“Master Dee shot him, and Knock whacked him good.” Digger retrieved his dagger and brandished it. “He ain’t immortal. He pops in, and we pop him.”
“And if you don’t, another one of you dies.” The last thing she needed now was a rebellion. Mya glared at them, but the urchins just glared right back.
“Might want to think it through, Miss Mya.” Paxal furrowed his brow. “They got a point. Yeah, he knows where we live, but he’ll also know we’re ready for him. Knock and Dee hurt the bastard. We can have more hurt waitin’ if he tries it again.”
“And when do we sleep?”
“Different room ever night, and leave lamps on so he don’t know which one we’re in.” Nails examined the tip of the nail protruding from his stick. “And we rig up trippers to tangle him up if he uses that magic to pop in here.”
“He’s the wasp, but we’s the spider!” Gimp nodded and the others with her. “We done that before, too.”
Mya’s brow furrowed at their chatter. “What are trippers?
“This.” Digger pulled from his pocket a ball of heavy waxed catgut, the kind fishermen used. “We rig our webs, and put broke glass on the floors where we don’t walk. He pops in, gets tangled, and maybe even falls and gets cut up. We take turns sleepin’, just like Knock watchin’ over Master Dee.” Digger put the twine away and patted the crossbow on the table. “Buy us some more of these pig-stickers and we’ll stick this pig for you.”
“Crossbows are easy to use. We could train in the cellar.” Dee suggested.
Mya looked from face to face once again, and saw no way to fight them. Some Grandmaster she turned out to be. She couldn’t even control a pack of street kids.
Rubbing her eyes, Mya cursed under her breath. The fatigue and stress of her foray into the palace wore on her, and now this. She felt grimy and tired, but she doubted she’d be able to bathe or sleep. The former required privacy, for she couldn’t let anyone see her tattoos, and the latter required calm, which she knew wouldn’t come tonight. She saw Tiny’s crooked smile behind her closed eyelids.
Damn it!
“Okay, fine. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right.” Lessons from her long-dead master flicked through her mind. Traps, snares, alarms…a Hunter’s stock and trade. “We set up your nets, and broken glass in likely places, and rig bells on the wires, but nothing on the first floor. That has to be clear if someone knocks on the door. And we have to have escape routes. If Hoseph torches the building, we have to be able to get out. Dee, set up watch schedules and sentry posts. Nobody’s alone at any time, and someone’s always watching over anyone who’s asleep. If you’re on watch, you sit with your back to a wall so he can’t pop in behind you. He’s more likely to try at night. Darkness favors his tactics, so daytime’s probably safer for us to rest. Pax, outfit everyone with whatever weapons they’re best with. Crossbows are good if they don’t have to reload, and we can set up a target in the basement for practice. Digger, you clear your ideas with me before you do anything beyond what we’ve discussed. Is everyone clear on this?”
“Yes, Miss Mya,” they all said.
“Everyone get busy,” Digger ordered, gathering his urchins. “Master Pax, we need more catgut, hammers and nails. Nestor, you get us as many broken bottles as you can scrounge.” He tossed his ball of twine to Nails and said “Start with what we got. Gimp, you set up our routes if there’s a fire. Oh, and rope would be good, too, if we gotta go out a window. Master Pax?”
“On my list. I’ll go out shopping as soon as it’s light.” Pax got up and looked at Mya. “Don’t you worry about Tiny, Miss Mya. I’ll take care of him when I go out.”
“Fine.” Mya clenched and unclenched her fists. This would put them all in danger, but setting traps seemed somehow more satisfying than running away. She’d been hiding for weeks. It was time to face her fear.
“You look like you could use a mulled wine.” Paxal started for the kitchen, grabbing an urchin in passing. “Come on, Twigs. Nobody’s alone!”
“No wine, Pax.” Mya met his questioning look. “Blackbrew. I need to stay sharp. I will, however, wash up. I’ve been crawling through musty passages all night.”
“Water’s already on to boil.” He continued toward the kitchen.
“I’ll watch for you.” Dee stood and picked up his crossbow.
Mya opened her mouth to argue with him, but there were no arguments left in her. “Fine. I’ll just get my things and—”
“I set your things out in the washroom before I went to bed.”
She scowled at him. “Dee, your efficiency would be irritating if it weren’t such a comfort.”
“Lad always just found it irritating.” He tried to smile, but it fell short.
“He would.” Mya took another long look at Tiny’s wrapped body and gritted her teeth. “Come on.”
Dee closed the door to the washroom and flipped the bolt. The air in the chamber was already thick with steam, moisture beading on the stone walls. The cave-like room was centrally located in the inn’s cellar, with a fireplace in one wall, a huge copper tub, and a drain in the floor. It had an earthy scent, but had been well scrubbed to keep the constant damp at bay. He swept the room with his eyes one last time as Mya sat down on the dressing chair and started removing her soft leather boots, then turned his back to her and focused on the door, crossbow at the ready.
“Thank you for watching for me, Dee.”
A boot fell to the floor, and the chair creaked.
“I knew you’d be keyed up and tired. I thought a bath would be welcome.” He concentrated on the swirling patterns of the woodgrains in the door.
“I’m filthy, too. We crept through about a hundred miles of dusty passages.”
The other boot fell, and he heard the rustle of cloth.
“So you got the message to the prince?”
“Yes, but he woke up.” Mya’s snort of laughter almost brought Dee’s around but he stopped himself. “I think I scared him half to death, but I don’t think he got a good look at me.”
“I sure hope not.”
Silence stretched, and he heard more cloth rustling.
“I’m sorry about Tiny. It was my fault. Hoseph was after me.”
“I think you should blame Hoseph, not yourself.” As Dee traced the swirls of woodgrains with his eyes, a flick of motion in the burnished brass doorknob drew his attention. “I remember Lad mentioning the glowing hand when Hoseph tried to kill his informant, and I saw it when he tried for Sereth. I woke up to that glow and thought I was dead.” A dark reflection moved in the burnished brass and Dee looked away. Maybe he should have had Gimp watch over Mya. “That’s how he tried to kill Sereth. But that other magic…the thing that brought all the horrible memories… Is that what happened when you and Lad were fighting the blademasters?”
“Yes.” She sighed and the chair beside the tub creaked again. “It knocked me on my ass. Lad saved my life. I couldn’t move for a moment, but he seemed to be less effected by it.” Her voice always sounded different when she spoke of Lad.
“That’s odd.” Cloth rustled again. How long did it take disrobe? He remembered the dark cloth he’d seen on her arm and wondered what it was. Dee refused to let his eyes drift to the reflection in the doorknob. Even though he could discern no detail, Mya deserved her privacy. “With all he’s been through, I would have thought having it all dredged up at once would kill him.”
“He was already in pain.” There it was again, that twinge in her voice.
“I know.” Dee had seen Lad’s pain, so Mya’s words made a morbid kind of sense. To someone suffering from a horrible wound, the pain of a scalpel might go unnoticed. He suspected that Mya harbored her own pain. Dee considered what he knew about her. She was a loner with no apparent friends or family. No lovers, though, at least once, she’d paid for the services of a prostitute. That secret would go to his grave with him. All he knew about her past was what Paxal had told him, and he wasn’t about to ask Mya fo
r details. “He seemed…better when we met him on the road.”
“Did he tell you about Kiesha?”
“Yes.” Dee heard the splash of water, and his eyes flicked involuntarily toward the doorknob. A dark shape moved there, and he wondered if the wrappings he had seen on her arm covered her whole body. Was it armor of some kind? Did she never take them off, even to bathe? Was that part of her secret? “I can’t believe they did that to her. Why?”
“The Grandmaster was…he was worse than Saliez.” More splashing, and he looked away. “The two were cut from the same cloth. No wonder the guild’s a mess when it’s run by maniacs who torture for recreation.”
“No wonder...” Dee rubbed his eyes and blinked away the desire to yawn. His nerves felt like they’d been dragged through broken glass. “Good riddance to—”
Something clacked on the stone floor, and Dee whirled, visions of dark mists and murderous priests flashing into his mind. He swept the crossbow in an arc, looking for something to shoot, but Mya had only knocked the scrub brush from the bathing table. Her arm and shoulder were out of the tub, reaching for the brush. A fine tracery of black runic tattoos shone on her skin, twisted shapes hard to focus on. They writhed like snakes before his eyes, as if possessing a life of their own…but not.
The crossbow started to slip in his sweaty grasp. He caught it before it fell to the floor, though his jaw might have followed it there if he hadn’t clamped it closed. Then his eyes met Mya’s and he whirled away.
“Sorry!”
Silence, then a splash and sounds of Mya scrubbing. Not a word. Dee’s mind spun. He wondered if he should say something, apologize again. What had he really seen? Dark symbols on her skin that seemed to move… Magic! Of course! That explained all the rumors of the fight at Fiveway Fountain.
Dee kept his mouth shut and his eyes focused on the door. Another splash, the rustle of a towel, then more silence.
“Dee, I need to explain something to you.”
“You really don’t, Miss Mya.” He swallowed, his hands sweaty on the crossbow. Would she kill him for learning her secret?
“I really do. I need to tell someone, and I know you’ll understand. Turn around.”
“Miss Mya, I don’t—”
“Turn around, Dee. Now.” Command edged her tone.
Dee didn’t know what to expect. He was still her subordinate, but he remembered the eagerness in her face when she greeted their arrival. Something had changed in their relationship, though he wasn’t sure how. Dee turned slowly
Mya stood wrapped in a towel, her arms, shoulders, and legs exposed. Black tattoos writhed on her exposed skin from neck to wrist to ankle, every inch of exposed flesh covered in magic.
“This is how I survived the fight at Fiveway Fountain and the fight with the blademasters. I know you’ve heard how Lad’s wife cut my throat. It wasn’t fake. The blademasters did worse.” She brushed one inked arm with the fingers of her other hand. “These are my secret. This is how I survived.”
“They’re…” Dee couldn’t tear his eyes away from the black tracery on her pale flesh, how the lines moved and blurred.
“I know.” Her voice ached with pain. “I may not be exactly human anymore, but—”
“What?” He looked up into her anguished eyes. “No! You’re…” How could he say it? How could he tell her what he really wanted to?
“What I am I made myself, Dee, and I’d do it again!” The pain had transformed to defiance, her eyes flinty. “If I hadn’t done it, I’d be dead.”
“You don’t understand!” It came out harsher than he’d intended, and her eyes narrowed. “That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean then?” Mya’s eyes were narrow, and her voice accusative.
I’m walking on dangerous ground here. She might kill him for it, but Dee couldn’t lie to her. Maybe it’s the truth she needs to hear.
“They’re…beautiful.”
Mya’s face flushed, and her lips pressed together hard. She stared at him for a moment as if she thought he might be mocking her or lying outright. He opened his mouth to explain, but she shook her head, one sharp jerk of negation.
“Turn around, Dee.”
“I’m sorry.” Dee whirled and fixed his eyes on the door. He wanted to explain what he meant, but he knew that tone. He listened to more splashing, then she brushed past him, dressed in her voluminous robe, her secret hidden once more, a bundle of dark cloth in her arms.
“Get some sleep.” Mya opened the door and slipped through without looking at him. “We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”
“Yes, Miss Mya.” He followed without arguing, without saying what he really wanted to say. What else could he do?
Chapter XXIV
“Nothing, sir.” The guard brushed his knees of dust and looked chagrinned. Two of Ithross’ most trusted people had spent the small hours of the morning going through the prince’s chambers with a fine toothed comb looking for any sign of a secret passage. “If there’s something there, it’s got to be hidden with dwarf magic.”
“Very well.” Ithross turned to Arbuckle. “I’m sorry, milord.”
“There’s got to be a passage somewhere, or they travelled using magic and the palace wards are useless. Of course, I guess we have to consider what the note says, and who conjured the wards.” The prince resumed his pacing, refusing to sit. He had also refused to eat and sleep. This had not been a restful or productive night.
“We’ll search again, milord.”
“Yes…please.” Arbuckle had only shared the truth of the intruders’ visit with the few he trusted: Ithross, Tennison, Baris, and his scribe, Verul. Ithross had been apoplectic at first, then enraged that someone had invaded the imperial chambers. The captain had handpicked a few guards and knights to entrust with the information. Most of those were in his sitting room now, while a few others covertly searched the palace for signs of entry. Arbuckle paced and obsessed. How…how had they gotten in?
Then something the guard said stopped the prince in his tracks. “Dwarf magic! That’s got to be it. Dwarves built the palace. They’ve know every stone! Summon them and have them search!”
“We’ll summon the clan elders, milord, and post guards tonight.”
And I spend another sleepless night… The captain had suggested that he move to another room, but Arbuckle had refused. Moving might alert Duveau.
Fight magic with magic… It was Arbuckle’s only hope if Duveau was truly planning to kill him. That was why he’d invited one more person to potentially entrust with the information he’d received last night.
A knock at the door halted the prince’s pacing. He nodded, and a door guard reached for the latch.
“Master Keyfur, milord,” the hall guard said.
“Admit him.” Arbuckle clenched his hands behind his back and tried to look calm.
“Milord Prince.” Keyfur stepped into the room and bowed gracefully, his rainbow-hued robes brushing the floor. “You summoned me?”
“I did.” Arbuckle’s eyes flicked to the guards manning the door behind Keyfur. Their hands rested on their swords. Should this turn out badly, they were ready. The prince was betting his life that they could react fast enough to save his life if Keyfur started to cast a spell. “Come in. Can I offer you something?” He waved a hand at a table laden with all manner of food and beverages.
“Actually, I have not yet broken my fast, and that blackbrew smells absolutely heavenly. Thank you, milord.” The wizard stepped to the table and poured a cup from the silver service, adding three cubes of sugar before reaching for a spoon. Keyfur seemed perfectly at ease, though his eyes flicked from face to face. “Something dire has occurred from the look of your guests’ dour faces, milord. How may I be of service?”
“I’ll be blunt, Master Keyfur. I’ve received information revealing another plot to take my life.” Arbuckle watched the wizard sip his blackbrew. The cup remained steady. The previous two attempts on his life were known to the mage, so
the revelation of a third had evidently come as no surprise. “I asked you here because I’m in need of magical protection.”
“I see. And why, may I ask, did you not summon Archmage Duveau?” Keyfur sipped again and reached for a scone from the silver tray. His face remained utterly guileless. Either he was a very good liar, or knew nothing.
“Because the conspiracy to end my life reaches deep into the palace.”
The cup in Keyfur’s hand wavered ever so slightly, and the scone paused halfway to his mouth. “But, milord, we interviewed everyone.”
“Yes, I know. You say that you personally determined the truth of questions put to Archmage Duveau.”
“I did.” For the first time since Arbuckle had known Keyfur, the wizard’s amiable demeanor faltered. He put the scone down on a porcelain plate and brushed his fingers on his robe. “You suspect Archmage Duveau?”
“I find myself in need of people I can trust, and Archmage Duveau is not among those people.”
“He…isn’t?”
The shock on the wizard’s face seemed genuine, but that didn’t mean Arbuckle’s plan couldn’t still fall apart. He had no idea how close the two wizards were. They seemed very different, Duveau, dour and irascible, Keyfur, flamboyant and gregarious. The prince was betting that the two had only a professional relationship, not a friendship. He couldn’t remember ever seeing them in the same room at the same time save for a few state functions attended by the entire retinue.
There was also the possibility that this midnight warning was nothing but a plot to sow discord and suspicion among the Retinue of Wizards, denying him their full protection, just as the blademasters of Koss Godslayer had been taken from him. There was only one fact to counter that theory—Arbuckle was still breathing. If his midnight visitor had wanted him dead, he would be. Why go to the trouble to sow convoluted plots to weaken his defenses when a dagger in the dark would have done the deed all too easily? That made the list of conspirators in his pocket difficult to refute.
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