Aidan Doyle: Mr. Nine and the Gentleman Ghost

Elisabeth gave her invitation to the valet and received a gilt-edged program in return. It welcomed her to the Bearbrass Gentle Ladies Society Monthly Ball. The valet glanced at Elisabeth’s satchel and then escorted her into the ballroom.

Bearbrass had been a sleepy colonial outpost until gold was discovered in the nearby hills. Within three years, it had been transformed into the largest city in all of the colonies. Elisabeth did not think of this as necessarily an improvement.

A dozen chandeliers clung to the ceiling and paintings imported from the empire competed for space on the walls. An orchestra of more than twenty musicians waited on the stage at the far end of the room.

Mrs. Rittiker, the president of the Bearbrass Gentle Ladies Society, greeted Elisabeth at the entrance. She was a short, stout woman in her early fifties and wore a purple chiffon gown with a plunging neckline. “You’ve come without a chaperone again,” she said. “If I were half the gentle lady I pretend to be, I would be thoroughly scandalized.”

Elisabeth laughed. Although ostensibly the Gentle Ladies Society served as an organizer of social functions, the society’s inner council was devoted to recovering the lost knowledge of the ancient gentle ladies. She had known Mrs. Rittiker all of her life. She handed over the satchel. “Fresh from the book mines.”

Mrs. Rittiker opened the bag and took out a book. She brushed a speck of dirt from the cover and smiled when she read the title: The Gentle Ladies’ Guide to Midnight Apparitions. “No one has your talent for finding books, Elisabeth.”

She replaced the book in the satchel and handed it to a servant. “Take this to my carriage.” She took Elisabeth by the hand. “There are some handsome young men waiting to see you.” Mrs. Rittiker led her over to the other guests and a dozen young men formed a line in front of her.

Elisabeth suppressed a sigh. The only reason she came to the balls was to meet Bertie, and he was always irritatingly late.

“This is Horatio Lightfellow,” Mrs. Rittiker said. “He arrived on this morning’s zeppelin from the empire.”

“Charmed to meet you,” Lightfellow said. “At some point in the evening I would be most happy to inform you of the latest fashions in the capital.” His gaze strayed to Elisabeth’s hair. She had been born with hair made from gold.

Aidan Doyle: Ghost River Red

Akamiko arrived three days before the anniversary of the Lady of All Colors’ death. The village held a small market filled with stalls selling fish and vegetables, and a bathhouse stood by the river. It was hard to imagine the Lady of All Colors growing up here.

It was still too early to perform the ceremony, but Akamiko wanted to make sure she could find the grave. She started along the path leading to the village’s hilltop cemetery. She had only taken a few steps when a chill wrapped itself around her. The sun was strong in the sky, but the air grew cold enough that she could see her breath. She drew her red sword, but the chill did not dissipate. Specks of ice appeared at the tip of her blade and she backed away in surprise. The cold air did not relinquish its grasp until she left the path.

She had to learn what was wrong with the cemetery.

The younger villagers would still be at work in the fields. The bathhouse would give Akamiko a chance to talk to some of the village’s seniors. Secrets were harder to hide when you were naked.

Some villages had mixed bathing, but she was pleased this one had separate baths. She unstrapped the wooden frame she carried on her back. It held her seven swords and the urn with the Lady of All Colors’ ashes. She missed her full palette, but swordwriters were permitted to travel with at most seven swords. Red, green, blue, yellow, purple, orange, and white. Even swordwriters needed special permission to travel with a black blade.

A young attendant helped her store the swords and frame. She gave the girl double the fee. “Take good care of my swords,” she instructed.

The girl hesitated and then asked, “Are you a swordwriter?”