Chapter 31
Only Eleanor, Daniel and Jorge were summoned from their dinner. That could mean only one thing: it was time for them to learn what the task for their final contest would be. The messenger led them to the council chamber where Ragal was waiting, alone.
"I'm sure you know why you're here," he said. "The three of you are our remaining candidates for the council. This final contest could place any one of you into this year's seat. Seven days from now, on the shortest night of the year, you will settle this competition. Tonight, the council has finished defining the third and final contest."
The students looked at one another. For once, Jorge's typical arrogance looked dented; whether Ivan's words had sunk in, or simply his succession of third places had affected him, for the first time in the year he didn't look certain that he would win.
"The site for your mission will be the house of the ambassador from Taraska," Ragal continued. Eleanor felt the blood drain from her face. "The current ambassador here is the second son of the king, and we have reason to believe that the king is sending across plans for the new citadel being erected in Taraska La'on. Your challenge will be to bring back those plans. You will have from sunset to sunrise, if you need it, but you'll be racing one another more than the sun. The first candidate to return with the plans will be the winner, and will be co-opted onto the council with immediate effect. Good luck."
Daniel headed back towards the dining hall, but Eleanor was more interested in where Jorge was going. She slowed down, dropping a few steps behind him, but on this occasion he went straight back to his room. She was sure it wouldn't be long, though, before he went to ask Ivan's advice.
In fact, it was three days later that Jorge was mysteriously missing from the tracking lesson. As soon as the class split up to follow some trails, Eleanor crept off to see if she he was, indeed, visiting Ivan.
She walked up to Ivan's room, trying to look innocent as she passed Albert in the hall, and pressed her ear to the door.
"You might want to ask Raf about Taraska," Ivan was saying. "He's been there, so I'm sure he can tell you the sort of people they are."
"Raf's not on our side," Jorge said.
"What do you mean?"
"Raf wants Ellie to win."
"I suspect he just realises that she's in a much better position than you are – and between her and Daniel, I know who I'd choose."
"It's not about the current ranks." As usual, Jorge sounded put out. "He's been helping her since before the first contest."
"Well, worse things than Eleanor have happened to the council."
"But she's a girl!"
"She's a very competent woman."
"Why are you defending her?"
Eleanor found it very strange to listen to them talking about her. She wondered if Jorge's animosity towards her was still grounded in their earliest confrontations; he'd done a good job of ignoring her for most of the last two years.
"Because you continue to underestimate her. And until you acknowledge her strengths, you stand no chance of defeating her."
"But I thought you wanted me to win."
"That's the plan. Why do you think you're here right now? But, since you haven't yet convinced me you can pull this off, Eleanor is my fall-back."
"Are you helping her, too?"
"She doesn't need any help – which is why, if you forced me to make a bet, I'd put money on her. You've a hard job ahead of you."
Despite the strange circumstances of the compliment, Eleanor blushed. But what did he mean, she was his fall-back? Fall-back what? She tiptoed away from the door, head spinning. What did it all mean? She'd been planning to go back to class, but somehow she didn't think she could face it. They'd barely miss her, and she'd learn more by taking a scouting trip into the city.
She locked herself in her room for two full days before the summer solstice, having first stocked her closet with bread, fruit and cheese. She knew she should be training, but although she made some half-hearted efforts at stretches and sit-ups, she found it hard to force herself to any meaningful exertion. Mostly she stared out of the window, and tried to talk herself into believing that the embassy guards wouldn't be as sadistic as the men who'd tortured her in the Tarasanka cells. No, said the voice in the back of her mind, they'll probably just kill you if they catch you. The thought wasn't terribly reassuring.
Not for the first time, she wished she could talk to Raf about her fears. He was the one person guaranteed to understand... but once she started to express her feelings, how could she guarantee that she wouldn't spill out her thoughts about Jorge and Ivan? She'd had enough trouble keeping quiet when she'd talked to him about normal things. No, it was safer not to talk to anyone until it was all over.
Eventually, the designated evening arrived.
As the sun began to dip she dressed in her favourite black work-clothes, scraped her hair back into a tight bun, and wrapped a dark scarf around her hair. Then she smeared dirt into her skin; if she needed to fade into the shadows, she couldn't afford to let her pale complexion give her away.
Once she was satisfied with her appearance, it was time to arm herself, more thoroughly than she'd ever done before: two stilettos in her wrist sheathes, throwing knives and daggers at both hips, a harping knife across her back, palm-blade strapped tightly in place, blowpipe tucked behind her ear, and a poisoned dagger sheathed safely out of the way inside her boot. Then there were the other tools. She prepared a small pack with throwing stars, lock picks, climbing spikes, a spool of fine wire, and vials of fast-acting poison, anaesthetic, and oil. She wrapped everything tightly in strips of fabric so her pockets wouldn't rattle. Finally, she looped a few yards of rope as a belt around her waist. Whatever challenges the night presented, she wanted to make sure she was properly equipped.
Unlike the previous contests, this time there was no-one officiating. There would be no grand send-off. Although she was sure Jorge and Daniel would be similarly preparing themselves as the sun dropped below the horizon, she wasn't even expecting to see them until they arrived back at the academy – assuming they all made it back safely. Ragal had been more than clear that the risks of the summer contest were the same risks they'd face in daily life in the Association. And given that this mission was linked to Taraska, Eleanor had no difficulty believing that death was one of those risks.
Satisfied that she was as ready as she'd ever be, she stepped out into the common room. Mikhail and Sebastien were playing dice and both studiously ignored her, keeping their eyes fixed on the game board until she'd left the room. She wondered if they'd speak to her again once it was all over. If not, at least she wouldn't be sharing her living space with them for much longer.
She left the Association's grounds by the same route she'd taken so many times with Raf and the others, emerging into a quiet Almont side-street. She glanced around, slightly troubled by the brightness of the moon's light, and as soon as she'd made sure she was alone on the street she pulled herself up the nearest wall and scrambled across the roof tiles towards the Marble Quarter.
She made her way quickly across the rooftops of the city, picking the easiest path between buildings; it wasn't the most direct route to her target, but it was certainly the least likely to raise suspicions, and she had high hopes of reaching the embassy – or at least a neighbouring roof – without detection. If anyone heard her rattle the tiles above their heads, she'd be well on her way before they had chance to rise from their beds, come out into the night, and climb up to look for her.
As she shuffled along one particularly narrow ledge, gripping the tiles for stability, she wondered what strategies Jorge and Daniel had adopted. She probably wouldn't find out until they all got back to compare notes. She had to try and forget about them, to focus her attention on the task at hand without worrying about the competitive element... but it would make hunting for the plans so much more of a challenge when it was impossible to be sure that one of the others hadn't already got them.
She'd taken a casual stroll past the ambassador's house a few days earlier, just to make sure she knew where it was, but everything looked very different from this level. Thankfully, the embassy building was topped with a gold dome just like so many of the towers in Taraska La'on, so it would be hard to mistake it against the typical square silhouettes of the native Charanthe buildings. Eleanor wondered if any builder in the Empire even knew how to make a roof stay up in that shape.
It started to rain just as she reached the edge of the embassy's roof. She shuffled across the tiles on her stomach, taking more care now not to generate any sound that might give her away, and moving more slowly to avoid slipping on the wet slates.
She'd hoped there might be a door in the side of the tower, but although she completed a careful circuit of the dome, there wasn't any sign of an entrance. It wasn't that much like the buildings in Taraska, then. She'd have to go down.
She looped the end of her rope around one of the antefixes which decorated the base of the dome and lowered herself off the edge, abseiling slowly until her head reached the level of the highest row of windows. Maybe that could be a way in... but there were bars at the windows which were embedded in the stone of the walls, and the bars certainly weren't set wide enough for her to squeeze between them.
A few feet beneath her, however, her eye was caught by a balcony running along half the length of the wall. That must have a door, there wasn't much point in having a balcony if you couldn't get in and out.
She ran out of rope just above where she needed to be and had to let herself drop onto the balcony, leaving the rope dangling above her, making a mental note to come back for it later.
She wasn't surprised that the doors leading off the balcony were locked; she'd have been disappointed at the lax security if they hadn't been. She pulled her lock picks out of her pack, and it didn't take her long to encourage the lock to open. She oiled the hinges to be sure of a quiet entrance and slipped inside, tucking her picks out of the way in her hair.
She was in a large hall which looked like it was probably some kind of reception room, empty aside from a few chairs, with strange, gaudy paintings on the walls. Paint seemed an odd alternative to tapestries – there was no way the paint would help to keep any warmth in the room – but maybe whoever had set up this place was proving a point about their wealth. Whatever it was, the designs painted along the walls didn't appeal to Eleanor's tastes at all, and she was quite glad to make her way out into the corridor.
It was dark in the halls, where there were no windows for the moonlight to filter through, but she hadn't brought any candles; she couldn't risk anything that might draw attention to her presence.
As she crept along, making sure every step was silent, she wondered where she was going. She'd made no plans beyond getting inside the building, and now she wondered whether she'd secretly doubted getting even this far. After Jon and Victor's failure last year, with her concerns about what Jorge and Ivan were up to, and given her fear and hatred of anything connected with Taraska – she'd certainly had plenty of things to worry about. In retrospect, she suspected her worries had stopped her from doing all she could have done to prepare. This was very different to the staged competitions in the academy, and she'd had a week to get herself ready for it. Most likely there was more she could have done.
She could feel panic beginning to take hold of her, and told herself not to be so silly. She was here; nothing else mattered. Levelling critical thoughts at herself wasn't going to help her stay alive, find the plans, and get out of here in one piece.
She had to work out where they'd keep something so important.
She thought back to the time she and Raf had escaped from the cell in Taraska. They'd found their identity bangles and her knife quite straightforwardly, but they'd been in the same part of the building to start with, and it wasn't clear that the guards thought those were important objects worth guarding.
Plans for a new citadel, though. Those had to be special. Why would anyone have sent them here to start with? That was probably key to where they'd be. Had they been sent for approval or for information, for action or for safekeeping?
Taraska and Charanthe coexisted only in uneasy truce, each prefering most of the time to pretend the other didn't exist, the 'anything goes' attitude of Tarasanka law enforcement contrasting sharply with the Empire's slew of regulations. It would be an odd decision to send the plans for a new citadel into what was almost enemy territory, and whatever the reason, they'd surely want to guard them well.
She tiptoed through the corridors, working her way systematically through the building, up and down stairs, examining the different floors as quietly as she could, always ready to hide if she heard anyone approach.
Eventually she found a door on the ground floor, at the end of a dark corridor, which had easily twice as many locks as any other she'd seen. That was promising. She pulled out her lock picks and went to work.
The locks were a strange design, with cylinders which clicked back into place as soon as she removed her picks; to get all the locks open simultaneously she had to wedge her tension wrenches in place in three of the locks, so she could work on the fourth and finally push the door open. The space beyond was pitch black, and she paused to light a small lantern.
A flight of stone stairs led down into the cellars beneath the house. Eleanor took each step carefully, expecting traps, but only one of the steps seemed to be sprung and she stepped over it easily.
The walls were hewn from the bedrock, and were covered in mossy growth. The air smelled damp and mouldy, and there was a cold draught coming from somewhere above her head as she made her way along the passageway. The path progressed for around a hundred yards before it forked, with branches running left and right. Eleanor dropped to her knees and examined the floor. The moss on the floor to her left was scuffed and slimy, whereas to the right it was undisturbed.
She followed the left-hand path, step by cautious step, wondering whether the ambassador – or at least his guards – were keeping watch on this place. It was hard to imagine they could see anything through the thick darkness of the underground passages. Maybe they really assumed their clever locks would be enough to deter intruders.
She heard the click at the same time as she felt the floor move under her foot; the air moved as something swished through the darkness towards her head, and flattened herself against the wall just in time. It swung back and forth, and when it eventually came to rest she reached out and found an axe hanging from a rope.
She took even more careful steps as she continued through the passage, but she still had to duck quickly out of the way of another two axes before she eventually reached another door.
After three more complex locks, she found herself in a cold, damp vault. The plans were laid out on a mahogany table, weighted down by four smooth rocks at the corners. Though she took a careful look around the room, dagger in her hand, there was no sign that any of the others had been here.
Eleanor glanced across the diagrams, satisfying herself that this did indeed appear to be what she was after, then she moved the rocks, folded the papers, and slipped them into her deepest pocket. She was about to make her way out of the vault when she heard a muffled footstep to her left. She recognised him even by his silhouette. Daniel. He stepped towards her into the light.
"Don't move," she hissed. She already had a dagger in her right hand and she poised it ready for throwing. There was no way he could get to her first.
"Eleanor," he breathed, sounding almost relieved.
"I mean it," she said. "One more step and I'll kill you. I haven't come this far to have you take it all away from me."
Then she heard another movement behind her and she spun quickly on her heel, stepping backwards towards Daniel, preferring to have her back to the opponent she knew rather than the approaching stranger.
Two more steps and her assailant was visible: Jorge was rushing towards her, dagger held high, murder in his eyes. In the next few m
oments, everything seemed to happen at once. Eleanor raised her throwing arm, but Daniel moved faster and before she could release the weapon he was past her, forcing her arm down, deflecting her blade and pushing her off-balance. As she steadied herself, she saw Daniel's hand plunge down towards Jorge's shoulder and watched as he fell heavily to the ground, clearly unconscious.
"I could have handled him!" Eleanor whispered crossly, not daring to raise her voice.
"You would have killed him," Daniel said. "Now, he will just sleep, and when he wakes he will know it is too late."
"What did you do?"
"Not much," he said. "Just a little soporific I have made – it is quick, but it does not last long. It should wear off well before dawn."
Eleanor wanted to ask why – why had he acted to protect her, why did he feel Jorge's life was worth saving, why hadn't he also drugged her as he passed her? – but she knew they didn't have time to get into a protracted discussion. Instead, she held up her knife, said: "That doesn't get you off the hook. I'll still kill you if I have to."
"This is not a competition." Daniel spoke firmly, looking straight back into her eyes, ignoring the blade. "It is not about proving you deserve to be here. It is not about whether you can beat me. It is about getting out of here alive – both of us."
"I got this far," she muttered bitterly. It was bad enough that he was here, without him suggesting that she might actually still be in danger now she had the prize in her grasp.
He paused for a moment, then: "Do you know why we are here?"
"What do you mean?"
"It is not a trick question. Do you know why we are here tonight?"
"To get the citadel plans, or to win this contest, depending on which way you look at it."
"That is only your reason for agreeing to come. Why do you imagine the Taraskan king would send his secret citadel plans here?"
"Tarasanka."
"What?"
"It's Tarasanka, not Taraskan, that's the way words change in their language when – oh, never mind. I'm not sure why. His son, I suppose."
"His son does not need these plans. There is no good reason to send citadel plans to an enemy state. They would not do it. So why are we here?"
"Because, whether or not there's a good reason for it, the plans are here. And I assume the Association has some use for that information, though I wouldn't expect to know what they're going to do with it."
"On the contrary, I suspect the Association has no use for those plans, because those plans are not real. I believe the reason we are here is because the Taraskan authorities want us to be here. They would not really store important documents here, not even in a vault with such elaborate security."
"Why would they bother to set all this up around some fake documents?"
"To lure us into their trap, of course. Why would anyone store valuables in such an obvious place, when much more easily you could slip them unseen amongst the clutter everyday life? This place is like a signpost: look, here are the important things you would like to steal. They have taken every step to make sure it is easy for us."
Eleanor thought of the Code Tower trap which had ensnared Raf and so many of the others. "Do you think they're planning to ship us back to Taraska?"
"I have wondered, but I do not think it is important. We do not wish to find out. We need only to get out of here."
"What about Jorge?" She glanced at the mound of his body, rising and falling with heavy breaths. "We can't leave him here if it's a trap."
"A moment ago you would have killed him."
"He was trying to kill me! But what they do to you, that's much worse. Besides, think of the risks if they question him – we're going to have to carry him."
Jorge had been a solidly built youth when he'd arrived at the academy, and over the past two years he'd only grown broader and more muscular. It took both of them to lift him, Daniel gripping his shoulders and Eleanor holding his legs. They carried him with some difficulty through the narrow passages and up the stairs leading back to the main embassy building. Once they came out through the multiply-locked door and into a normal corridor again, Eleanor paused and looked around, trying to regain her bearings.
"I came in from upstairs, but this looks like the most direct route out," she said, moving towards a nearby door.
"Wait!" Daniel hissed.
She stopped with her hand on the doorknob. "What?"
"That door was well guarded."
"Do you have a better plan? I don't fancy carrying that weight over the rooftops."
"I merely thought you should know. You are welcome to them."
Eleanor dropped Jorge's feet and grabbed a pair of knives. "Okay, here's what we're going to do. You keep him out of the way, and be ready to run when I give the word. You can carry him on your own for a few feet, can't you?"
"Yes."
"Good. But keep something aimed at the door – if any of the guards try to run this way, you'll need to deal with them before they can raise the alarm."
Daniel rolled Jorge's body over his shoulders, crouched against the wall, and pulled out a blowpipe. She didn't ask what he'd loaded in it.
She pushed open the door, flung both knives in parallel, and then two more. Three of the guards fell, one ducked out of the way, and a fifth barreled towards her and carried her back out the way she'd come in. She heard the pop of Daniel's dart, and felt herself falling as her awareness faded.
When she came to, the guard's body was trapping her leg, and Daniel was bent over her head.
"What's going on?" she asked, feeling strangely lightheaded.
She felt a slight pinch at her neck and he held up a dart. "I am sorry, I have caught you by accident. Do not worry, I have administered the antidote – you should feel no ill effects."
She pushed the body away from her. "Did you get the other one?"
He shook his head. "Just him. Come, then. If there were others we must move quickly."
They carried Jorge through the guard room, Eleanor stopping briefly to pick up her knives, and out into the street.
They paused to rest in a narrow alleyway, several streets away from the embassy building. Eleanor released Jorge's feet and stepped back.
"Well, I don't think we need to carry him all the way home. He should be safe enough here till he wakes up, shouldn't he?"
"He should wake soon," Daniel said. "He will be safe."
Rebellion (Chronicles of Charanthe #1) Page 31