Nutall a letter.
David Nutall had been Thalia’s mentor long before Thalia’s father had died. Her father had shared a deep friendship with Nutall. On her father’s death, Thalia might well have been left on the streets. Her best fate, as an underaged orphan with no family, would have been an orphanage. Nutall had never even mentioned such a choice.
As far as Nutall was concerned, Thalia had inherited her father’s talent, her father’s props, and Nutall as her stage manager. They had worked hard to create the Lady of the Lake act. Thalia had invented the trick in which she appeared to transform a large stick into a snake, but it was Nutall who had purchased the doves and painstakingly trained them, even as he trained Thalia in how to use them.
By rights, Thalia told herself, she should be onstage this very evening. Nutall should be there with her. It was all Von Faber’s fault that Nutall was in trouble. It was all Von Faber’s fault she was out of work. It was all Von Faber’s fault that he had been so beastly to so many people that the police couldn’t pick the person who had really killed him out of his crowd of enemies. Her anger and her loneliness pushed Thalia close to tears.
It took a little while for Thalia to recover her equilibrium. No telling how many people would read this letter before Nutall did. When she was calm, Thalia dipped the pen in the inkwell and wrote.
Dear Nutall,
I know you are innocent. You would never kill anybody, not even Von Faber.
It turns out that I am a Trader. This disagrees with what Professor Evans said, but as he is only a professor of literature, I suppose I should have known to question his opinion.
It turns out that you are Sylvestri, and you didn’t tell me. I would have liked to know that. But I guess you couldn’t trust me. Did my father know? I’ll bet he did.
I can’t come visit you yet, because I can’t control my Trades. I will learn how to do that as soon as I can. When I see you, you had better be ready to tell me the truth. I want to know why you think I can’t be trusted to know things. Are there any other questions I should ask you? I will make a list.
I wrote to you when I first came to stay with the Rykers but that letter got returned to me. There was a manticore. That’s why I had to move in with the Rykers. The doves are fine. I think the snake is fine too. It is hard to tell.
Sincerely,
Your friend,
Thalia Cutler
When the ink was dry, Thalia folded the sheet of writing paper and put it in an envelope. There was wax to seal it with. Thalia was mildly surprised there was a candle and matches to melt the wax with. She had the impression that people who lived in a nursery were not ordinarily given an easy way to make a fire. Apparently the Rykers trusted her with a box of their matches. Thalia thought it over and decided that when it came to such household items, she must be at least as reliable as Nell.
Thalia simply addressed the envelope to Mr. David Nutall in care of the Dakota, which was the Sylvestri embassy in New York City.
The Dakota were only one of the many tribes in the Federation of First Nations, but they owned the stately building on the west side of Central Park. The Sylvestri among the First Nations had worked together with the Sylvestri of every other ancestry to implement the treaties signed with Solitaires and Traders. The Federation of First Nations controlled much of the western half of the continent, and no one traveled overland without letters of transit issued by the Sylvestri of the First Nations.
Thalia thought about ringing for a servant and trusting that the letter would be sent on her order. Better to find Nell, Thalia decided, and ask her to make sure the letter was sent.
Thalia stepped into the hall and found herself face-to-face with Rogers the butler, who not only held a shotgun but was aiming it at her. As she took in the betrayal, Thalia’s hands went ice cold with pins and needles.
“Just following orders, Miss Cutler. Nothing personal,” said Rogers.
In the fraction of a second that followed, Thalia Traded. As a swan, she threw herself hissing into Rogers’ face, wings beating, doing all she could