Si glyph [https://i.imgur.com/mHhTdaF.png]

Minutes passed and Grace still hadn’t appeared. Simon ambled round the nearest stalls. A man selling pastries eyed him suspiciously, so he bought a meat pasty and stood beside the stall to eat it.

Simon was enjoying the last greasy mouthful when he saw a woman, shrouded in a dark cloak, coming toward him. He swallowed quickly and wiped his hands on his coat.

Grace stopped and stared at him, wide-eyed, her face turning pale. ‘I’m sorry I’m late.’

He had half-expected she would send a servant, instead of coming herself. His heart skipped a beat. ‘Not at all. Thank you for agreeing to meet me.’ He considered offering her his hand, but his fingers were still greasy.

She glanced around. ‘We can’t talk here. The Garden of Elementals?’

Simon remembered the Garden. It had been new when he was a child, and his nurses had taken him there once or twice. In his adolescent years, it was where bolder youths went with girls — presumably for awkward conversations, hand-holding, and fumbling attempts at intimacy. It wouldn’t have been his first choice for a conversation with Grace. ‘Oh. Fine. Yes, that will do.’

They left the market hall and ascended a stairway.

‘I’m glad to see you,’ Grace said. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d come.’

Simon frowned at her. He’d requested the meeting. Why would she expect him not to come? It was a risk, perhaps, but not a large one. ‘Of course I came.’

‘Yes, but—’ She broke off as they reached the Garden. The entrance was guarded by a bored old man with a sniffle, sitting on a stool. She passed over two pence. The old man sniffed, slowly and carefully tore two tickets from a roll, punched them, and handed them over the counter.

Simon followed Grace through the gateway into the Garden. In his memory, the Garden had been vast and dazzling. Perhaps it still was to a small child like the two who giggled as they ran round the fountain. But to Simon, seeing it with adult eyes, it was smaller than he expected, the brightness faded and tawdry.

The fountain featured a sculpture of three undines, women with fish-tails instead of legs, suspended in mid-leap above a pool while jets of water played around them. Green and blue cold-lamps lit the water from below.

But there were discarded tickets and sandwich wrappers floating in the pool, and empty bottles at the bottom, and the beauty of the undines was more fleshy than other-worldly.

Grace took Simon’s arm. ‘This way.’

They strolled along a path bordered by flowers of coloured glass, mingled with glossy-leaved tropical plants that could survive by the light of cold-lamps. The tinkling of the fountain and the children’s laughter faded behind them.

‘Lord Oryche has offered a reward for your arrest,’ she said.

He stared at her. ‘What?’

The path led to the fire-fountain, where sheets of blue flame danced with abstract representations of salamanders. A young man and woman sat on a bench, kissing with unseemly enthusiasm.

Grace lowered her voice. ‘An Oryche was murdered. Jonas vai Oryche.’

Simon steered Grace down a path lined with metal contraptions which moved as they walked by, ticking and chiming in choreographed waves. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘What does that have to do with me?’

The next bench they came to was unoccupied. They sat.

‘Lord Oryche claims you were the one who killed him,’ she said.

He was too shocked to speak for a moment, and then all he managed was: ‘I didn’t.’

‘I should hope not.’ Grace squeezed his hand. ‘I’m not in the habit of befriending murderers.’

Simon stared straight ahead. I’m a wanted man, he thought, accused of murder, Jonas’s murder. It was horrifying. With a price on his head, every citizen had the right — even the duty — to apprehend him, to hand him over to House Oryche alive or dead. Who would, of course, hang him, after some pretence of a trial. Such was justice in Athanor.

The flower bed in front of them was populated by sculptures of gnomes: little stone men with hats and beards, busily digging. One had a wheelbarrow. Considering the danger he was in, it was illogical to be irritated by stupid statues, but he couldn’t help it. He was irritated. The whole Garden was irritating anyway, but really, gnomes?

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Sylphs and undines and salamanders didn’t exist, of course, at least not as independent entities as ancient arcanists had imagined. The terms were still used by Adepts, but only as a convenient shorthand. An undine wasn’t a woman with a fish-tail, any more than a salamander was anything like a newt. But no one, and especially no Earth Adept, spoke of gnomes. The idea was too ridiculous for words.

He wondered, in passing, how big a reward Eranon had offered for him.

‘Your letter was short,’ Grace said.

‘It seemed better to speak in person.’ Simon was painfully aware of her hand resting on his. He’d thought of her a great deal, more than he liked to admit to himself, but now he had the opportunity to speak to her, he was unsure what to say. Or even if he could entirely trust her. But he needed to trust someone. And she’d risked coming to meet him, even though he was a wanted man. ‘I know Lord Oryche wants me dead. And now this reward… I don’t know why, but I can only assume he sees me as dangerous. I thought, I hoped… I need help.’

‘What sort of help?’

‘Eranon has ambitions to head the Council.’

Grace smiled. ‘My mother still has a great deal of support across the Houses. I don’t see her stepping aside for him.’

‘Your mother?’ Simon was lost for a moment, and then he understood. ‘Your mother is Lady Numisma?’

‘Yes. I thought you knew?’

Simon leaned back. Emotion welled in his chest, and at first he didn’t know what to name it. And then he realised: it was disappointment, soon joined by embarrassment at his own foolishness. Stupid old man. Did you imagine she might care for you? What sort of idiot are you?

The simple fact that Grace had remained in Numisma instead of marrying into another House should have told him she was of senior rank. And now he knew. Her mother was Lady Numisma, head of the City Council. He took a slow breath.

It had been foolish to imagine someone like her would have the faintest interest in someone like him. This just confirmed it. Grace was a friend, he hoped, but she’d never be more than that. And that was for the best, really.

‘Certainly,’ she said. ‘Lord Oryche has ambitious plans. Some of his recent activities are… concerning. We know he’s been cosying up to Phylaxes. The new patrols on the streets are his proposal.’

Armed patrols to reduce crime seemed a good idea. Or at least, Simon would have welcomed it if he wasn’t a wanted man. ‘But how does it benefit him?’

She shrugged.‘Unclear. Phylaxes are keen.’

‘Of course.’

‘Numisma dislike it, because it’s an Oryche plan. Anemari are undecided. They wait to see which way the wind blows.’

‘As always.’

Along the path, the mechanical contraptions chimed a melody to mark the hour. The gnomes grinned inanely, frozen in their pointless industry.

‘Hypothetically,’ she said. ‘Numisma would not be displeased to see Lord Oryche embarrassed.’

‘If there was evidence…’

‘Do you have any?’

‘I don’t think so. Does Numisma?’

‘Rumours and gossip. Nothing definite.’

Simon rubbed his steel fingers. ‘He has something to hide. I’m sure of it.’

‘There is a way to find out, but only if we were certain of the questions to ask.’

‘My father’s death and disgrace are the key. Why try to have me killed otherwise? What can I do to him? I suspect Aric had my father murdered. Eranon wouldn’t want that brought to light. He’d lose the lordship, certainly, perhaps be expelled, as I was.’

‘And you’d be reinstated?’

He shrugged. ‘All that matters is my family’s safety.’

‘There is a way. A Theurgic Inquiry. It wouldn’t be easy though — it’s very rarely done. We’d need the support of all the senior ranked Numisma, as well as nine Theurgist Adepts. To my knowledge, we haven’t performed an Inquiry for generations.’ She laid her other hand on his. ‘Simon, I can’t make any promises. Even if it can be done, it will take some time to arrange. In the meantime, are you all right? Do you need money? A place to stay?’

He shook his head. ‘We’re fine. But I’d like to stay in touch with you, without relying on messengers.’

She looked around. ‘This place is as good as any. You see the sculpture of the gnomes? If you have a message for me, put it under the wheelbarrow, and I’ll do the same. We can check for letters every few days.’

Her hand was soft and warm on his. Simon wondered if she would mind if he folded his fingers around hers, but he didn’t move. The high-pitched laughter of children drifted across the Garden. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps there was hope. Hope for what, he wasn’t sure. He’d take whatever hope was on offer.

‘There’s something else I must tell you. Good news this time,’ she said. ‘Your mother’s awake.’

The door of the storeroom stood ajar, spilling light into the passage. Simon stopped and listened.

Nana and the children must have been back for an hour or more. After he’d left the Garden, he’d chosen a circuitous route back through the undercity, avoiding the market and more populated areas. All the way he’d been terrified, waiting for the outcry, for the hand on his shoulder.

Only this morning he’d blithely gone to the market with his family, and now he was a wanted man with a price on his head. For all he knew, someone had seen him, and passed the word along, and there were men in the storeroom — holding his family hostage, waiting for him to walk through the door.

A murmur of voices came from inside, but no shouts of outrage, no cries of alarm. He crept toward the open door and peeked in.

‘Oh. There you are,’ Danta said. ‘I was just about to give up on you.’ The artificer sat at the stone table, bits of metal spread before her.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

‘Whatever took you so long?’ Nana asked. ‘Did you find Grace?’

‘Yes.’ Simon eyed Danta. ‘Lord Oryche is offering a reward for my arrest. He’s accused me of murdering Jonas.’

‘Huh,’ Danta said. ‘He really doesn’t like you, does he?’

‘I do get that impression.’ Simon sunk onto the bench opposite her. ‘But enough of my problems. What can I do for you?’

She tapped the piece of steel in front of her. ‘These are the samples we discussed. Your basic mild steel and more expensive crucible steel. Crucible steel is the good stuff for blades and tools.’

Simon picked up the two pieces and turned them in his hands, assessing the weight, the feel. ‘The samples are fine. But are you sure you want to work with a wanted murderer?’

‘If you can make me good steel for less than ten forints a hundredweight, I don’t care who you murder. Just don’t mention me if you get caught.’

Danta stood and went to the door. She paused to look back at him. ‘That gun you acquired from the Snake, Vikki showed it me. It’s one of Andriessen’s. He’s churning out a lot of guns lately. Filthy business, but good money.’ She shook her head. ‘There’s trouble brewing. Be careful, Simon.’

‘I always am,’ he said.