Abbee ran three errands in the city while Thad switched over the suite cart. One to exchange some of her gems for coin. She found a jeweler near the train yard who was more interested in who had cut such flawless stones than how someone like Abbee had come to have so many of them. She sold a third, mostly rubies and sapphires. The larger stones to free up space. Abbee left the shop with full money pouches and a promise to return someday that she didn’t intend to keep.
Her second errand involved a trinket store. The jeweler gave her directions to two. The closest one he spoke of in derisive tones, and the furthest one got a warm recommendation. Abbee picked the closest one. She found it around the corner from the jeweler, in a basement. A bell tinkled above her head when she opened the door. Several lamps illuminated low shelves in front and taller ones in the back. The whole place smelled of old paper and the sea.
A girl with dark eyes stuck her head out from the back. “Hi. You looking for something specific or just browsing?”
“You got any seashells?” Abbee asked.
The girl rolled her eyes. “This is Kiva. Of course we got seashells.” She pointed. “Right-hand corner in the front. Holler when you see something you want.” She disappeared back behind the tall shelves.
Abbee found a display case with a glass front. Four narrow wooden shelves stuffed with all manner of seashells. Big ones, little ones, all brightly colored. It looked less like a product display and more like the place the shop stored its shells. Abbee spent a couple of minutes searching for the one she wanted. There, on the bottom. The smallest, most boring seashell in the lot. “I got it,” she called.
A book slammed shut in the back. The girl walked out to the front. She squeezed behind the seashell display case. “Which one?”
Abbee bent over and pointed. “Bottom shelf, third—no, fourth from the left. My left. No, my left. The beige one that’s about five centimeters long. Yes, that one.”
The girl’s fingers found the right seashell. She pulled it out of the jumble and stood up. “You sure? This one looks … well, dull.”
“It’s perfect,” Abbee said.
“I almost don’t want to charge you. It’s not like my pa will notice it’s gone.”
Abbee fished out two coppers and laid them on the display case. “Will this do?”
“Sold,” the girl said, handing over the seashell. “Did you need anything else?”
“Do you have gift wrapping available?”
“For that?” the girl asked.
“Yes, please,” Abbee said. “The best you’ve got.”
“It’ll be more expensive than what you just paid,” the girl warned.
“That’s even better.”
***
Abbee took a buggy to the Kivan branch of the Bank of Akken for her third errand. On the outside, it looked identical to the one in Akken, with marble walls and grand windows. It didn’t seem as ostentatious here, since the rest of Kiva was sheathed in the same stone. Abbee walked through the front door, expecting a bubbling fountain like the one in Akken. No fountain, just a marble foyer with an open wall in the back into the main lobby. No big glass dome in the ceiling either. Abbee supposed it wouldn’t be a bank branch if it had all the trappings of the main building in Akken.
She walked into the lobby. A wide room with marble columns on either side. On the left and right walls stood many doors arranged in groups with House sigils overhead. Veronna Houses on the left, Akken Houses on the right. Abbee headed to the expansive desk in the back, where ten bank clerks sat in front of twelve unmarked doors. She joined the back of the long line of patrons snaking around stanchions linked by velvet rope. Abbee briefly worried about missing her train, but the clerks made short work of the line, and everyone moved along at a good clip.
Ahead of Abbee, a small girl stood next to her father in line. They were both dressed in fine woolens. A coat and trousers for him, and a gray dress for her. Abbee guessed she was no older than three. The girl apparently found Abbee fascinating, because she stared at her whenever their positions matched up in the line.
Halfway through the line, Abbee made a funny face at the girl. She giggled, and her bright laughter echoed off the lobby’s marble columns.
The father tapped the girl’s shoulder. “Avie, it’s not polite to stare.” To Abbee, he said, “I’m sorry if she’s bothering you.”
“It’s fine,” Abbee said. “At least she’s not crying.”
“You’re lucky on that score,” the man said. “Our Avie isn’t one for tears. She spends most of her time figuring out the locks we keep changing on the pantry door.”
Abbee arched her brow at the girl. “Thievery at such a young age, eh?”
“She loves cookies and knows where we keep them.”
“Locks are safer than putting them up high.”
Abbee remembered climbing up the shelves when she was the girl’s age. She couldn’t remember what for, because her parents had never had enough money for cookies. She had fallen once and nearly broken her arm. Her mother had been more scared than angry, but her father had laughed at her when he’d heard about it. Abbee had made a point of climbing everything after that.
She made another face at the little girl the next time their line positions matched, and the girl’s sunny laughter filled the lobby.
A few minutes later, Abbee got to the front of the line. She kept an eye on the clerks and patrons along the wide desk, feeling the pressure of patrons behind her expecting her to move fast. It was more stressful than some deadlier situations Abbee had been in. She turned her head from side to side and, after what seemed like minutes, spotted a clerk waving at her. She hurried over to free up her space at the front of the line.
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The clerk, a young man in a crisp uniform, sat behind a piece of glass with a space underneath it to pass objects. Dividers on either side of him and on either side of Abbee gave a sense of privacy. He shuffled some paper into a drawer under the desk and asked, without looking at Abbee, “What can I do for you today?”
“I’d like to send a package to Akken,” Abbee said. She put her wrapped seashell on the counter.
The clerk sighed. “You’ve wrapped it, I see. I’ll need to open that to see what you’re sending.”
“What for?”
“We had an incident a few years back with a wrapped parcel, and now bank personnel must inspect every item.”
“I feel like there’s a story there.”
“There is,” the clerk said. He gave her another smile. “Maybe I can tell you all about it after my shift.”
“That’s nice of you to ask,” Abbee said, “but I’m leaving town after this.” She untucked the wrapping paper on one end and exposed the seashell.
“That’s a … uh, a very nice seashell.”
Abbee frowned. “Are you judging my seashell?”
The clerk grimaced. “Oh, no, not at all.”
“You’re judging my seashell.”
“It’s a very nice seashell. The best I’ve seen in a long time. I’m sure whoever is getting this will swoon with delight.”
“How many dates do you get as a bank clerk?”
“Oh, more than you’d think. Dates, I mean. I think I look rather fetching in this uniform, and it’s steady work. Lots of people value a person with a steady job.” He sniffed. “Not like sailors.”
“I feel like there’s a story there too,” Abbee said. “Would you happen to have any of those gold-trimmed cards?”
“We do. It costs extra, mind you, and more than you paid for that seashell.”
“That’ll be perfect.”
The clerk gave her a funny look. He swiveled on his chair and picked up a writing tray off the desk beside him. Abbee closed the wrapping paper and moved her package to the side to make room for the tray. It had a quill and an inkwell. The clerk gave her a card. Abbee rubbed her fingers on the card. It felt expensive.
“Four silvers, please,” the clerk said.
Abbee arched a brow. “Four? That’s double what it used to be.”
The clerk shrugged. “And we used to have wizards to repair the broken transfer boxes. Teleportation is expensive these days.”
“Fine, fine,” Abbee said. She counted out four silvers from her pouch and slid them under the glass.
The clerk took them. “I can exchange all your physical coin for paper, if you’d—”
“No,” Abbee said. “I hate paper money.”
“Sorry,” the clerk said. “I’m supposed to make the pitch. I’m not a fan of the paper money either. It’s not durable enough yet.”
Abbee nodded her agreement. She knew storing the gems and excess coin in the bank would be easier, but Ipsu had warned her against ever opening an account. The network tracked everyone of interest, and if she wasn’t before, she was definitely of interest now. The easiest way to track someone was to follow their money around, and it also served as incredible leverage. The bank professed its neutrality in political machinations, but Abbee had no illusions about the network’s long arm. Never mind the fact that the bank would never allow her to open an account. She wasn’t allowed to set foot inside the Akken branch, and if these people only knew who she was, she’d be bodily removed.
She picked up the quill. A small smile danced on her lips as she wrote her note on crisp paper edged with gold. Her scratched letters looked out of place on bank stationery. Ipsu had taught her to read and write but hadn’t spent any time on penmanship. Abbee appreciated fine writing with the eye of someone with the patience to learn it but no intention of ever doing so. She had all the patience. Ipsu had taught her plenty.
Abbee didn’t sign her name. No need. Her handwriting was signature enough. She put Whimsy’s name in the recipient box with instructions for pickup. Abbee wanted her to go to the bank to get it. Half to get her out of the house and half to make her wonder why Abbee had sent something so ordinary via the most expensive method possible. Abbee could almost hear Whimsy’s annoyed sigh. She left the bank with a big grin that lasted all the way back to the train yard.
***
Thad was standing on the platform when she got back, watching his crew prepare the train for departure. He grunted when he saw her approach. “Almost left without you.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “Your cart’s in the back.”
“At the back, I’m assuming,” Abbee said. Easy to cut loose. It was where she’d put it if their roles were reversed, but she wasn’t about to show empathy to this man. He’d had her thrown into a tree.
“That’s right,” Thad confirmed. “Rules still stand. If you’re not on the train every morning, we leave without you.”
“What’s to stop you from dropping my cart somewhere between here and Joor?”
“My word,” Thad said. “I said I’d get you to Joor. Quietly, if possible. If you lose my hospitality en route, it’ll be because of something you did, not me. Get aboard. We leave in ten minutes, and I’m guessing it’s mutual when I say I hope not to run into you much during the trip.”
Abbee was about to mention she’d been trying to mind her own business the first time, but he turned away. She walked toward the back of the train and felt eyes all the way. Drovers watching her, presumably wondering who she was and why she was still alive. Why she got a suite cart all to herself. Abbee realized this whole train remembered her, and it didn’t matter if she tried to keep quiet or not. Any telepath who got within range would know she was on this train. She wondered if she’d made the right decision coming back after her errands. Right up until she climbed onto the suite cart and opened the door.
“Oh, yes,” she murmured.
Everything inside the cart was dark, polished wood with brass and copper accents. The first room was a compact mud room with a cushioned bench, a place for dirty boots, and hooks for coats. It had a mirror and tiny sink for sprucing up before going out. A hallway hooked around and ran the length of the cart. Five rooms beyond the mud room: three with doors and two without.
The first room was open and had a cozy sitting room with two high-backed chairs. Built-ins in the walls revealed a foldout table, meaning this room doubled as a dining space. A nearby drawer had a full utensil set, including the extra, mystery forks and spoons that Abbee had never learned how to use. Fine dining had not been in Ipsu’s training regime.
The next room was a kitchen full of drawers and cabinets, a large countertop, and even a sink with running water. Abbee found the holding tank in a cabinet above. She also found a bottle of whiskey. Top-shelf stuff from Kiva. She rooted around, looking for a glass. Pulled open a drawer and found four glass tumblers sitting in individual lined pockets, which kept them from moving and clinking while the train was underway. The thought that had gone into the suite cart’s construction fascinated Abbee. She poured herself a glass and toured the rest of the cart with it.
The next room was very small, with a narrow bed, chair, and sink. Abbee assumed this was for an attendant or someone like Havren. Suite cart riders weren’t doing all the work themselves. The last room in the suite cart was the primary bedroom. Abbee poked her head in and saw a large bed big enough for two people, thick carpet, and a window. A narrow door on the left led to a private privy. Abbee saw that the bed didn’t have any bedding on it, and made a note to look through all the drawers before she turned in for the night. She wanted to experience rich people’s sheets for this trip. Holding the bottle in one hand and her glass in the other, Abbee went into the sitting room and tested the chairs. They were wonderful. After her long, arduous trek through the woods, Abbee was looking forward to riding south in style.
***
Abbee closed the last drawer in the suite cart’s galley with a bang and a dark curse. She’d looked everywhere. No bedsheets. It had never occurred to her that wealthy people traveled with their own bedsheets. If they had the exorbitant sums required to reserve an entire train cart for a single trip, wouldn’t they have multiple sets of sheets? The suite’s bedroom had a massive bed in it. The biggest bed Abbee had ever seen, but the mattress was bare. No pillows either. It beat sleeping on the ground or in a hammock, but Abbee had been looking forward to experiencing satin sheets. She’d heard stories.
Thad. He had something to do with this. Abbee knew it. He’d come through here himself, stripping the bed with a smug face, removing the one thing Abbee had wanted. She knew it. He’d been in here. It wasn’t enough to put the cart at the back, wasn’t enough to threaten abandonment if she wasn’t on the train every morning, wasn’t enough to treat her like dirt.
He’d stolen her sheets.