Heels.
What a silly innovation they were.
Perhaps I might like them better if our floors weren’t so neatly polished.
Ice simply cannot compare to pristine marble.
Not so pristine now, with my blood staining the tiles.
- Unknown date. Patricia of Shreik.
Patricia watched the cobblestones crawl by through the carriage window, visibly patient and silently anxious. The coachman would stop soon, and then her younger sister and mother could see to their shopping today. Mind and heart racing against each other, Patricia tapped at the silk reticule beneath her hands to feel the satisfying crinkle of paper inside. She never left home without her notes, and today was a blessed day of few things to worry about.
“I’d like to visit with the florist while you see to Johanna’s wardrobe this afternoon, mother, if you’ll allow it,” Patricia requested of the duchess without quite asking.
Her mother sat across from her, as calm and pensive as ever. The woman always appeared to be pondering something deeply that Patricia couldn’t quite fathom, and had long since given up trying to.
“Be sure to avoid any side streets, inform the footmen that you may use one of them as an escort,” her mother agreed after some time. She never truly denied her eldest daughter anything when asked directly. They were not close, but she knew now after enough time that her mother did love her in her own way.
“Thank you,” Patricia replied, grateful that they’d had Anthony ride with them on the back of the coach today. A pint at the alehouse and the drink could babysit him for a short hour while she saw to her errands. She requested his presence specifically for just that, but he wasn’t always available. Sometimes he was already too deep in his cups to even climb the blasted carriage. More than once he’d had assistance from polite passersby. A wonder that the duke and duchess were so patient with him, but it worked out in Patricia’s favor.
“Don’t you want a new dress, too?” Johanna asked, surprised and very clearly nervous to be with their mother alone for the first time. She’d soon see the woman didn’t bite. Patricia did want to spend the day with her sister, but she couldn’t. Not today. Not until the latest entry in the diary was properly erased. She was running out of time.
“I have enough dresses for now, Johanna, the modiste measured me for the season and ordered my season’s wardrobe last week. My debut is in the capital soon.” Patricia hated to think of how many problems traveling so far might bring about. She’d have to take extra quills for notes from her book. Just to be safe.
Johanna’s curiosity was piqued, “your debut?” She turned to their mother, hesitant to ask, “her - - debut?”
The Duchess of Shreik nodded, “you’ll have yours as well when you are sixteen. It’s an opportunity to form alliances and potential marriage agreements. Your nanny should have told you this.” She very likely had, and Johanna had simply not been listening. She’d always been easily distracted. It was one of her charms, of which Patricia was too polite to point out.
“Mother, you describe it as if I’m going to war,” Patricia said, a hint of humor in her voice, trying to calm the look of utter fear in her younger sister’s eyes, “I should rather think of it like I’m just meeting a few people I might like to befriend.” Anxious or not, she had become very practiced at putting on a calm act for the benefit of others.
“I suppose that is another way to put it,” their mother agreed, a small smile playing upon her lips. Johanna startled in her seat, pinching her hands together. She hadn’t yet come to understand their mother’s sense of humor quite yet. It was very dry, rather like over-cooked bread without the jam.
The carriage drew to a halt at long last, and one of the footmen opened the door, stepping back nobly to bow and offer a hand to the duchess, “your grace.”
She alighted from the carriage, quickly followed by Johanna. She was a little clumsy, unused to such rides. She’d never set foot from their manor before. Patricia was the last to step down, giving her sister a polite nod.
“You’ll have fun today. I promise. Perhaps you might even find things with fewer bows.” She was well aware of her younger sister’s fussing at breakfast. Johanna did not like many adornments, and it showed. She’d be happy to know that now she was old enough to express that opinion and decide for herself what sort of clothing she would wear, within reason. Personally, if she wasn’t always so focused on preventing her own death in one form or another, Patricia would adore shopping.
Anthony stood at a distance, awaiting direction from either the coachman or duchess.
“Anthony, I’d like you to accompany me to the florist today,” Patricia called to him before her mother could decide which footman would do the job, “I’ll be picking up some new arrangements for my room this fall.”
Anthony clicked his heels a little too sharply and bowed a little too quickly, “as you wish, young miss.” She didn’t miss the excited glint in his eye.
The Duchess paid her eldest daughter no mind, having full trust in her to do as she’d said she would and make no sojourns anywhere else. Instead, she took Johanna’s arm in hers and patted it gently, “come. Madame Jeune has been looking forward to this. You will want for nothing today, Johanna. That is a promise.”
Slowly, the younger daughter’s shoulders relaxed. Patricia assumed she was beginning to see that their parents were just as human as anyone else. It wasn’t an easy lesson. She was already much faster on the draw than Patricia had been. Especially considering the book.
Patricia almost flinched at that unwanted thought, remembering the beastly thing sitting on her writing desk at home. So far, the story of her death had changed one thousand and seventeen times. Today she intended to change it again. She still had a few hours.
Once the duchess and Johanna had set off towards the high streets, Patricia took Anthony and made her way in the opposite direction. He did have his vices, but otherwise was a perfect gentleman and didn’t question Patricia as to why she had her strange shopping habits. However, that didn’t prevent him from expressing a thought or two, when she allowed.
“Young miss, er–my lady, I shouldn’t like to ever risk your m–her grace learning of these sojourns,” Anthony said with a nervous twist of his cravat as he trailed respectably behind her over the cobbled streets. It was too early for heavy foot traffic just yet, so there was no risk of them being separated without some effort.
“It is no secret to my mother that I like flowers,” Patricia replied, clasping her hands in front of her as she walked further and further towards the lesser viewed part of the city.
“Indeed, my lady, and there are many prestigious flower shops in the high streets that would be honored to have your presence.”
“I was not aware, Anthony, that you were such an expert in the matter. Perhaps instead of escorting me to my own preferred establishment, then, you’d like to wait in the coach? It’s a shame. I had hoped to give you a few pennies for your trouble,” Patricia replied with her well-rehearsed speech she often gave him. Their little code language, really.
“Oh, of course not, my lady. After all, it is well-known that your tastes in flowers and the like are revered. I would not dare question your favored shops, as I know they must be of exceeding quality. In fact, I would go so far as to say that only one with such a discerning eye as yourself could truly see the value in the shops and roads less traveled. You are the most tasteful, refined, and mature–”
“Anthony, just take the money. Meet me on the corner at the appointed hour, and be sure this time that you can properly walk. I should think mother is smart enough to realize you can’t have a sudden and devastating illness every time we visit the city.”
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Her attendant nodded, clicking his heels and bowing with a little more fanfare than necessary. His wig nearly slipped in the process. She reached into her reticule wrapped around her wrist and gave him the pennies in question with a practiced smile, “thank you. You are, as ever, a loyal servant.”
“My life for yours,” he vowed, quickly pocketing the money in his breast pocket once he’d finished his bow. He wasn’t actually lying, despite his vices. Anthony did in fact have a deep seated loyalty to the Shreik family.
“You can be assured, Anthony, that if there was ever anyone in the world I knew I could trust, it is you,” Patricia promised. It was true, too. More than one of her journal entries had shown her things about Anthony that even he had no idea he was capable of. In another world, he would have laid down his life for her. Seventeen times so far, actually. He was a good man.
Beaming with pride, Anthony nodded, “thank you, my lady.”
This was a routine, Patricia excusing herself from her mother’s side and making her way through the streets to a halfway mark. Then she’d send Anthony on his way, and head to a very unique shop tucked away through a deep alley where no reasonable shopkeeper should ever take up residence. An unconvincing front. A haven from the city watch.
She had only chanced upon this place through an entry in her journal. Happenstance. A snippet of a girl staying by her side when the chunk of a building crushed her. Patricia had come to meet a lot of people through the written word before seeing them in person, thanks to that book.
It had taken several visits to the city to figure out who the woman in her book was, tedious shopping trips with her mother, afternoon luncheons, and desperate crowd searching. The notes in Patricia’s journal had described the lady wearing all green, with a flash of red hair so vivid she could swear it was made of spun fire. Hard to miss someone like that. When she’d finally spotted her, Patricia very nearly dashed from the cafe with her scone still firmly gripped in her gloved fingers. Only last spring had she finally discovered the girl’s name and residence.
She was a florist. A botanist. A con artist. Most importantly of all, a scribe and a friend.
“Is that the lady Patricia I hear?” A voice chirped from the front counter at the sound of the door.
“No, you heard the bell above the door, Brinley,” Patricia replied with a soft smile as she entered the shop. As dirty as the street outside was, as dark as the alley, the shop on the inside was quite welcoming. It was filled to the brim with plants and flowers in a constant war with rickety shelves of tinctures and powders. Sooner or later one sort of inventory would win out over the other. Occasionally a plant might knock a bottle to the floor, and the liquid from the shattered glass would retaliate by splashing a nearby flower and setting it aflame. The resident products in the shop had a very tenuous existence.
“Well, well, look at you!” Brinley called out, “dressed up like a real fancy piece today!”
Patricia very politely did not roll her eyes. It was the same remark, the same poor joke every time she visited. The first time they’d met, Brinley had mistaken her for an expensive albeit too-young courtesan. The misunderstanding had followed her all the way to Shreik manner where she’d personally made a delivery to Patricia’s maid. She’d never forget the look of terror in Brinley’s eyes that day. It was a far better joke.
“Brinley, I have a few pages for you,” Patricia began, pulling the papers from her reticule she’d painstakingly tied together with several ribbons. Just in case someone was too nosy, namely Johanna.
“Same as always, I see,” Brinley nodded from her counter, leaning over the well-used wooden surface that had been stained a thousand times over with concoctions and spilt potting soil.
“Same as always,” Patricia agreed, turning back to reassure herself that the door was closed and sealed from any nosy passersby. She quickly approached the counter, skirts brushing at dust and greasy tile. “You really should clean this place more often,” she pointed out as she offered the papers to Brinley.
The woman rolled her eyes, rolling up her too-long green sleeves and greedily snatching the packet of papers. “Bring one of those fancy ladies of yours to do the job or grab a bucket if it bothers you that much, my lady.”
“I’d have to double their wages,” Patricia replied. They both stared back at each other silently for a good beat, before Brinley’s face cracked into a wide grin.
“Triple if they saw what I had in the back,” Brinley agreed. She reached across the counter to a jar of sharpened knives and quills jammed together like a wood and feather bouquet, deftly snatching up one of the knives to cut open the ribbons binding the papers in her hand. Patricia took one delicate step back to avoid the carnage. The quick and clumsy way Brinley wielded a knife, a quill, or even a potted plant was at times unsettling. Patricia had nearly lost a quarter of her sleeve once when she wasn’t paying attention.
“What do we have here? Poisoned soup? A falling clock? Dropsy?” Brinley mused, scanning through the papers.
“Nothing like that today,” Patricia replied. “One of the horses threw a shoe yesterday. I broke a necklace and slipped out of an open window. Choked on an olive pit.”
Brinley’s eyebrows shot up as she read, “well I was close with the soup, then.” She kept reading, flipping back and forth between a few of the pages and only occasionally laughing.
“Really,” she remarked, “I’ve never known someone as clumsy as yourself, my lady.”
Patricia drew herself to her full height, “Speak for yourself. I am not clumsy. These things never happened!”
“You’ve very nearly killed me three times with the way you wear those heels of yours,” Brinley pointed out.
“Which is why I’ve told you to clean this place more often,” Patricia replied in kind. “Besides, I only nearly killed you once, and the other two times were in the journal. I’ve also saved you at least a dozen times.”
“I’d never have been in danger if you weren’t there,” Brinley insisted.
“Not true. You’re lucky you were even mentioned in the book, and just so happened to nearly die when I did.”
Brinley did not have Patricia’s patience or self control. She did not resist an intense roll of her own eyes as she placed the papers back on the counter.
“You should get rid of that book. I still say if you didn’t have the damn thing, none of the near deaths you’ve read about would even be possible. That thing is causing it. It’s dark magic.”
“We don’t know that for certain. I don’t want to take the risk. I also don’t want to retread this conversation, just put the papers with the others for me, will you? You’re the only person I can trust to keep them safe.”
Brinley nodded, her displeasure plain on her face, “sooner or later, you will need to do something more than just recording these entries and cataloging them. If you found it in your father’s library, he must know something more. Or a priest of the scales might.” She wasn’t going to drop the subject so easily, and already Patricia knew she was in for a lecture.
“I’m glad to be your right hand woman, my lady. I truly am. Still, I worry,” Brinley continued, no longer the humorous friend, but now the woman twenty years Patricia’s senior, “this is something neither of us understands, and it’s getting worse. You used to only have to write these once every month or so. Then it became every other week. It’s getting more frequent. Yes, you can stay in your bedchambers afraid to move or speak or live, but isn’t that the same as just letting one of these pages come true?”
Patricia looked away, her hands primley tucked together, worrying at the fingers of her gloves, “if I tell my father, that’s a much larger conversation.”
“Yes, he may be disappointed,” Brinley replied with a frustrated tone. “I disappoint my own father every year I’m not married and pregnant. That doesn’t stop me from telling him things that are important.” She tapped a finger on the counter to illustrate her point, “this is important.”
“I’ve dealt with it fine for the last four years,” Patricia replied softly.
“All you did was find a book in a room you’re not supposed to be in at night. It would have been fine enough if you’d told him the truth when you did. The longer this goes on, the worse it’s going to get.”
Patricia turned her head towards one of the shelves, suddenly fascinated with a brightly-colored flower that looked like a mixture between a daisy and a snake, teeth included. “What if he didn’t know it was there?” She asked softly, “I’d be dragging him and the rest of my family into this. The book might…” She trailed off, afraid to even speak the words.
Brinley’s face softened, and she leaned against the counter now as if she’d exhausted herself beyond her limits. Her shoulders slumped. “The book might drag them into it? Is that what you’re worried about?”
“Mother saw it once. She thought the pages were empty. She couldn’t see the words writing themselves,” Patricia replied, almost but not-quite changing the subject.
“So you’ve told me.”
“They might not even believe the truth of it,” Patricia added, “or they might think I’m mad. What if I am?” She turned her head back to meet Brinley’s eyes, “what if none of this is really happening?”
Brinley shook her head, “you aren’t mad at all. I know you aren’t. You’ve proven it a thousandfold to me. Remember the south-end fire?”
Patricia shook her head, “it didn’t happen.”
“Not anymore, it didn’t,” Brinley pointed out, “you prevented it. You and me.”
“Only because–”
“My lady.” Brinley held up a hand to quiet her, “I was there with you. I saw it.”