but she wasn't very subtle.
"I expect so." Cristof glanced at the letter in her hand. "You'll see a physician before you deliver that, I trust."
"This letter is for me." Taya lifted it, studying the seal, and then turned it over. Her name was written across the front:
Taya Icarus
, in a firm, flowing script.
Cristof climbed to his feet and reached out. Taya let him take it, without protest, and he tilted the envelope up. His scowl darkened.
"What is it?" she asked.
"That's the Forlore seal."
"Oh!" Taya took another look at it, then broke open the letter.
Brave and beautiful Taya Icarus:
Although I know Viera has already arranged to thank you for your rescue, I'd enjoy a chance to demonstrate my own gratitude for the assistance you've provided to my family. I'll send a driver by your eyrie tonight to see if you're available at eight; if so, he'll bring you to Rhodanthe's on Primus, where we can meet for dinner. If you have other business tonight, then I'll dine alone and hope that your duties will bring you to Oporphyr Tower on the morrow.
Respectfully yours,
Alister Forlore
Taya glanced at the clock, now stopped at 2:10, and swallowed, her cheeks burning.
"It's from Alister, of course," Cristof said, his voice flat.
"Yes." She bit her lip. "He wants to have dinner with me tonight." She held out the letter, feeling like she had to prove it.
"Of course he does." The exalted's hand hovered over the note a moment, and then he took it, pushing up his glasses as he read.
"But why?" She looked up.
"You've piqued his interest." Cristof handed the letter back. "You still have time to see a doctor before you go."
Taya flushed. She knew what he was thinking. Icarii had a reputation for moving as easily from lover to lover as they did from sector to sector. But before she could say anything, Gwen broke in.
"What's this about a doctor?"
"I got cut last night." Taya folded the letter back up. "Exalted Forlore thinks I should have it looked at by a professional."
"Exalted Forlore is my brother," Cristof corrected her. He knelt in front of the clock again. "Master Clockwright will do, if you insist on being formal."
"Whatever you wish, Master Clockwright." Taya jammed the letter into her pocket. "I'm going. Please don't wait for my return."
"I didn't plan to."
Taya shook her head and left the eyrie. Of course Cristof wouldn't approve of his brother seeing an icarus — icarii were hardly better than whores, in some people's eyes. But an outcaste should know better than to believe in stereotypes.
Dinner with Alister Forlore. The thought of the decatur's handsome face and bright green eyes was tempting, but Taya knew she'd be a fool to accept. Alister probably assumed the same thing about her as his brother. Even if he were a gentleman over dinner, it wouldn't mean that he didn't have expectations, and… and, well, what on earth would she wear to a restaurant on Primus, anyway?
Besides, what if he made a pass and she couldn't resist it? She prided herself on being choosy about her lovers, but it had been a long time since the last one, and Alister was undeniably attractive.
No, all things considered, it would be best if she turned Alister's servant away tonight. She would meet the decatur at the Octavus party under safely reputable conditions, and then she'd see what happened.