The Crimson Shard Read Free Page A

rack of long-stemmed pipes on a mantelpiece.
    They climbed up the last flight of stairs to the top of the house, winding around toward a small landing below a ceiling painted with blue sky and clouds. There were only two rooms on this floor. One was a small bedroom for servants, plainly decorated and of little interest.
    Throgmorton swept them into the other, larger room. “The Cabinet of Curiosities,” he announced. “Jeremiah Starling’s workshop.”
    Starling had made this room into an airy space with windows spilling light onto the wooden floors, neatly organized worktables, and chairs. There was another paneled door, similar to the one they’d come through, that looked as if it connected to the servants’ bedroom next door. But when Sunni got closer to it, she smiled to herself. Jeremiah Starling had managed to fool her again — the door was another
trompe l’oeil
painted onto the wall.
    The shelves and showcases that lined the workshop’s walls were filled with open drawers of artifacts and relics, leather albums and inlaid boxes. There were conch shells and cowries, pieces of amber, feathers and tiny skeletons. Stuffed birds stood on top of the cupboards, their glass eyes gazing into the distance.
    On every bit of available wall space hung small framed paintings of landscapes, animals, and people at their everyday business.
    Otherwise, the ceiling and walls were covered with neatly pinned animal specimens. Starfish, crabs, snakeskins, small sharks, dried scorpions, and lizards formed an orderly pattern over their heads. In the center, suspended upside down from the ceiling, was a large stuffed crocodile.
    But none were real. They were all painted, every last one.
    The only sunlight came from two small windows — the other four were illusions, delivering a bright sky that never changed, whatever the weather.
    “Look how Jeremiah Starling painted those dragonfly wings, Sunni,” Blaise said, examining a case of insects. “How long do you think it took him to do all those little facets?”
    “Hours and hours,” said Sunni. “I wonder which blue he used to get that blue-green.”
    “Cobalt maybe? Did they use cobalt back then? We’ll have to ask Mr. Bell when we get back to Braeside,” Blaise said, mentioning their favorite art teacher. “Boy, he’d love this house. . . .”
    “Blaise.” Livia seated herself on a chair and struck a demure attitude. “Work a bit more on my portrait.”
    All Sunni could think was how much Livia looked like a sickly sweet china figurine from some stuffy museum collection.
    Blaise whirled around. “That’s a great pose. How long can you hold it?”
    “As long as you wish.” Livia’s eyes flicked toward Sunni, who made a point of studying other painted specimens nearby while taking deep breaths to calm herself down.
    Suddenly her phone let off a loud burst of drums and guitars. Sunni dragged it out of her bag and answered in a low voice. It was her stepmom, Rhona, worrying about something and wanting to know exactly when Sunni would be back in Braeside the next day.
    Throgmorton loomed next to her. “Please take your device outdoors. This is a quiet house.” He guided her to the landing. “My apologies. I should have made that clear before.”
    “I have to go all the way outside?”
    “Yes, please.” Throgmorton rested both hands on the banister and waited there till she was downstairs.
    “Who were you talking to?” Rhona’s voice buzzed in her ear.
    “A tour guide in a museum. I have to go outside to talk on the phone.”
    “I’ve never heard that rule before — what museum are you in?”
    Sunni muttered, “You wouldn’t know it. And it doesn’t matter anyway because we’re leaving soon. If I can tear Blaise away, that is.”
    “How is he?”
    “Fine.”
    “Is Mr. Doran with you?”
    “No, we’re meeting him in a while.” Sunni kicked off the felt slippers, opened the big main door, and wedged one in it so she could get back inside. She felt