Faith being Faith, she quickly gave me reason to regret delegating battle plan retrieval to her. Although it started off well enough, with the Kinclaith housemaid reporting that Faith popped up to request a favor from Irimina (which was also how I would have approached the problem), everything degenerated from there.
Releasing a pent-up, long-suffering sigh, Faith collapsed onto the sofa and tumbled length-wise across the cushions. (The maid, who’d contrived to be cleaning the hallway outside the parlor, winced at the damage to the embroidery. Irimina, who wasn’t the one who’d have to repair it, merely leaned forward curiously.) Theatrically, Faith moaned, “My fellow crewmates keep going on and on about how they want some of General Helker’s documents, and I really want a copy just to keep it away from both of them.”
At the mention of her adoptive children’s biological mother’s papers, Irimina froze, and the maid crept closer to the parlor to polish a sconce very, very thoroughly.
Blithely, Faith continued, “And maybe to burn, so it doesn’t end up in the wrong hands.” She half-rolled onto her side to simper across the coffee table at Irimina. “There will also be some taunting of my crewmates, of course, with snippets from the documents that I happen to recall juuuuuust before I accidentally set them on fire. And then accidentally drop them into the canal. And then accidentally set the canal on fire.” (Given the size of some of those canal weed flotillas, that wasn’t quite as improbable as it sounded.)
Reassured that Faith wasn’t planning to commit treason using her children’s legacy, Irimina relaxed and poured tea for both of them. “As amusing as that would be, Faith, they’re not really my documents,” she pointed out. “They belong to the children. I’m just the custodian.” Then a suspicious frown creased her forehead, and her fingers practically strangled her poor teacup. “Why do your crewmates want General Helker’s papers?”
Bouncing back up in a flutter of lace and bows, Faith swept up her teacup and proclaimed, “I’m pretty sure that the papers in question are battle plans for a potential invasion of Iruvia.” She faked a social butterfly sort of moue, disclaiming any unladylike interest in military affairs – and fooling neither Irimina nor the maid. “Isha wants them for inscrutable reasons involving Iruvian politics – and possibly to prepare in case of a war – and Ash wants them for financial manipulation and profit. And I, personally, just want to be rid of the things!”
(Here the housemaid paused and blinked at me, silently inquiring why a Doskvolian assassin who specialized in removing impediments to her mistress’ smuggling sideline would have any connection to Iruvian military preparations. Ye gods, Irimina didn’t screen her staff as obsessively as Sigmund or Elstera Avrathi. I’d have to increase the maid’s pay, effective immediately, lest she sell me out to the Iruvian Consulate.)
Irimina, meanwhile, was also dismayed by Faith’s revelations, albeit for an entirely different reason. In a loud, strident voice, she demanded, “You think General Helker made plans to invade Iruvia?” She couldn’t quite suppress an anxious glance in the direction of her drawing room, where she kept her Iruvian antiquities.
(Although the maid didn’t think anything of her reaction, I personally found it informative: If Irimina’s primary interest in my homeland were art trafficking, then the confusion of war would provide extra opportunities for her crew. So what, then, was her stake in Iruvia?)
Still playing the vapid socialite for all she was worth, Faith pouted most prettily and blinked with wounded innocence. “I do not presume to know anything on the subject,” she declared. “However, the Iruvian Consulate certainly believes it, as well as other organizations that I hear have been scheming to acquire these battle plans.” In an abrupt switch, she dropped the act and asked entirely seriously, “May I speak to the children?”
Caught off guard, Irimina (whose possession of maternal instincts had shocked her entire staff) bit her lip and hesitated, torn over whether she should shield the children for just a bit longer. But Polonia, at least, was already sixteen and, as General Helker’s daughter, would be thrown into realpolitik as soon as she debuted. Protecting her now would only weaken her later – perhaps fatally – in the world of Imperial politics.
“Yes,” Irimina decided at last, reluctantly. Half to herself, half to Faith, she explained, “The papers really are theirs, and they’re old enough to start making their own decisions.”
Picking up a bell, she rang for the butler, Rutherford, and ordered him to summon the children. (Under my tutorage, the maid had learned not to duck or hide, but to continue dusting with supreme confidence, which was what she did now. My mousy little archivist could take lessons from her.)
After a significantly longer wait than necessary, the two teenagers, both still dressed in deep mourning, slunk past the maid into the parlor. There they positioned themselves just inside the doorway, ready to flee as soon as their mother released them. At the sight of an outsider, Polonia drew herself up rigidly, like a soldier at parade rest.
(“She’s very driven, miss,” explained the maid. “Hero-worships her mother. Her mother the gen’ral, I mean. She wants to join the Imperial milit’ry and serve the country, make a name for herself, whatnot. Her tutors say that her essays on milit’ry strategy are pre-co-cious.”)
Thirteen-year-old Andrel, on the other hand, was the very image of a disheveled scholar, with rumpled hair and shirts that somehow looked slovenly no matter how many times they were pressed. Sneaking a peek at his sister, he suddenly realized that he was still holding a book in one hand, two fingers stuck in the middle to mark the page. Guiltily, he thrust it behind his back and attempted to straighten.
Faith just scanned both of them with a deep amusement that did nothing to endear her to the teens, who regarded her with polite, aloof expressions.
Overlooking the tension, Irimina performed the introductions. “Polonia, Andrel, this is Faith Karstas. She’s the one who arranged all of this, really,” she said, bestowing a fond smile on all three of them. “Faith, these are Polonia and Andrel Helker Kinclaith.”
As soon as she registered that Irimina hadn’t used the more proper, formal “Miss Karstas,” Polonia’s eyelids flickered. Processing the implications of that liberty, the girl scrutinized Faith, noting her outfit with disapproval.
Unfazed, Faith greeted her without a hint of mockery: “I’m honored to make your acquaintance.” Turning to Andrel, she said, “And yours as well.” A teasing tone slid into her voice as she added, “Although you really shouldn’t believe what Professor Morriston says about ghosts in Chapter Two. His claim there was really more of a challenge to his research rival, who proposed the opposite hypothesis.”
Andrel’s eyes flew wide open. Forgetting his manners, he blurted out, “You’re a Whisper!”
Still at parade rest, Polonia glared sideways at her little brother and hissed, “Andrel, don’t be rude.”
“Please, I’m a witch!” protested Faith with exaggerated seriousness. “But I suppose Whisper also works.” Setting her teacup back on its saucer, she also straightened up in preparation for business. “So – I apologize for dragging you all the way downstairs.”
Both children glowered at her.
Playing the understanding adult mentor, Faith appealed, “Look, I was your age once, not that long ago – ” Now it was her turn to glare at Irimina, who unconvincingly choked back a chuckle. “I know exactly what it’s like to want to sit upstairs and read my damn books, but get forced to interact with my mother’s houseguests.”
Both children resonated with that, Andrel more obviously than his sister.
Since the sympathy tack was working, Faith played on Polonia’s patriotism next. “I have very kindly come to you today in order to make your life a lot more difficult – on top of dragging you downstairs at a moment’s notice, of course. I want to tell you about a strategy problem that exists and that is entirely within your power to solve.”
At that, Andrel frowned a little, but Polonia stood to attention, eyes fixed unwaveringly on Faith’s face.
“I, of course, have my own desires as to the outcome. However, you will have your own objectives. You’re old enough, you’re a good thinker, you’re entirely capable of making a decision that is right for you.” Switching into the role of an intelligence agent reporting to her superior, Faith proceeded to outline the situation with their mother’s battle plans, not sparing any details about the Iruvians’ attempts to recover them to prepare for war, and the business interests’ desire to use them to manipulate the economy. At the end, she warned, “This probably isn’t the only copy of the battle plans, but possessing it might pose some risks to you and those around you.”
Fully aware of their mother’s controversial legacy and the enemies they’d inherited, both children flinched. As one, they stared pleadingly at Irimina, whose stern expression promised that she’d protect them at all costs.
After allowing a moment for that touching mother-children bonding, Faith finished her little speech with, “I expect that you’ll need some time to consider this, and in the meantime, I’m happy to offer guidance. I just wanted to make you aware of an evolving situation and the importance of your role therein.”
Relaxing her military pose and squirming just slightly, Polonia clarified, “So everybody is worried that the Imperium plans to invade Iruvia?”
“My understanding is that the Imperium plans to invade everyone,” Faith retorted. A sliver of her usual self seeping out, she asked rhetorically, “Wouldn’t it be terrible if there existed a small island or archipelago that didn’t have a possibility of being invaded? That’s what empires do!” Irimina cleared her throat delicately, and Faith actually reined herself in to say more seriously, “I’m pretty sure that the Imperium plans for every eventuality. Certainly, Iruvia believes invasion is a possibility.”
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Eyes wide, Polonia burst out, “I’m not – but I’m not sure – look, my mom drew up a lot of battle plans that were never going to happen! I’m sure this was just one of them – a thought experiment!”
“I’m sure it was,” Faith soothed her. “However, General Helker was brilliant, and if she believed that a war would go in a particular direction, even as a thought experiment, then when the war actually breaks out, the Grand Marshal will immediately want to consult these thought experiments to see how it might evolve.”
Shifting uncomfortably, Polonia stuttered a little, torn over whether divesting herself of the papers was tantamount to treason. “I…I need to think about things,” she said at last, sounding exactly like a terrified, vulnerable child on the verge of breaking.
Here, I would have pushed on her fear for her brother and new mother and persuaded her to hand over the documents immediately lest she lose them too. Faith, however, had different priorities. She reassured the girl, “I understand completely. And I will be here when you’re ready.”
Polonia clasped her hands behind her back and jerked out a little nod.
Lightening the mood in the parlor, Faith smiled at her and changed the subject. “Andrel, when you make it to Chapter Six, I have some hilarious anecdotes to share about how that research was performed.”
Intrigued, the boy opened his mouth to start peppering her with questions, but Polonia quelled him with a ferocious scowl, and Irimina dismissed them both so she could have a private conversation with her lover.
Which, unfortunately, failed to include any discussion of how criminally irresponsible and negligent it was to leave matters of Imperium-wide significance in the hands of a sixteen-year-old.
What in the names of all the forgotten gods had possessed me to assign battle plan retrieval to Faith? And why did a psychopathic Whisper who replicated Bluecoat torture and ripped out enemies’ souls for eternal torment have to develop a conscience when it came to these two specific children, from whom I desperately needed to wrest a set of documents? If she had to get all gooey and maternal, we had an entire orphanage for her to dote on.
At the end of the housemaid’s report, I grated out, “Can you get into that safe?”
She answered so quickly that she must have anticipated the question and studied it already. “No, miss,” she replied regretfully. “Maybe if I recruit Rutherford…?”
“No,” I cut her off. “No, that won’t be necessary.”
The fewer the people who knew about the situation, the better. Besides, Rutherford seemed like the loyal sort. To Irimina, that was. To reinforce her maid’s allegiance to me, I doubled her pay on the spot. Then I wandered through Charterhall for a while, pondering this entire other side to Faith and wondering just who she was.
----------------------------------------
Another piece of that puzzle revealed itself in the most unexpected way. One afternoon, while Ash was inspecting his properties in Coalridge, Faith darted out of her railcar compartment and caught my arm as I passed. Clinging to my elbow and ignoring my scowl, she beamed full-force and chattered, “Isha dear, I was going to pay a visit to one Mistress Slane.”
On the verge of brushing past her, I shook her off and reclaimed my arm. “Why are you – oh, the favor.”
In exchange for the memories Faith had extracted from Vhetin, Zamira had pledged one service, to be specified and performed at a later date. Evidently Faith had finally figured out what she wanted. A shame it wasn’t going to have anything to do with filching the battle plans.
“Of course!” Faith chirped, widening her green eyes at me. “Would you like to come?”
As uncomfortable as I felt around the Tycherosi and their medley of demon tells, I couldn’t miss this chance to see what she wanted – although I feigned reluctance for form’s sake anyway. “Sure,” I shrugged. “I guess someone has to protect her from you.”
“Ouch!” she cried, delighted by my attitude. “You’re feisty today!”
In preparation for this critical interview, Faith had donned what she assured me was her “most dignified dress,” which I supposed was even sort of true. At any rate, the silk shaded more towards champagne peach than hot pink, the skirt only had two tiers of relatively subdued ruffles, and the lace trim fully covered her kneecaps – a truly fantastical display of restraint where her wardrobe was concerned.
It was, of course, wasted on Ash’s mother, who couldn’t have cared less how her son’s associates dressed, so long as they proved themselves steadfast and reliable. From behind her desk, keeping her tail out of sight, she greeted us calmly, “Miss Karstas, Miss Yara, what can I do for you?”
I, as usual, faked a polite smile, took a seat near the door, and left the talking to my crewmate.
Sinking into a chair across from Zamira, Faith smoothed her skirts over her knees and leaned forward earnestly. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice. I believe you owe us a favor, and we’d like to call it due.”
Ash’s mother merely nodded, looking half apprehensive and half resigned, as if she knew exactly what Faith had in mind and was willing to try to provide it – but feared that it would be extremely difficult and maybe even impossible.
“Now,” proclaimed Faith in her best headmistress voice, “this is going to be somewhat complicated and involved, and I’d like you to bear with me until the end.”
“All right….”
“I have a terrible, evil, unethical plan to get revenge on Ash.”
Zamira literally recoiled, her tail flicking up.
With fake sympathy, Faith assured her, “And by getting revenge on Ash, I mean playing a prank on him!” Ignoring the way Zamira’s tail swished back and forth, she continued, “You will tell Ash the following: As a representative of Tycherosian interests in Doskvol, you have been tasked with stoking – oh, what am I saying? – creating more pro-Tycherosian sentiment among the local population. Just think of your demon tells, and how different and confusing and chaotic they are! They are unsightly to the good citizens of Doskvol, and are influencing them against you.”
At that, Zamira flattened her tail with an effort, although her expression never changed.
“As a result, you have decided to standardize your demon tells so Doskvolians feel more comfortable around you. What you have settled on is having all Tycherosi hide their true flaws and wear fake cat ears instead. For the foreseeable future.”
If it hadn’t been for the tail, I’d have thought Zamira’s demon tell was marble-encrusted skin.
Like an empress bestowing a great boon, Faith conceded, “Of course, I have no expectations that you and your followers will do this – except when Ash is around.”
Zamira Slane, adept of That Which Hungers, head of a crew of Tycherosi who specialized in all manner of magical healing and body modifications, gaped at Faith, incredulous that this was the favor she called in. “And this is what you want,” Ash’s mother stated, her flat tone somehow turning it into a question anyway. “Not any of our normal services.”
“No, I believe my request is quite specific.” Faith sounded as guileless as could be. “I assume this is somewhat outside the realm of your normal services, but I hope in this case, you can make an exception because of how much you like us.”
She slanted a glance in my direction, gauging my appreciation of her performance. When Zamira’s eyes followed hers, I shook my head vigorously, disclaiming any responsibility for this crazy scheme.
Pursing her lips, Zamira ran some mental calculations, trying to figure out just how much influence she actually had over the other Tycherosi. She wouldn’t have been a Slane, of course, if she accepted a deal as proposed. “Miss Karstas,” she warned, “I’m not sure I’m entirely comfortable with the idea of this being…indefinite.”
Unperturbed, Faith laid one finger on her lips and feigned deep thought. “Hmmm, how long do demonic bargains traditionally last? A year and a day?” She lowered her finger and smiled cherubically. “I’ll settle for one month. All sixty days of it.”
Ash’s poor mother ran some more mental calculations and capitulated gracefully. “Very well, you did save my daughter’s life and, I suppose this can be…arranged if this is what you want and not anything else.” She drew out these last words, giving Faith every possible opportunity to reconsider.
Faith assured her, “Ma’am, I’ve carefully considered my desires, and I’ve decided that this is indeed what I want for my life. But at the end of the month, do please tell Ash that I was the one who put you up to this.”
Zamira’s raised eyebrows informed her that that had never been up for debate. “I will be certain to let him know, Miss Karstas.”
I couldn’t resist a dry, “I don’t think he’ll need telling, Faith.”
With an insufferably proud grin, Faith bounced out of her chair and twirled towards the door. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Mistress Slane! Until next time!”
As I leaped to my feet too, Zamira called, “Miss Yara, may I have a word with you? In private?”
I hesitated only a heartbeat longer than was polite. “All right.”
“Isha! Are you going to be okay?” Faith stage-whispered as she sidled past, casting many conspicuous glances at Zamira. “I hear there are demons about.”
In reply, I opened the door and stabbed an imperious finger into the hallway, to which she responded by patting me encouragingly on the head and flouncing out. Feeling exposed and vulnerable, I slunk over to her chair and perched on the very edge.
Like her son, Zamira had perfected the art of overlooking such slights, and she began calmly, “Normally, I would take this up with my son, but you are here, and he is not.”
“Yes,” I agreed, wondering if it would be unspeakably rude to suggest that we wait until Ash was here to have this conversation. Surely if Zamira could stomach Faith’s antics, she could also tolerate my, er, lack of tolerance?
“Are you keeping an eye on her…condition?”
The question jolted me back into the present. Faith had a condition? “Faith’s, you mean?” I clarified, fishing for more information.
Zamira, unfortunately, believed that I already knew what she was talking about and spoke in maddening euphemisms. “At the time that I offered the favor, I assumed that she would choose to deal with her…problem. But apparently not? I just want to make sure that someone is keeping an eye on it.”
Come to think of it, I did recall my archivist mentioning a cryptic conversation in which Faith demanded that Madame Keitel purge her mind of all memories of all spas. What had Madame Keitel said then? Something about how she’d removed more memories from Faith than anyone alive, which might cause problems?
Trying to extract more details from Zamira, I inquired, “Is it something you can fix?”
“Maybe?” was her frank answer. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
“I know it’s being monitored,” I said, keeping it ambiguous as to who was doing the monitoring, “but is there anything in particular that Ash and I should look out for?”
Zamira spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “I suppose…I don’t know her well, but…I suppose a telltale sign would be a general…loss of humanity?”
“I see.” Cycling through Faith’s actions in my head, I concluded that a dismaying proportion of them fit that descriptor.
“But as long as you and Ash are keeping an eye on it….”
Would she never just come right out and name the problem?
Easy, Isha. Remember your lessons. Handle your agents gently.
Suppressing my irritation (and the nagging sense that Sigmund would already have wheedled the information out of her), I hinted, “Do you know what might be exacerbating it?”
She still refused to address it directly. “Like I said, it’s not like anything I’ve seen before. I mean, she is a Whisper, isn’t she? Any number of arcane factors could be at play. Whispers tend to be overly reckless and not particularly protective of their own humanity.”
I could have screamed in frustration, but instead, I adopted the sober manner of a concerned friend. “What should Ash and I do?”
“I don’t know. I suppose if you value your association with her, you should convince her to get someone to look at it.”
“I’ll talk to Ash,” I promised, actually meaning it. After all, he’d been taking lessons on attunement, so if nothing else, he could scan Faith for any obvious spiritual issues. Failing that, he could sway Madame Keitel into telling him everything, and then mesmerize her into forgetting that she had.
“All right.” Relaxing at last, Zamira breathed a sigh of relief that she’d discharged any kind of medical responsibility for Faith’s mysterious “condition.” She leaned back in her chair and gave me a wry smile. “Now I suppose I need to acquire cat ears.”
Ones sewn from faux fur, I hoped – otherwise the local rat population was going to explode. Not that I was going to ask.
“My condolences,” I said as I exited.
“It’s only a month,” she reassured herself more than me.
“My condolences,” I repeated.