Nestor settled himself comfortably against the bell tower of the church he was perched on. It was modest for a building on this level of the city. Dark brick with a few gothic spires pointing towards the heavens. Even the stained glass, while excellently crafted, seemed muted in comparison to the ornate display in the building just across the street. Whether it was some sort of great hall, or someone’s home, Nestor wasn’t sure, but it had had plenty of important people coming and going. People he was hoping to get a better look at.
It had been several weeks since he had woken up in the attic room of Sylvie’s shop. Several weeks since Amos had died, he reminded himself painfully. For a moment the Captain’s bellowed “Run!” rang in Nestor’s ears and he swallowed.
The door of the ornate building was thrown open and a tall, smiling figure walked out. Nestor leaned forward, well aware that the man wasn’t likely to notice him. Abram Stelart, part of the aristocratic class of Skystead. He had a love for sweets, wandering through the decorative gardens, and most importantly, an obsession with rare, priceless artifacts.
He was one of the three different men Nestor had started tracking from the moment he had been strong enough. Sylvie had been anxious for the first couple of days, but after Nestor had made a few trips back and forth and the constable hadn’t come calling, she had relaxed. Still though, Nestor never let himself be seen without his mask. The chance that the buyer had seen his face was too high. He couldn’t afford to put Sylvie in that danger. Not after she had rescued him.
He should really get her something, Nestor thought idly to himself as he slid down the church’s drainage pipes. She had a soft spot for chocolates, and if Stelart followed his usual route, that should put him and Nestor near a chocolatier. He could sneak over when the man had his afternoon tea in the rose garden that overlooked the city’s edge. By then, it would be time for Stelart to return to his home.
Nestor swallowed back the wave of frustration that came every time he remembered he was hardly any closer to the buyer’s identity. The crew had already decided to winter in Skystead. The rest of the pilfered goods had fetched a good price and no one was sure what to do without the Captain. At least, that’s what Geralt and a few of the others had told him. Some of the crew, including Geralt, were staying with the ship, but it was too risky for Nestor to leave the city when there were posted guards at the gates.
Why hadn’t he just thought to wear his mask? He kicked at a pinecone angrily as Stelart turned up the well worn stairs to the rose garden. The buyer had thought to conceal his identity and that had been the intention to kill all witnesses. If anyone should have been wearing a mask, it had been Nestor, and yet he hadn’t.
Abram Stelart turned into the rose garden after glancing at his pocket watch. Nestor didn’t need to look to know that it was half past noon. The same time Stelart came every day. He hesitated, watching the man through the reflection of the shop window he was pretending to browse. There. A young woman appeared, carrying a plate laden with biscuits and a brass kettle. He would be there for the next half hour, sometimes joined by one of his friends, but usually he just sat there, staring at the woods just outside of Skystead.
Nestor stared as the man plopped down at his little table and delicately bit into a biscuit. Just yesterday he had been convinced that Stelart was the buyer, but how could someone that could kill the captain so callously be so plain? He knew that the man had a private museum in his mansion, knew that some of his treasures were rumored to be highly illegal, but this couldn’t be the man that had killed Amos.
He turned away, letting himself melt into the swirling groups of people shopping. After dodging past a young family pushing their baby in a stroller, Nestor ducked into the candy shop.
The first thing that hit him was the smell. Warm and somehow reminiscent of happier times, it set his stomach rumbling. Luckily, he didn’t seem to be the only one. Small children stood with their hands and faces pressed up against the glass of a case filled with dozens of different kinds of chocolates, their parents just behind them. Dark chocolates with unmelted sugar lumps, filled chocolates, chocolate covered nuts, even a strange pink variety that Nestor wasn’t sure about. Could you dye chocolate? How was he supposed to choose?
Sooner than he would’ve liked, Nestor found himself standing at the front of a surprisingly short line.
“Well, what will it be?” asked the cheerful woman at the counter. Like him, she was wearing a mask. A bronze one with a sharp beak that covered her nose, leaving the lower half of her face exposed.
“I...well…” Nestor stammered.
The woman smiled, revealing oddly white teeth. “Well, what kind of flavors do you like? Perhaps an assortment?”
Nestor found himself nodding, entranced by the painted blue feathers on her mask. Maybe he could paint his?
“Do you prefer the bitter or sweet stuff darling?”
“Oh, it’s not for me,” Nestor said, looking back to the case full of chocolates. “Maybe a mix? I’m not sure what she likes.”
A grin lit up the woman’s face. “Oh, it’s for a girl? Don’t you worry, I’ve just the thing.” She pulled out a box covered in silver foil and began to pull chocolates from the case. One of the dark ones with the sugar lumps, a covered caramel, a pointy one with some sort of fruit filling, some of the chocolate covered nuts, and one of the pink ones in the shape of a heart.
“Could I maybe get a different one?” Nestor asked hesitantly, pointing at the pink chocolate.
The woman shot him a mischievous glance. “Trust me darling, you want this one.”
“What is it?”
“It’s called a ruby chocolate,” the woman explained as she finished selecting some of her chocolates from the case. “It’s not dyed,” she added, seemingly guessing what Nestor was thinking. “Would you like to try one?”
He shrugged and she handed him one of the hearts.
Nestor plopped it in his mouth, surprised when the chocolate that hit his tongue seemed to be infused with some sort of fruit.
“It’s pure chocolate,” the woman continued proudly. “I get it from a special bean grown just off the coast, I’m one of only three shops that they’ll sell too.”
“It’s good,” Nestor admitted. The woman beamed at him.
“Why don’t you bring your girl next time, darling?” she said as he paid for the chocolates. “I want to know what she thinks of my chocolates.”
Nestor nodded, not having the heart to tell her that that definitely would not be happening.
He left, clutching the silver box in one hand and adjusting his mask with the other.
Nestor allowed himself a glance at the rose garden, already knowing what he’d see. Abram Stelart was still sitting at his favorite table, idly sipping his tea and sketching one of the roses that seemed to have captured his attention.
Nestor snorted derisively. It was time to cross Stelart off his list.
After a short walk down several levels, Nestor came to Sylvie’s shop. He could just spot her through the windows, proudly showing off the new bear automaton she had been working on.
Casually, he walked to the back of the shop, resisting the urge to look around him. Out of sight of anyone from the mainstreet, he allowed himself to glance around the small alleyway he stood in. Of course, no one was there.
Stolen novel; please report.
Then he was climbing the thick pipes up to the gorgeous glass dome above. He pushed the loose pane in front of him, crawling in and feeling pleased that his chest no longer burned when he did it. The first time he had tried to get back, the residual effects of the poison had seemed to seize his lungs and left him curled around himself and gasping for air for what felt like hours. Luckily neither Sylvie or Geralt had been there.
They weren’t there right then either, Nestor saw as he turned away from securing the loose pane of glass. Instead, the multicolored beams of light streamed through the empty room, something that had grown increasingly soothing to Nestor. He settled into his favorite corner and waited, hiding the chocolates just out of view.
The swirling lights had faded into a muted mural across the floor by the time Nestor heard the creak of the ladder. Sylvie appeared moments later, balancing two plates of something steaming with one arm while expertly opening the trap door with the other.
“I didn’t hear you come in this time,” she said matter of factly.
Nestor smiled, not accepting the plate of mashed potatoes and stewed meat. “I’m getting more stealthy.”
“You’d better.” Sylvie shook her head. “I still think they’re going to recognize your mask.”
“Half the city wears them,” Nestor said easily. “If anything it helps me blend in.”
“You should at least have multiple, I could make some.”
He shook his head before she could continue. “I can’t ask you to do that, besides, if they’re really watching that closely, they’ll notice that it’s still me, just with different masks.”
Sylvie tilted her head, considering. “Just be careful,” she said, pushing the tray of food at him. “The last thing I need is people rifling through my shop.”
“I always am.” Nestor finally accepted the food, his mouth watering a bit when the smell hit him. “I got something for you.” He pulled out the silvery box, feeling suddenly embarrassed when he noticed that the bow had somehow gotten lopsided.
Sylvie took it, one eyebrow slightly raised. “I wasn’t aware I was charging rent, what’s this for?”
“Just to say thank you,” Nestor said, trying to keep his tone light and natural. “You kind of saved my life after all.”
She smiled. “Don’t you forget it. Now, are you going to eat that food? Or are you just going to starve to death and ruin all my hard work?”
Nestor settled down with his food, Sylvie following his lead moments later. She held the box up, the silvery wrapping reflecting tiny rainbows across her face. “Chocolates!” Her eyes widened for a moment before regaining her composure. “Thank you.”
Nestor was grinning. “I was hoping you’d like them.”
“Except…why is this one pink?” She held up one of the rose chocolates.
“The shop keeper made me get a couple,” Nestor said, nearly choking around the mouthful of mashed potatoes he had just taken.
“But why is it pink?” Sylvie frowned at the chocolate. “How did they do this?”
Feeling immensely relieved that she wasn’t offended by the chocolates, Nestor drew in a breath. “You’d have to talk to the shop keeper for more details, but she said it has something to do with the plant she gets it from.”
Sylvie nodded thoughtfully and flipped her goggles down, staring at all the minor imperfections in the chocolate that he couldn’t see. Finally she flipped them back up and popped it in her mouth. “Different,” she decided. “But good.” She set the box down beside her and picked up her plate.
“How was the shop today?” Nestor asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
Sylvie shrugged. “Nothing out of the ordinary. I did have a girl come in that wanted me to make her bird a friend.”
“Did you?” He had been exploring this city for nearly a month now and still wasn’t used to the colorful birds that some of the elite of Skystead kept. Something about the idea of a little girl with one brightly colored bird contrasted by its metallic companion made him smile.
Sylvie seemed to think the same, smiling a bit herself. “Her mum let her get one of the ones I had already built. Apparently it was close enough to the real thing. I just hope that that bird doesn’t tear my machine apart.”
Nestor nodded, taking a bite of the stewed meat. Rich and seasoned differently than anything he had been used to on the airship, he had quickly grown a taste for it.
“What about you?” Sylvie continued. “Any luck today?”
With just those words, Nestor felt his mood fall, as if the easy atmosphere and food were part of a glimmering soap bubble and Sylvie had just driven a needle into it. “No,” he said sullenly. “I think I need to give up on Stelart.”
“Why? I thought you were sure it was him.”
“He doesn’t do anything except sip tea and paint roses,” Nestor snorted derisively. “If he’s making contracts with pirates, he’s sure doing an excellent job of hiding it.”
Sylvie tilted her head thoughtfully, leaning against the wall. “How do you decide on who makes your list?”
“Artifact hunters mostly. Anyone that likes collecting priceless stuff.”
“Anything else?”
“Rich men?”
Sylvie stared at him.
“What? The buyer was definitely a man, and definitely rich.”
“I don’t mean that. Whoever hired you did a lot of work to make sure his identity was secret, that doesn’t seem like someone who would be a well known artifact collector. If anything, someone like that would want a good relationship with pirates. Then they could get artifacts easier.”
“Yeah, but then they’d be connected to pirates. No one would want that.”
“You’re a sky pirate,” Sylvie pointed out. “And you sleep in my attic.”
“And that’s not something you’d want anyone knowing,” Nestor shot back.
They fell back into silence, Sylvie absently trailing the design on her skirt. “I think he might be an alchemist,” she said after a minute.
She hurried on after he cast her a questioning look.
“The poison he used…Nestor, you didn’t even realize you had breathed any of it in and you were out for a week. That’s not the kind of stuff that just anyone can get off the street.”
Nestor tilted his head, considering. “How many alchemists are in Skystead?”
“Enough. The lower tiers keep to themselves, but the rich ones usually like to show off.” Sylvie pulled out her pen and the scrap of parchment she kept on her at all times. “I can list the ones I remember,” she offered.
Nestor hesitated, then nodded.
At some point, the light had shifted from the gentle yellow tones of the setting sun to the cooler blue ones of the night. They sat surrounded by parchment, much of it scratched out, while the useful bits were stacked in front of Sylvie.
“Is--is that everything?” she said around an enormous yawn.
Nestor squinted at the list before them. They had neglected to grab a lamp, relying on the pale moonlight that was somehow further distorted through the multicolored panes of the attic. The bit he was trying to read was obscured in a patch of reddish shadow and he found he had to push the parchment a few inches to the left in order to read it at all.
Master Alchemists in Skystead it read. Beneath was a selection of names he didn’t bother reading. “I think this is as far as we’re going to get tonight,” he said.
Sylvie glared down at the list. A bit of ink had smudged across her cheek and her hair seemed determined to escape its braid. “We can do better,” she protested. “We haven’t--haven’t even cross referenced…” she trailed off around another yawn.
Nestor had to suppress a yawn of his own. “It’s late,” he said. “Won’t your uncle be worried?”
“What?” For a moment a spark of something returned to Sylvie’s exhausted eyes. “Henry doesn’t sleep here. He has a house on the upper level.”
Forgetting himself, Nestor frowned. “Why don’t you stay with him?”
That something in her gaze sharpened and she attempted to smile. “Why would I want to do that? I’ve everything I need here and privacy to go with it. Well, I did,” she added, gently shoving him.
Nestor rolled his eyes, trying to disguise the smile tugging at his lips. “Well, are you planning on enjoying that privacy? Or would you rather sleep there on the floor?”
Sylvie’s head began to dip before she snapped up with a soft gasp. “Fine,” she said, catching Nestor’s amused expression. “What time is it?”
Nestor glanced up at the glass dome. The pale light had grown brighter, and he could just make out something glowing through the tinted panes. Moon high.
“Probably a bit past midnight,” he guessed.
“Only midnight?” Sylvie asked. She rubbed her eyes, dislodging the goggles perched on her head.
“Maybe later,” Nestor admitted. He glanced over at his bed roll, never had something looked so inviting as that did at that moment.
Sylvie slowly stood, stretching her arms over her head. “Do you need anything?” she asked.
Nestor shook his head, but Sylvie hadn’t seemed to notice. Or care. Instead she stumbled over to the trap door and climbed down the ladder.
Nestor crawled into his own bed roll and immediately pulled one of the blankets over him. Sleep burning at his eyes, he finally gave in.