An Adept entering into an official relationship with anAffinate was, in some ways, more appalling to the Guild than if she had taken on a human. He was the most useless of our kind, the weakest. He was their shame and their failure.
So she had married him.
I looked between the two of them, particularly the soft-eyed way Perry beheld my sister, and hoped I was wrong.
“Lord Stillwell,” Pretoria redirected us. “Do we know where he is?”
“The Stillwell ancestral home is out in Bellundin,” I said. “A full day away by train.”
“The trains are not running,” Perry said, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee and leaning back. “Nor are the ships.”
I stared. “Baffin has shut them down?”
“In fear of Separatist bombings, ostensibly,” Pretoria said. “The roads are still open.”
“Yes, but let us consider Stillwell’s position,” Perry cautioned, gathering the pair of us with a gesture. There was a spark of arrogance in him then that I did not precisely like. “After losing Sarre Grand to the Seaussen and the rebels, he is battling to regain his power and influence. Baffin has called a meeting of the Council of Lords—this will give him ample opportunity to do so.”
“He will be in Harrow,” I concluded, remembering the newsboy’s shout earlier. “And he will be in the thick of things. But he does not have a house in town, unless he has rented one. Or perhaps he is at one of the upper hotels?”
“He should not be hard to find,” Perry said. “Allow me to do so. I can begin this evening—everyone who is anyone will be about. There is no chance of him recognizing me, and I may be able to learn something without showing our hand. And, forgive me, Ottilie, but you look exhausted.”
I rubbed at my forehead. “You are not wrong.”
“Then rest, and after we can go together. In disguise,” Pretoria suggested.
I considered her dubiously. “Last time I allowed you to ‘disguise’ me, I could not remove my moustache for a week.”
“I have found a better glue, dear.”
I returned my attention to Perry, who watched our exchange with patient expectation. It crossed my mind that I was granting him a great deal of trust after a very short acquaintance, but he seemed competent. And if Pretoria trusted him to pursue my best interests—and a great deal of money—I had to, too.
“All right. Perry, please see if you can learn where he is staying,” I said. “And we can visit him together under cover of darkness, once I am capable of standing again.”
“Is that the entirety of our plan?” Pretoria asked. “There is nothing else you wish to tell us?”
I thought of Dr. Maddeson. I ought to at least check in on the philologist—given his obsession with the artifact and its connection to Baffin, he might have learned something new.
But that would bring Pretoria close to his research and its possible value, and I was not sure I wanted to expose my sister to such an interesting quandary just yet.
Not until I was wholly sure I could trust her.
“First, I fear I must sleep,” I admitted. “But then… ah, I must retrieve my cat.”
Hieronymus was not my only reason for returning to my apartments. I had to retrieve my possessions, both of monetary and sentimental value. I felt the urge to explain this to Pretoria as we traversed the circumference of Old Harrow the next morning, buffeted by a frigid autumn wind off the river. Boats swept by, carriages and motor cars trundled past, chased by the pinging of an impatient streetcar. Fallen leaves from the boulevard trees scudded ahead, rasping and whispering on the stones.
Pretoria pulled my arm through hers, both clad in warm, fine wool—hers a rich burgundy that beautifully complemented her brown skin, and mine a borrowed coat of pale yellow with a stiff, embroidered collar in the Lorvan style with a high waist.
We made a rather fetching pair and attracted more than a few lingering glances from passersby, save for the occasional moments when Pretoria skewed time to dissuade anyone from following us.
It was late morning, and my eyes were still swollen from exhaustion. Despite Pretoria’s magic and vigilance, I kept a weather eye for Howell, and Wake, and anyone and everyone else who might be looking for me.
“Ottilie,” Pretoria said, herself bright-eyed and energetic. “You needn’t explain yourself. Though… a pet? Perhaps itis best you let the creature loose. Surely there are enough rodents in Harrow to feed one more stray.”
I tried not to be offended. “Ronny is entirely lacking in independence,” I said. “And he was a gift from Mr. Stoke.”
“Ah.” Pretoria nodded soberly, patted my arm, and said nothing more.
She skewed time as we approached my home, free hand floating at her hip as we passed through the open iron gates and into the courtyard. The rustle of the wisteria and the twining of the neighbor’s cello distorted into a perplexing swirl of sound, harmonious and hair-raising all at once.
