The Spirit Rebellion(17)

“Thank you,” she said, “for being a pushy ass.”

“What else am I here for?”

Miranda shook her head and walked into her building, trudging up the stairs to the tiny suite of rooms the Spirit Court allotted all traveling Spiritualists. Gin watched her until she was out of sight, then moved out to the alley to watch the light come on in her window. The lamp flickered, and then, a minute later, the room went dark again. Satisfied that things would be fine until tomorrow, Gin ambled back to his flower bed and flopped down, resting his head in a soft, sweet-smelling clump of something silver-green with furry leaves, and, after scarcely two breaths, promptly fell back to sleep.


Far away from the low, plain buildings where the common Spiritualists kept their rooms, at the other end of the Spirit Court’s district where the architecture took a turn for the large and ornate, Grenith Hern was sitting on his balcony enjoying a bottle of wine. Bright light from his sitting room shone through the open double doors, highlighting the graying gold of his long, straight hair and casting his shadow in perfect contrast on the empty street below, a fine, trim figure in fine, trim clothing. This was not by chance. Hern often sat this way in the evenings, for he enjoyed the picture he presented, and the view of the city was very fine.

From here he could look down the ridge to see the lamps flicker on, one pair at a time. As he watched them, he couldn’t help thinking, as he always did when he spent his evenings at home, how, if he were Rector Spiritualis, he would have put every lamp spirit in the city under the control of a single fire, so that they could all be lit at once. The current method of lighting with a pair of lamp lighters walking around telling the lamps when to flare was old-fashioned and inefficient, not to mention a horrible waste of an opportunity to make the Whitefall family owe the Spiritualists a favor for something that would cost the court very little. Still, there was nothing to be done as he was merely Head of the Tower Keepers, and he certainly wasn’t about to give Banage the idea.

Hern sighed at the waste and refilled his glass, his lace cuff holding itself neatly out of the way of the dark wine. He was just about to take a sip when he heard the sound he’d been sitting on the balcony waiting to catch: the whisper of dust as it moved up the smooth white marble of his townhouse walls. He turned his chair to face the far corner of his balcony as a stream of dark-colored dust began to collect in the tray he’d left out for it. He waited patiently as the dust gathered, forming a thin layer at first, then growing to a large pile. As it collected, a smell began to collect in the air, char and smoke, and it quickly became clear that the powder on the tray was not, in fact, dust, but fine, gray ash.

When the last of the ash had collected, Hern leaned forward, a smile on his slightly lined but still handsome face. “You’re early. I hope it’s good news.”

The ash sighed, sending a smell of burnt hardwood into the air. “For your information, it’s been a very difficult day. I will never get used to moving about in such a spread-out fashion, being stepped on and losing bits of myself in the street. It’s not to be borne.”

Hern made a tsking noise. “Come now, Allio. You’re far more useful as a pile of ash than you ever were as a tree.”

“I’m glad you think so,” the ash snapped, sliding away from Hern in a sulk. “Considering it was your fault I got burned.”

Hern shrugged. “You knew the risks when you took the oath. Come, enough complaining. What news do you bring?”

The ash made a grumpy sound, but it gathered itself into a neat pile and began its report. “I put myself in Banage’s office, just as you told me. Sure enough, he had the girl brought straight to him. They had quite the argument.” The ash rippled wistfully. “Now those are Spiritualists. Such conviction, and the spirit the girl had in her, I haven’t seen the like since I was rooted in my own forest.”

Hern kicked the tray, and the ash quickly got back on topic. “Banage did just what you said he would. He made the offer and left out all the particulars.”

“And?” Hern prompted.

“And she didn’t take him up on it,” the ash finished. “He cut her off and sent her away before she could deny him outright, but I get the impression she’s not the kind to take the easy road.”

Hern leaned back in his chair, feeling very pleased with himself. “She’ll fight for certain, then. I’d bet money on it.”

“You’ll have to if you want to win,” the ash said. “It’s one thing to scare old Tower Keepers into signing a paper, but something else again to get them to vote against her in front of the whole Court. You’re going to need to put your gold where your mouth is before this is over, I think.”