The Conjurer's Riddle by Andrea Cremer
Charlotte nodded, but when Linnet continued to stare at her pointedly, she said, “Now?”
“Yes, kitten. Now.”
LINNET HAD BEEN right to send Charlotte back to her friends with plenty of time to spare before the Calypso docked. It took three repetitions of Linnet’s story for the others to comprehend it fully.
Scoff tugged on his suspenders. “You know, I’m pretty sure Jack told me about this once, but I thought he was lying.”
“I can’t fault you for that,” Charlotte said. “It sounds like something Jack would make up.”
“It certainly does,” Birch said. “What a bizarre law.”
“I like it.” Scoff bobbed his head in an exaggerated show of approval.
“What do the masks look like?” Pip was sitting on Charlotte’s bed. “Do we get to choose what mask we wear?”
Charlotte answered, “I don’t know. I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.”
“I’ve always had the notion to create an elixir that alters facial features,” Scoff said. “I wonder if I could brew it up here and sell it.”
“Since it’s a law that requires your face to be hidden, I don’t think it matters if you’ve altered the way your own face looks. It’s still a face.” Even as she said it, Charlotte felt confused.
“I suppose,” Scoff grumbled.
“I don’t think they’d object to modifications of one’s mask, though.” Birch scratched at his chin. “Do you?”
“I really couldn’t say,” Charlotte answered.
“Oh! Oh!” Pip jumped up and down, tugging at Birch’s sleeve. “I want to modify my mask, too. Will you help me?”
“Let’s make sure modifications are permitted before you start to draw schematics,” Charlotte told her.
Pip stuck her lower lip out. “Even if they’re just tiny modifications?”
“Who’s modifying what, now?” Linnet asked. She and Coe carried a large trunk into the room.
Pip dashed to it and opened the lid before they could set the trunk down.
“Masks!” Pip’s eyes were wide. “They’re sooooo pretty.”
Pip’s body obscured Charlotte’s view, but she could see an array of bright colors peeking from within.
“And they’re animals.” Pip held a mask aloft. It had been crafted of leather in a deep, mottled green and shaped to have the blunt snout of a serpent. “I’d rather not be a snake.” She tossed the mask aside.
“Ummmm.” Linnet frowned when the mask hit the floor. “Maybe take a bit more care with the masks. They’re quite expensive.”
“Oh, a butterfly!” Pip brandished another mask. “I want this one.”
She put the mask up to her face. Wings of turquoise rimmed in black spanned Pip’s cheeks, the butterfly’s wingtips reaching just beyond her temples and jaw. She tied the ribbon around her head.
“That’s not an animal,” Scoff said. “It’s an ornament.”
Pip ignored him, asking Birch, “Can we make the wings beat?”
Linnet glanced at Charlotte, eyebrows raised.
“The modifications,” Charlotte said.
“Ah.” Linnet smiled at butterfly Pip. “Small mechanical mods are permitted. So long as the movement doesn’t reveal the face.”
Pip squeaked her delight.
“The rest of you should find your favored animal quickly,” Coe told them. “We’ll be docking within the hour.”
“And don’t become too attached to one mask,” Linnet added, with an eye to Pip. “You should put on a different mask whenever you leave a private space to go into the public. It discourages would-be spies from identifying you without making at least a little effort. More importantly, it’s considered fashionable to wear a variety of masks rather than adopting a signature visage.”
Pip nodded at her, then said to Birch, “We’ll have to modify a lot of them.”
The corners of Birch’s mouth twitched in the hint of a smile, but he answered in all solemnity, “Yes. I suppose we will. I’d hate anyone to think we’re less than fashionable.”
• • •
The Calypso’s passengers emerged from their cabins transformed into all manner of fauna. Charlotte passed a spider, several owls, a handful of cats, a horse, a few bulls, and even an elephant as her company disembarked from the steamboat. The docks teemed with masked people swarming into the city proper.
Coe, masked as a wolf, walked at Charlotte’s right hand, and Grave’s snowy egret was at her left. Charlotte had taken on the guise of a fox for this first venture into New Orleans. Pedestrian traffic from the riverside docks accessed the city platforms by stepping onto ascending ramps that twisted in tight spirals. New Orleans may have been an elevated city, but it bore no comparison to New York. Stout iron ribs held the city aloft, high above the river and bayous.
“The city is divided into quadrants,” Coe told Charlotte as the corkscrew took them upward. “The Garden is exactly what its name suggests, a verdant space in a city otherwise dominated by metal. The Salon plays host to the wealthiest and most powerful in New Orleans, both residents and visitors.”
“That’s where Ott is staying?” Charlotte asked.
Coe nodded. “The Belle Fleur is located in the Salon quadrant.”
“Where will we stay?” Grave asked. His gaze was fixed on the docks as they grew more distant.
“Le Poisson Noir is in the Domicile quadrant,” Coe answered. “The Domicile and the Market are the largest and liveliest of the quadrants. Like the Garden, the Market’s name disguises nothing about its purpose.”
“What about the Quay?” Charlotte wondered if the area she’d been warned against was wedged somewhere within the quadrants.
“Who told you about the Quay?” The sharpness in Coe’s voice made Charlotte bristle.
“Why shouldn’t I know about it?” Charlotte rested her palms on her gun belt.
Grave’s eyes were drawn from the riverbank by the newly tense exchange. “What’s the Quay?”
Coe leveled a disapproving stare on Charlotte.
“I’ve been told it’s a dangerous place,” Charlotte said to Grave. “One to be avoided.”
“At least you got sensible advice,” Coe muttered.
“And if you want me to adhere to that advice, I should know where the Quay is.” Charlotte resented Coe’s attitude, as if she were a foolish girl in need of protection. Had he forgotten the brigands she’d fought off in the Iron Forest? Without his aid?
Coe glanced at Grave, then lowered his voice so only Charlotte would hear. “I don’t mean to upset you, Charlotte. But the Quay can’t be taken lightly.”
“And why would I be careless about it?” Charlotte snapped. “Do you think I’m that naïve?”
“Of course not.” Coe rested his hand on her arm, and she felt her pulse quicken. “But your anger makes me worry you’ve forgotten that only recently someone attacked you. We still don’t know who or why, but we do know they were on the Calypso, and that means they are now in New Orleans just like us. I don’t want you to put yourself at greater risk than you already are.”
Charlotte’s throat grew thick with embarrassment. “Oh.”
Coe offered her a thin smile, then said to both Charlotte and Grave, “The Quay isn’t a single place; it’s scattered throughout the same area as the city, only beneath it—with the exception of the docks, which are heavily regulated by the French and therefore avoided by those for whom the Quay’s offerings hold allure. Merchants, saloons, and brothels in the Quay are in clusters near the three lakes inside the city walls: Pontchartrain, Borgne, and Catatouatche.”
“If it’s so dangerous, why do the French let it exist?” Grave asked.
“The Quay is the underbelly of New Orleans,” Coe said. “Ugly as it may be, to slice it open would be fatal to the city.”
Grave shook his h
“All cities are reliant on such places, Grave,” Coe told him. “At least every city I’ve known.”
Grave’s sigh was so deep that Charlotte took his hand.
“The more I’m in the world the less I like it,” Grave said softly.
“It’s not all ugly,” Charlotte said, wishing she could offer greater assurance. But they’d come to New Orleans because of a war. Charlotte knew far uglier things could lie ahead than what Grave had already seen.
“The lady’s a prophet.” Coe smiled as he stepped off the ramp and waved his hand at the scene laid out before them. “Look at all this beauty.”
The spare design of the docks and iron foundations of the city belied the wonder that waited above. Pristine buildings in pastel hues greeted them, their structures curving alongside walking paths of mosaic tiles. Fountains of copper and marble bubbled cheerfully beside bushes studded with exotic blooms, the likes of which Charlotte had never seen.
“This must be the Salon,” Charlotte said as they followed the path.
Upon closer inspection she could see that the images in the mosaic were great tales of myth. Their steps traced Actaeon’s doom as his own dogs hunted him down, a man transformed into a stag for the transgression of spying on the virgin goddess Artemis as she bathed.
“No,” Coe said. “This is the Domicile.”
“But—” Charlotte swept over her surroundings, searching for some flaw. She found none. “By Athene, what is the Salon like?”
Coe laughed and when he offered Charlotte his arm, she took it.
• • •
Le Poisson Noir sat in the middle of the quadrant. A fat little building painted sea green, the inn had a wrought-iron balcony that was decorated with swimming black fish that reminded Charlotte of Pisces. Linnet and Coe shepherded the others into the foyer, and after a few quick words from Linnet, they were given keys to a large suite on the upper floor. Ott’s servants brought what few belongings Charlotte and her companions had to the inn, though given the change in circumstances Charlotte didn’t know what value, if any, their salvaged items from the Catacombs continued to have. Lord Ott’s resources appeared limitless, and as far as Charlotte could tell he withheld nothing in his efforts to help them.
Except for a room at La Belle Fleur, Charlotte thought with a smile.
Linnet and Coe went to arrange contact with the Resistance, leaving Charlotte and the others to settle into their rooms. The suite was enormous. Charlotte entered a spacious sitting room appointed with satin-upholstered settees supported by delicate, curving wooden legs polished to a bright sheen. Glass doors opened to the wide balcony, where iron fish swam across the railings. She heard Pip gasp in delight from one of the adjoining rooms.
“This bed is enormous,” Pip called out to no one in particular. “It has ten pillows! Who needs ten pillows?”
Charlotte laughed to herself, but chose to visit the balcony before exploring the rest of the suite.
As she leaned on the railing, Charlotte could see the expanse of the city. The iron wall rose above all else, but its presence was less ominous within the city than she had perceived it to be from the outside. Le Poisson Noir faced north, and from her perch on the balcony, Charlotte could spy in the distance what she assumed was the Garden quadrant, given its emerald hue and lack of buildings. She’d seen little of this city, but already she found more to like here than she had in the Floating City. New Orleans embraced its strange nature and welcomed its visitors to take part in its game, where New York condescended, ordering all who entered to conform to its rigid structures.
Charlotte had to admit her own bias. She’d reached the end of a long, arduous journey and New Orleans had long been a refuge for those like her, those fleeing the grasp of the Empire’s iron fist. Only with time would she know if New Orleans offered a true respite, a place that could become home. The glimpses of the city gave her a nagging desire to explore the other quadrants.
Had Linnet and Coe said anything about when they’d return? Had they been explicit about not leaving the inn? Obviously the Quay was to be avoided, but the rest of the city wasn’t brimming with threats.
Charlotte decided she would tell Birch she planned to go out into the city for a bit. If he balked, she could take Grave along. No one could argue that Grave wouldn’t offer protection, and Charlotte wouldn’t mind his company.
When she’d returned to the sitting room and closed the balcony doors, Charlotte removed her mask. The confines of the suite would be one of few places where a mask wasn’t required. Wearing the mask had been unusual, but neither uncomfortable nor cumbersome. Charlotte didn’t think she’d be too irked by the droit des masques.
Birch sat on one of the couches with Pip’s butterfly mask in his left hand. With his right, he dug through a sack that jangled as he shuffled through metal parts and scraps.
“Moving wings?” Charlotte asked, sitting beside him.
Birch smiled. She could see that tension had eased from his face now that they were in New Orleans.
“It’s a way to pass the time,” Birch said. “I’m not sure how long we have here or what comes next, but I prefer to have something to work on rather than being idle.”
Charlotte leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Only one of the reasons we could never manage without you.”
Birch guffawed, pink dusting his features.
His reaction gave Charlotte pause. She’d been wrestling with her divided heart, but what of her friends? Had Birch fallen to Eros’s arrow? Had Scoff? Pip was too young to be ensnared by romance, but the others weren’t. Charlotte knew of her brother’s attachment to Meg, and the heartache he’d felt when she left them to join the Sisters. Aside from Ash, Charlotte had no inkling of where her friends stood in relation to love.
And what of Grave?
The question chilled her for reasons she didn’t grasp.
“Are you unwell, Charlotte?” Birch had stopped searching the sack and was peering into her face. “You’ve gone rather pale.”
Charlotte didn’t know how to answer. Her thoughts had led her down a path that ended in a place unfamiliar and deeply unsettling. She sensed that having arrived here, there would be no going back.
“I—”
Whatever jumble of words was about to pass her lips, it was stopped by a knock at the door.
Pip bolted into the sitting room. “I’ll get it!”
“Find out who it is, Pip.” Charlotte stood up. “Don’t just open the door.”
“I know.” Pip gave a little huff, then her voice became sugar when she asked, “Who is it, please?”
“It’s Ash, Pip.”
Charlotte wanted to run to the door and fling it open, but she was frozen where she stood. Her limbs locked with anticipation.
Ashley is here. He’s here!
Pip had no run-in with paralysis. She opened the door, bouncing up and down with glee.
“Ash! Ash! Ash! Oh, you’re an eagle. Who’s she?”
Ash hadn’t come alone. A tall woman stood beside him in the doorway, her face hidden by that of a badger.
Ashley put his arm around Pip, gently moving her aside. The woman came into the room and closed the door.
When Ash took his mask off, whatever held Charlotte in place let go.
“Ash!”
She ran across the room and jumped into her brother’s arms.
“Lottie. It’s so good to see you.”
Charlotte couldn’t stop an embarrassment of tears from fleeing her eyes. “I’ve missed you so.”
“Charlotte.” The woman had spoken, and the sound of her name in that voice rang with a familiarity that echoed in Charlotte’s bones.
Charlotte turned to see that the badger no longer covered the stranger’s face. But she wasn’t a stranger.
“Lottie.” Ashley gripped her hand. Her fingers wrapped tight around his.
When Charlotte spoke, only a whisper emerged.
“Mother.”
CAROLINE MARSHALL STOOD taller than her daughter by a head and a half, but Charlotte recognized features they did share: a straight, thin nose, brown hair, long fingers, and a sharp chin. Charlotte remembered her mother’s face as softer than the stern, angled visage gazing back at her now. She attributed the difference to naïveté of childhood. All the world had seemed a gentler place before Charlotte grew into a young woman; why should her mother be any different?
She wore a crisply pressed white shirt and draped trousers of deep gray silk with a cuff that hit just below her knee. Silver hilts flashed from their sheaths at the mid-calf of her boots, and smooth bone gleamed on the grips of the guns holstered at the bottom edge of her wide leather belt.
When her mother extended a hand, Charlotte was taken aback by how shy she suddenly felt. She wanted to duck her chin and keep her eyes on the ground, perhaps even hide behind her brother, but she forced herself to stand straight, let go of Ashley’s hand, and approach with a confident bearing no matter how madly her heart drummed against her ribs.
Charlotte took her mother’s hand, and Caroline leaned down to place a cool kiss on Charlotte’s cheek.
“How you’ve grown.”
Unable to find words, Charlotte simply nodded.
Caroline smiled the barest of smiles. “And you’ve led those who escaped the Catacombs to New Orleans. That’s a remarkable feat, Charlotte.”
“Thank you,” Charlotte said. “We left the youngest children at the crèche in East Moirai.”
“You kept a level head when following protocol,” Caroline replied. “One must be pragmatic in trying circumstances. If sentiment had lulled you into an attempt to bring them along, I doubt you’d be here today.”
That was something of a compliment, and Charlotte stood up a bit taller.
“Ashley showed wisdom in handing leadership to you,” Caroline said, casting her smile of approval in his direction. “I hope you’ll continue to demonstrate the same qualities here. Fighting for the Resistance, giving your full commitment to the cause, requires sacrifice. Difficult decisions.”