The professor pushed her chair in and proceeded to his end of the table. Once ensconced, he said, “Kari, these gentlemen are my students. You’ve met Mr. Harlowe, of course.”

She glanced at Cade. He did not smile or scowl, just kept his expression neutral. Karigan rested the bonewood against the table, the silver handle clinking against wood. This faint sound produced a subtle twitch in Cade’s cheek. She thought, perhaps, she should amuse herself by finding ways to irritate him. He almost reminded her of a Weapon the way he remained stoic, keeping his countenance cool and stony.

The professor introduced the others. If she were any judge, she guessed they were her age or just slightly younger. They nodded politely in each one’s turn, their relaxed demeanors, fine dress, and seeming careless confidence not so very different from other young men she’d known from her own time.

She hesitated, unsure of whether or not she was expected to carry on a conversation. What if they started asking questions? What if they wanted to know something about her past? Did they know that she’d supposedly been rescued from an asylum? Would the professor share what must be such a stigma with his students? Did he tell any of them who she really was?

Gratefully she accepted a plate of steak and eggs from Lorine, with a stack of toast. She spread jam on a slice and sipped at tea Lorine poured for her. As she applied herself to breakfast, she observed the students trying to glance at her without her noticing, even as the professor told them the day’s assignments.

“More digging and sifting,” the stoutest of the four grumbled, helping himself to another slab of steak. His name was Mr. Stockwell.

“What did you think archeology was?” another, Mr. Ribbs, asked.

Mr. Stockwell muttered something and sawed into his steak. Karigan had a nice tender bite on its way to her mouth when one of the young men boldly looked down her way. He was, perhaps, the most nattily dressed of the students, his forelock neatly draped along the side of his head in a way she was sure that many young ladies admired.

“So, Miss Goodgrave,” he said, his tone both casual and cocky, “we are to understand you’ve recently arrived from the east coast to find good health in your uncle’s house. How do you find Mill City?”

She observed Cade tensing as the professor watched her with interest.

“I wish I could tell you, Mr.—Mr. Card, was it?”

The young man nodded.

“Yes, well, I have yet to see the city.”

“We have kept her confined,” the professor explained, “until we were certain her constitution was strong enough to endure the city’s environs.” He then smiled beneath his mustache. “But that is all about to change, for she is well and the air without is tolerable today. Do you feel up to an outing today, Niece?”

Karigan nearly jumped out of her chair to shout a hurrah, but she kept demurely to her seat and gently set her teacup on its saucer.

“Yes, Uncle. I think I should enjoy an outing today.”

AN OUTING

At that moment, Arhys darted into the room, throwing herself at the professor’s chair.

“An outing?” she cried. “I may go, mayn’t I? And we can stop at the sweets shop! I could wear my new coat!”

The students appeared unfazed by Arhys’ abrupt appearance and outburst, though Cade frowned.

The professor tousled Arhys’ hair. “But you’ve already had several outings this week, dear child, and I know Mr. Harlowe has your lessons all ready for you.”

“I don’t want to do my lessons! I want to go out—”

“Another time, perhaps.”

“But I want to go NOW.”

“Arhys, child, I need to spend some time with Miss Goodgrave and introduce her to the city. You’ve your lessons with Mr. Harlowe to attend to, and when Mirriam returns from her errands, she’ll have a list of tasks for you.”

“No, I want—”

“Arhys!” The professor’s voice, which had been mild, turned sharp. “I have spoken. That is enough.”

The girl pouted, then pointed at Karigan. “I never get to do anything nice since you got here. I hate you.” And she stomped from the room.

The professor looked bemused as he watched the girl.

Cade stood. “I’ll see to her, sir,” he said. He dropped his napkin on the table and left.

“Don’t envy that,” Mr. Stockwell said in a low voice.

“My pardon,” the professor said gazing at Karigan. “Usually the girl is cheerful and biddable—I’ve never had to raise my voice with her. I guess I shall have to give her a talking to about her behavior.”

Karigan nodded, but he struck her as the sort of man who’d rather avoid such a confrontation and would likely forget about it.

The rest of breakfast proceeded quietly enough, with the students discussing their day’s work or joking among themselves. They did not seem to know what to say to Karigan and so did not address her. She, herself, had no idea of what to say, so it was a relief.

Eventually the students finished and one by one stood and bowed to her with a polite, “Miss,” and departed. Grott, the butler, appeared, bearing a thick roll of papers on a silver tray, along with a steaming mug. Karigan caught a whiff of the rich aroma of kauv.

“Ah, very good, Grott. The morning rag.” The professor removed both mug and papers from the tray and sipped at the kauv appreciatively. “Dark and brisk, just the way I like it.” He unrolled the papers—they were densely printed with type and pictures.