‘Because he’s conniving,’ said the witch. ‘Before the daemotion, it helped to obfuscate his experiments. After, I suppose he decided that Hemmington’s would be a good tool to help rebuild his reputation. What better way to do that than to sell shoes and pretty purses and earn himself mountains of silver?’
‘Spirits have no use for silver,’ said Dot.
‘They do not, but we do,’ said Theodora. ‘He gives much of the profits to charity, and so Salamander’s generosity is printed in the papers every other month. There are many patients in Alliastran hospitals who owe Salamander a great deal. Orphanages, schools, and so on. His packet spell trade, that’s off the record – and that’s what he uses to fund the political parties. Very methodical, Salamander.’
Dot grimaced, and she shivered involuntarily at the memory of the daemon’s hungry eyes licking over her.
When the elevator opened once more, they stepped out onto a decadent green carpet and were enveloped by the smell of garlic, sausage and coffee.
‘Good morning,’ said Theodora to a purple catfish-like spirit, two metres tall with spectacles above her whiskers. The archway behind her led to a lavish bistro of stained-glass lamps and hanging ferns and ivy. Morning sun streamed through the large windows that overlooked the city of Alliaster, illuminating the breakfasters who drank deeply from tea cups and cut into their toast and croissants.
‘Madame Kaeïs,’ said the spirit. ‘Are you after your usual table?’ The spirit glanced behind herself. ‘I am terribly sorry to let you know that it is presently occupied by the spirit Marcidus, Mr Delané and some fellows of their invitation.’
‘Of course it is,’ said Theodora. ‘Not to worry. Casimir is the one I’m here to see.’
The spirit wheezed with relief, and Theodora and Dot entered the bistro. As they walked along its wide windows, Dot spotted the mountains and oceans through the glass. The cream-coloured dome of the National Library was just visible to the north-west. They were not, however, facing the correct way to see Saint Penelope’s Cathedral and Dot swallowed a small glob of disappointment.
Theodora took her arm. ‘What name would you like?’
‘Doesn’t Salamander already know my name is Knox?’ asked Dot.
‘Salamander knows the King thinks your name is Knox. That’s no reason to give him, and Marcidus and the rest of them, your real name. What would you like? Margot? Denise?’
‘Jane,’ said Dot, ‘um . . . Spectre.’
‘This way, Jane.’ Theodora steered her through the tables and they halted, at last, before a man sat between spirits.
‘Kaeïs,’ said the man, his voice coarse. A smile split over his face. He was perhaps thirty, with one arm resting languidly across the back of the chair beside him and a cigarette poised between his fingers. His shirt, which gaped open, revealed winding runes tattooed across his chest. His skin was olive, his nose hooked, his hair dark. His eyes locked on Dot and she dropped her gaze immediately. ‘What spells have you for me today?’
Dot looked at the spirits. The first was hairy and green. The second and third were identical, with blue plumage and aprons on their front, the fabric printed with the respective runes for ‘malice’ and ‘murder’. The fourth was an amorphous spirit who Dot had seen on a few occasions in the Raven’s Attic – the opposition minister, Marcidus.
‘No spells, Casimir,’ said Theodora. ‘We’re after your boss.’
Casimir glanced at Marcidus for a moment, then he nodded slowly, his hair falling around his eyes. Those eyes flicked now to Dot.
‘This is the apprentice, then?’
It took a moment before Dot realised it was her turn to speak.
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Yes, I am. I’m Jane.’
Casimir raised his eyebrows at her. ‘This’ll be fun.’
Dot’s face turned hot; there was something lewd about the way his eyes trailed over her.
‘How old are you?’ asked Casimir.
‘Old enough,’ said Dot in a panic. Immediately she regretted it, for Casimir’s eyebrows rose even higher and a smirk appeared on his mouth.
‘Old enough for what?’
Dot forced her eyes to meet his and said plainly, ‘I’ve no interest inyou, Mr Delané. Please take us to Salamander and stop wasting our time.’
‘Ha!’ cried Theodora in a squawk. Several of the nearby patrons glanced at her, but she did not lower her voice. Her eyes regained some of their twinkle. ‘Hear that, Cas? No interest! Before you’d even turned up the charm, too. I told you.’
Casimir shook his head, smiling.
‘She’ll come around.’
