Page 4 of The Affair of the Mysterious Letter
“I am the sorceress Shaharazad Haas. The whole city knows my name. And those citizens who do not wish me dead and, come to think of it, some of those who do have frequent need for my services.”
“She is in a state of some distress.”
Ms. Haas turned the page. “How sad for her. Tedious.”
I was starting to feel a little desperate. “She’s very pretty?” I tried.
“How pretty?”
“I am not sure I’m accustomed to quantifying these things.” Indeed, there were few things I was less qualified to judge. “Her eyes, I think, are quite fine. They are an unusual shade.”
Her head came up. “Blood red? Viridian? Wholly crafted from copper and emblazoned with sigils of warding? Like unto a window over an endless void wherein stars gutter and die eternally?”
“Um.” This was not going to end well. “More sort of light brown?”
“Yellow-brown or grey-brown?”
“Yellow-brown.”
She leapt up in a billow of purple silk. “Honestly, Wyndham. Why did you not mention this before? Sometimes I think you are intent upon wasting my time.”
She made for the door.
“Surely,” I cried, “you are not intending to greet this lady clad only in a dressing gown?”
“How right you are, Captain.” Pausing by her dresser, which was strewn with a wild tangle of items, several of them mine, she selected a single earring—a modest pearl on a golden chain—and affixed it to her ear. “There.”
And, with that, she pushed past me into the corridor.
Having done my duty, I repaired to my room, only to be violently roused moments later by the sound of shouting from the sitting room. It was against my instincts to pry, but the debate sounded so acrimonious that I honestly feared for the safety of one or both parties.
I made my way cautiously downstairs, where I found our guest standing in the middle of the room, while Ms. Haas paced its confines with the energy and menace of a caged panther.
“... frankly insulting,” she was saying, “that you consider it possible I would do such a thing.”
The other lady retained her composure where many would surely have faltered. “What else am I to think? I know of three people you have personally murdered, one you drove to madness for slighting you, six you left to die in the ash wastes of Telash-Ur, and at least four you fed to the Princes of the Mocking Realm.”
“Indeed, I have done all of these things, and more. And yet you still believe that I would resort to blackmail in order to prevent you from marrying a fishmonger?”
At this, the stranger lost all self-possession. Pulling a long pin from her hair, she flicked it at Ms. Haas with uncanny speed and unerring accuracy.
My cohabitant raised a hand, allowing the missile to embed itself into her palm. “That,” she said, “was uncalled for.”
“Cora is not a fishmonger. She is a member in good standing with the Ubiquitous Company of Fishers.”
“She’s a tedious little bourgeois.” Blood began to pool in the centre of Ms. Haas’s hand and she watched it with an air of studied detachment. “And you deserve better.”
“I love her, Shaharazad. It’s not something I’d expect you to understand.”
With an exasperated sigh, Ms. Haas drew the pin slowly from her flesh and licked the tip. “Not even poisoned, dear. I’m not sure if that means you really do care or you really don’t.”
“Neither am I.” Our unexpectedly intemperate guest returned to the chaise longue and arranged herself decorously upon it once more. “But it seems I do need your help.”
“Then you shall have it.” Ms. Haas settled into the wingbackchair and stuck the pin into the arm, where I was quite certain it would shortly do someone an injury. “And as for you, Mr. Wyndham, since you have nothing better to do than hover in doorways, you might as well make yourself useful.”
She picked up a notebook from a pile at her feet and flung it towards me. I caught it with only a mild twinge from my shoulder and claimed the other chair. In truth, I wasn’t sure what use I could be, besides note taking and moral support, but it was oddly pleasing to be included. Having resolved the immediate crisis of my accommodation, and my journey to the hospital being so much shorter than it once was, I had found my evenings curiously empty. There are, of course, a great multitude of diversions available in the city of Khelathra-Ven, but my temperament and upbringing left the vast majority of them either unappealing or inaccessible. Growing up in Ey, I never developed the habits of drinking, dancing, visiting the theatre, or, indeed, engaging in any pastime that did not involve venerating the name of the Creator. And, while I have no strong objection to such activities today, it is difficult for me to engage in them without the excuse of a companion.
Crossing one leg over the other, Ms. Haas produced a packet of tobacco and retrieved her pipe from where it had rolled under the chair. “Perhaps introductions are in order. Eirene, this is Captain John Wyndham. He’s from the Commonwealth, which explains most of it, and has lived with me for a month, which explains the rest. Mr. Wyndham, this is Eirene Viola. I first met her after she was forced to flee Carcosa some dozen years ago. We...”
