Unwritten, page 12
Beatrix poured some of her coins on her palm to begin sorting through them. She hated to recognize that William had been right about her need for funds.
The humanoid lifted her nose. “We don’t accept old money. Only guild coin.”
“This one’s on me.” Jane stepped forward, offering her wristband to the shop assistant, who touched it with the back of her hand.
And before Beatrix could protest, a voice overhead announced, “Payment accepted. Thank you for your purchase, Jane Harriet Clifford. Have a nice day.”
Unlike upon their arrival, the Akos-Stellaris lifts platform was crowded. At least fifty people were gathered around the entrance, making any progress impossible.
“What’s going on?” Beatrix asked as the commotion forced them to stop.
“Not sure.” Jane eyed the people loitering and elbowing their way along the invisible walkway. “That explains it,” she said a minute later, as a group of leather-and-chainmail-clad figures with crossbows and swords exited the lift station. A mass of screaming fans and paparazzi chased after them, flashes blinking. “That would be the Shadow Skywarriors. Much like royalty around here, especially after the High Fantasy Guild won last year’s award.”
“Oh, my,” Emma said. “I’ve never seen them before.”
Beatrix gaped. “I adore that series!” Her heart fluttered, and the whispers broke into song. She must be dreaming. Here they were. The breathing, living characters she loved. Friends she’d shared adventures and sorrows with. She’d felt closer to them than family, known them so well she could recite their words by heart. And yet, in real life, they were strangers.
Fans screamed after them, offering gifts, throwing up their hands, some crying, and Beatrix’s smile faltered. “Seems naïve now that I thought of them as my friends. I mean, so did a million other readers.”
“Not silly,” Emma said. “Readers are very special to taelimns.”
“Emma’s right.” Jane tucked her hands in her pants with a nonchalance Beatrix wished she possessed. “Readers become part of stories themselves. Everything is connected, and without readers to inspire, stories would lose all meaning.” Jane pointed at a figure in a long Regency dress. “Speaking of famous taelimns. While I don’t know the Skywarriors, I could introduce you to her.”
Beatrix was too speechless to respond. It didn’t matter, because from farther up the line, the lady had spotted them and strode in their direction.
“My dear Jane!” she said, arms extended.
They made for an interesting contrast: the one in battered travel clothes, the other in a spotless gown and bonnet. Jane performed the introductions.
“You’re exactly like I imagined,” Beatrix said. “I can’t believe I’m talking to you. I grew up dreaming of Pemberley.”
With a laugh, the lady offered her a gloved hand. “You’re very kind.”
Emma curtsied and kept silent.
“You’ll find Beatrix intriguing,” Jane said. “What with your interest in hybrids and such. She’s an Unwritten. No guild has claimed her.”
“Indeed. Wonderful.” The lady gave Beatrix a generous smile. Her well-modulated words sounded creamy and rich as if she packed each one with more meaning than most people. “Intricate characters are the most amusing.”
Beatrix couldn’t decide whether to take that as a compliment or not. Was amusing a good thing? How about intricate?
Even the Furie was happy for once. I’ve met her! My favorite heroine. This is crazy.
They’d almost reached the end of the line, and the buzzing of the air lifts began to overpower the scene. It became so loud Beatrix had to strain to follow the conversation. That was when the lady’s demeanor changed.
“I want to know,” she whispered.
“You’re aware.” Jane looked relieved. She took off her hat and held it by the pinch. “I didn’t know if you’d heard.”
“Is it true? Fitzwilliam determined to make inquiries.”
“More than rumors.” Jane’s tone rang cautious. She held her coat closed, although it wasn’t that cold. “The Librarian and the council are keeping quiet to avoid widespread panic.”
“It is shocking! It cannot be concealed. Is it absolutely certain?”
Jane’s face betrayed anxiety, her gestures devoid of all lightness. “It won’t be kept hidden for long. The disappearances are too conspicuous. Hundreds of worlds gone.”
“Good heavens!” the lady said. “How could that be?”
“There was no breach, no alarms triggered. It’s a Charmancer—there’s no longer a doubt. But he had inside help. This much is clear—the burnings have only started.”
The sounds from belts snapping and the seatlifts whizzing echoed against the spiraled glass of Akos-Stellaris’s buildings, and Jane’s next sentences were muffled. Beatrix pointed her ears. “…too dangerous…warn the League…” Jane glanced at the lady’s drawstring bag and an object Beatrix couldn’t see changed hands.
“Tell Darcy what I’ve shared,” Jane said. “The traitor will be found.”
“He deserves to be publicly disgraced,” the lady said.
“Until he is, take good care.”
The lift attendant called the lady soon after, and she left them, with a swish of her petticoat and the elegance of those who never have to try. Beatrix watched her go with her mouth open.
“I’ve met Elizabeth. I can’t believe it!”
“She’s the original one too,” Emma said. “About a hundred other versions around. They’re nothing like her.”
Jane hooked her thumbs on the waist of her cargo pants and grinned. “The fakes can’t be blamed for their fate, Emma. Be generous.”
Beatrix frowned. “I didn’t even think of that. But wow. Just wow. Elizabeth Darcy! And you two are good friends, Jane… She’s different… I guess time has passed… She’s different but somehow the same. Amazing.” Excitement turning her movements jittery, Beatrix fidgeted with her hair, making the strands which had escaped her bun puff up. “Up until now, I didn’t really get it. But it is real. Stories are alive!”
Placing her hat back on her head, Jane let out a laugh. “I like your attitude. Don’t lose it. Immortality has a way of dampening enthusiasm. Way too much solemnity around here.”
Beatrix thought of the shadow that had transformed Elizabeth’s face. “What were you talking about? What’s a Charmancer?”
Emma’s ears perked up too, her eyes eager.
“Oh, just gossip,” Jane said, looking away.
“What kind of gossip?” Beatrix asked.
But Jane’s features had grown unmoving. She’d say no more.
13
CODEX
The following day, Beatrix, Jane, and Emma met at the entrance to the All Guilds Bureau. Before breakfast, the Librarian had sent a permit slip to query the Codex. He’d included a note admonishing Beatrix “not to be greedy” and refrain from asking more than one question. “I will know,” he had written—a comment that had made her both cringe and roll her eyes.
According to the permit, she was to appear at the East Wing, the Special Requests and Unorthodox Permits department, at 2:15 p.m. So this time, they took a right turn when they entered the Bureau’s huge lobby where the whole Bounding debacle had taken place and then pushed through a side door with a knocker shaped like two crossed feathers. A lot smaller than the main hall, the Special Requests room was nevertheless cavern-like, with a vaulted ceiling covered in moving paintings and a row of customer service windows taking up almost the entire perimeter.
Despite arriving on time, the greeter, a journeyman with a wide felt hat and a knotted walking stick, instructed them to stand in line. The waiting area was cordoned off in a circular pattern and seemed to snake around the whole room. Beatrix fidgeted at the further delay. Jane shared her impatience.
“You can handle this, right, Beatrix?” she said, toying with the brim of her hat.
“Of course!” Beatrix didn’t need a babysitter, and it took no genius to figure out Jane felt eager to leave. She scurried off a few minutes later, quoting the need to run some errands. Jane hadn’t been the same since the encounter with Elizabeth the previous day. A fount of information about everything else, Jane had avoided all of Beatrix’s probing questions regarding that cryptic interaction.
As Jane reached the exit, Beatrix saw that William waited there. His gaze hardened at the sight of her. Whatever. Then the door closed, and they were both gone.
“Agh, this is ridiculous,” Emma said with a huff after they moved just one spot forward in the next ten minutes. “What’s the point of an appointment if we still have to wait?”
Beatrix agreed wholeheartedly. After a productive morning, she wondered again why the Zweeshen bothered with queues. This felt as enthralling as a visit to the DMV.
She watched the oscillating fan turn in one corner and wiped her forehead with her sleeve. In a complete opposite to the weather outside, the inside of the Bureau was sweltering. And whose idea had it been to abstain from air conditioning?
“This heat is unhealthy!”
Beatrix pivoted to identify the person who’d voiced her thoughts. He was a tall taelimn several spots behind them in line. Even though he couldn’t be over twenty, his dark hair was streaked silver. “Ought to do something about it, right?” He crouched, then turned in a controlled movement that looked part martial art, part dance. The air cooled immediately, and tiny frost stars floated, suspended close to the ceiling. Several people clapped. Others cheered. The magician bowed like a theater performer, accepting the thanks with glee.
He hadn’t fully straightened when a crash reverberated as the doors to the Bureau’s Special Requests department smashed open and hit the walls. Five uniformed guards burst in, followed by four men in civilian clothing from a variety of eras. The place turned silent.
The guards marched in, their booted footsteps resounding. They grabbed the sorcerer by the arms and handcuffed him. The young man didn’t fight.
“T’was just a bit of fun,” he said, and the guard punched him in the gut. The sorcerer caved in, folding onto himself.
“No need for that.” One of the civilians pushed forward. “I’m the detective in charge.” He was short and plump. Dressed in early twentieth-century clothing, he wore an outrageously ugly vest from which the chain of a watch dangled and a curved mustache that looped at the ends. “Young man, you have committed a felony. Fantasy magic is not permitted on any government grounds. If your first offense, I’ll recommend lenience. Take him away.”
Beatrix gasped, the shock of the scene agitating her blood. Her skin rippled with power. The rush of the Furie, the way it filled her mouth with rust, took her by surprise. It had been quiet—calm since the Bounding mess but for a brief stirring at the banquet—and she had been lulled into believing the Zweeshen might have a positive impact on her control. But now the monster jerked awake, unleashed and volatile. The scene had slashed open a raw spot, separating her from the rational part of herself.
Red rage ran through her, the desire to intervene and lash out stronger than ever. She wanted to hurt with a more virulent desire than she’d felt since the night the monster roused. A slow, insect-like crawling crept up her leg, while the Furie slithered to her throat, and for once, she didn’t care about the impact, the deadly results of her magic. Whatever they got, the guards deserved it.
“No, Beatrix,” Emma said mind to mind. “That’s not you. Don’t! Let them leave. He will get a trial and be set free. Calm down. You’ll be deported if you intervene.”
Emma touched her arm, and together with her words, the contact called forth a memory of Grandpa’s face. “Breathe. You’re the tamer, not the Furie. You’re in control.”
Beatrix exhaled. Her hands balled into fists, and she shook, every hair on her body standing while adrenaline fogged her vision. But she kept the monster in.
As the guards dragged the sorcerer out, Beatrix caught the mix of resignation and fear in his eyes. Before he reached the door, he screamed, “May the words take vengeance on you all. Long live the Pioneers!”
She gulped air. May the words again… “Just an old saying,” Jane had said. “Used as the prefix for any number of well-wishing or bad curse phrases. Nothing special.” That explanation hadn’t sat well with Beatrix. She felt in her marrow the words were important. Why else would Mom mark them as forbidden?
By the door, the guard clobbered the sorcerer on the head, shutting him up, and this time, the detective did not intervene.
Beatrix’s nails dug into her palms. She couldn’t decide if she’d made the right choice. How often had she told herself while facing Julie and her friends that if she were on the outside, she wouldn’t watch passively like so many did? That she’d do something? But she hadn’t. Shame and disgust mixed with the Furie inching underneath her skin.
Her eyes strayed to the door where the sorcerer had disappeared and settled on one of the officers, whose mouth twisted into a self-satisfied sneer. The Furie became a tourniquet around her throat.
Maybe she’d get another chance to get involved.
“Let’s hope not!” Emma murmured. “This isn’t normal. There have been detectives and spies roaming everywhere lately. But this is an outrage. It’s the fear in the air—must be the Charmancer rumors.”
Before Beatrix had the chance to ask again about this Charmancer, one of the civilian officers spoke. “Stay where you are. Do not move or talk, and this will be over soon.”
The four men began weaving through the silent crowd, observing everyone. She narrowed her eyes, her jaw so tight her teeth ground against each other. They circled, calculating, surveying in a way that made everyone squirm. One of them locked stares with Beatrix—his probing, hers defiant. They dueled for less than a minute, and then he moved on.
“I recognize them!” Beatrix told Emma.
“Monsieur Poirot, Sherlock, and Father Brown. That tall one watching you is a botched famous spy. But they’re fakes, from adaptations or continuing stories, not the originals.”
The men nodded to each other.
“Carry on,” the Sherlock version told the crowd.
And they left.
Sound returned. Hushed murmurs and chatting, snorting and complaining—even laughing. An unnatural display that made Beatrix wince. Had she done the right thing staying quiet? A part of her, a large one, was ready to go after them even now.
“Easy,” Emma said.
“What the hell was that?” Beatrix burst out aloud. “Why would magic be illegal? In the universe of stories of all places!”
“You got it wrong,” Emma said. “There’s ‘magic’ everywhere. Even your Earth is full of it. Magic forces move the universe, from gravity to relativity, from rhythm to the true names to the mirror law. What you mean is Fantasy magic, the kind sorcerers and witches and magicians wield, powers like your Furie, and not all taelimns are fond of that.”
Emma pulled a monogrammed handkerchief out of her satchel and wiped her brow. With the sorcerer’s spell destroyed, the heat was again unrelenting. Beatrix leaned against a pillar, a strange dizziness flowing through her. Perhaps a leftover from the night’s episode. Her head pounded. Then again, who could be comfortable in the kiln-worthy heat?
“I don’t understand why anyone would argue against Fantasy magic. It solves tons of problems.” Beatrix glanced toward the fan. “He did nothing wrong.”
Emma shrugged as if she didn’t care; her face told a different story. “Most books are Realistic Fiction, and purists think of Fantasy magic as a lazy, dangerous shortcut that drains Inaechar—our lifeblood and source of energy—for no good reason. Some look down on Fantasy as a guild too. Evenzaar’s from Historical, but he’s obsessed with Fantasy. Even he must make concessions to the nonfantastical guilds. Today was too extreme, though.” Emma’s forehead crumpled. “Something stinks. In general, the nonmagical guilds insist on paperwork or permits and the like. They tie us up in bureaucracy, which is tolerable if in exchange we get to have Rhodoshearts, don’t you think?”
Emma sank into a dissertation on the virtues of magical flavor enhancers, and Beatrix used the chance to people-watch while the line advanced at the pace of a sloth.
Until someone said, “You’re the Unwritten, aren’t you?”
The question belonged to a fair girl who stood in line ahead of Beatrix and Emma. She had a gorgeous face and hair the deep red of rubies. About Beatrix’s age, her blue eyes were dagger-sharp.
“Yes, I’m the Unwritten,” Beatrix said, enough power left in her body for the answer to come out defiant.
“Perfect,” the girl said. “I’ve been waiting to find out why my vision sent me here, and now I know. We’ll be great friends.”
She smiled, and her beauty became so luminescent it was hard to stop staring.
“You can always tell when someone is a Main rather than a Secondary taelimn,” Emma murmured, mind to mind. “They’re always prettier.”
“I didn’t mean to pry,” the redhead said. “It’s just that you’re a bit of a sensation. Plastered all over the media. I just heard the juicy details during our staff meeting.” She went on to cheerfully inform them she worked as a teaching assistant at Navarsing. Extending her arm, she introduced herself.
“Your name is unheeded prophetess?” Beatrix asked. Maybe some taelimns didn’t get real names and were stuck with descriptors like in movie credits: waiter #1 or blond shopper.
The girl laughed with infectious mirth. “Opt out of your interpreter. It’s mistranslating my name.”
“Push the tab and say ‘exclude name,’” Emma instructed, and Beatrix repeated after her.
She felt a slight vibration, like a phone on buzz. “So your name is…”
“Cassandra.”
“All fixed. I’m Beatrix.”
“I know. I would’ve recognized you anywhere. I saw you a while back. You’re the unbound, Unwritten taelimn. So exciting! You have the professors squawking like chickens.”
