by Rachel Aaron
She reached into her pocket and took out the flat, folded square of colored paper Lelbon had given her. She turned it carefully, unfolding the delicate paper again and again until she held nearly four feet of colorful tissue streaked with reds, greens, and golds in her hands. There was nothing written on it, no note, no instructions, but when she reached the center of the square, the paper ended in a sharp point tied to a long string. Feeling a bit silly, Miranda stood up, careful to hold the fluttering paper out of the water. She walked to the edge of the beach and released the paper into the wind. It whipped up, colored streamer flapping as it soared into the sky, anchored by the string Miranda wrapped around her fingers. For a long moment the colored kite danced in the sea wind, dipping and bobbing. Then, without warning, a wind snatched the kite out of her hand. The bright, colored paper flew up into the sky, turning little cartwheels as the wind blew it off, dancing and dipping westward, over the sea.
Miranda watched the kite until it vanished behind the clouds, and then she turned to find Gin. She didn’t have to go far. He came trotting up almost at once, looking immensely pleased with himself.
“I knew you’d come around,” he said, tail wagging. “Are we leaving now or do you still need to get something?”
Miranda looked back at the cave. Her little fire had already flickered out, and everything else she had was on her back.
“Don’t think so,” she said. “Ready when you are.”
“I’ve been ready for the last five days,” Gin grumbled, lying down so she could climb up. When she was steady, he jumped, taking the first rocky ledge in one leap. The beach swung crazily below them, and Miranda felt all her blood running to her feet. By the third jump, Gin’s claws were scraping on bare stone, and Miranda closed her eyes to keep from being sick. Then they were on flat ground at the top of the cliff face, and Gin was asking her which way to go.
“East and south,” Miranda said.
“How far?” Gin asked, loping over the scrubby grass.
“I don’t know.” Miranda bit her lip. “If we go east, we’ll hit the road to the river, but if we cut cross-country, two days’ hard running?”
“Right,” Gin said, nodding. “We’ll be there tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow morning?” Miranda scoffed. “You can’t fly, mutt.”
“No?” Gin grinned. “Watch me.”
He picked up speed, racing over the low hills faster and faster until it was all Miranda could do to hold on.
“Gin!” she cried over the wind. “You can’t keep this up all the way to Gaol!”
“You worry about what we do when we get there,” he shouted back. “Leave the running to me.”
After that, Miranda gave up and held on. Clinging to the ghosthound’s shifting fur, she tried to think of what she’d do when they reached Gaol, but her mind was blank. After all, she didn’t even know what they were looking for, and though Lelbon had said the West Wind would help, she didn’t know what kind of help a great wind spirit considered appropriate, or if she’d recognize it when it came. Still, being on the road again, running toward a purpose, these made her happier than she’d been since arriving in Zarin, and she contented herself with holding on as the rocky fields and scrubby grass streaked by. Overhead, the cloudy sky grew dimmer as evening approached.
CHAPTER 11
Eli woke up to bright sunlight in his face and Josef’s boot poking his ribs.
“Get up,” Josef said. “The situation’s changed.”
Eli sat up, rubbing the grit out of his eyes. When he looked again, Josef was gone. He blinked a few times, trying to figure out if he’d dreamed the whole uncomfortable event, and then he spotted the ladder nailed to the wooden wall of the warehouse beside the door.
It was a hairy climb. The ladder was nailed to the wall with no allowance for footing, and he wasn’t actually awake enough for this sort of thing. Still, a few moments later he wiggled through the trapdoor to the sloped roof to find Nico and Josef lying belly down on the wooden shingles, staring across the water. The warehouses, being, as they were, by the river, were at the lowest point of Gaol. From the roof, however, you could see into the city proper, which seemed to be in some commotion.
“The sun’s barely up,” Eli said, yawning. “What is it, a bakers’ riot?”
“Not sure,” Josef said, eyeing the crowds that filled the broad streets leading up to the citadel. “Those are hardly bakers, unless bakers in Gaol make bread with swords. I was going to guess peasant riot, but the crowd’s far too calm, and nothing’s happening at the citadel. So now I’m thinking conscript army, and seeing as we’re knee-deep in a thief trap made for Eli Monpress, I’d say that crowd has your name on it.”
“Well,” Eli said, “they’re going the wrong way.”
He was right. The well-armed crowd in the street was heading away from the docks, marching uphill toward the keep.
“I wonder,” Eli said, standing on his toes to get a better view. “We should head down and find out what’s going on.”
Josef glared at him. “What did I just say last night about curiosity?”
“Josef,” Eli tsked, “this isn’t just curiosity; it’s groundwork. You gave me a day and a night to pull this job, and I can hardly steal a Fenzetti blade from here. Come on.” He smiled, heading for the trapdoor. “Let’s get dolled up.”
He vanished down the ladder. Nico and Josef exchanged a long-suffering look before getting up and following.
Though years of thievery and natural inclination had given Eli a quick hand and inventive eye for improvised disguises, he always kept the staples on hand. There were some things you simply could not count on improvising. The moment he reached the floor of the warehouse, he ran to his pack and began pulling things out. He had a surprisingly large pile before he found what he was looking for: a small, carefully wrapped package tied with string. Eli undid the knots deftly and the package spilled open, revealing a cascade of golden, flowing hair, the crown jewel of his costume collection.
He shook the wig out a few times, but it needed very little. Wigs of this quality never did, if you stored them right. Eli didn’t know how much it had cost, but he guessed quite a bit since its previous owner, the Princess of Pernoff, had seen fit to store it in the safe with her jewels. Eli had relieved her of both that night, and though the jewels were long gone, the wig remained one of his favorite possessions.
Using his fingers, Eli brushed his short hair back until it was flat against his head, and then, leaning over, slid the wig on with practiced ease. When he came up again, he looked remarkably different. The pale golden locks hung in subtle waves around his face, setting off his pale skin in a way his own dark hair never had, making him look delicate and noble in a fragile way, something he took full advantage of.
“Powers,” Josef said, jumping off the ladder. “Not that thing again.”
“I’ll stop wearing it when it stops working,” Eli said, pinning the wig into its final position with a half-dozen tiny hairpins. “See if there’s anything workable in the crates. I saw one addressed to Freeman’s Clothier in Zarin that might have something good.”
Josef walked over to the pile of wooden boxes and began reading the faded shipping manifests. He had to move several to get to the crate Eli had mentioned, but when he cracked it open, they were not disappointed.
“Perfect,” Eli said, grinning.
Inside was a neatly folded stack of brocade jackets, obviously intended for some tremendously overpriced shop in Zarin. Eli pawed through them, finally picking out a garish red-and-gold peacock pattern that matched the wig perfectly and, as an added bonus, caused Josef to sigh in disgust. Unfortunately, the only coat in the box that would fit over Josef’s broad shoulders was a hideous green monstrosity that he refused to wear. Finally, Josef settled for a thick, black shirt from his own pack.
“I guess that will do,” Eli said and sighed. “Just be sure to scowl a lot; that way no one will get close enough to notice the mended stab holes and bl
oodstains.”
“I do wash it,” Josef said. “Anyway, it fits me better than the guy I took it off.”
Eli gave him a startled look. “I don’t think I want to hear any more about your brand of shopping.”
Josef shrugged. “It’s not like he was using it.”
Eli left it at that.
In the end, Josef decided to bring only the twin short swords he wore at his hips and the knives he could hide in his clothing. He and Eli agreed that walking into town covered in blades as he usually was would be asking for trouble, especially when they were trying to be discreet. Of course, this also meant Josef would have to leave the Heart, something Eli had a much harder time convincing him of.
“I don’t see why this is a big deal,” Eli said. “You hate having to use the Heart anyway.”
“That’s not the issue here,” Josef said, crossing his arms stubbornly. “It’s plain stupid to walk into an unknown situation, with armed men gathering in a city we know is a trap, and not bring our best weapon.”
“Come on,” Eli pleaded. “It’s common knowledge you’re with me these days. Carrying that thing is like walking around with a giant signpost: ‘Here’s Josef Liechten! Please stab!’ If you’re going to bring it, there’s no point in disguises at all.”
Josef scowled. “I don’t think-”
“Just leave it here,” Eli interrupted. “It’s not like it could get stolen anyway, seeing as you’re the only one who can pick it up. Besides”-Eli’s voice smoothed to warm honey-“you’re Josef Liechten, the greatest swordsman in the world. Surely you can take a few armed men without the Heart.”
Josef gave him a dangerous glare. “Don’t treat me like one of your idiot spirits.” He pulled the enormous black blade off his back and dropped it. It fell like a meteor, sticking point-first in the wood floor. “I’ll leave the Heart because you make a good case, but don’t ever try and con me again, Monpress.”
“Point taken,” Eli said softly, but Josef was already stalking toward the door.
“You deserved that,” Nico said, standing up from the crate she’d been sitting on.
“Thanks,” Eli said sarcastically, but his heart wasn’t in it. He looked over at Nico. “Sure you don’t want a disguise? Just for a change?”
“No.” Nico gave him a little half smile. “Nothing in those crates can do this.”
She stepped forward into a long shadow cast by one of the dividers that separated the windows and vanished. Eli blinked. He’d seen Nico do her shadow thing dozens of times, but never that cleanly. It was like she’d simply disappeared.
“Slorn did a good job with this coat,” she said behind him.
Eli jumped and whirled around. She was several feet away, sitting on a crate a few rows up, shaking her oversized sleeves with a kind of visceral happiness, like a cat playing with a stunned mouse.
“So I see,” Eli said. “Shall we go?”
But the crate was already empty, and Nico winked into existence again beside Josef, who was standing impatiently at the door.
“Right,” Eli muttered, hurrying to catch up.
The city of Gaol was a beautiful, well-laid-out place. Every road was perfectly straight, every house perfectly kept. Small gardens glowed like jewels behind the low stone walls, and every sign was painted in matching colors without a single scuff or faded letter. Even the paving cobbles were set at perfect right angles with their cracks swept meticulously clean.
Over all of this order flowed a constant stream of ordinary people, men and women, with identical swords belted at their sides. They were moving in close knots, talking together in quiet, nervous whispers. None of them looked happy to be there, but they moved at a good pace, making their way toward the citadel at the city center to join the growing crowd.
“Amazing!” Eli stood on tiptoe to get a better look. “It’s like they turned the town upside down, shook out the people, and gave them swords. What is this, community military service?”
“Stop gawking,” Josef said, tugging the thief down by his gaudy coat. “You’re supposed to be a traveling merchant, remember?”
“I think it’s perfectly in character for me to gawk,” Eli said, batting Josef’s hand away. “Haven’t you ever met a merchant?”
They were walking toward the center of town down one of the main roads. Eli, as the merchant, stayed out in front, while Josef, the hired sword, kept a few paces behind. Nico, as usual, was nowhere in sight, but Josef’s practiced eye spotted her flitting in and out of the gloom between the buildings, a tiny, girl-shaped patch of darker shadow. They were following the crowd toward the duke’s fortress, its hulking, boxy shape black against the clear morning sky. Ahead, the road opened out into a square that was even more packed than the street they were on. Eli paused, frowning at the armed crowd, and then, quick as a bird going for cover, ducked into the nearest door, forcing Josef to turn sharp if he wanted to follow.
The doorway led to a bakery. It was a tiny shop, just a few benches and a counter separating the actual ovens from the customers. Still, like everything in Gaol, it was immaculately neat. Boards covered in precise lettering detailed the startling variety of baked goods and sweetmeats the shop offered. Hearing the door, the baker pulled himself away from the small window that overlooked the crowded square and came to the counter, a sour look on his flat face.
At once, Eli launched himself into character, his grin growing snide and arrogant as he flipped a handful of silver bits from the local currency casually between his fingers.
The baker’s expression became infinitely more gracious at the glitter of silver. “What can I get for you, sir?”
“Hmm,” merchant Eli droned, not bothering to look away from the window. “Give me a half dozen of those little fruit things, and a loaf of whatever’s cheap, for my boy here. Something hearty-these swordsmen eat you out of house and home.”
Josef didn’t have to fake his scowl, and the baker’s red face paled. “Of course, sir, at once.”
He went over to the shelves and began pulling things down with the hesitant clumsiness of someone who didn’t usually do this himself.
“Where are your apprentices?” Eli said, casually leaning on the spotless counter. “I can’t imagine you run this shop alone.”
“Oh, no,” the baker said and laughed. “But you know how boys are. They ran off to the square as soon as they heard the news. The duke’s called in the conscriptions, the whole lot, word is.” He huffed as he set out the tarts. “I’m just thankful I got dispensation on account of my shop, or I’d be grabbing my sword too.”
“Conscriptions?” Eli said. “Why? Is Gaol under attack?”
“Oh, no.” The baker shook his head. “Who’d attack Gaol? No, sir, word everywhere is that Eli Monpress robbed the duke’s fortress last night.”
The silver coins stopped flashing in Eli’s hand.
“Really,” he said, almost too casually. “How do you know it was Monpress? Did they catch him?”
“No,” the baker said, fishing a loaf of brown bread out of the bin. “There’s been no official word yet, but if they’d caught the thief, I doubt Duke Edward would bother with conscripts.” He gave Eli a wink. “That’s how we know it was Monpress. Who else would warrant mobilizing the whole country to catch him?”
“Who else, indeed,” Eli said. “But it’s been hours since the robbery if Monpress robbed the citadel last night. Wouldn’t the thief have escaped by now?”
“I don’t see how he could have,” the baker said, packing Eli’s order into a small wicker basket. “The duke closed the gates before dawn this morning. They say Monpress can move through shadows and kill guards just by looking, but that’s rubbish. Whatever his bounty, he’s human, and nothing human could have gotten through the duke’s security.”
“Why do you say that?” Josef asked, glaring at the baker from his place on the wall. “The thief got in, didn’t he?”
The baker jumped and looked at Eli, obviously waiting for him to discipline
his guard, but Eli was staring out the window, studying the citadel and the growing crowd with intense interest. Realizing he wouldn’t get any backup from that quarter, the baker sullenly packed the last of Eli’s pastries into the basket. When he was done, he had to wait a moment while Eli tore himself away from the window, but the pile of silver Eli tossed on the counter quickly smoothed over any hurt feelings.
“Thank you, sir,” the baker said, bowing graciously as Eli swept out of the bakery with Josef on his heels.
The moment they stepped onto the street, Eli veered hard right, and they ducked down a narrow but shockingly clean alley. Nico was waiting for them, and she helped herself to one of the pastries from Eli’s basket as soon as he was close.
“What’s going on?” she asked, biting into the corner of the flaky tart.
“Someone got here before us,” Josef said, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “I’d like to know who.”
“I have an idea,” Eli said carefully, picking a tart out of the pile. “But I’d have to get a look at the scene of the crime to be sure.”
“What?” Josef said. “You mean inside the citadel? The one surrounded by armed guards?”
“Well, I certainly can’t tell anything from out here,” Eli said.
Josef frowned. “You do realize this could all be part of the trap.”
“What?” Eli said, his mouth full of sweet pastry. “Fake a robbery so I’d come and investigate? That’s a bit of a long shot. Think of it like this: We’re here for a Fenzetti blade. Now, if another thief did break in, he either took the blade with him or had to leave it. Either way, we have to go into that citadel, either to pick up the thief’s trail or get the blade for ourselves. The way I see it, we’ve just had the opportunity of a lifetime dropped in our laps. They’re getting their orders now, but in a few moments, that whole crowd of citizen soldiers is going to start tearing this town apart looking for Eli Monpress. By going into the citadel, we’ll be going to the only place they’re not going to be looking. No thief good enough to get into the Duke of Gaol’s citadel would ever return to the scene of the crime. When you look at it that way, the citadel’s the safest place in the city for us to be right now.”