“And who did you bring with, pray tell?”
The voice belonged to a spindly man sporting an equally spindly beard, his arms wide and welcoming—a manner that would be at home upon the stage, really. He was dressed much the same as the factory workers outside: patchy loose cloak over a near-translucent white shirt, gray once-white gloves, black thin-brimmed hat, worn belt and kilt, leather worn boots—but the ensemble all-together gave the impression of comfort and familiarity on the man’s form that was entirely absent from the figures out in the rain. This man was right where he wanted to be, doing what he wanted to do, clothed how he wanted to be clothed.
“It’s Duke Fallmire, not Captain,” Talia said mildly, and she grasped his offered hand in greeting. “And meet my lovely wife, Lucia.” Talia turned to her. “This gentleman is none other than Jedediah Cleft, the Scarlet Spindle.”
“The spindle that spools out the world!” He spun around, an arm pointing to the sky to punctuate. “Or at least poor old Cavaline and its harbor Black. Oh, but you are lovely indeed, perhaps too lovely for my lowly shop,” and he nodded to the wide expanse around him.
Lucia looked where he gestured. “I’d recommend investing in inventory, for a start. What is it you sell, Mister Cleft?”
Cleft laughed at that. “Oh, a pittance of this, a pinch of that, a parcel of nothing, a promise of,” and he took Lucia’s hand, kissing it chastely, “everything.”
Talia snorted. “Mister Cleft, or perhaps Mister Spindle? He is a broker of the underworld, trading information and arranging deals with specialists in less-than-legal arts.”
“All with the understanding and professional courtesy of any legal businessman.”
“Nearly,” Talia said.
“Nay, exceedingly.”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“In every manner of speaking.”
Then, to Lucia’s surprise, the pair’s inane responses began to evolve into a bizarre word game, the rules of which seemed as arcane as they did pointless. This gave Lucia the opportunity to spare more than a glance at her surroundings. The Spindle’s haunt looked like an abandoned factory floor, black marks on the ground the final evidence of large mechanical contraptions long cleared out, with bent leavings of steel, iron, or some other metal piled in the corners. A fine layering of coal dust covered every surface for good measure. High above, water pattered around the tin panels of the factory roof, descending below in a steady plit, plit, plit.
“In a manner belied by your actions.”
“In a manner be-lioned by my actions!”
“Okay, that stretches the language too far,” Talia said. “I’ll count that as a win for me.”
“Knowing how poorly you count, that doesn’t surprise me in the least.” Cleft had begun to pace back and forth throughout the game and spun, as it ended, in a flourish. Lucia decided he’d look right at home in a good old-fashioned cape.
“Of course.” Talia had opened her briefcase, rifling through for just the right folder.
“But it is time for me to restate my curiosity, my old friend, my oldest of friends. What is it that brings the new Duke of Fallmire House to my humble shop, here in the poorest of pits, in the pittance of the poor? You have need of me?”
“Well, call yourself a broken clock, for you have chimed correctly for the first time today,” Talia said, handing him one of her characteristic folders. “Not that it wasn’t obvious.”
Cleft took the folder with a flourish and began rifling through it.
Lucia decided to peer into the man’s heart, wondering how much of this Scarlet Spindle was façade. Immediately she saw, brimming on the surface and almost unavoidable to her sight, a glowing greed, naked and proud. Would this man sell them out at the first opportunity?
“It’s something simple, enough that even you could handle the transaction,” Talia said. “A common forgery in metalwork.”
“Forgery of an item that may or may not exist.” The Spindle smiled. “Incredible.”
Lucia revised her assessment as she looked deeper. The greed of this man was not for money, for a common deal, a confidence game, a simple cut purse. Clearly, she recognized disdain at his fellows’ pursuit of petty coin. But then, he caught her eye, and she retreated from his psyche.
“Oho, and the plot thickens. I don’t believe we’ve met yet, my friend, but I would dearly love for you to be my dearest friend.”
Lucia laughed. “Act friendly enough and perhaps you might,” catching the spirit of the man’s games. A suspicion stirred in the back of her mind, that Cleft recognized her as a demon.
“A friend in word is a friend in deed,” he said, bowing theatrically.
Does he do it automatically?
“Isn’t it in need?” said Talia.
“What? Well, my Duke, that change adds not a lick of sense. Why would a friend in word be a friend in need?”
Talia snorted, a delightful sound. “In any case, it seems doubtless you’ll broker the job. Should we discuss payment?”
“I will in deed broker this job . . .” and his eyes wandered over to Lucia. “For three hundred pounds gulden.”
“So low? What are you—”
“And!” He raised his hand and lowered his face dramatically.
How does he act when no one else is around?
“And,” he said again. “I want her,” he pointed to Lucia. “One night, as my companion—”
“Absolutely not.” Talia’s eyes were flat steel.
“I will not lay a finger on her, my dear! She will remain true to your bed.”
Which meant said demon would remain wholly chaste. She really should stop getting her hopes up.
“Nay,” Cleft continued, “but without any effort I can think of several meetings where her presence could prove invaluable.”
Talia stood for a long moment, eyes up to the ceiling. Her hand came down on Lucia’s shoulder, in a manner that was not unwelcome. “If she consents . . .” she began. “And … she will have one of my servants to accompany her, if she wishes.”
“Why, of course.”
“And you’d take one hundred pounds gulden—enough to pay your forger and acquire materials.”
“Ah—”
Turning her gaze, Talia fixed Cleft with a smile, one that caused Lucia to shiver—and not entirely in fear. “You said it yourself—she is invaluable to you. I am not one to take you wholly at your word, my friend, but surely even you can make back the difference tenfold with her at your side, even for a single night?”
“Well, I—”
Lucia stepped forward and took Cleft’s hand. She looked into his eyes, and in the most unsubtle way possible, stoked the passions of his heart to their limit. His eyes dilated, and she saw sweat bead on his forehead. Gasping, overwhelmed by emotion, he pulled back as she whispered, “You cannot know the limits of my skill, tiny Spindle.”
For the first time since she met him, Jedediah Cleft, the Scarlet Spindle, was at a loss for what to say.