Chapter Twenty-Six

We head up the alley, which is pitch black. Young Gustav lights a match, but that is all the illumination we get. More than once I hear scuttling in the shadows, and I suspect it's something much larger than a rat. Finally, we reach a metal door. Liquid drips down it, forming an ice-crusted puddle that I gingerly avoid.

Queen Mab raps twice. A peephole grinds open, metal on metal. Then the door unlatches.

"Quickly," Queen Mab says to us.

She enters first, lifting her skirts over the stairs. I follow, then Mrs. Wallace. Once Mrs. Wallace is in, the door shuts and I hear Gustav, still outside, checking to be sure it's latched.

Only once that door is closed does a lantern hiss to life.

"Your Majesty." The voice sounds like that metal peephole opening, a deep grinding. I can't see the speaker. He has the lantern positioned so it casts a near-blinding glare on us and obscures himself. "You have brought guests."

"Yes, and you are being most politic, not demanding immediate explanations. That is appreciated."

"I would not demand them of you, my lady. But I must ask, all the same."

"And I will happily answer. The caution you show toward us is the same caution that protects us. I would like to introduce my young friend, Miss Cat. I bring her tonight because she is seeking a special ingredient for a cure, one I do not provide. In return, she has brought something of interest."

Queen Mab motions for me to open the small carpetbag. I take out the Hand of Glory. The guard grunts in appreciation.

"Authentic, as you can see," Queen Mab says. "I hope this item—along with my own seal of approval—will be enough."

"And the other lady?"

"Miss Cat's governess. My friend, as you can see, is quite young, and she requires governing."

I bite my lip to keep from snorting. That's a good way to describe the situation. Mrs. Wallace is indeed here to "govern" me.

"May we proceed?" Queen Mab asks, with all the concern she might display asking whether she may remove her hat, certain her request will be granted.

"Certainly, my lady. Enjoy your evening, and I bid fair welcome to your young friend. She will brighten the gloom nicely."

I swear Mrs. Wallace sniffs. I only give a half smile and incline my head toward the voice in the shadows.

There's another grinding creak, this one an interior door constructed of even heavier metal. It opens into absolute darkness. Queen Mab strides through, and we all carefully follow. The door shuts behind us, and my heart pounds, my fingers going into my pocket for my knife as the darkness envelops us.

Then a match is struck. A hiss and another lantern is lit. This time, I can make out the shape of someone behind it, but nothing more. The figure silently heads down the corridor, and we follow.

"Silence in here," Queen Mab whispers. "Voices carry."

We do as we're told. The escort leads us down one narrow corridor and then another, along stone so cold I feel it through my boots. The ceiling is so low that Gray would need to duck. Water drips down the walls, and I remember this is why the vaults didn't work out as storage units—they weren't waterproof.

Finally, our escort stops and raps on a metal door. The process repeats. We step through into darkness, handed into the custody of another, and only once the door shuts behind us does our new escort light their lantern. This time, though, the light is barely needed. We're in a much larger stone corridor, at least six feet across, with a half-circle ceiling. Closed doors line either side. Voices tumble from the distance, and the dim glow grows brighter until we reach a wooden door with light shining through the slats. Our shadowy escort half bows and opens the door, and we step into the market.

The first thing I see is light. The flickering glow of candles and hearth fires. Then the sounds—fires crackling over a steady chorus of murmured voices. I think we must still need to go through another door, because the voices are muted. Then I see figures. Lots of figures.

The room is cavernous. One of the larger vaults, I presume, with double-height ceilings. There are dozens of people, yet the voices don't rise above a murmur.

I start to step in and stop abruptly. My gaze swings down. There, on the stone floor, is some kind of mystical symbol drawn with soot and chalk. And we're walking over it.

"Is that… a problem?" I say, looking down.

Queen Mab chuckles. "Only if you believe in magic. Do you believe, Miss Mallory?"

I hesitate, and she looks over sharply.

"Well, that is interesting," she murmurs. "You strike me as a young lady who would have no patience with such things. I was teasing, and yet you hesitate." Her dark eyes bore into mine. "Had a mystical experience yourself, child?"

I give myself a shake. "It just unsettled me, that's all. My family was superstitious. Can't help picking up a bit of that."

Her piercing gaze calls me a liar, but she decides not to pursue it, only saying, "That symbol is supposed to compel you to be honest in your dealings. It is only a problem if you do not intend to be… and if you believe in such things." Her voice lowers. "Which I do not."

I nod, still unsettled as I follow her in. Do I believe in magic? I'd say no, and yet I'm walking in a world that existed over a hundred years before I was born. What is that, if not magic?

I shake it off and look around. What strikes me next isn't the sights or sounds. It's the smells. I catch dozens of them, coming from every direction, faint scents that have me sniffing the air like a bloodhound.

Queen Mab gives me a quizzical look.

"I'm trying to place the scents," I say. "Some are familiar, but I can't name any of them."

She inhales. "Myrrh and frankincense oil, always popular at this time of year. Also aniseed and…" She lifts her chin, taking a deeper breath, and then makes a face. "Now that smell I would know anywhere. Someone has cheese fruit."

"Cheese fruit?" I say. "I like cheese, and I like fruit."

"You most assuredly would not like this. It is also known as vomit fruit."

"Yum."

"It is a starvation food in the tropics, meaning it is only eaten if one is starving. It is also said to have medicinal properties, which is why it is here, but I have never found it useful myself."

As we walk, people glance over. No one does anything as indiscreet as turn around, much less gawk, but by the way they quickly look away, I get the sense that even those subtle glances are considered rude.

Most gazes go to Queen Mab. They recognize her, and they nod, even bow or curtsy. When they see me, their interest sharpens. Something new. Something interesting, as Queen Mab said. Whispers trail in our wake.

"You are causing a stir, my dear," she murmurs. "Excellent."

"May I look around?" I whisper. "I'm dying of curiosity, but I don't want to stare."

"And you should not. Discretion is key. You may look, though. Keep your chin up, and let your gaze sweep about you, as if you are simply taking it all in."

Mrs. Wallace has been silent behind us, and I look back, but she has her gaze forward and her expression impassive.

I do as Queen Mab suggested. I survey my surroundings like a princess, curious but taking this in as if it is rather commonplace.

It is not commonplace. What I see around me is part smoky dive bar and part mystical fairyland. The fires mean there's plenty of smoke, and only a small hole for it to escape… somewhere. That leaves the ceiling a low-hanging cloud of swirling fog that slips down to wreath the tops of rickety wooden market stalls. Candles flicker from scores of candelabras. Some burn red and orange, while others dance with mystical flames of green and blue and white. When a dark shape flies overhead, I nearly drop to the floor. A raven lands on the post of a stall and eyes me with disdain.

There have to be close to a hundred people in here, half behind stalls and half browsing them. At least a quarter of the stalls are unmanned, as if their owner is among the browsers.

Underground-market attire seems to come in two varieties. So dull and dreary that the wearer vanishes into the smoke or so bright that they glitter even when that smoke swirls around them. Those who want to be noticed… and those who wish to disappear into the shadows.

When Mrs. Wallace slows at a stall, I fall back a step, eager for any insight into our housekeeper. I have no idea what would catch her eye, and when I find her skimming a table of shuriken, I'm not sure whether I'm surprised or completely unsurprised.

"Oooh, throwing stars," I say. "If I bought one, would you teach me how to use it?"

She moves on without comment, and I tell myself that if I catch her looking at anything else, I need to be stealthier.

Queen Mab has also slowed. She's eyeing a cloth covered with what looks like bits of gnarled root. When her fingers reach down to touch a root, the stall keeper tears herself from another customer and races over.

"You have fine taste, my lady," the woman says. "That comes from darkest Arabia, where the unknown plant was found growing from the footprints of a djinn."

Queen Mab looks at the shopkeeper. Says nothing. Just looks until sweat beads on the woman's forehead. Then Queen Mab murmurs, "You have mistaken your audience, ma'am," and moves on, ignoring the woman's entreaties and apologies.

Another stall catches her eye. This one is jewels, mostly raw and unpolished, some little more than cut stones showing the treasures inside.

Queen Mab looks at a few. Then her gaze settles on a stone with a sliver cut away to show brilliant green.

Again, the shopkeeper—this time a middle-aged man—hurries over.

"If you tell me it is a dragon's eye, you lose a potential customer," she says. "I have no time for that nonsense."

"Yes, my lady. I know who you are, and I would not make that mistake."

"Excellent."

She lifts the stone. The man tenses, as if he would stop anyone else. For her, he only stays tense and tries to smile as she tests the weight and lifts it to her eye and then uses a magnifying lens from her pocket.

"I might be interested in this. What sort of trade are you seeking?"

He licks his lips. "The one you have brought would do nicely."

Queen Mab glances my way. My gaze falls to my carpetbag, and my grip tightens on it.

"What I bring?" she says.

"Yes, my lady. It is a rare specimen. Priceless, in fact, and I know you are not offering it for possession, but only for the borrowing. For one evening, I would give you that stone."

"An evening with…" My gaze returns to the bag.

"That is not what he means." Queen Mab's voice is ice. "Although he may wish it was."

"Then what does…" I look up to see the man's gaze fixed on my half-bared bosom. "Oh."

When Queen Mab speaks again, her voice is cool silk. "You wish to buy my young friend."

"Borrow, for an evening. That is why she is here, is she not? For trade."

"You believe I would trade a human being? Look at me, and tell me whether you honestly think I would trade a person."

Her voice is still low, but all around us, people have gone still to listen.

"Even America no longer trades in human beings," she says. "And yet you think I would?"

"N-not trade. M-merely lend."

"Lend you her body for my gain? How would that make me any different? This young woman is a friend of mine. A friend. That is not a polite euphemism." She meets his gaze. "You see a pretty girl and naturally presume she is for sale?"

He stammers wordlessly. Seemingly from nowhere, a woman appears, dressed in gray the color of the swirling smoke. She's on the other side of the stall, and I tense, expecting trouble, but she says to the man, "You are no longer welcome here. Pack your things."

"No," Queen Mab says. "Please do not expel him on my account. He has made a mistake and paid the price of a lost sale. That is enough."

The woman nods and melts back into the darkness as Queen Mab turns and walks away. When she realizes how fast she's moving, she slows to let me catch up.

"I apologize for the insult," Queen Mab says to me.

"You aren't the one who made it."

"Perhaps, but I should have realized that assumption would be made, purely on the grounds that you are young and pretty and female. Clearly you are what I am offering in trade tonight."

"They might have still presumed that even if I weren't female."

"Hmph. That is part of the reason I insist Gustav wait outside. I do business with these people, but it is not only the mystical leanings that keep us from being more than mere associates."

"A market for the mystical can mean a market for everything. Every taste."

"It will not happen again. Everyone who thought I brought you for that now stands corrected. I will pause my own browsing and take you where you want to be."