Page 85 of Boy of Chaotic Making

He lit up. “What’s this?” He pulled the pen free from the knot and turned it over. “This is extraordinary. It’s got a little jewel for an eye.”

“It seemed whimsical.” She tried to hide a smile and failed miserably.

“Thank you.” He put it in his hand, holding it as if to test it. He had a funny way of writing where he laid his thumb straight, perpendicular to his index finger, as opposed to down with the other fingers to better grip the utensil, as Hulda had been instructed to do in school. She had never commented on it. He moved to put the pen in his pocket, realized he still wasn’t wearing any pants, and set it aside. Pulled the ribbon free from the box while Hulda held her breath. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Nonsense.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “If you don’t care for these, we can return them for a different design.”

He opened the box. Inside were two gold-plated cuff links. They were simply made, in the style Hulda preferred—she’d never seen Merritt wear cuff links, so she could only conjecture his opinion on the matter. Simple, slightly oval, with a matte finish.

“I thought,” she added as he slipped one out of the box, “you might wear them to the ...otherwedding.”

He grinned. “I think they’ll make me look quite dashing.” He carefully set the cuff link back, stuck a knuckle under Hulda’s chin, and guided her over to kiss her. “Thank you.”

She grinned. Rose and returned to that hairbrush, noting Owein’s letter beside it. She should deliver it. Tidy up in case Miss Richards or the like decided to check in.

Merritt dressed while she brushed her hair. Remembering her intentions for last night, she dug out a particular receipt book fromher black bag, the one that held all her notes on the strange goings-on at Cyprus Hall. She turned the page and jotted down new information regarding the carriage house over a diagram for folding petticoats, along with what she’d learned from the constable, courtesy of Owein. Merritt kissed the side of her neck as she was finishing. “I’m going to find something for breakfast.”

“I believe there’s a small kitchen downstairs,” she offered, and he sauntered off to locate it.

Alone, Hulda retrieved her dice and set the book out on her lap, letting her vision go out of focus, blurring her writing. She rolled her dice carefully, trying to keep them on the book while not moving her eyes from her writing. Tried unsuccessfully for about five minutes, then turned the page back and began again, thinking over the events in her mind the way Professor Griffiths had instructed her to. The rolling of the dice became a rhythm, like the tapping of impatient fingers. She lost one off the side of the book but didn’t stop to retrieve it. Just rolled the dice, seeing beyond their blurred markings, keeping a somewhat steady tempo with the scoop and drop, scoop and drop.

Her neck was beginning to ache when her augury seized upon a pattern of threes. She saw the Leiningens and Mr. Blightree around a pedestal with an unfurled scroll upon it covered in neat, tight penmanship. Mr. Blightree held a quill, and Owein approached.

The vision faltered. Hulda desperately tried to hold on to it—

A pen scraping the bottom of an ink vial.

A shod foot as it came down, as though running.

A bead, or perhaps a marble, rolling across the floor.

William Blightree, with tears in his eyes.

Hulda blinked, and the vision dissipated. It was that same premonition she’d had twice before. Flipping back a page, she found where she’d written down the details. Only the first time had included Mr. Blightree weeping. Why had her augury left that off?

Her breath caught. Had that clue already come to pass? Was it no longer the future?

Distantly, she heard a thumping noise. Tilted her head to better hear it, then set the receipt book aside and rose, heading into the hallway. The thumping was coming from the back door of the building. It was about nine in the morning; perhaps a LIKER employee had lost his or her key. As Hulda approached, she heard footsteps on the floor above her, signaling the presence of other employees, though they were likely too far from the door to hear the emphatic knocking.

Why not use the front door, if the back was locked?

Hesitant, wishing she’d brought her black bag with her, she reached the door. Carefully turned the knob and opened it—

Morning sunlight temporarily blinded her. Raising a hand to shield herself, she saw a boy of perhaps seventeen years of age wearing a page uniform. He seemed relieved to see her. “I’m sorry, is there a Mr. Fernsby or Miss Larkin staying here? I was told to try this location.”

“I ... yes. What do you need them for?”

He fetched a crisp letter from his bag. “I’m to deliver this to one of them. Straightaway. He said there isn’t much time.”

“Much time?” Hulda reached for the letter.

The page pulled it back. “I must give it directly—”

“I’m Hulda Larkin,” she said, and snatched the letter, breaking the seal with her thumbnail. Inside was a hasty scrawl without a signature. As she read, a chill swept over her as winter rain.

Please come to Cyprus Hall at once. We have a body.

Hulda spoke through the communion stone as she rushed down the hall to find Merritt. She passed a few employees on the way but didn’t bother masking her speech; they could make of it whatever they wanted.

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