hairline crack between its toes.â Parrish sat on a low couch, mashing more date for the galago. It nibbled, wide-eyed, seeming every bit as enchanted with her first mate as everyone else.
âItâs not magic, is it, Parrish?â
âPardon?â
âYour stunning good looks.â
âNo, Iâm not scripped.â He stroked the creature behind its ear. So young: she felt her doubts about him swelling. Could she hand her ship and the safety of her people over to a boy? âThe crackâs small, but it will spread. And hereâs another.â
âLiving beings arenât meant to be turned to glass. Does that surprise you?â She paged through the report. âThis is all happening as the Convene debates whether Patents needs to be more heavily regulated.â
âIf magical inscriptions can simply go missing, maybe they do need more regulation.â
âDonât be naïve, Parrishâthe issue might be debatable, but the situation with the glass woman has been contrived to force the vote.â
âUnderstood.â The galago had apparently eaten enough: it was playing with Parrishâs buttons. âWho benefits from more rules?â
She flipped pages. âAnyone with a body of well-established spells and a fat treasury. Patents is already a difficult and expensive process. Increased regulation will make it harder on small suppliers and innovators.â
âSays Kir Gracechild?â
âDo you have another expert in your pocket?â Gale said.
âI meant no disrespect.â
âBut you dislike politicians on principle.â Sheâd figured out that much about him.
âYouâd like me to withhold judgment until I meet her?â
âSeems fair, doesnât it?â
The concession was good-natured. âYes.â
âNella says this particular wrangle will pit big island interests against little ones, hurting those still working to build up their magical economies.â
âShe wants you to find the inscription?â
âIâd say itâs the obvious place to start.â
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
After Parrish had caged the galago for the beleaguered secretary, they went to have a nose around the Patents office. They had barely left when Gale saw they were being followed.
âThisâd be your fault, Parrish.â She pointed out their shadow.
He smiledâhe knew she wasnât serious. âWhat do you want to do?â
âShe canât follow us both. Iâll loop to starboard, pretend Iâm off to check on the Convene. How about you find some excuse to loiter up there, by the Virtue of Cooperation?â She indicated the statue with the barest flick of an eyebrow. âIâll come up behind her.â
âWhat if she goes after you?â
âSame game, different leader.â
He nodded assentâreluctantly, she thought.
âRelax, cub, nobodyâs going to be knives-out on Constitution .â With a servantâs bow, she peeled off.
She knew what was eating at Parrish. The reason her parents had Gale scripped as unmemorable in the first place was that prophets, back home, had predicted she would one day be murdered.
But the person skulking along after them was no killer. Her relaxed posture said civilian: her coat was expensive but tattered. She had no idea Gale had fallen behind.
Constitution âs decks were busy; Gale bulled her way through the throng as Parrish paused to study the statue.
The stranger reached into her coat, striding to catch up. Like that, Parrish caught her by the wrist.
âCareful, Kir,â he said.
âSteady, beautifulâI just want to show you my press tag.â She pulled it out, a thin curl of mother of pearl, cut into a stylized horn.
âLangda Pyke,â Gale read. âFrom Foghorn , no less. Well, Langda, this is a novelty, if not an honor. What is it you hoped to glean by following us?â
She