The Deathsniffer’s Assistant (The Faraday Files Book 1) (17 page)

Then, quite suddenly, Olivia Faraday burst into delighted laughter and deposited the paper back on the desk without turning to look. “
Well
,” she declared. “How very, very interesting. I’ll keep your little sister in mind, Mister Buckley. A ‘binder like
that
could be useful! Now,” she said before he could protest, leaving his stomach in messy knots, “today we pay another visit to our dear friend Vanessa Caldwell.”

He had no choice but to shelve the rest of it for now. Just do the work, get through the day. He tried to look interested. “She’s in Darrington?”

Olivia bobbed her head up and down. “Maris mirrored me this morning! She got off a train four hours ago and is at work as we speak. We’ll be going to meet her there, isn’t that nice? I do hope she doesn’t mind uninvited company.”

“You got your paperwork done?”

Olivia’s good mood was far too pervasive to be pushed aside by the reminder of her arch-nemesis. “Yes,
finally
! Maris is so unreasonable. Really, we’re already behind, and she’s forcing me to take a day to do office work? I’m going to blame it all on her when the killer gets away.” And then she gave him an arch smile and tittered. “No, no, I’m only joking. The killer isn’t going to get away. It’s obviously the Duchess. I just need to find a way to prove it.
Now
,” she said, changing gears in mid-sentence again, “let’s be going! I don’t want to leave our friend waiting all morning, do you?”

They were out the door before Chris could even start to dry off. He huddled miserably under the flimsy protection of his umbrella, which did very little to block the wind blowing up rain and lashing against his face. Puddles as deep as his ankles were everywhere, impossible to avoid.

He realized, with a surge of incredulity, that Olivia didn’t seem to notice the rain. No—more than that. She seemed to enjoy it. While he struggled to position his umbrella at just the right angle, she turned her face up towards the sky, grinning with wild glee as the freezing water doused her face and drowned the marigolds threaded through her hair.

Chris crawled inside the hackney the moment one stopped, throwing himself down into the seat, folding his umbrella, and huddling miserably against the stained and cracked leather. He hated wet clothes and dry surroundings. It felt unnatural, like he was in two places at once. He tried in vain to push his dripping hair back under his hat. At least people would blame his frazzled appearance on the weather. Small blessings.

Olivia joined him in the car. She folded herself gracefully into the seat across the way and spread her skirts out like a lady’s fan. She should have looked absolutely terrible; water ran off her in rivulets, her hair was dripping, and her skirts were soaked. But instead she looked energized, fresh, clean. For the first time, Chris noticed she wore no cosmetics. Her face looked the same after being pelted with rain.

The carriage lurched forward. Chris sat back, listening to the wind and rain lash against the car. He squirmed in his seat to try and find a comfortable position despite the aged leather and his damp clothes, but then surrendered to his misery. In stark contrast, Olivia hummed happily to herself, drumming her fingers on her knee, and it came as no surprise when she bore the silence for barely a minute before seeking diversion in conversation.

“You have to be joking.” Her tone was pleasant and casual. “Your sister didn’t really bind two cloudlings at once and save the day.”

“Yes, she did.” Chris sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it. It was very hard on her and she’s incredibly drained. It doesn’t feel right to gossip about it when she’s lying in bed at home.” Or when she was already in the papers, and Gods knew how far the story had spread.

He wasn’t really surprised when Olivia scoffed and heaved her shoulders with girlish petulance. “Oh, pish, I’d say it’s best this way!” she sang. “We’re appreciative of what she did! She’s a wizard, then?”

She was not going to leave it be. “As it were.”

“And a very good one at that! So fascinating!” Olivia tapped her finger against her cheek, pursing her lips in thought. “It’s a wonder she’s just sitting at home. I’d have thought Lowry would have come along and scooped her up for all sorts of uses.”

Chris felt his jaw tighten. “Well, they haven’t.”

“But why?” Olivia leaned forward. “With everything going on in Tarland today, she’d be a beacon of hope for anyone trying to make a point that the old ways will sustain us forever. A ‘binder this strong, and a wizard at that? Why, she’s proof there’s still potency in proficiencies after all! And all the things they could have her do! Why haven’t I ever heard of her?”

“Because I’ve spent my entire life
preventing
it!” Chris snapped. Olivia startled, blinked, and then grinned. Discomfort climbed up Chris’s spine at the look on her face. He growled and tried to explain himself. “She’s a little girl. And her abilities are…tempting. As you’ve pointed out yourself, she’s exactly what Lowry has been looking for. She could solve so many of their problems. They wouldn’t care about ethics. They wouldn’t care about Rosemary at all. My father was a Lowry man, I know them. They’d burn through her and throw her away without a second thought if there was even a chance it could hurt the reformists.”

“Or help Tarland.”

“It doesn’t matter. She’s a little girl,” he repeated. “And it’s not just the traditionalists, either! Doctor Livingstone might be some sort of saint, but do you think he’d resist Rosemary’s powers if they fell into his lap? It would be a hell of a lot easier to convince people to embrace his alternative technologies if someone like Rosemary could smooth the transition, no matter what it took out of her.”

Olivia raised an eyebrow. “You’re very passionate about this.”

“Obviously,” Chris ground out, feeling his defensiveness rise even higher at the amused tone of Olivia’s voice. He gripped the edge of the seat. “Is that surprising to you? It’s my sister. Our parents are gone. It’s my job to protect her.”

When he met Olivia’s eyes, they were full of a deep consideration. “Interesting,” she mused, then shrugged and looked away.

He watched as she pulled aside the curtain and stared out the window at the grey, rain-lashed streets of Darrington passing by. Her lips were pursed in deep thought, and knowing she was sitting there musing about his life and his sister as if it were her business. It lit a fire under him so hot he couldn’t let it go. “
What’s
interesting?” he snapped.

She dropped the curtain. “Just that I seem to remember you consider yourself desperate for money. You mentioned it in your interview. I would think if you’re in such dire straits, your sister’s talents would more than plug the gap.”

Chris clenched his jaw hard enough that he swore a tooth cracked. “I am not selling my sister,” he growled.

“Hardly
selling
,” Olivia protested. “If anything, she probably would like to―”

“No,” Chris cut in. “It’s not up for discussion, from her or from anyone else. Rosemary is thirteen years old. No matter how adult she thinks she is, she can’t defend herself against the sort of person Hector Combs or Francis Livingstone would send against her. I’m
not
going to let anyone take advantage of her before she’s old enough to understand what she’s giving up.”

Olivia’s smile went wide. It was a half sincere and half arch as she said, with great satisfaction, “I see. Integrity, is it? Interesting.” That word again.

He huffed and turned away from her, yanking aside the curtain as she had. He watched Darrington rush by without seeing it. He didn’t have any interest in the doused cityscape, only in diverting Olivia’s attention and regaining his composure. And whether from his clear dismissal or for her own unfathomable reasons, she pursued it no further. They sat in silence for some time, splashing along the road and soaking the few foolish or poor pedestrians who’d ventured out onto the sidewalks.

“Is she all right?” Olivia asked, her tone softer than before. Chris looked at her without thinking, and saw something that looked like actual concern on her face.

It was wrong on her. “…she’s fine,” he responded, and then amended. “Hopefully. We think. She’s very drained. She wove her own life into the song. That’s…not wonderful. Time will tell.”

She nodded, and he turned away once more. This time, he actually took note of their surroundings. His stomach dropped. He recognized this quarter very well. Pure white buildings, all displaying the three linked circles of the church, towered above them. Hospitals and clinics may not have been funded and controlled by priests of the Three and Three anymore, but the tradition of using their symbol had not similarly evolved. He breathed deeply, assuming they were only passing through the sector on their way to the arts district, but the carriage slowed and then stopped before one of the ubiquitous white buildings.

“I thought we were going to see Vanessa Caldwell,” Chris said weakly, gripping the curtain so tightly the folds bit into his hand.

Olivia gave an amused snort. “We are.”

Chris released the curtain, shutting out the white building, and turned to look at her. Unease built in his chest. “I thought she was a poet. She’s one of Viktor val Daren’s protégées, isn’t she?”

“She’s an
aspiring
poet,” Olivia corrected. “Really, if she had an artistic proficiency, do you think she would have needed a wealthy patron? By evening, she writes silly little ditties and tries to sell them to papers with more interesting things to print. And by day, she’s a doctor’s assistant. Lifeknitter categorization. Nobody important.” She gave him a playful look, tilting her head and smiling sideways. “Like you.”

Before he could be offended, she slid off the seat and opened the cab door, and Chris had to scurry to keep up with her.

They emerged into the wild wind and pounding rain. Chris struggled with his umbrella, trying to open it up and use it as a shield while Olivia paid the cabbie. He turned his back against the wind, which put him facing the direction of the hospital they would be entering. It was small, but tidy. The occasional body who exited was dressed in simple clothes, old, practical hats shielding their faces and collars turned up against the wind. He saw one doctor, identified by her white uniform with linked three circles over the heart, hurrying inside, a newspaper held over her head to block the rain.

“All right!” Olivia declared at his side, making him start. “All paid and done with. Shall we go?”

Twenty minutes ago, he would have given his left leg to be inside a warm building, well away from both rain and wind. But now he was already soaked, tousled, freezing…and he’d rather be in any other building than the one they were staring up at.

He’d had no problem with hospitals when he was young, not even after a prolonged stay as a boy, when an attempt to impress his father had ended in a broken arm and serious burns. In fact, he had rather liked them, being reminded of convalescence and healing, of kindly doctors and their even more kindly nurses, of their assistants asking him questions and gifting him with candy when he gave answers they liked. That had changed after the long night he’d spent wandering the sterile white halls of Deorwynn’s Heart, surrounded by death and bleeding and sobbing, desperately searching for his mother.

He gritted his teeth. No choice. “Let’s go.”

Inside, everything smelled clean and was bleached white. Doctors, nurses, and assistants bustled about, all wearing variations of that same white uniform. There were tables filled with strange, unidentifiable instruments, waiting rooms filled with bored or apprehensive looking patients-to-be—or perhaps, the family members of patients-that-already-were. They also passed a great many empty rooms, empty counters, and small offices with wide open doors, interiors all empty and white.

Olivia stopped before a reception counter. The woman sitting behind it looked up from a notebook that was blossoming with print. A wordweaver like him, though her words appeared almost as slowly as handwriting. “Can I help you?” she asked, offering them a professional, welcoming smile.

“I’m an investigative truthsniffer and this is my assistant. We’re looking for Miss Vanessa Caldwell. Do you think we could speak to her?” Olivia replied just as sweetly.

“Caldwell…” the wordweaver said, turning away from Chris and Olivia to look over a sheet of paper full of names. She ran her finger across it, clicking her tongue. There were many empty spaces in the page that matched the gaps they’d seen in the hospital. Chris glanced about as she looked. The sterile, blinding white of everything crawled under his skin and writhed there.

“Ah, here we are, Vanessa Caldwell!” the secretary announced. “At the moment, she’s doing stock in Doctor Harvey’s supply room. If I can see your categorization cards, I’ll point you right to where you can find her.”

The location the wordweaver gave them turned out to be a closet marked
SUPPLY A-4
with thick black letters woven into the door. It was so small Chris couldn’t actually manage to follow Olivia inside when she threw open the door and strolled in. Miss Caldwell had a difficult time turning to gasp at the intruder, and Olivia barely had space to put her hands on her hips and say, with her studied impertinence, “I hope I’m not interrupting?”

Vanessa Caldwell was a beautiful young woman. Her hair was wavy and black as night, her eyes so dark Chris couldn’t even tell what colour they were. She was slender and curved like the graceful lines of a harp and her petite frame hugged the contours of her white uniform. She wore as many cosmetics as Olivia did not, and her features were delicate, especially her small button nose. She clasped the small white cloth she held against her chest. “Who are you?” she demanded, voice shrill.

“Olivia Faraday, Deathsniffer,” Olivia replied. “And before you start asking why I’m here, I think you know.”

Miss Caldwell studied her uninvited guests with wide-eyed, confused innocence. She seemed a sweet thing, a far cry from the imperious brat described by the val Darens and their house staff. He wondered if she’d even heard about what had happened to the Duke. After all, she’d been out of Darrington, hadn’t she? “Oli—Miss Faraday,” he murmured. Maybe they should…