Cain got up, tiptoed to the front, and looked closely at the door. There was a large lock attached to the latch, one that looked more like the kind that would be used in a warehouse, and one that Cain was certain hadn’t been there a moment ago. The silent man must have put it there. Cain looked around again before taking two pins out of his pocket and sliding them into the keyhole of the lock. A lock like this, that could be opened only from the outside, suggested that there was no one inside. Within a few moments, he had picked the lock and stepped inside the house.
It looked like an ordinary, working-class house inside, exactly what you would expect from how it looked on the outside. The living room had lime-painted walls and the attached kitchen was narrow. On the second floor would likely be two bedrooms, perhaps a third.
Just in case there was someone there, Cain took off his shoes and carried them in one hand as he explored the ground floor. The place was covered in dust. In the living room there was an old, large, red rug, but no other furniture. There was nothing at all in the kitchen either. He checked the outhouse in the backyard. There was no smell. No sign that anyone lived in the house.
Cain went back into the house with less caution. Up the steps were two rooms after all, and neither of them had beds or wardrobes. In one was a shelf with a small plate about the size of his palm with a candle that had been burned almost to a stump. The sun had set. Cain prodded his coat and made sure he had his flint box with him. He took the dish and candle.
He sat at the bottom of the stairs and thought about where he might look next. It occurred to him that despite there being a ventilation window outside, he had seen no steps leading down to a basement. He got up and looked for an entrance in the back lot. Nothing.
Back in the living room, he noticed again the only piece of furniture in the whole house, the red rug. There was no dust about its edges. Cain peeled the rug back, revealing a trapdoor. He hesitated for a second, then lit the candle with his flint. He opened the trapdoor and descended.
The smell of mold pierced his nostrils. In the corner of the basement was a wooden box, about as long as he was tall. Fienna’s coffinthis morning flashed in his mind. He moved the candle closer to it. The planks of the box were unpainted. There were holes along the edge where it had once been nailed shut.
His answers must be inside this box—answers as to why Fienna had been murdered, and what, exactly, the Ministry of Intelligence was after.
He carefully opened the lid.
Inside was another box, this one wrapped in chains. A coffin made of lead. Cain had never seen a Power generator with his own eyes, but the soft violet light seeping out of it could be from nothing else. He gently pressed the right leg of his spectacles in place with his hand and bent over to look at the writing engraved on the coffin, a low hum reaching his ears as he did so.THE 25TH LEGION, CLASS 4 POWER GENERATOR, FREDERIKA.There was a griffin engraved on the coffin as well. It was perhaps the symbol of the Twenty-Fifth Legion.
A military Power generator. Cain remembered what Septima had said about a Power generator going missing in Arland.
All generators belonged to the Empire. Everyone knew this. It was common for a large private business to license the use of Power generators to assist in the running of a factory or farm, but there was a strict application process and each generator had a designated sorcerer-engineer attached, with unannounced inspections by the Office of Truth inquisitors. What lay before Cain was a military Power generator to boot. There was no explanation as to why it would be in the basement of a civilian house, other than that it had been stolen.
Just looking at this box might constitute a crime.
He closed the wooden lid. The answers he’d been hoping forhad not all been inside the box. In fact, it only contained more questions. The candle on the plate went out, and the sudden tang of smoke reached his nose. Cain felt his way out of the basement and opened the trapdoor. Thankfully, he was still alone. He returned the nub of the candle to its place on the shelf on the second floor, slipped out of the building, relocked the door, and made his way into the night.
The Power generator. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Why did Gladdis have it—if the person he’d followed was indeed Gladdis’s man? And why did she bring it into the Capital? How did a merchant, however rich and well-connected, even manage to get ahold of it? And what didany of thishave to do with Fienna?
He wondered whether he should tell Septima of what he saw today. If Septima got wind that a Power generator stolen by provincial rebel forces was hidden in the heart of the Empire, the Ministry of Intelligence—and the Office of Truth that controlled the use of all Power generators—would turn the city upside down looking for the culprits, and Gladdis would either go into hiding or be caught. Then the case would be beyond Cain’s reach. He would never know what Gladdis had been trying to do or why Fienna had died. Compared to the interests of the Ministry of Intelligence, the Office of Truth, and the rebel movement, Fienna’s death wouldn’t even amount to an afterthought.
The Capital was the most powerful city in the world. In contrast, Fienna was only a worker at a small dye shop. People died every day. Compared to the immensity of the Capital, Fienna’s death was a negligible one. She would be forgotten soon. Such things were inevitable in this city of millions. His heart felt the heavy grip again.
Cain, however, remembered. The Arlanders at the funeral alsoremembered. And more than anyone else, the culprit remembered. Whether it was Gladdis or the silent man or anyone else who had killed Fienna, Cain would not allow them to forget.
But if something happened to him—which felt more and more likely with every new secret he uncovered—there would be no one to do something about what he’d just learned. These secrets were too big for him to shoulder alone. He thought of Arienne. As a sorcerer, she was the closest thing to an expert that Cain knew. Had she left already? Maybe she had even been caught. But his meeting with Septima wasn’t until midnight, so he had time. He made his way to Lucretia’s.
14ARIENNE
Arienne had been afraid her long, exhausting day might cause her to oversleep, but she woke up just as the sun went down as she’d intended. She felt well-rested. It was cold outside the covers, and she dressed quickly. For six years, she had worn only her school robes. Summer robes for the summer, winter robes for the winter… Her new tunic and trousers were still stiff and a bit uncomfortable, but she supposed she would break them in with time. She rubbed the leather patches that covered her elbows and knees.
It was snowing outside. Not the best day to begin a journey. Not the best season, in fact. But it wasn’t like anyone could set a convenient date to leave their old life behind. This was her destiny, so to speak. It made her a little sad thinking of this.
Eldred had remained silent after Arienne had talked down to him. It was better this way. She wanted to stop hearing about his penchant for killing people, to say goodbye to the past six years in peace.
There was a knock at the door. She froze, unsure of what to do, until she heard Cain’s voice.
“If you’re still inside, let me in.”
She withdrew the bolts and opened the door. Cain was standing there, the pair of spectacles on his face. A forced smile was on it as well.
“You’re still here. I’m glad. You should wait until later in the night before setting out.”
He was wearing a new coat. It was black.
Arienne nodded. “That’s my plan. Thank you for the clothes and the bag.”
This man had bought her clothes and also a meal at Lukan’s. The money she’d brought with her from the school was in the sleeve of her old robe. The very robe she had left behind while running away from Duff. The few silver coins Lukan had given her were the only money she had.
