Am I supposed to let the knocker in? There's no-one else here to do it, and I don't want to leave another visitor to the Archive stranded in the rain, so I probably should. It occurs to as my hand touches the handle, though, that there's no-one else here. No witnesses. I wasn't followed here, though, at least I don't think so. And even if I was, how would anyone know when Arnold left the room?
Unless he's in on it… no, I'm being too paranoid. Even so, I'm ready to run at the first sign of danger as I heave the door open. The woman standing on the other side doesn't appear particularly dangerous, though. She's maybe in her mid-twenties, and wields a large umbrella which she lowers as she steps through the door.
"Arnold," she says. "I'm just here for – " she breaks off as she sees . "Oh."
Now I can see her properly, I take a second to study her. She's maybe in her mid-twenties, plainly dressed. Her dark hair is thick and curly, and she wears spectacles and an expression of confusion.
"He's just in the back consulting about prices," I say, doing my best to sound professional. "He won't be longer than five minutes or so, if you don't mind waiting."
"I don't mind waiting," the woman says. "Are you…"
I hope very much that she's just confused about what the fifteen-year-old girl is doing here rather than in the process of realising who exactly the fifteen-year-old girl is. "I'm here to consult the Archive."
"Oh? School project?"
"Sothing like that." Electra has asked to report on my progress with this, which ans that it could be argued that this is an assignnt she set .
"They must set pretty high standards then," the woman muses.
"Yup," I say, thinking of Electra's impossible ones.
"I'm Amy, by the way."
Ah. Introductions. I'm starting to hate them. Maybe I should start using a false na. Or is that a bad idea? "…Tallulah."
"As in…?"
"Yes," I say flatly.
Amy grimaces. "Sorry. You must get that a lot."
"I do."
"I won't ask any of the obvious questions, if that helps."
"It does. Thanks."
We lapse into a surprisingly comfortable silence. I'm the one who decides to ask questions after half a minute or so. "So what do you want to consult the Archive for?"
"Oh, I'm just cross-referencing the newly added papers with other records. Waste of ti, if you ask , but my boss is obsessive about details."
"Oh? And you work for…" A suspicion jumps to my mind just as I finish speaking.
"One of the ministries," Amy replies casually. Too casually? And why would she not specify unless she had reason to keep it hidden? Yeah, my presence here is definitely getting back to Edward's dad.
"Tell more about this project of yours," she says.
And that is definitely fishing to be able to give Lord Blackthorn a proper report of my doings. Maybe I should just give her what she wants. But no: if he wants to know what I'm up to that badly, he can ask himself. Preferably at a reasonable hour.
"I'm looking into doing a case study," I say, once again choosing my words carefully to be technically true.
"Of…?"
I'm saved from having to invent a response by Arnold's return. "Amy!" he says. "Thank you for dropping by!"
"It's my job," she says, smiling as if she's had conversations like this many tis before. "The papers?" She unzips her satchel.
"Just that pile on the end."
Amy crosses to the desk and places a handful of silver coins on it, then scoops the indicated pile into her bag. The papers fit easily enough that I wonder whether her bag has a spatial enchantnt. "I suppose I'll have to brave the weather again, then. Until next ti, Arnold. And it was lovely eting you, Tallulah. I hope we run into each other again."
I very much don't feel the sa way, but that's nothing personal, so I reply "Nice eting you too."
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Arnold waits until Amy is gone and the door is shut behind her before informing of the price I asked for: four Princes' Silver and a handful of coppers. Less than I'd thought, honestly, but more than I'd be able to afford on my own while leaving my ergency stash intact.
"I'll be back tomorrow with the money," I say.
"Then your papers will be ready by then. May your path to our next eting be guided by the stars."
I'm startled by the archaic greeting, but it does make sense that Arnold is living in the past sowhat. I've read enough to know the traditional response: "And may you walk there under starlit skies."
He smiles, and I take my leave.
It's raining still. If anything, it's heavier now, and I hear thunder rumbling overhead as I shut the door behind . It feels dangerous. Maybe I should have told Amy what I was doing and who I'm pretty sure she works for; she might have given an escort back to the Academy, or at least lent her umbrella.
As it is, I'm on my own. All I have to do is make it back alive. It can't be further than a mile; if I run, which I'm going to, that's ten to fifteen minutes. And even if I don't know the exact route, all I have to do is head towards the centre of the City until I find a familiar street.
I jog into the street and imdiately realise just how bad the weather is. A wind has picked up while I was indoors, and it blows the rain into my face. It'll do that all the way. Not like I have much choice, though. I keep running.
I'm reminded of my earlier resolution to work on my physical fitness the hard way: a couple of minutes later, I have a nasty stitch and am gasping for air. This was a bad idea. I just have to keep moving, though. Even if it is at a walk, and even if I'm going to get wetter than I already am before I get back.
Another thing I'm discovering the hard way is that there is a definite limit to how waterproof my coat is, and that I just reached it. Stars, I hate this weather. Why did I not learn more basic utility spells when I had the chance?
I notice a few strides later that my laces are undone, and hate myself for not having been more careful when tying them. It would be a humiliating end to this adventure to fall flat on my face because of untied laces, though, so I crouch down to fix them.
Which is easier said than done: my hands are wet and growing cold, which ans it's hard to do anything that requires precise movents. I'm on my third attempt when I notice that I'm not getting any wetter. Confused, I look up, and nearly scream when I see Amy standing right behind , holding her umbrella to shelter us both.
"What are you doing here?" I snap, though my chattering teeth make it sound less angry and more pathetic. The anger is mostly with myself, anyway, for not noticing her presence sooner. Stars, if she'd been soone hostile…
"We happened to be heading the sa way, and you look like you need the umbrella more than I do."
Except that she left before , and I can't imagine she would have hung around or taken a more circuitous route in this weather by coincidence. "You an you followed ."
"Why in stars' nas would I do that?"
"Because you work for Lord Blackthorn, and you thought he'd think well of you if you reported what I'm up to." Oops. I didn't an to be quite so direct. But I'm too cold and wet and frustrated with myself for subtlety.
"No!" She takes a step backwards and then hastily repositions the umbrella so it doesn't lead to either of us getting wetter than we already are. "Okay – " she glances hastily around – "maybe I do work for Lord Blackthorn. But I wanted to make sure you were safe."
"I can look after myself." I hate how petulant my voice sounds.
"Yes. Clearly that explains why you were out on your own in this weather without taking any evident precautions for your safety." I didn't expect that biting sarcasm, and it cuts deeply. Mostly because of how accurate it is.
"Okay, maybe I made a few bad decisions today. But that doesn't an – "
"Here's how this is going to work. I'm going to walk you back to the Academy – I assu that's where you're staying still?"
With an effort, I stop myself replying with biting sarcasm of my own. "Yes."
"Good. And you can share the umbrella. And that way I won't have to ntion your bad decisions to Lord Blackthorn. Shall we?" She offers her umbrella-free hand.
That seems like a surprisingly good deal, considering. I finally succeed in tying my laces and use her hand to pull myself upright.
"Just one other thing, then. Why should you trust ?"
I freeze, my hand still in hers. "What – what do you an?"
"You know I was following you. And you have only my word that I'm trying to keep you safe. Is it really a good idea to blindly go with ?"
"I know the way back to the Academy," I protest. "If you try to take a different way, I know that there's sothing wrong. And if there's an ambush waiting sowhere along a normal route, I probably would have encountered it anyway."
"Still, though. Just because I have good intentions doesn't an the next stranger who offers you their umbrella will be the sa."
She probably has a point, but I just want to make it back and get out of my wet clothes rather than having this conversation. Edward would say that's exactly the feeling that makes you most likely to make mistakes. I wish I didn't have to listen to my ntal model of Edward.
"Well, I'll worry about that when the next person cos along."
Amy sighs. "Sorry. Believe it or not, I do want to help."
Despite what she's just said, my instincts are telling that I should believe it. It's just that I don't particularly want the help of… no, I'm not being fair, am I? "Sorry. Can we just go?"
She nods. There isn't much conversation after that, which suits . The sound of the rain helps prevent the silence from becoming awkward, though there is still tension between us. We just walk on through the rain. The umbrella does help more than I'd care to admit, but it can't do anything about the puddles that are growing on the pavent, and my boots are reaching the limit of water they can absorb.
Wet feet are not pleasant.
The streets stay quiet even as we get closer to the Central Ring. Most people are sensible enough to stay indoors in weather such as this. There's the occasional ominous rumble of thunder. It feels like a ti when dangerous things happen. I hope selfishly that they don't happen to this ti.
And then suddenly we're in the Central Ring. It's not deserted, even now. It never is, between the pilgrims and protestors and politicians that flood it by turns. But it has a very different atmosphere. Isolated people hurry across in different directions, clutching coats to themselves or holding bags over their heads.
"I take it you can find your own way from here?" Amy asks.
I bite back a sarcastic response. "I can." And I force myself to add "Thank you."
Then I duck out from under the umbrella and set off on the last little piece of my journey.
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