Chapter 40: Words, Words, Words!
The Outsider was expecting today to be a thoroughly regular day. Wake up, get dressed, eat breakfast with Emily, spend the morning relearning and writing down all the little bits of maternity magic he absorbed over the centuries, eat lunch on his own as the Tyvian trade committee claimed Emily for that, then spend the afternoon and evening probing the three Threshers for more information about their little organization for Billie, clarifying the points they had so kindly given the first interrogator.
That changed when Betty came in with the mail.
"Here is you mail Empress," the maid presented an organized stack of letters. "And a letter for you, Mr. Pharmakós."
He took the envelope in surprise, trying to read the return address. But the handwriting, it was atrocious. He hoped to the gods the rest of the letter was typed.
"Who is it from?" Emily asked curiously from behind her teacup. Eulalia warbled from her plate, pecking away at a scone.
"I don't know," he quietly replied, giving up on reading the return address. The envelope opened smoothly enough, and he pulled out the letter.
The godsdamned thing was handwritten. The Outsider peered at it, bringing it up to his face as if it would help. He could make out his name, a greeting, and the rest was a squiggly mess. Jumping to the bottom was no better. The signature read Cheryl… Potter?
"I literally cannot read this," he admitted in frustration. "Here, can you decipher this for me?"
Emily took it, setting down her tea. "Dear Mr. Pharmakós, I hope you remember us. I am writing on the behalf of the Factory Union. When we last crossed paths you said you were sympathetic to our cause. I hope you would be amenable to meeting with us for an interview. It will be published in our monthly newsletter. You may reply through mail or by appearing in person to our offices at 24 Stays lane. Sincerely, Cheryl Potter."
The Outsider swallowed his embarrassment alongside half a scone at the ease in which she deciphered that loopy mess. Emily neatly folded the letter and handed it back to him.
"When did you run into a worker's union?" she asked curiously.
"It was back when I was trying to corral Pericles," he tucked the letter back into its envelope. "They are rather intent on having me speak to them, though I am not sure why."
Emily raised an eyebrow. "Not sure why? You are a well-known figure who is sympathetic to their cause. They want to see how you can best assist them."
"They must be starved for support if they are going after somebody whose only qualification is that they so happen to love the right person," he retorted lightly.
"Shush!" she chided him with a fond smile. "You have a keen mind and a strong knowledge of human nature. They might not know that yet, but I'm sure they will find it out by just talking to you."
The Outsider felt his cheeks warm at the compliment. "Do you think I should approach them?"
"I don't see why not," Emily took a sip of her tea. "They seem like decent enough folk, and if you would like to talk to them I say go for it."
He hummed, thinking about it. There was no harm in talking to them, if he did not like it he could just leave. Besides, he had time today. Might as well drop by and see what was wanted of him.
24 Stays Lane was a quiet little place, tucked between the large factory buildings and the tenements. It boasted a large shop window that was sorely in need of a dusting. The Outsider shivered at the chill underneath his coat. Still he could not get the whale-oil stains out of it. There was no knocker on the pale yellow door. Was he supposed to simply walk in?
"Excuse me, can I help you?" It was a plainly dressed young man with wide green eyes. He had a small stack of newspapers tucked under his arm and a cap over his messy hair.
"I was invited to visit the offices of the Factory Union," The Outsider held up the envelope as if it was some sort of pass. "I cannot tell if they are open, and the door lacks a knocker."
The youth stared at him, puzzled. "Why, you can just walk in. I do it all the time."
The Outsider sighed. "Of course," he murmured. The youth darted forward, yanking the door open with a smile.
"Well, don't just stand there sir! Come in!"
The inside of the building was not as dusty as its window lead him to believe. The first room was wallpapered with a light blue, and an assortment of dissimilar furniture decorating the place spoke to the poverty of the organization. An older woman sat at a desk tucked between several file cabinets, and a threadbare set of chairs were placed before it.
"Hey Ms. Potter! A fellow is here to see you," The youth announced, walking across the room to the door at the back.
"Thank you Levi," Ms. Potter replied somewhat absently as the youth exited. "You may have a seat in one of the chairs."
It took a moment for the Outsider to realize the woman was talking to him. Feeling rather unsure of himself, he took a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk, folding his hands into his lap. The room was silent, if not for the ticking of the old clock on the wall nearby and the scratching of Ms. Potter's pen. He half wished he had brought his notebook with him. Finally, the pen was set down with a clink, and Ms. Potter looked up, sharp grey eyes regarding him with mild curiosity.
"So, what can I do for you, Mr…?"
"Pharmakós, ma'am," he replied politely. "I suppose this is actually a case of what I could do for you?"
Ms. Potter immediately perked up. "You certainly responded quickly. In any case, we are glad to have you!"
"Really?" he could not help his confusion.
"Of course!" Ms. Potter pulled out a new sheaf of paper and smoothed it out. "You are the first person of the aristocratic class to even consider talking to us."
That truly surprised him. "Nobody thought to come down or invite you to their office to hear you out?"
Now Ms. Potter was confused as well. "What do you mean by that?"
"You must have reached out to far more suitable people before coming to me," he leaned forward in the chair. "After all, I am sure Sinjean DeLuc would gladly hear you out, as would MP Emerson and MP Bennet. You could even try MP Baldwin, though he is not the sort you can rely on."
The woman froze, her jaw slowly falling open. "Reaching… out? To Aristocrats?"
"Well yes?" The Outsider tilted his head. "It is not illegal to write to them you know, their addresses are all public. Not to mention they are public servants, it is their job to hear out your grievances."
Ms. Potter flushed bright red, tapping the pen against her desk fitfully. It occurred to him that neither she nor anyone else in the organization even dared to reach out to those in power.
"Have you even thought of writing to the Empress?" he suggested as lightly as he could. "She reads every letter she gets, she always brings them up with the right people."
"We discussed it," Ms. Potter replied shortly, flashing a tight smile. "It was deemed a waste of the Empress' time. She surely has bigger issues to deal with than a local union's crusade for a better wage and better hours."
It pleased him that these people saw Emily as potentially sympathetic and a possible advocate. It also demoralized him to see these same people put no faith in what he would consider the more approachable servants of government. It was an unspoken truth- Parliament was solely the voice for the wealthy and powerful. How wrong that was to him, how utterly wrong. Yet such was the way of the world, though perhaps it could be changed.
"Just because she deals with bigger issues does not mean she has no time or sympathy for smaller issues," he declared with utter certainty. "I am here because she shares my sympathy. But to be honest, my voice holds little power. I have no influence in Parliament. All I have is small connections and advice."
Ms. Potter sighed, giving him a tired look. "What do you advise, Mr. Pharmakós?"
He flashed a smile. "Well, definitely contact MPs Emerson and Bennet, and Secretary DeLuc. Tell Secretary DeLuc that I asked you to write to him. Continue your organizing efforts, try to get in contact with unions across Gristol. See if you can coordinate with them. Have a set of unified goals you all can agree on and press you MPs hard. Protest your conditions by refusing to work, have the whole union refuse to work and shun those that do work. Tie your rights as workers to the right to vote. Universal suffrage will ensure that your measures stick."
She wrote them down quickly with practiced speed, her concentration similar to that of a keen student. The creak of the door's hinges caused him to look up. The youth from earlier- Levi, was strolling in with his face half buried in the rag officially called THE BUGLE. He peeked over the pages with a keen look in his wide eyes.
"I could not help but hear you were advocating for universal suffrage."
The Outsider blinked. "Of course. With everyone being able to vote then Parliament would be a proper voice for the nation, rather than just the rich and powerful."
The youth plopped down in the other chair, laying the paper down on his lap. "So you do not believe the Empress is the voice of the nation?" he asked.
"She is, but she is also the voice of the Empire. She is not Gristol's alone, she is also Tyvia's Morley's and Serkonos'," the Outsider tried to order his thoughts. "She is a crucial unifying force. But would you rather also have someone that represents you, someone who very directly answers to you? That is the power you would get in voting for you MP. They would have to make laws that benefit you because if they do not, then you can get them out of office nonviolently."
A large smile crossed Levi's face. "I like the way you think. I'm glad the Empress is keeping you close. Hey, we're holding a city-wide meeting next week, why don't you come speak at it?"
"Er…" the Outsider paused for time, trying to come up with a good excuse. "I am not sure that is the best idea."
"Come now Mr. Pharmakós!" Ms. Potter cajoled from behind the desk. "We heard you have quite a sweet tongue"
"In what context?" he replied flatly.
Levi laughed while Ms. Potter made an effort to look aghast but seemed just as amused.
"Man, the Empress must be very happy with you," Levi waggled his eyebrows. "Though, you might want to know that this rag is suggesting otherwise."
"Really?" he drawled, utterly unsurprised. Levi fluffed out the paper and turned to the "society" section before presenting him it.
"OLD ROMANCE REKINDLED? EMPRESS SPOTTED AT THE FITZPATRICKS" read the headline. Underneath the headline and sandwiched between the utter drivel of an article was a lovingly rendered image of a woman entering the Fitzpatricks' townhouse. Her face was turned away, but her hair was in a similar style to Emily's. Only…
"She does not own that outfit, or anything like it," he murmured, confused. "Assuming this is a sketch drawn from life, and it is highly likely that it is, there is no way that can be Emily. Not to mention that she is utterly fed up with Wyman and his wife and would never ever do herself the dishonor of being the mistress to a married man."
"You know a lot about her clothes," Levi said with an insinuating tone.
"Well I have taken them off her quite a bit so I would like to think I am at least somewhat familiar with the outfits she owns," he replied somewhat snappishly as he scanned the article. It was a whole lot of nothing, simply THE BUGLE assuming that the black-haired woman that looked like Emily was Emily, and that Emily was rekindling a relationship with Wyman. "They seem to be thinking Arabel DeLuc is the Empress."
Ms. Potter looked surprised. "Arabel DeLuc? Is she related to Sinjean DeLuc?"
"They are cousins," the Outsider answered absently. "She is currently Merida Fitzpatrick's dear companion. I wonder why this paper is not taking that into account."
Levi shrugged. "They are ignoring facts to get juicy gossip. It happens all the time. Heck, sometimes people can commission articles from THE BUGLE if you have enough money or a good enough story. My uncle did that to prank my dad once. Dad never forgot…"
"Wait, you can commission articles from them?" Wheels were turning in the Outsider's head. There were so many uses for that. "Will they say they are commissions?"
Levi shook his head. "You can pay a little more if you want to know if someone commissioned an article from them, but usually they play it off like real news."
"Fascinating," the Outsider murmured. "Utterly fascinating."
Storage was cold and quiet that late morning. Greta breathed into her gloved hands and rubbed them in a futile attempt to keep them warm. She was tempted to go out and borrow her bed warmer to warm her hands on, but truly the cold was not so bad after one adjusted to it. Humming a ditty, Greta walked over to the table.
On it was a most curious book. Something about the cover gave her the shivers; it looked like normal leather, but there were strange dark stains and markings on it. Carefully, Greta picked it up, taking a look at the spine to see if it bore the book's title. It did not, however it did bear a series of symbols embossed in gold. Curiosity piqued, she placed the book on a book stand and carefully opened it.
Immediately she could smell the fresh ink and glue, the binding creaked gently as it bent, the pages were smooth and strong. This strange book was new, very new. She kept turned the first few blank pages; finally, title page!
ON THE NATURE OF GODS
Gnaeus Valens Salvius
Translated by Charles Holst and Carmen Vela
Published by the Durante Publishing House for Ivan Jacobi
Gods?! Greta stared at the book in surprise. Where did she hear about gods before? She combed her memories. All that came up was a serious Elanor disclosing that gods did in fact exist and they had once nearly broken the world… and a black hole where the rest of the memory was.
"Again?!" she groaned and put her head in her hands. How did it happen this time? There was no corrupted rune like the first time, no bonecharms like the last time. Was she just going crazy?
She pulled her notebook out of her pocket. They might be able to wipe her memories, but not her notebooks. All she had to do was take notes on this strange book, a book that was both old and new at the same time. She flipped the page, praying there was a table of contents.
CRASH
The sound of falling books, shattered glass, and a person's yelp caused Greta to jump in her seat, throwing the notebook onto the open book and the pencil across the table. She was frozen in her chair, senses on high alert. Someone was in here, someone who was not supposed to be in here.
Greta slowly slid off the stool she was seated on. She flexed her right hand, feeling power flow through it. Closing her eyes, Greta looked further into the long hall that lead deeper into Storage. Underneath a fallen bookcase lay a young woman, clearly unconscious. Feeling somewhat more at ease that the intruder was knocked out, Greta grabbed a spool of twine that was sitting on the table and ran over to the downed bookcase.
The damn thing was heavy wood, but it was not too difficult to heave off the woman… well, girl would be more accurate. Once the bookcase was back in the proper spot, Greta was better able to assess the damage. Books were strewn everywhere, several bore broken spines, a couple had torn pages, and one had its cover ripped clear off. As for the glass, it had come from the opposite case holding preserved animals, dried organs, and other gross things. When the shelf toppled over it hit the other one, causing the glass to shatter. Thankfully nothing else from that case had broken.
Greta glared at the still unconscious intruder. The most remarkable thing about her other than the red lines of paint on her face that acted as some odd makeup was the girl's dark purple hair. From the way she was arranged, Greta guessed she tried to climb the bookshelf and caused it to topple over. Bubbling with irritation and anger, Greta turned her over, using the twine to bind her hands behind her back. Then she picked up the surprisingly heavy girl, dragging her over to lean seated against the wall. And for extra security, she tied the girl's feet together, both through twine and her shoelaces. With the intruder neutralized, it was time to clean up.
She was half way through reshelving the uninjured books when a groan announced the girl was back in this plain of existence. Greta sighed through her nose and finished putting away the books in her arms before climbing down the ladder and tucking it away. With that done, she walked over and sat across from the girl. She blinked blearily and tried to separate her arms.
"What… what is going on?" the girl asked, clearly disorientated. "Why am I tied up?"
Greta folded her arms. "You broke into a restricted archive managed by the Oracular Order. Who are you and why did you do it?"
"Will you throw me to the Overseers?" her voice trembled.
"That depends," Greta replied sternly. "Who are you and why are you here?"
The girl slouched, blowing a couple locks of hair out of her face. "Do you have to know?"
"Who do you want asking these questions? Me or an Overseer?" snapped Greta.
"Ok, Ok!" the girl sat up, looking slightly panicked. "My name is Juniper Daniels, my friends call me Juny. I am looking for a book that got lost."
Greta stared at her for a long moment. "A lost book?"
"Yes, I swear!" Juniper cried. "One day it was in my bag and the next it was just… gone."
"Books do not just disappear," Greta murmured to herself. Juniper looked ready to say something but she held up a hand to silence the girl. "Was it cursed, made with magic?"
The girl stared at her wide eyed, before forcing a laugh. "Whaaat, no! It is a totally normal book that must have been snatched."
"If it is totally normal, then why do you think it is here?" the Sister raised an eyebrow.
Juniper immediately clammed up. Greta shifted on the floor, feeling her bottom freeze on the chilled wood.
"Greta? Is this yours?" Sister Mary's voice faintly echoed from the far back of Storage.
Confused, Greta leaned back and looked down the hall. "What are you talking about Sister Mary?
At the very end she could see her mentor walking toward her holding a large canvas satchel. She could hear shuffling and scuffing from across her; out of the corner of her eye she could see Juniper trying to look around the bookcase.
"Why are you sitting on the floor?" Sister Mary came to a stop just in front of the bookcase.
"We have a guest," Greta gestured at the girl with a nod. Sister Mary leaned over to look at Juniper, who flashed a sheepish smile at the Sister.
"Ah, an intruder," she raised her eyebrows as she slowly turned back to Greta. "This satchel must be hers then."
The girl paled noticeably, a feat for her dark tan skin. "Oh Void please do not take my bag from me, I will be in so much trouble if I lose that."
"The bag, or the books within?" Sister Mary said slyly, reaching into the satchel. "So we have A Treatise on the Nature and Purpose of the Outsider, Space Songs: The Lives of the Heaven's Lights, The Grimoire of Athanasius, A Treatise of All things that Move and Grow, and," she pulled out the final book with a look of mild disgust, placing it on top of the others. "…Positions of Pleasure. Is this bound in human leather?"
"Actually yes!" Juniper replied cheerily. "If you look at the back cover you can see the tattoos that the person had."
"Ugh!" Greta winced in disgust. "Who would bind a book in human skin?"
"Beats me," the girl shrugged, jostling the colorful scarf wrapped around her neck. "I grabbed it for the pictures to be honest."
Sister Mary sighed, crossing her arms. "What was this girl doing in here Greta?"
"She claims she is looking for a lost book," she answered, folding her arms too. "I think she is trying to steal some of our books."
"I am not!" Juniper cried, furious. "I can't even bloody read, so why would I be stealing books?"
"Someone paid you to do it," Sister Mary accused.
"No!" the girl screamed, straining against her bonds. "Look, I'm just supposed to keep these books safe, they are all we have left after the library was destroyed."
Greta frowned and leaned forward. "Who is we?"
Once again Juniper clammed up, looking nervous yet determined. Sister Mary leaned down and whispered into Greta's ear.
"We should call him."
"Call who?" she whispered back.
"Owen Pharmakós."
Greta properly turned her head and looked up at her mentor in shock. "What? Why?"
"This girl will be very useful to him and the Empress, I feel it in my bones," Sister Mary declared seriously. "Please, let me try to summon him."
Greta stared at the girl briefly, her mouth sealed tight as she practically drowned in the worn oversized overcoat she wore.
"Alright, go for it."
Billie carefully typed the handwritten notes the Outsider made when he interviewed Kathleen Psalter earlier that day. The woman was clearly confused as to why she was being interrogated again, but in her confusion spilled quite a bit of extra information about the Threshers. Namely that they were a vast secret society that blamed the ill fortune Morley's peasants on the aristocratic class, laying squarely at the feet of the Elder O'Conner Dons. Those O'Conner Dons had failed to protect their people from exploitation, thus a return to tradition and independence was necessary to put an end to the exploitation. The information he got from Luke Grady was particularly interesting- there was murmurings of a famine on the horizon. Billie heard the last famine occurred in the wake of their famous revolt in 1803, but if she recalled correctly, it did not last long. Now she was reading through the notes on Patrick Marion, but there were some of his angular words she could not quite decipher.
"Outsider," Billie looked up from her typewriter at the deity as he floated cross-legged at the back of the room, eating out of a jar of chutney while peering at a book floating in front of his face. "What did Patrick say when you asked him who the Thresher's leader was?"
"He said those in the cities named Dáire as their leader while those in the country named the Storm Petrel," he answered somewhat absently.
"The Storm Petrel?" she asked, turning back to the typewriter to put down what he said.
"Prince Énna O'Conner Don, the mad son," his words were muffled by the spoon in his mouth. "He thinks himself a bird, fled from Wynnedown when some of his fingers were removed to prevent him from 'flying'. His family thinks he is dead, but he has simply been wandering around the country, a prophet and beggar."
Billie stopped typing. Slowly she turned herself around and stared at him. "Are you certain of that?"
The Outsider finally tore his eyes off the book and frowned at her. "I am literally looking at him right now, listening to someone call him the Storm Petrel while giving him smoked fish. What more do you want?"
She threw up her hands. "I simply wanted to check."
"Oh that reminds me, we are going to have guests, I hope you do not mind," he stated lightly.
Billie gave him a look. "What do you mean we're going to have guests?"
Just as she finished her sentence three people appeared towards the front of the office: Greta, a grey-haired Oracular Sister, and a purple-haired teenage girl in frankly ridiculous set of ragged clothes. Her eyes, already wide with shock, landed on the Outsider and somehow bugged out.
"OUTSIDER'S BALLS!" she screamed loud enough that Greta and the older Sister covered their ears. Billie looked back at the deity, who was glaring at the girl like he couldn't believe what she just said, as well as looking exceptionally tired.
"What is with it with people saying things like that?" he asked, locking eyes with Billie. "Why are people so fascinated with my genitalia?"
She pinched the bridge of her nose, already feeling the beginnings of a headache. "Please, do us a favor and never say those words again."
"No seriously," he gestured with his spoon, clearly curious and a touch concerned. "Is there something different about them?"
"Look if you are really that concerned take it up with Emily," Billie groaned. "I do not want to hear another word about your private parts."
She turned around to face the three guests, relocating the typewriter to the side before folding her hands neatly. "Now, how can I help you three?"
The purple-haired girl, who Billie was just noticing had her feet bound and hands tied behind her back, looked at her like she was some sort of celebrity. Greta cleared her throat.
"I caught this girl breaking into Storage, where we keep forbidden and heretical books and items, claiming to be looking for a lost book. My mentor, Sister Mary," the other sister gave her a wave. "Found a satchel filled with books that we thought Owen should take a look at."
At those words the bag was pulled off Sister Mary's shoulder and shot past Billie. Her curiosity getting the best of her, she turned around to see the Outsider open the satchel and gaze disinterestly at the first book, same thing with the second, then his eyes widened at the third.
"How did you get this?" his voice was quiet, cold.
The girl shivered, fright paling her dark skin. "Get what, sir?"
"The Grimoire of Athanasius!" the void rang in his words. "How did you get this when all his works were burned?"
Sister Mary and Greta exchanged a look, their faces bearing confusion similar to the girl's. The Outsider put the books back in the satchel and snapped his fingers. The whole thing disappeared and the girl let out a cry.
"No! Please, oh lord of the Void, please give them back!" she sank to the ground on her knees, looking close to tears.
"Why?" he finally put the jar of chutney away and got to his feet, a menacing look on his face.
"I… I'm supposed to keep them safe, never let them out of my sight, make sure they end up in the right hands!" a panicked sob entered her voice. "I already lost one, I can't lose the others! Not after the library burned!"
He slowly walked over to her, hands folded behind his back. "What do you mean, the library burned?"
She looked up at him, dumbfounded. "You do not know? Five months ago, the Ritual Hold exploded. Everything on the other side of the God's Eye burned. The Eye itself disintegrated. So many of us were lost, so much knowledge was lost. Outsider, how do you not know this?"
There was a moment of silence. Greta looked utterly lost, her mentor simply placid, listening.
"Owen, what in the void is she talking about?" Greta asked.
A long slow smile crossed his face. "This girl here is part of a centuries old cult, a cult older than me, a cult that worships the Void, and made me. And now, those bastards are dead, all their knowledge is dead, and I have their last, most important books."
The little Sister's mouth fell open, her eyes darting between the girl and the now gleeful Outsider. The girl was just staring up at him, her expression wounded.
"Why?" her voice was a whispered plea. "We made you a god, we worshiped you, and you smile at our deaths, at our loss."
An even wider, sharper smile overtook the Outsider's face. "Your beloved elders, they stripped me of my humanity, held me prisoner in the Void. If I had not been able to leave I would have had Billie Lurk cut my throat and free my miserable spirit from that wretched existence. A god? I was no god then, but I am now. And I declare that you and your fellow Eyeless are not worthy of the knowledge you carry."
A heavy silence descended upon the room. Billie watched the girl crumble, her head falling as tears trailed down her cheeks. She felt her heart twinge with pity.
"Holy shit Owen," Greta said softly, horrified.
The Outsider simply walked back to where he was floating before and leapt back into his invisible chair, looking supremely unconcerned.
"I can't go back without those books," the girl whispered brokenly. Greta knelt down and untied her hands, a sympathetic look on her face.
"Then don't go back," she said gently. "We can make arrangements for you to stay at the Chapel for a few days while you find a job."
The girl turned to her, an awestruck look on her face. "You would do that, even though I broke in?"
"Well, we are the only two who know," Sister Mary added kindly. "The only thing is you will have to be interviewed about your past."
The crushed look that came across the girl's face spurred Billie to action. Fuck, when did her heart get so soft?
"I can take her on," she said.
The three turned to her, the girl shocked, Greta mildly surprised and Sister Mary…knowing.
"I need another assistant, someone who knows the streets and can work with gangs. You look like you have both experience and potential," Billie explained, making her voice gruff.
The girl's face lit up, and she tried to get to her feet. Failing, she simply stood tall and folded her hands together. "Thank you, thank you Spymaster Lurk! I will not let you down."
Billie sighed through her nose, trying to hide the smile on her face. She was forcibly reminded of when Daud took her in. "Do tell me you name, please."
"I'm Juniper Daniels, but you can call me Juny! I am 19 years old-"
"And she cannot read, so no paperwork for her," the Outsider added somewhat coldly.
Billie stood and put her hands on her hips before glaring at him.
"Why don't you take your meanness elsewhere until you learn to act like an adult?"
He huffed at her before disappearing with his book and jar. Billie turned back to the two sisters and Juniper.
"I am sorry about that, I have no idea why he is being such a brat," she apologized.
Greta shrugged. "Perhaps he doesn't like being replaced?"
"He is putting blame for what happened to him on the shoulders of someone blameless for it," Sister Mary declared serenely. "Don't worry Juniper, he will come around."
Juniper finally stood up, having untied her bonds. "Y'all are really just talking about the Outsider like he is just some person," she said, mystified.
Sister Mary and Greta looked at each other and also shared glances with Billie.
"Well, he is," Billie replied with a shrug. "Is he human? Well not exactly, but he is a person with emotions and desires. Just treat him politely and respectfully and he'll warm up to you."
Juniper rubbed her wrists, looking very nervous. "Do I have to talk to him again?"
Greta laughed. "Nope, from what Emily tells me, he's rarely down here anyway."
Billie walked to Juniper, placing a hand on her shoulder. "It will be alright. Now let's get you settled."
Emily traced the bubbles in the bath water, half listening to the Outsider sing some strange song as he ran his fingers through her hair. He was such a lovely bath companion, it was a shame he so rarely joined her. She closed her eyes as he rubbed the soap and rose oil into her scalp, restraining herself from falling back into his chest.
"What are you singing?" she asked lazily.
"A good luck charm," he replied after a moment, the song finished. "It will last for as long as you do not cut your hair."
She hummed, pleased. "Then it shall last for a long time."
The water sloshed as he shifted, and Emily could feel it being poured over her scalp, rinsing the soap and oil out.
"There are old folk traditions in the west of Gristol that declare that cutting a pregnant woman's hair will bring bad luck upon the woman as well as the person who cuts her hair," the Outsider recited evenly as he combed her hair with his fingers. "It was likely started because of the many charms and spells that called for the hair of pregnant women."
"So my hair is powerful?" she asked with a chuckle.
He laughed. "Empress, thy crown is ebony." His words were reverent, even though they were colored with humor.
Quiet fell between them, but she sensed that the Outsider had something to say.
"I learned two interesting things today," he began lightly. "The first, that you can pay THE BUGLE to write up any story you so choose, and the second that they are deliberately mistaking Arabel DeLuc for you."
"Oh?" Emily hummed, curious. "Why is that?"
"Somebody wants people to think you have started an affair with Wyman Fitzpatrick."
She spun around to face him, shock bleeding into her bones. The Outsider looked truly surprised at her reaction, his hand frozen in the air holding a bar of soap.
"You do not believe that article do you?" Emily could not stop the question from being uttered; it was as if it needed to be asked. Her heart was racing. How dare someone write such a sordid thing!
"Of course not!" he put down the soap, expression worried. "You would never dishonor yourself in such a way, not to mention if you were displeased with me we would discuss it. Anyone with half a brain cell would know that such an article was nothing but slander."
She breathed a sigh of relief. "I think you put too much faith in most people. I doubt readers of such a rag even have an idea of who Arabel DeLuc is."
The Outsider shrugged. "If it helps I could ask them to write an article about DeLuc? I know some of the fashion plates are enamored with her, it should not be too hard to convince them with words and a couple coins."
Emily leaned forward and gently kissed him. He returned it sweetly, bringing his hands up to cradle her face. She was tempted to deepen the kiss- oh so tempted!- but she had to reply to his offer first. So she broke it.
"It is not so important to necessitate that," Emily murmured. "Let us pay no mind to it for now."
His hands threaded into her hair, and a pleased glimmer came into his black eyes. "As you wish, my Empress."