The Chocolatier's Wife (9 page)

“Oh!”
Andrew
perked
up
a
little.
“Do
not
worry about
that
another moment.
Father
and
I
have
decided
that
you
shall
go
out
to
sea
again.
You were
awfully
good
at
finding
things
and
bargaining
for
them,”
he
added,
a bit
wistfully.
“I
could
never do
half
so
well
as
you.
There
was
nothing
you could
not
find,
no
wish
you
could
not
fulfill.
That
takes
talent.
And
by
the time
you
come
home
again, this
will
all
be
forgotten.”
He
paused,
sighed. “That
is,
if we can
get you out of jail at all.”

William
felt
annoyed,
perhaps
irrationally,
with
his
family,
but
managed to
hide
it.
“I
am
grateful
to
you
and
father, but
I
have
no
wish
to
return to the
sea.
I
have my
own
life.”
He
came
back over
to
the
bars. “And
you
will do
fine,
if
you
have
just
a
little
more
confidence
in
yourself.
No
one
knows numbers
half
so
well
as
you
do,
and
that’s
all
bargaining is,
knowing
the numbers.”
Well,
and
understanding
people,
but
he
thought
that
his
brother would learn
that in
time.

Andrew
shrugged
doubtfully
and
William realized
he
wasn’t
thinking about it b
e
cause he didn’t think
he would ever have
to face it.

William
sighed. “When
do you think
I
shall be freed?”

“Another
week.”
His
words
were
careful,
almost
shy.
“Esquire
Morris is
lobbying
to
have
you
freed,
but
Lavoussier is
determined
to
make
you suffer as much as h
u
manly possible.”

“A
week!
But
‘tis purely
circumstance
that
ties
me
to
Bishop
Kingsley’s death!”

“There’s some
kind
of
complication.
Esquire
Morris
says
that
they
are still
taking dispositions
of
the
witnesses
and
gathering
evidence,
so
they wish to keep holding you so you won’t
be able to taint the testimonies.” He tried
to
put
a
good
face
on it. “At
least,
if
someone
else
dies,
they’ll
know it’s
not you.”

When
his
brother
finally
left,
William
found
himself
pacing
the
cell.
His neighbor
was
singing
a
song
about
drowning
puppies
and
stew
,
to
which
he tried
to
pay
no
a
t
tention.
The
cell
had
one
window,
higher
than
most
people could
comfortably
look
out.
If
he
wanted
to
see
the
ocean
below,
he
had to
grasp
the
ledge
and pull
himself
up
a
little,
but
considering
his
dreams of
the
previous
night
he
chose
not
to.
I
thought I
left
horror
and
despair behind
me
when
I
stopped
sailing.
He
longed
to
be
back
in
his
kitchen, conducting
the
simple
alchemy
of
turning raw
ingredients
into
delicacies, surrounded
by
sweet
smells
and
warmth.
I
only
wanted peace.
Was
that really
too
much
to
ask?
A
wife
and
a
hearth
and
a
pleasant occupation.
He could not understand why he was being plagued so; he certainly would never
have
harmed the Bishop.

He
wished
he
was
free
from this
place
so
he
would
not
be
stuck
here, bored
and
worried
at
the
same
time
.
The
work
also
tired
him
out
so
that he
no
longer
dreamed,
and
that
had
been
a
great
comfort.
Now
that
he
no longer
had
that,
he
was
once
again
haunted
by
dreams, dreams
where
he was
deep
inside
the
belly
of
the
sea
again,
his
lungs
filling
with
water,
and a
soft voice sighing his name.

They
were
not
mere
dreams,
of
course,
but
memories,
the
fears
of his
own
mind
plaguing
him
even
when
he
would
rest,
but
such
daylight rationality did not
comfort him,
and
he
wished that
he
could forget what
it was
like
to
fall
into
darkness,
unable
to
do
a
blessed
thing.
It wore
on him, made his imprisonment even more
u
n
bearable.

His
neighbor
started
to
slam
his
head
against
the
prison
bars.
He
was
filthy
and
unkempt
and
smelled
like
a
Voren
delicacy
that
was
made
from fish
left stewing in oil in the relentless sun, sour and disgusting.

“Hush,
hush.
Sir,
you do yourself no
good,” William
said.

He
knew
the
guards
would
not
come,
even
should
the
man
draw
blood, so
William reached
through
the
bars,
wincing
not
a
little,
and
patted
the greasy
head
firmly.
He
sang
an
old
sea
shanty;
one
that
was
slow
and
gentle despite
being
about
ladies
of
d
u
bious
virtue,
for
it
was
also
about
the
wives they had left behind.

Chapter
6

Desero eleventh, Sapph.
Mn.
Qtr 1788

Tasmin,

We
ran into some rough
seas,
and
have
put into port in Galubrey,
near
the
mountains they
call
the
Stairs of
Alessyn.
It
is a strange
but very
interesting place.
The
natives mark themselves with blue
and
green
ink in odd spiral patterns and
dance
along the
sea
edge
at
the
beginning
of
every
week,
in devotion to God.

It
is so hot
that
I
can
hardly
bear
it, for the
Stairs of
Alessyn
are
part of
what
I
have
been
assured is a
dead
volcano,
and
the island is in the
hottest
clime
i
n
the
world
.
The
heat
has
created many
strange
birds and
beasts
and
plants,
so I
have
sent
you some volcanic
stone
and
soil, some feathers
and
some plants for your perusal.