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Chapter 20

August

August woke to the sound of a newspaper hitting his desk. The last thing he remembered was deciding to close his eyes, just for a moment, after rushing his article to print.

Now Honora Holtzfall was staring up at him from the front page. And his editor was staring down at him.

“Mr.Vargene.” August swiped his hand over his face in a quick bid to clear the last of the sleep. “I must’ve—”

“Fallen asleep at your desk.” The newspaper editor clapped him on the shoulder. “Every decent newspaperman does it at some point.” In the months since he’d started working at the Bullhorn , Mr.Vargene had referred to him as the boy photographer. This was the first time he had called him a newspaperman . August pulled himself up straight. “This is good work.” Mr.Vargene held out a check. August could already see two zeros on it. The list of bills he could pay was forming in his mind. As he reached for it, Vargene pulled it back slightly. “How did you get in anyway?”

Randolf Vargene was a genial-looking man with surprisingly well-groomed salt-and-pepper hair. August had only been at the job since last autumn, and he hadn’t found the time to go to the barber’s more than once. It was almost like Vargene made a point to wear his hair cropped and combed back, so that the scars on the side of his face would never be hidden.

If he didn’t know better, August might think he’d been clawed from temple to jaw by a wild animal. But the truth was a machine at the LAO factory had overheated from running through the night and exploded.

He’d come out of it with scars, a cash payoff from Leyla Al-Oman, the owner of LAO, and a deep hatred for the whole of the upper circles. August wasn’t about to fess up to striking a deal with Nora Holtzfall, granddaughter of both the women his chief editor hated most.

“One of the new maids working at the Holtzfall mansion is from the neighborhood. She snuck me in.”

Vargene considered him. The chief editor had used his payoff money from the LAO accident to found the Bullhorn . Most of the men here shared his hatred of the upper echelons of the city. The rest, including August, shared the hatred of not having a paycheck. But he worked hard not to let on to that fact.

August tamped down the impulse to embellish his lie. Keep your lies simple , that was what his father had always taught him. “Sounds like a good person to know,” Mr.Vargene said finally, and August felt his shoulders ease as the man handed over the check. “Just don’t get her fired, and keep up the good work. You’ll go far here.”

“Yes, sir.” August had plans to go far, but not at the Bullhorn . His ambitions extended beyond a one-floor office with lights that flickered occasionally. It extended to the Times , to the Herald , even. And the way he was going to get there was by breaking the story of a lifetime: the murder of the Holtzfall Heiress.

He scrubbed the sleep from his face with one hand, checking his watch. He’d better get going. The pawnshops would be opening soon.

“Any luck?”

The voice startled August as he left the third pawnshop of the morning. She was leaning against the window, between the stenciled-on Best and Prices in Walstad! She was glamoured as Trudie again, but she was still unmistakable. Even if he wasn’t starting to recognize Honora Holtzfall’s demeanor, she was the only person in the 12th circle wearing clothes that cost a month’s salary.

“Don’t you have trials to be at or something?” August asked, exasperated. But some treacherous part of him was glad to see her.

Nora sniffed. “I don’t go to trials. Trials come to me.”

“A cotillion, then? Or some luncheon?”

“No one has gone to a cotillion in the past century. And the luncheon isn’t until two.”

August sighed, leaning back in the doorframe of the pawnshop. “Do I even want to know how you found me?”

“I put a locanz charm in the heel of your shoe last night. It’s paired to this.” Nora tapped the wristwatch she was wearing. It was far too bulky for her, and the hands of it were pointing straight at him. August braced himself in the doorway, pulling up his shoe to examine. “Other one,” Nora said.

Sure enough, there was a small diamond stud earring embedded in the heel of it. He was suddenly remembering Nora in the garden, fiddling with her earring, crouching down to adjust the strap of her shoe next to him.

“A Holtzfall following a journalist instead of the other way around, that’s new.” August went to offer the stud back to Nora.

She made a face. “I don’t want that—it’s been in your shoe. Besides, I’m here about rings, not earrings.”

He’d told her last night that she wasn’t going to come trawling pawnshops with him. But clearly Honora Holtzfall was used to getting what she wanted, one way or another. He thought about arguing with her or trying to ditch her. But he had the feeling that wouldn’t do him much good. Besides, right now they wanted the same thing: to find the truth about Verity Holtzfall’s murder.

He gave in. “No luck here. There’s about a dozen more pawnshops in the city that are known for trading in stolen goods.” She was wearing black leather knee-high riding boots. “I’m so glad you’re wearing sensible shoes.”

“They go with the coat.” It was less a coat and more a cape, paired with close-fitting leggings. She looked like the woodsman who had hunted down the big bad wolf.

They moved down the street, toward the messily whitewashed shop front of the next pawnshop. Laundry hung off the balconies from the apartments above them, partially obscuring the painted letters above.

Buy and Sell Diamonds! Fine Silver! Old Charms! Watches! And More!

Inside, it looked like someone had tried to move the contents of an entire house into a single room. Mirrors were propped precariously on top of desks, which were balanced on top of rolled-up carpets, which were piled on top of low coffee tables. Possessions that immigrants from the countryside had brought to the city with them, only to find out they couldn’t fit them in their tiny apartments here.

They moved carefully among stacks that looked liable to topple over at any second.

This part of the city wasn’t exactly the safest, but dying by a breakfront credenza would be a real indignity.

Nora nudged August, gesturing toward a locked glass cabinet in the corner. It displayed the promised Diamonds! that the front window had advertised. There were even a few real ones by the looks of things. But no emeralds.

“You’d suit that bracelet very well, miss.” A man was emerging from the back room, dusting crumbs from his garishly colored tie. “You have a wrist made for diamonds.”

“I actually prefer rubies. But diamonds will do in a pinch.”

August leaned over her shoulder, pretending to inspect the contents of the cabinet with her. “Try not to sound so first circle,” he whispered to her, quietly enough that the shop owner didn’t hear. Nora’s head turned, her face suddenly inches from his.

“Oh, I see,” the shopkeeper said, even as August pulled away quickly. “It’s a ring you’re after, is it? Runaway wedding? What is it? Parents don’t approve? Or is the young lady in a blessed state?”

Nora opened her mouth, but before she could say something that would blow their cover, August piped up, “Well, I would propose, but she’s got expensive tastes.” He turned to face the shopkeeper, giving him a conspiratorial eye roll. “Do you have anything a bit more valuable? Something with an estimable provenance, maybe?”

The shop owner’s brows descended in confusion, clearly not picking up on the hints August was dropping.

“Which word was it that lost you?” Nora asked, running a finger over a nearby desk and picking up grime as she went. “ Estimable or provenance ?”

“Means a fancy origin,” August provided. “For instance, something that used to belong to a veritable heiress.”

“Ah.” The man’s genial grin wavered. “You’re talking about the Holtzfall mugging.”

August felt the pull of the story rise eagerly in his chest. “What have you heard? There’s a rumor going round that it might’ve been the Grims.” He didn’t mention that was less a rumor and more Nora’s working theory.

“Depends who’s asking.” The shopkeeper raised one hand, conspicuously rubbing his fingers together in the universal sign for bribe me .

August glanced at Nora. Nora took her empty hands out of her pocket. “Don’t look at me.”

“ You don’t have any money?”

“I never carry money. What would I need it for, buying milk on the way home?”

“How much do you think milk costs…? Never mind.” August sighed, turning back to the man. “Oskar Wallen is asking, how about that?”

Even Nora reacted to that name.

Everyone in the city knew Oskar “The Ears” Wallen.

The shopkeeper’s hand dropped to his side warily. “You’re not one of Oskar’s.” But he didn’t sound all that sure of himself.

August shrugged. “I’m new.”

“Then maybe no one’s told you that Oskar normally sends something to grease my cash register. Nothing comes for free, not even to the Draugr of the Docks.” That was an old name for Oskar. From back when he’d been a bloody enforcer controlling the bribes at the seaport. That meant this man had been in the game longer than August had been alive.

“We don’t have time for this.” Nora pushed by August. She rested her fingers on the glass counter. It was polished and clean, unlike most of the shop. There were some silverware sets, displayed in pride of place under the counter. But Nora wasn’t looking at what was under the glass. August had seen Nora use her Holtzfall gift once, on the photographs of the murder scene. Now Nora carefully spun back the reflections in the top of the display case, like a picture show played backward at high speed. They watched money changing hands, items sliding over the counter to pawn, and then…

She stopped the image. August followed her gaze to the frozen image in the glass.

It wasn’t a flattering angle on anyone, reflected from below like that. But even without a face, the police badge was obvious on the man’s chest. As was the reflection of the ledger as the officer flipped through it, taking notes as he went. “Do you think Oskar might be interested in knowing the cops are looking at your books?”

The shopkeeper’s eyes shot from the reflection up to Nora and August. And then down again, and back up. For a moment, August thought he had recognized Nora, even through her glamour.

“I’ve heard that maybe all of Verity Holtzfall’s jewelry didn’t make it into evidence. But if it was pawned, then it wasn’t pawned here.”

“Do you know where it might’ve been?” August tried to sound casual, even as his pulse thrummed with the rush of following a story.

“There are rumors that Winsch’s has been closing in the middle of the day. And that he took a taxi to a jeweler. A good one in the third circle. He’d have to have something to make closing his shop down worth his while.”

Of course. No one would risk selling the Holtzfall ring as it was. They would need a jeweler to break it apart. Reset the stones, sell it piecemeal.

Nora pulled her hand away, releasing the image, their double act falling easily into place as August took her cue. “Oskar Wallen thanks you for your information.”

“And you’ll keep your information?” the shopkeeper called after them, even as the bell above the door dinged on their way out.

“We should probably stop for bribe money on the way to Winsch’s,” August said as he turned up his collar against the spring cold. “Blackmail only gets you so far.”

With a bit of bribery, Mr.Winsch admitted he’d spoken to a man about an emerald ring. He couldn’t say whether the man was a cop or not, but he’d seen the ring. Mr.Winsch had made him his best offer, but he’d been shot down. They asked about the identitat charm above the door, but Mr.Winsch told them that hadn’t been powered for years. It was just for show to deter burglars.

Three more pawnshops later and they were no closer to an answer. “We can either head north toward—” August was saying when he realized that Nora wasn’t walking beside him anymore. When he turned around, she was handing over the last of the bribe money to a woman squatting in the doorway of a large tenement building. She dusted her hands off before catching up to him.

“Any Holtzfall would have to be idiotic to ignore a beggar during the trials,” Nora responded to the raised eyebrow August gave her. “It’s practically the oldest trick in the book. Any one of them could be a test in disguise.” Nora checked her bulky watch. “It’s nearly two, I should be getting to Hugo Arndt’s little campaign luncheon.”

August had thought she was joking about the luncheon.

The fact that it was Hugo Arndt…

After Verity Holtzfall’s murder, Hugo Arndt had abruptly announced that he was running against Governor Gerwald. He was one of the 1st-circle crowd, who promised that he’d put an end to Isengrim once and for all. August had figured he was joking. Or that he’d get bored and find something else to spend his money on.

“First circle is that way.” August nodded north. “Bring me back some truffles.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, truffles won’t be in season until—” Nora cut herself off as they rounded a corner and came face-to-face with a man toying with a knife.

Nora instantly reached for a charm, but August grabbed her hand. “Nice morning, isn’t it, Joachim?”

August ignored the look Nora gave him as Joachim checked his watch.

“Afternoon now,” he said bluntly, spinning the knife in his grip. “Oskar Wallen sent me to find out how come you’re throwing his name around town.”

Damn.

“Well, I can be a little late for lunch,” Nora said. “Since there won’t even be any truffles anyway.”