Shadow Scale: A Companion to Seraphina(53)

Unsatisfied, I wrested myself out of bed and went to gather my clothes.



Gianni Patto arrived at Dame Okra’s house just after dinner in a doublet and trunk hose fashioned from a tent and with his hair, beard, and eyebrows shaved off. He breathed noisily through his enormous red mouth, and his pale eyes drifted, unfocused. Dame Okra served him a late supper, cooing as she made a lake of gravy in his turnip mash. He was so tall that he sat on the floor, his clawed feet tucked under him, to eat off the table; he had no concept of utensils. Dame Okra spit on a napkin and dabbed at his pasty face. I could watch no more. I went to bed early, citing tomorrow’s departure as an excuse, and no one minded that I went.

I washed my scales and tended my garden; I had barely fallen asleep when I was awakened by my window rattling. I opened my eyes blearily, closed them again, and then sat bolt upright as I realized what I’d seen.

Someone was climbing in my window.

Don’t be alarmed, said a familiar voice in my head. It’s only me.

I was on my feet in an instant, rushing to help Abdo climb inside. For a moment we hugged each other tightly, saying nothing; I could feel that his left hand, at the small of my back, was stiffly bandaged. I finally let him go and closed the window. Abdo bounded over and flopped across the end of the bed, grinning enormously.

“I deduce from your unorthodox entry that you made a similarly unauthorized exit from the palasho’s infirmary,” I said, sitting beside him.

They need more guards in that palasho, said Abdo merrily, toying with one of his hair knots. Any determined rascal could get in or out.

I suspected most rascals would find the palasho walls a more serious impediment.

“I don’t like to dampen your enthusiasm,” I said, injecting a sisterly sternness into my voice and pointing at his bound wrist, “but I was told that after surgery you’re supposed to rest for a few weeks. As much as I want to take you with me, I can’t in good conscience drag you to Samsam if your arm—”

Dr. Belestros didn’t do the surgery yet, said Abdo, sounding surprised. He was to do it tomorrow.

I opened my mouth and then closed it again. Dame Okra had lied to me.

Why? So I would leave without him? So she—or Jannoula—could take him to Goredd and keep an eye on him? Seize his mind at leisure?

Abdo was holding up the limb in question, wrapped from forearm to fingertips. It doesn’t hurt. Anyway, it was fifty-fifty that the surgery would even work. I read his notes.

“You should give it a chance,” I said. “How will you do handstands now?”

One-handed, he said archly. I want to stay with you, Phina madamina. How will you find your Samsamese ityasaari without me? Who will introduce you to the ityasaari in Porphyry, or persuade them to come south? You can’t walk in and order them around.

I caught a rough note in his voice. “Are you homesick?” I asked. “Because you can have this surgery and then go home on your own.”

Not until after I’ve been dragged back to Goredd by Dame Grumpus. Not until your war is over. His voice grew tearful. I do miss Porphyry. I miss Auntie Naia, and the sea, and my bed, and eggplant, and … That’s not even the point. I want to stay with you.

I took his bandaged hand between mine. “Let’s ask Nedouard how hard it will be to care for your wrist while traveling. If he says you can go—”

Abdo pulled away and rushed toward the door. “Quietly!” I whispered loudly, following right on his heels. “I don’t want Dame Okra to know you’re here.” She, or Jannoula, didn’t want Abdo coming with me to Samsam.

Nedouard’s room was in the attic. Climbing the banisters one-handed barely slowed Abdo down. A light still shone under the doctor’s door, and Nedouard answered Abdo’s knock at once. The ghostly pale face behind him was Blanche’s; her eyes lit up at the sight of Abdo.

“More insomniacs!” cried the doctor. “Come in, come in.”

The ceiling sloped under the eaves, making the room feel smaller than it was. Nedouard had moved all his belongings here: bottles, crucibles, stretched glass vessels, apothecary ingredients, and—squirreled away in crannies—a collection of shiny objects.

One of Blanche’s mechanical spiders was splayed open on the floor, as if they’d been dissecting it. She noticed me staring at the gears and said, “I am sad to hearing it Josquin be broken. He must to want a spider, need it legs, no? Legs on him.”

I nodded tentatively, not sure I understood. Nedouard, his blue eyes gentle above his hooked beak, said, “You are kind to think of him, sister.” Blanche smiled minutely and gathered her spider into a sack. Abdo helped her, and she kissed his forehead before quitting the room.

“She’s a shy little thing,” said Nedouard, rubbing his liver-spotted scalp. “Don’t take it personally. How may I help you?”

“We need to know if Abdo is well enough to travel,” I said.

Of course I am, Abdo grumped in my head, but Nedouard, not privy to our conversation, pulled up a chair for Abdo and then seated himself on a facing stool. Abdo grudgingly sat and held out his arm.

Nedouard unwrapped the bandages and said, “Lovely.”

“Lovely?” I said, bracing myself to look. The midwife at Donques had done her best; Dr. Belestros had removed the stitches, leaving a raised and knotted scar.