Skate looked between the two. “What is this?”
“Hm?”
“You’re looking at Rattle. Some things you’re not supposed to tell me?”
His eyes darted back and forth between Rattle and her. “Well, you see—what I mean is, he’s entitled to his past, isn’t he? If he hasn’t told you, it’s certainly not my place to have that discussion with you. We are both his guests, after all.”
Skate narrowed her eyes at the man in the ball. “You’re a guest.” It wasn’t a question, but she did not mean it as an affirmation. Judging by his continued discomfort, he understood that perfectly well.
“That’s right.”
“Mr. Belamy told me something about you. About how you ended up in the glass ball.”
The curious gleam came back to his eye, though it was more suspicious. “And what exactly was that?”
“That you murdered someone.”
“Ah. Right.” His discomfort became too much for him, and he let his face become obscured by the fog in the glass again. “I think I can talk about that without offending our host.” His voice was as close as it had been before, but was much more subdued now that the subject had shifted to him and his own sordid history.
“Is it true?”
“Yes, it’s true.”
“You killed someone.”
“Yes, I did. And I’ve regretted it ever since.”
“Why?” She could not imagine this man, who seemed to be all conversation and friendliness, as a cold-blooded killer.
“Selfishness, Skate. Pure, cowardly selfishness.” He did not elaborate, and they sat in silence broken only by the flapping of Rattle’s wings and the occasional turn of the pages.
“It was Mr. Belamy who put you in there, wasn’t it?”
“It was.”
“How long have you been in there?”
He paused before answering. “It will be fifty-three years next week.”
The thought of sending Belamy into servitude to another did not seem quite as monstrous as it had before. “Half a century of imprisonment? You don’t look anywhere near fifty, much less older than that.”
“No, the prison keeps me at the age I was when I was put in. I should be a man well into my seventh decade, or else dead before. The prison gives me youth eternal, though there’s nothing I can do with it, of course.”
“And how long is he going to keep you there?”
“Pardon?”
“In your prison. How long is Belamy going to keep you trapped in your cage?”
“Belamy doesn’t keep me in here, Skate.” The eyes came into view again, and he was looking directly into her own. His stare lacked any of the life she was used to seeing from him. He looked like a man defeated and hopeless. “I was not referring to myself as a guest of Barrison’s as a euphemism; he’s no jailer. I am trapped in here by my own choice, and I will stay here until I have done penance for the terrible thing I did.”
“You’re here on purpose?”
“Yes, though this was my second choice.” He blinked hard a few times before speaking again. “I…asked for something else before this, but Barrison refused.”
He wanted to die instead. “Oh.” They sat in silence for a few more moments—though it felt like minutes to Skate, who was trying to find something, anything to say. “So you decide when to leave your prison?”
“Yes. I am here as a guest of Barrison. This prison is my own.”
“How long will you stay…trapped?”
“By my reckoning, the person I…I killed had as many as seventy years of life left. When I have been here that long, then I will consider ending my punishment. Not before.”
“What’ll happen to you when you get out?”
“I don’t know. I don’t give it any thought.”
Skate moved back over to the window. “I’m going to go see Mr. Belamy and try to figure out what he’s doing. I also need my lesson for the day, so there’s that, too.” She struggled before asking, “Why didn’t he…do what you wanted the first time?”
Rattle inadvertently clicked a few times as it turned toward them. It didn’t move other than continuing to flap to stay airborne, but only stared.
“I honestly don’t know. He had every right to, but chose this instead.” His eyes fell into a sad smile. “He’s very odd, you know.”
“Yes, I think he is.” With nothing else to say, Skate placed him back on his perch near the glass. Fog swirled around him as he turned from her, and soon, nothing was visible within but the gently rolling smoke. Rattle returned to its reading—in earnest this time—as Skate left the room.
She found the lich as she had left him, focused on an empty sphere of glass and the spinning golden contraption. When she approached his desk, he heaved a great sigh and leaned back. The golden thing slowed its spinning.
“Good afternoon, Skate. I’m glad your long walk didn’t keep you from us entirely today.” The golden hoop continued to slow, and stopped abruptly when Belamy put his hand on it. “I hope your time away did you some good?”
“Yeah, feeling pretty good now, thanks.” Her eyes lingered on the golden device. “So, what’s this?”
“Oh! Well, you see, a wizard can use certain tools to scry certain—oh, that means—”
“Seeing somebody who’s far away, I know.” Belamy’s surprise was evident, so she quickly explained: “I talked to Petre.”
“Ah.” His utterance was heavy with curiosity. However, instead of asking questions, he went on. “I’m looking for the people who bothered Jack. Normally, if I’ve got a name and a description, I can just use the ball”—he gestured to the clear glass orb—“and it works like a charm, so to speak. If I’m having particular difficulty, the enhancer pushes through the rest of the way.” This time, he pointed to the spinning golden thing. “You have a good eye for value, by the way; that object is quite expensive. You wouldn’t have needed to steal again for months to pay for the finest room in town if you’d have gotten out with it and found a buyer.”
“Oh yeah?” She bent down and looked at it. “Maybe I ought to take it now, huh?”
“As if you’d miss out on Rattle’s cooking.” He leaned forward again. “I don’t think either of the tools is broken, so I don’t know what the issue is.”
“Maybe you’re doing it wrong,” Skate suggested with a hint of mockery. “You know, maybe you’re out of practice.”
“I most certainly am not!” The old man seemed to be only playing at being offended, though Skate guessed there was at least a kernel of actual indignity in the proclamation. “Here, take a seat and watch.” He pointed to a nearby chair, and Skate moved it to the other side of the desk and sat. Belamy said nothing else, but stared unblinking at the clear glass ball. Nothing happened.
“What’s supposed—”
“Shush. Wait.”
“But what—”
“Shh.”
“What—”
He held up a quieting finger, then placed his hand into a more relaxed position and continued his concentration on the ball. Skate rolled her eyes but said nothing else.