Chapter 136 Calla's Rule

Floor twelve settled slowly after the loud Chorus drill, the new printer coughing out a fresh warm page. Nilo sat on the edge of his desk with a towel around his neck, eyes red as coals.

Every few minutes a single tear slid down his cheek, plinking onto the blotter like a dropped coin.

“Chat, day one of the sadness diet, the patient reports zero sadness and a very wet collar,” Pipa whispered to her drone.

“I’m not crying, my face is just leaking in an organized way,” he said, dabbing at his jaw.

Zinnia set a stack of folders down without looking up, “You wept through the Captain’s entire briefing, then sneezed on a map of the harbor.”

“It was a very moving harbor.”

Tilly’s bill for waterproofing the rack arrived by pigeon at dawn, stapled to a sealed envelope of lint. Zinnia pinned it to the corkboard with a tiny fox shaped tack, her mouth twitching at one corner.

From the bandolier a voice like soft rain murmured, “Forgive the dampness, I do not know how to be quieter.”

Every other mask on the rack went politely silent, as if a hush fell over a library.

Nilo pressed two fingers against the leather, “Why do you cry like this, every single time?”

“Someone must weep for the fallen, I would rather it be me than a child,” the Weeper answered, gentle as a lullaby.

“Young man, a gentleman who weeps for his foes has nothing to be ashamed of,” Clangor sniffed, plume drooping.

‘One mask and I leak for a whole fight. Seven more of these and I need a boat.’

Bruno strode through the door balancing a tray of pastries on one palm, horn tips freshly polished. He halted at the sight of Nilo’s face, lowering the tray as if it held an infant.

“A Steelhorn never mocks a wound he cannot see, I merely observe that you resemble a wet kitten,” he announced.

“Thanks, that was almost kind.”

“The pastry is for the kitten, Captain Bellow sent it up with a note that says do not cry in the cream.”

Pipa tapped her drone’s lens with a pencil, “Chat, I am building a waterproof filter for the face of sorrow, vote for the color, I recommend sea foam.”

Zinnia peered at the tiny filter without a flicker of doubt, “Add a second layer for salt, he will weep brine the moment he sees a harbor.”

“Fair, it is a harbor with feelings.”

A draft crept across the room, flickering the lamp by the window though the glass stood shut. From inside the rack Zilch slid out three flat words, quiet as a knife leaving its sheath.

“Someone is here.”

The cold calm dropped over Nilo like a dust sheet, his hand sliding to the bandolier. Zinnia stopped mid step with her ears flat, fingers curling around the hilt of her rapier.

“Behind the filing cabinet, the vent grate has been unscrewed from the inside,” she said quietly.

A violet cloak unfolded from the ceiling vent without a sound, landing on the carpet light as a leaf. Calla Nightshade straightened her scarf, her pale mask tilted toward the room like a silent lantern with no flame.

“Good morning, you leave your vents unlocked,” she said.

Zinnia drew the rapier half out of its scabbard, “They are Bureau property, trespassing in them is a criminal matter.”

“Then arrest me, I would like to see the paperwork.”

Pipa swung her drone around with a squeak, “Chat, there is a ghost in the office, I repeat, a very polite ghost.”

Bruno clutched the pastry tray like a shield, “I demand to know her intentions before she touches the cream,” he declared, his voice cracking on the last word.

“My intentions are simple, I would like to follow you for the length of this hunt.”

Nilo wiped his cheek with the towel, “You were already doing that, you left a violet knot in my coat.”

“I was doing it without permission, now I am asking, which is considerably more annoying for everyone.”

Zinnia slid the rapier home with a click, ears pricking up as she studied the stranger. She wore the stern look of a quartermaster examining an invoice that smelled faintly of fraud.

“The Night Vipers sent you to catch the tailor, you answer to the Vipers, you are not on our payroll.”

“The Vipers want the Collector caught, you want him caught, so we share a ceiling for a while.”

Calla raised one gloved finger, “Rule one you have, rule two, nobody asks to see my face.”

“Nobody asked, you wear a mask.”

“People ask eventually, I am saving everyone the trouble.”

Bruno cleared his throat, “A reasonable rule, a Steelhorn respects any boundary that is polished and consistent.”

“Rule three, nobody asks my name, call me whatever fits the moment, you called me Violet and I have decided to tolerate it.”

“I only said that in my head, how did you hear it?” he asked.

“You said it aloud on the roof, twice, with confidence.”

‘She asked permission to follow me. Nobody has ever asked permission for anything with me, they just show up and take.’

Zinnia’s tail scarf twitched, “Rule four?”

She almost hesitated, the quietest silence of the morning settling over the desks like falling snow. She tilted her head toward Nilo, voice dropping so low that even the drone leaned in.

“Rule four, I will steal small things from you and return them, it helps me think… you may not take it personally.”

“You already took my glove, my button, a dumpling and a pigeon, I’d call that a full-time hobby.”

“It is a slow hobby, I am getting better at it.”

Zinnia folded her arms, her smile thin as a paper cut, “Rule five is mine, nobody steals from him without informing the quartermaster first, a written receipt is customary.”

“Understood, quartermaster, I will leave the receipt inside a dumpling.”

“I do not want it in a dumpling, I want it in writing,” she said, ears going pink.

She flipped open her notebook, writing a fresh heading in neat block letters, then underlined it twice over. Nilo craned his neck to read it, only for her to snap the cover closed against his nose.

“What does the new column say?” he asked, rubbing his nose.

“Things the Violet will steal from you before lunch, it is a short list, but I am an optimist.”

Calla turned back toward the vent, a smile almost showing in the tilt of her mask. Then she spun a small iron key on her fingertip, catching it with a tiny flick.

“Last night I searched the cellars under Silk Row, one strongroom had its lock cut with a silver needle.”

“Was anything taken?” Ganzo rumbled from the doorway, hammer propped on his shoulder.

“Nothing at all, everything inside was tagged and left, as if somebody wanted it counted.”

“Counted for what?” Nilo asked, sniffling into the towel.

“Every drawer carried a Hunter’s name in tailor’s chalk, the newest drawer carried no name at all, only today’s date.”

Cadenza gasped from the rack, “Darling, a drawer waiting for an occupant, how deliciously rude of the furniture.”

Jingles whimpered, “I would like the drawer to stay empty, forever, and ideally in another city.”

Zilch’s flat voice slid through the leather, “He is shopping, not stealing.”

Nilo narrowed his eyes, another tear sliding down the bridge of his nose as he stared at the key. Zinnia snapped her notebook shut, the whole room going very quiet the way it did before a door opened.

“Then the strongroom is our next stop, what else do we know about it?”

“Only that somebody left a thread behind.”

She dropped the key into Nilo’s palm, a single hair of bright silver glinting between its teeth. It was moonsilver, the same cold thread that neatly sealed the brows of all six sleeping Hunters.

‘He stood in a cellar full of masks last night, then walked right past a drowned hall of Great Faces. Why does he still want a hook?’

“We go in daylight, in two groups, nobody touches anything that smiles,” Ganzo decided, rapping his knuckles on the doorframe.

“And if the thread leads to a Guild door?” Zinnia asked.

“Then we knock politely and I bring a pun.”

Calla slipped toward the vent, tucking something small into Nilo’s breast pocket on her way past. When he checked, it was a handkerchief embroidered with one violet thread, smelling faintly of lavender.

“For the tears, it is clean, I took it from a rich man,” she said.

“Does the rich man want it back?” he called after her.

“He will never know it was gone, which is the best way to steal.”

The vent grate screwed itself back into the ceiling behind her with one tiny satisfied click. Nilo held the handkerchief against his face, letting the last tear soak into the soft cotton.

“That is the first rule of the Violet, I think… never be seen using the door,” Jingles whispered, bells tinkling.

Zinnia plucked the handkerchief from his fingers, holding it up to the window like a forged banknote.

“The stitching is flawless, the thread is real violet silk, I dislike how much I admire it,” she muttered darkly.

He tucked it back into his coat, “Keep it, I cry on weekdays, weekends are optional.”

“Chat, he has a sponsor, the sponsor is a ghost, I am so proud.”

“Rule six is mine, nobody leaves a mess on my printer,” Pipa chirped, hugging the machine.

The printer chose that moment to cough out a second warm page, Zinnia snatching it before anyone else could reach. Her eyes widened as she read, then she turned the paper around so everyone could see the red Bureau seal.

“This is from Director Crown, the thread has been matched to a sealed vault in the Rhino quarter,” she said.

Bruno froze with a pastry halfway to his mouth, “That vault belongs to my fath—”