“Sera said she gets lowered on the swing in one of the final scenes,” Leo continued, “so we should leave before that. Maybe at intermission? But Father would notice our absence if we both disappeared. . . .”
She opened the curtain and Leo’s eyes widened for a half second before he burst out laughing.
“Dear god, how did that woman get a job here?” he exclaimed.
Agnes had to laugh too. “Okay, last one,” she said, hoping the final gown would work. She was already tired of this store and couldn’t stomach the idea of staying here all afternoon. “What if you made some sort of excuse at intermission?” she said, closing the curtain and struggling out of the endless layers of skirts.
“What kind of excuse?”
“I don’t know, you’re working with Kiernan. Maybe you can pretend something is wrong with Boris or Sera and you need to check it out.”
There was a pause from the other side of the curtain. “That could work. But what about you?”
The last gown was incredibly simple, red satin, off the shoulder, fitted at the waist, with a train that spilled out behind her. Agnes slipped it on—it was lightweight and remarkably comfortable.
“Wow,” Leo said when she pulled back the curtain.
“I like it.”
“Yeah, that’s definitely the one. And bloodred is in this season. It’s perfect.”
Bloodred. An idea came to Agnes in a flash, and a slow smile spread across her face. It would be uncomfortable but worth it, she knew.
“What?” Leo asked.
“I know how to get out of the theater in the middle of the show without Father asking any questions.”
When they arrived back at the brownstone on Creekwater Row, Agnes took the package up to her room and hung the dress in her wardrobe.
Two more days. That was all the time that was left until the show, and then the ship would set sail the next morning, hopefully with all of them aboard. Two thousand krogers had to be enough to obligate Vada to let them spend the night on the schooner. She wondered if Leo would be able to buy his way onto the ship. She briefly considered returning to the Seaport to find Vada and ask her, but she hadn’t been exaggerating when she told Leo the Seaport was becoming too dangerous. More and more travelers, fortune seekers, and adventurers were pouring into Old Port every day, eager to join the search for the ruins and claim its riches for their own. There were constant reports of fighting and brawls, resulting in an increased police presence. The other day she’d read that a man had been stabbed over a berth on a ship. As much as she would like to see Vada again—with less ale this time, certainly—she felt the risk was too great.
Agnes shivered thinking about so much time on a boat alone with Vada. Perhaps that was part of her hesitation to bring Leo along as well, if she was honest. How could she be herself, her true self, when her brother was there reminding her of who she used to have to pretend to be? She couldn’t imagine how Leo might react if he knew. He was changing, sure, but she wasn’t certain it was possible for him to change that much.
But it was no good worrying over the future when the present was quite enough of a problem. Had Sera found a way to break the ceiling? Could she really get all the way up to it in the first place? How would she find the Seaport? What sort of distraction could be caused that would be enough? According to Leo, Sera could talk to the others, the mertag and the Arboreal, but Agnes could not bring herself to have faith in them. She was a scientist, after all. She needed to see things with her own eyes.
It was so frustrating not to be able to just sit down with Sera and hash all this out. She heard voices downstairs and paused. Her father, she could tell, and possibly Kiernan. She crept to her bedroom door and listened.
“. . . not suitable for this sort of interview,” Xavier was saying. “It’s all about optics. Leo will be fine. You’ve taught him well, haven’t you?”
“Of course I have. I have always done as you’ve asked. It’s just that I am responsible for them. I brought them here, I took care of them—”
“Leo brought me the girl, and she is the most crucial piece.” Xavier’s voice was so frosty, Agnes felt its chill whisper across her skin.
There was a sullen silence; then her father called, “Leo!”
She heard footsteps down the hall, and her brother said, “Yes, sir?”
“I am bringing a reporter from the Old Port Telegraph to the theater tomorrow to get a sneak peek at my new venture. You will accompany me. Bring a syringe for the girl’s blood. We will leave at two o’clock sharp.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. If you will excuse me, Kiernan, I have some letters to attend to. Go to the Seaport and check on the status of my ships. And pay Roth a visit—I know he has been talking to Wilson Everett at the Lugsworth. Remind him where his focus needs to lie.”
“Very good,” Kiernan said, but he sounded weary. Agnes heard the door open and close, and then Leo was trudging up the stairs.
“Did you hear that?” he whispered.
“Look on the bright side,” she said. “This may be our last chance to know if she’s come up with a solution to the ceiling problem. You’ve got to find some way to speak to her alone.”
“I know,” Leo said.
Dinner that night was a quiet affair, each of the three McLellans lost in their own thoughts. Xavier excused himself early and Leo went to bed soon after, still fretting over his day tomorrow. Agnes would have given anything to be able to take his place. She hated this sense of powerlessness.
She was about to go upstairs herself when she heard the sound of a hoot owl. It hooted twice, paused, then hooted again.
Eneas.
She rushed to the dining room window, and he was there by the motorcar waving at her to come out. She went out through the kitchen and met him behind a large rhododendron bush.
“I received a notice from the post office,” he said. For one shocking second Agnes thought the university was responding to her essay, before she remembered it had only just been mailed. Eneas’s hands trembled as he held out a thin silver envelope stamped with wax. The seal had a flowering tree with a snake slithering at its roots. “The crest of the Byrnes,” he said, and his voice shook as much as his hands.
“What?” Agnes ran her fingers over the dark red wax.
“Take it inside, quickly. Don’t let anyone see. Go!”
She tucked it into her pocket, whirled, and ran back into the kitchen, startling Hattie as she was washing the dishes. Once she was safely in her room, she took the letter out. Her name was written in a very handsome script in black ink. There was no return address.
She broke the wax and slid the letter out.
My dearest Agnes,
I hope this letter reaches you. I have friends at the University of Ithilia and received surprising (and welcome) news. Come find me when you arrive. I will say no more here except that I have longed to meet you.
Your loving grandmother,
Ambrosine Byrne
Agnes read the letter three times and by the fourth, tears were obscuring her vision. She sat down at her desk and smoothed the paper out, running her fingers over the words, each one as precious as if they had been spoken aloud.
Her grandmother knew she was coming. Her grandmother wanted to meet her.