She slouched in her seat and stared at the carpeted floor, thinking of fingers against her neck and the sensation of a fox’s eyes at her tail. “I haven’t been exactly neglecting laboratory work although what I’m working on isn’t exactly my own project.”
“What do you mean?” said Del. “I thought you were testing some samples from some coal mine. It seemed rather dreary work to me, but I suppose whatever interests you. So why the glum mood?”
“I’m trying to reconstruct my uncle’s latest work.”
“But that’s fantastic,” exclaimed Sabina. “Your uncle would have been proud of you to continue his work. You’re continuing his scientific legacy.”
“No, you mustn’t tell anyone.” At her friends’ puzzled looks, she clarified, “I suppose his work isn’t particularly secret. Everyone knew about it, but I don’t want everyone knowing that I’m neck deep in his research. My uncle had willed his machines and his notes to the Museum and the Museum director was quite keen on getting his hands on those machines and the notes. But at the time, I thought Uncle Elliot had destroyed his notes.”
Del raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“It turns out that the notes weren’t destroyed after all. No one knows about it except me, and I suppose you now. The Church’s emissary, Mr. Southmore, stopped by for a visit right after the funeral—you do remember the day in which your visit was cut short?”
“Oh yes, Mr. Southmore,” Sabina said, eyes narrowing. “What did he want?”
“Well, he wanted to offer patronage—that is—only if I agreed to continue my uncle’s work. Besides the Museum director, Mr. Kruntz, Southmore, I think, would be quite glad to get his hands on the notes. For what purpose, I have no idea. He claims that granting patronage to research would be for the greater good.”
Sabina smiled strangely. “Of course he would say it would be for the greater good. Isn’t that what all the agents of the Church must say whenever they want to wrest control over something.”
Del looked disgruntled. “That is odd. Didn’t you tell us at one time, Zan, that all the members of the Academy either received some sort of support from the Academy itself in the form of a stipend or had some patron—an aristocrat or a particularly wealthy businessman—who was interested in the sciences? The Church is more known for giving patronage to architects and artists who are building religious buildings or painting religious murals. Why would Southmore be so interested in work trying to understand the physical laws of the universe? If anything, your uncle’s work and science in general tries to unlock the mysteries of what some would call divine and describe them as merely mundane physical phenomena.”
“I don’t know. But I do know that Southmore had been visiting my uncle before his death discussing a possible patronage. For some reason, my uncle had refused his offer.”
At that moment, a door on the second floor slammed, making the three of them jump. The cause wasn’t the returning tailor, but of a man dressed neatly in a dark brown suit and top hat, walking in an agitated yet Continental air. Something was familiar about his features, but the thought didn’t click in Zan’s mind until one of Danaides’ employees walked up the stairs with a customer in tow.
“My lord!” exclaimed the employee. “Did you find the items to your liking?”
“Yes, yes,” said the man who Zan now identified as the What’s-his-name lordling who was Greta Del Rassa’s latest beau. “Just send them to my residence. I have an appointment shortly that I must attend. Now if you excuse me. Oh, Gasmere, is that you?”
The other customer nodded as Del Rassa’s beau hurried away and followed the employee to another fitting room. But before he left the landing, Gasmere glanced at the fitting alcove near the window and his eyes widened in surprise when he caught sight of Zan. The Danaides’ employee said something and he reluctantly left the area.
“I did not realize that the Earl of Gasmere patronized this establishment,” Zan mused. She wondered if Gasmere was more surprised to find ladies in a gentlemen’s tailor shop rather than the fact that he recognized her specifically.
“Oh, the man tries to be up to scratch when it comes to fashion, despite his rumored financial difficulties,” said Del as he rubbed his jaw in thought. “And am I not mistaken if Gasmere’s family name is Caradon?”
“Indeed,” Sabina added, suddenly enthusiastic. “We did a bit of discreet inquiring along the social whirl since you didn’t come with us to that play last night, Zan. We found out some very interesting information on that Mr. Caradon. It turns out that Moon Caradon is one of the city’s big shipping businessmen and he was the illegitimate son of the previous Earl of Gasmere. The previous earl had lived for several years in the Far East as an ambassador and it’s said that he had an affair with one of the courtesans of the Emperor’s court. The current earl is his cousin, Oliver Caradon. And it’s rumored that the current earl and his family are in a bad way financially because they go through money like water and the entire inheritance is in fact controlled by the illegitimate son.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that,” Zan murmured.
Del shook his head. “I’ve heard that Gasmere owns five phaetons, one for each color in the rainbow. And I thought I was frivolous.”
“Phaetons are horribly fast,” Sabina sniffed.
“Ha!” said Del. “I didn’t hear you complaining the last time—two weeks ago, I believe—when we went on a phaeton ride.”
“I wasn’t complaining because we were going too fast to say a word! Besides, catching that dreadful villain who snatched that poor boy straight off the street—in broad daylight!—was more of a priority. It’s a shame we didn’t catch the villain.”
“You two went after a kidnapper by yourselves?” said Zan, blinking. “Didn’t you contact the authorities?”
Del shrugged. “That would have wasted precious time. At any rate, Henry Tarlton got his assistant back in one piece. It was rather foolish, however, that he sent the boy alone to Old Amanthus to obtain materials for his experiments. Eccentric inventors, an entire lot without common sense! Except for you, Zan, of course.”
“Anyways, a warning, Zan, if you do happen to be offered a ride. Phaetons are the latest crack, but don’t let fashion fool you,” said Sabina. “Those small contraptions are entirely too dangerous for very fast driving. One faltering horse and the whole thing could be overturned.”
Zan shifted her gaze to some point above their heads. “Uh, well, I have ridden in a phaeton before. I suppose the level of danger also depends on the skill of the driver.”
“You have! When?” Sabina demanded.
“Are you calling my skills as a driver into question?” said Del at the same time.
“Er, well, Caradon had offered…”
Del snorted. “Odd fellow, isn’t he? I seem to have remembered him at the funeral, but I wasn’t paying much attention to everyone else. I just assumed that almost everyone there were from the Academy. How on earth did you meet him? I assume you haven’t known him long. And he seems strangely protective of you for someone of brief acquaintance.”
“He was my uncle’s patron. And now, I suppose he’s my patron.”
“Patrons usually don’t take such an intimate interest in their charges,” said Sabina, watching Zan who flushed under her friends’ scrutiny.
“It’s nothing like that! He only wants to protect his investments.” She let out a breath. “But I must admit, he does have the bad habit of following me around. I will have to confront him about that. I don’t need anyone hovering over me!”
Sabina gave another smile. “So you say.”
Quick footsteps pattered their way and they turned to see the tailor returning with several scraps of fabric in his hands. “Mr. Garrou? Ladies? Here are the samples that you requested.”
“Green?” said Del as he looked over at the samples in dismay. “All of them are green.”
“Emerald green,” Sabina clarified. She pointed to one of the pieces of fabric. “That one looks rather fine.”
“Excellent choice, Mrs. Felis-Ackert. It’s made of silk. Excellent quality,” quipped the tailor.
Zan slumped back into her chair with an inaudible sigh as Del and Sabina began arguing again, this time on the cut of the waistcoat that was to be made of emerald green silk. She glanced at the window and looked down from the second story to the road below. Carts and carriages, horses and people passed across the cobblestones, intent on their destination. Over the weaver’s district, in the skyline, was the distorted black shadows of Old Amanthus. She thought of slinking through the old city’s shadows in fox-form, scenting, listening, watching. And then she thought of another watching her.
She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. Being watched over wasn’t a terrible sin, but he could have told her beforehand that he was going to do it. Soon, she told herself. Soon she would pay him a little visit and tell him what she thought of his overbearing behavior.
