She closed her eyes. It was futile, utterly futile. She could neither beg nor borrow nor steal the potions — or ingredients — she needed to heal. She could no more convince a local brewer to prepare them for her than she could talk her way out of trouble when the searchers finally caught up with her. And she could still feel the poison within her. Her magic was steadily weakening. It was only a matter of time before she became truly defenceless. The landlord would have his fun, then throw her into the alley to die.
Perhaps it would have been better not to rise so high, she thought, grimly. I would not have known there was so far to fall.
Something moved, behind her. “Hello.”
Nanette tensed, trying to spin around. Her body failed her and she wound up a crumpled heap, staring at the man sitting on the rickety wooden chair. It was the landlord… no, it wasn’t. The man wore a hooded cloak, his face shrouded in a glamour that made it hard to see. A long, iron-tipped staff rested in his hand. She couldn’t muster the magic to peer through the spell, but she suspected it didn’t matter. The searchers had found her. It was over.
“You look a mess,” the stranger said. She wondered, insanely, if he wasn’t a searcher, as if he’d merely caught a sniff of a strange visitor and come to investigate. “What happened to you?”
“None of your business,” Nanette managed, somehow. Her voice sounded weak and feeble, even to her. “Who are you?”
“Call me Cloak,” the man said. “How did you get here?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Nanette said. She could feel the poison rushing through her blood, inching towards her heart. “Go away.”
“You’re dying,” Cloak said. “Do you really want me to go away?”
Nanette didn’t even have the strength to glare. He wasn’t going to help. A hundred ideas ran through her mind, ideas she might be able to use to convince him, but… most of them were useless. And the ones that weren’t were almost worse. She had sacrificed so much in the last few days. She wasn’t going to sacrifice her dignity too.
Cloak stood, picked up her bag and started to unload it onto the bed. “You broke a jar of ointment,” he observed. “You’re lucky it didn’t have the chance to mingle with the powdered rhino horn.”
“Go away,” Nanette said. If he wanted to rob her… she didn’t care any longer. Her entire body was growing numb. She knew she should be concerned, but… it was hard to muster the feeling. “I don’t…”
“I can help you,” Cloak said. “In exchange, I need you to perform a task for me. And, if you complete it to my satisfaction, I’ll give you a permanent job.”
“Hah,” Nanette mumbled. She knew she should ask more questions, demand to know the details before she committed herself, but she was dying. And she wanted very much, despite everything, to live. “Fine.”
Cloak knelt down, placed his hand under her chin and lifted her head so she was staring into his shrouded eyes. “Do you accept my offer?”
“Yes.” Nanette hoped she hadn’t made a mistake. “I do.”
“Good.” Cloak removed a glass vial from a hidden pocket, popped it open and held it to her lips. “Drink this.”
Nanette obeyed. The liquid tasted warm and sunny, bringing back memories of a childhood that had been spent in a fatherless home. She felt magic trickling through her, a wave of warmth that banished the numbness. Her entire body shook and started to sweat. A ghostly sensation nearly overwhelmed her, a suggestion that her missing hand was still there. Tears prickled at the corner of her eyes as she forced herself to sit up. She suddenly felt like running and jumping and dancing and…
Cloak caught her arm, just in time to keep her from falling. “Sit down on the bed and wait,” he advised. “It takes some time for the potion to run its course. And then we’ll have to do something about your arm.”
“You can regrow my arm?” Nanette knew it was possible, but it wasn’t cheap. A merchant would have to work for years to scrape together the funds. There was no way her family could have afforded it, in the days before Aurelius had taken her under his wing. “I…”
“There are a few healers who won’t ask inconvenient questions,” Cloak said. She thought she saw him smile, beneath the glamour, but it was hard to be sure. “I’ll take you to one of them.”
“Thanks.” Nanette felt woozy, as if she’d drunk something she really shouldn’t. “I… what did you give me?”
“A very special potion, devised to counteract Death Viper venom,” Cloak said. “Thank you for giving me the chance to test it.”
Nanette stared at him. “You didn’t know if it would work?”
Cloak snorted. “How many people do you know who managed to touch a Death Viper and live to tell the tale?”
“Touché,” Nanette muttered, sourly. She could have saved her own life, if she’d thought to cut off her wrist, but the pain had banished all rational thought. It was quite possible she was the only living survivor in recent memory. And she’d only survived because someone had acted to save her. “I… I take your point.”
She forced herself to focus as sweat poured down her back. Her magic felt weak, but slowly starting to recover. She felt tired, maybe even exhausted, but not as if she was on the verge of death. Her body still ached, but… she felt stronger than she’d felt in days. The urge to get up and move was fading, yet… she knew she could get up. It was just a matter of time before she recovered most of her former abilities. And then…
Making that potion couldn’t have been easy, Nanette thought, grimly. It would have cost him badly. And he’ll want something of equal value in exchange.
She studied him, carefully. “What do you want me to do for you?”
“I want you to steal a book for me,” Cloak said. “Does that answer your question?”
Nanette nearly laughed a bitter laugh. Of course he wanted something illegal, something that would get them both in real trouble if they were caught. She was already in trouble. Emily would have made a report, damn the girl. There was no longer any mystery who’d played Lin, who’d pretended to be transfer student long enough to spy on the Child of Destiny. Lin had been a mask, one she’d discarded when she’d left Whitehall; Nanette was her real name. There was no way she could go home or resume a normal life. The searchers would be looking for her.
“A book,” she repeated. It would be something dark, she was sure. Probably one on the Proscribed Index. Aurelius had had quite a collection, some of which she’d read. There were books that could get someone in real trouble, if they so much as glanced at the bloodstained cover. “Which book? And where?”
“Lamplighter’s Lines,” Cloak said. “And the copy I want is at Laughter.”
Nanette blinked. Lamplighter’s Lines was restricted, but it wasn’t that restricted. It wasn’t Malice, or Chanson’s Charms, or Midsummer Murders, or anything else that might be understandably regarded with fear and horror. A student could read Lamplighter’s Lines, if they convinced the librarian they had a legitimate reason. She’d read it herself. The spells were dubious, but they were hardly dark. And many of them were outdated.