Alyss has spent her whole life ignored in the stacks of the Bookish Hound, a bookshop whose hollowed-out tomes carry contraband throughout the drowned city of Kerkenberg. When her father, the famed smuggler, is murdered, Alyss has five days until the funeral to discover who killed him before the city comes after them itself. And all the while, she needs to keep the business running and stop her estranged siblings from killing each other.
In that time, Alyss must out-maneuver the crime lord who owns half the city, buy a fragile peace from the woman who runs the city’s economy, and deal with a cult that collects magical artifacts the way a magpie collects shiny things.
But the closer she gets to the truth of her father’s death, the more she reckons with what she has to do to keep the family together and resorts to the very same pact that her father made in his youth: an oath to a cosmic entity in return for a single wish. Alyss wishes to be heard, and now her voice carries a weight of compulsion that even her siblings can’t say no to. But every command costs her a bit of her humanity, and the price is starting to look like madness.
CHAPTER ONE
Alyss fled down the narrow, cobblestone street. Around her, leaning tenements formed a giant’s rib cage, their foundations eroded by great floods. Her thoughts flitted past the body, bound to the coroner’s table by scars on its wrists, and danced around the young man following her in the night.
The wind bit at her face, whipped strong by the sea. Nearly there. Iron walls coated in rust surrounded the brick buildings to protect the structures from the sea’s wrath. Twelve years since it rose above her head. She prayed for twelve more before it did again.
She bundled her arms close. She should’ve snatched her fur overcoat before she left the Hound; the cool damp had a way of seeping into her bones. A jolt ran up her leg as her boot slammed into a raised portion of the street. It would’ve dislodged a wagon wheel, but she kept her footing. She couldn’t slow for anything, not even to see if someone followed.
Had Victor heard her by the corpse? He ran as she did, their shadows whipping around corners before they could catch a side-long glimpse of each other. Always a turn ahead, a duck beneath a passing arch, or a skip into a doorway.
It was little trouble to shut the coroner’s mouth; bribes and threats worked best as a duet and Alyss was a fine conductor. She composed a lie. The greatest smuggler this side of the walled city would not meet hell in a slum with slug tar running his veins.
She thought she’d have more time, but her brother reached the corpse just as she slipped out the door. She pressed her ear to it, only long enough to ensure the coroner kept his word.
He did.
Swaying lampposts were loose, glowing weeds, unable to escape the wind’s grip. They nuzzled their lights above the flood lines, just above each building’s first floor. Ahead, a yellow door shone like a beacon. If luck was with her, she’d be gone before her brother even knew she was there. Her black curls, coated with sweat, threatened to burst from the twine that bound them. She smoothed her hands against her dress, then knocked thrice on the door.
“I know you’re awake, you half-brained stoat,” she hissed. “Open up.”
After a long moment filled with the sounds of a heavy-set man lumbering down stairs, the door opened a fraction. Candlelight spilled from the doorway and lit up the craggy face of Bellamy Sweet. Small yellow eyes looked down on her through half-moon spectacles with a silver rim. At first glance, he looked like a tough that would roam the ward with Cuffs, not balance his books, but Sweet was an extraordinary administrator, now exclusively on retainer for the Bookish Hound. His massive frame dripped with a white fur collared robe of fine fabric.
“Devil’s shite, girlie.” She tried to catch her breath, but nothing stopped her lungs from burning or calmed the stitch in her side. His palm smacked against the side of the door. “You’re just like your father, hurrying in all a huff, just to—“
“Cuffs is dead,” she said.
He took in the green of her woolen dress as it deepened from dark forest to a paler sheen in the candlelight, peeked his head out the door, and looked across the street. Breathlessly, Alyss did the same. Her brother was nowhere to be seen.
“Well. You better come in then,” he said, opening the door. “Who else knows?”
“Word was sent to all of us. I got it first.”
He hummed beneath his breath. “How are you taking it?”
She hoped Cuffs’ coal-eyed gaze, as if he studied every sideways glance and twitch of the hand, would depart in death.
She had been disappointed.
She expected the corpse to elicit something more in her. Some sort of searing pain in her heart. But her father surprised her again. In spite of endless hours squeezed together in that beautiful web of a bookshop, breathing in the pages’ lovely, musty smell and listening to him rant and rave, all while yearning for some sort of affirmation of his affection, she felt a sort of apathy that touched everything from her eyes to her liver.
“Fine,” she lied.
He plucked a half-finished dart from the table, retrieved a slight matchbook from his robe pocket, and lit the smelly thing.
“Why are you here, Alyss?”
“I need the will,” she said. “Quickly now.”
He harrumphed and leaned back, dart dangling precariously between his lips. “Perhaps it’s best you divest, explore the world like Nanette. Or you could start up something of your own. I hear that Plenans are giving out gold to anyone willing to take up on one of their colonies.”
“The will, Bellamy.” S
He released another puff of smoke, his beady eyes boring a hole into her chest. “I don’t have it,” he said, his shoulders falling. “It’s with the grubbers.”
She swore. Of course the bank had it. Something needed to be done. The Bookish Hound deserved a clean history filled with gorgeous tomes and pages, even if its master didn’t. She would not let it dissolve or crumble: not to the bank’s greed, not to a sullied reputation, and certainly not to her brother’s recklessness.
“What did it say?”
Sweet winced, the lines on his brow deepening. “Alyss, I don’t know if—“
A heavy fist pounded against the door. “Sweet,” her brother cried from the street. “Open the door!”
“Don’t tell him I’m here,” she pleaded.
The administrator looked from her to the door, then back again. He growled at her, jowls swinging, but nodded nonetheless. She spun from her chair for the coat closet behind her. With a quick pull, she opened the double doors and slid inside, nestling between sets of fur. Sweet had a penchant for mink.
She peeked through the crack to watch the fat man waddle to the front door, lit dart still in hand. Smoke pulled behind him, folding over on itself before dissipating.
Victor’s fist hit the door again, followed by a louder rattle from his boot heel. The same boot heel that stomped the skulls of three teenage boys just a few weeks prior.
The door opened, much wider than it had for her, and the pair shared muffled words. When Bellamy shifted, she was just able to catch a glimpse of her brother’s tricorn hat.
“Is she here?”
“Who? My boy, what could have possibly called you here at this hour—“
“Is she here, Bellamy? Don’t play tonight.”
“Is who here, Victor?”
“Alyss, for Kerk’s sake. Alyss!” Victor slammed his fist against the edge of the doorframe.
“Heavens no,” the man said. His hands trembled, barely hidden by his billowy sleeves. “Whatever for?”
Victor swore and pushed past the man down the hallway. His coat, which finished just below his knees, was lined with thick red fur, not as fine as Sweet’s tastes, but expensive enough. It brushed against his neck with a soft crimson, like the marks of a freshly hanged man.
“Have you heard anything from Cuffs today?” He spoke distractedly as he poked his head around corners and into side rooms.
Bellamy shook his head. Would he betray her? Open the closet doors?
Victor stepped past the man. His hands rested on the closet handles; for a split moment, as he pulled, a sliver of light crept in, slicing through a battalion of coats. He’d never harm one of the family, outside of Severin, what brothers didn’t bruise each other up on occasion. But now, with Cuffs gone. If he discovered her, or her intentions—
“I haven’t,” Bellamy said.
Victor let the closet settle. “This shipment he’s been working on the past few weeks; any idea what it is?”
The administrator shook his head again. “Just a pass-along, I think. Some merchant’s son found light-up trinket for his mistress.”
“When was the last time you saw Cuffs?”
“It’s been a few days. He wanted some changes made to the estate.”
“And how was he?”
“Seemed his usual self to me.”
Her brother stopped and took in the bulk of the man. “He cracked. Right on the noggin. Changed the locks, wouldn’t walk down the street without looking over his shoulder.”
Bellamy leaned back in his velvet chair. “Victor, your mother’s illness is not one that can be—“
“My father is dead.” His voice wavered on the word, not believing it himself. “Not mad. Dead.”
Bellamy played his part well. He leaned forward and put out his dart before removing his half-moon spectacles and wiping them against his robe. “Are you sure, m’boy?”
“I just saw the body.” The administrator reached for Victor’s shoulder, but her brother shrugged it off. “Swear to me you haven’t seen Alyss tonight.”
“I swear,” the man said.
Victor nodded then ran his tongue along his teeth. “The coroner, do you know what he told me? He said that Cuffs died of autumn fever. Just plopped down at a bench in the park and keeled over. Like some old man.”
“And you doubt the man’s honesty?”
“I do.”
“Well, there are no bounds to those who wanted him dead. Throw a stone in Kerkenberg and you’ll find someone who’ll stab the man and someone who’d love him.” The solicitor relit his dart. “Do I need to burn the ledgers, then?”
Her brother shook his head. “The will. Who gets the Hound? And the holdings?”
“No idea. Your father made some changes then made me send them to the bank for approval. He didn’t let me see the details.”
“Why would it need approval?”
“Six children and a sick wife makes it a touch difficult,” he snapped.
“And the Bookish Hound? You can’t split a building six ways.”
“They could make you sell it.”
He laughed. “Not a chance. When will we find out?”
“Three days at most. They’ll wait to release it until Severin comes back.”
“He’s coming back?”
“Well, the courier reached out to all of you in the city with the news,” he sputtered. “They’ll get word to his ship within the hour; the speed of those ratbirds never fails to amaze.”
Alyss groaned. He wasn’t supposed to know that. Luckily, Victor brushed right on by, eager to return home after a long night. As well he should, there were deliveries in the morning and she would be damned if the work stopped at any time, even in the wake of a tragedy such as this. It was exactly what her father was against; the work continued regardless.
“Let me know,” her brother replied, taking his leave from the velvet seat. the boy was too dull to catch a slip like that; it was precisely why Cuffs would never leave the Hound to someone like him. “Keep your head low in the meantime. I’d hate for the Four-Finger Boys to poke around here.”
“I appreciate the concern.”
Her brother departed to the sound of soft footsteps and a pistol falling lightly against his chest. Bellamy deflated into his seat. Happy to free herself from the prison of mink, Alyss unfolded from the closet. The administrator looked to her as if he forgot she was hiding there and had another puff of his dart.
“Thank you,” she said.
He nodded his reply while staring right past her into his own reflection in the window. He looked like a melted wax candle, seeping into the crevices of the chair, the dart a burning wick in his mouth.
“Just talk to each other, for Kerk’s sake. None of this is worth it.”
She shook her head. “Let me know about the will, won’t you?”
“Cuffs is dead,” he muttered to himself, then coughed up a bit of smoke. “Cuffs is dead.”
“Bellamy?”
He looked to her, confused, then a look of fury flashed across his face.
“I’ll let you all know at once, how about that? A bloody chorus right to the Hound! I’m not the set for your ridiculous play. Get out of my house,” he said as he raised a weary hand to his temple. He coughed again, then shook his head. “Cuffs is dead.”
He sounded weary, mournful even.
Alyss scowled, then made for the door, but before she could swing it open, he stopped her with a final question.
“How did he die, Alyss?”
“Autumn fever,” she lied.
“I don’t believe you.”
The door swung open, letting in the cool sea air. The lamps in the street were nearly dead now, a slight blossom of light radiating from their spire.
“Did you kill him?”
“I didn’t,” she said as she stepped out into Canticle Dell. “I swear.”