The Offer

At that moment, I felt dumbstruck. Rachel Diamond?

Mary led me in to take my hat and touch up my hair. She took up the necklace Mr. Hart had given me. "Here, mum, wear this."

Before her marriage, Rachel Diamond had been an Inventor's Apprentice. Yet a terrible accident had left everyone thinking her mind had gone. I'd stumbled on the truth: her mind was whole, yet she hid this from even her children, for her own protection. This woman held the secrets of both the Inventors and the Diamond quadrant, in a body barely able to walk, much less defend herself.

How had her husband allowed her to come here, of all places? And with Mr. Hart, of all people?

Mary said, "I think it best for you not to change." She took a damp cloth and scrubbed a bit of mud from my hem. "You should see them at once."

I stood. "Very well." Heart pounding, I went into the parlor.

Mr. Charles Hart and Mrs. Rachel Diamond sat on my sofa. Neither of them rose, and I stood there, unsure what to say.

They both looked well. Mrs. Diamond was an attractive woman of eight and forty, sharing the dark, dark skin of her Family. Mr. Hart was portly and seventy-one, a pale man with silver in his red hair. Gardena's cousin Octavia, a woman of nineteen with grayish-blue eyes and golden curls, stood beside Mrs. Diamond.

"Close your mouth before something flies in," Mrs. Diamond said. Her voice was strong, yet slow, as if speaking took effort.

I felt alarmed. "My servants. My boarders -"

"Have been warned," Mr. Hart said. "A man is upstairs with them to ensure they listen beside no doors."

"Yet I fear for you both." How did Mrs. Diamond trust Mr. Hart with the knowledge she had faked the severity of her illness for so many years? That alone could mean her death if the wrong people learned of it. My hands shook at the danger this woman put herself in. My knees buckled, and I fell to them. "I beg you, leave here at once. Don't put yourself in such peril, dear Queen, not for me."

Mrs. Diamond smiled warmly. "Come sit, my Lady."

Mr. Hart rose then, helping me up.

I sat across from them, heart pounding, feeling close to tears. "Thank you for saving my mother."

Mrs. Diamond said, "It was my pleasure."

"But what is she to you? Why help us? We're just P- I mean, from the Pot. I don't understand -"

"Mrs. Spadros," Mr. Hart said. "We have little time."

"Yes, sir," I said with a sudden chagrin. "I'm sorry, sir."

He smiled. "I'm glad you enjoy my gift."

I touched the heavy pendant he'd given me during the trial.

"I'm here to warn you," he said. "These two ladies are here to help you listen."

A laugh burst from me. "Am I so unreasonable?"

"At times, my dear," Mr. Hart said. "And you must listen." He glanced at Mrs. Diamond. "Matters are becoming very dangerous."

"Dangerous? In what way?"

"All is yet unclear," Mrs. Diamond said. "But we don't want you here if the worst happens."

I blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

Mr. Hart leaned forward. "Men have risen in rebellion against your Patriarch. You're being publicly slandered. You've been shot at. Bombs have detonated within a block of here. Rocks are thrown at your window. Your retainers are being hunted down and murdered one by one."

Madame. Tears blinded me, ran down my face.

"I'm sorry, my dear," Mrs. Diamond finally said. "But you can't stay here any longer."

"But why? This is my home!"

"Spadros Manor is your home," Mr. Hart said. "And if you won't return there, you have a place with me. Always."

So this was how he planned his seduction. "Mrs. Diamond, I'm surprised that you would countenance this. His wife has left him, yet he offers me his home?"

Mrs. Diamond and Mr. Hart shared a glance.

"Nonsense," Mr. Hart said. "I don't know what lies your father-in-law has whispered about me. But this is nothing of the sort. You may bring your maid. You'll have your own suite ..." His words trailed off, as if he felt unsure how to continue. "There will be nothing unseemly about it. You must trust me."

"But what will you do about your wife? That matter seems -"

Mr. Hart snorted in amusement. "My wife is the very least of your worries."

I felt perplexed. Surely his wife's actions were the very center of the problem!

Mrs. Diamond sighed. "My dear, if you find Mr. Hart's offer unsuitable, you're welcome to stay with us."

"Would your husband allow it? Or am I to be kept in a bedroom the rest of my days?" This sounded much too close to what the Clubbs had suggested.

Mrs. Diamond glanced aside. "My husband is a stubborn, unyielding man. Yet your defense of our sons and your kindness to our daughter has softened his stance. At least in this matter."

"I'd have to consider it -"

"But you must say nothing to Jonathan," Mrs. Diamond said.

"How would you keep it from him?" I didn't understand what was going on. "Has my husband consented to this?"

"Mrs. Spadros," Mr. Hart said, "we don't have time -"

"No. I'm sorry. If my husband and my best friend must be kept in the dark about such a drastic play, I need to know why. I don't wish either of them to feel anxious for my safety."

"Then come with us," Mr. Hart said. "You can appear at the 500th with your husband and leave from there with us. We'll tell them you're safe. But no one must know where you're hidden."

"I have a cottage you might stay in," Mrs. Diamond said, as if she'd not considered it before then. "It's on the Diamond Manor grounds, yet far from the Manor itself. No one goes there anymore and you never need be bothered. You'll be free to do as you wish. I think you'll like it: it's quite lovely."

I recalled the cottage in the Spadros countryside and the hideous secrets it held. What secrets lay within this one?

And even if it were just a lovely cottage, I hesitated to take either offer. Living alone, abandoning Jon, Tony not knowing where I went? Or if I went to the racetrack with Mr. Hart, how could I live with myself, knowing I'd consented to interfere with a man's marriage? "What about my business? My property? My servants?"

"Oh, my dear," Mr. Hart said. "Is all this really so important to you? It surprises me. You're better than this. You deserve so much more than," he gestured around him, "this."

Octavia Diamond froze, staring forward, color high on her cheeks. Either she didn't approve of me, or she didn't approve of what Mr. Hart had just said. I couldn't tell which.

Something was wrong. "What are you not saying?"

Alarm crossed Mr. Hart's eyes for an instant. "Nothing, my dear. Well, there is something, but it's not for me to say. Not here."

I shook my head. "Then the answer is no. I'll not alarm my husband, hide from my friend, and betray my quadrant -"

Mr. Hart raised a hand. "Mrs. Spadros -"

"- by fleeing when they all most need stability! This quadrant may hate me, they may even despise me, but I'm their Lady, and to just disappear would hurt them. Deeply. It would make them fear for my life and theirs." I recalled what I'd said to Mary a few weeks ago. "And fearful men do things outside their nature. I'll do nothing to bring about the turmoil you dread!"

And then I understood: Mr. Hart feared for me. Yet why was Mrs. Diamond here? Why risk so much to sit on my sofa in support of a man by all accounts she barely knew? "You need not fear for me. Despite my unseemly display when the verdict was read, I'm no fainting ingenue. I'm a woman of the Pot. I've survived war, famine, and more than one attempt on my life. Yes, people slander me. Yes, there is danger." Then I recalled Jonathan's little joke, and I grinned fondly at the memory. "But I'm also a Spadros. There's always danger."

Mr. Hart looked dismayed.

"I appreciate your concern, your support, and your offers. Truly and sincerely I do. But I can't just think of myself. I may have left my husband. But if the future is as dire as you fear, I won't abandon and betray my people, not when they need me most."

Mr. Hart gazed at me as if seeing me in a completely different light. "I bow to your wishes then, madam."

I looked at them both. "I intend no disrespect. I hold only the deepest gratitude for your offers of concern and support. And I hope you'll understand. This place, my business, it may seem like nothing to you, but to me, it's freedom. I must be free. And I must be free in my way."

This statement affected Mr. Hart: he seemed to collapse into himself a bit, become less sure of his position.

Mrs. Diamond said, "We don't wish to pry, or to compel you. But if you find yourself in need, we offer two ways to safety."

I smiled at her. "Thank you." At least she didn't mention the third: returning to Spadros Manor.

If I needed any of these ways to safety, matters would have become much worse than I might ever imagine. I rose. "Thank you so much for calling. I do appreciate it."

Octavia Diamond looked at me as if she'd had a revelation. Yet she never spoke, and the three of them left.

I didn't dare tell Gardena's mother about what Morton had told me, not with Mr. Hart listening. I knew nothing of the Hart quadrant's alliances. I didn't want news about the danger to Tony's son to get back to the very men plotting against him.

* * *

Despite their frightening experience two days earlier, the girls insisted they had to go to work. "They'll be fired if they don't," Tenni said. So after a bit of rushing around, we got everyone into a plain carriage and off.

When I returned to my room, my mail sat on my tea-table.

On the bottom was a flat envelope, but larger and thicker than a normal letter. Inside was an illustrated pamphlet:

HOW FAR WE HAVE STRAYED!

Did you ever sit with your grandmother beside the fire and listen to stories she learned from her grandmother?

We did.

Our elders brought us the wisdom of the past as we nestled in their laps.

With all the love in their hearts, they gave us accounts of the beautiful and gentle life we once had.

The bridges made of gold!

Clean streets, healthy children, and work for all.

Days of ease and freedom, before the dark and ugly times to come.

Today we celebrate a dream our ancestors took part in ending!

But all is not lost.

We are here to tell you these stories are true.

The Golden City was real.

You can make it real again.

Help return Bridges to the glory of old!

Join us, so we can rebuild our homeland together.

Paid for by People For A Better Life

Underneath it was a note:

My father knows nothing of this. - GP

Gertie Pike. So the Bridgers weren't part of this "People For A Better Life" group.

Who were they?

At the time, I supposed they could be a wholesome influence, people wishing to help the Inventors fix things around the city.

Yet something about this pamphlet disturbed me.

* * *

I got ready to leave for my luncheon with Karla Bettelmann. Without asking, a plain carriage appeared at my doorstep. Blitz grinned at my reaction. "We can't very well have the Lady of Spadros go to luncheon with one of the Clubbs alone in a taxi."

The ride to Clubb quadrant was uneventful. Since the Clubb Women's Center was in the uppers' area, we took the betters' bridge over the river between Spadros and Clubb. Then we drove down Promenade, which lay along the waterfront.

Instead of the wrought iron and gray stone cobbles of Spadros quadrant, the lampposts and street signs in Clubb were of brass, the cobbles, sandstone.Polished oak or golden mahogany storefronts passed by, with signs in yellow or brown.

I always enjoyed driving into Clubb quadrant, mostly because it had so many outsiders. Tourists, they called them. But their clothing! Their hair! The curious things they brought with them! It spoke of other places, other ways of living. I wanted that, more than anything. To ride the zeppelin, go through the Aperture and outside the dome, to see other cities.

And yet the last time I'd driven into Clubb quadrant, I'd found Madame dying. What should I have done?

A young girl walked beside her mother, her thick brown hair loose. And I was poignantly reminded of Nina Clubb, how we'd longed to run off together and travel the world.

My eyes stung at the memory of our first - and only - kiss.If only I'd kissed her when her mother wasn't around to keep her from me. We could have found a way to leave, had whatever time we might before she died, if that were her fate.

If I'd been by her side, she would have had hope. She wouldn't have fallen into despair, taken her own life.

I'd failed Madame. I'd failed Nina. But I had another chance. I would not let Jonathan Diamond suffer and die alone.

The Clubb Women's Center approached on the left. A grand building of polished oak, trimmed in brass. Golden carpeting ran down oak steps; yellow roses bloomed.

Honor helped me from the carriage. The guards in their golden-brown livery opened the doors. Inside was an oak-paneled hall carpeted in gold. A man stood behind a stand painted yellow. "Welcome, Mrs. Spadros. Mrs. Bettelmann awaits you."

The dining room was filled with tables draped in pale yellow, set with cream plates edged in gold. Maids moved to and fro. Perhaps half the tables were occupied and many already sat eating. A maid brought me to one of the private tables in the back of the wide room, pulling aside the sheer curtains for me.

Mrs. Karla Bettelmann was as Werner described: brown curly hair, brown eyes, perhaps thirty. But she was tall, slender, with fine hair, small wisps going to and fro in a most elegant manner. She wore a walking dress the color of new grass, with a large feathered hat. She rose. "Welcome, Mrs. Spadros! Please, sit beside me."

I offered my hand, which she took briefly, then I sat to her left. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Bettelmann."

"Oh, please, call me Karla. I do so hate formality."

I smiled at her, yet felt some anxiety about what to say. "I don't believe I've ever eaten here before."

"The roasted ham is excellent."

So she knew my tastes. This didn't make me feel any better.

The maid stood waiting. "Would you care to order drinks?"

"Just water for me, please," I said.

The maid went to a sideboard, returning with a carafe of water.

"Bring tea," Karla said. She handed me a menu. "Order whatever you wish."

"You're very kind."

"I was surprised to receive your invitation," Karla said. "It took me some time to learn of the topic." Her eyes flickered to her right.

So these private dining rooms weren't so private. I nodded, hoping my voice didn't shake. "I'm quite grateful for anything you might have learned on the matter."

"The main reason for my surprise was the topic. I wasn't aware -" For an instant, she hesitated. "- you had interest in such matters."

Nicely done. Not only was my status was in question, but both "Pot rags" and Spadros Family members didn't deal with police. I smiled warmly. "I believe that while the past is important, striking a new path is of highest priority, if only to ensure freedom for all. Especially when it's to aid a dear friend."

Karla beamed. "I agree!"

The maid brought in the tea.

"I think we're ready to order," Karla said. She ordered fish; I ordered the roast beef, well done.

I said to Karla, "But what price freedom? Many have died to secure it. And goodwill is of high importance to us all."

Karla nodded, eyes far away. "I heard an amusing tale the other day. Well, my cousin Lori Cuarenta -"

The Clubb Family's Inventor. Oh, dear.

"- told it to me."

I took a sip of water. "Do tell."

"What is of higher value? A sheet of paper, or a dollar bill?"

I chuckled. A test. If I answered the question, she'd know I wasn't worth dealing with. "I couldn't possibly guess."

"Why, the dollar, of course."

"And why is that?"

"Well," Karla said, clearly pleased with her tale, "whilst you can make several dollar bills from one sheet, you can buy many reams of paper with the dollar!"

"That is amusing." So her husband cared nothing for what the Inventor wanted - my map. Or whatever secrets Inventor Cuarenta believed the Cathedral held. He only cared for Constable Trey Highcard's money. "I'd never considered the matter. How many dollar bills could you make with a sheet of paper?"

Karla chuckled. "After she told me, I measured it out. Ten. Just think, to be able to cut a dollar from the sheet whenever you liked!"

I nodded. They wanted a tenth of what Constable Highcard had brought with him to settle here. "I'll have to tell my friends this tale to see how they like it!"

Karla's face changed, as if she'd come to some decision. "I didn't know you cared for roast beef! I should show you the stockyards sometime. Just lovely animals, and so amiable."

I stared at her. How could she possibly know about the private discussion I'd had with Mrs. Spade in my study? "I do like animals, as it turns out. I should enjoy spending the day with you."

The maid brought in my food, which smelled delicious.

Karla made the sign of the Board over her plate, crossing her arms to grasp her shoulders. I hurried to follow suit. "We give thanks to the Floorman who provides us this bounty," she murmured, "and to the Dealer who blesses us all."

They did this in Spadros Manor. But we didn't pray like this back home, where all could see. Which seems odd, now I tell it. But our prayers were for the Dealers' Daughters alone. We always met together before the Cathedral opened for the night.

The food tasted as good as it smelled. "Thank you for suggesting this place. The food is excellent." The men and boys always left when we gathered to pray, down to the tiniest babe in arms. Where did they go?

"I'm so glad you're pleased," Karla said. "My grandmother so hopes you'll return a second time. Or perhaps even a third. It's a charming place."

I chuckled. So Mrs. Regina Clubb did get my message, and knew Karla would be meeting me. "I hope your grandmother is well?"

"Quite. Rather busy." For the first time, Karla seemed to be speaking plainly. "My cousin's wife had a boy last week, and the child is sickly. My grandmother has been in attendance day and night. The things she knows about caring for sickness!" Karla shook her head in astonishment.

"I suppose that comes with great age," I said. "It must still have been quite a turmoil when she was a small girl."

Karla's face grew pensive. "I never considered that."

Something had changed. Karla Bettelmann wanted to be my actual friend. "Your dining hall is more beautiful than I imagined."

She nodded slowly. "I've never been to the Spadros one. Or anywhere in your quadrant, to be perfectly honest." Then she gave me a real smile. "But I imagine it's lovely."

* * *

When I returned to the carriage, I said to Honor, "I'd like to go to Bryce Fabrics, please, before I return. It's in Spadros, on 2nd Street near Book." Eleanora shouldn't get this news in a message.

"Right away, mum."

On the way there, my mind felt all a-flutter. Somehow, what I said in my study reached Mrs. Clubb's granddaughter.

My study had one window, which opened onto a narrow alleyway. But the window was high, and kept closed. Could someone have been able to listen to us?

It seemed doubtful. Besides, anyone learning that Mrs. Spade and I met could visit Market Center and find out what her husband did. And if Mr. Giovanni Spade only died a year ago, the Clubbs probably knew him. The stockyards were in Clubb quadrant, near the zeppelin station.

So what was Karla Bettelmann trying to tell me?

I felt glad Mrs. Regina Clubb received my messages, and now knew that someone diverted her mail. That sort of thing had given me grief I'd never wish upon another woman.

We made our way far down the Clubb Promenade to the "city bridge" at 6th Street, then over the river into Spadros quadrant.

The west Spadros slums was a dismal place: ramshackle homes, ragged children playing barefoot in the street. A weary woman with several toddlers around her sat on a tiny porch peeling potatoes or shucking corn.

We turned onto the Main Road, then again at 2nd Street, a narrow, barren thing. Boarded-up shops, a few homes, then we came to Bryce Fabrics. Honor helped me out of the carriage, and I went inside.

The white wooden door still squeaked; the gray-green paint on the walls still flaked; the room still smelled of mildew, although not as much so. But new cloth sat on the battered shelves.

Two shabbily-dressed women browsed through the stacks. Eleanora stood behind the rickety counter. She looked up when I came in. "Mrs. Spadros!" She and the other two women curtsied low. "Please, come in."

I hurried to the counter. "I have news."

Eleanora glanced at the women, who'd returned to their browsing. She whispered, "Is it about the Constable?"

"It is." I kept my voice low. "I've just met with the Clubbs. They want ten percent of what he's brought. Then he can go."

Eleanora gasped, and her face turned angry. "That's unjust!"

I suppose I could have negotiated further, but it was my first time at such things. I did the best I might under the circumstances.

Her face fell. "He'll be most disappointed: he spoke of buying us a home, or perhaps even a new shop, if I wanted to continue."

"Are his finances that slender?"

"It cost a great deal to come here, and on a constable's salary ..." She sighed. "I never wanted to cause him grief."

I put my hand on her arm. "You haven't. He loves you. That's worth more than anything." I looked towards her back room. "I hope David is well?"

She peeked in. "Lying down. He sleeps quite a lot these days."

"Sleep can be healing," I said. "Remember when he used to rock so at the slightest noise?"

Eleanora nodded. "Perhaps he is improving." Her eyes reddened. "I truly hope so."

* * *

Mrs. Spade visited later that day to bring her payment. "What have you done to find a my daughter?"

"I found her in Clubb quadrant. But she shot at me."

Mrs. Spade stared in shock. "Maria Athena never own a gun. Why she shoot at you?"

"I don't know. Someone has made her afraid of me. Can you think of who might do that?"

Mrs. Spade shook her head. "She never a know you, other than the portrait in a paper."

Maria Athena Spade had written a note to her mother, with details proving the letter was from her. She felt she was as safe as if under lock and key, but her known friends claimed they couldn't find her. So either they lied, or Maria Athena Spade had made a new friend. Or perhaps both. "Did Maria Athena have any suitors?"

Mrs. Spade broke into a smile. "Yes. Very nice boy. Beautiful Italian boy, such gentleman. Not with mafiosi, he hate them. And money, too. He treat her so nice." Her head drooped. "He offer her the marriage. They to marry after a Midsummer."

This made me suspicious. "Has he seen her?"

"No, Signora, he not see her. He look and her brothers. They say he work hard to find her."

"How long has it been since you saw him? This boy?"

She frowned slightly. "Many weeks now." Then her face turned alarmed. "Could something happen?"

Now I felt sure something was wrong. "What's his name?"

She beamed. "Franco Pagliacci."