a plastic mask, and the shape of his face was wrong in some intangible way.
“We need to talk with you,” she said.
“Yes, yes, well, you’ll find it pointless,” Alighieri said.
He left the door open without actually inviting them in. Anastasia stepped in first, followed by Greyson and Jeri. They had left the rest of their entourage down by the road, as they did not want Alighieri to feel overwhelmed. Anastasia would have preferred to come alone, but now that she saw the frightful state of the man and his filthy cottage, she was glad she had Greyson and Jeri with her as she entered this haunted house.
Alighieri glanced at Greyson’s tunic and scapular. “Is that what they’re wearing now?”
“No,” Greyson said. “Just me.”
Alighieri harrumphed in disapproval. “You have awful taste.” Then he turned to Anastasia, looking her over again in a way that made her want to smash him with a blunt object.
“Your accent is North Merican,” he said. “How are things on that side of the pond? Is Xenocrates still blustering and bellowing in MidMerica?”
Anastasia chose her words carefully. “He… was made the North Merican Grandslayer.”
“Ha!” said Alighieri. “I’ll bet he was the cause of whatever trouble they’re having on Endura. Well, if you’re here seeking wisdom from a veteran scythe, you’ve come to the wrong man. I don’t have any wisdom for you. Perhaps you could consult my journals in Alexandria,” he said. “Although I’ve been remiss about submitting them….”
Then he pointed to a desk in the corner of the clutter that was piled with dusty journals. It gave Anastasia the opening she needed.
“Your journals,” said Anastasia. “Yes, that’s why we’re here.”
He looked at her again, a little differently this time. Was that worry in his expression? Hard to parse any emotion from that face.
“Am I to be disciplined for not submitting them in a timely manner?”
“No, nothing like that,” said Anastasia. “People just want to read about the… operation you were involved with.”
“Which operation?” Now he was definitely suspicious. She had to turn this around.
“Don’t be so modest,” she told him. “Every scythe knows your connection to the NewHope gleaning. You’re downright legendary.”
“Legendary?”
“Yes—and I’m sure your journals will have their own room in the library.”
He scowled at her. “I cannot abide sycophants,” he said. “Get out.”
Then he sat at a vanity as if they had already gone, and began brushing his long auburn hair.
“Let me have a try,” Jeri whispered to Anastasia, then went up behind Alighieri. “You’ve missed some tangles in the back, Your Honor. Please—allow me.”
Alighieri looked at Jeri in the mirror. “You one of those genderless sorts?”
“I’m fluid,” corrected Jeri. “It’s how we are in Madagascar.”
“A Madagascan!” said Alighieri, his voice dripping with derision. “I can’t stand you people. Make up your mind and be done with it, I say.”
Jeri didn’t react, just began to brush out the scythe’s hair.
“How old are you, Your Honor?” Jeri asked.
“The nerve! I should glean you for asking such a thing!”
Anastasia took a step forward, but Jeri waved her off.
“It’s just that I’ve never met anyone who has lived so much history,” Jeri said. “I’ve seen the world, but you’ve seen the ages!”
Alighieri met all of their eyes in the mirror. For a man who didn’t like flattery, he was drinking it in just as thirstily as he drank in his reflection.
Now it was Greyson’s turn. “Were you… mortal?” asked Greyson. “I’ve never met anyone who was mortal.”
Alighieri took his time before answering. “Few have. After the mortal purges, those who were left kept to themselves.” He gently took the brush from Jeri and resumed the task himself. Anastasia wondered how many times that brush had been through the man’s hair through the years.
“It’s not commonly known, but yes. I was born mortal,” Alighieri said. “I scarcely remember that, though. Natural death was conquered before I was old enough to know what death even was.”
He paused, looking into the mirror again, as if he were seeing through it to that other time and place. “I met them, you know. The founding scythes. Well, not met—I saw them. Everyone did. Every man, woman, and child wanted to get a glimpse of them as they rode through town on their way to Buckingham Palace, where the king knelt before them. They didn’t glean him, of course. That came years later.” Then he laughed. “I found a pigeon feather, dyed it blue, and told my classmates it fell from Scythe Cleopatra’s robe. It didn’t even look like a peacock feather, but