The Confectioner's Guild, page 6
“What happened to them?” Wren asked, curiosity overcoming her.
“Bad meat. Apparently, their head cuisiner was buying cheap goods from non-guild members, skimming off the top. The whole Greer clan was taken with an awful stomach ailment at a feast. I hear it was a messy way to go.”
Wren wrinkled her nose, shuddering slightly. In her experience, those who deserved punishment didn’t often get it. Perhaps justice had been done, after a fashion, on this occasion.
“Anyway,” Olivia said brightly, “Grandaunt stayed with the Guild to help Kasper rise to the top. She has an excellent nose for politics.”
“That she does,” Elda said with a proud nod. “And she can run a household better than anyone. Your Guild is purring like a prize tomcat. It’s a shame she never married again, or had children. She still comes in every month for a new dress, though, whatever I design. It’s our little tradition.”
A dress a month! Wren had never dreamed of such excess. Wren’s eyes wandered as she imagined such a life, staring out the window onto the sunny street as the two women continued to sing and chirp about her like nesting robins.
A man strode by the front window, tall and lean, with a sprinkle of white in his dark hair. It was Lucas! The inspector who had vouched for her yesterday. Before she knew what she was doing, Wren launched herself from the platform, twirling to unroll herself from a draping of polka dot lace.
Wren raced into the street, pulling the jeweled headband from her tresses. “Mr. Imbris! Lucas!”
He turned, his eyes widening when he saw her.
She stilled. He looked a different man off the job—hair tousled rather than slicked down, a tweed waistcoat hanging unbuttoned down his front, white shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. Yes, despite the flecks of gray in his hair, he definitely wasn’t old. Twenty, maybe?
“Hello, Wren,” he said, taking in the headband in her hand and the shopfront from which she had emerged. “Shopping, are we?”
Her face flushed. What was she thinking, wasting time at Mistress Elda’s store instead of spending every moment trying to find the real murderer? “I… only have one dress,” she stammered lamely.
“I’m not judging,” he said soothingly. “You’re entitled to a bit of merriment after yesterday’s events. How are you holding up?”
“Decently, I suppose. Grandmaster Sable has sponsored me, so I’m not a total orphan. Well, I am an orphan, but not at the guild.” Sweet mercy, she was babbling. “What I mean is, she and her other sponsored artisan have promised to help me uncover the truth.” She breathed in the faint smell of rosemary wafting from the sprig in the buttonhole of his waistcoat, trying to calm her galloping nerves.
“That’s excellent,” Lucas said. “Though I can’t condone anyone interfering with the official investigation.”
“Of course not,” Wren said. “We’ll just help where we can.”
“Good,” Lucas said.
A pause. Wren worried the headband with her hand, watching it glitter in the light. “I… didn’t get to thank you.”
She looked up, meeting his gaze. His eyes were smoky gray quartz. Mesmerizing. “For believing me. For vouching for me. I’ll repay you, I swear.” She wasn’t used to being in a person’s debt, besides Master Oldrick’s perhaps. It wasn’t entirely comfortable.
“You’re welcome. But you don’t owe me anything. It’s my job to protect the vulnerable in Maradis.”
“Your job,” Wren said. Of course, he was doing his job. What he did for her, he would have done for anyone in need. But still, in her experience, nothing came for free.
“Wren,” Olivia said, peeking her head out the door.
“A moment,” Wren said over her shoulder before turning back. “Well, thank you again. Please let me know if I can help with your investigation.”
A shadow passed across Lucas’s handsome face. “There is… something I’d like to discuss with you. Could you meet me in an hour?”
“Of course,” Wren said.
“Do you know of the Bitterbird Cafe on Third Avenue?”
“No, but I’m sure Olivia can help me find it.”
He pulled a silver pocket watch from his waistcoat, checking it. “Meet me at 12:30, and if it’s not too difficult, come alone. My news is for your ears alone.”
Wren fidgeted through the remainder of her fitting, unable to focus on the chattering around her. When Elda finally finished the ordering, Wren numbly handed over two of her precious gold crowns, getting a handful of silver and copper in return. It was more money than she had ever had in her life, let alone parted with in one sitting. But Olivia assured her that she was getting an assortment of dresses for casual and dress wear, stockings, shoes, undergarments, and even jewelry and accessories to match. If she was going to live longer than a month, she would need something to wear.
“We’ll take that burgundy hat, too,” Wren said, coming out of her reverie, pointing to the one Olivia had been eying wistfully.
“Oh no,” Olivia said. “You needn’t!”
“It’s the least I can do to thank you for your kindness,” Wren said, finding she meant it deeply. She had already grown to depend on Olivia. She cautioned herself. Depending on anyone else was a sure path to ruin.
“Thank you, thank you,” Olivia squealed, hugging Wren. “I have the perfect dress to wear it with!”
Wren and Olivia left with one package wrapped in white paper and twine tucked under Wren’s arm. A sky blue dress that Elda had sewn for another customer before the order had been canceled. It would be enough to get Wren through until the rest of her order was ready.
“Olivia,” Wren said, “do you know of the Bitterbird Cafe?”
“Of course. It’s at the intersection where Nysia Avenue meets Third.”
“Can I ask you to take me there and then head back to the Guildhall?”“
“Why?”
“I’m to meet Lucas, er, Mr. Imbris, the inspector. He said he has something to tell just me.”
“How mysterious,” Olivia said with delight. “Let’s go.”
Olivia deposited Wren on the doorstep of the Bitterbird Cafe five minutes early. Wren pulled open the red front door and entered, taking in the warm exposed brick, the curving wooden tables, the inviting worn leather chairs. The pungent smell of roasting coffee beans swirled about the cafe’s patrons—Maradis’s upper class, rich nobles and scholars who had the luxury of leisure.
Wren shyly ordered herself a coffee, black, and after retrieving the earthen mug with its warm inky brew from the bar, tucked herself into a small corner facing the street. She looked out the window with wide eyes, watching the world go by. It seemed the whole of the Western Reached had been brought together on Nysia Avenue—from aristocratic Apricans swathed in silk and leather to a dark-haired Centu clansman heading to his ship nestled in the Port Quarter to grubby Tamrosis in their flowing patchwork cloaks, refugees from the Red Plague or Aprican occupation. She even saw two Magnish children, their dark skin and inky hair decrying their heritage even more than their matching starched uniforms. Sable’s exotic coloring and beaded choker suggested she was from the conquered land of Magnus in the far south. Could she have been one of the unfortunate children plucked from the fur and ice of their homes to be educated and “civilized” in Maradis?
“Hello,” a deep voice said.
She looked up from the street to see Lucas standing above her, his hands in his pockets. She hastily stood and gestured to the chair opposite her. “Please.”
“See something interesting?” He motioned with his head to the street.
“All of it,” she said wistfully. “I’ve never been somewhere like this before.”
“A coffee shop?” he asked, bemused.
“I’ve been to coffee shops before—to drop off confections, mostly. Hardly ever as a patron. Do none of these people work for a living?” she whispered. Wren could hardly remember a day that wasn’t filled with eye-twisting work.
Lucas laughed, his smile spilling across his face like a sunbeam. “Not in the way you think, I suspect. Some are writers or artists, some are businesspeople here for meetings, like me,” he said. “And you. But yes, some of them don’t have to work.”
Wren shook her head, unable to comprehend such a life. Living on the street, she’d aspired to having a steady paycheck and a roof over her head. To think that there would ever be more than that… It had been unthinkable.
“You’re not like other guildmembers I’ve met,” Lucas said, tilting his head appraisingly.
Wren gripped her hands together to keep from smoothing her dress under his gaze. “Is that why you… vouched for me?” Her eyes met his.
“Yes, I suppose,” he said. “I don’t know what you did to get Grandmaster Callidus and Steward Willings so out of sorts, but I couldn’t stand by while you were blamed for something you didn’t do. It would be a miscarriage of justice.”
Wren didn’t think much of Alesian justice, but she supposed Lucas must believe in the concept to have entered the field he had.
He continued. “The guilds are full of wolves waiting to pounce and spiders weaving their webs. No offense. Not just your guild—all of them.”
Wren waved the comment away. She agreed.
“Anyway, it’s plain to see you are neither a wolf nor a spider.”
“Oh?” She arched a curious eyebrow. “What am I then?”
“I don’t know…” He looked at the bricked ceiling, his handsome face twisted in thought. “A sparrow, perhaps.”
“A sparrow?” She found a smile forming and struggled to restrain it. “Five points for not saying a wren, but minus three for sticking in the small bird category. Lacking in creativity.”
“I’ll leave the creativity to the artists and confectioners. I deal in facts. I’ll take the two points.” He pretended to catch them in the air and pocket them.
“And you? What are you in this zoological metaphor?”
He laughed. He drummed his elegant fingers on his knee, just once. “A wolf. But a wolf trying to find a new way.”
A wolf? Was that a warning somehow? “I would have thought you would have said a falcon.” The falcon was the Imbris clan crest, blazoned across Alesia’s flag and carved into its buildings.
He shook his head vehemently. “Definitely not. I try to keep as far away from… my clan as I can.”
That was interesting. She filed the information away. “So a wolf then. Choosing your own destiny. But wolves aren’t meant to be solitary creatures,” she said.
“No,” he agreed.
They looked at each other over the table, the bustling world orbiting around the frozen moment. She felt herself teetering on the edge of something as she pondered his words, trying to ignore how his presence alone steadied and soothed her. And then she pulled back from the edge and looked away, grabbing her forgotten and cooling coffee from the table and taking a gulp. The bitter flavor of the brew brought her back to herself. Affection was a distraction she could ill afford. She did better alone. It had always seen her through. Besides, she didn’t know this man. Wolf or falcon, it didn’t matter. Either could take down a wren.
“So,” she said. “You said you had news. Have you discovered something?”
“Yes.” He leaned forward. “We discovered what type of poison was used.” Lucas looked around and leaned closer. He smelled fresh like mint and rosemary. “It’s a poison known as Gemini. It’s extremely rare and extremely expensive. As far as I know, one needs contacts in the Spicer’s Guild to get it, as it comes from beyond Ferwich territory in the east.”
“So someone like me would never have had access to something like that,” Wren said. That was promising.
“No, you’d need to have a benefactor or be working for someone with connections. But that’s not the most interesting thing. Gemini is effective because it’s a two-part poison. One part can be hidden in something like your cupcake, while the other part is hidden in another edible. Only individuals who ingest both elements of the poison will die. Either half of the poison, on its own, is harmless.”
“Which is why I didn’t get sick when I also ate the cupcake?” Wren asked, piecing it together.
“Exactly.”
“But… that looks bad for me, doesn’t it. I could have poisoned the cupcake safely, knowing I could eat it and be fine.” Disappointment pooled heavy in her chest.
Lucas nodded with a grimace. “Discovery that it was Gemini doesn’t clear you, not by a long shot. But if we can discover where the second poison was hidden, if it was something you never had access to…”
“Then it couldn’t be me.”
“That’s the hope.”
“Where do we even start? If it was something Kasper ate, it could be long gone by now.”
“That’s a real possibility. But maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Luck, Wren thought, thinking of the Alesian gold coin hitting heads four times in a row. How long did her cupcake luck last? She needed to talk to Hale about her Gift—and soon.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing, for now. Just keep your ears open. I’m headed back to the Guildhall to go over the scene again and interview some of the servants and kitchen staff. We’ll get to the bottom of this mystery.”
Wren and Lucas walked back to the Guildhall under the sharp August sun. Their conversation was light. They spoke of the hot summer weather, Lucas’s flat above a bookstore across the street from Lake Viri, Wren’s history as a confectioner. If he picked up her grimace and change of subject when he asked her about her life before Master Oldrick’s shop, he was tactful enough to move on without question.
As she hopped up the stone steps to the Guildhall, she found herself sorry that the walk was ending. They came to a stop in the antechamber of the Guildhall before the yawning mouth of the staircase leading to the second floor. Wren stared at her sandaled feet, feeling strangely tongue-tied.
“Thank—” Wren said, while Lucas said, “Wren—”
They laughed nervously. “Go ahead,” she said.
“Wren!” a booming voice called from above. Hale closed the distance from the balcony in two strides and slid, literally slid down the staircase bannister before hopping off next to Wren.
“There’s my little robin! Trying to get out of your lesson?” Hale teased, putting his arm around her and pulling her against his body in a side-embrace.
Lucas’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he took in Hale’s virile form. Lucas was tall, but Hale stood a head above him and was much broader in stature. He was muscled where Lucas was lean, bright and obvious where Lucas was dark and subtle.
Wren was the first to recover from her surprise, shrugging her shoulder in an attempt to dislodge Hale’s meaty arm. “Hale, this is—”
“Inspector Imbris.” Lucas offered his hand. “I’m in charge of the investigation into Guildmaster Kasper’s murder.”
Hale unwound his arm from Wren’s slender shoulders and shook Lucas’s hand, pumping it several times. Wren could see the whitening of the men’s knuckles as the handshake lasted longer than was strictly necessary.
“Aren’t you a little young to be investigating such an important murder?”
“The office of the crown didn’t think so,” Lucas said with a grim smile.
“You Imbrises do all stick together.”
“Hale,” Wren said, astounded at his sudden rudeness. “Lucas is helping me clear my name.” She looked at Hale pointedly. We need him.
“Lucas, is it?” Hale said, raising a golden eyebrow to Wren. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. Anyone who’s looking out for our girl is all right by me.”
“I’m happy to hear I meet with your approval,” Lucas said dryly.
“Now we must be off to the teaching kitchens,” Hale said.
“Of course,” Lucas said. “Wren, I’ll be in touch.” He turned up the stairs, missing the “I’m sorry” she mouthed at him.
Hale slung his arm around Wren’s shoulders once more and led her to the left into the hallway with the teaching kitchens.
“Why were you so…?” Wren couldn’t articulate Hale’s behavior. “Rude,” she finished, knowing that wasn’t quite right.
“Naw,” Hale said. “I was perfectly polite.”
“We need him. He wants to help me figure out who really killed Kasper.”
“He’s useful, but don’t put too much faith in him.” Hale turned into one of the kitchens and turned up the lights on the gas chandelier. He shut the door behind him, leaving them alone in the room.
“What do you mean? Why shouldn’t I trust Lucas?”
“Inspector Imbris,” he said, speaking the name with a mocking undertone, “works for the office of the crown, first and foremost. His loyalties lie with the crown. He will seek to secure their best interest, not ours.”
“I don’t understand,” Wren said.
“The king and the guilds tolerate each other, but each fear the other growing too powerful. Power can’t coexist with power. Not peacefully. Not for long.”
Wren shook her head. “I thought the guilds worked for the king?”
“We work for ourselves,” Hale said. “We do favors for the king because it suits us.”
“So we can’t trust the crown. Who can we trust? The other guilds?”
Hale laughed. “No! The guilds are constantly vying for power, for a greater share of the market, for control of the council. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the other guildheads was guilty of Kasper’s murder. If it wasn’t Callidus, that is. My money’s still on him.”
Wren rubbed her temples. “So we can’t trust the crown. We can’t trust the other guilds. And we can’t trust those within our Guild who may be loyal to Callidus. Who can we trust?”
“You can trust me and Sable. That’s it. And this.” He motioned to the kitchen in a grand gesture. “Our Gifts will never betray us.”
Wren chewed the inside of her cheek in thought. Hale’s words were a good reminder. Distrust everyone. This had been the unofficial motto she’d lived by, after she had learned the hard way that humanity’s capacity for cruelty was only surpassed by the ease of its betrayal. She had grown too comfortable with Lucas too quickly when she didn’t truly know anything about him. Perhaps his decision to vouch for her was intended to gain her trust in some way, to use her for some purpose she was too ignorant to conceive of. So she would trust nobody but Sable and Hale. She looked at Hale, leaning against the countertop with an easy arrogance. Her new “family” could have ulterior motives for helping her as well. She would trust nobody, she amended.
