old blind netter anyhow?”
“I heard you were with the fisherman who found that body….”
“I’ll be ninety-eight next Tuesday, my girl. There have been a lot of bodies in my life. You’ll need to be more specific.”
“Eulalie Thaumas. The Duke’s daughter.”
He lowered the needle. “Ah. Her. Terrible business.”
“Did your friend—Billups—think there was anything unusual about it?”
“It’s not very usual to see pretty young ladies falling from cliffs, is it? Is that what you mean?”
I sank down on the bench beside him. “So you believe it was an accident?”
Ekher raised two gnarled fingers toward his chest, as if warding off bad spirits. “What else would it be? She wouldn’t have jumped. We saw the locket.”
“Locket?” I echoed. I’d never seen Eulalie with a locket.
He nodded. “Chain was smashed to bits, but we could still make out the inscription.”
Before I could ask more, he stiffened and grabbed my hand in his. His fingers dug into my palm, and I cried out in surprise and pain. His grasp was too strong to jerk away from.
“Something’s coming.” His voice rasped, hoarse with panic.
I raised my other hand to my eyes, shielding out the bright sunlight. The wharf bustled along with its usual rhythms and sounds. Gulls screeched overhead, plotting to filch bits of chum from unsuspecting fishermen. Captains shouted at dockhands, issuing orders and sometimes curses as the wayward lads struggled through headaches undoubtedly the result of a wild time at the tavern the night before.
“I don’t see anything.”
His grip tightened; he was clearly frightened. “Can’t you feel it?”
“What?”
“Stars. Falling stars.”
I cast a dubious glance overhead at the morning sky, colored deep peach and amber. Not even Versia’s Diadem—the brightest of all constellations, named after the Night Queen—was visible.
“What happened to the locket?” I asked, trying to turn his attention to the matter at hand and away from unseen stars. “Did you bring it back with the body?”
He fixed his milky eyes on me, clearly affronted. “I’m no thief.”
I thought back to Eulalie’s funeral, remembering that horrible necklace she’d had on. It was the only time I’d ever seen her wear it. Had that been the locket?
I let out a sigh of frustration. The funeral was over two weeks ago. Her coffin had undoubtedly split open by now, returning Eulalie to the Salt, necklace and all.
“Do you remember what was written on it?”
Ekher nodded. “Billups read it out loud. Brought a tear to both our eyes.” He cleared his throat as if preparing to recite a poem. “ ‘I dwelt alone / In a world of moan, / And my soul was a stagnant tide, / Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride.’ ”
My mouth dropped open. “Bride? Eulalie wasn’t a bride.”
He shrugged, stabbing the needle back into the cording. Ekher missed his mark, and the curved metal sank into the pad of his wizened thumb. He didn’t seem to feel it. The dark blood stained the indigo net black.
“You’re hurt.”
His mood shifted abruptly again as the blood welled up and he rubbed his fingers together. “Get away from me before I lose the whole finger, you daft girl!” He wrinkled his nose and spat.
I jumped away from Ekher and raced down the docks, but I kept looking back as he shouted curses at me. I’d never seen someone’s moods turn so quickly. Had so many years in the sun addled his mind? As I cast one look back toward him, I bumped into someone and nearly fell over my feet.
“I’m so terribly sorry,” I exclaimed, reaching out for balance. The rising sun was directly behind the stranger, casting around him a brilliant corona that blinded me. Spots, dark blue and white-hot, danced before my eyes.
Like the old man’s stars.
“I believe this is yours?” he said, stepping closer, arm outstretched. Shaded from the sun’s glare, I made out friendly blue eyes staring down with concern.
I felt completely dwarfed by him, barely coming to his shoulders. My eyes lingered on their broad expanse for a moment longer than was entirely proper. He must be a sea captain, I thought, sensing the muscles beneath his fine wool jacket. It wasn’t hard to picture him raising a heavy sail, one hoist at a time.
His hair was unfashionably long, the dark curls stopping just shy of his jawline. One curl brushed the corner of his mouth, caught on a passing breeze, and I had a sudden and thoroughly horrifying desire to push it aside, just to feel its softness.
He cleared his throat, and my cheeks