6

The walk back home was uneventful. Night has fallen, the ambler lanes were full, and the people lanes were empty. The Dome Luminous glittered with false starlight. Sam imagined what a real starry night would look like, and found that she had no frame of reference and a strange, insidious fear of finding out.

She was spared of another lecture, at least. James insisted on returning to the box, for some unfathomable reason. Lucia carried it on her back as if it weighed nothing. The sway of her gait made Sam nauseous just looking at it. Perhaps all that excessive cushioning was necessary after all.

The quiet gave her time to think, and the more she did the less she understood. The old Maestro had seemed intent on ruining what remained of her life, and James was going to help her. They were both dying, Sam supposed, and that had made them irrational, yet she could not help but feel a yearning for the way they spoke with each other, as if they each knew exactly what the other was thinking, and words served only as punctuation.

If that was what family was, then she wanted one. She had no idea where to start, however. The thought of confiding her anxieties to her aunt was funnier than a joke. Confiding in the Maestro only sent shivers down her spine, like she was planning to poke some creature of the abyss with a stick.

She was alone. That was the problem. She was the sole apprentice of the House of Dawn, a position envied by thousands, yet she wanted to quit and go home. Except the House was home, and she was already its caretaker. So, what was the problem, exactly?

Thinking about this stuff was making her head hurt. The pressure behind her right eye was growing again, the migraine testing out the waters before deciding whether it should come out for the night.

A patrol of fusiliers nodded at her as she passed, more out of recognition of Lucia than of her. It was the third in two blocks, and instead of muskets they carried bulky repeaters with short barrels, designed to rend and dismember. Anti-ambler weapons.

The Madam Tian’s on the corner of their street was shuttered up. The display windows that were usually lit up throughout the night were covered by steel mesh and completely dark. The streetlights blinked in and out, in and out, even though this was one of the wealthiest sectors of Seventeen.

Something was wrong.

Sam pressed the Command Ring against her lips, pretending to speak to it instead of the Maestro. “Combat status,” she said. A small light flicked on and off on the side of the box. Yes.

Lucia buttoned up her coat and flicked up her collar so that it covered her neck like a gorget. She then pulled on a pair of gloves that looked like blackened leather but was made from a special alloy, courtesy of Charlie. Sam slipped on her plague mask and turned her coat so that the sigil of the House of Dawn blazed on her chest. She was suddenly discovering that travelling inside a metal coffin might not be the worst idea.

They walked, as they have always walked, home. Figures slipped out of the ambler lane and trailed them. The streetlight made a bright glare in one’s face. Glasses. On the rooftops, shadows moved.

The light before the House was steady, a lone pool of artificial yellow-white to hide the scarecrows in the shadows. Robert Finley sat on the front steps, staring into the distance. Two diamond-encrusted Command Rings glittered on his right hand. His left was in a cast.

Sam approached him and gave a bow. “Mister Finley, may I help you?”

Robert assessed her with chilly composure. “Where is the Maestro?”

“Visiting an acquaintance, I believe. I’m happy to schedule a –”

“Without the abomination?”

It took Sam a moment to realize that he meant Lucia. “Lucia and I were running an errand. Sorry to have kept you waiting. May I offer you tea?”

Robert eyed the box. “Cadaver?”

“Yes, sir.”

“A new project?”

“I’m not at liberty to say, sir.”

“Where is this acquaintance?”

“He did not make a note on the schedule, sir.”

Sam thanked the Lords Above and Below for the plague mask. Robert’s eyes bore into her head like hot irons, prodding, scraping, and it was only the flimsy leather that kept her from running into the House and slamming the door.

“Samantha, was it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you given further consideration to my offer of employment?”

Sam focussed her entire attention to the bronze plaque above the door, hoping against hope that her eyes would not wander elsewhere. “I…I have not.”

A ghost of a smile touched Robert’s lips. “Should you accept, I will guarantee your candidacy to the December audition round.”

Sam rubbed her hand against her coat. It was drenched in sweat. “I…I don’t…”

“Jack and I have both seen your work in the field, and we are of the opinion that you will be a great addition to our team.”

“May I have that in writing, sir? The guarantee.”

“It will be waiting for you at your interview. You will attend, of course? You had indicated that you would.”

Sam could hear her own heartbeat. It was so loud, in fact, she could barely hear her voice. “Thank…you, sir, I am…grateful.”

“Is James home?”

“No, sir, he is at an…at…”

“Yes?”

“Visiting a friend, sir.”

“A friend?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Joran Guiyu?”

“No, sir.”

“Oh, you are familiar with Joran?”

“I…” Sam felt an insane urge to curl up and fall asleep. “I’m not sure, sir.”

“Who is in the coffin?”

Sam opened her mouth but no sound came out. The light was bright, so bright, like the sun she has never seen.

A hand laid on her shoulder, gentle but firm. She looked up, and Lucia looked down, her pink-and-white blindfold fluttering in the breeze. The hand pushed, and Sam watched her feet step one in front of the other, and suddenly her hand was on the door. The knob felt cold, hot. She pushed. It was locked. She fumbled in her pockets for the key and dropped it, and when she bent down to pick it up she dropped it again. Her hand was shaking.

“In light of recent events,” Robert spoke up behind her. “The House of Solutions will be providing additional security for its associates. The plenum approaches. We must make sure it goes smoothly. Maestro Cowen would agree, were he here.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Robert clicked his fingers, and thirty butlers in orange tux stepped into the light. Half carried short lances, the others heavy repeaters. None of them made a sound.

“How many will you require?” asked Robert.

“I…I will consult the Maestro, sir.”

“Four, then.” Robert clicked his fingers, and all but four retreated into the darkness. “Three was too few, apparently.”