Chapter 5 Seraphine

Chapter 5 Seraphine

On a Sunday morning, come rain, hail or shine, the Rascalle was the busiest marketplace in Fantome. It welcomed all kinds of traders: jewellers and bakers, cobblers and hatmakers, weavers and millers, fishmongers and blacksmiths, and farmers who came all the way from the plains to sell their wares and make good coin. Nestled down by the harbour, the market looked out over the sea. When the tide was high, the wind cast the scent of seaweed and brine across the square, which added a questionable tang to the pastries.

When Sera arrived at the Rascalle, arm in arm with Bibi and Val, and with Pippin scurrying at her heels, the marketplace was so noisy she could hardly hear herself think. This was probably a good thing, because she was already having second thoughts about coming. Five days had passed since her arrival at House Armand, and though the Cloaks had been more than welcoming, without Mama she felt like an unmoored vessel, lost at sea.

Even so, she had tried to use the days wisely, learning her way around the grand mansion like an explorer charting a new continent. She introduced herself to as many Cloaks as she could find, exchanging polite greetings in the halls and idle chit-chat in the common rooms. She even spent a morning with Blanche, the old custodian of the house library, who recommended to Sera so many of her favourite novels that by the time she was leaving, she had to crane her neck to see over the stack in her arms.

She had met Rupert and Bianca, the husband-and-wife team who ran the kitchens with expert precision, and Alaina, the temperamental pastry chef who somehow always managed to look beautiful – and vaguely furious – while covered in flour. On Sera's third night, after a couple of glasses of wine, Bibi had confessed to her secret undying love for Alaina, only to staunchly deny the crush the following morning.

Sera noticed their lingering glances over breakfast, exchanging a knowing smirk with Val. In the afternoons, she walked in the gardens with Pippin, letting the mutt sniff out his own map of their new home. She was always nervous outside, even on the grounds of House Armand. She might have stopped running from the Daggers but she was still hiding from them.

Today's outing to the Rascalle made Sera feel like she was walking a tightrope over a ravine, but she knew if she wanted the protection of the Order of Cloaks, she had to start acting like one. Even if the idea of stealing mildly horrified her.

‘Take a breath, rookie,' said Val, clapping her on the shoulder. ‘You're as stiff as a board.'

Sera blew out a breath. ‘I'm trying to look confident.'

‘Great work, thespian.' Val's voice rippled with sarcasm. ‘Try unclenching your jaw.'

‘You don't have to steal anything today,' Bibi reminded her. ‘Just watch and learn. Sleights are fun. You'll see.'

It was not so much the Sleights as her imminent death that worried Sera now. She wasn't expecting to see a Dagger perusing the Rascalle in the middle of the day but after what had happened to Mama, she couldn't be too careful.

Still, the likelihood was low. The square was too bright. Too busy. And there were dayguards milling about, conspicuous in their cornflower-blue uniforms trimmed in gold, wide-brimmed black helmets and tall black boots, the royal insignia of Valterre proudly emblazoned on their chests and on the hilt of their longswords.

They came to the edge of the marketplace, which was overlooked by a bronze statue of Saint Oriel of Destiny – a tall, beautiful woman in a veil, measuring a spool of thread to cut. Oriel had died over a thousand years ago, but during her life she had sat at the right hand of kings and queens, looking far beyond the stone walls of their grand palaces, into the future. Warning them of unseen dangers, of wars brewing like storm clouds on the horizon, alliances that might crumble, others that could be found across the sea, and heirs, both worthy and troublesome, yet to come.

Legend said if you stood by her statue and curled your finger around the bronze thread, the strands of a great destiny would find you and whisk you far from Fantome. Sera had done so many times as a child, often standing on Mama's knee to reach the thread, but whenever she pictured the sprawling landscape of their future in her mind, she had never imagined herself alone in it.

There was a ring of children around Saint Oriel now, all clamouring for that bronze thread. Sera wanted to tell them not to bother. Oriel was long dead, and their destiny was their own to muddle out. There were smart decisions and poor decisions. Luck, good and bad. And then there were depraved murderers like Gaspard Dufort, waiting in the wings to destroy your entire life.

The three Cloaks meandered through the milling crowd. There were at least fifty stalls here, and ten times as many people. Bibi and Val hadn't bothered to don their special cloaks, even though the magic-imbued material would make it easier to flit in and out of shadows and hide in plain sight. Instead, they were dressed entirely as themselves, a pair of wide-eyed innocents who had come down to the marketplace for a cream bun and a nose around.

They wandered down the sloping cobblestones, following the curve of the harbour, where the air was dusted with the scent of cinnamon sugar.

Val turned on Sera. ‘What do you fancy, farmgirl? A charm bracelet? A silk scarf? Rookie's choice.'

‘I doubt I'll have much use for a silk scarf.' Idly, Sera imagined strangling Mama's killer with it. ‘But thanks anyway.' She looked for Pippin, and spotted him sniffing around a stall of fresh mackerel. ‘I'd better grab Pip before he blows your cover,' she said, hurrying away from the girls. ‘Good luck!'

By the time she had jostled her way to Pippin, he had surrendered his interest in the mackerel and was sniffing the boots of a stern-faced dayguard. ‘Pardon me!' said Sera, swooping down to grab him. He yipped and wriggled in her grasp. ‘You little troublemaker,' she hissed, ferrying him away. ‘Can't you at least try and behave yourself?'

Pippin cocked his head, as if to say, Define ‘behave'.

The mutt had a point. They had come here with a pair of thieves. Sera caught a glimpse of Val, giggling with a trader of fine gold jewellery. She leaned in, pointing to the furthest necklace with her right hand, while her left hand snatched a ring from the front of the stall, slipping it into the pocket of her coat. As the man turned to show Val the necklace, her fingers darted around, rearranging the other boxes to completely hide the empty space.

A few moments later, Val sauntered away, grinning from ear to ear.

Sera spun around, tracking the dayguards, but none of them seemed to have noticed anything. She moved on and found Bibi perusing a stall of trinkets at the other end of the marketplace. She was leaning over the wooden bench, as if to take a closer look at something, her long red hair making a perfect curtain to hide her free hand. A heartbeat later, the Sleight was over.

They made it look so easy.

Sera paced the edge of the marketplace, searching for a quiet spot amid the fray. There were people everywhere, children wandering about with funnel cakes and ice-cream cones. Traders shouted over each other as they haggled, while street musicians jangled copper-filled caps, hoping for silvers.

Pippin wriggled himself upside down in protest until she relented and set him back on his feet. She wrung her hands, not sure what to do with them. Val winked at her from the middle of the square. She was eating a caramel apple, and wearing a black hat with a feather in it. Bibi was perusing a stall near the entryway, the pockets of her plum coat bulging.

Remembering not to gawk, Sera turned to face the harbour, feigning interest in the nearest boat. It had a sleek wooden hull and white sails rolled at the mast. Mariner's Dream.

Noticing the line of her attention, an old man in a flat cap sidled over. ‘More like Mariner's Nightmare ,' he grunted. ‘I wouldn't get too close, girl. The whole ruddy crew upped and disappeared. Thirty-odd sailors and not a trace to be found.' He blew a smoke ring from his tobacco pipe, quickly chasing it with another. ‘Something stinks.'

Sera raised her eyebrows. This must be the ship Val mentioned the other morning. But thirty sailors… thirty marks in one night. Even for the Daggers, the number was obscene. ‘What was the vessel trading?'

‘Spices from the south. Every barrel left untouched.'

Sera frowned. Nothing taken. No bodies left behind. It didn't make any sense. ‘Maybe the crew made a pact,' she murmured. ‘Maybe they hated their patron or their captain, or the long, gruelling hours at sea and decided to hell with it all…'

The man snorted. ‘Ignorant little kelpie. The captain disappeared along with them. And that pretty little fairy tale don't explain all the other disappearances, does it?'

Sera's cheeks prickled. Just what the hell was Dufort up to?

‘Well, what's your clever theory, then?' she asked, with too much bite.

The old man blew another ring. ‘Badness is growing. There's a wrongness in the wind. In the water.'

Sera hated those words, and the shiver they chased down her spine. ‘That's not a theory.'

‘It's a feeling,' he said, wandering away. ‘Just a feeling.'

Swallow it , she wanted to call after him. She barely had the space to contemplate what had happened to Mama, without adding these strange happenings at the harbour.

She turned and walked along the shop fronts, to where the crowd was at its thinnest. She lingered outside the Rose and Crown, a bustling tavern already brimming with red-cheeked revellers, and wondered if she should pilfer something, too. What if this was all a test? Madame Mercure had warned Sera that she would summon her soon for her first job, but there had been no sign or word from the Head Cloak since that first night. What if Mercure had told the girls to take Sera down to the Rascalle today to test her nerve?

What if this was the job? Or some sort of secret initiation rite?

Her mind reeled, a new panic setting in. Maybe she should take a peach from one of the fruit stalls. She winced at the thought. She had grown up around these farmers, probably run through their fields as a child. One cold wet spring when Sera was little and coin was scarce, she'd swiped a turnip from Farmer Perrin. By the time she got home she was crying so hard, she couldn't speak. Mama spotted the turnip and walked her all the way back to Perrin's farm to apologize. The following morning, Perrin's wife came by with a fresh pot of turnip soup, and a sack of potatoes for the pantry. Mama had cried then, too.

Sera saw no point whatsoever in stealing from good, honest people. Snatching a handful of peppermints or a jar of spice was not going to get her any closer to her goal of justice for Mama. Of freedom for herself. This was not the right way to take revenge. And yet, she feared if she didn't do it, Madame Mercure would revoke her stipend and turn her out on the streets of the Hollows, to rot in the underbelly of Fantome.

Sera sighed, laying her forehead against the foggy window. She suddenly felt exhausted. Despite the high noon sun, the tavern was draped in shadows, the dimness feathered by candles flickering from each table. An idea bloomed in her mind.

She could swipe a candle easily enough. Trail her fingers along the table, and fold it into her coat before anyone noticed. Would anyone even care? It was hardly a silk scarf, but surely a candle would count for something.

It was a notice of intent, a commitment to the life Mercure had offered her, at least for a little while. She swept the stray hairs from her face and squared her shoulders, examining the determined glint of her gaze in the glass.

Something caught her eye. An odd shape reflected behind her. Not in the marketplace, but higher up, and further back. There was someone standing on top of the sweetshop across the square. She watched them sink into a crouch, and then go perfectly still, like a statue.

Adrenaline flooded her. She spun round, frantically scanning the rooftop, but the figure was gone, leaving the brown-and-white awning of Florian's Emporium rippling in the breeze.

You're seeing things. But Pippin was growling between her legs. Had he seen it too? Or was it the street magician prancing about on stilts that had spooked him?

Forget the stupid candle. She was getting the hell out of here. She scooped Pippin up and made her way back through the square. The crowd thickened, hemming her in. Overhead, seagulls screeched, looking for scraps. Sera kept her head down, weaving her way through a mass of bony elbows and broad shoulders, children playing hide-and-seek and yipping dogs with curly white faces, until at last she reached the entrance to the Rascalle.

She heaved a sigh, setting Pippin down again.

A nearby squeal sent Sera's heart leaping into her throat. Bibi barrelled into her, pressing a wet kiss to her cheek. When she pulled back, her eyes were wild and bright. ‘Don't you just love the Rascalle?'

‘Clearly not as much as you two,' said Sera, noting Val's arrival in her brand-new hat. ‘I can't believe you're just… wearing that.'

Val twirled the feather. ‘The best thieves hide in plain sight.'

‘I wouldn't know,' said Sera awkwardly. ‘I didn't get a chance to take anything. Sorry.'

‘Don't be sorry. It's only your first week,' said Bibi, linking arms with her. ‘And you're not even a proper Cloak yet. Did you think this was some kind of test?'

‘Honestly? Yes.'

Both girls collapsed into laughter.

‘I've got a better test for you,' said Val, removing a glass vial from her sleeve. She held it up, showing off the iridescent black powder. ‘Why don't you try some of this?'

Bibi gasped. ‘Where on earth did you find Shade?'

Sera stared at the powder as Val removed the cork stopper and tipped it down her throat.

‘DON'T!' screeched Bibi, sending a nearby flock of seagulls flapping into the sky.

Val grinned as she swallowed, revealing two neat rows of blackened teeth.

‘SPIT IT OUT!' Bibi lunged at her friend, but Sera caught her by the waist.

‘It's all right, Bibi. It's not real. It's not Shade.'

Bibi's breath punched out of her. ‘Wh-what?'

‘Shade doesn't sparkle like that,' said Sera, quickly. ‘Think about it. There's no light in shadow. If there was it wouldn't work. There'd be no magic at all. It doesn't stain either, not if it's prepared correctly. And see—' She gestured to the label on the bottle in Val's hand, which read Florian's Emporium. ‘It's sherbet.'

Val glared at Sera, as she licked her teeth. ‘Thanks for ruining my fun.'

Bibi pressed a hand to her heart, a relieved giggle seeping from her. ‘Val, you heartless ghoul.'

Val tossed the vial aside. ‘Waste of a Sleight.'

‘Sorry,' said Sera, even though she wasn't. Shade was nothing to joke about, and neither were the marks it left behind, whorls of black that burrowed through your skin and bone and blood, lacing your very marrow with poison. It was a killing thing, Shade. One way or another, every Dagger succumbed to it eventually. If that really had been a vial, Sera would have snatched it from Val and shattered it at her feet. Shade was no joke. It had to be worth it – that taste. That power. It had to mean something.

Val was still glaring at her. ‘You seem to know a lot about the properties of Shade for a simple farmgirl.'

Sera smiled, thinly. ‘Who said anything about simple?'

There was a strained silence.

Bibi broke it by taking a small wooden box from her pocket. ‘I got you something, Sera. I thought it might cheer you up.'

Sera had no interest in stolen gifts, but she didn't want to disappoint Bibi, so she took the box and opened it, expecting to find a ring or a pair of earrings. Instead, she was met with a familiar melody. It was a music box, with a tiny ballerina twirling inside.

Sera's eyes misted over. ‘?"The Dancing Swan",' she murmured. ‘My mother used to sing this to me when I was a little girl.'

‘Oh no.' Bibi grimaced at the sight of Sera's tears. She took the box and snapped it shut. ‘It wasn't supposed to make you cry!'

‘Told you, you should have gone for brandy,' said Val, clucking her tongue.

‘No, Bibi, I love it. Really,' said Sera, reaching for the box. ‘Whenever I play it, I'll think of Mama. I don't ever want to forget her.'

‘You won't forget her,' said Bibi, with such quiet sureness, Sera's heart ached for her too. ‘Not for as long as you live.'

Sera squeezed her hand, then slipped the music box into her pocket. It occurred to her in that moment that perhaps she was not so averse to stealing after all.

‘Now that we've had our fill of heart-warming thievery, why don't we stop by Marveline's Boutique on the way home?' suggested Val, as they wandered away from the marketplace. ‘Let's fill up your wardrobe so I can start raiding it.'

‘I suppose that's only fair,' said Sera, who, having received her stipend from Vincent that very morning, was more than eager to spend it on her own clothes.

She slowed to let Pippin catch up with her, and then realized he was missing. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed the little mutt was down by the statue of Saint Oriel, hunting for scraps.

Sera sighed. ‘You two go ahead. I'll catch up.'

She hurried down the hill.

Pippin looked up at the sound of her approach, revealing a sardine hanging from his mouth.

‘Clever wagtail,' said Sera, bending down to pick him up. ‘I can't believe you're a better Cloak than me.' She was so busy scolding Pippin that she didn't notice the music box slipping from her pocket. She was already three steps away when she heard the soft trill of music behind her.

She spun around and nearly crashed nose-first into a broad chest.

‘I think you dropped this,' said a low voice.

She looked up, past that broad chest and strong, stubbled chin, to a generous sweep of black hair and eyes the colour of autumn leaves, flickering somewhere between green and gold. She didn't know if it was the lilting lullaby, the sheer towering height of this stranger or the way those autumn eyes were looking at her, but she felt suddenly dazed.

‘Why did the swan dance?' he said, soft enough for her alone.

She blinked. ‘What?'

‘Your lullaby.' He offered an awkward half-smile. ‘I think it's called "The Dancing Swan".'

‘Oh. Yeah.' She stumbled backwards, the statue of Saint Oriel filling up the space between them as she shook herself from her stupor. Too late, of course. She had already made a prize fool of herself, ogling him like an oil painting. What was it about Fantome, and its distractingly handsome men? ‘Because it was trying to fly.'

‘ Ah ,' he said, as if she had answered some great confounding riddle. He stepped towards her, until she had to tilt her chin to look up at him again. ‘And did it?'

‘I don't know,' she said, as she took the box from him. She closed it, extinguishing the music. In the sudden silence, the back of her neck began to prickle. Pippin grew restless in her arms, and it occurred to Sera that they should leave.

‘Thank you,' she said, willing her legs to work.

‘It was nothing.' He was already turning away from her, stepping back into the swell of the Rascalle, like a ship disappearing in the mist. ‘Have a nice day, Seraphine.'

It was only after he disappeared that she wondered how he knew her name.