The old woman brought a trembling hand to her forehead. “He’s in the Northern Quarters…” Her thin chest rattled with emotion as she detailed the exact directions. She huffed another puff of smoke, a tinge of pink appearing on her wrinkled cheeks, before she continued in a hazy voice. “What isn’t learned in the cradle…”
“…will be learned too late.Thank you.” Leena rose to leave, but the old woman’s voice stopped her.
“Do not lie to him, Leena,” Margery warned again.
Once more, Leena’s gaze focused on the corner of the room.
Once more, Margery turned to look.Nothing.
“Mrs. Khalid next door tells me that you’re mad, girlie,” Margery said, peering closely at her. “You have already lost one promising employment due to your…eccentricities.How much further will you allow yourself to fall?”
Leena had been a lady’s companion, back when her future still had promise. She had fled that life when her circumstances changed and she realized she could not swallow her new oddities. If the aristos had noticed her strange behavior, they might lock her in the asylum. Now, rather than an esteemed lady’s companion, she was the gossip of old crones, the shame of their street, a warning to all immigrant parents about the dangers of overeducating a girl.
Leena’s eyes blazed. “Until there is no distance left to fall.”
—
Leena knew the city like the back of her hand, even in twilight.
After Baba was taken, she’d roamed these streets either looking for a job or searching for Rami. She’d often found her brother in the shadowy corners frequented by the Black Coats. She passed three of them now on the steps of a well-known brothel, slinking around a tired-eyed woman with painted lips, each smoking cigarettes imported from Algaraa.
The Black Coats stopped their chattering once they saw her, watching Leena as she attempted to move past them as quickly as possible. Rami had once told her that each Black Coat hid a knife in their sleeves, and she kept her head low to avoid attention.
One recognized her anyway, likely from all the times she’d dragged Rami back home, usually by the collar, while they both hollered at each other.
“Your brother all right?” the Black Coat farthest to the left shouted, a tall, freckled boy with a cap pulled low over his ears. “Not seen him in a while.”
Leena didn’t answer, quickening her stride although it caused a stitch in her side.
The boy continued, his voice now taking a jeering edge. “He’s missed one fight. Mr. Orley won’t be pleased if he misses another.” She felt his gaze burn into her. “Perhaps the boss will take you as payment instead. Lucky man.”
Leena swallowed, breaking out in a near-run, leaving the Black Coats’ mocking laughter behind. She didn’t stop until she’d reached the small abandoned church that straddled the edge of New Algaraa District. She heaved in lungfuls of air beneath the shattered remains of a stained-glass window, surrounded by the statues of the five Saints, their stone bodies defaced with paint-splattered words:The Saints don’t seeus.
The Black Coats’ threat sat heavily on her. She had begged Rami not to fight for the gang, knowing that whatever coins he earned in the process would never guarantee their safety, but as always her brother never listened.
Although her joints ached, she forced herself to keep walking, now more desperate to trade for his medication than ever.
As she continued to weave her way through the claustrophobic district, with its tilting tiled roofs and cobbled streets, she had to stop twice more to rest, frustrated with her own body’s needs. She was glad for the darkness of the night, which hid the ugliness that was Newtorn Prison—the ominous building that stood staring at her no matter the direction she went. She did not have money to hail a hackney, and not for the first time Leena silently loathed that her townhouse was situated where it was. Nearest to the docks and the Old Market, New Algaraa District was not only a constant cacophony of noises and drunken singing, it was also farthest away from the middle-class wealth of the Northern Quarters where Mr.St.Silas’s shop was located.
It took her hours to reach her destination.
Within the Northern Quarters, the townhouses were far more respectable, surrounded by black-painted gates and thick rosebushes. Raised three stories high, each house held a vestige of glamour. Leena knew that although the aristos did not reside here, instead situating themselves within the far more exclusive Maybury District, a lot of the middle-class tradesmen built their homes here to mimic the architecture of the nobility. To Leena, it felt disorienting to see such old styles replicated in such modern ways.
The district might have been charming in the daytime, but at night the lamplight threw tall shadows on the clean streets, distorting shapes and creating faces where there weren’t any. More than once, Leena halted suddenly, a cold sweat beading her brow, only to find herself staring at a tree or a postbox.
Her heart was galloping in her chest by the time she reached the Saint’s shop.
It was a surprisingly discreet building—too immaculate for such a sordid business. On either side, the houses were vacant, a “to let” sign creaking and swaying in the wind. The shop was bereft of any vulgar advertising, the steps swept clean, the door freshly painted. A single neat sign had been hung, which read:Mr. St. Silas, an inquisitor.
Leena swallowed, her throat dry.
An inquisitor.
He can taste lies.
She pounded at the door.
No answer.
