The City of Lies (The Mira Brand Adventures Book 3)

by Robert J. Crane

  “Ouch,” Emmanuel groaned. Then: “No way.”

  “I found it,” Carson whispered. “I … I actually found it. Me.”

  Heidi smiled. “Well done, Carson. You were right all along.”

  “I …” He looked for a moment like he might cry, staring at Heidi with an expression I’d never seen before. And then he broke out in a wide smile, nothing but pearly whites, and danced down the aisles of ingots, hands thrust overhead as he whooped and whooped and whooped. “I WAS RIGHT! I KNEW I WAS RIGHT, AND I WAS!! I FOUND THE TREASURE OF OSTIAGARD!” And off he danced, disappearing from sight but for his arms, thrust skyward.

  Under other circumstances I’d have exchanged a look with Heidi; the sort of look I supposed parents got when their kid opened the Christmas present he or she had been looking forward to the most, the one that would occupy them for … probably the rest of time, to be honest. Instead, now I didn’t have Carson in my face, I turned my attention to the treasury and its vast stacks of precious metals.

  On and on they went. I’d never seen anything like it.

  How much was this even worth?

  “Damn,” Emmanuel said. He leaned awkwardly by a stone pillar, looking like it took great effort to stand up. “He actually did it. I didn’t believe for a second that he would … but he did.”

  “Neither did we,” I admitted.

  “It’s nice to be proven wrong though,” said Heidi.

  Carson danced back past us. He grabbed me by the hands, spun me around—then he was past, pumping a fist as he whooped at Burbondrer’s politely confused face, disappearing down past a row of gold ingots in orc-sized stacks.

  “Whole nations have invaded this city to find this,” Emmanuel mused, “and it takes one American kid with book-smarts to figure it out.” He shook his head. “And it’s in the most obvious place in the world too. Seekers are a thick-headed bunch, aren’t we?”

  “Speak for yourself,” said Heidi.

  Emmanuel smirked, and nodded. Just a small one, but it said, All right, yes. I’ll give you that one.

  “Almost a shame Ostiagard doesn’t have Seekers of its own,” Emmanuel mused. “They’d have found this an age ago.”

  “Yeah, a real shame.” Heidi rolled her eyes. “Why would we ever want a cut of the treasure? Damn, I wish it had been stolen by invading armies hundreds of years ago. Life is so unfair.”

  Emmanuel frowned. “All right, it was a stupid thing to say.”

  “No kidding. So: what exactly do we do with all this?” Heidi asked. “I’m not sure how we plan on bringing it back, other than loading Bub up and—”

  But before she could hammer out the logistics of ferrying an entire treasury’s worth of precious metals to Benson’s, the open gate above our head shuddered. People came into view, staring down in confusion—

  Guards. Dressed in deep purple jackets and thick, dark trousers, and led by a captain with an oversized hat like an admiral, their eyes widened. Animated conversation failed to come over the gap—

  Then they were dropping in behind of us.

  Cries of amazement rose: “Whoas” and “Deities!” and “Heavens above!” from the men. They gawked, the five of us ignored—

  The captain’s gawk was widest of all. A mustached man heading up the guard detail, he looked utterly gobsmacked. Which was pretty much how I was feeling, honestly.

  “The lost treasure of Ostiagard,” he croaked. “It’s been found! Under the throne room all along—all our riches—”

  And then his eyes settled on us.

  The wonder faded.

  An officious sort of look came over him.

  “This is property of Ostiagard,” he started.

  “Whoa, whoa,” I said—

  Carson finished a loop, trotting up behind us. “What’s going on?”

  Heidi elbowed him. “Shut up a minute.”

  “I don’t know who you are, or what you’re doing here,” the captain began again—

  “We are the people who’ve finally found your lost treasure,” I said.

  “Which belongs to—”

  “We’re entitled to a cut—”

  He puffed up his chest. “This treasure is our city’s—”

  I swelled, mirroring him. “And it’d still be lost if not for us—if not for him.” I dragged Carson forward by the shirtsleeve. “Carson Yates. His name will be in your history books.”

  Carson stared at me. “It will?”

  “Of course. You found the lost treasure of Ostiagard, after invading armies and countless Seekers from dozens, if not hundreds, of worlds failed. That’s you.” To the captain and his taskforce: “You have a lot to thank this man for.”

  The captain blustered. Red bloomed in his cheeks, and he hunted for words he couldn’t find.

  “The phrase you’re looking for is ‘thank you,’” Heidi said.

  That seemed to set him off. “This treasure is property of Ostiagard,” he repeated.

  “Lost property, up until about five minutes ago.”

  “And now that it has been found, I will not allow you to make off with it,” he continued, speaking louder.

  Ohh. So that explained his hackles rising. Made sense really, I supposed. Plunderers had plumbed the depths of this place for over a thousand years, desperate to steal Ostiagard’s treasures. And here we were, more of the same.

  Though how, exactly, the guard captain thought the five of us would make off with anything, I wasn’t sure. Heidi was a dwarf, Carson’s upper body strength was practically non-existent, my brother had been stabbed, and I was exhausted. Bub could’ve had a decent shot, I supposed, but still … we wouldn’t be going far.

  Having said that: if Carson could open one of his broken gateways directly to my library, and empty the treasury right into it …

  One of the other guards ventured, “She’s got a point, sir. By our law they are entitled to five percent—”

  The captain harrumphed, shooting his subordinate a dark look.

  “Oh yes,” said Heidi. “Five percent. That’s a fair price to pay, is it not, for finding this little pile of gold and platinum you managed to misplace?”

  “I—well, the rules may be—” the captain tried, stumbling over his words.

  “What are your names?” one of the others asked—and there, the captain lost command.

  “Us?” Emmanuel asked. A rare moment: he sounded genuinely shocked.

  “Yeah. Who are you?”

  “This is Heidi Luo,” I said, waving to her. “Burbondrer.”

  “Of Ocklatojsh,” he finished, shaking the guard’s hand in a meaty fist.

  “My brother, Emmanuel Brand,” I said.

  There was no ripple of excitement—of course not. These people faced Seekers all the time, come searching for trinkets of an Ostiagard long past. As far as the guards were concerned, Seekers were a pox, plaguing Ostiagard like gnats; no reason to learn which of them was most famous.

  “And you?” the guard asked me.

  “I’m Mira,” I said. “Mira Brand.”

  Carson nudged me. He whispered, “That’s your James Bond thing again.”

  One of the guards was scribbling in a notepad.

  “What are you doing?” the captain asked.

  “Taking note of their names, sir.” He tipped the pencil at me. “She’s right. They’ll go down in the history books.”

  A harried look, but: “Yes. Right, well.” No choice now but to go along with it. “Yes. Take note then, please. Err … how do you spell … Ocktabosh, was it?”

  Our names were taken—and then, between the guards and their captain, we were informed in a daze that we would indeed be gifted five percent of the value of the treasury—just as soon as it was counted. Fortunately, though there was a lot of it (and I mean a lot), it wouldn’t be too long; more guards were ordered up from their foray with the Order of Apdau’s incursion on the other side of the keep, to help speed the counting process.

  “Another great mystery,” Emmanuel mus
ed when we had a moment. “And it’s been solved by my sister and her friends.”

  “Carson figured it out.”

  “Yeah … but you thought about using an Ostiagardan ring. That’s all you.”

  I shrugged. “He did a whole lot more than me. I think he gets the credit.”

  Right now, Carson was being quizzed by a posse of the ever-swelling ranks of guards. There seemed to be hundreds of them now, and more were swarming in all the time. He related in great detail all the reading he’d done, and the clues he’d followed to get us here.

  Emmanuel smiled. “He deserves it.”

  I nodded. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”

  Emmanuel puffed a wistful sigh—then winced.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Yep. Shoulder stings a little, but considering I just took a dagger through the back? All told, I’m just swell.” He flashed a pained grin. “Fairly sure once the adrenaline wears off I’ll be rolling on the floor. Don’t tell anyone about that, though.”

  “I’m not promising anything.”

  A pause.

  “Thanks for doing that,” I said. “You know … stepping in back there. I … appreciate it.”

  “Couldn’t let anything happen to my little sister.”

  Quiet.

  It felt … oddly close. Yes, there was all this baggage between us—but Emmanuel had saved me. He’d put his life at risk to do that.

  Emmanuel.

  Had I got him so wrong all this time?

  No. I wouldn’t forget that.

  I wouldn’t forget this either, though.

  He rubbed his jaw. “Your name’s going to be in those history books too, Meer.”

  I nodded. “And yours.”

  “Mm.” He glanced to Carson again. Frowned. “I don’t feel worthy of it.”

  Genuine? I couldn’t tell. Fake humility was Emmanuel’s fare, after all; I’d seen plenty of it just today, let alone my life growing up with him.

  But whether it was faked or not, I didn’t care. We had reason to celebrate. Carson had cracked this, after Heidi and I had been so convinced it would all end in heartbreak. We had a five percent cut coming our way—one percent each, if we split it fairly, which Carson would absolutely insist on. (And so would I, to be fair … even with Emmanuel.)

  One percent didn’t sound like a large number. But against these vast stores …

  We weren’t going to be short of coup for a very, very long time.

  29

  Unknown world; my hideout.

  I’d like to say there was a mountain of coup stacked on the tables scattered throughout my library. But I’d be vastly overestimating things. For one, coup denominations didn’t stop at fifty, like English notes, or one hundred like American ones. It ramped up—and so our payout for finally locating the lost treasure of Ostiagard, the City of Not-so-many-lies-after-all, looked fairly small overall.

  The value of our payout, though …

  It was strange to think we might be set for life—kind of like a misty-eyed dream, almost—but it was possible. Very, very possible.

  We were all counting, Burbondrer included. Me personally? I couldn’t stop grinning. A smile crossed Heidi’s face too, a big one. Emmanuel couldn’t believe it. Burbondrer was politely befuddled, though seemed quite cheerful with his newfound wealth. And Carson—well, neither could he. And nor did he seem to be interested in making it sink in: he couldn’t focus on counting at all, and thrust up, the chair rearing back behind him and falling over.

  “I FOUND IT!” he whooped, and pumped his fists.

  “Carson,” Heidi said, like a tired parent. “Sit back down in that chair and count your coup.”

  “But it means nothing to me,” he said. “I mean, what’s the coup-to-dollar exchange rate? I have no idea. These might be worth peanuts. Or they might be worth all the money in our world!” He grabbed up his stack of coins, and let them rain down through his fingers back onto the table. “All that matters to me right now is that I was right!”

  And he was off again, dancing around the table and pumping his fists.

  I glanced at Heidi.

  She watched him, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

  “He’s going to be puffed up like a peacock for a while,” I said.

  Her smile widened. “Let him have his moment.” And, to my surprise, she stepped away from the table, heading past him en route to the kitchen—pausing to rest a gentle hand on his back and exchanging a smile with him.

  “Is there anywhere here we can talk?” Emmanuel asked, meeting eyes with me over his stack of coins. “Privately, I mean.”

  “The study’s good enough,” I said, and rose.

  Yes, I had let Emmanuel into my hideout, something I would have sworn just yesterday morning I would never do. But I’d softened to him—not a lot, but incrementally. He’d fought the Order of Apdau with us. He’d stuck through with Carson’s quest to the end. And he’d taken a knife to the shoulder for me. I figured that at least put us one step on the long road to being good.

  I led him into the study, and we took opposite seats.

  He sighed. Leaned forward, and shook his head. “Meer.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For …?”

  He looked up—and there was guilt in his eyes. Real, genuine guilt.

  It looked good on him. Or maybe that was the vindictive part of me, happy to see Emmanuel feel something other than satisfaction with himself.

  “I’m sorry for the way things were between us. I didn’t think—I was so busy being happy with my life, and the road Mum and Dad set me on, that I never stopped to think—what it would be like for you, living in that shadow.”

  I pursed my lips. “No.”

  Quiet.

  And then I spilled.

  “It was hard,” I said. “Feeling like I was second fiddle to you. Not even that. I was just …” I heaved a sigh. “Manny, I wanted this life so much, and all I was told was that I couldn’t have it; that it was too dangerous. But why was I any different?”

  “You were the first girl—”

  “So?” I cut across.

  “I’m not saying it was right for Mum and Dad to think that way,” Emmanuel said softly. “Maybe that’s not even it at all. I don’t know; you’d have to ask them. But maybe that’s part of it.”

  “Maybe they were so happy with how things were going with you, they didn’t want to divert focus from their golden child.”

  Emmanuel opened his mouth to say something, then closed it.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know what they thought. I can’t help you there. And I can’t apologize on their behalf; that’s for Mum and Dad to say. But I can say sorry for me—because you’re right, I was an arse. I’ve been so … smug, and pleased with myself, and just … just patted on the back all the time.” A wan smile. “Get told that long enough, you do tend to start thinking you’re better than other people.”

  “You’re not.”

  “I know. I know now. And I’m sorry.”

  I nodded, just once. It was as close as I’d come to accepting his apology—and a damn sight closer than I would have been before the past couple of days. But my frostiness was thawing. And though the process would be slow, and the path long—very long—this could be … well. It was crazy to think, but maybe, just maybe, this could be the beginning of a resolution between us.

  Insane. Just like everything else on this adventure.

  “So,” I said, “what are you doing now?”

  “Not sure,” he said, leaning back. He swept a gaze around the study. “I quite like the set-up you’ve got here.”

  “Are you implying you’d like to stay?”

  He shrugged. “Be interesting.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t need another …”

  “Hanger-on?” Emmanuel suggested.

  “They’re not hangers-on,” I said. “They’re my friends. And we make a pretty good team.”


  Emmanuel smiled—and, like the look of guilt in his eyes when he gave what I suspected was his first real apology in years, this one was not the practiced mask he had grown so good at adopting. This was genuine—real.

  “You certainly do,” he admitted. “You certainly do.”

  Epilogue

  Hideout. Midnight.

  I waited until everything calmed down, until Emmanuel took his inevitable exit back to his own flat. Whatever reservations of mine had been smoothed out, no matter how chummy we felt at the moment, he wasn’t going to stay the night. He was the sort who needed his own space.

  One sympathized, I thought as an orc snore rattled the shelves.

  I crept out, wondering if Heidi had gone for “curry” again.

  Her secret, whatever it was, didn’t bother me, exactly.

  Well, maybe a little, in the way that a loose pebble in your boots could drive you batty given enough time.

  But then, it wasn’t as though I didn’t have a secret of my own.

  Upon reaching the main library, I made my way over to the still-burning fireplace. It smelled of rich wood, even though we’d never once tossed so much as a single log upon it. I imagined it would burn forever; some magic worked upon it to shed heat and light and atmosphere to the place, the occasional random pop of the flames working the same log that had been in there since—I dunno, the Abdication Crisis for all I knew.

  Above the long, polished mantle sat a cup. But not just any cup, no.

  The Cup of Glory.

  Looking carefully over my shoulder so as not to be caught off guard by Carson or Heidi, I lifted it in both hands, one on each of the glistening handles. The fire flickered off the polished surface, encrusted gemstones lighting up like little red beacons as they caught the glare of the flames.

  Every once in a while, I did this. Picked up my conquest and just … held it.

  It wasn’t for the reason you probably think; I wasn’t just some vain glory-hog. Or not exactly, anyway.

  I’d worked my arse off to see this quest fulfilled. I’d dealt with Carson’s inanities, Heidi’s irritability, Alain Borrick’s interference, and even Bub’s attempt to keep me from Decidian’s Spear.