25th of Nema

The entire ceiling was covered in delicate swirls of leafy vines worked in the plaster by an artistic hand. I hadn't noticed it the night before, and I wondered idly how much it must have cost.

I sat on the dressing-table stool, my head tilted back, and held obediently still while NaVarre's housekeeper, Mrs. Burre, examined my throat and neck with cool fingers. She reminded me very much of Dr. Longalli - taller and thinner, with white streaks in her hair, but she had that same no-nonsense clinical approach that said she had learned her skills in the war.

"Well, you'll have to take it easy for the next few weeks." She straightened and gave me an appraising glance. "But it isn't the worst case I've ever seen. No broken bones or torn ligaments, thank goodness. Today and tomorrow we'll apply a cool compress three times to help with that stiffness in your neck. We can use a liniment of caskarin oil to keep any swelling down, and white willow for the pain. You should refrain from talking for several days if you can. And no hot baths till tomorrow. Other than that, you're a very lucky girl."

I stared at her. Through her. Seeing a lumpy, unshaven chin instead of Mrs. Burre's angular features...The slope of a thick shoulder blotting out everything... Then the gleam of lamplight on the Captain's silvery hair...

Lucky.

I blinked and looked down at my hands.

Mrs. Burre regarded me for a beat longer, almost as if she wanted to say something more, but then turned and took her leave. A moment later a maid came in with the items Mrs. Burre had mentioned and set about wrapping caskarin-soaked gauze around my throat and bandaging the welt on my arm. Then she brushed my hair and braided it and helped me out of my clothes and into a pair of silk pyjamas.

I tried to make her understand that it wasn't necessary and that she should go, but she only smiled and kept trying, so I gave in and let her put them on me, hoping it would get her to leave faster, while cringing at the thought of facing NaVarre while dressed in lacy nightclothes.

She gathered up my skirt and blouse, gave me another cheerful smile, and left.

I let out my breath when the door finally closed behind her.

Then I got up, reached into the potted plant beside the dressing table, pulled the pen-box out from under the greenery where I had hidden it, and went hunting for a robe.

~~~

I was looking at the bellpull panel, debating over ringing for the maid again so she could tell me where NaVarre's study happened to be, when someone tapped on the door.

Panic instantly shot through my veins. As if the Coventry would knock first. I rolled my eyes at my own nerves, then had to force myself to cross the room to the door.

NaVarre was leaning casually against the jamb, and he gave me a lopsided little grin when I peeked out at him. "Just thought I'd drop by and check on you," he whispered.

I let out a breath and opened the door all the way.

NaVarre's grin slipped, his eyes moving to the gauze at my throat. "How are you feeling?"

I raised an eyebrow. I wanted to ask where he and his men had been when Arramy was facing all those Coventry agents by himself, but that would have taken too much effort and a lot of scratchy words, so I settled for holding up the pen-box.

NaVarre's eyes widened, and his smile didn't fade this time.

I expected him to take the pen-box from me, but instead he straightened and held out his arm. "Shall we? The Captain is in my study, and I really don't want to keep him waiting. He starts taking things apart when he gets bored."

~~~

Arramy was sitting calmly behind NaVarre's desk when we walked in. If he had dismantled anything I couldn't tell. He saw me and stared, his jaw muscles ticking, his lips tightening. Then he stood, abdicating NaVarre's swiveling chair in favor of leaning on the front edge of the desk.

A blush crept over my cheeks. He had bathed, and his hair was still damp and sticking up a bit on top, which subtly emphasized the angles of his cheekbones and the rugged lines of his face. He was almost... handsome. And I was noticing the effect a little too much for my own comfort. He clearly didn't want me there. I looked away, glancing around the room.

Like the rest of NaVarre's plantation manorhouse, NaVarre's study was opulent without being gaudy. The walls were a deep emerald green, with rich copperwood wainscoting. Bookcases lined two walls, a massive fireplace dominated the third, and floor-to-ceiling windows the fourth. With the curtains drawn and the only light coming from the fire in the grate, it would probably have been quite a cozy room under different circumstances.

That impression lasted until the sound of bolts clicking shut inside the wall made me turn around. NaVarre was locking a solid metal door over the inside of the wooden one we had come through.

"It's a soundproof barrier," he explained. He had opened a panel in the entryway and was fiddling with a bunch of levers and gears. He pushed two of the levers down, and the curtains rippled as similar sheets of metal closed over the windows. "I have learned that I cannot be too careful when I'm off the Island," he added, flipping a few other, smaller levers before closing the panel. "Now." He dusted his hands off and went striding toward his desk. "Let's see what you found."

A flicker of surprise registered on Arramy's face as I crossed the floor to stand next to him at the desk.

I placed the pen-box in the middle of NaVarre's writing mat, hoping that would make my point for me: this hadn't been for nothing.

NaVarre stared down at the box, then picked it up, his brows drawing together as he used a letter knife to slice open the seals holding the corners of the cottonpaper wrapper together. Dried wax crumbled onto his desk as he pulled the edges apart, and then a narrow metal box fell onto his desk with a dull thunk.

For several seconds none of us moved.

It wasn't a pen-box. I didn't know what it was. To my knowledge Father had never owned anything like it. It was obviously worn with use, but there were no hinges, and there didn't seem to be a lid.

Arramy picked the thing up, examining it closely, running his fingers along the edges. Then he pushed on the top, and the thing slid apart, an outer sleeve separating from an inner compartment. What looked like a claim-ticket dropped into his waiting palm. Arramy peered into the box again, then tapped it firmly on the desk. A slender blue stick tumbled free and came to rest on the blotter.

It couldn't really be a stick. My throat aching, I scooped the little blue thing up and carefully peeled off the bit of gummy string wrapped around it. A tightly rolled strip of blue superfine paper unfurled in my hand. Slowly, I unrolled it all the way, fully aware that I was probably about to read the last thing my father had left for me.

Two lines of poetry written in Old Kareshi-Auri:

Till stars become dust, my darling, I do
Love you, I love you, my darling so true

Followed by one line of code.

Quietly, NaVarre handed me his fountain pen and a few sheets of paper. I drew in a breath, scrubbed furiously at my watery eyes, then went to work.

Twenty minutes later I had it solved: after replacing every letter with its direct Altyran equivalent, the first letter of the first line was the starting point, and since there was no number indicated, I had to skip every third letter. I lined those letters up with each of the eight symbols created by my pendant with North over South and continued until I had used up every letter in the Altyran alphabet. Then I took the coded line Father had written and began using the groups of letters under each symbol to solve it. This was the 'easy' version; the one he had taught me first before introducing the other variables. It was also the hardest for an outsider to crack.

"Stalwart," NaVarre muttered when I held up the finished solution. He closed his eyes, frustration plain on his face as he let his head fall against the back of his chair. "Stalwart what?"

I went over the proof again, but that was the only word combination that made sense in Altyran. The other possibility was STAL and WARN, but that didn't quite fit. Father had written the code out as one word. My gut said it would be the most obvious solution. Unless Stalwarn was a surname.

"Is there a financial district in Nim K?" Arramy asked suddenly. He was looking at the ticket. He turned it around so we could see the front: a coat-of-arms with a moneysafe pictured in the upper right field and a pile of coins in the lower left. The letters 'S.V.S.' were emblazoned on a scroll across the top. There was also a name, Sarri Jannes, printed in blotchy typepress at the bottom, followed by a four-digit number.

NaVarre opened his eyes and squinted thoughtfully across his desk at the two of us. Abruptly he spun his chair around and scooted over to the bookshelves behind him. He pulled out a fat leatherbound annual and came rolling back with it, opening it on his desk, scanning down columns of text. After a moment, he found what he was looking for and a slow grin lit his face. "Stalwart Vault Services. 10th block on Calderwodde."

A blush crept to my cheeks and I bit my lip. I had proven myself useful again. Take that, Captain.

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