by C. J. Archer
"What role do they have at the palace?" I asked.
"Footmen. They pride themselves on having their gloves the whitest, their hair always neatest. Ain't nothing of this filthy place in them."
We found their mother lying on a stained mattress, the straw poking through rips in the fabric. An empty wine jug had fallen over next to her. She stank worse than the gutters. We managed to wake her and inform her we knew where her boys had gone. It was impossible to tell if she understood us through her drunken stupor, however.
Dane paid two neighbors to clean her and buy new clothes, but whether they would do it or run off with the money, we couldn't be sure.
"I don't think we should tell Paddy and Percy they came from here," Quentin said as he eyed the man following us as we left.
"We have to tell them," Dane said. He seemed oblivious to the man on our tail, even when he was joined by two thuggish friends. They slunk in the shadows, keeping their distance. They weren't a direct threat.
"Josie, you better stay close," Quentin said. "The captain and I'll protect you."
"They won't harm us," Dane said.
"How do you know?" I asked.
Up ahead, three more men emerged from the shadows like wraiths. They blocked our exit from the lane. Behind us, the other three blocked our rear escape. One of them cracked his knuckles.
"We're leaving," Dane told them, his stance still relaxed. "But I know forty men new to this city who might come here to conduct business." He nodded at the brothel where the women hung out of the windows, watching us. The one who'd given us the information about Paddy and Percy perked up at Dane's news. "They won't come if they feel threatened," he finished.
The men up ahead didn't move. They looked unsure what to do next.
"Let 'em be!" called the older whore from her window. "They know Paddy and Percy."
The man in the middle, the largest and ugliest, said, "You speak to their ma?"
"Yes," Dane said. "I'm not sure she understood, but we told her we'll have Paddy and Percy send for her soon."
The thug closed his hands into fists. Then he stepped aside. "I'll see she understands."
Dane signaled for us to follow him. "Hands at your sides," he said to Quentin. "Not near your sword."
I stayed close to Dane as we passed the three thugs in front.
"Tell the lads not to come back here," the thug called out. "It ain't safe for 'em."
"The constables might have forgotten about them," Dane said.
"They won't forget. Rumor is, the magistrate's going to punish thieves with death."
"He's the governor's man?" Dane asked.
The thug nodded.
"Can he change the law like that?" I asked.
The thug lifted a shoulder. "Ain't no one to stop him. Ain't no king, and the nobles don't care. One less thief is all right by them."
We left them and Merdu's Pit behind. Instead of going to the inn, we went to see Balthazar at the garrison. Dane would ask him to send a letter to Paddy and Percy, informing them of all we'd learned here, including a warning to stay away. Balthazar knew them better, and they would listen to his advice.
I waited outside the garrison with Quentin. We chatted to the priest on guard duty at the gate until Dane rejoined us with Balthazar in tow.
"I'd rather be out with you three," Balthazar told us. "There's nothing to do here."
"But you're the archivist," Quentin said. "You can read books and papers."
"Elliot is the archivist. I won't take that position away from him now. Besides, I've read everything I wanted to read."
"You mean the accounts of the Freedlandian civil war?" I asked.
Balthazar nodded and watched a cart drawn by a single horse drive up to us. It would seem he was giving us a ride through the city. The driver, one of the warrior priests, jumped down and handed the reins to Dane before helping Balthazar up to the seat. I climbed into the back with Quentin since there wasn't enough room up front, and dangled my legs over the edge.
"Did you discover anything in those accounts that would set you off on a path out of the city without telling anyone?" I asked.
"No," Balthazar said over his shoulder. "But the accounts are loose, not bound. It would be easy to remove one without anyone knowing."
"Where are we going?" Quentin asked.
"There's a street of booksellers and stationers not far from the market," Balthazar said. "Apparently I went there a lot. I might have friends there."
"Do the priests think you confided in someone who sold you books when you didn't confide in your fellow priests?" I asked. It sounded dubious to me, but I supposed it was possible.
"The priests don't think that. I do. I kept information from them for a reason. Perhaps I didn't trust them. Perhaps I did have a friend outside of the priesthood whom I confided in. It's not likely, but it's worth checking."
We spent a large part of the day going into every bookshop and stationer's shop on the street. Many did indeed know Balthazar and wanted to ask him where he'd been.
"Didn't I tell you?" Balthazar asked each of them casually.
They all claimed he'd simply stopped coming to their shops. More than one assumed he'd died of old age, and I suspected the rest had thought it but didn't want to admit it.
The journey had been a waste of time. We headed back to Quentin, who'd remained with the cart at the end of the street, out of ideas for where to try next. I was about to suggest we return to the inn to see if the other servants had any success, when a man stepped out of a map shop in a hurry and almost barreled me over.
"I am sorry, miss," he said. "I didn't see you there. Are you all right?"
"Fine, thank you," I said.
He smiled at me. Then his gaze fell on Dane at my side and the smile slipped.
"My apologies again, Miss. Excuse me." He went to lock the door, his gaze once again falling on Dane before shifting to Balthazar.
"Oh! Good afternoon." He squinted through his spectacles at Balthazar and smiled. "I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name, Brother…."
"Balthazar," Balthazar said. "Have we met?"
"Just once. I never forget a customer's face." He adjusted his spectacles and smiled.
"You're the proprietor of this shop?" Dane asked.
"Yes. Are you in need of a map? I was just stepping out a moment to deliver this one to a customer, but I can do it later." He indicated the rolled map under his arm. "The errand boy is supposed to do it, but he hasn't returned from his last job." He pushed opened the door and pocketed the key. "Come in, come in. How was your journey, Brother?"
"Journey?" Balthazar asked.
"To Freedland. You bought a map. Two, in fact. One of Vytill and one of Freedland."
Balthazar looked to Dane then back at the mapmaker. "Can we ask you some questions?"
Chapter 17
"I never forget a face or a map," the mapmaker said.
"Can we see copies of the maps he bought?" Dane asked.
The mapmaker frowned. "Of course. Did you lose them?"
"Yes," Balthazar said.
"Such a pity." The mapmaker rounded the counter and scanned the labels on a series of narrow, wide drawers until he found the one he wanted. The room wasn't very large. Indeed, it seemed to be used as both shop and workshop. A desk near the window held ink bottles and quills, mortar and pestle, a closed box, and several unlit candles in various stages of use. A half-finished map was laid out on the desk, a smaller, completed version beside it.
"Here we are," the mapmaker said, laying a cloth map on the counter then placing another over the top of it. Neither were as large as the unfinished map covering much of the desk.
Balthazar picked up one and studied it while Dane picked up the other.
"Were the roads accurate, Brother?" the mapmaker asked. "Did you successfully reach Freedland using these?"
Balthazar nodded and smiled.
"That is good news. I've sold only a handful of maps of Freedland and none of those customers have ever retur
ned. You're the first one I've been able to ask." He admired his work in Balthazar's hands and gave a satisfied sigh.
"Did I tell you why I was going there?" Balthazar asked.
"No." The mapmaker smiled again. "But I wouldn't expect a brother to tell a humble mapmaker his affairs. The affairs of Merdu, I suppose." He chuckled.
"How much for these?" Dane asked.
"Twenty-four ells."
Dane set the money on the counter while the mapmaker rolled up the maps. He handed one to Dane and the other to Balthazar.
"You wish to go back?" he asked.
"I'm not yet sure," Balthazar said. "But I like these maps. They're works of art."
The mapmaker looked pleased but his smile quickly turned to a frown. "You're allowed to decorate the temple walls with maps?"
Balthazar hesitated then said, "Only in the library."
We thanked the mapmaker and left. "You have to remember you're a priest," I told Balthazar. "Not the master of the palace with maps and plans on your walls."
"Nothing on the walls," he muttered. "Four walls of gray stone. It's a bland existence in the temple."
"Only if you exist solely within your room and never go out. But you do go out, Balthazar. You're not a prisoner."
He grunted. "It's little better than a prison. There are prayer times and meal times and an entire hour for reflection during which I'm not allowed to speak, read or do anything except sit and think."
"You like to think."
"At a time of my choosing."
"The position of master of the palace is still open," Dane said. "Even without a king, the palace needs someone to oversee operations."
Balthazar grunted again but gave no answer.
On arriving back at the inn, I parted ways with the men in the taproom and headed straight to the room I shared with Kitty and Meg. Poor Kitty must be terribly bored by now.
I thought we were the first group back, but I spotted two palace servants and a guard in the taproom. They raised their tankards in greeting. I smiled back and headed up the stairs.
A woman's cry stopped me on the first floor landing. I followed the sound to the open door of the third room. Inside, Brant had a knife to the throat of one of the inn's maids.
"Let her go!" I said. "Don't do this, Brant. You won't get away with it."
His lips peeled away from his teeth in a snarl. "Get lost. This ain't none of your business."
The woman looked terrified. Her huge, tear-filled eyes begged me to help as she backed away from the knife.
Brant lunged at her, pushing her into the wall. She cried out again as the knife bit into the skin above her collar.
"Stop!" I shouted.
"Who paid you?" Brant snarled at the maid. "Tell me who paid you and I might not carve up your face."
The maid started shaking and crying, her tears spilling down her cheeks, her nose running. She could barely say a word let alone speak an entire sentence.
"Who paid her to do what?" I asked, venturing across the threshold.
"Stay out of this!" Brant shouted at me over his shoulder.
I inched further into the room, stopping at the chair, far enough that I could run out before he caught me.
"Tell me who paid you to come in here?" Brant ordered.
"It's her job to come in here and clean," I said.
"I gave instructions that no one be allowed in."
"Perhaps the innkeeper didn't pass on those instructions."
The woman started to sob. "P—please don't kill me."
"Someone paid you," Brant snapped. "Tell me who and I'll spare that ugly face."
"He told me he'd kill me if I said a word."
Brant raised the knife to strike.
The maid screamed.
I picked up the chair and smashed it over Brant's head.
It wasn't enough to render him unconscious but he staggered backwards, allowing the maid to slip away. She ran out.
Brant straightened and flexed his grip around the knife handle. "You stupid bitch!"
I backed up to the doorway, keeping my gaze locked on Brant. When he suddenly lunged at me, I was ready for him and darted to the side at the last moment. He careened past me, straight into Dane.
Dane grabbed Brant's wrist, punched the inside of his elbow, and took the knife off him when his hand opened involuntarily. Brant grunted as Dane twisted his arm behind his back. He didn't struggle but the look on his face was one of pure frustration and hatred.
"I was trying to find out who paid that maid to look through my things," Brant snapped.
"Slashing her across the face isn't going to get you answers," I snapped back.
"You want answers, you got to force them out of people. Ain't no one going to talk if you give 'em flowers."
Dane let him go, shoving him in the back as he did so. Brant stumbled but caught himself before falling. He picked up his pack and put the things back in that the maid must have removed in her search.
"I reckon it was Barborough," he said. "But we won't know now because you let her go." He shook the pack at me. "Get out of my room. Both of you."
"Leave the staff alone," Dane said. "Or there will be consequences."
"I don't answer to you no more. You ain't my captain."
Dane tucked Brant's knife into his sword belt. "The consequences aren't dependent on me being your captain."
He followed me out, Brant's glare burning into our backs.
"I'm going to speak to the maid," I said.
Dane caught my hand, halting me. "Are you all right?"
I blew out a breath in an attempt to steady my racing pulse. "I'm angry at that oaf. I'm surprised we didn't find out he was from the slums. The men in Merdu's Pit seem like his kind."
To my surprise, Dane's lips twitched. "You seem fine."
"I can take care of myself sometimes. I don't always need you to rescue me."
"Sometimes," he repeated to drive the point home. "And you have to allow me to rescue you once in a while or why have me around at all?"
I stood on my toes and kissed him lightly. "You have other uses."
I walked off, leaving him looking a little dazed.
He caught up to me on the stairs and together we went in search of the maid. We found her in the large kitchen, crying into a cup of tea. The innkeeper's wife was trying to talk to her but the maid wouldn't, or couldn't, speak.
"May I talk to her?" I asked.
The innkeeper's wife nodded and stepped back.
I sat beside the girl and pulled my chair close. "My name's Josie," I said. "What's yours?"
"Yana." She sniffed and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Thank you for saving me, miss."
"Brant is not a man anyone should cross," I warned her. "Stay out of his way."
"How?" she whined. "He'll keep coming for me until I tell him who paid me."
"Then you must tell. It's the only way."
"He'll kill me, he says."
"Not if we threaten to kill him if any harm comes to you."
Her gaze settled on Dane. "Will you protect me, sir?"
Dane nodded. "As will my men. It's your choice, Yana, but I can assure you, Brant won't give in until he knows who paid you."
She sniffed. "I don't know…"
The innkeeper's wife clicked her tongue. "She don't know his name," she told us. "But he was dressed real nice and spoke like a gentleman. He seemed to have a sore arm. All limp it was."
"What are you going to do?" I asked Dane after we left the kitchen. "Tell Brant it was Barborough?"
He nodded. "If he wants retribution, he can get it himself."
We didn't reach the stairs, however. Several more groups of palace servants had returned from their day of searching and congregated in the taproom to discuss their efforts. Among them were Max, Meg, Theodore and Erik. And Lord Barborough.
"Look who we found lurking outside," Max said with a nod at the Vytill spy.
Barborough tugged on his doublet hem. "Capta
in, Miss Cully. How do you do?"
"This inn has just become a dangerous place for you," Dane told him. "You paid the maid to search Brant's room for the gem."
Barborough's nostrils flared. A muscle in his jaw pulsed as his gaze focused on the kitchen area behind the counter.
"If you so much as harm a hair on that girl's head, I'll see that you lose the use of your other arm." Dane said it as casually as if he were ordering a tankard of ale.
"Does Brant know?" Barborough asked.
"He will soon."
As if summoned, Brant came down the stairs. He paused on the bottom step then hunched his shoulders and lowered his head like a bull preparing to charge. He pushed through the crowd and strode up to Barborough. He towered over the small lord, but Barborough didn't back down. Like many nobles, he seemed to think the lower orders wouldn't dare harm him. It had led to their downfall on more than one occasion in history, in more than one kingdom, most notably in the country now known as Freedland.
"My men are just outside," Barborough said with a tilt of his chin. "I only have to shout the order and they'll come."
"Who says you'll have time to shout?" Brant snarled.
Barborough's chin lowered a little. He swallowed.
"We outnumber you, Barborough" Dane said.
"It's 'my lord' to you."
"You're not my anything." Dane pulled out a chair. "Sit. Tell us why you paid that girl to look through Brant's things."
"So it was you." Brant pushed Barborough in the chest, forcing him to sit.
Barborough immediately stood again. "I'll buy the gem off you."
"I don't have it," Brant said.
"You're lying."
Brant grabbed the front of Barborough's doublet. "I don't have it. They do." He jerked his head at Dane.
"I don't have it either." Dane crossed his arms. "Nor do any of my friends."
Brant let Barborough go, his narrowed gaze on Dane. It was impossible to tell whether he believed Dane or not.
"I want to help you," Lord Barborough said. "I want to help you find out about your pasts. We could use the magic in the gem to do that."
"If we had it, I wouldn't give it to you," Dane said. "We don't want or need your help." He went to walk off, but Barborough grabbed his sleeve.