“They don’t want us tapping into the source. Opening channels they can’t control. It’s a rule for a reason.” Betje shrugged, her sleeves whispering against her sides as she reached to pet over the long, feathery branches of defeated dillweed. “Where did you get the seeds?”
“Brought them with me.” She didn’t have the energy to explain her circumstances. How the goblins had taken her family and farm in one fell swoop. The seeds would have been gone, too, if they hadn’t been buried in an earthenware jar for safekeeping. She’d sewn them into the hems of her skirts to smuggle them into the city. “Everything else was destroyed.”
“You poor thing. Do you have any left?”
“Family? No.” Her chest tightened, forcing the air out. Even her baby brother, little Yanni, was gone.
Betje winced. “Ah. I’m sorry. I meant seeds.”
Those, she had. Every good farmer held back some seed to replant, just in case crops failed. “A few,” she admitted. “Do you think I should turn them in?”
Betje barked a laugh. “Absolutely not. I think you should plant them and convince this soft-hearted gargoyle of yours to shield you from the consequences.”
“He’s not soft-hearted.” And he certainly wasn’t hers. She’d been a cowering, spineless creature at his feet.
“How do you know unless you ask?” Betje wheedled, a spark of humor in her eye. “I’m being purely selfish, of course, but I will pay you good coin for fresh herbs that haven’t seen the rigors of travel. A bonus if you don’t sell them to any other apothecaries.”
“I don’t even know his name.” But Idabel’s mind was already racing over the possibilities. She could make her garden smaller, add a bit of screening to disguise it. Cover it at night to avoid being caught by gargoyles or their moth minions. Anything to afford the guild fees.
Betje’s eyes sparked behind her spectacles, her face lighting. “I know how we can find out.”
The office of the Nadir was located in the lowest tier of the tower and had a steep stone staircase that led directly to the street. Idabel eyed the long line of waiting humans that snaked down it, spilling onto the cobbles.
“We’ll be here all night,” she groaned.
Betje patted her arm. “It moves quickly. You’ll see.”
Quickly was not the word for it, but the line did move. Idabel was yawning and stomping her feet to stay awake by the time they made it to the top of the stairs. They had to sign a register and then, after another brief wait inside the high-ceilinged, oak-paneled room that reminded her of Maiden Hall, they were led into the Nadir’s office by a keeper, who bowed stiffly before leaving.
An elderly gargoyle, scarred and mossy, perched behind a slanted desk, peering at them with eyes like milky opals. He rapped his claws against the desk, calling their attention before launching into a weary, practiced monologue. “I am the Nadir, Bardoux of the seventh tier. What business have you females with the gargoyles? If it’s to complain of the noise lately, that is merely temporary. The Sixth Watch is feasting in preparation for their deployment, but normal operations will resume shortly. If it’s to complain of refuse dropping from the Tower onto your private property, you can leave your address with the desk, and the offending items will be removed and any damage repaired. If it’s to complain of mistreatment by a guard—”
“Yes,” Betje broke in, leaning forward slightly. “That one.”
“Hmm.” Bardoux searched through the scrolls on his desk until he uncovered a ledger. “And on what day and time did this alleged mistreatment occur?”
Betje nudged Idabel to answer.
“Oh! Um, this evening around eight. Possibly as late as nine.” Her gaze slipped to Betje to see if her tardiness had registered, but Betje seemed unperturbed.
Bardoux leafed through a few pages, peering at each of them through a heavy, ornate magnifying glass. “On which street of Solvantis?”
“The first ring.”
He seemed to locate what he was looking for in the ledger and paused to glance up at her. “And what happened, exactly?”
Idabel’s insides squirmed, and she glanced at Betje, unsure of the lie she was supposed to tell. But her mentor only nodded at her to go ahead. “I was on the upper balcony of Maiden Hall. The gargoyle…” She hesitated.
“Yes?” Bardoux prompted impatiently. “What did she do?”
Idabel frowned, wonder if the old Nadir had misspoken. “Hewas…rude,” she finished lamely. That wasn’t a lie. “He accused me of being an intruder and a thief, but I reside there.”
Bardoux’s craggy brow furrowed, and he peered through his magnifying glass at the page again. “Hm. Are you sure it was the day, time, and location you claim? It could be no other?”
She wiped her sweaty hands on her skirt. “Yes. It was tonight.”
He snapped the ledger shut. “Then you are a liar. The gargoyle on duty on that street at that time was female. And even so, rudeness is not a crime. The keeper will see you out. Next!” he barked, and the office door swung open.
“Perhaps it was a guard from another street. Tell us who was on duty tonight,” Betje quickly cajoled. “We only want to return something he left behind.”
