18 — Everything to Lose“Not worthy of your consideration!” Jonathan shouted as he began to tear the murder board from the wall in a fit of exasperation. “An improper interpretation of your delegated duties and a critical waste of resources at your disposal!”

  It seemed our investigation would be cut short. I dared ask, “So, they’re handing it to the police? Who’s the delegate in charge of that?”

  “Beckett,” Jonathan said in a growl, with little red pins flying all over the room as he sloppily tore pages from the corkboard. “He won’t let me or my entourage near Daelus’ estate. Police are crawling all over the pce. I poked around as best I could. They’re all entourage, and they’re just guarding. An investigation like that would require an actual human inspector, it’s work for a detective!”

  I felt as distraught as Johnathan, but my feelings were muted. I was, after all, alive. I was free of my delegated duties. I was my own self, with a possibly bright future ahead. Was it so wrong that the previous chapter of my life would be left as a loose end?

  Still, this was important to Johnathan, He would be inconsoble if we simply dropped it. “You could talk with Jossimer,” I reasoned aloud.

  “Already did. He signed off on it. His say is final, as ndlord. They’ll cordon the pce off. Worse, I imagine as soon as Daelus’ repcement arrives, the estate will go to whoever that is.”

  “Uh,” I began with hesitation. “That apparently has already happened.”

  Jossimer froze midway through tearing more from the wall, and turned to look at me, eyes bright behind his little nose–pinching gsses. “They didn’t inform me—”

  “The new curator of the museum has already been installed. I haven’t met him. I wasn’t even given his name. We were all sacked. The entire staff of the museum. I couldn’t even get into my office to clear it out.”

  “But you could break in,” Jonathan began, life coming back to his eyes, “You know that building better than anyone.”

  “And do what? I already have the artifact and the journal with the transcription. I already have all of the paperwork reted to Carmichael’s expedition safely in my studio. What more do I need from that pce?”

  “Sheam!” Jonathan shouted, suddenly on his knees in front of where I sat, grabbing my hands. “The speed of it! Doesn’t that arm you?”

  “Yup,” I said with a pop. “Don’t worry, dear friend, we’re aligned in our thinking.” We didn’t need to say it at all. It really looked like the delegation itself was behind the killing, not a rogue element. It may have been even ordered by the Benefactors themselves.

  In a fury Johnathan began collecting the pages from the floor, and then dropped them again, arranging and grouping them, eyes darting from one corner of the mess to the other.

  “I’m losing the studio,” I then decred, ruining the new vibe.

  “The studio?” Jonathan said, jolting up to look at me, his mind a million miles away.

  “My one room ft? My home?” I said, realizing that someone of his social css may be unfamiliar with the terminology. “I was fired today, Jonathan. Also, I am not Daelus anymore. I have no access to the archive of wealth the delegation provided for him. I have a few weeks before rent is due, and I have no money. Zero.”

  “I’ll scrape together some leads,” Jonathan said immediately, moving from the mess on the floor to his desk. “My network of contacts is vast. I will put it to good use, actually helping someone, for once in my life.”

  I tilted my head, puzzled. “Wait, to find me a new job?” I said.

  He nodded. “And a new pce to live. I’d offer to let you stay here but I worry that you being too closely connected to me would raise suspicion.”

  I felt a little warmth growing inside of me. It was kind of him. “Thank you. That will take a lot of worry off my shoulders.”

  He nodded and fshed me a grand smile. “For you, my dear friend, I’d move mountains.”

  My mind suddenly freed from such concerns, I reached into my bag and pulled out the journal and artifact. “We need to find a safe pce for this,” I said. “Not here, I guess. Do you think we can trust Grégoire?” I knew the answer before I even asked the question.

  Jonathan got up from his desk, and looked over the catastrophe of pages, pins, and red strings all over the floor and what remained of it on the corkboard. “No, and not anyone else. Not a single delegate can be trusted. Even if they weren’t directly involved, their loyalty is to the Benefactors.” The unspoken new reality hung in the air. Jonathan’s loyalty to all of that was now as good as dust.

  “Okay, for my safekeeping then,” I said, eyes moving to the two objects in my hand, mysterious, important, and apparently dangerous. I resolved then and there to continue my work cleaning and transcribing it. We were already half done. Maybe when I had the full text, it would shed some light on this whole thing.

  Jonathan found Grégoire’s image, and pinned it back to the wall. “He knows you have Randall’s journal. Is it safe as well?” The word JOURNAL was quickly written in big blocky lettering next to the portrait, with a string connecting the two.

  I nodded. “It’s right here,” I said, producing it from my bag. “I always keep it with me. But Johnathan, if they knew I was Daelus’ entourage, they would have gone for me at the museum. There were police there too. They all got a good look at me. I think that’s a dead end.”

  He nodded, thinking, and silently pinned a sketch of Randall and Jaegré nearby, though he hesitated on the pcement of the red string between the three.

  I watched for a good thirty minutes as Jonathan continued to work. He pinned up an image of Delphiné, a vish illustration, no doubt a print of a piece she had commissioned herself. Jonathan scrawled MISSING next to her and attached a red string from her head to the word ARTIFACT.

  Kaite also had to be considered. She was, after all, the delegation’s assassin. She didn’t work for hire; she only handled official delegation business. If this killing was officially sanctioned by the Benefactors, we may be able to learn something from her.

  In a fsh, Jonathan connected a string from Grégoire’s portrait to the word ARTIFACT as well. “Well, look at this,” Jonathan said.

  I sighed. “I already thought of that. Yes, he knows I had access to both items. So do you. Why aren’t you on the board then?”

  “No need to protect him, dear Sheam, I know he was also a frie—”

  “It’s not that, it’s just, let’s not jump to conclusions, okay? I don’t want our search for answers about this to cause trouble for anyone it doesn’t need to.”

  “Goodness, Sheam, there’s been a murder! Our own organization is undoubtedly behind it! Some trouble must be made!”

  “And if it gets linked from you back to me, what then? I’m a stranger here. I have you, yes, but everyone else I know is a delegate, and is now a potential enemy. I am broke. Very soon I may have no home. I need to catch my breath, regain my footing, before I put everything at risk to solve a murder that was very likely orchestrated by the most powerful organization in the entire world.”

  “But Sheam, it means you have nothing to lose! What better time to strike back!”

  “I have,” I said, putting both hands on my chest, "everything to lose. In this moment I have more to lose than I ever had in my life. I have never been less anxious to risk throwing away what I have.”

  He slowed down. “I understand. Yes, I am sorry, I think I understand. This is very different for me and you. You are just starting this brand new life for yourself.” He looked at the still scattered and unfinished murder board a moment longer, and returned to his desk. “I think I know a few merchants who could use an assistant,” he said to me over his shoulder.

  I let out a long breath. I was ready to let go, just for the time being, but I wasn’t sure that Johnathan was. Maybe he wanted justice, maybe revenge.

  All I wanted, in that moment, was a bit of safety, a bit of stability; ironically, everything the Benefactors cimed to be here to provide.