The Laurentine Spy (41 page)

An ache built behind her eyes as she opened the pouch and felt inside with her fingers. One coin. Two.

It took a few seconds to find Athan’s hand. The ache expanded inside her head. Pain pressed against her skull. It was a strain to hold his gaze while she opened his fingers—warm skin—and pressed the coins into his palm.

Saliel stepped back. She lowered her eyelids.

Athan blinked. “Saliel, I...” His voice faltered. He looked at the pouch of money in her right hand, and then at the coins on his palm.

“I have the Eye, Athan,” she said quietly, handing him back the leather pouch. “You do not want to marry me.”

His lips parted slightly. He didn’t have to speak; his face told her everything. Shock. Belief. Fear.

He turned away from her abruptly.

“Athan, it’s all right. I promise I won’t—”

He pushed through the pedestrians, almost running. He didn’t pause, didn’t look back.

Saliel stayed where she was—on the edge of the street, at the head of the flight of stone stairs. She looked down at the cobblestones.

Square cobblestones. Red.

He has left me.

Minutes became hours. The shadows on the ground shrank. At noon she turned away from the street and walked down the steps towards the market place. Towards the burning-pole.

Hunger cramped in her belly, but she had no money to buy food. Athan had left with the leather pouch clenched in his hand. She hadn’t even a single coin.

He has our ticket home.

She should be afraid of being alone and penniless, with only the clothes she wore on her back. She should be afraid of the Spycatcher. She wasn’t. She was only afraid of the burning-pole.
What if he names me for a witch?

Saliel halted at the top of the last flight of steps.
I should hide.

But if she hid, Athan would never find her.

She sat down on the step and hugged her knees. Beyond the bustle of the market, beyond the red buildings and the black slate rooftops, was the sea.

She watched the market. Looking for Athan. Looking for the Spycatcher. She saw women with bright scarves covering their hair, sailors with tarred ponytails, children scavenging, a finger thief.

She recognized the way the boy stood unobtrusively and watched, the way he sidled closer to his mark.
Yes, I would have chosen her too, stout and prosperous, paying no attention to anything but the bargain she’s getting
.

The boy reached swiftly into the woman’s basket. Saliel was the only person to see it. The woman didn’t notice. The stallholder didn’t notice. No one in the market noticed.

The boy walked away, quiet and unhurried, strolling, drawing no attention to himself. The way he moved was familiar, the way he scanned the market for another mark. The hunger she saw in his face was familiar too.
That was me. Hungry. Stealing.

Saliel looked down at the steps.
It’s who I am again.
If she wanted to eat, if she wanted passage home, she’d have to steal.

I earned that ticket home. I earned that money.

What would Athan do if she went down to the wharf?

She sat, hugging her knees, searching for the courage to stand, to walk down the last of the steps, to follow the sloping street down to the docks.

Someone halted behind her on the flight of stairs. A shadow fell across her.

Saliel tensed. She turned her head.

Athan stood there.

If he’d loved her this morning, he no longer did. His eyes were hard, his mouth tight.

“Can you make people do things?”

Saliel swallowed and moistened her lips. “No.”

Athan didn’t look at her. He stared down at the market place. “What can you do?”

She looked down at her hands. “I can catch a person’s gaze and hold it for a few seconds. At most a minute.”

Athan didn’t speak. She glanced at him. His face was angles and planes, hard, grim.

The silence between them lengthened. A minute passed. And another.

“How long have you known?”

Saliel stared at her hands. “I found out when I was fourteen. I needed money to pay my tutor. I had two choices, stealing or...or whoring. I chose to steal.”

Athan said nothing.

“One of the women in the poorhouse tried to teach me. She told me to...to look a person in the eyes so they didn’t notice what my hands were doing, and I learned that if I did that...I could hold their gaze.”

Saliel closed her eyes. She bowed her head so that her forehead touched her clasped hands. She couldn’t look at him; her shame was too great.

“How many times have you done it to me?”

Saliel raised her head. “Once,” she said. “When I burned you.”

Athan didn’t look at her.

He’s afraid to meet my eyes
. “Athan, I give you my word I’ll never do it again. I promise you.”

He said nothing. His gaze was on the market.

Saliel turned her head away. It was easier to watch the bustle of people than his face, easier to look for the little finger thief. The boy was still there, thin-faced and dirty. He was younger than she’d been when she’d started stealing. How old was he? Eight? Nine?

Athan stood behind her with a pouch of money beneath his cloak, but she dared not ask for a coin to give the boy.
I’m sorry, child.

She watched as the boy sidled closer to a well-dressed man.
Not that one. Can’t you see? The stallholder is watching you.

“Get up,” Athan said. “We’ll be late.”

His flat voice, the words, jerked her attention to him. “Athan—”

But he was already walking away, down the steps. He didn’t look back to see if she followed.

A clamor rose from the market as she stood. Saliel didn’t understand the shouted words—but she knew their meaning: thief.

Run, child. Run.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

A
THAN PUSHED THROUGH
the crowd, too angry to be courteous. Rage trembled in his muscles. He tasted it on his tongue, hot, bitter.

He’d trusted her. Had thought he loved her.

A witch. I thought I loved a witch.

Beneath the anger was something close to regret, and that made him even more furious.

A witch. A filthy, deceitful witch.

He’d lain with her. Twice.
To have union with a witch is to pay the price.
If the tales were true his genitals would rot and fall off. The burning-pole on the far side of the square caught his eye.
I should—

He couldn’t. However much he hated her, he couldn’t watch her burn.

A child darted past him. Athan caught a glimpse of a thin face and panicked eyes before he was shoved roughly aside by a tall, heavyset man.

His rage flared. He swung around with clenched hands.

Saliel stepped aside for the child. She didn’t appear to see the man. He barreled into her, knocking her down.

Athan’s rage faltered. His hands unclenched. “Saliel!”

He started to run—and then stopped.
What am I doing? She’s a witch. What do I care if she’s hurt?

But it seemed he did care.

He strode back and grabbed Saliel’s arm, angry at himself. At her. At the man. “Get up.”

She lifted her head and looked at him. She seemed to be struggling to breathe.

Athan released her arm. He went down on one knee. “Saliel...”

The man who’d knocked her down was speaking. Athan brushed the words aside with his hand. “Go away.”

Saliel tried to stand.

Athan helped her, his hand under her elbow. “Saliel, are you all right?”

She pulled her arm free. “I’m fine.”

She wasn’t. He heard it in her voice, saw it in her face—pinched and white, in the way she pressed her hand to her stomach.

What do I care?

Athan turned away from her. He wanted to look back; he forced himself not to. But he walked more slowly than he had before. Across the square, down the long street.
Don’t look back. Don’t wait for her.
At the shipping office he halted and turned around. Saliel was a hundred paces or so behind.

He didn’t know he was running. One moment he was standing, watching, the next he was gripping her arms, holding her up. “Saliel—”

Pain was stark on her face. He heard it in her gasped breaths.

And then he saw the blood at the hem of her gown.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

A
THAN SAT OUTSIDE
the cabin with his head in his hands.
I should have looked back.
He stared down at the deck. He didn’t see timber; he saw bloodied cobblestones.
Let her live. Please, let her live.

The deck of the
Morning Star
moved beneath his feet. Sailors shouted overhead in the rigging. The code book was a solid lump beneath his shirt—

He heard the door open.

Athan pushed to his feet, almost stumbling.

The ship’s surgeon stood in the doorway. There was blood on his cuffs. His gray-bearded face was solemn. “Mister Argante, I’m sorry.”

She’s dead.

Athan turned away. There was pain in his chest, as if something split open inside him. It was impossible to inhale, to exhale, to breathe.
She’s dead.

“Are you all right, Mister Argante?”

Athan couldn’t shake his head, couldn’t speak. It was all he could do to keep standing upright on the deck.

“I’m sorry,” the surgeon said again. “There was nothing I could do to save the baby.”

Athan turned his head. “What?”

“It was already too late when your wife came aboard.”

“What?” he said again, stupidly.

“The miscarriage,” the surgeon said. “It had already happened by the time she came aboard. I’m sorry.”

Athan stared at the man. Shock was blank inside him.

“Your wife is sleeping. If you wish, you may see her.”

“Sleeping?”

“Yes.” The surgeon smiled. “Don’t worry, Mister Argante, there’s no danger to her life. It was clean miscarriage. I believe there’ll be no infection.”

Athan could think of nothing to say. He nodded.

“I see no reason why your wife shouldn’t become pregnant again. Only...she needs time to heal. At least a month, Mister Argante. Preferably two.”

Athan swallowed. “Of course.”

The surgeon stepped away from the door. He gestured inside. The bloodstains were dark on his cuff. “You may see her.”

Athan swallowed again. He made himself take a step. The deck seemed to lurch beneath his feet.

“I’ve left Nurse Bruyes with her. Send for me if you need anything.”

Athan nodded. He took another lurching step towards the door.

“Good evening, Mister Argante.”

“Wait.”

The surgeon halted.

“Thank you,” Athan said. The words were rough. They seemed to come from deep inside his chest. “Thank you very much.”

He didn’t notice the furnishings. He didn’t notice the nurse briskly bundling up an armful of bloodied bed linen. He only had eyes for Saliel.

Her face was almost as white as the sheets. Her hair spilled across the pillow, bright.

She’s alive.

He reached down to touch her hair. The strands were fine beneath his fingers, soft. He didn’t dare touch her face. It was too thin. Exhausted. Fragile. She looked as if her bones would break beneath his fingers.

You were pregnant? Why didn’t you tell me?

There was anger in his chest—if he wanted to feel it—and a sense of betrayal. But they faded as he watched the pulse beating beneath her jaw. The pulse, the shallow rise and fall of her chest as she breathed—those were what mattered.

Athan cleared his throat. “I’ll...I think I’ll go outside again.”

The nurse nodded and smiled. His saw sympathy in her eyes.

I’m not going to cry
, he wanted to tell her, but he didn’t trust his voice.

A
THAN SAT ON
the bench outside the cabin until daylight faded. He opened his hands palm-up and stared at them.
She put her life in my hands. I could have had her burned.
He tried to understand why she’d done it.

When it was dark he went inside. One of the ship’s servants brought food on a tray. Athan ate in front of the fire and then sat staring at the flames. It was late when he heard the murmur of voices in the bedchamber. He put down his wine glass.