A red haired woman staggered into Lucene’s path. With a graceful effort, she was avoided, a twirl of her tails and Lucene carried on, turning the near accident into a flourish. Avoiding contact with the vast majority of the city populace was a requisite skill of the nobility, preferably by a clear degree of proximity. Certainly physical contact was seen as far worse, and appearances were all important, especially with the hundreds of busy eyes watching. Still, Lucene’s head turned slightly as the woman passed. Appearances did matter, and eyes were watching, many of them on Lucene or the woman. Except the woman did not even register their interaction. And that was unsettling. Everyone noticed Lucene. Far more than she wished they would in fact. And yet, this woman had not even given her a second glance. Like they were equals. Lucene couldn’t help but feel a begrudging respect for a commoner who didn’t defer. Single minded, hobbling but proud. And she parted the crowd like a noblewoman too, Lucene thought, glancing back again. Another day, she’d have followed, intrigued. There was always something pulling her towards people who seemed exceptional, like an itch. Unfortunately she had an appointment to keep, with someone far less exceptional.
The legal clerk jerked to his feet from behind his name plate and stacks of paper, bowing so quickly his glasses almost fell from his nose. With a stammered, “This way, my Lady.” he turned sharply, calling for his employer, and pushing open the door as she followed, straightening her dress. The inside of law offices was always startlingly uniform, each barrister, magistrate or solicitor, for one reason or another that Lucene couldn’t understand, decided that they needed dark wooden bookcases stacked with weighty legal tomes. As if people didn’t know lawyers read dull books. If not covering every wall, the remaining space would have a framed document or two, probably certifying they spent several years reading the books they now kept on shelves, meticulously dusted. Sometimes you’d find a copy of the Templeton constitution, and if you were fortunate, a dour painting of a predecessor in their job, usually an older, retired family member. The painting behind this particular lawyer looked like a disapproving father, glaring down, eyes watching the whole room at once. A woman who appeared to be his daughter, in a dark formal outfit, finished her spidery scribble, and rose to greet Lucene with an obsequious and unnecessary bow.
Their meeting bored Lucene immensely. Long, meaningless sentences filled with cited statute, dry analogy and failed attempts at humour. They signed papers, called in the clerk to witness them, and sent him away to stamp documents. The magistrate rather stiffly offered Lucene a drink, but the dusty decanter didn’t appeal to her. The two of them gave their perfunctory well wishes and goodbyes to each other, and Lucene finally extricated herself from the office, and back into the corridor, pulling on an itch at her waist.
The clerk was returning from filing the documents, and started to give her another bow. She returned the gesture, with a shallow dip of a curtsey, causing the boy to stammer even more. For that was what he was to her, just a boy. Lucene stepped closer to him, placing a hand on his upper arm, and speaking in a low voice.
“I’m so sorry to trouble you,” Lucene began softly, “but I thought while I was here I might check on the inventory of my insurance policy. I’m ever so concerned about my wardrobe you understand. The weather is so ghastly sometimes, and the rain makes fabric shrink so quickly it almost pops off.” The boy blushed, the image he couldn’t help but see, and the impropriety of such an thought blustered him even more. Lucene lent in slightly, and squeezed his arm with a small smile. “Please, could we?” it was just a little shove, to remind him he was still in the room with her. Like a puppet, he obeyed. Just a boy, Lucene thought. And an eminently suggestible one at that.
He led her to a different area of the offices, where shelves and cabinets stored hundreds of stacks of documents. Despite the high standard of cleanliness in the building, this room still felt dusty. Dull, dusty and full of valuable information. A treasure trove of legal arrangements. Of course, dress insurance policy was the least of Lucene’s worries. But it would take the clerk a minute to find the document in the family cabinet, hardly significant compared to the trades and deals the rest of the Viscardi’s made. She needed a only a sliver of time to locate the Lekali cabinet, in the light of day the brass plaques were easy to read. She found it, between Lardon and Lester, then paced the distance to the large arched window. Checking over her shoulder, the clerk was fiddling with a lock, facing away from the daylight that poured in. Which reminded her to look for a chance to pilfer the keys to the cabinets, breaking the glass would be a mistake, and picking the lock would mean longer inside the building, a light. She cracked the window slightly, wincing at the grinding sound. A quick look again, the clerk was still busy. That earned her a sigh of relief. Anything she could do to make the night quick and smooth. The clerk returned, presenting her with the document.
“Your insurance listing my lady.”
“Oh, that was so quick!” Lucene gave a theatrical jump followed by a wide beaming smile. She took the sheaf of papers, and glanced over them, nodding sagely, humming to herself. “I really must take this list, update it.”
“I can prepare a copy my lady.”
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“Oh no, that’s so much work for you. It’s just one or two dresses. Let me just take the list back and consult my wardrobe? I’d bring it right back tomorrow, I promise.”
“I…” The clerk shifted uneasily, a dutiful servant of his employer being asked to bend the rules. He needed persuading.
“Oh come on,” Lucene leaned in, touching his chest and whispering in his ear, “It’ll be our little secret. You trust me don’t you, Peter?” She dropped his name in at the last moment, pulling out all the stops; her hand moved slowly, her caress suggesting everything but promising nothing. With a nod, he agreed, taking a deep gulp. She sealed their deed with a kiss, light as a feather on his cheek, then strode away, document in hand, throwing him a coy glance as he stood, transfixed, stunned, sure it was a daydream.
Lucene left the law offices, folder under her arm, passing and respectfully acknowledging the others she met on her way out. A nod to a balding magistrate, a clasping of hands to a bland looking minister, and a formal curtsey to the impeccably dressed Count Varus Saxton. The two nobles had a brief a self-pitying exchange about the chores of legal matters, before parting ways at the threshold. A deep breath, and at last she could drop her mask of expected behaviour. She headed through the wide thoroughfares of Old Templeton, running a finger along one of her more uncomfortable seams, letting her skin breathe. None of the common folk failed to part for her this time, and though she looked for the woman from before, she saw nobody quite so extraordinary on her journey home.
Back at the Viscardi manor, around her loomed ornate gates, ornamental gardens, ostentatious architecture. Just like all the other noble mansions, it was equal parts imposing and impractical. Aside from her immediate family, an aunt and uncle, half a dozen cousins, an elderly grandmother and some of their respective spouses, Lucene had always thought the place practically uninhabited. Apart from the two dozen permanent servants and another dozen guards. But there were still more rooms on the ground floor than people, and there were four floors above that. It had taken just one visit to Southside as a child, to show her how different her own life was from that of ordinary people. It wasn’t until she’d snuck into other parts of the city as a teenager, that she realised an entire family could sleep in one room the size of her bath. The luxuries, the extravagance of noble life had rung hollow after that. As she strode up to the house, Lucene felt a sense of disdain for the whole place. And distance too. Like she didn’t belong, she hadn’t felt connected to any of it since she realised the rest of the city was nothing like her family. They were dirty, struggling and coarse, but they were much more real. Their lives were authentic, their experiences were not a facade. Lucene longed for something really hers, a life with the rough left in. The decorated walls and fancy doors were alien to her.
Hearing the voice of her mother in conversation with someone, she avoided the main stairs, heading to a small door. She slipped up the narrow servant corridors and emerged right by her own quarters, without having to risk passing any other family member. She shut the door with a click, and threw the insurance document down on her dresser. She moved immediately to remove her layers, untying her waist, peeling off gloves and stockings. Her shoes landed upside down beside the bed. Lucene stood in her undergarments, and gave a twirl, raising her arms and relishing the flow of air about her body for a moment. Then she meticulously returned her formal wear to their places with a sigh, hanging the dress, finding some space beside the extravagant gown she was going to wear to the Lekali ball tomorrow. Her shoes found themselves in their correct place on the rack. Behind it, she slid aside a wooden panel, and reached a slender hand inside. She pulled out the artisan box she’d stashed there, and brought it to her dresser, flicking it open with one hand, as she flipped the legal document closer with the other.
The listing was surprisingly detailed. It must have taken hours to catalogue all of the items in this room alone. Every object that her parents had bought, listed. The fabrics of drapes, bedding and clothes; the contents of her dresser, brushes, mirrors and other tools of beauty; the furniture itself, down to the stools and chairs. Jewellery, shoes, and a good number of dresses stood out. Some of them were worth a few thousand coin. But she wasn’t here for her own clothes. There was a logical process to the listings, things were grouped by category, listed in order of value but for a few additions acquired later. The necklace from her uncle on her sixteenth birthday sat near the bottom of one page, priced at three thousand coin. She was his favourite niece, and he had no children of his own. Her eyes ran across the pages, ignoring the legal script, noting only the way the numbers looked. At a glance she could pick out the valuations alongside the descriptions, and began glancing about her quarters, identifying the range of items listed.
Lucene’s eyes ran over the shelves and marked off item after item. The same ones that had sat there for years. Untouched decorations, unopened books, though none of them gathered dust, the servants saw to that despite her protestations. She rifled through her cabinets, matching more things to the list. It was quite regularly updated, and it took her several minutes to find items of sufficient worth to add. She eventually added a few notes to the miscellaneous list to seal her deception, a one of a kind shawl, another pair of boots with solid silver buckles.
Beneath the boots sat a chest that she had managed to pilfer the only keys for. One of the only places the servants didn’t invade. The items inside that chest were certainly not listed on her documents, though they were some of the most valuable things she now owned. The clothes that she felt most herself in. The tools she valued most of all. The valuables that she held dear. The ones she had claimed by herself, that nobody had given to her. Small statuettes, rings set with gemstones. All manner of assorted accoutrements of aristocratic arrogance, now removed from their former homes. Hollowed out compartments in every one. She fought the urge to open it and put on the clothes, touch her treasures. Plenty of time later, she reminded herself, just be patient.
Satisfied with her study, she donned a casual robe and headed down to the kitchen, telling the cook she was famished and would eat immediately if they didn’t mind. Fortunately they’d come to expect this of her during her teenage years, spending much of her time ‘alone in her chambers’, eating at irregular hours, and they still willingly indulged her now at eighteen. Lucene had learnt early on that keeping the cook on her side was crucial to avoiding family dinners when possible. One of the most valuable lessons her brother had left her with. Not that even he knew what she really got up to. She’d be wearing a very different outfit tonight. And she could hardly wait.