4. It Wasn't for Nothing

25th of Nima

The entire ceiling was covered in delicate swirls of leafy vines worked in the plaster by an artistic hand. I hadn't noticed it the night before, and I wondered idly how much it must have cost.

I sat on the dressing-table stool, my head tilted back, and held obediently still while NaVarre's housekeeper, Mrs. Burre, examined my throat with cool fingers. She reminded me very much of Dr. Longalli – taller and thinner, with white streaks in her hair, but she had that same no-nonsense clinical approach that said she had learned her skills in the border wars.

"Well, you'll have to take it easy for the next few weeks." She straightened and gave me an appraising glance. "But it isn't the worst case I've ever seen. No broken bones or torn ligaments, thank goodness. Today and tomorrow we'll apply a cool compress to help with that stiffness in your neck. We can use a liniment of caskarin oil to keep any swelling down, and white willow for the pain. You should refrain from talking for several days if you can. And no hot baths till tomorrow. Other than that, you're a very lucky girl."

I stared at her. Through her. Seeing a lumpy, unshaven chin instead of Mrs. Burre's angular features...The slope of a thick shoulder blotting out everything... Then the gleam of lamplight on silvery hair...

Lucky.

I blinked and looked down at my hands.

Mrs. Burre regarded me for a beat longer, almost as if she wanted to say something more, but then turned and took her leave. A moment later a maid came in with the items Mrs. Burre had mentioned. She set about wrapping caskarin-soaked gauze around my neck and bandaging the welt on my arm, then she brushed my hair and braided it and helped me into a set of silk pajamas.

I tried to make her understand without words that it wasn't necessary and that she could go, but she only smiled and kept trying, so I gave in and let her help me, hoping it would get her to leave faster, while cringing at the thought of facing NaVarre in lacy nightclothes.

She was finally satisfied that I had everything I needed, gathered up my skirt and blouse, gave me another cheerful smile, and left.

I let out my breath when the door finally closed behind her.

Then I got up, reached into the potted plant beside the dressing table, pulled the pen-box out from under the greenery where I had hidden it, and went hunting for a robe.

I was looking at the bellpull panel, debating over ringing for the maid again so she could tell me where NaVarre's study happened to be, when someone tapped on the door.

Panic instantly shot through my veins.

As if the Coventry would knock first.

I pulled a face at my own nerves, then had to make myself cross the room to the door, my mouth gone chalk-dry.

NaVarre was leaning casually against the jamb, and he gave me a lopsided little grin when I slid the panel open a crack and peeked out at him. "Just thought I'd drop by and check on you," he whispered.

I opened the door all the way.

NaVarre's grin slipped, his attention caught on the gauze at my throat. "How are you feeling?"

I raised an eyebrow. I wanted to ask where he and his men had been when Arramy was facing all those Coventry agents by himself, but that would have taken too much effort and a lot of scratchy words, so I settled for holding up the pen-box.

His smile didn't fade that time.

I expected him to take the pen-box from me, but instead he straightened and held out his arm. "Shall we? The captain is in my study, and I really don't want to keep him waiting. He starts taking things apart when he gets bored."

That made me grin a little, but I only went because NaVarre had hold of my elbow and didn't seem to notice my reluctance.

Navarre was one thing. I really wasn't ready to face Arramy at all, even if I had been fully clothed and not wearing a frilly little nightgown and robe. The captain knew exactly what had happened. He had seen how small and helpless I was, witnessed that man groping all over me while I couldn't make him stop... Worse, Arramy was the only reason I was alive. Again. That deserved my gratitude at the very least, and I was grateful, but I was also fervently hoping the captain had already gone to bed so my thanks could wait until morning, after some sleep and a decent cup of tea.

~~~

Hope proved futile. Arramy was indeed in the study. More precisely, he was sitting behind NaVarre's desk when we arrived.

If he had dismantled anything, it wasn't immediately obvious, although he put down NaVarre's mechanical paperweight as we came in. His eyes found mine and he went still, jaw muscles ticking. Then he stood, abdicating NaVarre's swivel chair in favor of leaning on the front edge of the desk.

He had bathed. His hair was still damp, and stuck up in a tousled, spiky ridge along the top of his head, which subtly emphasized the long angles of his cheekbones and the lean lines of his face. The effect was disconcerting. He would almost have been what some might call handsome, if it weren't for that impassive, chilly glare.

My thanks died in silence, buried by uncertainty. But there was nothing for it now. Running away would only make me look weaker. Wishing I had just stayed in my room, I firmed my chin, gathered my satin robe tighter and trailed after NaVarre.

Like the rest of the manor, the study was lavishly decorated. The walls were a deep emerald green, with rich copperwood wainscoting. Bookcases lined two walls, a massive fireplace dominated the third, and floor-to-ceiling windows the fourth. With the curtains drawn and the only light coming from the fire in the grate, it would probably have been quite a cozy room under different circumstances, and with less fearsome company.

That impression lasted until the sound of bolts clicking shut inside the wall made me turn around. A solid metal door was sliding over the inside of the wooden one we had come through. The curtains rippled as similar sheets of metal closed over the windows.

"It's a soundproof barrier," NaVarre explained. He had opened a hidden compartment in the entryway paneling and was fiddling with a bunch of levers and gears. "I have learned that I cannot be too careful when I'm off the Island," he added, flipping a switch down and closing the compartment. "Now." He dusted his hands off and crossed to his desk. "Let's see what you found."

A tiny flicker of surprise registered on Arramy's face as I moved to stand next to him.

I placed the pen-box in the middle of NaVarre's writing mat, hoping that would make my point for me. There was no binder, but this hadn't been for nothing.

NaVarre regarded the box, his brows drawing together as he got a better look at it. Then he used his letter knife to slice the seal holding the cotton-paper wrapper together. Dried wax crumbled onto his desk as he pulled the edges apart, revealing the object inside.

It wasn't a pen-box. I didn't know what it was. To my knowledge Father had never owned anything like it. It was rectangular and made of metal, painted a milky blue-green and obviously worn with use, but there were no hinges, and there didn't seem to be a lid.

NaVarre's eyebrows rose. "Captain, if you would care to do the honors..."

With a sidelong glance at me, Arramy picked the thing up, examining it closely before running his fingers along the edges. Then he pushed on the top, and an outer sleeve slid forward, separating from an inner container.

What looked like a claims-ticket dropped into his waiting palm. A slender blue stick also tumbled free, coming to rest on the blotter.

It hadn't been a pen box, and that wasn't a stick. My throat aching, I scooped the little blue thing into my hand and carefully peeled off the bit of gummy string wrapped around it. A tightly rolled strip of blue superfine paper unfurled in my palm. Slowly, I unrolled it all the way, fully aware that I was probably about to read the last thing my father had left for me.

Two lines of poetry written in Old Kareshi-Auri:

 

Till stars become dust, my darling, I do

Love you, I love you, my darling so true

 

Followed by one line of code.

Quietly, NaVarre handed me his fountain pen and a few sheets of paper. I scrubbed at my suddenly watery eyes, then went to work.

Twenty minutes later I had it solved. After replacing every letter with its direct Altyran equivalent, the first letter of the first line was the starting point, and since there was no number indicated, I had to take every third letter. I lined those letters up with each of the eight symbols created by my pendant with North over South and continued until I had used up every letter in the Altyran alphabet. Then I took the coded line Father had written and began using the groups of letters under each symbol to solve it. This was the 'easy' version; the one he had taught me first before introducing the other variables. It was also the hardest for an outsider to crack.

"Stalwart," NaVarre muttered when I held up the finished solution. He sighed, frustration plain on his face as he let his head fall against the back of his chair. "Stalwart what?"

I went over the proof again, but that was the only word combination that made sense in Altyran. The other possibility was STAL and WARN, but that didn't quite fit. Father had written the code out as one word. My gut said it would be the most obvious solution. Unless Stalwarn was a surname.

"Is there a financial district in Nim K?" Arramy asked suddenly. He was looking at the ticket. He turned it around so we could see the front – a coat-of-arms with a money-safe pictured in the upper right field and a pile of coins in the lower left. The letters 'S.V.S.' were emblazoned on a scroll across the top. There was also a name, Sarri Jannes, printed in blotchy typepress at the bottom, followed by a four-digit number.

NaVarre squinted thoughtfully across his desk at the two of us. Abruptly he spun his chair around and scooted over to the bookshelves behind him. He pulled out a fat leatherbound annual and thumped it open on his desk, then skimmed a finger down columns of text. After a moment, he found what he was looking for and a slow grin lit his face. "Stalwart Vault Services. 10th block on Calderwodde."