at the table. The contrast with Mrs. Morris’s boardinghouse dining table could not have been greater. No reach and grab from fellow diners here. Thalia was certain that no one in this house would mock her for the careful table manners Nutall had drilled into her.
When Nell returned, she was carrying a linen napkin and a china cup of coffee on a saucer, which she set before Thalia. “Start with this. The rest will be up soon.”
Thalia took a sip of coffee and savored its warmth. “Thank you for having someone see to my doves. And the snake. I appreciate it.”
Nell shook her head. “That was Nat, not me. He did it himself.”
Thalia paused, cup in midair. “What do you mean, he did it?”
“I mean he tended to your doves and your snake,” Nell said, “with his own fair hands.”
Thalia searched for a solution to this mystery. “Does he like doves or something?”
“No. Nat isn’t squeamish, but it was quite out of character for him to do someone else’s dirty work. Also, take this into consideration. He positively dislikes snakes.”
Thalia’s breakfast arrived, borne by the cook herself. There was a small bowl of brandied cherries along with plates bearing toast, three sausages, and half a steak, accompanied by a bowl of oatmeal that must have been prepared for someone else’s far earlier breakfast. Even the Rykers’ cook could not prepare oatmeal in the time since Nell had been in the kitchens.
“That was helpful of him.” Thalia applied herself to demolishing her breakfast.
“I think Nat expected you to take much longer to Trade. You might have been down there for days for all we knew. Nat has strong opinions about people who neglect animals.”
Thalia touched her lips with the napkin and took another sip of coffee. “Does he have pets?”
Nell laughed. “Traders don’t have pets. Solitaires need to keep animals around to help them remember that they’re animals too. We’re Traders. We don’t need reminding.”
“That’s not why Solitaires have pets,” Thalia began.
Nell waved her protest aside. “Don’t tell me. I know. Your doves and the snake are part of your stage act. Nat won’t let you neglect them, but he wouldn’t order a servant to do something like that. I think it is quite possible that he likes you.”
“Now that I’m a Trader,” muttered Thalia. The oatmeal was still too hot, so she moved her attention from the toast to the sausages.
“He liked you before he knew you were a Trader,” Nell confided. “Aren’t you going to try those cherries?”
Thalia’s mouth was full, so she simply pushed the bowl across to Nell, who ate one with her fingers.
It was a slow process, for there was a great deal of food, but by the time the clock struck eleven, the plates were as clear as Thalia intended them to get. Hunger dealt with for the moment, Thalia finished her coffee and settled back in her chair. “Thank you. That is so much better.”
Nell gave Thalia a long, measuring look. “Are you ready for the newspapers? Von Faber’s death is filling up the Solitaire papers but in the Trader press, all the headlines are about the manticore.”
Thalia rose from the table. “Show me.”
Nell took Thalia to the music room, where a dozen different newspapers were spread out. Nell had been correct. The manticore dominated the Trader newspapers. Photogravure images of the triumphant Skinner of New York adorned every front page.
“Oh, my.” Nell regarded the likeness of Tycho Aristides with interest. “Don’t you think he has lovely eyes?”
“Yes. Definitely. He also has a lovely knife. That’s what I liked best about him.” Thalia folded the Transformer and reached for the biggest Solitaire newspaper, The Times.
“A keen eye,” Nell said appreciatively, “and a steady hand.”
Von Faber’s murder, The Times proclaimed, was all but solved. David Nutall, the prime suspect, was now under guard at the Sylvestri embassy, the Dakota. The Sylvestri ambassador himself had posted bail, a truly extraordinary sum, and informed the press that Mr. Nutall was a kinsman of his. Mr. Nutall was innocent. He could never have committed such a heinous act. The ambassador’s family had already engaged the best legal representation available for Mr. Nutall. The Sylvestri ambassador would not rest until the truth had been revealed and the actual murderer, whoever that would prove to be, brought to justice.
When Thalia had finished reading that news story, she did not lower the newspaper. She wanted to hide her expression, even though she could not tell exactly what her expression was. She