by Kevin Sands
Good point. If the barrier went over the top, Meriel would get stuck there, and freeze in the air. What a horrible way to go.
“What about Galawan?” Lachlan said. “He could try flying over, right?”
Worth a shot. “Want to run back to the hotel and get him?”
“No need, guv.” Lachlan reached into his pocket and pulled the construct out. “Got him right here.”
“You’ve been carrying that bird around in your trousers?” Meriel said.
“Why wouldn’t I?” he said, puzzled.
Meriel sighed.
“Give him a try,” I said.
Lachlan perched the bird on his finger. “Right, Galawan. Fly to the tower, eh? Then come back.”
The sparrow sang a little melody, then took off with a metallic squeak of his wings. He went straight for the belfry atop the spire, as commanded. I half stood in excitement as he passed forty feet above the wall unscathed. “He did it. There’s no—”
I stopped as the bird banged off the barrier.
Galawan tumbled down what looked like an invisible slope before righting himself and taking to the air again. He shook his head, confused, then flew higher. Around and around he went, until he passed high above the tower. But he couldn’t dive down, even from overhead.
He gave up. When he landed back on Lachlan’s finger, he tweeted an angry song. Then he stood quiet, blinking his jeweled eyes. A fine sheen of frost covered his wings.
Lachlan looked the bird over to see that there wasn’t any damage. “Sorry, little guy.”
“There must be some way in,” Meriel insisted. “What’s the High Weaver going to do, stay holed up in there forever?”
Forever wasn’t likely. But Mr. Solomon had told us we had three more days to bring him the Eye. We hadn’t spent much time thinking about what the deadline meant, but now I realized: it might be the most important thing of all.
What if the High Weaver only needed to wait us out?
And what was so special about the end of the week?
Foxtail tugged on my sleeve.
“What is it?”
She pointed to the mansion. Then she pointed to where her eyes should be. Finally, she made walking motions with her fingers, toward and away from the house.
“You’ve seen people go through?” I said. “In and out?”
She nodded.
“Where?”
She led us around the rooftops toward the side gate, the one that led to the servants’ entrance.
“Tried that,” Lachlan said. “Wall’s there, same as the rest.”
“Let’s wait awhile,” I said. “See what happens.”
* * *
Casing a place is pretty boring. It’s a lot of sitting around, watching and waiting. A serious job might take days, even weeks. Fortunately—or maybe unfortunately—we had our answer in little more than an hour.
The sun had just begun to set over Lake Galway when a young man led an oxcart down the main road. At the High Weaver’s side gate, he reined the huffing beast to a stop and pulled the tarpaulin from the top of his cart. Underneath were four barrels. He looked them over, checking that none had sprung a leak.
Then he waited.
“He going in?” Lachlan said.
He didn’t seem to be. Every so often, the man checked his pocket watch. I checked my own; it was almost five. A scheduled delivery?
It was. At five o’clock precisely, an older boy opened a side door to the mansion. He looked about sixteen, with a sharp nose and wide-spaced eyes. Around his neck he wore a copper, seven-pointed star. One of the High Weaver’s apprentices.
He approached the entrance. The deliveryman, waiting patiently beside his cart, greeted him as the boy unlatched the gate—and stepped outside.
“There,” Meriel said. “The barrier’s down.”
I didn’t see anything different. Then again, I couldn’t see the thing in the first place. “Let Galawan try for the tower again.”
Lachlan tried to send the bird off. Galawan refused, tweeting a simple melody in response. “Guess it’s still up, guv.”
“But look,” Meriel said. “He’s gone through again.”
The apprentice had taken one of the barrels from the deliveryman’s cart and was rolling it back to the house. The deliveryman remained outside the walls.
And as I watched him, I realized what was happening. “The barrier’s still up. It’s been up the whole time.”
“How do you know?” Meriel said.
“The deliveryman.”
“He’s not doing nothing,” Lachlan said.
“Exactly. But it’s his job to carry the goods. So why’s he just standing there?”
Meriel paused. “He knows he can’t get in.”
“Right. He didn’t even try to ring the bell. He just waited. He knew the barrier was there.”
And that meant—with the right gaff—he might tell us what was going on.
“May I borrow this? Thanks.”
Meriel started. “What—”
I yanked one of the ribbons from her head. Her hair tumbled into her eyes. “Hey!”
I scrambled down the water pipe before she could retaliate. On the ground, I tore a posted bill advertising the best meats in carlow from a nearby wall and rolled it into a scroll, tying it tight. I didn’t have enough time to play the gaff right—if I were going to do this properly, I’d have made a wax seal, given it a realistic touch—but with Meriel’s ribbon, the scroll was decent enough to pass as an official message.
Now I needed to look the rest of the part. Back in the alley, I dropped my hat and scrunched my shirt so it looked more rumpled. Then I began to sprint in place, knees high, working the blood.
The others stared down from the roof, puzzled. Still jogging, I waited until the apprentice returned and rolled a second barrel back toward the house. The instant he went inside, I ran out.
I sprinted directly toward the cart. By now, my alley exercise had my chest heaving and my cheeks flushed, as if I’d run here from somewhere across town. I gave a friendly nod to the deliveryman as I passed him, then steeled myself and ran directly toward the open gate.
“Wait—boy!” the deliveryman called.
Sometimes, to make a gaff believable, you need to take a lump or two. I turned my head, barely slowing—and crashed into an invisible wall of force.
It felt slightly spongier than hitting brick. But not by much. I smashed into solid air and felt a terrible chill—a wall of winter, just like Lachlan had described. Then I was flung backward. I hit the flagstones, skidding into traffic, bruised and rattled.
Ow.
“You all right?” The deliveryman helped me off the ground, a little concerned, mostly amused.
I didn’t need to fake the pain. My nose was bleeding. My skin burned, as if I’d gotten frostbite. Ice crystallized like snowflakes on the buttons of my vest. “Someone hit me.”
The man laughed. “Nah, lad. There’s a binding. You can’t go in.”
I blinked as if something was wrong with my eyes, other than that they hurt. Which they did. “A binding? But there’s nothing there.”
“It’s magic, lad. This is the High Weaver’s house.”
“I know,” I said, confused. “I was here last week. There wasn’t any binding.”
“Barrier went up yesterday. Apparently, someone’s been trying to rob him. Can you imagine? Being mental enough to rob the High Weaver?”
I laughed weakly.
“I’m waiting on Padraig,” the deliveryman said. “He’s one of Darragh’s apprentices. He’ll take your message to the guv’nor.”
I made a show of looking worried. “Master Dell insisted I hand it to the High Weaver himself.”
“Then you’re in a pickle, lad. New rule is, no one goes through.”
“Didn’t you say you were waiting for an apprentice? How does he get past?”
“He’s got a key,” the deliveryman said. “Magic stone of some sort. Lets the apprentices walk in and out.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I complained, as if I’d hurt myself for nothing. “How’s a stone supposed to stop a thief? They’ll just steal it.”
“Apparently it’s enchanted, too. The stone, I mean. Padraig said what it was.” He scrunched his brow, trying to remember. “Willbind, I think.”
Nothing I’d ever heard of. “Strange magic.”
The deliveryman shrugged. “Them’s the Weavers. I don’t argue; the apprentices have to do the heavy lifting, and I get paid just the same. Bad luck for you, though. If you don’t want to give the message to Padraig, you’ll have to catch the big boss in Council.”
Behind me, I heard the door open again. Padraig, returning. Time to go.
“Thank you, sir,” I said, and hurried off as the deliveryman nodded. Once out of sight, I doubled back through the alley and joined the others on the roof.
“Face is all red, guv,” Lachlan said.
It still stung, too. “Anyone ever heard of a willbind?”
They all shook their heads. “Should ask Gareth,” Lachlan said.
We headed back to the hotel. And discovered we were in much worse trouble than we thought.
CHAPTER 18
As it turned out, Gareth did know about willbinds—or at least, where to read about them. I burned some coal in the stove, trying to shake the chill that lingered on my skin, as he buried his nose in his books. It didn’t take long to find.
And it was bad. Meriel read it out loud while I shivered by the fire.
A willbind is a particularly powerful enchantment designed specifically to guard against theft. It is accomplished by binding a portion of a person’s life energy to a gemstone.
For a strong enough bond to be created, the subject must participate willingly, hence the name “willbind.” If he wishes to relinquish the object, he must also do this willingly. Any other attempt to remove the gem, whether by theft, threat, coercion, force, or murder, will shatter the enchantment and render the stone useless.
I listened with a sinking feeling in my gut. The deliveryman had said Padraig got through the barrier with an enchanted stone. If it really was willbound, we couldn’t steal it. We’d actually have to get him to give it to us.
I looked up from the fire—and saw everyone looking back at me. I understood why; gaffs like this were my specialty. But they didn’t really understand the stakes.
The stone was basically the same as a key. Stealing a key was easy. Conning someone into giving you a key was harder, but with enough time and the right angle, it was possible.
But getting an apprentice to betray his master, the High Weaver? And to do it in three days?
Forget it.
I didn’t want them to know I was lost for ideas. So I tried a different tack instead.
“First things first,” I said. “If it’s weaving that’s holding us back, maybe it’s weaving that can get us through. Gareth, see if there’s anything else you can find about willbinds. Lachlan, check with your contacts. Maybe they have some sort of charm that might help. But, whatever you do, don’t let them know who we’re up against.” After what had happened to the Breakers, no one would dare cross the High Weaver.
Foxtail tapped her chest. She moved her hands in the shape of a box, then angled one hand to point upward. Maybe we can come in from below.
We didn’t have enough time to dig a tunnel, so . . . “Are you thinking of the sewers?”
She nodded.
Did the High Weaver’s barrier go that far into the ground? “Worth a shot. You and Meriel check it out.”
“The sewers?” Meriel said.
“Unless you think you can fit through the water pipes.”
“What are you going to do, then?” she said accusingly.
“Figure out a way to beat the willbind.”
I said it as confidently as I could. But I didn’t believe a word of it.
* * *
I stopped Lachlan on his way out. There was one other avenue we might try. “We need to send a message to Mr. Solomon.”
“Oooh. Yeah,” Lachlan said. “He can magic us through.”
“I . . . don’t think he’ll do it personally. But maybe he knows something.”
Lachlan took Galawan from his pocket and laid him gently in my palm. As if my hand might break him, but running around with the bird in his trousers was all right.
“Galawan? We have a message for Mr. Solomon.”
The sparrow chirped.
I cleared my throat. “The High Weaver has protected his home with a willbind. If there’s anything you can give us to get past it, we’re staying at the Broken Bow. Um . . . that’s it.”
Galawan sang a little melody, then flew to the windowsill, waiting. When we opened it, he fluttered off into the night.
* * *
Gareth was the first to return. Finding nothing in the books he’d already borrowed from the library, he hurried back to check a few more before closing. None of them offered any way to break the High Weaver’s enchantment. Gareth said he’d try again first thing tomorrow, but he didn’t sound optimistic.
None of the others discovered anything that could help. Lachlan, who returned around eleven, said none of his old contacts had even heard of a willbind. As for the girls, they came back in desperate need of a bath, but with nothing else.
Meriel’s mood was as foul as her stench. Finding a sewer entrance, she told us, was easy enough. But the barrier had stopped them underground. Darragh’s ward was a bubble that surrounded the compound on literally every side.
And then our final hope was busted. Galawan arrived just after midnight, tweeting in the alley window until Lachlan let him in. The bird landed on my open palm. He chirped, and then, with a click, his chest unlatched.
It swung open like a door. Behind it, we could see the sparrow’s internal mechanisms whirring away, tiny cogwheels clicking and spinning like a watch.
Just inside the chest panel was a clasp, like a billfold. A small paper was tucked underneath; Mr. Solomon’s answer.
I have no access to magic that may defeat a willbind. The best I can do is provide you with an additional twenty thousand crowns, which will be delivered to the front desk of your hotel by morning. Perhaps this can be used for bribes. Either way, the deadline remains. By the end of the week.
S.
The note put a damper on everyone’s spirits. I didn’t say anything. I just closed Galawan’s chest, burned Mr. Solomon’s message in the coals, then lay down on my bed and tried to sleep.
* * *
I awakened to the scent of sausage and eggs—and a cry of outrage.
When I left my room, I saw Meriel and Gareth at the table. Steaming plates of breakfast were laid out in five places—though I still had no idea how, or even if, Foxtail could eat—along with a large bowl of porridge and a leather pouch. Lachlan stood near the door to his room, waving something angrily at the other two.
“What are those?” I said.
“What do they look like?” Lachlan said. “Eggs! Someone put fried eggs in my bed!”
He was, indeed, holding a pair of fried eggs. Meriel laughed, then held up her hands as Lachlan turned to her. “It wasn’t me,” she insisted. “Look, everyone’s plate is full.”
“Artha’s snuffling snout!” Lachlan flung the eggs out the window—or rather, at the window. The window wasn’t open.
Sullenly, he plonked himself at the table and started shoveling food in his mouth. “U bttr thtop plyng prnks nn mee.”
Meriel made a face. “Don’t talk while you’re eating.”
“Gaaah.” He opened his mouth at her, showing a glob of sausage.
I poked at the pouch. “Is this Mr. Solomon’s extra money?”
Gareth nodded. I opened the pouch and saw a neat stack of bills inside. I didn’t say anything, but I couldn’t see any possible use for this. Bribes were all well and good, but being apprentice to the High Weaver guaranteed a future of power and luxury. We weren’t going to get Padraig, or anyone else, to give up a willbound stone for a few thousand crowns.
What’s more, a single failed offer would doom us. Any apprentice would be sure to tell the High Weaver we were trying to get in. And then we’d be well and truly cooked.
Gareth sat a little farther back from the table, barely having touched his food. He was reading last night’s newspaper, which had come with our breakfast. He turned the page. And then leaned forward in shock.
“What’s the matter?” I said.
The others stopped eating as Gareth handed the paper to me. I scanned the page for the headline, then read the text, heart sinking.
“What is it?” Meriel said.
“Looks like you were right,” I said.
“Of course I was right.” She paused. “About what?”
“Oran. I guess he went for the Eye after all.”
She sat up, alarmed. “You can’t mean he stole it already?”
“No,” I said. “I mean they found his body. Oran is dead.”
TWO DAYS LEFT
CHAPTER 19
The others sat quietly as I read them the news.
FAMED THIEF FOUND DEAD
The City Watch reports they have discovered a body floating in the Carlow River near the docks. The Watch says that though it has been badly burned, the corpse fits the description of Oran of Sligach, sometimes called the “Kingsthief,” who was believed to have stolen the Pathal Scepter from the vault of Emperor Albertus XXI. The Watch has declined to offer any further details.