Shadow Scale (24 page)

Abdo pulled away and rushed toward the door. “Quietly!” I whispered loudly, following right on his heels. “I don’t want Dame Okra to know you’re here.” She, or Jannoula, didn’t want Abdo coming with me to Samsam.

Nedouard’s room was in the attic. Climbing the banisters one-handed barely slowed Abdo down. A light still shone under the doctor’s door, and Nedouard answered Abdo’s knock at once. The ghostly pale face behind him was Blanche’s; her eyes lit up at the sight of Abdo.

“More insomniacs!” cried the doctor. “Come in, come in.”

The ceiling sloped under the eaves, making the room feel smaller than it was. Nedouard had moved all his belongings here: bottles, crucibles, stretched glass vessels, apothecary ingredients, and—squirreled away in crannies—a collection of shiny objects.

One of Blanche’s mechanical spiders was splayed open on the floor, as if they’d been dissecting it. She noticed me staring at the gears and said, “I am sad to hearing it Josquin be broken. He must to want a spider, need it legs, no? Legs on him.”

I nodded tentatively, not sure I understood. Nedouard, his blue eyes gentle above his hooked beak, said, “You are kind to think of him, sister.” Blanche smiled minutely and gathered her
spider into a sack. Abdo helped her, and she kissed his forehead before quitting the room.

“She’s a shy little thing,” said Nedouard, rubbing his liver-spotted scalp. “Don’t take it personally. How may I help you?”

“We need to know if Abdo is well enough to travel,” I said.

Of course I am
, Abdo grumped in my head, but Nedouard, not privy to our conversation, pulled up a chair for Abdo and then seated himself on a facing stool. Abdo grudgingly sat and held out his arm.

Nedouard unwrapped the bandages and said, “Lovely.”

“Lovely?” I said, bracing myself to look. The midwife at Donques had done her best; Dr. Belestros had removed the stitches, leaving a raised and knotted scar.

“Is it still causing you pain?” said Nedouard. There was a long pause while Abdo spoke in his head. “You’re past the danger of infection, but it’s going to be stiff.” A very long pause. “Your tendons will have formed adhesions in all the wrong places. They’ll be the devil to untangle. I’m not sure what Belestros thought he could do, the arrogant dragon.” Pause. “Maybe in the Tanamoot. In their own country, the dragons have superior equipment.”

Nedouard rose, opened a cabinet, and pulled out ointment and soap. “Above all, keep it clean,” he said. “We underestimate the importance of hygiene in the Southlands, and we pay for it dearly.” He handed the supplies to Abdo. “Pack these, and then get some sleep. Seraphina, may I speak with you alone?”

“Of course,” I said. Abdo looked irritated but did as Nedouard asked. The doctor motioned me to take Abdo’s empty seat.

“Blanche didn’t need help with her machine—as if I could
have helped. She’s scared,” said Nedouard in a low voice. “I am, too, and horrified for Dame Okra. Is there nothing we can do for her?”

The question bespoke his kindness. “I don’t see how,” I said, despairing. “Dame Okra could surely push back against Jannoula, but she seems disinclined to try.”

“Is it possible to evict Jannoula from your mind once she’s in?” asked the old doctor.

“I did it,” I said, “but it was difficult. I had to trick her and build a place to contain her. I’m not sure it would work again; she’d be on guard against it.”

“It’s reassuring to know it’s possible,” he said, fidgeting with a button of his doublet. “When I hear Abdo’s voice in my mind, there’s no way not to hear him. I despair of being able to keep her out when she gets around to me.”

“Abdo’s voice must be like her knocking,” I said, thinking fast. I had not reasoned this out until now. “Abdo can’t manipulate your body or hear any thoughts except the ones you direct toward him in answer.”

“He doesn’t hear thoughts I direct toward him in answer,” said Nedouard, sitting up straighter. “I always have to reply aloud.”

That had been true of Lars and Dame Okra as well, I suddenly realized. I hadn’t thought about it; I’d assumed they’d been answering aloud for my benefit.

Abdo could hear me reply in my head, but then, he was arguably in my mind already. “That’s encouraging,” I said. “Truly. Maybe Jannoula won’t be able to enter any further than that unless you let her in.”

Dame Okra hadn’t even liked to hear Abdo’s voice; she’d found it invasive. I remembered suddenly how Abdo had speculated about altering Dame Okra’s memory—did that mean he could enter minds more completely if he chose to, whether he’d been invited in or not? I wasn’t sure.

“If you hear Jannoula’s voice, don’t answer,” I said, hoping that would be enough.

“That sounds easy,” said Nedouard grimly. “But how was Dame Okra caught out?”

“Her mind reaches out involuntarily,” I said. “It gives her prognostications; apparently it also makes her vulnerable. Jannoula was able to seize her.”

“Dame Okra never reached out to anyone—in the friendly sense, I mean. She disliked even that much vulnerability,” said Nedouard, shaking his bald head. “I confess, I find this intriguing. What makes us the way we are?”

“Dame Okra’s prickliness, you mean?” I asked as he stood and crossed the attic room toward his bed. “Or Jannoula’s desire to possess other people’s minds?”

“Both,” said Nedouard. He knelt by his bed and began feeling around under the mattress. “As well as that peculiar fellow who steals things that don’t belong to him.” He found what he was searching for: a sealed, folded parchment and a small, shiny object. He gazed at them tenderly. “Are we irretrievably broken, Seraphina, or can we be made whole again?”

With trembling hands, he placed the letter and a silver ring set with a tiny pearl in my lap. My heart leaped at the angular
handwriting; it was Orma’s. I took Nedouard’s hands in my own—to still them, to thank him. He pulled away, saying only, “Those arrived while you were traveling. Forgive me.”

I enfolded the ring in my hand, and his eyes unlocked from it.

“Safe travels,” he said.

I kissed his liver-spotted forehead and left. Stars shone through the little window at the bottom of the stairs.

Abdo, asleep, had usurped my bed entirely. It was remarkable how such a small person could require all the blankets.

I lit a lantern with an ember from the hearth and opened the letter. I had barely enough light to read by, but I didn’t care. I worked for each word, and the work was a joy.

I smiled, trying to imagine Uncle Orma being impulsive by any but dragon standards. Orma went on:

That was all. I turned the page over; he hadn’t even signed his name.

I examined the ring in the lamplight. Was it a quigutl device? If so, I’d have to agree with Eskar about being needlessly risky. He was hiding from the Censors; thniks could be traced. The ring had a single tiny pearl embedded in the silver, but no switch that I could see. The inside was inscribed with nothing but the silversmith’s mark. The pearl itself might be the switch. I dared not pinch or press it. I slid the ring onto my index finger, where it jammed at the second knuckle. It fit the pinkie of my right hand. The pearl winked at me.

I would keep it, of course. The reason would surely become clear in time, and the thing itself—plus or minus anything—was lovely.

Abdo gave a fluttering snore. I flopped down beside him gently, or so I thought, but it was enough to disturb him.
Stop
, he muttered, rolling over.

“I need to start reviewing my Porphyrian,” I whispered to him. “My tutor taught me a little, but—”

Southlanders can’t speak it
, said Abdo sleepily.
Too hard for your flimsy foreign minds. There are six genders and seven cases
.

That sounded familiar. I stretched out on the blanketless half of the bed and tried to remember: naive masculine, naive feminine, emergent masculine, emergent feminine, cosmic neuter, point neuter. Nominative, accusative, genitive, dative … locative? Evocative? Saints’ dogs, I was never any good at this.

Still. Orma was in Porphyry. That was worth all the grammar in the world.

We just had to get through Samsam first.

Abdo and I, in traveling clothes, waited atop the townhouse steps, shivering in the predawn mist. I’d gathered our baggage as silently as possible; I hadn’t seen Dame Okra and hoped to keep it that way.

Between Nedouard and sleepiness, I hadn’t told Abdo about Jannoula last night. I was trying to explain now. “You remember how Gianni Patto’s mind was a strange color? It was mixed up with a second ityasaari’s—Jannoula’s. She possessed him and made him do her bidding.”

I know that name
, said Abdo, twisting his mouth as he considered.

“The lady I banished from my garden,” I reminded him.

His eyes widened.
That was Jannoula? Back home, in Porphyry, she gets into other ityasaari’s minds, and the old priest, Paulos Pende, pulls her back out
.

I gaped at him, stunned. “H-how long has this been going on?”

Abdo made a rude sound through his lips, like a snorting horse.
I don’t know. She’s a nuisance, really. Pende grabs her, like plucking off a tick. He showed me how
.

Before I could question him further, a cacophony of thudding hooves interrupted us. Around the corner rode our Samsamese escort: an old hunter in stained leathers with an evil-looking knife strapped to his leg and a grizzled braid down his back; behind him, leading four more horses, came a dark-haired bravo in crisp Samsamese black, a rapier at his side and a smirk on his lips.

The Regent of Samsam, famously stingy, had sent us only two men. I hoped they would be enough to protect us from the famously intolerant Samsamese.

The younger man waved and called loudly enough to make me cringe: “Goodt day,
grausleine
! Our Regent sends us to bring you—and your little boy—to Samsam.”

You’re a little boy
, said Abdo, folding his skinny arms.

The men pulled up in front of the house. “I am Rodya,” said the young swordsman jovially, impervious to Abdo’s glare. “My comrade, Hanse, is the quiet one—ha!—but be assuredt, we are men of ability and reliability.” He seemed unduly pleased with this wording. “The Regent toldt us to get you to the Erlmyt by St. Abaster’s Day, and so we will, swift and safe.” He tapped a fist against his heart. “Thet is our promise.”

St. Abaster’s Day was only a fortnight off. I hoped he was right.

Hanse, the old hunter, had silently dismounted and was
strapping our small luggage to the packhorse; he nodded his promise. I nodded back.

Rodya tried to help Abdo onto a horse. Abdo ducked under the horse, mounted from the other side, and grinned down at Rodya’s befuddlement. Rodya wasn’t the only one confused; the horse seemed spooked by the maneuver, snorting and circling, but Abdo stroked its mane and laid his cheek upon its neck to calm it.

“Eh, you know horses already! Goodt!” said Rodya, laughing it off. He turned to help me onto my horse, and I let him, out of pity.

“So you had no intention of saying goodbye?” shrilled a voice behind us. Dame Okra loomed at the top of the steps, glaring vitriol, arms akimbo. “Abdo can’t go with you. He’s hurt.”

Oh yes, it’s much clearer on her than it was on the wild man
, said Abdo sagely, pursing his lips.
His soul-light was hazy, but she’s got two colors, twisted around each other. It should just be a matter of
—