by A. C. Cobble
The man didn’t ask what the soldiers were looking for. Instead, he ducked into his room and heartbeats later came barreling back out. He skidded on bare feet across the wooden floor and crashed into the opposite wall. It didn’t slow him. Clutching his boots and a loose burlap sack, the man sprinted down the hallway, heading away from the stairs.
“What do we do?” asked Amelie.
“Follow him!” exclaimed Ben.
Wherever the man was going, he obviously didn’t want any more interaction with the guards than Ben and Amelie did. The shirtless man ran down to the end of the hall and paused there, squatting to tug his boots on. He suddenly seemed to realize he was missing a shirt, looked back to his room, and cursed.
Ben and Amelie had almost caught up to him when he jumped in the air and caught ahold of what Ben thought was a ceiling rafter. To his surprise, the man landed back on the floor and a ladder crashed down on top of him. Glaring at Ben and Amelie, the man scrambled to his feet and snatched up his sack.
“You can follow me out but pull the bloody ladder up after you. Once we’re out of the inn, you’re on your own. If you stay on my tail,” he drew a finger across his throat in a slashing gesture.
“No problem,” snapped Ben. “We’re just trying to get out of the building.”
Without comment, the man climbed the ladder. Amelie followed and Ben brought up the rear. Adhering to the man’s instructions, he pulled the ladder up behind them. They were in the rafters, above the hallway but walled off from the rooms that made the upstairs of the Hammer and Anvil. The space above one room was open though. The shirtless man was crossing it on a wide beam. Ben saw the beam extended to where the roof met the wall.
Amelie glanced back at Ben, adjusted the pack on her back, and edged out onto the beam as well. He paused, looking down. Below him, the room held a large bed, wardrobe, table, chairs, and a writing desk. Rumpled clothes were tossed on the floor. Jolly Jon’s room, he guessed.
“Come on,” hissed Amelie.
Trying to ignore the drop to the wood floor below, Ben crawled after her on his hands and knees. The shirtless man reached the end then pulled back a board on the wall. He slipped into a hole between the wall and the roof, quickly wiggling out of sight.
Swallowing, Ben kept his eyes on the man’s disappearing feet and refused to look down. When he and Amelie made it to the end of the beam, she ducked into the same narrow space the shirtless man had gone. A crash sounded at the end of the hall and Ben heard shouting. The soldiers had made it upstairs. Without pause, he followed right on Amelie’s heels, afraid the guards would burst into Jon’s room and see him up on the beam.
He hauled himself and his pack through a narrow hole in the wall then almost lost his nerve. Outside the wall of the inn, Amelie was perched under the eaves of the roof, straddling two wooden beams. Below her, the shirtless man was clinging to barely visible studs on the exterior of the inn. The studs wouldn’t be noticed from below, and if the man wasn’t hanging off them, Ben wasn’t sure he’d see them from above either. Below the man were three stories of open space.
Suddenly, the man launched himself into open air.
Amelie gasped.
The shirtless man cleared the wide alley and landed heavily on a thatch roof on the other side. Ben watched in amazement as the man immediately burrowed into the thatch, digging a hole through the thick material and disappearing into it.
“Are we sure we should do this?” asked Amelie in a quaking voice.
Ben heard another crash behind him. The soldiers weren’t waiting for someone to answer the door when they knocked. They were kicking them in.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he said with a groan, “but, yes. We don’t have a choice.”
Tight-lipped, Amelie hesitantly slid a foot off the beam and searched for a toehold on the wall. Ben nearly closed his eyes, his stomach lurching at the thought of watching her climb down the wall. Any fall at that height would certainly break a leg or two. He opened his eyes, following her movements. He needed any help he could get climbing down.
Amelie’s second foot followed the first. Ben moved to hover above her on the beams, ready to snake an arm down if it looked like she was wavering. That would likely send them both crashing to the ground, but he had to be ready to do something.
Beside his head, the top of a ladder slammed against the wall.
Amelie yelped and Ben grabbed her. She held on, barely. Looking down, Ben saw an angry woman standing at the bottom of the ladder.
“Hurry and get down here,” she barked. “I won’t have any more of you crawling through my roof and ruining my thatch. It’ll take me all day to fix that mess.”
Without questioning it, Amelie stepped over onto the ladder. Ben scrambled down after. Immediately after his boots hit the ground, the woman pulled away her ladder and started back toward her house.
“Now git!” she exclaimed over her shoulder. “I don’t want no part of whatever trouble you’ve found yourselves in.”
“There!” said Ben. He saw the shirtless man dart across the end of the alley. The man had steered them right so far. They may as well stay on his tail. Ben didn’t intend to follow the man far. He was sure the little man would attack them if he felt threatened, but they could follow him a few blocks to get away from the soldiers.
He and Amelie took two steps then stopped. The shirtless man was stumbling back across the mouth of the alley, clutching at a crossbow bolt protruding from his chest. A steady flow of blood painted his stomach.
“Call the sergeant,” shouted a hidden voice. “I got a runner!”
Ben grabbed Amelie’s arm and spun her around. “Let’s try the other way.”
Blood and Fire
Boots stomped on the floor above them. Ben and Amelie huddled silently in the dark. For the last half bell, they’d been sitting quietly, waiting. Either the search would finish and the sounds of the boots would recede, or the door would open, and they’d have nowhere to run.
They were crouched in a corner of the hidden cellar in Samuel’s warehouse. The smell of perfume from the broken bottles filled the close, motionless air. It nearly choked Ben, but it was better than the smell of Samuel’s dead body. The man still lay there, bone-hilted dagger protruding from his chest.
They didn’t know who killed him or why they’d ransacked his secret chamber, but between the two buildings they’d entered in the town of Amum—Jolly Jon’s inn and Samuel’s warehouse—Ben had judged the warehouse the safest. Hiding was their only choice. Fleeing in broad daylight shortly after the barracks was alerted they were spies was clearly a bad idea.
He’d thought that before the soldiers stared searching the warehouse, though.
They’d been sitting on the back of Samuel’s cart, trying to come up with a plan, when they heard a heavy banging on the door and a shout from outside. Ben opened the hidden trap door, and they scrambled into the cellar a dozen heartbeats before the front door of the warehouse was smashed in.
Since then, the soldiers stomped around above, searching for some sign of Ben and Amelie, they thought. That left the question though. If the soldiers and Lord James didn’t know about the hidden cellar, then who did?
Eventually, the sounds of the boots faded and silence filled the building above them.
Whispering in Ben’s ear, Amelie suggested, “Shall we go up and take a look around?”
Responding just as quietly, Ben recommended, “Let’s wait. They think we’re spies. They may have left someone behind to wait for us.”
Amelie squeezed his hand in acknowledgement.
Bell after bell, they sat in the dark cellar. The cloying scent of perfume filled Ben’s nostrils. He tried to breathe through his mouth, but then it felt like he could taste the alcohol, flowers, and cinnamon. He tried to ignore it, but the scent and taste were unavoidable in the tiny space. Finally, eyes watering, he had to get some fresh air. He gripped Amelie’s hand and she jerked.
“What?” she exclai
med in a yelp.
Damn. Ben realized she’d been dozing. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Bell after bell in the dark, recovering from a hangover, of course she was going to fall asleep. It was probably evening now, if he’d judged the time right.
Taking a deep breath then immediately regretting it, Ben whispered in her ear, “It’s been a while since the soldiers left. I think we should try going up now. If they’re there, they may have heard us when you cried out anyway.”
He grinned to take the sting out of his words, but she couldn’t see it. He squeezed her hand and pulled her to her feet. She tapped his back, letting him know she was following behind. He felt his way toward the stairs, wincing when he stepped down on something soft. Samuel’s hand, he suspected.
Moving as quietly as they could in the dark, he crawled up the stairs. At the top, he adjusted his belt to free his sword hilt and prepared to open the trapdoor. If someone was waiting for them, Ben wanted to surprise them. Whether the watcher chose to fight or flee, surprise worked in Ben’s favor.
When he felt Amelie step to the stair behind him, Ben drew his longsword, threw open the door, and burst out of the cellar.
The warehouse space was empty. He saw the front door hung off one hinge, the wood and iron battered from where it had been smashed in. The open door frame let in a little light from outside, but night had fallen, and the lanterns that lined streets in wealthier cities were absent in Amum.
Even in the dim light, Ben could see where the soldiers had conducted their search. Items were scattered haphazardly around the open floor. Shelves had been pushed aside, crates pried open. The wagon in the center of the room appeared untouched, but a simple glance inside would have shown two spies weren’t hiding there.
Amelie gestured to the office. That door was forced ajar as well. The flickering light of a lantern lit the space. Ben stalked closer, his sword held in front of him. When he reached the office door, he leapt inside and found it empty. A lantern had been carelessly left burning on a desk. The desk drawers were yanked open. Against one wall was a squat, steel safe. Its door hung open. Ben peeked inside and saw it was empty.
He risked speaking and whispered to Amelie, “Let’s close the front door and sit down to think.”
He set his shoulder against the door and shoved it shut, or at least as closed as it was going to get. It fit awkwardly against the door jam, but it was better than leaving the thing wide open. Even with no watchers set on the place, the neighbors would report suspicious activity.
“So,” started Amelie, “what do we do?”
Ben adjusted the wick of the lantern and sat on the cart. “I think that’s up to you.”
Amelie frowned at him.
Ben swallowed. It seemed like a long time ago, but only the day before, they’d learned the news about her father and mother.
“Issen is in Coalition hands,” reminded Ben. “There’s nothing we can do about that. If Jolly Jon is right, though, then your mother will be in Irrefort before we are. I, at least, wasn’t planning on stopping by the palace so we should be able to move about just as safely as we could without her there, but, do you want to try and confront her, do you still want to go at all?”
Amelie grimaced and sat beside Ben on the wagon. She didn’t speak. Ben gave her time to think.
“Yes,” Amelie finally answered. “It doesn’t matter what happened with Issen or what happened with my parents.” She choked down a sob. “I don’t mean it like that. I loved my parents, particularly my father. He was always good to me, always the man I looked up to more than anyone else in this world. If I could, I’d spend the next week thinking of ways to honor him, ways to grieve, ways to make him proud.”
“I think I understand,” offered Ben.
Amelie nodded. “Someday, I may have time to grieve, but as painful as it is, we don’t have time for that. The demons are out there and they won’t stop. Only Towaal, Rhys, Corinne, and we really know what happened at the Rift, and what happened in Northport. We have to find the Purple and tell them what we know. If we don’t, the consequences could be wholesale slaughter. My father’s death changes none of that.”
“From what you’ve told me,” responded Ben, “fighting the demons would make your father proud. He sounded like a man who loved the people of Issen, a man who was committed to peace in Alcott. It didn’t turn out the way he expected, but he died trying to do what is right. I think he’d be proud of you for doing what you think is right.”
A tear rolled down Amelie’s cheek.
They sat in an uncomfortable silence until Ben spoke up again. “Our goal is still the same, but it’s not any easier. Lord James will convince everyone we’re spies. They’ll be out on the roads looking for us, but we can’t hide in here forever.”
“We need to rest first,” declared Amelie. “In the morning, we’ll think of something.”
***
They slept on the wood floor of Samuel’s warehouse. It wasn’t comfortable, but they didn’t have anywhere else to go. Any building they entered or any person they met could spell danger. When Ben woke, he was lying on his side, staring at the peddler’s cart.
Leaving on foot and travelling rough across the plains around the town could be deadly. Unlike when they left the Sanctuary, there was no cover in the plains grass, no wood for fires, no game except the roving herds of buffalo they’d spotted. Only rarely had they seen water on the road, and when they did, it almost always had a clump of travelers clustered around it.
Lord James was looking for them, but he was looking for two people on foot he thought fled the day before. Ben rose quietly, trying not to wake Amelie. With the trauma and the hang over, she needed as much rest as she could get.
He circled the cart. It appeared sturdy, and it had room for both of them. Among the discarded items the soldiers had yanked off the shelf, he thought they could put together a semblance of merchandise.
By the time Amelie woke, Ben had started collecting piles of potential goods. One pile was foodstuffs, mostly dried items like beans and rice. A second pile contained valuables, which he suspected were fakes. Finally, he had odds and ends, needles, thread, ink, paper, and other items that would sell well in the small towns on the way to Irrefort.
Amelie, seeing what he was doing, mentioned, “We should search the hidden chamber as well. Some of that stuff appeared mage-wrought. It could be valuable.”
“We’re not trying to make money,” replied Ben.
“Not just valuable in terms of gold. If I can figure out what the stuff does, maybe we can use it.”
Ben nodded. He’d thought of that as well, but he was reluctant to venture into the cellar again. Samuel’s body would be getting ripe by now. Not even the spilled perfume would cover his stench.
They spent the morning gathering supplies, loading it into the wagon and making themselves a comfortable living space inside. It would be better than sleeping in the open in the winter. By midday, they’d packed up most of the items from the warehouse and were ready to brave the cellar below. Ben lit the lantern and led the way into the small space. Samuel’s body lay in the center of the room. The bone-handled dagger still stuck out from his chest. Ben examined the three slashes on the butt of the hilt, but they didn’t make any more sense to him now than they did before.
He watched as Amelie flitted around the room, touching objects, setting some aside, and discarding others. Most of the material was mundane, mirrors, perfume, embroidered purses, and finely wrought boxes. A few jewels studded some, but otherwise, they were not special.
Ben’s interest piqued when Amelie picked a basket-hilted rapier up off one shelf.
“Mage-wrought?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, it is mundane, but it seems to be in good condition. It’ll save us from having to buy a replacement in town.”
“Try not to ruin this one,” jested Ben.
Amelie grumbled and placed it in the pile of items she planned to take upstairs. Most of them were simple
valuables, but a few appeared unique. Ben watched as she collected wooden carvings, palm-sized metal discs etched with runes, and finally, an arms-length scepter made of black glass and capped with two plain sliver orbs at both ends. It had been lying behind the lone table in the room, wedged between it and the wall where it must have fallen or hidden at some point. They hadn’t seen it until Ben tried to sit on the table, nearly knocking it over and dropping the scepter to the floor.
Ben peered at the scepter closely until Amelie hissed at him, “Don’t touch that!”
He looked at her curiously.
“I believe that is a weapon,” she continued. “A rather dangerous one, if what I sense is correct.”
“Should we leave it?” asked Ben.
Amelie shook her head. “We may need it.”
Finally, when Amelie was done with her inspection, they collected the items she’d set aside and carried them upstairs. Ben let her handle the glass scepter. Back in the main room of the warehouse, he shut the trap door, closing Samuel’s hidden chamber and his body inside. They stashed the new items inside the cart in a wall of boxes that seemed designed for small valuables.
“What now?” asked Amelie.
“We wait until morning and leave with the rest of the merchants,” suggested Ben. “The traffic will be heaviest at first light. Hopefully, we can fit right in with everyone else who is leaving at that hour.”
“The guards could be looking for us,” reminded Amelie. “Lord James directed the soldiers to search the road, but since they haven’t found us, they might be checking at the gates as well.”
Ben frowned. “You could ride inside and maybe hide under some blankets.”
“That’s a dead give-away if they check the wagon and find me,” argued Amelie.
“Maybe just ride inside then,” replied Ben. “We could play it off like you’re just staying out of the cold. I don’t think they’ll check though. One man alone with a peddler’s cart shouldn’t stand out.”
Amelie nodded. “We should hide your sword. Lord James has seen you use it. Surely that’s part of the description given to the soldiers.”