The Diminished

by Kaitlyn Sage Patterson

  I gritted my teeth and crawled to the edge of the roof once more.

  The only pipe nearby was skinny, smaller than three of my fingers around, made of steel pitted with rust. A thin strip of metal and a pair of bolts every five paces was the only thing holding the pipe to the side of the house. I cast about, hoping for a less hair-raising choice, but I didn’t see another way down.

  This far away, I’d no sense of what Bo was feeling, but I hoped that he—or if not him, Swinton—had had the good sense to keep his head down and get the hell out of the great room.

  I swung my legs over the side of the roof, grappling for a hold with the toes of my boots. Slowly, I edged my way down, gripping with my knees and toes. The muscles in my legs screamed, and the roof tiles were slick under my sweaty palms. Quick as a darting fish, I shifted one hand to the pipe. In a tight-eyed moment of terror, I let go of the roof with the other hand and found myself clinging to the slatted side of the mansion, high above the ground. I took a deep breath and let my body take over. I’d climbed up and down buildings higher than this—and in worse shape—dozens of times.

  By the time I reached the second story, my arms trembled with the effort and half my toes’d gone numb in my boots. The smoke stench grew stronger with every passing second. I sped up. Just before I reached the top of the first-story window, my boot slipped, and I crashed into the side of the house.

  I heard a loud pop, and before I’d a moment to realize what was happening, shooting pain sparked down my body and I tumbled backward. I hurtled through the thick branches of the bushes that lined the house and landed flat on my back. The wind rushed out of me in a gush. Lightning strikes of pain raced from my neck to my right hand and back again. I lay there, stunned and breathless, chest searing for a few long seconds before I gasped and gulped air like a beached shark.

  Slowly, still flat on my back, I took stock of the damage. Bruised from head to toe, I’d ache for days. The bushes had left deep scratches in my cheeks and arms and rents in my clothing. The worst part, though, was my shoulder. My arm lay limp at my side, and it burned with a fire that could only mean one thing. I’d pulled it out of place.

  I gritted my teeth and tried to stagger upright, but froze when I heard voices.

  “You hear that?”

  “Hear what?” The second voice sounded like a woman, though it was rough and scratchy with age.

  “Over there. In the bushes.”

  I held my breath.

  “I didn’t hear nothing.”

  My shoulder throbbed, and the pain threatened to drown me. I breathed, slow and shallow, and let the agony wash over me, focusing on the rough voices next to the bush.

  “I did. Gadrian’s flames. Ain’t we supposed to be watching for folks getting out of that great room?”

  “Hamil’s drowning glory, but I do hate this island. Can’t hardly breathe, and now we’ve gone and added smoke. I’ll be glad to get back to Penby, that much I’ll tell you.”

  The footsteps faded away, and I screwed my eyes up in relief. Taking shallow breaths, I counted to a hundred before scrambling to my feet. I didn’t think there was much time left. I’d seen enough buildings go up in the End to know that if the fire made it to the roof beams, no one inside would stand a chance.

  There had to be a way for me to distract the Shriven and get everyone out of the burning room at the same time. I needed to cause a ruckus big enough to overwhelm the fire and confusion inside. If my throwing arm weren’t totally useless, thanks to my goddess-blasted shoulder, I’d smash the great room windows. Give the poor folks trapped inside an escape and distraction all in one. But a stone thrown with my left arm’d be weak at best, and it’d make the other shoulder worse.

  I needed a better plan. Something big and splashy.

  It came to me in a flash. Fireworks. Quill’d been meant to find fireworks for the celebration tonight. If he’d done it—and I prayed he had—they’d be in the cellar.

  I edged along the side of the house holding my limp arm close to my body with my good hand. I hoped the tall rhododendron bushes would screen my movements, but if anyone was watching carefully, I was shit out of luck. I’d need to move fast and hope no one noticed.

  The cellar door was around the corner. Hepsy’d sent me down into the maze of rooms below the house a handful of times to fetch this or that for the cook or to find a bottle of wine Phineas wanted with his supper. If Phineas’d ordered something rare or dangerous and meant to be a secret, it was sure to be down there.

  I peered around the bushes, looking for the Shriven. Seeing nothing but the long shadows of moss-draped oaks, I turned the door’s handle. It stuck.

  “Dzallie’s hair,” I hissed. “Don’t do this to me now.”

  I jiggled the knob. Nothing. Someone’d locked it. I let out a long stream of low curses. Picking locks was a job for someone with two working hands. There was no way I’d be able to get it open on my own.

  “Vi?”

  I whirled around, pulling a knife from my boot with my good hand, and saw a familiar face. My head swam with the sudden movement, and the few bites I’d eaten that afternoon rushed back up. When I’d finished emptying my stomach into the bushes, I wiped my mouth and looked up at the two figures looming over me, outlined by moonlight. Still woozy, I narrowed my eyes at them.

  “What’ve you done to your arm, Vi?” It was Mal. And next to him, all broad shoulders and curly hair like spun bronze, was Swinton.

  My shoulder throbbed, my mouth tasted like bile and my head was spinning. A part of me was blazingly happy to see Mal, but with the pain and the imminent threat of becoming a real dimmy, the best I could manage was a grim smile. “Where’s Bo?”

  Mal grimaced. “He’s with Quill. They’ll be out of that mess in there in no time flat.”

  My throat tightened, and my heart quickened. “Why’re you here?” I fumed at Swinton. “Why aren’t you with Bo? He’s so soft, he’ll melt if someone looks at him wrong. He needs protecting.” I wiped sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand, still holding the knife. Noticing Swinton’s eyes on my knife, I slid it back into my boot.

  Swinton glared at me. “He’s stronger than—”

  I interrupted him. “Nothing for it now. You say Quill’s with him. That’ll have to do. Can either of you pick a lock?”

  Swinton took my hairpins, and as he worked the lock, he told me that they’d swiped my contract from Phineas’s office and run around the outside of the mansion to bypass all the confusion inside. While Swinton spoke, Mal inspected my shoulder, muttering to himself.

  “You’ve pulled your shoulder out of the socket. I can set it, but it’ll hurt like nothing you’ve ever felt.”

  “I doubt that very much,” I said.

  Mall unknotted the silk cravat from around his neck and quirked an eyebrow at me. “Ready?” he asked.

  I nodded, gritting my teeth. He took my arm, and in a flash of gut-rending, star-spinning pain, heaved my shoulder back into place. I bit my lip hard, willing myself silent, but tears streamed down my face. In the blink of an eye, my arm went from bone-grinding pain to totally normal. I blinked, stunned.

  Before I’d gotten my breath back, Mal’d tied my arm tight to my body with his cravat. Swinton whipped the door open and waved us in. He’d popped the lock near as fast as I could’ve myself. I muttered my thanks and followed Mal into the basement, gripping the rail with my good hand.

  I heard Mal fumbling for a switch at the bottom of the stairs.

  “There aren’t any solars down here,” I said. “There should be a lamp and a box of matches in a nook on the right.”

  After another moment’s cursing, a match sizzled and struck, and the warm glow of the oil lamp bathed the room. I took the lamp from Mal and started down the corridor.

  “This way. We’ve got to hurry,” I said.

  “Do you have a plan?
” Swinton asked.

  “Something like that.”

  Two wrong turns and an empty room later, I found the door I was looking for and nodded for Mal to open it. I slid past him into the room and nodded, a grin spreading across my face. The dusty room was stacked with large, wooden crates, all painted in bold black letters with one word: FIREWORKS.

  Swinton whistled, eyebrows raised. “That’ll do.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  BO

  We stood in a huddle in the eye of the screaming hurricane that swirled around us. Mal and Swinton had disappeared into the panicked mass of people rushing from one end of the room to the other. I forced myself to think. We needed to find a way out of the ballroom as quickly as possible.

  A small group of the Shriven, disguised as members of the resistance, entered the great room and menaced their way through the guests, shouting for the Laroches. I swiped at the sweat beaded on my forehead and wished that I’d taken the gaudy decorative knife Swinton had offered me. Standing over the dusty trunks in his mother’s attic, the idea of wearing a weapon encrusted with fake gems—even if they were good fakes—had seemed absurdly unnecessary. I promised myself that I’d take Swinton’s advice from now on.

  Quill eyed the flames creeping toward the beams that held the glass roof of the great room. “It’ll be the smoke or the ceiling that’ll get to us before the rebels.”

  Wild-eyed, Phineas squeaked, “They’ll want my head on a pike. It’s all that will matter to them. You have to get me out of here.”

  “They’ll be coming for me, too, I suppose,” Aphra said, disconcertingly calm. “The windows may be our only option.”

  I forced my face to stillness. They’d no reason to think otherwise. No reason to be anything besides self-involved. I scanned the room, looking for the nearest window. Quill nodded toward the row of potted ferns that lined the room, creating a concealed path for the servants. Aphra eyed the disguised Shriven as they herded the guests away from the doors and into the center of the room. They hadn’t made their way to us yet, but it was only a matter of time.

  The closest window was a dozen feet away, but a bevy of Shriven loomed in our path. Quill tapped my shoulder and pointed to another that stood unguarded on the other side of the room.

  “If we can get behind the potted plants, we might just make it. Keep close, and try not to draw attention,” Quill said, giving Phineas a pointed look.

  Aphra drew a knife from somewhere inside her gown and nodded. “I’ll keep his mouth shut.”

  Phineas paled, and we edged toward the plants. Aphra and Phineas led the way, and I followed close behind, keeping one hand on Phineas’s shoulder. Quill brought up the rear. His height gave him the advantage of seeing over the heads of most of the people straining to see what was going on.

  “Watch your left.” Quill’s breath was hot on my ear, and I twitched, but my arm came up in time to stop a corpulent man from knocking me over as he fainted.

  “Thanks.” My voice came out in a hoarse whisper.

  A flash of gray to my right caught my eye, and I froze. One of the Shriven pushed an admiral in full regalia and a man who must’ve been her husband to their knees. Tears streamed down the man’s face, and he blubbered, begging for mercy. The Shriven slowly drew the wickedly curved blade she held along his cheek. Blood welled and trickled into his blond beard. The admiral’s face was pale, but she kept an impassive expression.

  “Tell me your darkest secret,” the Shriven growled. “If it’s entertaining enough, I might let you live.”

  A hand closed around my wrist and yanked me forward. Aphra hissed in my ear, “We can’t stop them. We need to get out of here now.”

  I followed her as she slid through the crowd like a snake through water. Moments later, we darted behind the large fronds of a potted fern and scurried around the corner. Aphra stopped in front of an absurdly small window.

  I threw my full weight up into the window’s sash and, muscles screaming, managed to wrench it up.

  A commanding voice boomed through the smoky air of the great room. “Listen close, you indolent pigs. None of you will survive the night. None of you—except the soul who produces the dimmy girl.”

  I froze. Vi. They were here for Vi after all. I took deep breaths, trying to stay calm. I had to trust that Swinton would find her and see her safe.

  Before I’d even managed to step fully away from the window, Phineas was halfway out, his legs flailing like a newborn colt as he wriggled through the tiny opening.

  “Where’s Quill?” Aphra asked.

  “He was right behind me.” I looked over my shoulder, but could see nothing over the ferns and the bobbing heads of the screaming guests. “He should be here any second.”

  I eyed the tightly clad rear end of the master of the house, laid a boot squarely on the seat of his trousers and shoved. Phineas popped through the window and, a moment later, stuck his head back through.

  “Was that truly necessary?” he sputtered.

  I ignored Phineas and offered Aphra my hand. “Your turn.”

  Aphra shot me a determined smile, gripped the window sash and slid through, landing easily on the ground outside. “I don’t see anyone,” she hissed. “Come quickly. We might just get off before they notice we’re gone.”

  I compressed my mouth into a thin line. “You two go on. Get off the property. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Aphra pulled herself back through the window and glowered at me. “Certainly not. I won’t leave you here on your own. Who knows what these people will do?”

  I bit my lip. “I can’t leave Quill behind.”

  “I’ve known the Whipplestons for a long time.” Aphra scowled. “They’re resourceful. Quill will find his way out. Come on. We’ve got to go.”

  I took a deep breath and scrambled through the open window. I landed clumsily and fell to my knees in the damp mulch behind a clump of bushes.

  “Hush!” Aphra hissed. “There are a group of them around the corner.”

  “We have to head to the barn and get our horses,” Phineas whispered. “We’ll never outrun them on foot. It’ll take hours to walk to the next estate.”

  “We’re not going to another estate,” I said, grasping for a lie. I couldn’t afford to let the Laroches learn that Vi was the reason for the chaos on their estate. “If the servants are rebelling here, there’s a good chance that there’ll be more of the same on other estates. We’ll go to Williford. I know a place we can hide.”

  “We’ll still need horses,” Aphra said. “They think everyone is inside. I imagine they’ve left the stables unguarded. If we can get across the lawn, we’ll be safe.”

  “They’ll realize I’m not in the great room soon enough. We’ve got to hurry,” Phineas whined.

  Aphra led the way down the outside wall of the great room, away from the growing flames. The overgrown inner branches of the bushes scraped my face and hands and tore at my cobbled-together finery. I tried to step as lightly as I could, remembering all the times Claes had admonished me to think about where I placed my feet while we were hunting, but Phineas’s muttered curses and the twigs he snapped soon rendered my efforts pointless.

  “Could you try to be a little quieter?” I snapped. “I’d rather not learn what the rebels do to people who assist in the escape of their quarry.”

  Aphra whirled around, a finger to her lips. She pointed emphatically at the corner of the manor house, ten paces in front of her, and mimed drawing the knife she held across an invisible person’s throat.

  I shook my head and slipped in front of her. Killing another person, even one of the Shriven, simply to get away from the violence that had overtaken this house was unacceptable. I only saw one guard, a lanky man lounging against the corner of the building.

  In a moment, I was behind him. I slid an arm around his neck and held him firm,
as my fencing instructor had taught me so long ago. He slashed weakly at me over his head, but he was already slowing enough that dodging his knife was easy. Soon, the man’s eyes fluttered, and he lost his grip on the knife. I checked to make sure that he was still breathing, and, seeing no one else around, dragged him through the bushes. I laid him behind a bench in the garden, well away from the house, in case the fire spread. He would have a sore throat and a headache when he woke, but at least he would wake.

  The barn loomed in the gray-white light of the moon, across the lawn, and I waved for Aphra and Phineas to hurry. They scurried across the grass and crouched beside me.

  “It would’ve been safer to kill the poor fool,” Phineas said.

  “For what?” I asked. “Standing outside a burning house? He was hardly more than a boy.”

  Phineas sneered, and Aphra tilted her head, considering me quizzically. She said, “You surprise me, my lord. I wouldn’t have imagined your sympathies falling with the rebels.”

  “I do not condone unnecessary violence, especially the murder of my own subjects, no matter who they are or what they’ve done. I’m not a judge, and I refuse to play the executioner. Let’s get you out of here before we begin debating philosophical matters, shall we?”

  “If we get out of all this, we’ll owe you a great debt, Your Highness,” Aphra said.

  “Signing over Vi’s contract will be plenty repayment, but there’ll be time for all that once we’re well away, and not a moment before,” I said. “Follow me.”

  I sprinted across the lawn, not realizing that I was holding my breath until I flung myself through the barn doors and collapsed, heaving, against the rough wood wall. Aphra flew through the doors a moment later. Phineas burst into the barn last and fell to his knees.

  “I haven’t run like that since I was a boy,” he gasped.

  Before he managed to rise, Aphra was suddenly beside him, hauling him up. Just as Phineas regained his footing, I felt a cold blade pressed into the thin skin of my throat.