A Sliver of Stardust by Marissa Burt Page A

Mary.
    Wren glanced behind her and saw that clusters of people were gathering in their wake, whispering and not bothering to hide scornful looks.
    â€œFiddlers,” Mary said over her shoulder, “as you can tell, are a very diverse group of people.”
    â€œWho obviously aren’t pleased to see us,” Wren said as she passed an ordinary-looking woman who was carrying a crate full of lab rats. “What are they all doing here anyway?”
    â€œSome live here. Even those who make their homes elsewhere return to the Crooked House for research materials. All come to uncover old rhymes, debate hypotheses, hone their craft, and spy on one another. Everything is about power here. Assume that no one is trustworthy, and you’ll be fine. Better yet, don’t assume anything. Stick close to me, and keep your mouth shut.That goes for you too, Simon,” Mary said.
    Simon had fallen behind, where he stood examining some kind of fungus growing on the rock wall and making vigorous notations in his book.
    â€œKeep your wits about you, and don’t you dare ask questions, even to satisfy your curiosity,” Mary continued with a pointed look. “Draw no unnecessary attention to yourselves.”
    They followed Mary onto a bridge that appeared to be floating on a cloudy pool of turquoise water. On the other side, soft waves lapped the edges. A man with his nose buried in a book shuffled past, bumping into Simon and somehow navigating the bridge without looking up. He seemed to be the only one who hadn’t noticed their entrance. Everyone else trailed behind at a safe distance until Wren had the eerie feeling that they were foremost in a bizarre parade.
    Wren looked across the water to see a girl a little older than she wearing an apprentice cloak. When the girl saw Wren noticing her, she ducked her head and hurried onward, moving from green door to green door, depositing something in front of each. Soon, she disappeared from view, making her way into the farther reaches of the cavern.
    After the bridge came a large circular room that had once opened to the outside. Now, the opening was covered with glass, letting in a panoramic view of the bejeweled night sky and the distant waves below. On either side, the sloped cavern walls rose gently, stretching up into a natural amphitheater with rows of seating.
    Opposite the window, four figures sat on throne-like seats carved into the rock wall. As Mary led them onward, one figure rose, holding out a hand.
    â€œOf course it would have to be her,” Mary said with a formal little bow for the woman who beckoned to them. She turned to Wren and the others as they crossed the amphitheater. “Say nothing.”
    â€œWe got it. No questions. No talking. Blah, blah, blah,” Jack said, with a half grin for Wren.
    â€œWell, remember it,” Mary snapped. “Keep your head bowed and eyes on the floor.” And then they were standing before the group of important-looking Fiddlers.
    â€œMary,” the woman said. “You are not welcome here.”

ELEVEN
    Rain, rain go away.
    Come again another day,
    When the Fiddler dares to play.
    W ren had no difficulty following Mary’s advice. From the moment they had entered the Council Chamber, she could tell that Mary hadn’t exaggerated. The Crooked House indeed seemed to be a tricky place, and the woman who had first unwelcomed them seemed to have a special antipathy for Mary, taking the past quarter of an hour to complain about Mary’s character and demanding that the other members of the Council throw them all out. The Fiddlers who had followed them in hovered on the fringes, providing an audience for a most unpleasant performance.
    â€œMary gave up her place on the Council long ago,”the hostile woman was saying, “and I am Mistress of Apprentices now.” Her profile was all points—from the tip of her nose to the jutting chin and bony arms folded across her front.