something's wrong
After work the next day, I head to the Lugger with my first fishing-boat drawing complete. Forty krunan, Mister S owes me.
If he likes it, that is. I hope it’s good enough – I went for a half front, half side view. I didn’t have to go down to the harbour, just closed my eyes and saw it, the ship with its two masts, its rigging and nets and chipped paint, whole and crisp in my memory.
I want to see Kit too. Of course I do. I think about him walking me home and kissing me way more than he needed to.
Gracie’s serving at the bar. Mister S is up on the mezzanine, chatting and gathering empties. Gracie pours me an ale before I can ask for one.
“Where’s Kit?”
“He’s feeling poorly,” she says. “Came down with fever and chills sudden-like – gone to sleep it off.”
I try not to look disappointed.
“Go up and see how he is,” she adds.
Maybe I will, I think. My heart beats faster at the thought.
Felicity’s here again. Another woman, striking – no, beautiful – sits opposite her, dressed for a fancier establishment than the Lugger. She has long pale hair, and wears a dark dress with a plunging neckline.
I carry my ale upstairs to knock at the door to Kit’s room, but I hear nothing. When I try the handle it opens, but he’s not in. The room looks as it always does.
He’s not down the hall in the washroom. I use the slip of hard soap, the peculiar kind Kit uses, to rinse my hands. Then I go back down. Mister Scarlet’s back on the ground floor. I give him my sketch, and he beams.
“This is brilliant. Look at the detail. My girl, this could be a silverprint.”
A silverprint is a perfect likeness captured with a Skøl contraption using light, chemicals, fancy paper. I flush. No one has really valued my drawings apart from Kit, Ruzi and Zako – not since I was little.
“I’m relieved you like it.”
“Of course. Missus S will love it. Can’t wait for the next two in the series… Your money is upstairs.” He glances at the customers. “I’ll get it in a minute.”
“No rush!” I sit back down near the end of the bar with my half-drunk ale.
“They can say it as many times as they want! They’re still wrong!”
I glance round. The conversation between Felicity and her companion has heated up.
Felicity says something quietly.
“Of course Glister feels the same way!” the fancy woman continues in a high, cold voice. “A humble background is not a crime. Only the fossils believe that.”
Felicity answers, too low again for me to hear, but whatever she says has the other woman standing and pushing back her chair. She looks down her nose at Felicity, who seems unfazed. Then she storms out, coat over her arm.
She must be freezing in that dress, I think.
Felicity sees me looking and inclines her head slightly. I glance away, but it’s too late. She’s coming over.
She half smiles as she approaches and then chooses the stool beside me, folding her fountain pen into her little red book.
“How’s your story coming on?” I ask, to be polite.
“Still in the interview-and-research phase. Speaking of – can I persuade you to talk to me?”
I hesitate, but not for long.
“You mentioned a fee?”
She smiles like the cat who got the cream. “I can give you fifty krunan for an interview. And buy you dinner sometime.”
I almost agree immediately – then I think of Mister S and his bargaining tactics. “What about sixty krunan and no dinner?”
She laughs. “I’m afraid I don’t set the rates. It’s my paper. I could go to fifty-five and a cheap meal.”
“All right.” I smile. “Dinner sounds great.” Can’t say I didn’t try.
Gracie sidles up to us across the bar, and I ask her for another small ale.
“You can show me where’s good to eat in Portcaye,” the journalist goes on.
“Was that woman with you earlier part of your research?”
“Oh, her? Well, yes. She doesn’t need my fifty krunan though! Small change to her. Didn’t you recognize her?”
I shake my head.
“Goldie Reedstone herself. Of GR Locks – biggest security business in the New West. She and her brother, Glister, run the business out of the northwest quarter.”
“The Skates?” It surprises me, a rich businesswoman operating out of the poorest district. GR Locks. I’m sure I’ve seen that name before – yes, they advertise in the Portcaye Post.
“That’s the one. Thought you might know them. They say she and her brother are very friendly with the lower classes in their employ. Servants, repayers…”
“Well, I don’t,” I admit. “Perhaps Kit does.” Kit knows more people in town than I do.
She lowers her voice. “Very successful for a pair as young as they are – no surprise though, given their origins. You know who they are.”
I frown, and she continues. “Call themselves Reedstone, but their mother was a Sting. Of the Sting Elektric Company.” Her eyebrows raise meaningfully.
“Oh.” My blood chills. Of course I know them. The famous – or infamous – Sting Elektric. They made a fortune pioneering elektric lighting in Skøland before moving into weaponry: the lethal guns and cruel elektric prods used in the Cull. The kind the branders still carry to punish and kill.
“The Stings are still going at their own line of work, of course. Their latest inventions are going to be part of the Hexagon showcase as well,” Felicity contends.
My stomach roils. More elektric inventions like guns and prods? Do they need more?
Gracie appears and slides over the ale I asked for. “Working again?” she asks Felicity. “How did your meeting go?”
“Not well. Goldie Reedstone didn’t appreciate my questions about her controversial hiring practices.” She grins. “It’s all right though. You know when you’re after one thing and something better comes along?” She winks at me.
I don’t know anything about that. Quite the opposite.
That’s when I hear a commotion in the kitchen.
Renny’s voice, overloud. “What’s going on?” Something’s wrong.