To Best the Boys(32)

His head jerks up so fast I realize I’d forgotten for a moment he’s still in his late thirties. “Young lady, that is completely out—”

I’m already shaking my head. “I’m not talking of infecting them, Da. I’m not insane.”

He slows. Eyes me. “I think you’d better explain then.”

I don’t know how to explain. Because I don’t even know what I’m thinking exactly. I look around. “I just—I’m saying, maybe we need their clout and position.”

He stares at me blankly, as if my insinuation is not getting through.

“We need the Uppers’ benefits, Da.”

“You’re going to pursue matrimony with Vincent then.”

“No. I’m saying we need their positions more than we need them. I’m saying we need to become them.” My words erupt faster along with my breath as the idea takes root. “Last week you said that if you had even half their supplies and technology, you’d be able to figure this thing out. Well, if I attended one of the universities, I’d have access to the labs like you once did. I could help Mum and become a real scientist. You’ve always said I was cut out for this. So what if I am? What if I can attend university like the men do? What if—?”

“Oh, my dear Rhen.” He stands up and walks toward me as one does a wounded puppy or an angry morning bird, then smiles down with all the love I think one person can probably have for a child. “If your mum and I could want anything for you, it would be to see such a thing in my lifetime. But as much as I applaud where your mind is, you and I both know it can’t happen. They’d never let you in. And as much as it hurts me to admit it, we could never afford it, even if they did.”

“But if I could pass the qualifying exams, they’d have to consider it at least.”

“I don’t just mean they won’t let you in. I mean they would never allow you to even test for it. Society isn’t quite ready for such strides, my girl.”

“But what if they didn’t know it was me? What if—?” I wave a hand. “What if I went in as a boy?”

He chuckles. “Your lack of conventional thought is what would make you a great scientist.” He pats my cheek and chuckles. “And if anyone could pull off such a thing, my vote would be on you. But it wouldn’t work. They check every name, every family, every detail of an applicant’s life—as they should—before they allow them to take the examinations.”

My fingers fall to the Labyrinth Letter along with my gaze. “Unless there was a different test altogether I could enter.”

He puts his hands on the sides of my head and snorts before he presses my ears and releases me. “You are a specific kind of species, my girl. A strange and terrifying beauty of mind.” He kisses my forehead and pats my cheek again. Then blinks quickly and tries to clear his throat. “But I need to go check on your mother.” He glances toward Lady’s cage, and with a heavy sigh heads for the stairs.

I watch him go.

He’s just reached the bottom ledge when I quietly ask, “Do you think she’s getting worse? Mum, I mean.”

He clears his throat again but doesn’t answer—and he doesn’t have to. His slumped shoulders and tired step are clear as anything. He starts up the stairs and doesn’t turn around, doesn’t look back, and something tells me that if he did, his face would be wet. So I leave him to his dignity and watch him slowly ascend the steps as my face dampens with my own grief-stricken tears.

When he is gone, I turn back to the Labyrinth Letter and stand tapping it for a full three minutes.

“You’re a lucky girl, Miss Tellur. Not everyone has such an opportunity. I expect to see good things come from it.”

I shake my head clear, then check the letter again. “All gentlepersons . . .”

I pick up the bone-cutting shears and turn them over exactly four times in my hands.

Then clench my jaw and lift the blades to my loosened, braided bun. And make one snip. Then another.

And watch my locks of hair begin to fall around me onto the ground.





11

The morning of the autumnal equinox dawns, not with the normal bustle of creaking carts but with the sound of a rooster’s strangled crow piercing my thin glass windowpane.

An omen, Mrs. Mench would call it. A sign that more death is on the horizon.

I squint. Of course it is—death occurs every day. And yet an unwelcome shiver scuttles across my skin anyway.

I close my eyes and let the dim grey light creep through my dirty windows and across my eyelids and the thin, frayed quilt cocooned around me, waiting for the golden rays to emerge with their warm courage. Instead, a tap tap tap on the roof right above my head picks up, and I peel one lid open to glare at the glass—only to find a drizzle has begun. Another bad sign. I shiver again and shove my head beneath the blankets until a soft squeak on my bedroom floorboard jerks me from the covers.

“Rhen,” someone hisses.

A ghost cloaked in shadow stands at the foot of my bed.

“Are you awake?” the voice chirps.

I peer through the grey haze, then bite down on my tongue as the outline of Seleni’s nose and chin emerges into view.

Oh for Caldon’s sake— “What are you doing here, Sel?”

“Scoot over before I freeze to death.” She shoves me over to make room to slide in beside me. I yelp. Her body is so cold and damp that by the time she’s done situating herself among the blankets, I’m frozen.