Mirror Sight

  He greeted other guests as he led her along, pointedly ignoring Cade. He introduced her to an elderly man, hard of hearing. “This is Josston’s niece, Miss Goodgrave.”

  “Good for the grave, you say?” the old man asked, cupping his ear.

  “No, this is Miss Goodgrave,” Dr. Silk said in an elevated voice. “Josston’s niece.”

  “Ooh.” The old man chortled. “Josston’s niece. I thought you were sending me off to an early grave, young man.” He patted Dr. Silk on the shoulder and moved on in halting steps, chuckling to himself.

  “An early grave?” Dr. Silk laughed softly himself. “Wills Barrow is nearly ninety-five years old.”

  As Dr. Silk and Karigan approached a display in a glass case, other guests deferentially made space for them.

  “Some of my better archeological finds,” he said.

  Karigan gazed into the case with interest at corroded pieces of bronze that must have once been daggers and pieces of swords. They had no guards, and nothing remained of the hilts.

  “Black Age weapons,” Dr. Silk said. “Or earlier. It’s a very hard time about which to make conclusions.”

  “The Black Ages were before the emperor?” Karigan knew when the Black Ages had been. They’d led into the period of Mornhavon and the Long War, but she thought she ought to ask questions as Miss Goodgrave would.

  Dr. Silk smiled. “Very good. Yes, my dear, long before the emperor came and provided salvation for our people from despot rulers.”

  Karigan tried not to bristle at the insinuation of King Zachary being a “despot.” He’d been—still was—a just and fair ruler.

  Other artifacts included metalwork pendants and sigils with rough depictions of lizards or dragons, some deteriorated almost beyond recognition.

  “These,” Dr. Silk said, “are works by the emperor’s very early ancestors.”

  Amberhill’s ancestors? That would explain the dragon sigil used by the empire, Karigan thought. “Is this also from the Black Ages?”

  “Have you ever heard of the sea kings?”

  “Very little,” she replied truthfully.

  “They once ruled these lands, and their blood runs through many of our people, perhaps yours, too.”

  So, Karigan wondered, did Amberhill fancy himself a conquering sea king? What in the five bloody hells would have put that notion into his head?

  “The sea king’s people worshipped the sea dragon, and dragons in general,” Dr. Silk explained. “It shows up as a recurring motif in much of their handiwork. Does your uncle show you any of his findings?”

  Not an innocent question, she surmised, and wouldn’t he like to know the truth. She was not about to reveal the professor’s secret treasure trove, so she replied, “Not really. His office is quite a mess.”

  Dr. Silk appeared to think about her answer for a moment as if trying to divine a hidden meaning, before moving onto the next series of artifacts, pairs of rusted spurs, their leather straps rotted away. He did not question her further.

  There were several more artifacts in the case, of varying antiquity and condition, but the gleam of a bright blade caught the corner of Karigan’s eye, and disregarding the other artifacts, she moved down the case, her heart thudding faster and faster.

  Dr. Silk saw her interest and said, “Ah. A more recent piece, maybe only two hundred years old. I found it in a very unusual site.”

  He had to have, Karigan thought, for it was her very own saber that she had lost in Castle Argenthyne, in the heart of Blackveil Forest. She would know it anywhere.

  THE IMAGE TRAPPER

  Karigan knew each scratch and nick of the finely honed blade, the feel of the leather-wrapped hilt against her palm. She was so startled, so overwhelmed to see it here, she backed into the stolid person of Cade, who grabbed her shoulders to steady her. Dr. Silk appeared not to notice her reaction. He was bent over the case, the saber gleaming in the lenses of his specs.

  Cade looked at Karigan. What could she tell him? How could she tell him this was her sword? She flexed her hand, yearning to grasp the hilt.

  “A very unusual find, indeed,” Dr. Silk murmured. “Not that we haven’t found plenty of swords like this. They were favored by the mounted units of the last despot king.”

  “What makes it so unusual?” Karigan asked, her voice quavering. Although she knew where it must have been found, maybe this would be a way of communicating to Cade its importance without having to say it herself.

  “We found it completely out of context in a place you would not expect to find one. We’ve dug up a number in the Old City, and a handful have been found scattered across the empire. This one was found in the Imperial Preserve, which was once known as the Blackveil Forest, inside the castle of an ancient civilization. There were a few other artifacts out of place there, but I chose this particular piece for display because I like the old weapons.”

  “I’ve read most of your papers on your various discoveries,” Cade said.

  “I should hope so, Mr. Harlowe, as it is your field of study, after all.”

  “Yes, sir, but I don’t recall mention of any discoveries like this in the Imperial Preserve. I know there had been surveys, but . . .”

  “I had not written about this because disclosure was not permitted at the time. We needed to study the problem further.”

  “And your conclusions?” Cade asked.

  “Simply that some poor, brave wretches had entered what we know as the Imperial Preserve, most likely sent against their wills by the king of that time. One sees references to rumors of such an expedition, but though I’ve looked tirelessly, I’ve never been able to find definitive documentation.” He sighed and shook his head. “It will be one of those mysteries to plague future generations of archeologists, I imagine.”

  Karigan saw realization spread across Cade’s face as he connected the sword to her. She was glad Professor Josston had obtained the documentation that Silk could not find. She could only imagine what would happen if he knew that it did, indeed, exist, and that one of the “poor, brave wretches” stood there beside him.

  She had thought she would never see her sword again, that it would lay abandoned forever in the depths of Castle Argenthyne. She certainly could not have imagined seeing it on display in this fashion. It was so close. All she need do is break the glass case and reach in, but she couldn’t do that. No, not now, not even as someone who was supposed to be insane. They’d just take it away from her and ask too many questions.

  She wrenched her gaze from it, walked determinedly away as if she weren’t very interested. In a daze, she drifted past a dog act, a little mongrel leaping through a hoop to the delighted applause of onlookers. Both Cade and Dr. Silk caught up with her. She halted when suddenly confronted with a great gray eagle, its wings outspread, the feathers glistening in multi-hued brilliance in the fragmented light of the big top. He was magnificent, his beak as sharp as a dagger and his talons powerful and sharp enough to deeply score the massive branch he perched on. He was as majestic as the one gray eagle she had once met, but inanimate. Dead. He was another stuffed specimen with glass eyes lacking the fire of life.

  “Another excellent kill by the emperor,” Dr. Silk said. “It is rather fearsome, isn’t it?”

  Karigan wanted to say it was tragic, and that his emperor was a murderer, but Cade pulled her, unresisting, past the display, perhaps sensing her sorrow and the fury that had been building toward Amberhill.

  “Perhaps it is too fearsome,” Dr. Silk mused. “My apologies to the lady. Perhaps Miss Goodgrave would like to see one of our modern marvels rather than dusty old relics of the past?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he once again took Karigan’s arm and led her off across the ring, Cade staying resolutely at her side. Being tugged this way and that by the two men was getting annoying. Cade, she thought, was only trying to be Weaponly,
but she was tiring of this subordinate role she must play.

  Dr. Silk took them to a small covered wagon which stood parked next to a curtained area. A cluster of guests milled around it. Fancy lettering on the wooden-sided wagon proclaimed: Fine Image Trapping by T.C. Stamwell.

  “An image trapper?” Cade asked in surprise. “I’ve read about image trapping but haven’t seen it done.”

  “You are a studious boy,” Dr. Silk said, and Karigan felt Cade bristle beside her at the jibe. “Now you may see it for yourself,” Dr. Silk went on. “The process has been simplified, so I believe it will spread across the empire.”

  “What is image trapping?” she asked. It sounded dangerous.

  “In this case, portraiture.”

  Hanging from a wire strung along the side of the wagon were small framed pictures. They were all black and white portraits of gentlemen with serious expressions and stiff postures. They had not been drawn or painted as far as she could tell. She could not identify the medium that had captured such realism.

  “Would you like to try?” Dr. Silk asked her.

  “Er, try what?”

  “Having your portrait made.”

  She was dubious and found Dr. Silk’s motives highly suspect, still having no idea what the procedure entailed. “Won’t it take very long?” And then she gestured at the portraits. “And isn’t it just for men?”

  “No on both counts. It takes less than a minute, and only the faces of gentlemen are revealed publicly, as is appropriate. You may take your portrait home and give it to your uncle to display as he wishes.”

  “I don’t think—” Cade began.

  “Now, now, Mr. Harlowe,” Dr. Silk said, forestalling him with a black gloved hand. “I have been through the process a few times myself and it is entirely harmless.”

  “I don’t know.” Cade visibly struggled with himself, at once eager to try the image trapping and reluctant to comply with Dr. Silk’s wishes.

  “We’ll do you first then, and when you see how easy it is, there shall be no question. Now come, come.” Dr. Silk cut through the line of waiting patrons. They moved respectfully out of his way, and the man at the head of the line ceded his place.

  Karigan suspected that propriety compelled Cade to follow and play along. One did not refuse the wishes of one of the empire’s most important men at his own party, and that doing so would have only drawn unwanted attention and questions.

  A man in an apron with his sleeves rolled up emerged from the back of the wagon. He pushed his specs up on his nose and took in the line that had formed. “Dear me,” he said. “I should have brought an assistant.”

  He dismounted the steps of the wagon and bowed to Dr. Silk. “You are wishing another portrait, sir?”

  “No, T.C., but this boy and this lady wish to have theirs done.”

  “Oh, very good. Together, or singly?” He gazed at Karigan and Cade as if attempting to establish their relationship.

  “Singly,” Dr. Silk replied. “The boy first, so the lady can see that it is painless.”

  T.C. Stamwell clapped. “Ah, new to image trapping, are we? Come with me then. It is a fascinating process that preserves the captured image forever.” He prattled on about wet plates, emulsion, and salt solutions as he led them behind the curtained area. There, they discovered a small stage set with a painted pastoral scene as a backdrop. An empty chair stood in the center of the stage.

  A wooden box sat propped atop a three-legged apparatus in front of the stage, a spyglass-like protrusion aimed at the chair. T.C. Stamwell directed Cade to sit in the chair and adjusted his pose, using an armature with a neck brace and headrest behind to hold him still.

  “The key, Mr. Harlowe, is to maintain that pose without moving. Keep your face relaxed. Do not speak, laugh, or sneeze. But you can be easy for a minute more while I get ready.”

  Cade looked nervous, Karigan thought. She still did not understand what was supposed to happen.

  Stamwell aimed three bright phosphorene lamps at Cade, who squinted in the light.

  “What is the light for?” she asked.

  “It brightens his image so we may capture it,” Stamwell replied. “You see, we are painting with light and shadow.”

  His reply did little to answer her question. Perhaps if she’d been born of this time she would understand.

  “Now, Mr. Harlowe, please hold your position as we discussed. Tilt your chin up. That’s it.” Stamwell gazed through a hole in his wooden box, then lowered it a little by winding a wheel crank on the apparatus that supported it, and twisted the spyglass protrusion he referred to as the lens. When he was done, he said, “I am going to begin image trapping now.” He removed a cap from the lens and flipped an hourglass on a nearby table.

  Karigan fingered the handle of the bonewood, waiting for something to happen. If the image trapping showed signs of endangering Cade in any way, she’d make short work of that wooden box and T.C. Stamwell. But nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. Cade sat there stiffly, unmoving, his face expressionless. She found herself holding her breath along with him.

  “Hold steady, Mr. Harlowe, you are doing just fine.”

  Karigan’s muscles tensed as if she were the one who had been told to remain still. When all the sand emptied into the bottom half of the hourglass, she guessed only half a minute had elapsed, but it had felt much longer.

  Stamwell covered the lens with the cap and said, “All right, Mr. Harlowe, we are done. I will take the plate into the wagon where the chemicals will quicken your image and preserve it.”

  Cade sighed loudly in relief, and Stamwell chuckled as he removed the “plate” from a slot in the side of the wooden box and headed up the steps into his wagon.

  That was it? Karigan wondered. That was how an image was trapped? It did not seem so bad. Did the image trapper hold captive some essence of a person? She gave Cade a sideways glance, but he appeared wholly unaffected. She examined Stamwell’s wooden box. There was not much to see, but when she gazed through the viewing hole from behind, she discovered the now vacated chair and stage were upside down. She jerked back in surprise and saw that outside of the box, the world remained upright.

  “You see?” Dr. Silk said. “Perfectly harmless. A mirror within turns the view upside down.”

  She gazed through it once more and started again. Not because everything was upside down—no, she was expecting that—but because the dim form of Yates the ghost sat in the chair sketching away. She took in a hard breath, choking back his name lest she shout it aloud in Silk’s presence. Then he simply faded from her vision. She stepped back from the wooden box, shaking. She hid her hands behind her back so the men would not see them trembling.

  Cade, unaware of her distress, examined the box. “A modern wonder,” he murmured.

  “Exactly,” Silk said. “I believe the emperor will be most intrigued by it when he next awakens.”

  Karigan shook herself. It was not the first time Yates had appeared to her, but it was so unexpected to see him here. Yates, what are you trying to tell me? He did not look alarmed or agitated in anyway. He’d shown no awareness of her—just kept sketching. Perhaps she would never know. Perhaps his spirit was just as restless as he had been in life.

  Stamwell returned wiping his hands with a towel. “The image came out very well, and now it is fixing.”

  Fixing what? Karigan wondered.

  “Miss Goodgrave,” Stamwell said, “it is your turn.”

  “Miss Goodgrave is a modest lady,” Cade said. “I do not think she will wish to remove her veil in front of a gentleman who is not family.”

  “T.C. Stamwell is an imperially licensed image trapper,” Dr. Silk said, “and he is legally permitted to trap the faces of ladies as well as gentlemen.”

  Dr. Silk, Karigan thought, seemed a little too eager to see what her veil concealed. If she allowe
d her image to be trapped, who would see it besides Stamwell? Dr. Silk? Mr. Hadley? Dr. Silk would then know her face and perhaps somehow use it to his advantage, and Mr. Hadley might recognize her as the animated corpse that had stepped out of his sarcophagus, and cause trouble.

  “I do not wish to try,” she said. “I do not wish to have my image . . . trapped.”

  “Come, come, Miss Goodgrave,” Dr. Silk said in a cajoling voice. “It is harmless. No one will view it except Mr. Stamwell, unless you wish it.”

  “When it is done, I will wrap it so no one else can see it,” Stamwell said.

  “If she does not wish it, she does not wish it,” Cade said.

  “As your host, I insist you indulge me.” Dr. Silk said it while smiling, but his smile was underlain with threat.

  “She does not—” Cade began.

  “The other ladies have enjoyed having their portraits made and have shown gratitude,” Dr. Silk said.

  Karigan sensed Cade’s increasing tension, and that the conversation was about to escalate into an argument. She placed her hand on his arm to still him. Arguing with Dr. Silk would not end well. He was an important man, a dangerous man, and already the professor’s enemy. And the professor’s student, a young man of low status, could be harmed in many ways by someone of the doctor’s ilk. She suspected that the very least damage he could inflict on Cade was to disrupt his education at the university, although Dr. Silk was capable of doing far worse to anyone who displeased him.

  It was also possible that strenuous refusals—whether from her or on her behalf—would only rouse the doctor’s suspicions further. When it came down to it, making him angry seemed more dangerous than revealing her face. As for Mr. Hadley? Well, he was nowhere in sight, and in any case, the professor could handle him.

  She glanced at the wooden box with the lens. On a whole other level, she couldn’t help but be curious about this image-trapping business, and she wondered what her portrait might look like. “You promise not to show my image to any other?” she asked Stamwell. Not that she would wholeheartedly believe any such promise, but she had to keep up pretenses.