Page 29 of Charmless
“Let me show you into the parlor,” I said. “And I will fetch Em for you. I know she is going to be delighted to see you, absolutely delighted.”
I was nearly babbling in my eagerness, almost like a desperate spider, luring in a fly. But it occurred to me that this old beau of Em’s could prove my salvation. Lord Redmond and my stepmother had been in love once. What if the romance of their youth was rekindled and his lordship asked Em to marry him? I had a feeling that his lordship would prove to be a delightful stepfather. I would no longer need to feel the least bit of guilt for refusing Florian. My family’s financial worries would all be over and?—
I brought myself up short, realizing I was doing what I often accused my younger sisters of, letting my imagination run away with me. Lord Redmond’s visit might portend nothing more than a desire upon his part to renew an old friendship or engage in a light dalliance.
After all, this was the same Chuffy of Em’s summerhouse trysts, the rakehell her father had mistrusted, the young man with the tongue so skilled in delivering those enervating siren kisses.
Beneath that thatch of graying hair and mutton- chop whiskers, I could detect a roguish twinkle in his pale blue eyes. If he continued to call upon my stepmother, I would have to corner his lordship and demand to know his intentions. But for now, I was pleased to settle him in the parlor while I announced his arrival to Em.
Lord Redmond’s visit enthralled Em to the degree that her unhappiness with me was, for the moment, forgotten. I hoped Chuffy’s intentions were honorable. But if they were not, at least my younger sisters were there to act as chaperone. In addition to that, we didn’t have a summerhouse.
My own mood was much improved as I headed for town. I still dreaded being pounced upon by Florian, but I had come up with a plan. Instead of venturing to the markets at my usual hour, I would delay until it was almost time for the shops to close. Not only might I strike a better bargain with the vegetable sellers at that hour, but surely Florian would grow tired of waiting around for me to appear.
In the meantime, I intended to pay a visit to the Midtown Garrison in hopes of finding a few minutes alone with Horatio. I longed to kiss him and mend our disagreement about Mal. Not that we had actually quarreled, but perhaps a great deal of kissing would prove a remedy against future discord.
The trick would be getting past the crossroad that led to the shops without stumbling into Florian. By lucky chance when I reached that part of my walk, one of those absurd pumpkin-shaped carriages came lumbering down the road. It was moving at such a sedate pace so I was able to trot alongside of it, thus blocking any view of me from the market area.
The occupants of the coach peered out the windows at me. I grimaced when I recognized the Vanderwix girls. Priscilla beamed at me and waved enthusiastically. Ardelia lifted one hand in a half-hearted gesture, her pinched nose thrust into the air.
I could easily imagine what she was thinking.There goes our demented future princess, running again. What does Prince Florian see in her?
I managed to smile and wave back, but I feared the young ladies might order their coachman to stop and offer me a ride to my destination. I had no desire to be cooped up in that carriage with Priscilla’s giggles and Ardelia’s probing questions.
I lifted my heels and bolted until I outdistanced the plodding coach. Truly I was getting so good at running, I might have had a fair chance of winning a prize at the foot races held during theannual Festival of Flowers. That is if those races had not been unfairly restricted to men only.
I paused to catch my breath when I reached the town square, scooping up a cupped handful of water for a quick drink from the fountain. Quad Hall had returned to normal since my last visit. No armed Scutcheons patrolling the walls, no lowered portcullis barring admittance.
Horatio had managed to convince Midtown citizens that the closing of the Hall had been nothing more than a safety inspection required by the king. A few people had remained suspicious— I heard a whisper of gossip here and there. For the most part, everyone was satisfied with Horatio’s explanation and far too diverted by Florian’s courtship of me to give the matter any further consideration.
The Midtown garrison was located at the back of Quad Hall. I followed a well-worn footpath that led around the building until I came to the stable yard. I saw Scutcheons marching out for their patrols. A small group of privates were engaged in sword practice under the tutelage of the earnest Major Frackles.
I did not like to interrupt him, but I was completely unfamiliar with this area of Quad Hall. I had never had occasion to visit Horatio in his headquarters and needed directions. I started hesitantly toward Frackles when I was overjoyed to spot Horatio, himself.
He was standing beneath a covered walkway adorned with a series of stone arches. Shaded from the afternoon sun, I could barely make out Horatio’s features, but I would know that tall, broad-shouldered silhouette anywhere.
I rushed toward him only to pull up short when I realized he was not alone. I was close enough to recognize who was with him, a hunch-backed man with pointy features and tufts of white hair. Withypole Fugitate ran a small shop in Misty Bottoms, crammed with an odd assortment of things that he bought frompeople desperate for money. I had been to Fugitate’s Fancies too many times, selling off our family valuables to pay the king’s ruinous taxes. I had even sold my mother’s emerald earrings and it had nearly broken my heart. But Mal, wonderful friend that he was, had redeemed them for me.
On my last visit to Withypole’s shop, I stumbled across his secret. The man was not really a hunchback or even a human male at all. Withypole Fugitate was one of the fairy folk. His people had been driven out of Arcady a long time ago by harsh restrictions upon the practice of magic and an exorbitant tax on wings.
Fugitate avoided this by disguising his identity, crushing his wings into a sack, and making it appear as if he had a hump beneath his shirt. Why he would submit to such indignity and discomfort to remain in Arcady was a mystery. Most likely, Withypole had been scorned by the rest of the fairy world for becoming a ‘gleaner.’
From my father’s book on fairy lore, I had learned that gleaners were fairies who became obsessed with amassing anything that humans valued, jewelry, paintings, musical instruments, furniture, even toys. Fairies who were above collecting such worldly goods only turned into gleaners after suffering some sort of heartbreak.
Whatever tragic event lurked in Fugitate’s past, I had no idea. I did know that besides gleaning goods, Fugitate kept his sharp eyes and ears open, gathering information about suspicious activities in Misty Bottoms which he shared with Horatio.
I had once been angry with Horatio about this, accusing him of coercing Withypole into acting as his informant. But the truth was, Withypole volunteered his cooperation. I could not begin to fathom the reason for this tale bearing, except that perhaps the fairy took some spiteful pleasure in it.
Horatio and Withypole were so deep in conversation, neither of them noticed my approach. Who was Withypole informing upon this time? I prayed it was nothing to do with Mal.
Badly as I wanted to eavesdrop, I did not want Horatio to think I was spying upon him. I ducked beneath the nearest arch, waiting for him to finish his meeting with Withypole. Horatio’s back was toward me, but Withypole’s gaze appeared to flick in my direction. I could swear I saw his nose twitch as though he could sniff me out. Were fairies gifted with a powerful sense of smell?
I decided not to take any chances. I retreated further down the shadowy walkway until I came to an arched doorway at the base of one of the towers. This was a part of Quad Hall that was more familiar to me. The Registry office was the place one went to apply for licenses to wed, to open a shop or to obtain a permit to practice magic. The latter permit was never issued these days, not unless one possessed a small fortune to bribe the Royal Registrar.
Beyond the door to the registry, a curving stone stair stretched upward to the infamous Aura Chamber. Considering what had happened, I was surprised not to find it more heavily guarded. Perhaps no one expected the thief to return to the scene of his crime, at least not in broad daylight when Quad Hall was humming with activity. I wondered if Mercato had managed to fix the Mirror of Collection.
Stepping closer to the foot of the stairs, I tried to peer upward, but I could see nothing beyond the first spiral. I recalled the promise that I had made to Horatio, that I would comply with the registration law. Perhaps this was one small thing I could do that might ease the tension between us, but I had mixed feelings about it.
My father’s avoidance of the Aura Chamber filled me with unease. Yet even as a child, I had experienced an overwhelmingcuriosity about the magic device. I placed one hand upon the wrought iron banister. My heart thudding with a mixture of trepidation and excitement, I began to mount the stairs.
