The smell of spicy tea appealed to Lapis, though the thought of drinking it did not. Ciaran sipped from one of Phialla’s cups as he settled several pages on the bed next to her, satisfied with the taste. She did not recall him enjoying steeped leaves in their childhood, but they both had changed since those delightful days.
She reluctantly raised the first one as she sank back into the pillows, wishing she did not feel so lethargic. She had things to do, like take a stake, and keeping to a bed, however necessary, cut into her meager savings. How lucky, she turned in the Alchemist, because she would be hurting for money without that payment.
“Patch read these and took off,” Ciaran said as he leaned against the wall and folded his free hand around his waist. “Mother said he went blank, bounced up, and was gone.”
Annoyingly typical. Lapis skimmed the first page, frowning. What prompted his flight? Nothing she perused hinted at anything that might spark action. It was a dull document highlighting one of Danaea’s conquests—not a murder, just a rich sap who did not want his richer wife to find out he consorted with lesser women. She glanced at the back; some kind of code. A couple of others listed dates, some yet to arrive, coupled with individuals she blackmailed for more cash, all containing more code on the back. She shuffled through the rest, fighting to keep herself from puking. What a horrid woman, who bathed in blood and blackmail. Living in Jiy was difficult, but to feed off the desecration of morality . . .
She returned to the codes. Something scratched at her about them, but she could not say what. The random stretch of letters and numbers looked like a jumbled mess, but the format reminded her of the Minq’s guttershank code. Patch had more familiarity with it than she. What might have spooked him into leaving without a word? Or did he deem his errand so minute, no one needed to know? Then why race away?
She slowly read through the other pages, but nothing struck her as strange or out-of-place with the rest of the items. Had Lady Thyra misinterpreted his leaving? No; the woman had worked with him to find evidence of Perben’s traitorous hand, so she likely understood when something bothered him.
She rubbed her eyes and studied the code again. Simple lines, differing lengths, jibberish. Danaea placed them there for a reason, and since nothing else appeared relevant to the situation, the scramble of letters hid something that sent him racing out of the House.
“This looks like a Minq code line they use with undershanks,” she told them, waving the sheet she held about. “Patch knows some of their ciphers. I don’t know any.”
Ciaran glanced at Faelan. “Neassa knows them.”
“She does, but she’s with Midir, and they aren’t nearby. Caitria has a list of the ones Lord Adrastos gave us, but I have no idea how accurate they might be.”
“She went out with Mairin. I can dig around in her notebooks.”
“Do so. They should be with her Jiy notes.”
Lapis helped Ciaran gather up the pages, despondent. “I wish I could help more,” she whispered. Apprehension wormed through her; Patch was not one to rush off into danger without planning an escape if things went from bad to worse, so for him to depart without a word . . .
“Well, you told us that the codes look like Minq ones,” he reminded her. “That’s a place to start. Don’t worry, I’ll be back. I have a feeling whatever they say, you’ll understand more of it than we will.”
Maybe.
Faelan lounged back, clasping his hands over his stomach, as Ciaran slipped from the room. “I wonder what he read in those pages,” he murmured. “Patch isn’t someone who rushes off into a bad situation without at least thinking about the consequences.”
“She might have used his name in vain in her codes,” she said, worming down into the pillows. She hated that Danaea had plied Patch’s name to make the guards pay her correctly. She herself fumed when the law laughed at her and skimped on her stake, but she never thought to bring her partner into it and ride his name. It had been enough, that they knew she had one.
Now that the guards, and everyone else in the Grey Streets, knew Patch was her partner, she expected their attitude to change.
Her brother lolled his head over and absently studied her. “It may be, he left to warn a target of an assassination attempt. That would explain his haste.”
If so, the stake must have targeted someone like a Minq leader, whose death could cause problems for both chasers and rebels. Even then, he normally kept clear of such things, because interfering with hunters had negative consequences and it annoyed him to knock out a seething fool who thought revenge solved their failed attempt.
Lapis tried to stay awake, curious as to what Ciaran discovered, but ended up dozing. She drifted on half-dreams until a gentle shaking startled her, and she popped up. Faelan smiled and patted her leg; she blinked rapidly to clear her vision of the misty white that clouded it.
The room was decidedly darker, the candles merrier, so night had fallen. She rubbed at her eyes as Ciaran sat in the chair, leaning over his knees and clasping his hands before him. She accepted the few pages from her brother and looked at them; a listing of names, dates, and the success of the stake. Danaea failed most of them, and Lapis could not fathom why she kept a record detailing that. Did she think a second attempt might work?
“My mother found a few more blocks of code in the papers we hadn’t read yet, so we decoded them as well.”
She nodded absently; the more information, the better. It disconcerted her, that the woman had her fingers in even more sludgy undertakings.
A couple stakes made her gasp. “She targeted some high-ranking Minq and Beryl Syndicate leaders.”
“I find it unfathomable she has Vu Ne Jano listed,” Ciaran said.
She handed Faelan that page, and he scanned it, shaking his head in disbelief. “Attempting to complete a stake on Vu Ne means she had a death wish. He’s a favored son of the Jilvayna terrboss. Jo Ban would revenge him by taking out both the hunter and the staker, and he possesses enough wealth to make that stake so attractive, the most skilled assassins would jump at the opportunity.”
Lapis returned to the page she held and took a moment before the contents registered. “What day is it?”
“Midyear 4, Delthis 12,” Ciaran said.
The same date, listed a couple of times between codes. Oh no. “She listed Wrethe with today’s date,” she said, appalled. “He’s a chaser informant who used to be a coder for the palace. He makes a good living helping with stakes where the target thinks they’re clever and employs code. He’s brought down quite a few Dentherion spies for the Minq.” She shook her head. “He’s hidden, and most chasers only know about his dropboxes at the Docks and in the Undermarket.” She grabbed another sheet and pointed to the relevant words. “She says she and her partner Thyden will meet the Shroudies in Blossom during the evening before leading the hunt. The Grey and Stone Streets use that term for the Dentherions aboard a skyshroud. Patch went to see him, to warn him. There’s nothing else here that would interest him.”
“That second bit was among the new code. He couldn’t have read it,” Ciaran said, sitting straight.
“Patch knows where he lives?” Faelan asked.
“Yeah. So do I. I’ll go—”
“No. You’re—”
“Faelan, he won’t talk to just anyone,” she told him bluntly. “His paranoia is impressive. He has a granddaughter to protect, and that’s his paramount concern.” She lowered the page. “Hopefully Patch is already there. Otherwise, he might not even talk to me.”
“He and Patch are friendly?” Ciaran asked.
“They know each other from way back. That’s all they ever say, but to anyone watching them, it’s obvious they like and respect one another.”
“You’re not going, Lapis. You don’t appreciate how ill you still are.” Faelan’s stiff stubbornness chaffed her anger.
“Faelan, I’d do far more than this, to smack Patch upside the head for causing us to worry. And I’m not telling you where he’s at unless I’m with you.” She had out-stubborned him in the past, and she refused to let him win this one.
He narrowed his eyes. “Then I’m going with you.”
She gaped, appalled. “You’re the Leader of the rebellion! You can’t—”
“Which means I get to order you around, doesn’t it? And since I’m your big brother—”
Ciaran drew a breath; both she and Faelan looked at him. He wanted to voice a smart-ass remark, he had that annoyed, disgusted half-frown pulling his lips to the side, but instead, he rose and took himself away.
Faelan muttered under his breath as she looked at the pages, concern twisting her stomach. Her partner needed to learn to trust as well, something he found exceedingly difficult. Knowing his past through Faelan, she understood his hesitancy, but sometimes that proved more of a barrier between him and others than the betrayal.
