[Closed] Walls I Cannot Climb

[Desiderio Morandi]

above the good pan, old rose harbor

morning on the 29th of roalis, 2720

S

h – hmm.” There was really no point in it. Shadow had not a whit of care for anything about him; the stack of linens was already rumpled, and he nosed one neatly-folded towel off the top as he pushed his snout deeper in.

He frowned down at Aurelie when she frowned up. He felt reluctant himself, but he nodded, thinking. The stairs cast a shadow on both of them, but the sun crept in between them; a band of light fell just above Aurelie’s eyes, gleaming in her brows and her eyelashes and the tips of her hair, and another across her chin, picking out a few freckles. He studied her face a moment, then glanced away, down the alleyway.

There was still nobody, of course.

And if… well, he doubted it would be the Seventen themselves, charging down alleyways at random in Castle Hill. Immediately a few spells came to mind; it would be easier to cast on a human, to avert attention.

He shifted his weight slightly, still frowning, oddly conscious of Aurelie holding to his arm. Unsettled, he looked back into the washroom.

Shadow was snuffling. He had got his slobbery mouth around a towel and was attempting to drag it away from the stack. The whole thing was a mess now.

He realized that he also had no idea how to do this.

He did not have to ask; Aurelie went on, her voice carefully low. The laundry tub, she said. He peered uncertainly about the washroom, leaning to poke his head in a little more. He found it in the corner just beside the linens, tucked underneath the shelf, with a washboard and a towel draped over the side.

Something about the sight of the washboard made him distinctly uncomfortable. He had offered to help with the dishes earlier, and he planned to persist; but it still felt…

Wrong, in a sort of nameless, bone-deep way. In a way that prodded at a fear he had only had as a little boy, before Brunnhold.

If you carry it to the alley, we can…?

“Er – yes,” he replied, keeping his own voice low with some effort. “Let us… If you distract Shadow, I shall – fill the tub.”

The small space of the washroom was something of an echo chamber for Shadow’s scent, and even Morandi was trying not to wrinkle his nose. He was even more conscious of his field alone filling up the small space.

Shadow trotted immediately to Aurelie, tail wagging and whacking everything in its path. It went clang, clang, clang against the bath proper, making Morandi blink and squint against his headache.

The bath. The same one that she had used the night before, some terribly improper bit of his mind whispered. The same one that he would use, very soon.

He crouched by the laundry tub, catching a flicker of his own reflection in the mirror in the corner of his eye. Best not linger too closely on that; there was little he could do now for his dishevelment. The washstand was a little above eye level where he crouched; he could see a comb sitting there, too. He thought nothing of it, until he saw a gleam in the corner of his eye, like a few strands of coppery hair caught in the tines.

By Her deadly terrors, they truly were going to be sharing a washroom.

The washboard was cool underneath his fingers, the wooden frame rough; he took it out of the tub and set it to one side, the skin on his left shoulder prickling. He picked up the tub and set it under the tap, increasingly uncomfortable. He turned on the tap, clearing his throat and sitting on his haunches.

The boiler hummed vaguely; a few drifts of steam came up from the water.

He dared to look at Aurelie over one of Shadow’s great fuzzy shoulders. They were all packed in rather tightly.

“It must be a busy morning,” he murmured, glancing over at one wall. The sounds of the bakery were a little louder in here; he could hear unfamiliar voices. And then laughter, surprisingly bright. His brow knit. “You would be there, baking, ordinarily, would you not?”

His glasses were beginning to fog. He blinked, frowning.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 29, 2720 - Morning
Above the Good Pan Bakery

All of the towels would have to be re-washed, Aurelie thought with a touch of despair. Shadow had quite handily made a mess of them. She supposed that was all right—she may well have ended up using most of them in the process of giving him his bath. And they'd already have the washtub out, which was rather convenient. Still. Only the bottom one managed to escape unscathed.

Desiderio kept his voice as quiet as she had, and he seemed distinctly uncomfortable now that they were about to get to the actual task in front of them. No, she corrected herself; he had been uncomfortable the whole morning, and it had only increased when they got to the bottom of the stairs. Aurelie turned the puzzle of it over in her mind while she called Shadow over to her. He left off his ruination of the clean linens happily enough, his fluffy tail beating an uneven rhythm against the side of the metal bathtub.

"At least he left a towel for you," she tutted idly, frowning at the disarray while she scratched Shadow on the particularly soft hairs right at the base of his ears. It was only after she'd said it that she felt that she ought not to have. There was no way one could slice mentioning his bathing that didn't strike her as at least slightly inappropriate.

There was a simple solution to her problem, she thought. Or simple enough. All she had to do was reframe him in her mind as someone in the same category as one of the students or faculty at the school. A visiting lecturer; there was a twist as she thought of Magister Desrouleaux. Plenty of them were young men, and plenty of those attractive enough to anyone with eyes. Some were even at least moderately kind to her, though most preferred to look through her as if she were air or a trick of the light—which was, in fact, her preference as well.

Yes, she could do that. With his field filling up the small washroom, Aurelie thought it would even be easy. Just the contemplation of it filled her with an intense, twisting sadness. She could do it, and it would make her a great deal less flustered at all these absurd little things—her comb left out, the idea that they'd share a washroom, even his sleeping so few feet from her on the other side of the door. But she couldn't do it and keep him as her friend, and that mattered to her more than almost anything else in the world.

Shadow tried to pull away from her when Desiderio turned on the tap. She had her fingers buried in the ruff of his neck and kept them there, gentle but firm in her insistence he stay by her. There was hardly much room for him to turn around. Desiderio would end up with a tail in his face. The image was at least a little amusing, but given the state of Shadow's fur she didn't think it was particularly hygienic.

His voice mingled with the rushing of the water and the sounds of life on the other side of the wall. What a funny picture this was, too—Desiderio Morandi holding a tin washtub while it filled with hot water, steam clouding over his glasses. This man she did not think she could put so easily into the box of her mind that would allow her to comport herself with some semblance of dignity. (Nor, she thought with a funny kind of longing, could she ever have put her childhood friend in his place. Was it disloyal to be at least a little glad to have this instead?)

"Would you like me to hold those? Er, your glasses. I have pockets." She couldn't stop herself from giggling a little when she asked the question. Oh, chimes. She hoped he didn't think she was laughing at him; it was just... He was still in his stocking feet, and... Well, it was just sort of silly, wasn't it? Cute? One of those.

"I would be," she added, answering him. There was a hint of wistfulness in her voice; she didn't know how long she could keep off her ankle at this rate. Desiderio would have to help her to occupy herself. "Long since, in fact. We start early. Every morning," she continued with just the tiniest hint of pleasure that might, if one were to squint, be mistaken for pride, "is a busy morning. Cass' baking is quite popular."

Cass was, too; Aurelie didn't add that. The neighborhood clearly liked her, not just the shop. She thought it was more by grace of the fondness everyone else had for Cass that Aurelie was treated with so much kindness, rather than any intrinsic quality of her own.

"We can use, ah, my... My shampoo, probably, for Shadow. It should be all right. I hope you don't mind violets," she said, turning to the dog. Perhaps he liked smelling like something rotten. Unfortunately for him, if he wanted the benefit of a provided breakfast, he would have to put up with a different sort of perfume.

[Desiderio Morandi]

the good pan, castle hill

morning on the 29th of roalis, 2720

T

here was indeed one towel remaining, still folded and pristine, on the bottom. He felt a prickle of unease, even with Shadow’s enthusiastic, smelly bulk wedged between the two of them in the tiny washroom, even with his lenses beginning to fog. Underneath Shadow’s reek, he could smell a lingering hint of that floral scent which he had found so pleasant the night before.

At least Aurelie’s manner seemed easy enough, if she mentioned it so casually; if she was uncomfortable with anything, he suspected it was not that aspect of the situation. He was only making more of a fool of himself by fussing. She had said herself that she was unaccustomed to being viewed –

It was hardly as if she saw him as a young man, at least in that way. They were – different, he supposed. Friend he might have been, but…

Gracious Hurte. Holding the washtub underneath the tap, slowly filling up with hot water, he felt stranger and stranger.

It was inescapable here in the tiny washroom, in the midst of his own perceptive ramscott. The queer emptiness. And her voice – the fullness of her presence – in spite of it, almost startling when he turned his back. She was there, in the room with him – not in some separate world; he could have reached out and touched her easily, and her cheek would have been warm underneath his fingertips, warm and solid and living – and yet –

Behind him, he heard her giggle.

He could see her in the corner of his eye, only faintly blurry, a pink-cheeked grin on her face. The sight filled him with a sort of wonderful warmth; he got the immediate urge to scowl more deeply. The tips of his ears were very warm indeed.

He turned to look at her, and immediately she disappeared behind the foggy lenses.

“Huh!” He could not seem to help it. “Huh,” he laughed, then cleared his throat, frowning still. “A practical solution,” he admitted dryly, taking them off and rubbing his eyes. It would hardly do to stumble over a towel while carrying a washtub of hot water.

(And there was something very lovely about the thought of his spectacles in her pocket.)

He handed over the spectacles as matter-of-factly as he could, quite unconcerned.

There was a strange, fond sort of sadness in her voice when she spoke again. We start early, she said, and then – not unlike the firmness with which she spoke to Shadow, there was a warm, satisfied note in her voice. It drew his eye over as he turned off the tap. Only for a moment; they skimmed over her hands, buried in Shadow’s fur. He imagined them dusted in flour, or carefully, skillfully shaping dough.

“You must be missing it,” he said, terse and sharp as ever, but not so cold. “Routine and occupation are a great balm to the spirit.” Ordinarily, he would have been sorting through reports or gnawing at a case after his morning exercises, or even accompanying patrols. And without him to oversee it all? He felt a tug of something. “Especially when one is skilled. I dare say Miss Elwes has missed you.”

He glanced away, back toward the laundry tub, starting to push himself to his feet.

“I was thinking how lovely the scent was, in fact,” he observed absently, considering how best to lift the thing in the tight space.

And then he realized that she had been talking to the dog.

“Hmm.” He cleared his throat, staring daggers down into the misty water. “Hmph. A-ha. If you would lead him back out, I shall carry the tub. Yes?”

To have something, anything at all, to do with his hands, he began to roll up his sleeves. It was distinctly uncomfortable still, wearing a human’s shirt; lifting a laundry tub in one was no less. But hurling himself into that was much less an indignity than following up on whatever that had been – and so, dutifully, just as if he were lifting a kettlebell in the training room, he heaved the thing up with a gentle slosh.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 29, 2720 - Morning
Above the Good Pan Bakery

Desidero laughed without letting the frown leave his face. It was such a curious expression. Aurelie was grateful that his glasses fogged over almost immediately when he turned to look at her; she couldn't prevent herself from studying it. She had never seen someone who could laugh and frown simultaneously, after all. As if he wasn't accustomed to the laughter, and had no interest in become so, either. Lady give her grace, she did find it singularly charming.

Aurelie held out her hand with the smile still on her face, talking about the bakery. He didn't need the glasses to see, did he...? No, she remembered he'd said as much to Cass just last night. Aurelie wasn't actually certain he was being entirely truthful, but he could almost assuredly see better without them than with them fogged over by the steam of the water. She took his spectacles very carefully, and put them just as gingerly into her pocket. The one that had nothing else in it, not sewing kits or other odds and ends with sharp edges that might scratch the glass. She didn't think she could bear it if she tried to help and only did him further harm.

She was also quite careful not to touch his hand, feeling more than a little silly. It was a practical measure! To keep her imagination in check, and her feelings grounded properly.

"I am missing it," she admitted. "N-Not that... I just like the work, and the... Er. This is nice, too." She hadn't realized she'd sounded so... She hadn't meant to make it sound as if she would rather be there than here, doing this. Had she? She did appreciate routine—she had not realized how much so until it was disrupted and a new one found. Matron, she thought again, only a little sour. She was as she was; there wasn't much to be done about it.

And Desiderio? Was he missing his routine as keenly as she was? She thought, looking at him and having spent all these past few days with him, that he very likely was. Guilt clawed at her again. It hardly even left her room to blush at the implication of a compliment. (She did find a little, and hoped he would put it down to the temperature of the small washroom.) "O-Oh, I don't know about... Well, the shop is... quite busy." The matter of her skill she didn't think she could address. He hadn't even had anything she'd made.

The tub was full now, and the tap off. Desiderio wasn't looking at her when she spoke; he didn't turn to her when he answered either. He said it so off-handedly, as if it were nothing, that it took Aurelie a moment to fully process the statement. Several things in her mind shut down at once, and a few others activated with far too much enthusiasm when it finally slid into place.

Thinking about...? Bells and chimes! When? Why? She could come up with no answer that didn't make her want to leap up and run out of the room before she said or did something terrible. That would hardly be helpful, even if she could do either thing—leaping or running. Aurelie chose to believe that he merely meant the bottle of it sitting near the bath, and refused to think about how it was on the other end and the bottle itself rather tightly closed. For the sake of her continued ability to function, if nothing else.

"I, ah. G-Good. Yes, I'll, uhm. I'll just. Do that." Aurelie didn't move. She was embarrassingly transfixed by the sight of Desiderio rolling up his sleeves. She was, quite possibly, losing her mind. "Come on Shadow, let's go outside, hmm? See if we can't clean you up a bit."

Aurelie did her best to reach both the shampoo bottle without getting in Desiderio's way. He lifted the thing with much more ease than she ever managed, even without her ankle this way. The benefits of being so... No, that was not a productive line of thought. Aurelie turned away, red to the tips of her ears, and shepherded Shadow back out into the alley.

She didn't think to check it until she was already standing outside, of course. There was the sound of carriages from the street, and voices drifted through an open window somewhere above them. Walking away, towards the main road, was the back of someone she thought she recognized. An older woman, one Aurelie remembered as having two grown children. A son, who was to be married, and a daughter, who stubbornly was not. She turned to look over her shoulder at Shadow's happy barking; Aurelie could see her absorbing the sight of Shadow before she quickly looked away. Her pace was rather more brisk than it had been.

The whole thing was less than a minute. It still left Aurelie feeling uneasy, and guilty for her unease. It felt more like unkindness than caution.

"W-What would you be doing right now? Uhm. Normally. If you don't mind my asking." Shadow had bounded part of the way up the stairs, but he came running back over as Desiderio set down the washtub. He stared at the hot water as if in suspicion, but he didn't run away. Aurelie took that as an encouraging sign. She didn't know what she'd do if he were afraid of water.

[Desiderio Morandi]

above the good pan, old rose harbor

morning on the 29th of roalis, 2720

I

t did sound busy.

Morandi felt somewhat safer in the back room. The muscles of his back were still coiled tense with expectation, but he could listen, now, without feeling as if any moment might be disrupted by sudden unexpected company.

The sounds were mostly unfamiliar. It was not that he had not been in bakeries or in cafes; and he had spent time in the Marlaines’ kitchens, searching for the missing scullery maid. But he had certainly never spent much time in the washroom of a bakery, and certainly not off-duty. And certainly not with an ear for a different sort of business – mostly, imagining Aurelie Steerpike amid the bustle and steady flow of customers.

And when she went back? Even as he hoped she did, he felt uncertain. What would he do?

She fussed, took a step forward and two back, stuttered, trailed off. Morandi was beginning to grow accustomed to it, if that were possible. He was not sure which of the things she had not known about, exactly – that she would be missed?

He was not sure how many others Elwes employed, but he could not imagine there was a great number. Not by the sounds. And a part of him thought: this particular employee was quite experienced, was she not? It did not line up with everything he had been taught about Brunnhold; it did not line up with his image of her, heartrendingly strange, as a child forever. But thinking of the strength of her voice as she called out to him and to Shadow, and of all her no-nonsense, careful motions, he thought he could imagine her quite the asset to an establishment like this one.

(This was Aurelie he was thinking of. It was wrong, he reminded himself, that she should even be in this position, much less –)

The washroom, and what he could see of the street outside, was in somewhat softer focus without his spectacles. He could see Aurelie moving outside, slivers of sun striking her hair, and the bulky shadow of pup about her legs and then out of sight. Barking, heavy thumps on the stairs.

Hurte help.

And had he just–? If she thought anything of it, she had said nothing. Good. Well, it was only an observation. It was objectively true; the shampoo – and Aurelie with it in her hair, by happenstance – smelled very good, and would hopefully smell very good on Shadow, too.

His head was swimming, but he had a good hold on the laundry tub. He took it outside with relative ease, careful not to spill. Shadow was bounding back down the stairs, creaking underneath his paws, as he set the laundry tub down. He looked up abruptly; the world was full of sound. Again he felt coiled, ready.

Aurelie was looking at one end of the alleyway. He followed her gaze, but he saw nothing except for the shadow of a coach rattling by on the main road.

Her voice, safely soft, distracted him soon enough. His heavy brow drew together. “Right now,” he repeated, squinting up at the bar of blue sky.

Noon, he imagined by the slant of the shadows.

In Old Rose Harbor? he thought uneasily. Looking for a fugitive, he did not say. Quite doggedly.

He cleared his throat.

“I suppose that I would be at my desk. I was on four cases – one of which was quite old.” There was a note of irritation in his voice.

He took one of the cloths he had brought out, dunking it in the warm water. Shadow was panting and barking at Aurelie’s knees again; he did not seem skittish of the water. Or of Morandi, which was rather a first when it came to – well, all living things. He was not sure how to feel about it.

“I might be reviewing evidence, or sending to the services unit to have a piece of evidence examined. I had scheduled to meet with a witness,” he went on. “Probably best that Barthelemy take it; I am not known for setting them at ease. On the other hand, I was overseeing the interrogation of a key suspect in my oldest case.”

The words slipped out, cold and detached, as he knelt by Aurelie and Shadow and the tub and began to wet Shadow’s fur.

He was thinking aloud; there was another note of professional irritation in his voice. He would rather have liked to be there, for that; they had nearly broken the –

Another coach rattled by, and he glanced up at Aurelie over pup’s shoulder.

He blinked, glancing back down. “I might also be reviewing ensigns’ reports,” he said evenly. Shadow was panting, delighted, twisting around and craning to snuff at his face.

He swallowed.

“Ah, you are fond of cleanliness after all, are you not, Shadow?” He dunked the cloth in the water again. “Pup - ah -” He huffed as a great tongue lapped over his face, then let out another soft huh.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 29, 2720 - Morning
Above the Good Pan Bakery

The woman had disappeared, onto the main road and away, by the time Desiderio reappeared from the washroom with the tub in hand. Aurelie felt the relief at that before she registered it as such. The strange-familiar sensation of Desiderio's field wasn't pressing against her as much in the open space of the alley, but it was undeniably there. Her mind caught up with itself, and she swallowed.

Nothing would have happened, she scolded herself firmly. Not with the woman, whose name she was trying to remember but couldn't, and not with Desiderio either. What was she thinking? Just because he was tense, just because... Aurelie shook herself, asking the question about his normal day-to-day and watching Shadow investigate the washtub.

"Er, or... Generally now." The day had slipped further along than she'd realized while they sat at the kitchen table having their late breakfast. It was approaching the middle of the day, hardly morning anymore. The realization of the hour put a new restlessness in her limbs. Normally, by now she would have done so much more. Thinking about her work left undone, or worse left to be done by someone else, made her distinctly unsettled.

Shadow came over and shoved himself against her leg, as if to remind her that she did have a job to do. Aurelie smiled, looking down at him. It was all right to spend one day in relative idleness. Especially with Shadow, and especially with... with Desiderio. That she hadn't done so since she was a little girl was an odd combination of unsettling and exciting.

And she was rather curious about what his life was like. She couldn't picture it. She didn't think it was all—she thought of him chasing after her in the market, and her back tightened. She had asked. She wanted to know. Aurelie followed Desiderio's lead and soaked a towel in the water, slopping it over Shadow's fur while she listened.

She did try to be careful, but she had the feeling she would end up needing a change of clothes by the end of it all. Normally, she would have tucked her skirts up out of the way and had only her stockings to worry about. With Desiderio here, the idea was entirely out of the question. That, she felt rather strongly, would be crossing a line. (Nevermind that just the day before, she'd had to hitch her skirts up rather a lot to ride. With Desiderio in the saddle behind her no less, with barely an inch between them the whole time. Aurelie was trying rather doggedly not to think about it.)

It was all, Aurelie realized sinkingly, somewhat unsettling. Aurelie couldn't imagine his day-to-day work was mostly chasing after... people like her. Asking about his day, his work, had just perhaps not been her most clever idea. It made the reality of it inescapable. Aurelie wasn't so naïve as to think it could be ignored forever, but she still hadn't the first idea of what to actually do with it. Even his voice was different as he spoke of it, colder and more remote, with a thread of brisk annoyance.

Shadow was happy at least. Positively aglow with all the attention he was getting, sweet thing. It was rather nice to see that he wasn't hesitant around Desiderio now. He had been, a bit, when they'd first found him. So had she been, she thought ruefully. Despite her misgivings and strange, swirling feelings, Aurelie did her best to give Desiderio a smile when he looked up at her. It wasn't so hard, really—it came unbidden to her face when she looked at him.

"That sounds, uhm, like you are awfully busy yourself. I'm sorry you... Ah. Hmm. I'm sure they're... they're missing you, also." Desiderio had looked back down almost immediately. Shadow was rather aiming to occupy the entirety of their attentions. His thick fur was by now sopping wet, and he was determined to share the water as much as possible. He twisted and wiggled, turning to put his handsome snout in Desiderio's face.

She had her doubts about his feelings on cleanliness, but her smile broadened as Desiderio addressed him. It was pleasing to see, that was all. Evidently, Shadow agreed—he interrupted anything else Desiderio might have had to say with a swipe of his large pink tongue. Aurelie laughed, feeling warmer than she had moments before.

"I suspect he might just like the attention," she offered with another soft laugh. Her skirts were indeed rapidly becoming more and more damp. "Isn't that right darling? You're just happy to have Des play with you." She flicked her eyes up from Shadow, thoroughly soaked and panting, to Desiderio's face.

"Ah, we can—I think we ought to be able to shampoo him now. It might work best to... pour some into your hands, and... Hmm." She uncapped the bottle, the scent of castile soap and violets wafting out immediately. She had just poured some into her hands and started working it through Shadow's fur when she heard a back door open from the other side of the alley, loud voices rolling out of it.

[Desiderio Morandi]

above the good pan, old rose harbor

morning on the 29th of roalis, 2720

A

urelie had been smiling when he looked up at her. He was not sure what he had expected her expression to be.

He was grateful, perhaps, relieved – why? And why did he feel the strangest urge to argue back against something that had not been said? As if he were not secure in his reasons.

They were likely missing him, he thought sourly, in some detached part of his mind which could still think of headquarters just now. It was surprisingly easy, separate from everything else – separate from the events of the last week, separate from the rest of his life in Vienda and all its unnecessary trappings, separate from the wedding which had occupied so much of his mind and seemed now to matter very little. Separate from the fact that he was likely wanted by his own people, and had not a single clue what he would do.

But the sturdy, reliable machine of his process it was quite easy to think of. Easy to want his uniform with this baggy human’s shirt hanging about his shoulders, with his bare arms, with the faint itch of stubble on his cheeks where there was no scarring.

Easy to think of his cases, and of himself sliding back into the cogs where his competence was desperately needed – desperately missed. What else was he? What else could he do? Be?

There was an interrogation to conduct in Vienda, and nobody could conduct it like Morandi. They would botch it completely, light-handed and skittish; he had earned his place by showing that he had the conviction to do what other men refused to. No doubt –

Another lap of Shadow’s stinking tongue. He smelled thoroughly of wet fur and slobber.

Aurelie laughed, and he laughed too, without even meaning to.

You’re just happy to have Des play with you.

Some of the tension had gone out of the muscles of his back. He could still hear the distant rattle of a coach, but he felt oddly – foolishly – safe in a way he could not account for. Detached, as if he were in a dream or a memory.

“Er – ah.” The smell strengthened when Aurelie uncapped the shampoo; there was a faint prickle of warmth in his cheeks, and then in the tips of his ears.

It was indeed the smell he remembered, and it was a very lovely smell.

It sounded easy enough to shampoo a dog. He was strangely grateful for her gentleness and patience; it was an unfamiliar feeling. (This was utterly surreal.)

He took the bottle with some hesitation, pouring a little out into his hands; he breathed in a little too deeply. As he set about with her to Shadow’s thick, unruly fur, he found himself imagining running his hands through someone else’s hair, a wholly unfamiliar fantasy. He bit the side of his gum and tried to focus on Shadow.

In an instant it broke, like the sudden waking from a dream.

“Miss Aurelie!” cried a boy.

“Auwa!” A much smaller, shriller voice.

There was a boy of twelve or thirteen with combed black hair, a covered basket under his arm; the girl, who had slipped away from him and was now halfway to them, was very small. The boy’s eyes were suddenly wide with panic.

The girl froze at his field.

“Ginny,” said the boy, “Ginny, get back, it’s – it’s him –”

Morandi could not think. His field was sigiled and flexed, seemingly wholly without his permission; his wide eyes were flicking back and forth between them, his breath tight in his chest, every muscle coiled.

“He’s got her under some kind of spell, Ginny, and he’ll put you under one too! Get back!”

The girl was frozen and looked wont to cry.

Morandi was frozen, too, utterly.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 29, 2720 - Afternoon
The Good Pan Bakery

Another moment to gather together to keep with all the others: Shadow licking Desiderio's face, the Roalis sun warming the alley just enough at this hour, and his short, clipped laughter. Something to treasure, for all the years to come without any of these things in them. Without him in them.

That was the future—for now he was here, right in front of her. As was Shadow, as was the task at hand and the day they had promised each other. There was the faintest trace of color on Desiderio's face—Aurelie might have thought she imagined it, were she not looking so carefully. Her own face couldn't help but answer, and that was a pleasant enough feeling to preserve, too.

She poured some of the soap into the palm of one hand and held out the bottle for Desiderio to take with the other. He seemed oddly unsure of himself. Well, no—it wasn't odd at all. They had neither of them done this before. It was somewhat difficult, with the way he tried to wiggle around underneath of their hands like he couldn't decide which one of them the wanted to shower with enthusiasm more. Aurelie couldn't think as she minded.

Two small figures emerged from the door, and a familiar voice cried out to her from across the alley. The moment unraveled, the weave of it too delicate to withstand the pulling of a single thread. Aurelie turned with her hands still buried in Shadow's fur, halfway to working up a proper lather across his sides. She had smiled when she heard them, unthinkingly. She had seen the children a few times now—Peter was often in the bakery doing the shopping for his mother, little Ginny in tow more days than she wasn't.

Her expression shifted as Peter's did, the boy coming to a halt. Ginny had already come halfway to them when she froze, too. She had come, Aurelie realized with a feeling like the pricking of needles all along her skin, to the edges of Desiderio's field. Her dark eyes were wide, and Peter's too. Wide and afraid.

It was all like the moment where a dream turned into something worse. Ginny's sweet round face wobbled and fell; she looked from Aurelie to Desiderio. It's him, Peter cried out to Ginny in that voice that was so often pitched to sound like that of a young man. Now, he sounded every bit a child of twelve years, frightened.

And Desiderio? He saw them too, heard them, and his field came to awful life around the three of them. Aurelie felt her heart stutter to a stop; she couldn't think. He was going to cast, she thought, and she couldn't—

There was a low start of a whine in Shadow's throat. She could practically feel it beneath her hands; the pup seemed just as tense as the rest of them. This, and poor Peter's cry to Ginny, cut through the noise in her mind. Aurelie still couldn't think particularly well, but she could feel something other than fear—and what she felt was anger, hot and faintly exasperated.

"Desiderio!" The warning was sharp; any other moment and she would have thought better of it, but just now she couldn't seem to. They were only children. Hardly a threat to anybody, least of the three of them—least of all to him. Her brows drew together and she frowned, heart in her throat. "That is quite enough of that. You're upsetting Shadow."

Aurelie held the firm glare for a moment, and then she turned to look at Ginny. Poor girl; she looked as if she might burst into tears at any moment. Her chin wobbled. A glance towards Peter found he had clutched his basket very tightly indeed, but he hadn't taken one step towards them. His hand was outstretched, reaching for his sister.

"There, Ginny; it's quite all right. There's no need to cry. Everything," she said as soothingly as she could manage, "is all right." She smiled at the girl and her brother both, as if she could make it so by simple force of will. Perhaps she could—she refused to consider any alternative, even with her pulse pounding in her ears and the hot, tight feeling of Desiderio's field making her faintly sick with terror.

[Desiderio Morandi]

above the good pan, old rose harbor

morning on the 29th of roalis, 2720

T

he sound of his name jerked Morandi’s eyes over. They were still very wide, and his jaw was grit tightly together, as if clenching his teeth were all he could do to stop spellwork from spilling out of it.

They came into focus on Aurelie’s face, which was frowning. She looked – angry. When she spoke, it was with the tone of a reprimand.

Quite enough of–?

His field was still sigiled all around them, hot enough to warm the Roalis air, and tense. Shadow was whining softly, craning away from him and into Aurelie. Aurelie was looking at him over pup, her green glare fixed on him for a few more moments, the set of her small face stern. He felt an echo of deep shame, somewhere past all the clamor in his head.

It was an order he wanted very badly to take. On duty, he always had; he had always prided himself on how quickly and efficiently he acted. Or stood down. Every bit of him had been controlled, perfectly and completely controlled, since Numbrey. Since Anastou before that.

He felt as he had when the coach had turned over, when he had realized himself blind. Or when he had cast on the magister. Or every instant the day before when a pair of eyes would turn their way in the street, and he had had to keep a spell on the tip of his tongue.

He glanced over at the girl, his throat tight. Then back at Aurelie, his eyes wide, his face still frozen in its dreadful tense expression.

I cannot. He tried to smooth over his field; he could not seem to. It loosened like a shuddering exhale, then tightened again, flaring hot. He could not relax his muscles. One of his hands was clenched against the stones; the other, which pup had pulled away from, hovered in the air, covered in suds.

Morandi realized suddenly that he was terrified. They were only children – what in Hurte’s name was wrong with him?

There, Ginny; it’s quite all right, she was saying gently. She was not looking at him anymore. Everything is all right.

She had a lovely, soothing voice, as kind as his was harsh; some detached part of his mind was trying to fit together an entirely different image, of summer streaming through the windows of Briarwood Hall, of Aurelie – this Aurelie – crouched on the floor of a nursery heedless of her skirts, talking gently to a crying little girl with red hair and gold eyes.

“Come here, Ginny,” said the boy. “C-Come –”

He dragged his eyes away from Aurelie. When he looked at the girl again, she startled and stared back at him; a hiccup bubbled out of her, and then a sob.

He forced himself to unclench his jaw a little, to open his mouth. Terrified and terrified of himself – the moment might have lasted forever – but there was no monite.

“It is all right,” he grated slowly. “I – shall not – hurt you.”

“Remember what Mum said about their lot, Ginny, don’t look him in the eye.” The boy was looking at Aurelie; his face was quite drained of color.

“I shall not hurt anyone,” he said, feeling his stomach turn over. “I promise.” He was not sure to whom he was speaking. He looked over at Aurelie, and he thought he knew whom he wanted the most to believe him, despite the tension in the air.

“What do you mean, everything’s all right? C-Come here, Ginny, c’mon.” The boy took a few steps in, the basket still clenched in his hand, reaching out for Ginny. As soon as his fingers brushed her shoulder, she was clinging to him, crying. “Wh-What’s he done? What’s happening? Th-That’s a bander wolf.”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 29, 2720 - Afternoon
The Good Pan Bakery

It wasn't that she expected to be obeyed, not for the sake of listening to her reprimand anyway. Aurelie knew she was foolish, but she wasn't delusional. Desiderio had no reason to listen to her any more than he would listen to—to young Peter, whose fear hadn't eased a single bit when she spoke. She had merely thought to remind him what she hoped he knew to do on his own.

Desiderio looked at her with his eyes wide and strain in the lines of his face, and he did nothing at all. Not to back down, and not to make anything worse, either. He hadn't even moved his hand when Shadow backed away. Something in that hurt, underneath the anger and the bitter tang of her fear. It was as if he was the one she needed to reassure, not the little girl.

And poor Ginny! Poor Peter, too, but Ginny was so young. It broke her heart, to see a look like that on her small face. Worse, because she felt so overwhelmingly guilty. Ginny looked at Desiderio, and Aurelie did too. He hadn't relaxed at all, or stood down; Ginny started to sob. Soap suds dripped from her hands to her wrists, onto the ground beneath them.

Surely he could see that they were just children! Blessed Lady, Ginny wasn't more than five years old if she was a day. She couldn't hurt anyone. Nor could Peter, for all that he was a boy and older. What was it that he'd said about discipline before? Where was that discipline now? What was it worth, if he couldn't even...?

(Who had she brought back here? She asked herself this again and again; each time she couldn't answer it hurt in a new way than it had before.)

At least he wasn't in uniform, she thought, and then felt immediately horrible for it. Some part of her was as terrified of him as Ginny and Peter. She knew, far better than they did, exactly what he was capable of—or some of it, at least. And still it hurt to hear him say their lot on the heels of Desiderio's slow, stilted reassurances.

She wondered suddenly if they understood what she was. If they did, would they look at her that way, too?

The rest of her heard him promise, and knew it was meant for her, not for the children. Her heart squeezed. Aurelie's fingers tightened a little in Shadow's fur, though she was careful not to pull or hurt him. Her mouth had pressed into a thin, angry line when she'd looked over at him—it had softened now into something she didn't understand. Water dripped from his hand, where just a moment ago Shadow had been.

Peter came closer to Ginny, reaching for his sister and taking her shoulder. The little girl turned to him the moment he got close enough, clinging to him and sobbing as if she'd been struck. Peter put a hand on the soft brown curls, plaited with a cheerful, if slightly worn, ribbon. Now it was her that he looked at, with no less fear in his eyes than she'd seen when he looked at Desiderio.

The mention of Shadow surprised her into looking down at the pup, who was pressing himself closely against her. She would have a Shadow-shaped patch of damp on her dress when he moved away. She blinked a few times, and swallowed, trying to gather her thoughts.

"He's not done anything," Aurelie said, her voice as bright as she could make it. She tried to be reassuring, soft. Nothing was wrong, her expression said, nothing at all. She glanced at Desiderio out of the corner of his eye, feeling that squeezing, prickling pain again, then looked back to the two children. "He's not even got shoes on, see? How can he hurt anyone when he hasn't got any shoes?"

Aurelie paused and tucked her hair nervously behind both of her ears before she went on in that same steady, bright tone. There were soap suds on the shell of her ear now, and a streak of them on her cheek; she ignored them. "Shadow won't hurt you," she continued, and moved to work the shampoo through his fur again. She kept her movements rhythmic, repetitive—to calm him down, she hoped. "He only looks scary. He's a puppy, really. We're giving him a bath."

"Desiderio is my friend." That was said firmly, and as much for him as for the children. He had promised he wouldn't hurt them. There were a thousand reasons she ought to know better than to take him at his word; they were all silenced by that overwhelming, aching fact. Desiderio was her friend, and he had promised, and Aurelie wanted to trust him so badly that it hurt. "And Shadow too." Shadow made a quiet whining noise, pressing his nose into her arm.