Page 57 of The Dark Mirror

‘Why?’

‘If I can’t get a message to Terebell physically, I can try it through the æther.’

Ducos eyed me.

‘I only have a conversational grasp of Italian, but I can ask one of my colleagues if it’s something more complex,’ she said. ‘Send me the message. I’ll have it translated within an hour.’

The heat and the long walk had worn me out. I took off my dissimulator and examined my own face in the mirror. My skin was almost as pale as the flower that was draining me, worsening my dark circles.

I sent Ducos the message I needed translating. Her reply came in moments.

Are you calling their leader here?

After a pause, I wrote back:By voyant means. If I can’t get to her, maybe she can get to me.

I’ll need to inform Pivot. Will she need assistance crossing the Fluke?

I doubt it, but one step at a time. The séance might not work. Can you send me the translation?

It arrived a few minutes later.

I found the tin of blue aster from Verca and pressed a patch on to my hip. A cold tingling came first, and then a sense of calm. I could feel my silver cord thickening, resisting the dust, so my spirit felt more rooted. No longer locked in a state of strained vigilance, my body folded on to the bed, and I closed my eyes, my breathing deep and slow.

When I woke, I felt restored, but my skin flamed, as if I was running a fever. According to the clock on the nightstand, I had been asleep for more than five hours. I hadn’t remembered anything new.

The gondoliera would be in the bar by now. I slung my shoes back on, then applied my dissimulator.

It was time to take matters into my own hands, and use the gifts the æther had given me. There might be another way to contact Terebell – one that didn’t involve sending a courier into danger. It had to be worth a try.

By the time I got downstairs, I was burning up. I went to the bartender, who grimaced when he saw me, though he covered it with a smile. I must look more of a wreck than I thought.

‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘Is the gondoliera here?’

He nodded to a woman sitting at a table. She was a stocky medium, with tight dark curls piled into a ponytail.

‘Salve.’ A dimple appeared in her cheek as she smiled. ‘Posso aiutarla?’

‘Good evening.’ I dusted off my crisp English accent. ‘Sorry, I don’t speak Italian.’

‘You want to book a trip?’

‘If you could slot me in. I’d like to visit the Isola di San Michele, preferably when it’s quiet.’

‘It closes to visitors around four, but I imagine you could find a way inside.’ Noemi flipped open a notebook. ‘I trust you are not going to do anything illegal or disrespectful.’

‘Of course not.’

People might not always believe in clairvoyance here, but it wasn’t against the law, to my knowledge. What I was about to do would be a death sentence in Scion.

‘It might be easiest if I stay overnight,’ I said. ‘Could you come back for me in the morning?’

‘You would stay in a cemetery overnight?’

‘I don’t think the skeletons will attack me.’

Noemi chuckled. ‘You are braver than most.’ She tapped a pen on her notepad. ‘I have a free slot this evening, if you want. It would be best if we go around dusk, so fewer people will see my boat approaching the island. Could you meet at the canal entrance at eight?’

‘Sure.’

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