Free A Novel by A. J. Hartley Page B

my mind and then repeated with a telling variation: What did he think was going on?
    â€œYou are, I am told, the finest steeplejack in the city,” he said.
    I didn’t respond.
    â€œBut I hear you left work early today,” he continued conversationally.
    I nodded.
    â€œWhy would that be?” he asked.
    â€œI … I lost my job,” I said, looking down.
    â€œBy choice?”
    I wasn’t sure how to answer that. “Morlak wasn’t happy with my work.” I spoke as carefully as he did.
    The young man nodded. His fingers, which he had steepled together, were long, the nails manicured. “So unhappy, in fact,” he said, “that he sent people to kill you, yes?”
    There was no point denying it. His men—the phrase was odd, considering they all seemed older than he was—had obviously seen as much.
    I nodded once.
    â€œThat’s a curious development, wouldn’t you say? You must have upset Mr. Morlak a great deal.”
    â€œThat’s not hard,” I said before I could stop myself.
    His slitlike mouth widened again unreadably, and the scar quavered. “No,” he agreed. “I would imagine not. But I am curious as to what inspired his wrath on this particular occasion. A businessman such as Mr. Morlak does not give up his best assets easily. I have heard that there are companies who utilize his services expressly on condition that the actual work is performed by you, and judging by the account of the way you evaded his men this evening, I am not at all surprised.”
    I blinked at the compliment but kept my eyes lowered, my hair half masking my face.
    â€œWhat did you do, Miss Sutonga? Did you take something of Mr. Morlak’s? Or perhaps, something Mr. Morlak didn’t actually own but paid you to acquire for him? I believe you had a conversation with a member of Bar-Selehm’s excellent police department this evening.”
    I looked up then, bafflement like a curtain of fog parting around a distant prick of bright light in my mind.
    The Beacon?
    I opened my mouth, but no words came out, and at last I sat down to still the trembling of my legs. The chair was soft and comfortable, its timber seemingly molded to my form. It was one of the most perfectly designed objects I had ever touched.
    â€œThere, now,” said the man. “Isn’t that better?”
    I managed a nod, feeling young and vulnerable in ways I had not felt for years, not since I lived in the Drowning and Rahvey had used that phrase of hers to make me do the chores.
    Third daughter a curse .
    I felt it more acutely now, a dragging anxiety edged with the white-hot glow of panic.
    â€œSo,” said the young man, still pleasant, still apparently oblivious to all that was slicing through my mind, but with that same keen-eyed intensity. “Let us talk business.”
    Under his gaze I felt a moment of choice, as if I were standing on a narrow line of crumbling brick high above some factory, knowing that I needed to jump to safety or cling to where I was and hope my perch stayed intact. I decided quickly, fighting off the self-conscious paralysis I felt under those curious green eyes.
    â€œI don’t know what you think I’ve done,” I said, forcing myself to look up and meet his gaze, “or what you think I know, but you’re wrong. Morlak attacked me. Tried to … Tried to force himself on me.” My lock on his eyes broke only for a second. “I fought back and hurt him. It was self-defense. That is why he fired me. That is why he wants to punish me. Nothing more.”
    He sat back and his eyes contracted with thought. The knowing quality he had exuded to this point evaporated, and he was all watchful attention. “Is this true?” he asked at last.
    â€œYes. I know nothing about the Beacon.”
    He leaned forward again. “Who said anything about the Beacon?” he asked.
    â€œThat’s why you brought me