The Vessel of Ra

Chapter 3: The Missing Binder

"Aren't you afraid of me?" Lucy asked.

"Che cosa?"

Lucy had startled him into his own language. "You know what I am?" Her throat ached.

Carlo scratched his head. "Ah," he said. "Everyone else seems to, but they're keeping it from me. You should stay. Maybe you want to try to kill yourself again?"

"No. I don't want to kill myself again."

"Si. You jumped into the canal. Yes, I think so. Last night was a surprise. Your bird wants to kill you. Maybe you don't want the bird to kill you. Maybe you don't want to fight the bird, so you want to kill yourself, because you don't want to be killed by a demon?" Carlo leaned against the doorway.

"How do you know about demons? You said you knew nothing."

Carlo blushed. "My grandpa and my mama, they spoke. I eavesdropped. Why did you jump?"

"I will lose," said Lucy. "I would rather die than lose."

"Let me help you." Carlo stood up straighter. "I am a magician."

Lucy bit her lip. This lanky boy did not look like a magician.

Carlo scratched his neck. "Maybe I should say I think I am descended from magicians. Right now, I am an apothecary in training, but I did rescue you. I am responsible for you."

"You rescued me?"

"Yes. Sorry. I mean, not sorry. You rest and things will be better. My grandfather and I, we might be of some use to you."

A heavy weight settled into Lucy's chest, cold. "I must leave as soon as possible. Your family is not safe while I am here."

"As you say," he said, waving away her protests. "Later we will worry about safe." He left the doorway. The small dog curled up on the rug by her bed, and she watched him as she drifted off to sleep.

The wind made Octavia's dress sinuous as she walked from the balcony windows into the pension's sitting room. Velvet curtains streamed ahead, announcing her like heralds. There were few people in the room. A gentleman on a sofa read a book, shifting so he would not make eye contact with her. Octavia's eyes flitted over the others: a moody girl on her first trip to Serenissima, as she had called Venice last night at dinner, before she had moved to another table; and a stout, whiskered man whom Octavia admired because he had chatted with her and her family even though he had wanted to run.

Octavia's eyes roamed the frescoes covering the room's walls and ceiling, all cherubs and ribbons. There were angels and there were angels. Two years ago as Octavia prepared for her Trial, she had seen a real angel. She shivered and pushed her memory back down.

Other tourists milled about their business on the staircase outside the sitting room, in the world of light. Women in bright dresses, young ladies with hair coifed in ringlets, older women with higher collars and fewer ribbons. Gentlemen varied, dressed in waistcoats and cravat knots, running the gamut from the fop to the every day.

The moody girl drifted into the light. Mr. Darlington, the older gentleman, stacked a few books, smiled at Octavia, and stepped toward the stairs, passing Drusus as he came in.

"I've talked to the garrison commander. He will let us know if there is any sign of her. Did she come back? Send word? Anything?" Drusus peeled off his cloak and draped it over one arm. The hem dripped onto the carpet.

"No." Octavia sat and smoothed her black skirt, which made the settee's maroon velvet much brighter. Octavia's voice was as soft as she could make it. Dulcet and pleasant tones, the books had advised for wifely demeanor. She was desperate not to cry, and the mask she had tied in place must not crack while he was watching. "We have to find her. The Trial is in two weeks. She has to go to the Temple of Erasmus. It is a requirement for all Binders."