Page 53 of The Bone Season

‘Last I checked.’

Tilda laughed. Her aura jerked and shifted as the aster warped her dreamscape. ‘Give me a second, Irish,’ she said. ‘Still reigning.’ She rubbed her bleary eyes. ‘Get me a drink of water, will you?’

‘From where?’

‘There’s a barrel outside. They collect rain in it.’

I checked the performers’ breathing on my way out. Much as I understood their urge to get high as a skyscraper, this place was dangerous and confusing enough without ethereal drugs in the mix.

The rain barrel was running low. A few chipped teacups had been left on rusty hooks beside it. I filled one and took it back to Tilda. She sat up and managed to take a few sips.

‘Right,’ she said, with conviction. ‘I’m dethroned.’

‘Are you?’

‘Well, abdicating.’ She knuckled her eyes again. ‘You passed, then. What happened?’

‘You just have to show your gift. The Rephs are going to call you soon,’ I said. ‘You can’t let them find you like this.’ She nodded. ‘I brought the pill, the green one. Could you take a look?’

‘Yeah. Give it here.’

I fished it from my gilet. Tilda raised it to eye level, scrutinising it from every angle. She ran her thumb over it, then split it and crushed one half between her fingers, smelling and tasting the residue.

‘It’s herbal,’ she concluded. ‘I couldn’t tell you which herb, mind.’

‘Do you know anyone who could?’

‘Maybe.’ She dropped her head back on to the cushion. ‘Duckett, the man who grows the aster – he might be able to tell you. The password to his shop isspecchio.’

‘Where is it?’

Tilda had already dozed off. I wondered what Suhail would do if he caught them.

The Rookery had many small rooms, most of which were shared by two or three performers. It must help them survive the biting cold. It was frigid enough now, in March – I couldn’t imagine this place in December. Liss was unusual, to live by herself.

There were no hygiene facilities, no medical supplies, and little bedding. They had been left to scratch out a life in any way they could.

Sniffing the shop out took a while. It was hidden behind several curtains and false walls. I only found the path after questioning a wiry performer, who introduced herself as Nell. She warned me of coercion and high prices, but pointed me in the right direction in exchange for the dried rose petals from my pouch.

When I found the shop, I also found the young polyglot I had seen at the oration. He was sitting on a cushion, reading a book that looked older than both of us put together.

‘Hello,’ I said.

‘Hi.’ A pure, sweet note. ‘You found us.’

A boy who could speak the language of spirits. It was a rare and strange ability, one of the hardest to conceal from amaurotics.

‘Just about,’ I said. ‘You went with Pleione, didn’t you?’

‘Yes. I’m Joseph,’ he said, ‘but you can call me Jos.’

‘Paige. I’m told someone called Duckett lives here.’

‘I found the shop yesterday, when I was exploring. He said I could guard it when he’s away.’ His right eye was sticky, clearly infected. ‘He’s in there now. Do you have the password?’

I nodded.‘Specchio.’

Jos stood up. He pulled the last curtain aside for me, and I went through.

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