That accusation is something I won’t let pass. “I went to visit our master where he languishes in prison!”
“While I’m trying to hold his life’s work together with no help from you!” he bellows.
“People are dying, Remi!” I shout back. “People I care about! I have to do something to stop it!”
I realize what I’ve said. Both my hands clap over my mouth, but it’s too late.
Remi raises his eyebrows. “You’re right about people dying.”
Agony swells inside my chest, and I struggle to hold it in.
He leans down to put his eyes level with mine and twists the knife of guilt in my stomach. “As for the people you care about, I think it’s obvious the killer chose them for exactly that reason, including framing the magister for their deaths.”
My knees give out, and I land in a heap of soggy skirt. “Remi, please!” I sob into my hands as he stands over me. “You have to know I never meant for any of this to happen. I only thought of protecting Magister Thomas!”
Remi had defended me only two nights ago, but not now.
“Soup and apologies are no good to him, Cat,” he says coldly. “He needed youhere, doing what you were hired to do.” Remi chokes. “Ineeded you here.”
I have no answer, and he doesn’t wait for one. Remi pivots away and stalks back to the stairs, disappearing from view at the same time as the sun.
I stay where I collapsed long after Remi leaves. The rain begins again and falls on me through the open arches, but I don’t move.
Bells in the facade tower call the brothers to midnight liturgy,and soon after their haunting chants echo out of the broken windows below. When the voices finally die away, the altum leads them back to bed. Two sets of footsteps walk through the Sanctum, sandals crunching over debris as they secure the doors for the night. Then they, too, are gone.
At last, I am completely alone, as I should be. Even the moon refuses my company, hiding behind thick clouds.
How had I let this happen? I’ve spent the last hours mentally climbing over and under and through the scaffolding which collapsed, trying to find the place I neglected. I’d done the work in a hurry, yes, but I’d found areas that needed to be addressed. Two were enough of a concern that I didn’t sign Remi’s sketch until they were fixed. I had been swift, but thorough. Or so I’d believed.
I need to understand where my mistake was. Joints and muscles scream as I lurch to my feet, and I’m nearly overcome by dizziness. When was the last time I ate? Bread rolls and cups of water had been passed around while we were searching, but I’d barely managed to eat one. Other than that, I’d choked down half a bowl of porridge this morning, and almost nothing yesterday. It’s a miracle I can stand.
Despite that, I’m not leaving until I have answers. Without moonlight, I can barely see, but I have the moonstone in my pocket. I pull out the pouch and open it, finding the bag has a dividing part between the two stones to keep them separated. Carefully, I pour the one I want out into my palm, and it glows faintly, but my senses barely increase. Athene had warned me it was almost spent.
Still, I can see a little better. I limp across the tower and down the spiral stairs Remi had dragged me up so many hours ago. My sight is weak enough that I borrow a branch of candles burning near the altar as I pass. The Sun won’t begrudge them,and the altum doesn’t need to know. Even with the extra light, I can’t see how the scaffolding above is damaged, so I start with what’s below.
According to Remi, the center of everything was the wooden wheel, and I begin there, visualizing how it was secured to the beam above. A few of the thick supports that had braced the roof itself lie about, one of the many reasons Remi dreads tomorrow. The impact of falling nearly a hundred feet caused fractures along their lengths, meaning they can’t be reused. They came from forests many hundreds of miles away, and replacing them will be costly in both time and money.
Spots bare of pitch tell me where beams leaned against each other at angles. Here they are cleanly sheared away, almost like they were cut. Not in every place—some are splintered as I expect. It’s hard to judge what something this big breaking apart should look like, especially in the dark, but it feels wrong. Too many things had to have failed for this much damage.
Those parts were the last to fall, however. The critical weakness had to be in the scaffolding that extended up and inward from the wall, but nothing is lying on the ground in a place which tells me where it came from. Stones and lumber were thrown aside in the search for those buried underneath. I have to study the angles of pieces still attached to others for clues as to their position. Several poles and beams are split partially or completely, but it’s impossible to see if any of those cracks existed before the collapse or happened during it—or as they landed.
After over an hour, I’ve found nothing that explains what occurred.
Clutching the moonstone, I sink to my knees next to a pile of rubble and look up to the black cavernous roof above, letting tears stream back into my hair. How did the master architectmanage to continue after such a failure? I want to climb up to the highest point and let myself fall back down. A fitting end. What I deserve.
No. I close my eyes and rest my hands on my lap. That would kill Magister Thomas to hear. I can’t do that to him. And if he can bear the weight of his past mistakes, so can I.
I will stand up and walk out of here as I did yesterday morning in the prison. That’s what he would want.
Shaking from fatigue and hunger, I tuck the moonstone into its pouch and force myself back up to my feet, then bend over to pick up the branch of candles which are almost burned down. Something sticking out from under a pile of debris catches my eye. It looks like pitch-covered rope… or hair. Lunging forward, I fling several stones away, thinking I’ve found another person, but it soon becomes obvious that’s not the case. A long braid is wound around a piece of wood more than once, like it was tied to it.
I hold the candles overhead with my left hand as I unwind the braid with my right until I have a length over three feet long of smooth, black hair.
Marguerite’s hair.
A message. Left here to be found.
I don’t know how the killer managed it, but the destruction around me isn’t my doing.
It’s his.