Page 86 of The City of Stardust

CHAPTER

Forty-Two

CASPIAN VERNE LOUNGESon a yacht off the coast of southern Italy, hiding from the rest of the party. It’s not his yacht or his party, and the drink by his side is more ice than booze, but he’s been summoned here at his grandmother’s behest to represent the family—and even at ninety-three, his grandmother isn’t to be ignored. So he’s happy for the diversion of a phone call, and even more so when he realises who’s on the other end of the line.

“Seen any asteria in the buff lately?” he asks.

“Hi, Caspian,” Violet Everly says.

He listens for several minutes in absolute silence, as Violet describes the scope of her problem. There are more holes in her story than a colander, but he pretends he’s as convinced as if she was telling the truth.

“I don’t see why you’re not asking your uncles about this,” he says.

“It’s a surprise. Ancestral birthday gift. Can you do it in three days?”

He considers the Italian coastline, all rugged cliffs and warm greens. A man could get used to this.

“It’ll require some favours, but to hell with those. What else would I need them for?” Actually, quite a few things, now that he thinks of it.

“That’s an awfully nice gesture for a scholar,” Violet says.

“I’m not a scholar, and I’m not that nice. You’ll owe me, Everly,” he says.

He can hear her smile on the other end of the line. “I can live with that.”

Caspian is not usually one for liars, despite being an expert liar himself, and he’s also not in the habit of drawing on his not-insignificant influence without a reward. But there’s something about Violet Everly that makes him want to throw all his rules out of the window.

“What was that about?” the woman lounging next to him asks, once he’s off the phone.

Caspian swills his drink in his hand. “Kat, do you remember that time you wanted that Etallantia scholarship text? And how I stole it for you, and then you kept saying you were going to pay me, but never did?”

The scholar’s mouth flattens in a way that suggests she does, indeed, remember, but was rather hoping he’d forgotten.

“Well, it’s time to cash in my cheque. And I know exactly what currency I’d like it in.”

Yulan Liu is catching up on paperwork in her bookshop when she receives a phone call from her scholar. She glances at the sliver of bustling activity, customers clustering over the latest bestseller, before shutting her office door.

“Katherine, my love,” she says, in a voice that she only ever uses in the privacy of their already private relationship.

“Sweetness, I’m in a bit of a pickle, and I have a favour to ask. Do you remember that restorer?”

Twelve hours later, Goro Matsuda opens his door to a sword-shaped package on his expensive doorstep. The courier is nowhere in sight, but there’s a note with an ominous tone that he would recognise anywhere.

Goro,

You owe me for midsummer. The courier will return for it in two days. I trust that’s enough time.

Y. L.

He squints into the distance, but the courier has long vanished.

“Shit,” he says under his breath.

CHAPTER

Forty-Three

THE REVEURITE HARVESTis here. For a week, from dawn until dusk, the forge bearers stretch fine-meshed metal nets across the cliffs, with generous amounts of slack. Every roof gains a tough, protective cover. Candles are doused and streetlamps dimmed, so that the city is draped in nightfall and extra care is taken when walking along the cliffsides. This is no star festival—reveurite harvesting is work, not play—but nevertheless there are stalls full of piping hot sausages, tureens of spicy winter soup ladled out by the bowlful, and hot chocolate thick enough to stand a spoon in the mug.

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