That fits with what I know of Gleinleigh. There wasn’t supposed to be a riot at the airfield; there wasn’t supposed to be a bombing at the annex. He’s the type of idiot who thinks he can lie down with dragons jackals and not get blood on him.
“So it was most likely Mrs. Kefford,” I said. “She’s ruthless enough. But . . . that means the wife of the Dissenting Speaker hired a known terrorist to bomb a major public institution.”
“If we can prove it,” Kudshayn said.
Then his wings flicked in alarm. “The translation,” he said. “It has already been sent to the printer. We have to stop it.”
You would think that should seem small compared to the bombing. But after all, isn’t the epic the reason they’ve gone to all this trouble? Forge an ending, hire us to translate it—keep it under strict secrecy to minimize the risk that anyone will notice an error; I’m sure now that was Gleinleigh’s real reason for requiring our silence—then destroy the original so that, again, people will have a harder time spotting any mistakes. But the epic isn’t wholly destroyed (Cora says Alan said the offering dish helped protect the tablets!), and the attempt wound up showing us exactly what they were trying to hide. If they’d left well enough alone, we might never have discovered the truth.
Short of breaking into the printer’s and stealing the manuscript back, though, I don’t know how we can halt it. The publisher’s deal is with Gleinleigh, not us. And thinking of that made me realize something else, too.
“The tablets,” I said, gathering them up like a thief trying to hide evidence. Which, in a sense, I am. “If they find out they’ve dug them out of the rubble, they’ll come looking for them.”
Which was a masterpiece of unclear antecedents, but Kudshayn followed my meaning anyway, and after a moment Cora did, too. “Mr. Preston said Dr. Cavall sent them here because he knew you were trying to prove they’d been smuggled, but that he—Dr. Cavall, I mean—would tell Uncle—” She stopped, face screwing up into the fiercest expression I’ve ever seen on her. “Would tell Lord Gleinleigh that he sent them to you because you were the best able to assemble them back into order, being so familiar with them. Which Unc—Lord Gleinleigh won’t believe for a moment, but when I told Mr. Preston that he only laughed and said Dr. Cavall doesn’t mind telling bad lies.”
God bless Simeon and Alan. And God bless Cora, too, because when we had all the fragments packed up (it’s a Camherst household; of course we have material for packaging artifacts and specimens on hand at all times), she said, “I’ll take them somewhere. He already knows I ran away, but he doesn’t care enough to chase me.”
That brought me up short, as I finally noted that Cora was at my family’s townhouse, and as near as I could tell had been there all day. Kudshayn said, “They had a . . .” He searched for the right Scirling phrase. “Falling-out?”
“We screamed at each other,” Cora said, going tense again. “Mostly I screamed at him and he tried to explain things, but when I didn’t like his explanations he yelled at me, too. And then I left. I didn’t go home last night. I walked around Falchester until I remembered that I knew where your family lived because I read all your letters to them. So then I came here and Kudshayn made the housekeeper let me in.”
(And that is Mrs. Farwin for you. Doesn’t bat an eyelash at having a Draconean for a houseguest, even though there’s never been one on Scirling soil before, much less under her roof—but let a strange young woman show up on the doorstep and she becomes our guardian dragon.)
“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like,” I said. “Or go somewhere else, if you prefer. But if you have the tablets, your uncle will chase you.” There was no point in pretending he cared more about her than about the tablets. “Is there somewhere you can hide, that he won’t think to look for you?”
Cora bit her lip, which was answer enough. I was on the verge of saying I would pay to put her up in some hotel chosen at random when a better idea came to me. “The Carters,” I said. “Do you remember their address?”
“Of course,” Cora said.
“Eugene Carter is an utter sweetheart,” I said, “and Imogene probably won’t even notice you’re there. I’ll write you a letter to take with you. There’s even a streetcar that runs out to Flinders—but don’t embark at the stop over on Galworthy Street, just in case Gleinleigh thinks to inquire there.” I patted at the pockets of my dressing gown as if my purse might be in them. “Give me a moment and I’ll fetch some money for a taxi-cab.”
So that’s Cora off to the Carters’, and Kudshayn and me trying to figure out a way to prove the connection between Gleinleigh, Mrs. Kefford, Aaron Mornett, Dorak, and Zachary Hallman. We have some of the pieces, but we’ll need more before we can bring this to the police.
From: Kudshayn
To: the Sanctuary of Wings
2 Acinis
To the elders of the Sanctuary of Wings, I give greetings under the light of the sun, on the footing of the earth.
I no longer consider myself bound by the oath of secrecy I gave upon beginning my work here in Scirland. We have uncovered information which makes it apparent that the one to whom I gave that oath was, from the start, acting in bad faith; much of what he said to me was lies, told with malicious intent against our people. He thought to use me and Audrey Camherst as his tools in his schemes—or their schemes, as he did not act alone. Knowing this, I consider it not only permissible but my duty to share with you what I have learned, and to give warning of those who have conspired against us.
Be warned: much of what I say in the enclosed report will be difficult to read. Do not enter into this expecting that all our beliefs regarding the ancient past will be vindicated. For the past seven months I have stood through an earthquake, my image of our foremothers changing beneath my feet. Some of what I have learned is good. Some is not. Most is neither good nor bad, but simply beyond the boundaries of what we have remembered: in some ways as alien to our lives now as the most advanced technology human societies have to offer.
I pray each day for the wisdom to understand these things as they deserve. I pray to the sun, to the earth—and to the powers we have forgotten, whose influence remains in the world nonetheless. And I give thanks that those who sought to serve destruction and to turn its power to their own ends have themselves been brought down by that selfsame principle. Change is inevitable; destruction can bring new life. Bear these thoughts in mind as you read.
And prepare for what is to come. Together with Audrey Camherst I am doing what I can to blunt the edge of our enemy’s weapon, but it would be foolishness to think we have only one enemy, with only one weapon. Your wisdom undoubtedly makes you aware of this already; I only hope that the account enclosed with this letter will help you to understand the depths to which our opponents will sink, the stratagems they will use against us.
May the earth shelter you and keep you safe. May the sun guide you on your journeys here.
Pray that they will protect myself and Audrey, for I fear we are not yet finished with our trials.
Kudshayn, son of Ahheke, daughter of Iztam
FROM THE DIARY OF AUDREY CAMHERST