The Mask of Mirrors by M. Carrick; (different e readers txt) 📕

The problem with Mettore’s obsessive record-keeping was that it made for a daunting pile of material to search. She found the records of convict sales quickly enough, in a series of ledgers, and they helpfully noted the crime, age, sex, and physical condition of all those sold. But she had no way of telling if any of those details were falsified. She could only skim for family names in the hopes she came across a pattern, or a name she recognized.

The Rook, meanwhile, picked the locks on Mettore’s desk drawers, made a faint noise of irritation at their contents, then moved through the various shelves more quickly. “This is all terribly interesting and terribly useless. He has to keep more private records somewhere.” Hand flat and hood pressed to a bare stretch of wall, the Rook started moving along, knocking softly up and down.

There weren’t any housebreakers in the Fingers, but half the kids there aspired to join their ranks, and devoured tales of the hidden doors and compartments rich cuffs used to hide their pearls. The best of those were imbued, making them almost impossible to find. Ren knew one old thief—“old” meaning he was nearly thirty—who swore the only way to defeat that kind of concealment was to decide there was a secret mechanism, and to work on triggering rather than finding it.

She began circling opposite the Rook, all too aware that they couldn’t afford to spend the whole night searching. Tipping books in and out did nothing, no matter how confidently she did it, and tugging on the shelves produced no give that hinted at their potential to swing outward. She pressed every bit of decorative carving she could find, but nothing clicked.

Until she got to the pillars behind Mettore’s desk. These were nearly flat to the wall—decorative rather than functional—but when she pulled at the edge of one, her fingers caught in an almost imperceptible seam.

“Here,” she said softly, astonished that she’d found it. Wait ’til I tell Tess and Sedge.

The Rook came to her side, close enough that she could feel his warmth and smell the dampened lanolin from his coat. “What have you got there, Clever Natalya?”

After months of being Renata, the allusion to Vraszenian folklore made her feel like she’d come home—that, and the fact that she’d gone back to her criminal ways. “I’m not sure how to open it,” she admitted.

“Hmm. Would you be so kind as to lend me a pin?”

The end of her braid slipped down over one shoulder as she pulled a pin free. The Rook slid it into the crack she’d found, moving it up as high as he could reach, then down. At knee height, the pin caught on something. A moment of poking and prodding later, he found the mechanism. The panel door swung open, revealing a narrow closet lined on both sides with shelves holding leather binders.

“Victory.” The Rook straightened with a flourish. “As you’re the one who discovered it, care to have first crack?”

The interior of the closet was even dimmer than the study. “I know not about you, but I cannot read in the dark. Bring that lamp closer.”

Within short order, they had an efficient system of revolving documents. Arenza stood in the closet and handed things out to the Rook, who held them next to the lamp to read. Often after seeing just one or two pages, he could tell her to move on to the next folder. She twitched at trusting his judgment—would he really tell her if he found what she was looking for?—but the bits and pieces she was able to make out said his assessments looked correct.

Finally, the Rook broke the silence rather than handing her back the most recent paper. “What folder was this in?”

She glanced at the letter he was holding. “It wasn’t. It was between folders.”

The message was brief, and unsigned. All is set at the Fiangiolli warehouse. Tell your men to look for the crates marked with a blue boar stamp.

Before either of them could say anything more, voices sounded outside the study door. “Inside. Now,” the Rook hissed, snatching up his lantern, squeezing into the hidden space, and pulling her after him.

The closet was barely large enough for the two of them. She rammed her hips into the Rook when she crouched to find and relatch the hook that held the door shut, but he didn’t make so much as a muffled grunt.

The secret room went dark around her just as a key turned in the lock of the study door. The wood of the panel was thin enough that it only partially muffled the voices outside.

“Shut the door.” That was Mettore Indestor. Ren stiffened, and felt the Rook behind her doing the same. One hand touched her waist, a silent message, and she pressed into him to keep from brushing against the panel and giving them away.

She could feel his heartbeat against her back. It was as fast as hers, but she didn’t know whether to take consolation from that or not. If Mettore had come here to retrieve something from his hidden files…

“How may I serve, Your Mercy?” A woman. Too confident to be a servant, but clearly subservient to Mettore in his role as Caerulet.

“I need you to get me another dose.” The wood-scrape of a drawer sliding open. The desk, Ren thought, and tried to breathe as silently as she could. “I need to test something.”

“That… may be difficult. There’s no knowing when those cre—”

“How long?” Mettore snapped.

“Sometimes a week or more…” The woman drifted into silence, and Ren wished there was a spyhole in the pillar. So much could be communicated without words.

“Then buy it off the street if you have to. In the meantime, take this.” There was no mistaking the ringing clink of a bag of coins being tossed and caught. “Get Euscenal out of bed to come take care of my son’s face.”

“I’ll see to it at once, Your Mercy.”

The door opened and shut. Silence