Abby looked at the tray. “You’ve not eaten much for someone who’s slept for two days in a row! Is there something else you fancy? Warm porridge, perhaps? Or congee?”
Syrus didn’t know the congee she spoke of, though she looked hopefully at him as though he should. He shook his head. Then, because he wanted to be honest with this girl, he said, “Meat. If you could bring me meat, somewhat rare, I would appreciate it.”
She smiled as she picked up the tray. “I think I can find something as will satisfy you. My Edward, he also…” Then she shifted the tray to her hip and put one hand over her mouth. Blushing, she said through her fingers, “I’m chattering on again, aren’t I?”
He smiled briefly. “Chatter often drives away dark thoughts. I’m in sore need of their banishment.”
“Well, I’ll fetch your meat and then chatter at you as much as you like,” she said. “That’s one thing Mum says I’m good for, at least!”
Abby whisked the tray away and, it seemed, all the light in the room. He sighed again. He knew he should not wait for her. He should leave now and trouble these kind people no more. He had promises to keep.
But when she returned, he was still sitting there, gazing at the fire, unable to bring himself to leave. It had been so long since he had lived without fear. So long since he had lived as himself.
The odor of meat roused him, and he turned gratefully to the tray and the pile of nearly rare mutton he found lying there. It was to his specifications, and thankfully fresher than the rancid roast from below.
He could not help salivating, and he wished Abby would not watch him so intently as he tucked in.
“You like mutton, then?” She laughed.
He nodded, resisting the urge to wipe his mouth on the cuff of the unfamiliar shirt he wore and using the napkin on the tray instead.
“Why do you stay?” he asked, when he was sated. “Do you not fear the talk that will come from your dawdling in a strange man’s room?”
“You as good as said you wanted company. And my chores are done, leastways all that I know about,” Abby said. She backed closer to the wall, hugging herself as if his words wounded her.
“I am sorry for my sharpness,” he said. “I just do not want to cause more trouble than I already have.”
“It’s no trouble. Taking care of people in situations like yours is what we do, Mum and me.”
“Oh?”
And she was off. She told him of her father Ah Chen, how he and her mother had founded the Oriental Quarters so that men like Syrus could find meaningful work. Eventually he drew himself up against the headboard, arms clasping knees over his baggy trousers, the tray discarded beside him. Eventually, she came closer and sat tentatively against the footboard as she talked, waving her hands around her head as if she juggled a flock of bright birds.
He liked the sound of her voice. The rise and fall of it reminded him of his Nainai telling stories in the clan train car to keep the little ones from noticing the cold…
Nainai. The memory of his grandmother pierced him to the core, deeper even than Olivia. He saw again her death, the Raven Guard slitting her in half as they meted out their retribution on his clan for his foolishness. He gasped, gutted anew. He pressed his forehead to his knees and wept.
“Have I said something wrong again?” she asked.
When he didn’t answer, she moved closer and took him in her arms. He folded into her like a child. He felt no shame over being grown and weeping—it was the mark of a grown man to weep for those lost—but a distant part of his mind worried that she might find reason to fear him mad if he kept up such strange behavior. Still, resting his head against her shoulder, at last having someone warm and alive to hold, burying his face in the wild rose scent of her… it eased him even more than the meat that filled his belly.
When he could speak again, he took the handkerchief she offered him. “Forgive me if I frightened you.”
He felt her reluctance as she released him. “No trouble. Sure as sure, you’ve been through more than most. What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I fear to tell you, Miss Abby. I don’t want to put you in unnecessary danger. I promise to leave as soon as I’m well.”
The light dimmed in her eyes a bit; he watched her struggle to hide her feelings.
“I also fear you might not believe me,” he admitted.
“Try me.”
It was his turn, then, to tell her of a land she’d scarcely heard of except in the wildest tales, a land where their common ancestors had been welcomed long ago, only to be cast out by marauding Londoners; a land where magical beasts held sway and kept the world in balance, where sylphs served as advisors and automatons as generals. He told her of the Winedark Sea and the song of mermaids under a full moon, and the Kraken that haunted the deeps. There were still gaps in his memory, but he told her what he knew of the present—that he’d been enslaved as a sideshow freak in this world for at least a year, that he’d tried to escape before, but this was the first time he’d succeeded.
And now he was here, and all he knew was that he had to free the rest of those who were being held captive.
“And after that?” she said.
Syrus chuckled bitterly. “I didn’t imagine I’d survive long enough to find out.”
“Well, you’ve made it this far with a little help. Think what you could do with a little more.”
The way she just accepted everything he’d told her stunned him. He’d hardly believe it himself if it hadn’t happened to him. But he knew he could not let Abby help him more than she already had. Taking her to where he knew the Ringmaster and Switchblade Sally would wreak their vengeance on him would not be fair to her.
“I wish I could say yes, but your mother would surely not take kindly to your offer.”
“She’s got nothing to do with it!” She glared at him, and he couldn’t help but smile at her passion. “I’m a woman grown. I—”
The door creaked open and Abby abruptly stood. She glanced at her mother, who glared at her, and Ah Yue, the Chinese doctor, whose gray changshan swished around his black cloth shoes as he entered.
Ah Yue took one look at Syrus. To the women he said, “Please leave.”
He escorted them out and shut the door behind them.
“Abby,” her mother said in a warning tone as they descended the stairs.
“I know, Mum.”
“Then why do you never listen? I told you to be careful. You’re still in mourning, girl! People will talk! The last thing I need is for people to think I’m running a brothel. They already think I’m running an opium den! Think of our reputation, if nothing else.”
Cook called, and her mother hurried down the stairs.
Abby knew it was useless to argue with her mum. The facts were incontrovertible. Still, she was tired of facts. Facts had led her to this endless round of chores, marketing, and, more likely than not, spinsterhood.
She wanted something different. Something as wild and unpredictable as her heart had apparently become.
That afternoon, she volunteered to go to the market. She needed what passed for fresh air to clear her head. She was angry at herself for being in such a tizzy over a man she barely knew, a man who’d been through far more than seemed possible. She was angry at him for refusing her help. He’d had the look of a wild animal about to flee, and it was likely he would be gone by morning. The thought made her heart pace in her ribs like a caged wolf.
Her mother was right: This attraction made no sense. She’d known Edward for a few years, first seeing him at the ostler’s in the market square, then every day as he’d started working for himself making deliveries. He’d rented the room from her mother when things were at a pinch for many, and it’d been all Abby had ever dreamed. And then six months ago, all those dreams had ended in a matter of days when he’d contracted a strange, incurable disease and died.