Chapter Eighteen - Humbert Savings

Humbert Savings had something of a baroque design to it, which was out of character with the rest of Traverse, which had been designed for mostly functional reasons, leaving the art to complement the work that was needed rather than to accommodate the art. It left many citizens wearied, made life a little harder to appreciate, and they could never quite say why. Of all the buildings in the city, Humbert most defined it, because it stood out. Like so many other such touchstones, its anomalous status made it the recognizable heart, the most easily identified aspect of Traverse. It gave the city its very identity. Designed in the late nineteenth century by Phillip Hillier, an architect of otherwise obscurity, it had not been erected to general acclaim, and in fact took over a decade to construct because of the continued protests of disgruntled men, some of whom had an obvious vested interest, to avoid losing their own building's status, and others who had only pride to lose, because they'd never thought of it. There were delays of every kind, and even Mother Nature became involved a few times. Mysterious accidents that continually plagued the workers were not so natural. Hillier himself would have abandoned the project if not for the support of William Tekamthi, though no one knew that at the time. It might have been Tekamthi's first gift to the city, and perhaps his greatest, and most facile.

Cotton and Balthazar stood before it, taken in by its obscure grandeur. Balthazar had seen Humbert so many times that seeing it again through Cotton's eyes was a revelation. It was an irony that such a day would finally allow him this, although he could remember a time, long ago, when he'd appreciated it for what it was and not what was held within. He wished he could have said that time was innocent, but he'd never been innocent, not under Boy Benjamin.

"She's up there," Balthazar said. In truth, it was not even the size of the building, the number of floors that gave it that glow. There were only a handful of them.

"You can do this?" Cotton asked.

"Yes," Balthazar said.

Both continued their vigil, as if they had approached a shrine. "Earlier you said that there was treasure everywhere," Cotton said.

"It's a magical world, Cotton," Balthazar said. "Don't you get that from this place? It's a magical world. We're here to explore it. Yes, there's danger, but there's danger to everything. We can't be afraid of that. If my life has proven anything to me, it's that we can't be afraid of it. Maybe I've made mistakes, maybe I've been too comfortable, but I can't deny what I've gained. I think only a fool does that."

"You don't need teachers," Cotton said. "You need peers."

"I have to go," Balthazar said. "Don't I?"

"We're all going somewhere," Cotton said. "You've been blessed to know where you are. Yes. You have to go."

Hillier died in the early twentieth century, having already been an old man when he conceived Humbert Savings, a crowning accomplishment in a forgotten career. Humbert had been a dear friend, a champion of the city in an earlier lifetime. That his memory would live on, in some way, had always been a comfort for Hillier, who did no care for such a thing for himself, though of course he received it. Such was the way it usually happened. In his later years, Hillier became a recluse, embittered by the coldness of the world. He thought he would find warmth. Instead, he wasted away. Humbert Savings was his last design, his last work. He spent his remaining time reading his friend's memoir, and never composed one of his own.

Balthazar and Cotton entered the building, saw the busy throngs accessing their funds in their various ways, absorbed in their own daily concerns. Balthazar noticed, with regret, that he would not have to seek out Amelia Delphi. She presently stood chatting with a client in the lobby, her professional attitude stinging his perspective. How could she be so calm, so ordinary?

"I expected a struggle," he said.

"People expect many things," Cotton said, "just not what usually happens. The truth is too ordinary to imagine. We crave excitement. I've been here before myself. When I was very young. I think my father wanted to exchange some Canadian bills, which I didn't understand at the time. I saved what I could. He never knew. The craftsmanship impressed me then, too."

"I collect coins, too," Balthazar said.

"Yeah, I do that, too," Cotton said.

"Oh," Balthazar said. "I thought you meant..."

"Yeah, we like to read into things," Cotton said. "I think she's about done."

"I was afraid of that," Balthazar said. "And before you say anything, it's just an expression. I can do this."

Still, he took his time doing so. Delphi finished her farewell with the client and was about to turn around, likely to return to her office, when Balthazar finally made up his mind.

"You seem different," she said, noticing him.

"Oh? Oh," Balthazar said. "No, not different.

"Nothing very different here," Cotton said.

"Still," Delphi said. "Well, I suppose we should talk, right?"

"That would probably be a good thing," Balthazar said.

"Let's do that," Cotton said.

"In my office," Delphi said.

"Sure," Balthazar said.

"Why not," Cotton said. So they made their way. The elevator ride was held in silence.

When they arrived, it became clear that Delphi had been waiting to speak. "Roy says hello. He wonders why you haven't called him recently. It's not like you. Roy's hurt. Did you do it on purpose?"

"I was a little busy," Balthazar said.

"Routine shouldn't become a routine," Cotton said.

"That's a funny thing to say," Delphi said. They entered her office, which looked a little more sparse than usual. It might have been Balthazar's frame of mind. "So what brings you here? How did your meeting with the Dread Poet go? Did you find Colinaude?"

"That's a funny thing to say," Balthazar said.

"I'm right here," Cotton said.

"Right, so there you are," Delphi said. Some of her friends called her Sarah. "Like I said, you seem different."

"I've gone through a lot in the past few days," Balthazar said.

"If you don't mind my saying, you seem different, too," Cotton said. "Tell me I'm not imagining it."

"You've found out," Delphi said. "You came here to confront me. What do you think I've done?"

Hillier left behind no pupils, no grieving partners, even ones he might have split from in earlier days. Certainly he had worked with others, in consultation and cooperative efforts, but he had never found someone he would have considered equal enough to his self-assumed genius, unless you counted Tekamthi, but Tekamthi had other interests, and no particular leaning toward architecture in the structural sense as a career. Hillier had believed Tekamthi could have made a splendid one if he’d so chosen, and that he hadn’t was a regret. Lord knew that Hillier had tried to persuade him, so many times. It had almost become a second career. A far more difficult one. Instead, he’d left no heir, and very few reminders of his work. The Humbert lasted, but his name did not. In fact, Humbert himself seemed to have more lasting impact, both from that memoir and his never-ending fame as the hero known as Sidewinder, which the memoir detailed his retirement from. If Hillier had another regret, it was that the Sidewinder’s full story, of which he had played no small part, would never be told. His problem had a name and it was Ego.

***

Delphi sat in her seat, content with her day’s accomplishments. A few hours ago, she had been revisited with ghosts she would rather have forgotten. She had no desire to think about them, so consequently it was all she could do. And they were ghosts, too, ghosts from the past, and present as well. She had no reason to be proud of the things she had done, but she had done them to secure her future, when nothing seemed wrong and everything appeared to be within her grasp. Yes, she was young, but she had dropped out of school too soon, and had been forced to grow up quickly in compensation. At the time it seemed like the right thing to do. Then she learned what kind of life, what kind of compromises she would have to face from that decision. If only she had seen them as compromises at the start. Well, she was no longer so naïve. Instead, she had found her confidence. She was no longer afraid to admit and own up to her failings, because they no longer frightened her.

When she had been first approached by him, Delphi had been taken in by the eyes, captivating, mesmerizing. She didn’t need to know what he said to her, or what she agreed to do for him, but rather that he wanted her. No, that he needed her. It was a silly thing, like he made her feel innocent again, and she liked it, craved its pretense, needed it. When Calypso had first enlisted her, Delphi was thrilled just to learn she could be useful in the greater world. When it dawned on her, the true nature of what she had been doing, she quit, and not by coincidence, so did Calypso. They both went straight, only Calypso gave up the game entirely, at least for a while. Then she took it up again and died, as a hero, doing the right thing. Delphi had tried that, she really had, and for a while it seemed like the perfect fit, at last. Then Lotus arrived. Everything she thought she understood about her life, all of it, melted away. She had a relapse. Then she began to think about it.

She was a conduit of information, as she had always been. That’s all she did for Lotus, all a lot of people did in this city, where information traveled more fleetly than lives, more easily, more usefully. She never helped anyone plan anything, at least not directly. She’d preferred not to think about the harm, or good, for that matter, this information would create. Then she was confronted with a single ramification. She had told Lotus where to find Ashlee Solomon Romero. Even Ashlee’s sister Bessie hadn’t known where she lived. Delphi should have taken that as a hint. She should have taken her friendship, partnership with Balthazar Romero as a counterargument for accepting this assignment. But Balthazar was dead. What harm could it have been? What harm could Lotus have brought to this home? What might his motivation be? There couldn’t have been one.

Of course there was. And of course every other piece of information she had given Lotus had resulted the same way, and it mattered, all of it, mattered even if she’d never known any of the people who would die because of her. Delphi was a killer.

***

By the time they reached Culver St, it was already clear that Balthazar’s greatest fear had been realized. It was as if the killer had left his mark everywhere. His wife was dead. He had no money. He was dead. His life was ruined. Everything he thought to lose, and more. What more could possibly happen? What more could he possibly have to lose?