Between the Lines, page 8
“I can’t pay you.”
Fiona shook her head. “What are we turners with no pages? The death of Blaze affects everyone.”
Rockcruncher’s smile was a small thin line. “Thank you.”
She nodded. “Of course. And the name’s Fiona. Fiona Thorne.”
“Well met. This is council fire. Their food chambers. They are…” He paused and laid a digited palm on his belly. “…ornery when they are hungry. Be careful.”
“Understood.”
The building was nothing more than a small, hot chamber. Even with the suit on, Fiona could feel a light heat from the fire in the middle of the room. A stone circle crowded around it, and around the stone crater lay a group of four salamanders: red, green, yellow, and black.
“Greetings, children of Aredin, leaders of Aredin’s Rock, and most perfect salamanders,” Rockcruncher boomed. “I have come to introduce you to a traveler of great importance.”
A tail flicked. Another tail flicked toward the heat. The salamanders didn’t stir, but that didn’t deter Rockcruncher. He continued, “The turner Thorne has a few questions for the clan council of Aredin’s Rock. Private questions.”
Four sets of beady eyes riveted on Fiona, and she slid a glance to Rockcruncher. He didn’t seem the type to lull her into a trap, so she assumed he knew what he was doing.
“Greetings, most perfect salamanders,” Fiona said, copying Rockcruncher but trying to keep any sarcasm out of her voice. She moved closer so she could see the creatures.
Eyes shut and opened, tails flicked, but not being a great study in salamander behaviors, Fiona wasn’t sure if that was acknowledgment. She put herself into an illogical mindset and blurted out, “Ashborn?”
No changes. Were the salamanders ignoring her, or was her Claire just that bad? She decided to push a little with her remaining time. “The Ashborn rules around here, yes?”
The yellow salamander sat up abruptly. The red fat one pointed a digit at Fiona. “Don’t talk to us about silly phoenix, human. We are the rulers here.”
“Oh, oh, of course here, in Aredin’s realm. But what about elsewhere?”
“Elsewhere we are rulers there too,” the yellow one said.
“What about the flarions and the ragnis? Where do they rule?” she said, poking at the names to hopefully bring about some sort of reaction.
“Nowhere soon,” the green salamander said, smiling up at her.
“And why is that?” Fiona replied. There was silence. If Blaze died out, the flarions and ragnis would have nowhere to go. They needed the flames and the lava the most, she’d heard. The salamanders could find other hot places in a few mortal pages. Larrakane help the ones they moved to.
The salamanders didn’t so much look at each other as stared at each other, gesturing and flicking their tongues. Fiona suspected they were communicating in a way she couldn’t grasp. She broke in, “What do you know about the Ashborn’s Blackstone?”
“Don’t talk to us about Blackstone, human. We didn’t take it from the silly phoenix,” the red one said.
“Go look at the elementals. They’re much closer to Obsidian’s Tooth,” said the yellow.
The name didn’t sound familiar. It definitely wasn’t where the Ashborn lived in Radiance Peak. “Oh, Obsidian’s Tooth,” she said, smiling to cover her lie. “Yes, yes, the Ashborn’s sanctum.”
“It’s not the silly phoenix’s sanctum,” the green one said, indignant. “They’re ours too.”
The red salamander hissed, and the others fell silent. They were clearly covering something up. Fiona pressed her lips together. “I see. And you don’t know anything about the Blackstone?”
“No. It’s rude to come in and accuse the most perfect salamanders,” the red one hissed.
“Very mean,” said the yellow.
“Trespasser!” said the red.
“Not this again,” she mumbled. She had stayed a bit too long with the hotheads and had stoked their fire.
“Trespasser!” the red rasped out again.
“Wait,” Fiona said, putting up her hands. She didn’t want them to do something foolish, but she could tell that was the direction they were heading. She just needed a moment of distraction. “Before you kick me out, allow me to present the gift I’ve brought you.”
The salamanders looked at each other, and Fiona could see them wavering. The lie was a start, but she needed something to clinch it. She waved her hands, keeping their attention. “It’s a nice gift. A spy flarion.”
There was a collective gasp. Well, a hiss of air that Fiona took as a gasp. They rapidly looked at each other, gesturing and talking. Even the black salamander, small and quiet until then, got up and pushed into the discussion. Distracted indeed.
Fiona took this moment to whisper to Rockcruncher in her human tongue, “It was very nice meeting you. Sorry about this bit.” She ran out of the building and into the dusty, crowded streets.
Fiona heard a quick shout from the building but didn’t turn back to see if anyone was coming after her. Through the worn paths and foothills she jogged, searching for the entrance out of the city. Cresting over a small ridge, she spied the opening as she heard tails thumping behind her.
“Trespasser! Trespasser, slow down so we can catch you,” came a voice from far behind her.
“No thank you!” Fiona yelled over her shoulder. Making her way across the threshold, she whistled long and loud, hoping that Soots would hear her.
She raced into the dead forest, the shouts of salamanders closing in. A branch caught on her cloak as she dashed around the trees, struggling to keep firm footing on the barren rocky ground. She ripped her cloak away and much of the branch as well. She ran. If she could lose them in La’mior, she could double back to the pagemark when safe. She wished fervently that the forest actually was alive and thick with flames so it would be easier to hide.
She zigged and then zagged. Thinking quickly, she stripped off a fireproof glove and tossed it on the ground. Heat arched across her skin, blistering immediately. She thrust her naked hand into her suit pocket and hoped it would hold until she could get back to Spine. Her breathing was harsh, the effects of the jelly breath wearing off from her exertions.
She whistled once more and moved in the opposite direction of the glove. Pressing tight against the remains of a large obsidian tree, she tried to remain still. With her dark garb and the obvious evidence somewhere else, she hoped she could blend in with the tree. She took shallow breaths and tried to mete out her air intake.
A salamander mumbled something too far away for her to hear clearly. More shouts of “Trespasser!” came at intervals.
“She probably went this way.”
“You go to the left and I go to the right?”
“Why am I right?”
They were pressing closer as they argued, not moving farther away. Damn their inability to focus on clues set out for them. Should’ve waved it from a branch apparently.
As they closed in, Fiona held her breath. She didn’t want to pull out her scarf and risk it getting damaged. But the salamanders wouldn’t understand her imminent asphyxiation as she argued with them. She’d just have to wing it and maybe try to fight.
“We’ve already caught her. She’s back in the city,” Rockcruncher’s voice rang out through the trees. The sounds of the salamanders’ movement stopped. “Come on now. We’ve got to question her about the spy.”
Fiona smiled at his words, surprised by his lying. She wasn’t quite sure why he was doing it, but she was thankful. Blessed by Larrakane himself, that one.
The salamanders grumbled about their rewards of warm rock and food. Their sounds faded away. Fiona counted to three and stepped away from the tree to find the area empty. An immense sense of relief washed over her, and she turned to find Soots bobbing toward her at lightning speed.
Fiona held out her arm for Soots to alight on. “I missed you too.”
Soots danced on her arm as Fiona detangled herself from the branch caught on her cloak. Ah well, at least she had something to give to Gaili for her troubles. Sliding it into her scarf, she made her way gingerly back to the pagemark.
She was out of time here, but there was so much to consider. She’d need to figure out what Obsidian’s Tooth was and why the salamander clan council were acting so dodgy about it. It sounded as if the Blackstone had been somewhere around there, but that’s not what the Ashborn had said. And she needed to speak with the elementals who lived close to this Tooth. They doubled back to the pagemark as quietly as possible to turn the page back to Spine.
The city was in the beginning stages of dusk when they returned. Fiona found herself closer to the booth with the salamander jacket. He was poring over a green paper leaflet and ignoring a geared-up human turner in front of him. The Card was a free leaflet produced out of the Travel Guild for all pages to enjoy. Not made quite the same as their currency, there was an element to its durability that was woven into its fabric. A trade secret that she was sure someone somewhere was probably trying to figure out. She grabbed one for herself from the fresh stack by the ledger, nodded to the other turner, and made her way out as she glanced over the daily news.
NEW GUILDHALL PUT ON HOLD FOR LACK OF MATERIALS. “IT WILL BE COMPLETED,” BINDER SAYS, MATERIALS AND PROTESTS NOTWITHSTANDING.
AIRSHIP STOLEN WHOLE FROM RISE. WHO WOULD CAPER BENEATH THE QUIVERING EYE OF THE BRILLIANT QUEEN?
Someone stole an airship from Rise? Bless Larrakane, how in the world did they turn the page with that behemoth? Fiona’s native page, Restless Rise, was home to many airships, and while a few had made their way piecemeal to other pages, taking one wholly intact was astounding. There was a limit to what a turner could take with them. Fiona never fathomed something so bulky could make the turn.
Scanning the rest of the bulletins, she noted that there wasn’t one line about the impending doom of Blaze. It was as if the Travel Guild was completely ignoring the catastrophe.
She ran her hand across her bundles of coiled dark tresses, smoothing out flyaways. “Soots,” she called out, “I’m going to take a breather.”
:Hungry.:
“Aye, me too. I’m surprised you didn’t eat something back on Blaze.”
:Broken.:
“Oh, I guess in its state there’s nothing nutritious there for you to eat… Well, let’s get you back home first then.”
They traversed the busy streets of the turner district. A few heads swiveled in their direction. Fiona guessed it was a bit of an unusual sight to see a flame sprite so deep into the district. Or maybe just weird to see anyone with her. A couple of friendly faces—previous clients who’d come to her for a lost dog, stolen jewelry, and a derailed book shipment—waved at her in greeting.
The last of them flagged her down. “Mistress Thorne, I just wanted to say hello.” The old human woman with dark skin that matched Fiona’s stared more at the flame sprite than at Fiona. She was largest in the middle and wore the tucked and puffed-up gowns of Fiona’s native home, though an older style than what was currently in fashion. Her wavy gray hair was pulled into a bun, and her round glasses were pressed tight against her face.
“Ah yes, Mistress Didia, this is Soots. Soots, this is Mistress Didia.”
Soots flew toward the woman but cautiously hovered above them both.
“Oh, such an interesting creature,” the older lady said, adjusting her glasses. “Don’t let them too close to those books I gave you now.”
Fiona bit back a grimace, thinking of Soots’s earlier mishaps. “Of course not.”
“Did you get a chance to talk to the Elder?”
“Yes, Mistress Didia,” Fiona said. “Took on a case for them.”
“Excellent. Excellent,” she said, shading her eyes as she stared distractedly at Soots. “Couldn’t have gotten my books back without you. Hope the introduction is proving useful.”
“How long have you known the Elder again?”
“Oh, a bit. I was about your age when they found me wandering the woods of Spine. Took me in. But druidry wasn’t for me. Too much sitting.”
Fiona laughed. Didia must be pushing close to ninety at the rate of her movements and looks. For the Elder to be even half of that pushed the part-faekin, part-human theory firmly in the forefront.
“Well, it’s very good they did. Couldn’t imagine not having you for a neighbor.”
“Aye, you too, Mistress Thorne. Don’t tread too far from my doorstep, you hear?”
Fiona smiled, warmed by the platitude. It was nice to think that at least once in her life she had made a bit of an impression. She nodded and said bye, then made her way to her manor house.
Fiona got Soots settled in the stove, happily burning what was left of her wood stockpile. She’d have to stock up for as much as they seemed to eat. Saying goodbye to the indulging sprite, Fiona made her way in the twilight to the large way station a short distance from her home.
The Thread was four stories tall with circular peaks at each corner like towers. The first floor held the public house, the second the showroom, and the rest guest rooms and private quarters. Glass windows set into the towers gave each its own unblinking eye. Its wooden exterior was robin’s-egg blue with thin cream lines of crisscrossing wood making delicate, intricate hatched lines on the roof and along the eaves. These hatched patterns covered much of the upper portion of the dwelling and gave the appearance that a gentle handkerchief of lace had been draped over the entire affair. Although it had been around for most of Fiona’s fifteen years in Spine, it seemed to be the only thing here that didn’t feel like it came from somewhere else. There was nothing else like it in the whole Book.
Fiona strode inside the warm room filled with boisterous laughter and ripples of chatter. The smell of citrus clung to the air, and she could almost taste the sweet treats she had come for. All eyes turned to her, searching for something. Gossip more than likely. That’s what they wanted. Gossip ran faster than water through the aqueducts high above the city. If anything of value was being whispered about her cases, she’d hear it here.
Fiona liked that she could learn something new every time she surrounded herself with a bunch of page turners. And the Thread was almost always packed to the brim with them. Most were old-timers, but a few Guild jackets were sprinkled in as well. No matter who you worked for or what you did, a turner could always feel at home at the Thread. It was a sanctuary of sorts where no clashes outside could be settled inside. That was thanks to Mac, an enigma of a woman who was currently filling orders behind the low bar.
“Fi!” Mac called out in greeting. She raised a golden tattooed hand in her direction and kept filling drinks with the other. Mac was faekin but unlike the fauns, fairies, and pixies that were the usual turners from the Court of Copper, Mac seemed to be one of a kind, much like her place. She was taller than all, even the fauns and centaurs. Her long sunglow-gold hair was haphazardly pulled back behind large, wilting, downy ears. Some faekin had one, maybe two tattoos, but Mac seemed to have them all over. She never talked about them much, but they told a story nonetheless in cream, olive, and indigo.
Fiona glanced around the Thread catching a smile from Dodger, who was seated in the back with some other jackets. She gave a nod but stopped short when she noticed a familiar tigress not too far from where Dodger sat. Petronia. Fiona smiled bright lest she give a hint that she had been thrown off. Petronia raised her glass in a mock salute, but there was no smile on her face. Fiona would need to warn someone about her before she caused any trouble.
Fiona sat at the bar and settled her focus on Mac in her ethereal flowing azure robe. It was her signature outfit. The threads on the garment were delicate, but she never snagged in her all running around. Fiona often wondered, if she wore that to sling drinks, what did she wear in her downtime or to go out? Not that she had ever seen Mac out in the city. Come to think of it, she had never seen her outside the Thread.
Fiona grabbed a fistful of puffy white miniature clouds set out in a bowl. They were soft and squishy, and she popped one in her mouth. She had expected them to be sweet the first time she tried one. They reminded her of the marshmallows from her native page in looks, but they were incredibly tart.
“Good to see you,” said Mac when she got a minute and could focus on her new patron. “Haven’t been in for a while. Was worried you were going to work yourself to death if you didn’t stop for a moment.”
Accustomed to Mac’s forwardness, Fiona grinned. “Sitting on my behind in here won’t pay the bills unfortunately.”
“It could if you learned how to clean a glass or two,” Mac said, corners of her mouth crinkling into a smile. “But you’re here now, so I’ll let it be. I missed your face.”
“I missed your face too, Mac.” Fiona paused and made a small nod in Petronia’s direction. “What’s the format on her, eh?”
Mac didn’t even slide a glance in the direction. “She’s unread, that’s for sure. Maybe been in Spine a couple of weeks. Why you asking?”
“She’s trouble. Just wanted to give you the dry in case she binds something from you.”
“You’re sweet,” Mac said, signaling that she understood.
Fiona trudged through the first reason she had come here. Information. “You know a few different languages right?”
Mac laughed, a hearty sound coming from someone so delicately dressed. “More like twenty.”
Fiona pulled out a torn sheet of stationery from her scarf. She scrawled out a few phrases she’d memorized from the ledger and showed it to Mac. “Have you ever seen this phrase before?”
Mac took her glasses from some unseen pocket in her robe and placed them on her face. She squinted at Fiona’s handwriting before shaking her head. “That’s not a language.”
“You mean it’s not a language you know?”
Mac looked at Fiona with the sort of face that told her in no short terms she said what she said.
“Okay then, so it’s not a language. But it’s clearly different words of Schiflan,” Fiona said, pointing to her native tongue.
“Yeah and different words of Claire, Aer, and a little Court of Copper mixed in. It’s someone using the languages to make a cypher.”
