by Rachel Aaron
“Come now,” Eli said. “I’ve never been in a situation I couldn’t get out of.”
Josef gave him a look. “There’s a first time for everything.”
Eli chuckled. “Well, if we’re going to be compressing three days of prep into one, let’s get things rolling. But first, I’m going to secure our position.”
“How do you mean to do that?” Josef said. “You just said the spirits wouldn’t talk to you.”
“For this, they don’t have to,” Eli said, walking back over to the crates.
“Excuse me,” he said, his voice soft and sweet. “I appreciate the warning earlier, and I have one more favor to ask you.”
The crates rattled uncomfortably, and Eli put up his hands.
“It’s nothing big. In fact, you were probably going to do it anyway. All I want is for you to go to sleep. Just ignore me, forget I’m here, and I swear I won’t do anything wizardly to wake you up.”
The crates rattled at this, confused, and a splintering voice from the back cried, “How can we sleep? You’re a wizard. Now that we’re awake, it’s not like we can just not notice you.”
Eli sat down cross-legged in front of them. “Just try,” he said softly.
The crates creaked uncertainly, but Eli didn’t move. He simply sat on the floor, his eyes closed, his face calm, as the warehouse grew darker and darker. Presently, the nervous noises from the crates grew quieter, and then stopped altogether. The warehouse fell as silent as any old, forgotten place.
Quiet as a cat, Eli stood up and walked away from the crates and over to the little corner by the door where Nico and Josef were huddled around a tiny lamp, quietly eating the food Josef had brought.
“We good?” Josef said, tossing Eli a round loaf of bread.
“We’re good,” Eli answered, flopping down beside them.
“So,” Josef said. “I know I’ll regret asking, but what did you do?”
“I put them back to sleep,” Eli said tiredly. “Small, normal spirits are almost always asleep unless a wizard wakes them up. Of course, the problem here is that, once a wizard wakes up a spirit, it’s hard for them to go back to sleep if the wizard’s still there. It’s like trying to go to sleep when someone’s in the room waving a lantern around. I simply quieted my presence. Think of it as throwing a blanket over the lantern. The lantern’s still there, but it’s not such a bother. It’s an old trick I learned back in my thieving apprentice days, actually. It’s not always good to be noticeable when you’re trying to be a thief. So long as I don’t do anything wizardly or otherwise make a scene, I should seem almost normal to any watching spirits.”
“Great,” Josef said, “a plan that depends on you not making a scene.”
“I just wish I knew what was going on,” Eli said, ignoring him. “The only thing that can get spirits that riled up is a wizard stepping on them, but there’s no Enslavement I can feel. I don’t think I’d miss it if there was one. It’s not a subtle thing.”
“So it’s a mystery,” Josef said, leaning back against the wall with the Heart propped against his shoulder. “Let the Spiritualists deal with it. Spiritual mysteries are what they’re there for, when they’re not bothering us.”
“How can you be so blasé?” Eli said around a large mouthful of bread. “Don’t you want to know what’s going on?”
“Sure,” Josef said. “But wanting to know is a terrible reason to do anything. It only causes trouble, and not the good kind either, the stupid, time-wasting kind. Just let it go. We’re on a deadline, remember?”
“How could I forget?” Eli grumbled, lying back. They sat in silence for a while before Nico leaned forward and blew out the lamp. Lying there, in the dark, Eli meant to think more about the crates and the wind and all the other strange things. He needed to think about them because, despite Josef’s cracks about curiosity, the first rule of thievery was never go into a job if you didn’t understand the territory. This was a dangerous game, with more uncontrollable factors than he was comfortable with. But, despite his best intentions, the weeks of hard travel pulled at his body, and he was asleep as soon as the light went out.
High overhead, the windows rattled in the dark as the strange wind passed by again.
• • •
The night air above Gaol was still. Far off on the horizon, lightning flashed from distant storms. Even so, no rain-heavy wind swept the fields of Gaol and the clouds did not cross the duchy border. They knew better.
Down in the streets, however, a wind moved slowly. It sent the tall oil lamps flickering, disturbing the steady pools of light they shed on the paved streets. It dipped into alleys, under barrels, and through attics. It roared as it went, a cruel, howling sound, and never strayed from its path, moving with almost painful slowness until it had made a full circuit of the town. Only then did the wind pick up speed. It turned and rose, flitting over the rooftops and toward the center of town where the duke’s citadel crouched on its jutting rise, every bit as sullen and formidable as the posters made it out to be.
The strange wind circled the base of the fortress once and then turned and climbed the glum wall to the top, the only part of the gloomy structure that varied from the blocky architecture. Here, crowning the top of the citadel, was a series of interlocking towers. They were short and hard to see from the ground, but being on top of the citadel they provided a breathtaking view of the city and the countryside around it. At the center of the fortress, nestled between the towers, was a small courtyard garden filled with small, neat plants, all carefully arranged into beds by color and size. It was here the wind stopped, spiraling down and slowing to an almost stagnant crawl before the man who sat on a reed chair at the center of the garden going over a stack of black-bound ledgers by the light of a steady lamp.
The wind hovered a moment, hesitantly, but the man didn’t look up from his ledger until he had finished the row. Only then, when each figure had been noted in his short, meticulous handwriting, did Duke Edward look up at the empty space where he knew the wind was waiting. “Report.”
“My lord,” the wind whispered, “two things. First, Hern has arrived.”
“Has he?” The duke set his ledger aside. “That’s unexpected.”
“He went straight to his tower as soon as he was through the gate.” The wind made a chuckling sound. “He doesn’t seem very happy about being back.”
“Interesting,” the duke said. “What’s the second?”
The wind’s whistle grew nervous. “I caught a blip of something over by the docks this evening.”
The duke scowled. “A blip? Explain.”
“Well,” the wind said, “it’s hard to describe to a blind man—”
The duke’s glare hardened, and a small surge of power rang through the garden. All at once, the wind found the words.
“It was like a flash,” it said. “And then it was gone. I passed over twice but never saw it again. Could have been a hedge wizard, some spirit-sensitive riverboater who never developed his skills past listening for floods.”
“But you don’t think so,” the duke said.
The wind jerked at this, surprised, and Duke Edward smiled. He’d always been good at picking up what wasn’t said. It was a useful skill for people and spirits alike.
“I don’t know what it was,” the wind said, finally. “But nothing ordinary shines that brightly.”
“I see,” the duke said. “I trust discipline is being maintained.”
“Of course,” the wind huffed. “Your spirits speak to no one.”
“Good,” Edward said. “Keep an eye on this blip. Tell everyone that I want tight patrols tonight. The bait has been spread far and wide. Our little mouse may be in the trap already.”
“Yes, my lord.” The wind spun in the closest equivalent a wind can give to a bow. “Anything else?”
The duke thought for a moment. “Yes, on your next round, send Hern over. I’m curious what he’s doing back in Gaol so soon after my investment in his success in Za
rin.”
“Of course, my lord,” the wind chuckled. It had never liked Hern much, and it delighted in the chance to make the Spiritualist come when called like he was one of his own fawning ring spirits.
“Thank you, Othril,” the duke said. “You may go.”
The wind circled one more time before blowing away. When he was gone, the duke opened his ledgers again and returned to marking numbers.
Nearly an hour later, one of the duke’s house servants came into the garden to announce Hern’s arrival. Duke Edward had long since finished his accounting and was now using the time to work with his vines. He ordered them one way, then another, sending them twisting up the stone walls of his garden and along the narrow breezeway door that looked out over the dark western hills. He heard Hern enter but didn’t turn his attention from his vines until they had worked themselves into the desired double spiral.
When he finally turned to greet his guest, he found the Spiritualist standing in the doorway and looking quite put out.
“So,” Hern said slowly, “you wanted something?”
“Straight to the point, this time,” Edward said, sitting back down in his chair. “You must be in a foul mood.”
“Being ordered from my bed by a wind after a long journey has that effect.”
“I’ll make this quick then,” Edward said, his voice clipped and clinical. “I gave you money to dominate the Spirit Court in Zarin. Why, then, are you back in Gaol?”
Hern gave him a cutting look. “Politics isn’t like your garden, Edward. I can’t force things into the shape I want.” The Spiritualist began to pace. “Banage has been working his connections in Zarin tirelessly. You’d think escaping a trial for treason was a heroic effort! The ink on her banishment edict is barely dry, but all I hear is poor Miranda , the noble, oppressed Spiritualist who threw away honor and safety to uphold her promise to her spirits. The whole Court is eating it up, even the Keepers who voted against her, and it’s making things very difficult.” Hern stopped there a moment, reaffirming his composure. Edward, for his part, simply watched and took note.
“As it stands,” Hern continued in a tight, calm voice, “Zarin is no longer the optimal place for me to pursue my objectives, so I’ve returned to regroup. I’ve got some sympathetic and influential Tower Keepers coming in tomorrow to discuss our next move. It is vital we counter Banage’s spin on the facts before he sways the whole Court back under his cult of personality.”
“Mmm.” The duke nodded, turning back to his vines. “See that you do. I would hate to think that my investment in you was a bad one, Hern.”
The Spiritualist stiffened, but said nothing. Edward smiled. It pleased him to know that Hern understood the difference between them here. Hern might have influence in Zarin, but this was Gaol. Here, there was no power, no authority that the duke did not control.
“It is late,” Hern said at last. “Please excuse me.”
Edward waved, listening as Hern turned and left. When the man was gone, Edward picked up his ledgers and his lamp and walked toward the door. When he reached it, he stopped and turned to his garden. He looked at it for a moment, the well-balanced colors, the sweet fragrance of the flowers, all in perfect order. Satisfied, he said, “Good night.”
As soon as the words left his lips, every flower in the garden snapped itself shut. With that, Duke Edward of Gaol took his lantern and went down the empty halls to his bed.
CHAPTER
10
Far, far west of Gaol, far west of everything on the barren coast of Tamil, the westernmost Council Kingdom, Gin ran through the sparse grass with a bony rabbit hanging from his teeth, his swirling coat making him almost invisible in the clouds of cold, salty sea spray. The land here met the water in great cliffs, as though the continent had turned its back on the endless, steely water, and the ocean, in retaliation, bit at the rock with knife-blade waves, eating it away over the endless years into a large and varied assortment of crags and caves, yawning from the cliffs like gaping mouths below the dull gray sky.
Gin followed the cliff line until he reached a place where the coast seemed to fold in on itself. Here, moving his paws very carefully on the wet, smooth stone, he climbed down into a hollow between two pillars of rock. It was narrow, and he had to scramble a few times to keep from getting stuck. Then, about ten feet down, the rock suddenly opened up, dropping him into a large cave.
It was dim, but not dark. Gray light filtered down through the cracks overhead and through the wide mouth of the cave that looked out over the ocean. Little ripples of shells and sea grass on the sand marked the high-tide line, filling the cavern with the smell of salt and rotting seaweed. Gin landed neatly on the hard sand and turned away from the roaring sea, trotting up toward the back of the cave where a small, sad fire sputtered on a pile of damp driftwood. Beside it, hunched over in a little ragged ball, was his mistress.
He dropped the rabbit in the sand beside the fire and sat down.
“Food,” he said. “For when you’re done moping.”
Miranda glared at him between her folded arms. “I’m not moping.” “Could have fooled me,” Gin snorted.
She reached for the rabbit, but just before her fingers touched the torn fur, Gin scooted it away with his paw.
“Are you ready to talk about where we’re going next?” Miranda sighed. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Gin’s orange eyes narrowed. “So we’re just going to live out our lives in a sea cave?” “Until I can think of somewhere better,” Miranda snapped. “We’re fugitives, remember?”
“So what?” Gin said. “If anyone is actually looking for us, it’s probably Banage trying to set this mess straight.”
“This isn’t Banage’s problem,” Miranda said, meeting Gin’s eyes for the first time. “I was the one who decided to do things the hard way, and I failed.” She buried her head in her arms again. “If I can’t be a good Spiritualist, then at least I’ll be a good outcast and vanish quietly, not make a scene to embarrass the Court further.”
Gin shook his head. “Do you even hear how ridiculous you’re being? Do you think it’ll make everything better if you keep playing dutiful Spiritualist to the end?”
“Supporting the Spirit Court is my duty!” Miranda cried. “I’m not playing, mutt.”
“No,” Gin said. “You’re hiding and licking your wounds. What good are you to the Spirit Court if you’re only using it as a reason to run away?”
“ Run away ?” Miranda’s head snapped up. “I don’t get to just stop being a Spiritualist, Gin! I have oaths! I have obligations !”
“Exactly,” Gin said. “But to us first. I thought you’d already made this decision back in Zarin, but now I’m not so sure. What matters more, Miranda, the Spirit Court or the spirits? Will you deny your oaths to us to save Banage’s honor? Would he even want you to?”
Miranda looked away, and Gin stood up with a huff. “Just remember, you’re doing no one any good hiding in this hole,” he growled, trotting toward the cave entrance. “Eat your rabbit. Next time you get hungry, you can go out and catch your own dinner.”
Miranda stayed put until he left. When his shadow vanished into the sea spray, she grabbed the rabbit and began to dress it.
Stupid dog , she thought.
She skewered the rabbit on a stick and arranged it over the coals. Gin might be a particularly perceptive dog, but he was still a dog, and he didn’t understand. If she made a scene, things would only get worse for Master Banage, and that would be intolerable. Banage had been the one trying to help her, as always, and she’d thrown it back in his face. As Miranda saw it, she had only one option left,
one final duty: disappear, fade into the world, and never give Hern another inch of leverage against her master.
Miranda sat back against the cave wall, digging her fingers into the hard-packed sand as the rabbit began to sizzle. Outside, the gray ocean crashed and foamed, throwing cold spray deep into the cave. She grimaced. Gin was right about on
e thing: They couldn’t stay here forever. She had no spare clothes, no blankets, and she was filthy with sea grime and sand. Even her rings had cataracts of salt on them. Still, she didn’t know where else to run, or what to do when she got there. When she tried to imagine life separated from the Spirit Court, her mind went blank.
She supposed that was understandable. She’d been in the Spirit Court since she was thirteen, and from the moment she’d taken her vows the Court had been her life. That, she’d always suspected, was the main reason Banage had accepted her as his apprentice over all the others. She was only one who would work the hours he worked. But she’d done it gladly, because when she was doing the Spirit Court’s work, she felt as if she was doing something that mattered, something worthwhile. It gave her purpose, meaning, confidence. Now, without the Court, she felt like a block of driftwood bobbing on the waves, going nowhere.
She leaned back, staring up at the firelight as it danced across the smooth curve of the sea-washed stone. The wind blew through the cave, whistling over the rock like it was laughing at her. Then, out of nowhere, a voice whispered, “Miranda?”
Miranda leaped to her feet with her hands out, ready, but the cave was empty. Only the fire moved, the little flames clinging for life in the high wind. She pressed her back against the wall. A trick of the wind? Spirits sometimes mumbled as they went, especially winds, who seldom slept. Yet the voice had been clear, and it had certainly said her name.
She was turning this over frantically in her head, trying to keep a watch on everything at once, when her eyes caught something strange. At the mouth of the cave, silhouetted by the strip of sunlight, a figure landed.
Miranda blinked rapidly, but it didn’t change what she saw. With the light at their back, she couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, but it was certainly human, even though she’d just seen it do something a human shouldn’t be able to do. Whatever it was had not walked up or climbed down—it had landed in front of her cave. Landed neatly, as though it had hopped down off a step, but that made no sense at all. The cliff was nearly a hundred feet tall.