"The best spies aren’t in the shadows. They’re the ones holding your laundry."
***
"Blessed saints, these noble brats go through more clothes in a day than my whole family owns."
Martha Crowley, the head laundress, wheezed the words out while her face turned a mottled shade of crimson. The heat rising from the massive copper tubs had transford the underground chamber into sothing resembling hell’s waiting room.
Her graying hair clung to her skull in damp tendrils. She grappled with a waterlogged sheet that seed intent on dragging her into the murky depths of the wash basin. The fabric twisted in her reddened hands like a living thing.
Lyra appeared at Martha’s elbow without a sound.
The wash hall’s noise, the splashing water and crackling fires and constant murmur of working won, had covered her approach entirely. She grasped the other end of the rebellious sheet without waiting for permission.
"Let help you with that."
Her voice carried just the right note of weary solidarity. One servant commiserating with another over the endless demands of their betters.
"You work so hard, Martha. I honestly don’t know how you manage it all."
Together they wrestled the sheet from the basin. Water cascaded from its folds, pooling on the worn stone floor where a dozen other puddles had already ford.
"Oh, you’re a sweet thing, Lyra. A real treasure, you are." Martha’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper that sohow still carried over all the noise. Her eyes, red-rimd from years of steam and squinting at stubborn stains, crinkled with genuine warmth.
"Not like so of these younger girls who think they’re too good for honest work. Walking around with their noses in the air like they’re ladies themselves."
She leaned in closer. Her breath carried the faint scent of the peppermint leaves she chewed to settle her stomach.
"Speaking of which, did you hear about what happened in the Aurum dormitory last night? Right scandalous, it was."
Lyra kept her expression neutral. Inside, she felt the familiar thrill of information about to be freely given.
"No, what happened?"
"That Valerius boy. Leo, the golden one everyone’s always going on about. He had words with his cousin Alistair. Loud enough that half the servants on that floor heard every word."
Martha’s eyes glead with the satisfaction of possessing valuable gossip. That particular currency more precious than silver among the serving class.
"Sothing about ’family obligations’ and ’disappointing expectations’ and other high-minded nonsense. The sort of talk nobles use when they an sothing cruel but want to sound civilized about it."
She paused to wring excess water from the sheet. Her weathered hands twisted the fabric with the strength of long practice.
"Poor Alistair looked ready to cry into his breakfast porridge this morning. Pale as milk, he was. Could barely touch his food. The servers said his hands were shaking when he lifted his cup."
Family discord within House Valerius. Interesting.
Lyra filed the information away in one of the many ntal compartnts she maintained. Neat little boxes in her mind. Each labeled and organized.
She made appropriately sympathetic noises. A soft clicking of her tongue.
"How terrible for them both. I do hope they manage to work things out."
"Hmph. Rich boys and their problems." Martha snorted. "They’ve got gold enough to solve anything that actually matters, but still find ways to make each other miserable."
She hoisted the sheet toward one of the drying lines. Her arms trembled slightly with the weight.
"At least your young master doesn’t cause that sort of drama. Quiet as a mouse, that one. Barely know he’s there most days."
"Yes," Lyra agreed. She allowed a note of fond exasperation to color her voice. The kind a devoted servant might express for a well-aning but ineffectual master.
"Master Kaelen is very... gentle. Causes no trouble at all."
Causes no trouble.
The words tasted sweet with their delicious irony.
The servants of Solare thought they knew Kaelen Leone. The pathetic third son. The disappointnt. The young master so weak that even his own family had abandoned him to the academy’s lowest house.
They saw what he wanted them to see.
None of them suspected that the timid young man who flinched at loud noises and stamred apologies was anything other than what he appeared.
That was precisely the point.
The conversation drifted to other topics. Which nobles tipped well and which were stingy as misers. Whose laundry required special care due to delicate fabrics. Who had been spotted sneaking about after curfew.
Martha proved an inexhaustible source. Decades of service had transford her into a living archive of noble indiscretions.
Lyra absorbed it all. Maintained an expression of mild, polite interest. A raised eyebrow here. A soft "oh my" there. The occasional shake of her head at particularly outrageous behavior.
Each reaction a gentle prod that encouraged Martha to dig deeper.
By the ti Martha finally moved on to supervise a younger girl struggling with a wine stain on expensive silk, Lyra had learned about three romantic entanglents. Two illicit, one sanctioned but troubled.
Two examination cheaters who were bribing a teaching assistant for answers to next week’s theoretical combat exam.
And Professor De Clare’s drinking habits. Which were, apparently, becoming worryingly consistent.
The Professor drinks to forget. The question is what. And whether that forgetfulness might be useful.
She selected her next target with care.
Penny. A nervous slip of a girl who handled the laundry for House Onyx. Wide eyes the color of spring rain. Trembling hands that made her eager to please anyone who showed her even the smallest kindness.
She was perhaps sixteen. Though the hollows beneath her cheekbones made her appear simultaneously younger and older than her years.
"Penny, dear." Lyra settled beside her at one of the long wooden sorting tables. The surface was scarred and pitted from years of use. "You look absolutely exhausted. Are they working you too hard again?"
Penny’s eyes went wide with gratitude. The look of a kicked puppy being offered a treat.
"Oh, Miss Lyra. It’s just been so much lately. With all the new students arriving and everything..."
"Tell about it."
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