by Rachel Aaron
“No worries,” Eli said. “If I have the slightest chance of avoiding you, I’ll be sure to take it.”
Sparrow laughed at this, a bright sound that cut off with a sharp, pained breath.
Eli looked up, half expecting to see Sparrow keeling over the pit, clutching his chest in pain as he fell. But the hateful man was still perched on the ledge like his namesake, smiling wide through clenched teeth.
“Good luck, Eliton,” he called. “And good-bye.”
Eli frowned in confusion, but before he could ask what Sparrow meant by that, the man stood and hit the door again. It dropped closed with a soft hiss, plunging Eli into a darkness so deep it felt like he was drowning. The feeling lasted less than a breath. The moment the door was fully closed, Banage’s small candlelight flickered to life.
“Nice trick,” Eli said, smiling at the dim, flickering light. “How’d you sneak that spirit past Sara?”
“It’s not my spirit,” Banage said. “Sara left me one candle when she first locked me down here. The wax is long gone, but I’ve been keeping the flame alive as best I can on my own energy.”
“Seems a little unorthodox,” Eli said, dropping to the ground.
Banage’s voice grew defensive. “It was a fair exchange. He would have gone out otherwise. I’ve promised to join him with my fire bird.” He lowered the flame. “Enough. What was that about?”
“I don’t know,” Eli lied, dusting off his now badly smudged white suit. “And I don’t think I care. I’ve had about enough of Council politics. What do you say we get out of here?”
“I think that’s the most sensible thing you’ve ever said.”
For the first time in a very, very long while, Eli gave his father a genuine smile. Banage gave a surprised jerk and then slowly smiled back. The situation was so unbelievable, Eli just shook his head as he dropped to a crouch and set his mind on the task at hand. It was time to try the new angle he’d thought of on his way down. Grinning, he felt along the wall until his fingers found the one spirit he and Banage hadn’t considered in their initial assessment.
The hole Sara had stuck them in hadn’t always been used for keeping pesky wizards locked up. Before it was a cistern prison, it had been an actual cistern, catching the water that gathered here at the lowest point in the cavern. But with a hole this deep, the stone couldn’t be counted on to keep itself up. It needed a brace, and in this particular case, that brace was a flat piece of metal the width of Eli’s palm that ran in a U shape up both sides of the prison and across the pit’s floor.
Eli seized on the metal like a child grabbing a present, running his fingers eagerly over the brace’s cold, rust-pitted surface. The metal was locked in deep, deep sleep against the silent stone. It didn’t stir at Eli’s prodding, not even when he knocked his knuckles over the rivets that held it to the stone. Undeterred, Eli sat down and reached out with both hands, softly thrumming his fingers up and down the metal, scratching the rust like he’d scratch an itchy spot on a dog’s back.
Minutes ticked by, but Eli didn’t stop. He just kept moving his fingers, whispering encouraging sounds laced with just enough power to draw the sleeping spirit’s attention. It was tiring work. The stone he sat on was hard and cold, and keeping his spirit cracked open a tiny fraction for such an extended period of time was like trying to hold a bucket of water at arm’s length without letting it drop. But Eli was a professional, and he didn’t let up until, finally, the metal twitched against his fingers.
Eli stopped his movements at once, holding his hands still in the air.
“What are you doing?” Banage whispered, his voice hoarse, as though he’d been holding the question back for a long time.
Eli put his finger to his lips. On the floor, the metal twitched again, and then a tiny, rusty voice whispered, “Well?”
“Well what?” Eli asked.
“Keep going,” the metal said, arching up a millimeter. “That felt nice.”
Eli winked at Banage, who was staring at him like he’d just turned into a ghosthound, and lowered his hands back to the metal. “Like this?”
“Yesssssss…” the metal hissed, vibrating under his scratching fingers.
“Hasn’t anyone been down to rub you?” Eli said, his voice thick with scornful astonishment. “Don’t they take care of you here?”
“No,” the metal said, wiggling. “That feels lovely.”
“They do this to metal upstairs all the time,” Eli said, intensifying his scratching. “Don’t they?”
This was directed at Banage, who, after several seconds of stunned hesitation, nodded. Eli rolled his eyes, and Banage quickly changed his answer from motion to verbal.
“Yes, of course they do,” he said in the most unconvincing lie Eli had ever heard.
He shook his head and made a note not to involve his father any further. Thankfully, the metal wasn’t familiar enough with humans to notice the bad acting.
“Really?” it said, its creaking voice tinged with jealousy. “Must be nice.”
“It’s more than nice,” Eli said. “I’d say it’s mandatory. Are you sure no one’s come down to rub you?”
“No,” the metal said sullenly.
“Criminal,” Eli said, his voice grave. “Absolutely criminal. And to think, they spent all that effort putting in a new door when they can’t even be bothered to come down and take care of the metal they’ve got.”
“Yeah.” The metal shook against his hands.
“It’s not right,” Eli said zealously, scratching harder. “That’s a Shaper-made door, too. They’re terribly full of themselves. Entitled. They think the world owes them something just because they spend all their time awake.”
“It’s from the Shapers?” The metal creaked, arching almost like it was trying to look up. “I didn’t know that. Why would something like that be all the way down here?”
“Taking attention and resources away from others, apparently,” Eli said, disgusted. “I bet it’s not even grateful.”
“Yeah,” the metal grumbled as the support beams running along the cistern wall started to creak. “That door thinks it’s so great. I’m the one holding up all the weight.”
“I just can’t believe this,” Eli said. “Hang on, I’m going to go have a talk with it. You stay here and let Banage scratch you. I’ll get us some answers.”
“Yeah!” the door said again.
Eli stood up, motioning frantically for Banage to take his place. After a slight hesitation, the former Rector leaned over and started running his fingers over the metal just as Eli had been doing. The brace sighed contentedly, rolling back and forth like a dog angling to have its belly rubbed. When Eli was sure Banage could keep it up, he turned and shimmied up the ladder to the door.
The polished steel surface was perfectly still, but Eli could almost feel the door leaning away from him. He smiled and hooked his legs under the top rung of the ladder so he could lean back and look at the door directly.
“You’re not talking to me,” he said gently. “I understand. You’re just doing your job, after all. But since we’re going to be together for a while, and seeing as you’re a Shaper door, I was hoping I could ask you a question.”
The door creaked suspiciously.
“I’m no expert on Shapers,” Eli continued undeterred. “But I did notice the mountain swallow in your maker’s mark. Isn’t that the mark of Heinricht Slorn?”
“Absolutely not,” the door answered, its voice surprisingly loud after so much stubborn silence. “Heinricht is a traitor to the Mountain. I was Shaped by Jonath Findel, master blacksmith and loyal student of the Great Teacher.”
“Findel,” Eli said, stroking his chin. “I’ve seen some of his work. Fantastic stuff, really brilliant designs.”
Eli didn’t know a Findel from a fondant, but it didn’t matter. The door was rolling now.
“Absolutely brilliant,” the door agreed, its metal rings humming with pleasure. “I’m a prototype for a new kind of locking m
echanism designed specifically for Lady Sara. Of course, I was originally made to stand upright, but as you see, Findel’s design works either way thanks to the coils. True brilliance is utterly adaptable.”
“So when she needed a door, she came to you,” Eli said.
“Of course,” the door rattled with pride. “Who else could switch directions to act as an emergency prison door? Thanks to my Shaper’s work, I’m miles beyond the dull, ordinary metal you find around here.” The door stopped suddenly, and Eli felt himself being looked over. “Just so you know, wizard, I’m completely loyal and utterly unbreakable. You’d have to be Gregorn himself to Enslave me, so don’t even try.”
Eli pressed his hand to his chest. “I would never dream of such a thing. I’m a thief, not a spirit abuser. But”—he raised his voice—“surely a door such as yourself must get bored just sitting around with all this quiet.”
“Of course,” the door said, slumping against the stone lip. “It’s an absolute waste keeping me down here. I’m sure you’re a very tricky sort of thief, but really, there’s no ruse you could pull that would fool me. I’m Shaped.” The door’s voice swelled with pride. “Awakened! I’m a higher form of spirit than anything else you’ll find in this pit.”
Eli nodded in commiseration. “No one to talk to, eh?”
“No one worth the effort,” the door said. “I mean, look around. There’s nothing but the bedrock, who never wakes up, and the metal support, who has the conversational skills of a cockroach. A rather dumb cockroach, I might add.”
At this, the metal rungs Eli was standing on, rungs that, it should be noted, were attached to the metal support brace, began to vibrate. All along the walls, stone dust was falling in little cascades where the support beam met the stone. The door didn’t seem to notice.
“I’m just biding my time until I can get back to a real use of my talents,” it said, turning its interlocked rings in a motion that reminded Eli of a girl tossing her hair. “Sara promised me a place up top in the citadel proper once this blows over, but at this point I’d take anything to get away from these dullards.”
“Dullards?” Eli prompted, moving sideways so he was clinging to the wall instead of the iron ladder.
“These stupid spirits,” the door said. “All they do is sleep. Sometimes I don’t even think they have minds of their own. Why a door like me should have to pick up the slack for such weak, dull, pathetic little creatures I really can’t—”
Eli never got to hear the rest, for at that moment, the cistern’s metal supports jerked free from their rivets and surged upward, hitting the door square on both sides. The door squealed in surprise as the force launched it upward with an echoing clang, tearing its hinges from the stone with an explosion of rubble. It landed a few feet away, crashing into the floor of the cavern hard enough to chip a large piece from the sleeping bedrock. Eli shook his head to clear the ringing from his ears and then looked down to grin at his father, who was standing far below with an utterly amazed expression on his face.
“Stupid door,” the metal support muttered, sliding back into place.
“Stupid door, indeed,” Eli said, giving the metal one last scratch.
The metal purred at the contact and wiggled its rivets back into their holes. When it was securely locked in place once again, the metal went still, falling instantly back into a deep sleep. And down below, Banage was still staring at his son, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish.
“Eliton,” he said at last, “did you just incite a brawl between two spirits?”
“Yep,” Eli said, swinging up through the now-open top of the cell. “Pretty clever, eh?”
“Clever?” Banage roared. “That was horrible! How dare you take advantage of a poor, gullible spirit’s loneliness to trick it into attacking one of its brethren for your own selfish—”
“You can stay down there if you don’t like it,” Eli said, pulling himself to his feet.
Banage snapped his mouth shut. He stood in silence a few moments, and then, with an air of unassailable dignity, climbed out of the cistern.
“This doesn’t mean I agree with your methods,” he said when he finally made it to his feet beside Eli. “Only that there are larger wrongs that I cannot right if I’m locked in a hole.”
“Spoken like a true Spiritualist,” Eli said. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Banage pressed his mouth in a tight line and said nothing.
“Well,” Eli said. “Not that our time together hasn’t been a delight, but I need to get moving. This has already been one of the longest unintended incarcerations of my career, and I’m not looking to push it any further. I’d suggest you take the back exit.” He pointed through the dark at where he was reasonably certain the service door stood. “Should be easier for a man of your inexperience.”
Banage shook his head. “I’m not leaving.”
Eli sighed dramatically. Rings, of course. “You know,” he said, “you’d probably have better luck demanding your rings from Sara through an official Court petition. I know Miranda would help you draw one up.”
“My rings aren’t why I’m staying,” Banage said. “Watch.”
He closed his eyes, and the weight of his spirit landed on Eli without warning. Banage opened his soul like throwing open a door, and the call that rang through it was deafening.
Far across the cavern, from the direction of the barely visible glow of Sara’s headquarters, a chorus of voices shouted in surprise. A second later, the whole cavern shook with the sound of metal tearing. The floor rumbled as the sound solidified into pounding hoofbeats that grew closer and closer until, just when Eli was sure he’d be deaf for life if this kept up one second longer, Banage’s jade horse burst from the shadows between the tanks and skidded to a stop before its master.
Banage reached up to stroke its glossy stone muzzle before taking a pile of gold from the spirit’s mouth. “Didn’t I tell you,” Banage said, slipping his rings onto his fingers. “Not a problem.”
“If you could do that, why didn’t you do it before?” Eli shouted.
“Because Durrel couldn’t break through the cell door without chipping himself, and I would never knowingly do him harm,” Banage said, glancing at his son. “Shouldn’t you be going?”
“Well, after all that noise, I guess I’d better,” Eli muttered, shaking his head. Powers, what theatrics. Banage’s horse would lead everyone right to them. “Do what you want, old man.”
But as he started to jog away, he heard Banage’s voice softly over the din of shouts that was rising from the walkways above.
“It was good to see you again, Eliton.”
Eli heaved an enormous sigh and ran into the dark, waving with one hand before vanishing into the forest of tanks.
At the other end of the Citadel, Sara was busy with a confrontation of a different sort.
“How dare you?” she shouted, slamming her hands down on the glossy wood of the Merchant Prince’s desk. “How dare you take my son for your games, Alber! He is a vital resource for the expansion of the knowledge of magic. He is not a bargaining chip!”
“You were the one who tried to keep him from me in the first place,” Alber said, not even looking up from the pile of papers his assistant was passing him to sign.
“To keep you from doing something like this!” Sara roared.
Whitefall sighed. “Sara, I am very busy—”
“I don’t care,” Sara snapped. “You shouldn’t, either, not if that business comes at the cost of our alliance. Your precious Council would never have stayed together if it wasn’t for me and my work. Work that you’ve just put in terrible jeopardy, if you care to know. What were you thinking, trying to trade Eliton to that bloodthirsty, no-account swordsman?”
“Considering that bloodthirsty, no-account swordsman pretty much owns the Council at this point, I should think you’d be happier if he’d taken my offer,” Whitefall said drily. “Now I’m going to have to sell your son for the bounty
so we can make ends meet for the next few years.”
“I won’t allow it!” Sara cried. “He is not going before the Judiciary today or ever. And I can’t believe you thought you could just order me out of your office and keep it a secret!”
“I’m not going to waste my breath pointing out the hypocrisy of that statement,” Alber said drily, but Sara bowled over him.
“I have not put up with you for almost three decades to be treated like this now, Alber!” she cried. “This is absolutely unacceptable!”
“I don’t care if you accept it or not,” Whitefall snapped, slamming down his papers to look her straight in the eyes. “I don’t have a choice in this, Sara. I have a government to run, a government that foots the bill for all of your fiddling, I might add. Considering how vital you’re always insisting your work is, I’d think you’d take a greater interest in the financial health of the Council that supports it.”
“Not everything is about money,” Sara said through gritted teeth.
“There’s too much money at stake right now for this to be about anything else,” Alber said. “I’ve been a very lenient patron to you, Sara. I built your facility. I pay your staff’s wages. I buy whatever equipment you ask for. I even let you keep Sparrow.” Whitefall narrowed his eyes in a stinging glare. “Do you even know what that cost me? The man killed my cousin.”
“A very distant cousin,” Sara reminded him. “One you said you didn’t like.”
“Like has nothing to do with it,” Alber said. “Your man killed a Whitefall. His head should be rotting on a spike over the river, but no. You wanted him. Powers knew why, but you wanted that murderer, so I covered it up. Though it jeopardized some of the closest ties in the Whitefall family to do so, I hid Sparrow’s involvement and gave him to you. I did this because I believe your work is vital to making this Council the dominant political force for centuries to come, but we are nearing the limit of what I can give, Sara.”
Sara started to answer that, but Whitefall cut her off. “Since we’ve got fifty years to pay Osera, I have time to call in the Monpress bounty slowly and hopefully avoid economic collapse, but I will not take the absurd risk of keeping the greatest escape artist in history locked in a cell. He goes to the noose tonight, and that is not open to negotiation. So if you have something you want from your wayward son, I suggest you wring it out of him in the next few hours, because that’s all you’re going to get.”