Feargus

I kept an eye on Strauss for most of the next day.

He spent the morning unpacking, and when he was done, he held my bag for a while, just staring at it. I hoped he wasn't worrying too much about everything, but who was I kidding? Of course he was worrying too much. His fingernails looked worse than ever.

Through the curtain, I watched him shave. Then he flipped through the pages of his new book while he ate some oats. Then I watched him have a conversation with Father Belaia outside the church, and another together with the new Captain of the local riffraff. Strauss looked tired as always, but he was walking with a bit more confidence. Maybe it was handling that business in Leberecht alone, making a new friend in Marta, or acquiring a precious artifact.

Whatever the case, good for him.

Now, you might be wondering why I wasn't panicking. Things had gotten quite a bit stranger than even I was used to since arriving in Amalia—no question about that. But you have to understand, Rhian and I were raised and trained to disconnect from things happening around us. We were raised and trained to disconnect from the things happening inside us, too. So, we observed, we reacted, we improvised, and we laughed about it, because that's what we did in order to survive. Physically and mentally.

But aye, I was panicking. I just knew better than to let that matter.

I had plenty to panic about. The Anima, for one. And not only had I lost time, but I'd obviously had my mind tampered with, and to what extent? There was that food-related speech issue, but why was I missing a sock, and whose piece of paper was that, and what else didn't I know that I didn't know? I really didn't know.

I'll let you in on a secret in retrospect: Delilah kept my sock. Not because it was my sock, but because she knew if I were missing a sock when I left The Studio, it would make me suspicious about what happened at The Studio. She hoped that might trigger a memory. But so far it hadn't. I was just missing a sock.

When I went by the Widow's Peak later that afternoon, Ivana had a new pair waiting for me. She knew I couldn't very well go shopping in town myself, and they were woolly and warm for the upcoming winter. It was kind of her. Her dead husband was a jerk.

I gave her a massage and we talked about nothing for a while.

That evening, I went back to the church to check on Strauss. I'd swear he hadn't moved, still sitting at his desk flipping through the book. I really wanted to know what it said, but I didn't know how to read Symphonic. Around then, a handful of locals filed into the church, and after five minutes or so, Strauss left his room. Dusk sermon.

So, back to the Widow's Peak.

V said I could stay in her office indefinitely, and tomorrow was another day. I expected a lot more of the same. I loved Strauss, see, but there's only so many oats and books a man can take, so I wondered if I could use the downtime to work on finding Zacharias.

If I was to find Zacharias, I had to be discreet about it. My understanding is that the Anima community didn't want him awake, and the last thing I wanted to do was poke that auditorium. Alexander said Lidia wasn't focusing her attention on me, that she was more interested in spying on Strauss and getting everything ready for her event. But Lidia wasn't my problem at the minute. It was Everleigh Gloom.

♪ A pain, a problem. I love you, too. ♪

I knew she owned the Jaskar, but what was the likelihood she'd answer my call if I stopped by? I wasn't dressed the part, so there was a good chance I'd be turned away at the door without Alexander. Running around getting new clothes and planning a surprise visit wouldn't work either, seeing as she'd been following me. So I had to think fast, and almost not at all, because if she was as powerful as Ivana claimed, then she could probably read my mind. I doubled up my defenses just in case.

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See, Everleigh Gloom had a secret. She'd been lying to everyone about how she was turned—I felt it in my berries, mates. Delphia wasn't swarming with Anima—that much I could say with certainty. Rhian and I spent enough time working there, we'd have uncovered it, no doubt. So, if what I suspected was true, that Everleigh Gloom was connected to Sebastian Vonsinfonie, then I had to come up with a way to let her know that I knew that without talking about food.

One of the few things I remembered about my time at The Studio were the circumstances around the Anima whistle. I remembered being concerned that my stalker had followed me into Leberecht, and the Trio said she hadn't. Alexander also emphasized that the Anima tended to steer clear of Leberecht. And, you know what? Even if she did follow me—it could work. Aye, but I was pretty sure she wouldn't. I booked it back to Leberecht.

Before leaving, I considered swiping Strauss's key. It would have given me ease and certainty, but I couldn't do that to him. There wasn't an exact replica I could replace it with, he wasn't drunk or stupid, and he kept it around his neck at almost all times.

We'd have to do this the hard and uncertain way. Outside the back entrance to the keyhole in the mountain, I stepped on the pressure plate and listened. I stepped off, and back on, and listened again—pressing my ear up against the stone door. Each time, there was a small tug and a click of whatever mechanism was rigged up back there, but with one small distinction. Each time I stepped off and back on, the click sounded higher or lower, and once, the click was accompanied by the sound of gears grinding.

Still, nothing happened.

But I was on to something. The pressure plate wouldn't behave differently if it was rigged only one way and to do one thing. Now, if I were a Vonsinfonie…

I strutted around the area for a moment, remembering a song I'd heard once at a festival in Delphia. It was a catchy number. Good times, then. It was one of the few jobs Michael, Rhian, and I got to do together. A simple security gig we hardly worked, instead we found a secluded alley where we got drunk and danced—aye, even Rhian.

I bet the brothers could boogie.

I went back over to the pressure plate.

Step on. I waited for the click.

Step off. I waited for the tug.

Step on. I waited for the click and the grind.

Step off. I waited for the grind, the tug, and the click.

Step on.

Nothing.

But oh, I was definitely on to something.

A few more tries…

Step on. I waited for the click.

Step off. Fancy twirl because I could.

Boot scoot, butt wiggle. I waited for the tug… and a delayed click.

Step on. I waited for the click, the grind, and another delayed click.

Shimmy, shimmy, shimmy. Step on. The click.

Step off. Boot scoot, wiggle like a worm. The tug.

Step on. The grind.

Aye, so it took a few tries, but I eventually cracked the pattern and invented an extraordinary dance in the process. I call it the Gusgus.

The door rumbled open.

Another plate on the inside shut the door when I entered through the fake fireplace. I went over to the piano straightaway and tested the key combination Marta described to make sure it worked, and it did. Even if she hadn't told me, it was a matter of pressing the three keys with the least amount of grime. I wondered who'd been coming in and out over the years.

Right, so there were two leather chairs. A hatch under the rug which had a book written in Symphonic, but the title wasn't: The Journals of Jakob Adler. The title seemed to be written in a different hand, to boot. Not my business, and something about the place was giving me the willies, truth be told.

Along with the journal, there was an amethyst ring. I left it.

Built and bolted into the floor, there were two sets of shackles. They were horribly tarnished and seemed to have been plated in silver. There were two longer chains and two shorter ones. That didn't help much with the willies, just saying.

But what I was really there for was on the wall.

What. A. Fox.

I pulled down one of the more modestly sized portraits of Sebastian Vonsinfonie and wrapped it in my cloak.

I'd be cold on the way back, but I reckoned what I had in mind would be worth it.

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