The Conjurer''s Riddle by Andrea Cremer
“I know it’s where I lost Pip, and I still feel horrible about that,” Scoff told Charlotte. “But speaking with that apothecary at the River Carnival gave me all sorts of ideas. I’m going to have some fantastic formulas as soon as I’m able to gather the necessary equipment and ingredients.”
Scoff was near feverish with excitement as he rattled off the potential benefits of his elixirs. Charlotte resisted the temptation to ask him what the anticipated side effects of said elixirs might be. She also decided against inquiring what dried eel bladder was used for.
As Scoff and Birch reminisced while expressing such optimism for the future, Charlotte began to wonder about her own hopes. Scoff longed to return to a laboratory, and Birch to a workshop. Pip would be eager to continue as Birch’s apprentice and, given Grave’s inclination toward mechanics, he’d likely be content in a workshop as well. But Charlotte wasn’t sure what she hoped to return to, or rather, to make anew when they reached New Orleans. She was neither an inventor nor an apothecary. At the Catacombs, she’d been a scout and a fighter. Since Ash left, the role of leader had been foisted upon her, and while no one had complained to her or contested her authority, Charlotte wasn’t at all sure of how she fared at the helm of this group.
Thinking of Ashley caused a twinge in Charlotte’s chest, and she knew what she wished she could return to. Her brother. As often as she had resented being the little sister to Ash’s older brother, the comfort of his guidance had been ever present through her childhood. That innocence wasn’t something she could regain, but she could be reunited with Ash again. The burst of hope Charlotte felt at that thought was so powerful it made her chest ache. She was so engrossed in her own thoughts that it wasn’t until Birch called out “Who is it?” that she realized someone must have knocked on her cabin door.
Embarrassed that she’d drifted away from the conversation, Charlotte was about to apologize to Scoff, but before she could, he waved his hand and said, “Oh well, I guess I’ll tell you more about the Fang and Claw tonic some other time.”
A voice from the other side of the door called, “Linnet.”
Charlotte stood up and went to answer the door, though she dreaded opening it. Her parting words to Linnet earlier that day had been, “I’ll explore the rest of the ship on my own. Thank you,” before she’d stormed away. She hadn’t explored the boat at all, but returned to her room full of anger and guilt. Charlotte stayed there until long after the Calypso had left Moirai and Pip came looking for her. Even so many hours later, Charlotte remained embarrassed by her outburst, but also still upset by the conversation that had brought it on. Whatever discomfort she’d endure now, hiding from Linnet was both childish and ludicrous.
She opened the door. “Good evening, Linnet.”
“Good evening, Charlotte,” Linnet replied. Lowering her voice, she asked, “Are you still cross with me?”
Charlotte felt a rush of affection for her friend, so unafraid to confront their quarrel. She shook her head.
“Good.” Linnet’s expression was one of genuine relief. She grabbed Charlotte’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze. Then she peeked her head into the cabin.
“Do you mind if I steal this lovely maiden for a bit?” Linnet glanced at Charlotte and added, loud enough for all to hear, “You are still a maiden, aren’t you, Charlotte?”
Pip gasped, Scoff guffawed, and Birch and Grave simply looked uncomfortable, until Charlotte jabbed Linnet in the ribs. Linnet feigned a wince and they both fell to laughing.
After Charlotte bade the others good night, Linnet took Charlotte to her own cabin.
“I have a surprise for you,” she told her. “I hope you like it.”
Charlotte didn’t know if she could endure another surprise, but when Linnet turned the wheel that made her cabin’s lamps glow bright, Charlotte gasped at what she saw. Gowns covered Linnet’s bed. Crafted of smooth silks and rich taffetas, these were not the high-waisted, flimsy gowns of the Floating City. The dresses laced at the back like a corset and their skirts bloomed into fullness below the narrow waistline.
“Are you giving me a dress?” Charlotte asked, delighted but a bit perplexed.
“If you find one you must have, then you can keep it,” Linnet said. “But I was more inclined to lend you a dress appropriate to tonight’s festivities.”
“What festivities?” Charlotte grew wary again.
“Lord Ott is hosting a party,” Linnet told her. “And invitations are very hard to come by. Unless you’re me.”
Charlotte laughed.
Linnet clapped her hands. “Oh good! We’ll have such fun. Now pick a dress.”
“No wonder Lord Ott complains about your taste in fashion,” Charlotte said, as she held up each dress in turn. “These must cost a fortune.”
“I’m worth it,” Linnet replied. “Ooh, of course you can wear whatever you like best, but I think that olive green would be so lovely on you.”
Charlotte agreed that the gown in question was extraordinary, and the silk felt like liquid moonlight. “Will you help me put it on?”
Linnet wasted no time in helping Charlotte into the dress. The skirt’s draping fell into unique lines, forming a pattern that mimicked the movement of pliant fabric if one should spin in rapid circles. The bodice wrapped around her torso, snug but not too tight, even after Linnet had finished tugging on the lacings.
Stepping back to observe her handiwork, Linnet said, “This gown is much more suited to you than me. I’m afraid you will have to keep it.”
For herself, Linnet selected a gown the rich hue of hammered steel. A layer of sheer gray chiffon encircled the skirt, adding both intrigue and elegance.
The girls took turns arranging their hair into suitable styles held in place by pearl-laden silver combs.
“I have to say,” Linnet told Charlotte just before they left her cabin, “I’ve never partaken in this women’s tradition of preparing for a public outing before, but it’s rather fun, isn’t it?”
Charlotte kissed Linnet on the cheek. “It was tonight.”
• • •
Lord Ott’s exclusive gathering, contrary to Charlotte’s expectations, was not taking place on the upper decks of the ship, but rather in its bowels. The heavy, metal door Linnet stopped in front of at the end of their descent looked like the entrance to the engine room or storage for coal. But stepping through the door, Charlotte found herself in another world entirely. Not of the passenger decks nor of the mechanisms that propelled the vessel, this dimly lit space looked like the den of a warlock as rendered in an old folktale. Smoke curled through the room, carrying with it the scent of tobacco and other, more exotic aromas.
Charlotte hoped to Athene that Linnet wouldn’t leave her side, because the room was as intimidating a labyrinth as the Garden of Mirrors had been. Lamps encased in red glass lit the room, filling it with a ruddy glow that barely pierced the shadows. Linnet drew Charlotte to a velvet settee.
“I think we’ll have a fine vantage point from here,” Linnet said.
“What do you mean?” Charlotte asked, not bothering to suggest it unlikely that Linnet could see anything beyond the length of her arm.
“Parties, balls, dinners—all sorts of gatherings, in truth—if viewed as occasions for making merry, are wasted,” Linnet said. “They best serve as sites for observing and learning.”
Charlotte sat up a bit straighter, her interest piqued. “Are you planning to teach me to be a spy?”
“If you’re going to ask questions like that, I might as well not make the effort.” Linnet waved her hand and a man appeared—from where, Charlotte had no clue.
“What may I bring you?” the man asked. He wore the formal suits of all serving staff aboard the Calypso, but tonight his features were partly hidden by a black mask that covered the top half of his face.
“Peach nectar,” Linnet told him. She smil
Speaking to the servant again, Linnet added, “We’ll have a plate of strawberries as well.”
• • •
The room was gradually filling with guests. Men in fine suits, women in exquisite dresses. Charlotte decided that it didn’t matter what gown she wore, because the crimson light rendered everything murky and unidentifiable.
“Keep watching the crowd,” Linnet said. “In a few minutes I’m going to ask you what you see.”
“Won’t I see the same things you see?” Charlotte peered into the dim features of the room.
Linnet sighed. “I think we need to establish a rule about asking questions.”
“What’s the rule?” Charlotte asked.
“No questions.”
Charlotte didn’t want to start another argument, but she was irked by Linnet’s demeanor. “I hardly—”
“Don’t hiss at me, kitten.” Charlotte would have taken offense, if not for the mirth in the other girl’s voice. “Under other circumstances questions are prudent, but for now they’ll only distract you from the task at hand. Espionage is mostly quiet waiting, patient gathering. You are a collector, not an inquisitor.”
“Very well.”
Until that moment the air had been occupied with the low buzz of hushed voices and the rapid footfalls of servants who glided to and fro, but Charlotte detected a new sound. At first it was only a gentle rumble. But the rumble took the shape of a note that grew louder, as the strings of a violoncello poured out a melody soft as velvet and sweet as wild honey. Charlotte couldn’t see the player, who must have been tucked into a shadowed corner. The musician’s invisibility enhanced the mystique already possessed by this strange, dark room. Ribbons of smoke followed the trail laid by the cello, curling in time with the rhythm.
The masked servant returned with a silver tray laden with sliced strawberries and two crystal flutes brimming with peach nectar. Charlotte lifted her glass and sipped; the liquid sparkled on her tongue and danced down her throat. Every aspect of the room seemed to flow with the music, bodies turned, sat, leaned closer to one another. Conversations continued, but in a quiet drone, ever beneath the cello’s rich voice.
Charlotte bit into a strawberry slice. The bite of the fresh berry mingled with sweet peach, turning into a heady bouquet.
Then Linnet whispered, “Tell me what you see.”
Charlotte swallowed more juice, letting her eyes sweep the room. “I see very little, but I don’t think that’s important.”
“If that’s not important, than what is?” Linnet asked. Even her voice matched the pace of the cello’s song.
“What I feel,” Charlotte said. “This place wants to tell me how to feel. It’s trying to lull me into the dream it’s spinning and make the real world fade away.”
There was a long pause before Linnet said, “Very good, kitten. Very good.”
“What does it mean?” Charlotte set down her glass and looked at Linnet.
“No questions.” Linnet smiled at her. “I think you know what it means. Just speak from your instincts.”
Charlotte breathed in the smoke and spice of the air. “I should be wary, lest I forget myself.”
Linnet picked up Charlotte’s glass and returned it to her, then lifted her own glass and clinked it against the rim of Charlotte’s. The ring of crystal pierced the room’s spell in a way that made Charlotte feel as if she’d been shaken out of a beautiful sleep . . . when she’d believed she’d always been awake.
Linnet’s face came into focus, her eyes alert and intent on Charlotte. “You have great potential, Charlotte. I’m impressed. And I don’t impress easily.”
“But I . . .” Charlotte’s head was still muddled. “I was taken in.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose, waiting for her mind to clear.
“You were, but just a bit.” Linnet patted Charlotte’s hand. “Most people have no resistance.”
When Charlotte lifted her face the room appeared brighter, the guests more easily seen, and the cello’s melody—while still pleasing—was no different than that produced by any skilled player.
“What was that?” Charlotte asked Linnet. “What happened?”
Linnet took a lingering sip of nectar and ate a slice of strawberry before she answered. “The cellist is a mesmer.”
Charlotte frowned at her. She knew of mesmers, though only from tales and not experience. She’d thought of them as traveling hucksters, trading sleights of hand and tricks of the eye for food and goods as they moved from place to place. But what she’d just witnessed was nothing of that sort.
“Is it magic?”
“Magic?” Linnet lifted an eyebrow at Charlotte. “I couldn’t say, because magic isn’t something I know about or believe in. But there is something real about what mesmers can do. Where it comes from, how it works, I don’t know. It’s an innate talent, though, and it manifests in various ways. Zephyr—that cellist—bends the wills of listeners and alters their perceptions through his music, but I’ve seen it done through speech, dance, song . . . it’s an incredible talent.”
With the mesmer’s veil lifted, Charlotte could see its full effect on the other guests. Their gestures and movements were languid—almost drunken, but without the sloppiness. The sight filled her with chagrin, drawing a soft growl of frustration from her throat.
“Still troubled?” Linnet offered Charlotte a strawberry.
Charlotte waved the fruit away and Linnet popped the slice into her mouth.
“I would never have known,” Charlotte said. She couldn’t stand the idea of being the puppet in another man’s play.
“Actually, you did,” Linnet said. “You always knew that something about this situation wasn’t quite right. If the mesmer had full control of you, you wouldn’t have been able to answer my questions. The attempt to alter your mind would have bothered you until you broke free.”
Linnet’s explanation had yet to reassure Charlotte. “I thought the ringing of our glasses pulled me out of the illusion.”
“It hurried along the process,” Linnet said. “But I only did that because I knew you could do it yourself. I didn’t feel like waiting.”
When Charlotte’s skeptical countenance remained unchanged, Linnet huffed, “Stop nursing your doubts, kitten. It’s a waste of your time and an insult to your talent.”
Linnet waved at the roomful of somnambulists. “You were never one of them and you never could be. Mesmers can’t take hold of anyone with a strong will.”
“Are we two the only strong-willed ones at this party?” Charlotte didn’t believe that could be the case.
“Your talent shines through again.” Linnet smiled as she ate the last strawberry slice. “No. We are not. So what do you make of that?”
Charlotte cast her gaze about the party as she answered. “If all appear to be affected by the mesmer, then some must be pretenders.”
“Yes.” Linnet took a sip from her glass only to find it empty. “We need more nectar.”
“And strawberries.” Charlotte flashed a teasing smile at her friend.
“And strawberries.” Linnet waved the servant over again. When he’d refilled their glasses and taken their empty tray, Linnet said to Charlotte, “Revelers are not all alike. Some of the guests here have come to lose themselves. The mesmer’s presence is a boon to them and they will happily swim through this dream until the party ends. Others have come to benefit from the first lot, who can be easily manipulated while mesmerized.”
“Criminals?” Charlotte was taken aback, though she quickly realized she shouldn’t have been. Lord Ott had his hands deep in things above and beneath the law. His party guests would also hail from both sides of legality.
After a throaty laugh, Linnet answered, “
“They’re spies.” Charlotte wondered if she would be able to differentiate the lucid guests from the mesmerized if she could study their behavior more closely.
“Spies, of course.” Linnet waited for the servant to set down a tray newly filled with strawberry slices. “Also assassins, concubines, pirates, and swindlers.”
“You can’t be serious about the pirates,” Charlotte told Linnet.
“Pirates are very serious,” Linnet replied. “And there are definitely a few aboard the Calypso. There will be many more in New Orleans. Should you meet one, I wouldn’t advise making light of his profession.”
Charlotte didn’t know if Linnet was attempting to tease her or offer a true warning. Probably a bit of both.
“The original point I was trying to make,” Linnet said, “is that your strong will kept you from succumbing, but even more importantly, now that you know how mesmerization takes effect, you’ll recognize any time it’s happening—and it happens more often than most ever realize. Only mesmers lacking talent ply their trade on the road; the best mesmers operate in the guise of ordinary performers, but they’re paid for the rarer skill they command.”
Given that Charlotte’s life had been devoid of performance artists until very recently, she was glad to know there was little chance she’d encountered these hidden mesmers in the past.
“Since we’ve taken care of that, you’re ready.” Linnet stood up.
Startled, Charlotte stood as well. “Ready for what?”
“To take a turn about the room,” Linnet told her. “Mingle. Practice your social graces. You can even flirt if you like. You probably need practice.”