Sela was beginning to think that this would be easy.
"Welcome," said the woman. "My name is Elspet. I'm so glad to see you." She ushered them inside. The home's interior was elegant, but sparsely decorated.
"We do what we can to maintain appearances," said Elspet, noticing Sela's look. "My husband manages the central bank, and we're expected to live in a certain manner."
"How so?" asked Ironfoot.
"Aba counsels us to live beneath our means," said Elspet. "All of this finery on display could be used to feed the poor. But as I said, we can do more with the wealth we save than if we were to earn nothing at all."
Silverdun looked wistful as the woman spoke, but it was hard for Sela to understand why.
"But you're not here for me," said Elspet. "Come, I'll take you to Timha. He's desperate to meet you, as you can imagine."
She led them through the house and out back, where a large balcony, itself nearly the size of Copperine House, overlooked the city's leading edge. There was a small garden with a patch of grass, and flower boxes affixed to the incongruous-looking spar that rose out from beneath the balcony.
At the far end of the balcony was a small flier dock, with a sleek yacht tied there. Close to the house was a carriage house, from which a wooden driveway extended toward a gate at the main home's side.
Elspet took them up a flight of stairs on the side of the carriage house to its second floor. "He's been staying in here," said Elspet. Sela looked out from the top of the stairs and was awash in wonder all over again. From here she could look out and see the moon and the stars and ground beneath her, with nothing whatever to obstruct her view. It felt as though she were flying. Of course, she realized, she was flying.
They went inside. Dim witchlamps illuminated a small guest apartment with a bed, a table, and a small cookstove. Sitting on the bed was the most nervous-looking man Sela had ever seen. Timha was pale and gaunt; his maroon robes looked several sizes too large for his frame. His hair was dirty and unkempt, and his eyes were furtive.
He licked his lips when they entered. "Are you them?" he answered. "Are you the ones who've come to take me to Seelie?"
"We are," said Silverdun.
"Oh, thank you," said Timha. He collapsed on the bed, relief spreading over his face.
Silverdun, Elspet, and Sela sat at the table, but Ironfoot remained standing. Timha sat up and looked at him.
"Well?" he said, excitedly. "When do we leave? Let's go!"
"Not so fast," said Ironfoot. "Before we can leave, I need to have a look at these plans of yours."
Timha blanched. "Plans? Why? We don't have time for that. You wouldn't understand them anyway." He licked his lips again. "They're highly advanced thaumatics; not like the plans for a tree house or something."
"I should introduce myself," said Ironfoot. "I'm Master Styg Falores, the Alpaurle Fellow at Queensbridge, in the City Emerald. I have a feeling I might be able to make heads or tails of them."
Timha goggled at him. "But ... what are you doing here?"
"Examining your plans," he said. "Hand them over."
Timha nodded and reached under the bed. He drew out something that Sela couldn't see and placed it on the bed. But there was nothing there.
Timha made a motion with his hand and suddenly there was something there: a leather satchel stuffed with documents and slender volumes.
"It's all here, I swear," said Timha, looking nervously at Ironfoot. "Why would I lie about something like this?"
"I can't imagine," said Ironfoot. "But I still need to examine them."
Sela examined the thin, wavering thread that connected her to Timha. "He's telling the truth," said Sela. "Quite desperately, in fact."
Timha gave her a sidelong glance. He seemed to sense that she was connected to him, and didn't like it.
"I still need to look," said Ironfoot.
"All right," said Silverdun. "But can you hurry it up? I tend to agree with Timha here that the quicker we get this over with, the better."
"Go ahead, go ahead," said Timha. He looked at Elspet for support, but she merely shrugged.
"This is between you and them now, journeyer Timha," she said kindly. "The Church wishes you well, but we have brought you as far as we will."
She stood. "I'll go prepare the yacht," she said. She nodded to them and stepped outside.
"Stand up," said Ironfoot. Timha stood, and Ironfoot began spreading out the documents on the bed, peering at them one at a time, deep in concentration.
After several minutes, Silverdun sighed. "I have to say, Ironfoot," he said, "that I'm beginning to side with Timha on this one. Can't we speed this up a bit?"
Ironfoot gave him a withering glance. "As Journeyer Timha here so elegantly put it, this isn't a tree house we're talking about here. Give me a moment."
As the minutes passed, Timha seemed to become more and more anxious. He hadn't paid much attention to Sela, which was fine because she didn't really care to experience firsthand what he was feeling.
Finally Ironfoot put the documents down. "If this is a ploy, it's an incredibly intricate and convincing one. Without studying this at length, I'd say there's a very good chance it's the real thing."
"Then can we finally be on our way?" asked Silverdun.
There was a scream from outside. Silverdun was at the door, knife in hand, in a heartbeat. Looking out, he said, "Damn! We've been discovered!"
Ironfoot folded up the documents and shoved them haphazardly into the satchel. "Come on," he said to Timha. "Stay behind me."
"Oh, no," said Timha. "This isn't happening."
"Oh, but it is," said Ironfoot. "Move."
Sela took the small dagger from her bodice and weighed it in her hand. It wasn't a throwing knife, and she couldn't have thrown it even if it were. The training Lord Tanen had given her was geared toward up-close work. Still, the knife was something. She followed Silverdun out the door.
"Stay behind me!" he hissed. She looked over his shoulder and gasped. Easily a dozen of the City Guard were arrayed across the large balcony, all of them with crossbows. Elspet was kneeling on the ground with a crossbow at her neck, her head bowed.
The man in front had a different insignia on his uniform than the others; Sela racked her brain to remember the ranks of Unseelie guardsmen. This one was a sergeant, she believed, and the others were deputies.
"Drop the knives and come down the stairs slowly," said the sergeant. "You are under arrest."
"What do we do?" Sela asked breathlessly.
Ironfoot and Timha were directly behind her. "Surrender!" said Timha. "They'll kill you if you don't!"
"Avert your eyes," said Silverdun. "I'm going to dazzle them with a bit of witchlight."
"That's not going to give us enough time to get to the yacht," said Ironfoot.
"Do you have any better ideas?" asked Silverdun. "My old friend Mauritane can snatch crossbow bolts out of the air, but I, alas, cannot."
"Let's pray, then, that we can grow back internal organs as well as hands," said Ironfoot.
"Come down now," said the sergeant, "or we will fire."
"Now," said Silverdun. He raised his hand as if to surrender, but then flicked his wrist. Sela looked away.
The air around her exploded with light. She shut her eyes, but even so the light shone through her eyelids, splashing smears of blue and red across her vision.
Men below started screaming. Sela couldn't help herself; she looked.
The entire balcony shone as if Silverdun were a sun. The guards were stumbling, clutching at their faces. They cast perfect black shadows on the wall of the house behind them. The sergeant was feeling out in front of him; his face was bright red.
"What did you do?" asked Ironfoot. He was also staring now, as the light began to die away.
"That was a bit of witchlight?" said Timha. "I've never seen anything like it!"
Silverdun looked down at the scene below him. "Ah," he said.
"We need to go no
w," said Ironfoot. "Before anyone else shows up."
Below, the guards were still scrambling, looking for shelter, terrified.
"You've blinded them," said Sela.
"He did more than blind them," said Ironfoot. "Look at their faces."
Sela looked and saw the face of one of the guards close up. His skin looked as though it had been pushed into a fire.
"Fall back!" shouted the sergeant. The men attempted to flee.
Silverdun led the way down the stairs. He picked up one of the guards' crossbows and hurried toward the yacht, with Ironfoot close behind. Timha followed, his head down.
Sela ran to Elspet and helped her up. With her head hung, she'd escaped the worst of it and still had her sight, though it was clear she wasn't seeing particularly well.
"Come with us," whispered Sela.
"I can't," said Elspet. "I'll tell them you broke in. My husband is a powerful man. They'll believe me, and I have important work here."
She grabbed Sela's arm. "Get him out of here or all this will have been for nothing."
Sela turned and ran to catch up with Ironfoot, Silverdun, and Timha, who were already climbing on the yacht.
"Come on!" shouted Ironfoot.
One of the guards fired his crossbow at the sound of Ironfoot's voice, and the quarrel lodged in the mast next to him. Silverdun held up his stolen bow and fired back, dropping the guard where he stood.
Sela fled toward the dock. She'd almost made it when she felt a hand on her wrist and she sprawled down onto the wooden floor, the wind knocked out of her. The sergeant had grabbed her, even blind.
"You're not going anywhere!" he shouted.
"Help!" she shouted at Silverdun.
On the yacht, Ironfoot flicked his wrist. Something flashed in the air, and the sergeant made a choking noise. The hand around her ankle went limp.
She turned to see Ironfoot's dagger lodged in the sergeant's throat. She picked herself up and stumbled toward the yacht. Silverdun yanked her on board, Ironfoot cut the mooring line with another knife, and the yacht lurched into the air, sending Sela sprawling onto the deck.
Ironfoot did something to the yacht's mainsail and the yacht turned. Suddenly there was wind where there had been no wind before, and the city seemed to jump away from them. The yacht veered sharply in the city's wake, nearly toppling.
Ironfoot took the wheel and turned it sharply. There was a grinding sound below, and the ship righted itself. The city began to recede quickly now.
"I can't believe we got away!" said Timha. He was laughing nervously. "I don't know how you did it but ... that was amazing!"
"I wouldn't start celebrating just yet, friend," said Silverdun, pointing.
A trio of fliers was headed in their direction.
"I think somebody noticed Silverdun's light show," said Ironfoot.
"Can't you go any faster?" asked Sela.
"Not unless you know how to make the wind blow harder," said Ironfoot.
Timha grabbed a crank and used it to tighten one of the ropes that held the sail in place. The yacht accelerated, but not by much.
"They've got the wind behind them," said Timha. "And by the time we turn to run, they'll have us. We should surrender!"
"Shut up!" shouted Silverdun. Ironfoot turned the wheel hard, and the yacht dipped to the left.
"Come about and put your craft in irons!" came a spell-amplified voice from one of the approaching guard fliers.
"Irons?" said Sela, confused.
"It means to turn the bow into the wind," said Ironfoot. "He wants us to stop."
Silverdun took a bolt from the small quiver attached to the front of his crossbow and put it in place, cranking the crannequin as he spoke. "No more bright lights?" asked Ironfoot.
"I haven't got a drop of re in me. You?"
"If they all came on board and sat patiently with us, I could probably throw some Leadership at them."
"Fine," said Silverdun. "Then we run and take our chances."
It was soon clear, however, that running wasn't going to work. The guard ships were faster; they had engines of Motion that added to the speed of their sails, whereas the yacht's power only allowed it to stay in the air.
"Stop and prepare to be boarded!" came the amplified voice again.
"What do we do?" shouted Sela. Silverdun gripped the crossbow tightly, his knuckles white.
The guard fliers were gaining, nearly alongside now.
"Stop now or we will fire upon your craft!"
"Damn!" shouted Ironfoot. He turned the wheel hard to the right, veering the yacht directly toward one of the guard fliers.
"What are you doing?" shouted Timha.
"Let's see how sturdy this yacht is!" shouted Ironfoot.
The guard flier dipped in the air to avoid them, but it was too late. The yacht's prow collided with the flier's mainmast. There was a horrible scraping sound, and the cracking of wood. Crossbow shots came from below-the guards in the flier were firing on them.
Silverdun leaned over the prow of the yacht with his own crossbow and fired. There was a loud crack, and the flier came loose beneath them, drifting off astern.
Sela heard a loud snap and turned to see something bright arcing toward the yacht from one of the fliers. It was like a miniature sun. It went high and wide, just missing the smaller sail in the front of the craft. Sela could feel the heat of it as it passed.
Another snap, and another sun flew toward them. This one ripped through the mainsail and smashed into the deck just in front of Ironfoot, who let go of the wheel and jumped backward, tripping over Timha.
The deck erupted in flame. Timha crawled out from beneath Ironfoot and drew a sigil in the air with his hands. The tiny ball of flame rose straight up, then turned at a right angle and struck the stern of the flier that had fired it. The guards aboard the flier hurried to put out the flames.
Sela looked back and realized that Timha had been too late. The fire was spreading across their deck; the wheel was aflame. Ironfoot and Timha were backed into a corner. Timha continued to make his sigils, but whatever he was attempting didn't appear to be working. Silverdun was struggling to reload his crossbow, but the crazy movement of the vessel made it nearly impossible.
The yacht stalled, then lurched. A gust of wind caught the loose mainsail, and the world began to spin around Sela. Flames licked the sail, and it caught fire as well, smoke spiraling up from the top of the mast.
Then came a percussive sound that made Sela's bones shake. The deck dipped and swayed. Seta lost her balance and fell onto the deck, and then somehow the deck was above her, and she was spinning, spinning, falling.
She turned over in the wind, and now she could see below her. Wind ruffled endless wheat fields like waves in the ocean, growing gray in the moonlight. In the center of the wheat, however, was a great, irregular oval of blackness, a space of utter darkness. Strangely, it did not look as if she was falling. Had Silverdun or Ironfoot done something to arrest their descent? All around her was smoke and flame. She couldn't see anything other than the ground below her.
Wind blew up at her, forcing her skirts up and her hair back from her head. Her skirts and sleeves were whipped by the air, flapping frantically against her skin.
Now she saw that she was falling, but from such a great height that it hadn't seemed like it at first. The black oval was like a mouth; it reached out toward her. The farther she fell, the larger it grew, and she realized that she was falling directly into the center of the umbra, the shadow of Preyia. Where it was bad luck to stand.
Now the ground was rushing toward her, the blackness expanding around her on all sides. The umbra was pure, velvety blackness; no moonlight illuminated its depths.
She fell and fell, her breath caught in her throat. The blackness grew and grew until it was everywhere and there was nothing but the black below and the smoke and the fire above and they came together and Sela gasped and the flame met the blackness with Sela in the middle. Dark and light. A loud rush
and a silence.
The only Fae surface dwellers in the Unseelie are the Arami, that strange breed who maintain the ways of the wild Fae clans from before the time of Uvenchaud.They scrupulously avoid their airborne counterparts, or anyone else, for that matter. Thus, very little is known about them.
Midwinter 02: The Office of Shadow Page 29