Shadow Scale: A Companion to Seraphina(49)

“She’s remembering her words,” said Nedouard. Even he seemed happier without his mask or leather apron; he wore a sensible wool doublet and linen shirt, like any other man of modest means. His eyes smiled, even if his beak could not, and he was polishing a wicked-looking saw. “Welcome back,” he added, testing the blade by paring a delicate curl off the edge of his thumbnail.

“Is Dame Okra here?” I asked, wanting to talk about Gianni and get it over with.

“She’s in the library,” said Nedouard, setting aside the saw and absently reaching for a tiny silver bowl, a saltcellar. He stirred the salt with the tiny spoon.

“She is to talk on herself with ghosts!” cried Blanche, her violet eyes wide.

The old plague doctor laid a hand upon Blanche’s arm and spoke in low tones. She nodded, whimpering, and refocused on her wires. “Dame Okra was up all night,” said Nedouard. “Talking, apparently. It kept Blanche awake.”

“Talking to whom?” I said, watching him empty the salt into a vase of flowers.

He raised his gentle blue eyes to my face. “Herself, I believe. It’s not an unusual trait in someone so old, although I haven’t observed her doing it before. I find it much more disturbing that she’s so cheerful this morning.”

“That is rather alarming,” I said, and couldn’t help smiling. “I’ll need to see for myself before I believe it, but I promise to get to the bottom of things.”

As I spoke, Nedouard matter-of-factly tucked the tiny silver salt bowl into the front of his shirt. I stared at him pointedly; it took him a moment to grasp why, and then he shamefacedly extracted the dish and set it back on the table. “Many of my patients are too poor to pay,” he said. “I fear I have developed rather a habit of taking payment where I find it, from those who won’t miss it. It’s a difficult custom to break.”

I suspected that wasn’t the entire truth, and that the saltcellar would disappear back down his shirt the moment I left the room. I did him the honor of nodding, however, before I went looking for Dame Okra, who was rumored to be cheerful.



It was generally easy to find Dame Okra in her own house; her brassy voice was like a premonition itself, preceding her wherever she went. I could hear her talking as I approached the library. I pressed my ear against the door, and her voice carried clearly: “… more than a hundred years, thinking I was unique in all the world. You can imagine how alone I felt. Well, no, you wouldn’t need to imagine, would you. You know.”

That was quite an elaborate conversation for her to be having aloud with herself. I opened the door cautiously. Dame Okra sat behind an ornate mahogany desk at the far end of the library, papers spread around her, quill in hand. She looked up at the sound of the door opening and smiled gloriously.

I may have staggered back a step from shock. It was not just the smile: there was no one else in the room.

“Seraphina, come in! I’m so pleased you’re finally awake,” she said, gesturing toward a seat facing the desk. I darted my gaze across her desk, noting parchment, ink, books, pen, sealing wax. No thnik that I could see. Whom had she been speaking to?

“I’m making a full accounting of your journey and expenses for Count Pesavolta,” said Dame Okra, seeming not to register my perplexity. “Don’t worry, you needn’t deal with him. You could sign this thank-you note, though.” She waved me nearer so she might hand over a letter and pen.

I sat in a leather chair facing her desk and scanned the page. She’d written effusively about all the good he’d done, letting me travel through Ninys; it said Goredd was in his debt, but didn’t make any specific promises. It seemed safe enough to sign.

“We need to talk about Gianni Patto,” I said as I handed back the letter and quill.

“Not to worry,” she said. “I went this morning and secured his release.”

I goggled at her. “I—I’m sorry, you … what?”

Dame Okra nodded eagerly. “As soon as he’s all cleaned up, he’s coming here.”

“Here, as in here?” I said, pointing at the floor beside my chair.

“I have room, and the count would keep him in the stables, not bring him indoors and start the long road to civilizing him,” she said. She sounded so reasonable.

“You shouldn’t bring him into your house,” I said, shaking off my shock and recovering my purpose. “It was a mistake to bring him down from the mountains. He’s violent, unpredictable, and not entirely in control of himself.” He was also full to the brim with Jannoula; I had intended to say as much, but something made me hesitate.

Who had she been talking to? The back of my neck prickled.

“You shouldn’t mind if he’s here or not,” said Dame Okra, her protuberant eyes narrowing. “You’re to leave for Samsam tomorrow at dawn. Your guides have been at the palasho a week, waiting for you, and Pesavolta wants them off.”

So soon. Of course there was no time to waste. “Will Abdo be well enough to come with me?” I’d said I’d visit him this morning, I recalled with a pang, but I’d slept straight through.

“Absolutely not,” said Dame Okra, looking scandalized at the suggestion. “Abdo needs to rest for a few weeks. I’ll take him to Goredd with Gianni, Blanche, and Ned.”