Page 19 of Soul Hate

T he Di Maineri Bank oozes wealth and security. The two-storey building isn’t painted with flashy colours, but instead its tall windows are framed with different carvings, and all its doors adorned in polished metals. At the top of the impressive building is a large, blue-coloured glass dome. Rumours say that my grandfather built it to test the design for the High Chamber.

I believe it.

Columns run along the outside, each of them painted blue with white figures depicting every kind of work. Fishing, building, farming, sewing—you name it, it’s there in blue and white. Large lemon trees stand tall and proud at the base of the steps, with bursting purple flowers thriving around their feet. Bank tellers and citizens alike traverse up and down the huge blue and white striped steps.

I take a deep breath looking up at the huge monument, paid for and built by my family. Unlike many of the sites in the city, which fill me with pride to be a Halician, this building is one of the rare times I am proud to be part of the Di Maineri banking family.

A family that is undoubtedly more trouble than it’s worth. Letters have started pouring in from all corners from the various cousins, filled with a distasteful mixture of hollow sorrows and opportunity grabs.

I’m waiting for Idris. After last night, I tossed and turned in bed. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get him out of my mind.

Either way. I am going to keep you safe. His words echoed through my head again and again like a vow. An oath. As did the feel of his toned forearms through his tunic shirt. Muscled, strong. The fire that had ignited in my fingertips lurked like a ghost every time I tried to close my eyes.

Now here I am waiting for him, fighting the yawns that bubble to the back of my throat.

My hair stands on end, as my pulse jumps. I’d know that sensation anywhere. “Patricelli,” I greet as he comes to stand at my side.

“Ready for this?” he asks, scanning the crowd.

“Ready for what?” I demand. He laughs low, before taking a deep breath.

“All I want is to look at the account for myself,” bellows Idris at the top of his voice, making me jump. My muscles tense in panic at his sudden jump in tone, but I see where he’s going with this. I shake my head, chasing the smile from my lips as I force my limbs to relax.

“Well, come on then,” I snap back, marching up the steps. “Take a look. But I’m right as I always am, you arrogant prat.”

“You are so full of yourself, you can’t imagine that you’d possibly be wrong!” Idris snips back as we step through the doors into the great building. The crowd parts to let us through, not wanting to be anywhere near this volatile fight.

“I’m not wrong.”

The central hall stretches all the way to the roof. Left and right are two storeys of offices, and some corridors leading to the great vaults buried deep below the building. One way in, one way out. They are the most secure vaults on the continent—or that’s what we’ve always believed until now.

At the front of the hall are lots of counters where citizens handle their affairs with the banking staff. Behind them, the space is crammed with accountants at desks diligently updating log books. At the back of the grand hall is a huge, white stairway. It splits halfway up, one side reaching left and the other right, leading to the upstairs offices.

Above it is a pristine white wall, carved in which are the names. Our names.

My family history.

Right at the top, going back to the founding of this city, is my great, great- great- great-grandfather. The flowing tree trails down the walls, with names of people I’ve never met, their bloodlines whisked away to other cities and countries marked and dated in the stone.

“Shut up and follow me, Patricelli,” I snarl, marching through the throng of people. They all look up in shock to the visceral interruption.

“You know what, Maineri, no. I won’t shut up. I have a right to see the account for myself. Prove to me this isn’t all one great lie.” Idris flails his arms in anger.

“Happy to. I’ve done nothing wrong,” I shriek back as we storm up the steps to the second floor.

“Signora? Signora, can I be of help?” comes an alarmed voice hurrying to my side. Dorado, my sister’s assistant, stands anxiously, glancing between myself and Idris.

“Yes. I’d like to see all of the ledgers for the accounts we hold with the High Chamber, so this vile excuse for a man can crawl back into whatever cave he climbed out of,” I snarl at Idris.

Those are our biggest accounts. If Bellandi wanted to steal funds, that’s the best place to start and the easiest place to hide it.

“Are you sure, signora? There is a lot to sort through,” he frowns. “We haven’t summarised it for the month yet.”

“Just go get it,” scowls Idris.

“No, you will not speak to my people like that,” I scold, jabbing a finger at him, “And yes, Dorado. Please fetch it. Fetch everything.”

“Of course,” Dorado sighs unhappily. “Should I set them up in your office?”

“My office?” I frown. I don’t have an office here. He hesitates before elaborating.

“Um, the Head Office?” He clears his throat.

Oh. Of course. The office for the Head of the Bank. Giulia’s office…

My office.

“Oh, yes. Please,” I nod.

I turn away, walking the familiar turns towards Giulia’s office. I push the heavy wooden door, heart hammering as I look around her empty room. A large window looks out over the city below, the framing blue and pink striped curtains pulled back and held by silver ties. The floor under our feet is a tiled marble, mostly white cut with blue diamonds. A large fireplace sits empty by two low sofas. A large table is pushed against one wall, over which hangs one of Michelle’s masterpieces. A depiction of the two of them walking together through the Garden.

On the back wall is another tapestry of our family tree, simpler this time. Starting with my great- grandfather, who started the bank, leading to his five surviving children, all of whom married and established branches of the bank in other independent cities when they left. I follow the line down to my grandfather, where it shows both his first and second wives. My grandmother died giving birth to my father. When Grandfather remarried, his second wife gave him three daughters—my half-aunts who have since married various wealthy men around the continent, taking Di Maineri Bank branches with them. None remain in Halice.

All the branches of our bank still report to us though, as the head of them all. We oversee the entire family business, much to the disgust of some of my cousins.

“You good?” Patricelli asks, pushing the door shut. I nod sharply, breaking out of my stupor and sucking in a deep breath to steady my nerves.

I stare at Giulia’s empty desk, the edges of my heart tugging. I walk towards it, forcing myself to sit down in her seat, making my fingers open the drawers in search of paper and ink. Idris says nothing, but I can feel his fierce gaze blazing on my face.

“Don’t look,” I snap. I loathe to think what he sees.

Dorado returns with boxes and boxes of ledgers. Some of the other assistants help to carry them, and in and in they come. The boxes keep coming. When I think they’ll stop, they just keep stacking them in front of the fireplace.

Eventually they do stop, and with a dry mouth I look up at the towering pile of ledgers.

“What have I got here, Dorado?” I swallow, looking at the number of thickly bound books.

“Everything we’ve found so far,” Dorado answers briefly as though this was my own fault. He sweeps the door shut behind him and I’m alone with Patricelli and a mountain of numbers.

Patricelli stands there, staring at the boxes for a moment. He rakes a hand through his blond hair, muttering something under his breath. The noise wriggles like ants in my brain. I close my eyes.

In through my nose. One, two, three, four. Out through my mouth.

First, a drink. A strong, strong drink.

Knowing my sister, I go to the bottom drawer and pull it open. Inside is half a bottle of wine and a set of glasses. I smirk, pulling them both free and setting them on the desk.

“Now that is a good idea,” Idris mutters, walking over expectantly. I pour quickly as Idris’s shadow falls over the drinks. I stopper the bottle again.

“What are we drinking to? To Halice?” Idris snags the glass and I wince at the swift movement.

“To not killing each other today?”

“That works,” he snorts, throwing his head back. I drain my glass quickly, breathing in deep through my nose to soothe my pulse. I pour myself another, turning to look at Giulia’s portrait, a gentle lump forming in my throat when I think of her lying still and unconscious at home.

“You’d be so much better at this than me,” I tell her quietly. I set the bottle down with a soft thump.

I drink deeply one more time before turning to face the mountain of paperwork we need to get through. As I catch sight of Idris, the awful whispers start to spiral in my mind.

Fate have mercy, this is going to be a long day.

* * *

The sun has started sliding from the sky which ripples with rose and violet hues. The mottled windows dapple the pages of the ledgers with swirls of blush as I pore through them. The floor is strewn with books. Piles and piles of them, open at the most recent entries.

All day, Idris has been hovering like a blinding sun in my vision. I can feel him when he moves. Each time he shifts, each turn of the page, each deep breath sticks in my mind like a growing itch. I’m going crazy, my hands turning to claws in my head as I force my eyes to scan the pages below me over and over.

A yawn hovers at the back of my throat as I rub my eyes in frustration. Numbers start to blur together, my own calculations littering the large table in front of me. I grab the most recent ledger for one of the school accounts, walking over to the sofa and sinking among the plush, velvet cushions, desperately trying to ease the sore muscles in my neck.

This is pointless.

The account withdrawals are all consistent with previous histories. Nothing abnormal whatsoever.

But, if not from the High Chamber accounts—the largest in the city—then where? What was Giulia concerned about?

“I’m calling it,” scowls Idris, throwing his ledger to one side. I flinch at the sound of his voice and the slap of leather on the table, letting out a low growl of irritation. All day I have wanted to jump out of my skin and strangle him. All day I have fought clawing out his eyes with my bare hands.

The least he could do was not make sudden movements for Fate’s sake.

I rub my eyes. Perhaps a nap would help? Or trying again tomorrow? I drop my hands down again. I blink, staring at a small mark at the edge of one entry.

That shape … I’ve seen it before.

“Renza, did you hear me?” asks Idris shortly. I ignore him, getting to my feet and crossing to the other ledgers. I set the book down, and scan down the list for anything else. There it is again for the City Guard fund—a withdrawal made today for salaries. A squiggled diamond. Exactly the same mark.

“You have something?” Idris asks. As he gets closer my skin crawls. His body radiates heat, it strokes my skin like fiery, ghostly waves and sends shudders racing up my spine.

“Maybe,” I grunt. I search around the floor for another ledger, grabbing one labelled for the City Repair Fund. I flip all the way to the last few pages, scanning down the entries.

There it is again. A scribbled diamond.

“What is it?” Idris pushes. I point to the squiggle.

“Some entries have these,” I say. Idris leans down next to me, so close I can smell him. Lavender and mint set my teeth on edge. Yet the smell hits at that itch in my head, daring me to remember any other smells exist.

“A mark?” scoffs Idris. “That’s it?”

I grab as many of the books as I can, dragging them all closer and flipping across to the most recent pages. Again and again, there it is. A scribble. A mark. A quick flick of the wrist, messiness around the edges.

I step back, shaking my head.

“Maybe I’m crazy. It could just be someone testing the ink on their quill before committing to the page—it certainly looks that way. This is certainly not proof. The scribble could mean nothing. But… it’s only in the last few pages. Nowhere else is there a mark like that, going back months, the pages are completely pristine,” I say quietly. Idris doesn’t look convinced.

“What if it’s just a new bookkeeper with a new way of doing things? They all have the same handwriting.”

“I know that hand, Dorado made these entries,” I answer. That’s unsurprising. He often takes responsibility for the High Chamber accounts with my sister. During her… unavailability, he would’ve wanted to keep the wheels turning.

I bite my tongue, narrowing my eyes for a moment.

Dorado made all these scribbles? He’s always so neat and precise.

I flip back a few pages, scanning for Dorado’s name against the authorisation for withdrawals. I switch to other books, flipping the pages back. Again and again, going back weeks.

None of Dorado’s other entries have these marks. Every entry is precise and clean.

And these scribbles, tiny little marks at the edges of the pages—that could be nothing… except they only started appearing five weeks before the Electi died. And then almost regularly.

I snap my fingers.

“Michelle!” Realisation hits me like a hammer. “We need to go to her place.”

“What? Why?”

“My sister often kept files at her house. If she suspected Dorado of being dirty, she wouldn’t keep the evidence here where Dorado could find it. We need to go to the Garden.”

“Okay,” Idris nods, frowning, “but these could still just be scribbles.”

Were this the other way around, were Idris the one proposing this to me, I would’ve laughed the suggestion out of the room. Some squiggles as the only evidence? It’s too easily explained away.

But also, far too convenient. Not enough to condemn, but enough for me to be sure I’m right. This makes sense too, why Dorado came up to me in the bank. And why he overwhelmed me with so many ledgers. Trying to scare me off, to stop me from piecing together what little evidence there was.

“If I’m right … how much has he stolen from our city?” I mutter to myself.

I hurry over to the desk, grabbing a fresh piece of paper. I return to the ledgers, flipping to the messy entries. Idris reads out the numbers and I start scribbling them down, trying to tally them up into a reasonable figure. Giulia was the numbers girl. She would’ve done this so much quicker, yet here I am with sheet after sheet of calculations, trying to total the various different numbers.

“And the final result is?” Idris asks.

“Sixty thousand Hali-Pounds,” I breathe, heart pounding in my chest, “but twenty thousand of that was before the explosion.”

“Exactly? Both times an exact figure?” frowns Idris. He’s thinking what I’m thinking.

A round, precise number? That sounds like a price tag. Bellandi is buying something. But what?

Suspicion crawls into Idris’s voice. “I think we need to visit your friend Michelle to see what Giulia was looking into.”

I nod, closing up all the ledgers. My eyes catch on one entry in particular. The one from today, marked to be moved immediately. That means tonight, since the bank makes most of its large transfers at night when the streets are emptier. I shake my head in frustration and close up the ledgers. I shove the paper with our calculations into the fireplace, making sure to get rid of the evidence.

“Ready to get out of here?” I ask.

“Yep,” Idris laughs, stretching his neck. “Showtime.”