by A.R. Wise
* * *
“It’s my fault,” said Dessidus, his cheeks flush and his fists clenched. “Let me deal with it.”
The Scholar was in the first-floor room of a home on the east side of the city, surrounded by crates of books. Everywhere he went, The Scholar brought his library, hiding the volumes in crates with false bottoms designed to look like a simple merchant’s haul of fruits and vegetables. While The Five Walls were prepared to defend themselves against an army of dead marching up to their fortifications, they had no plans to deal with an infection from within. Gaining access to the cities was easy, and then the slow process of spreading the disease would begin.
There had already been members of The Scholar’s army hiding in New Carrington. Cerrus and Ferragut had been sent here a couple months earlier to start the process of infecting the populace, and then hiding the bodies in preparation for the assault. When Dessidus brought word of the discovery of Saffi’s location, The Scholar decided to head to New Carrington immediately, far above schedule. He was eager to capture the girl.
Ebon was supposed to come here to protect the girl from Cerrus and Ferragut. Dessidus had expected to find his companion here, but Cerrus revealed that while Ebon had arrived here, he hadn’t said anything about any girl. Dessidus searched the city for Ebon and the girl, but they weren’t anywhere to be found. In fact, Ward First-Baker’s shop had been cleared out.
Despite his former loyalty, it was clear that Ebon had turned against The Scholar. The half-dead assassin had absconded with the girl for reasons no one could fathom.
The Scholar wasn’t wearing his usual mask, designed to mimic pictures of gasmasks from the Dead Age. Instead, he was cloaked in black, with his hood hiding his features in the darkened room. He was angry, which was a rarity for him. The Scholar wasn’t an ill-tempered despot, but a calm, compassionate, reasonable man, which was one of the reasons he so easily earned loyalty from his soldiers. Yet now, as he dealt with the loss of Saffi, he teetered on the edge of fury.
“Why would he do this?” asked The Scholar.
“I don’t know,” said Dessidus. “I know him better than anyone, and he never said anything to me about wanting to help the girl.”
“Help her?” asked The Scholar as if noticing something suspicious in the words Dessidus chose.
Dessidus corrected himself, “Take her.”
“Are you sure he took her?”
“I don’t know what else could’ve happened,” said Dessidus. “He was the only one who knew, and he was supposed to come here to keep Cerrus and Ferragut from hurting her by accident. They both said that he met with them, but never said anything about the girl being here. And this morning when I finally found the baker’s shop, it was empty.”
“What about their home? Has anyone checked there?”
“We’re not sure where it is,” said Dessidus.
The Scholar looked at one of his books, regarding the wordless leather binding and then flipping through the handwritten pages. Most of these books were copied versions of ancient texts, each painstakingly rewritten with quill and ink. “You don’t think Ebon killed her, do you?”
“I don’t think so,” said Dessidus. “Why would the baker’s shop be empty? He must’ve warned them.”
“But why? To what end?” asked The Scholar, as much to himself as to Dessidus.
“Cerrus said he saw Ebon as recently as two days ago. If he left here, then he’s probably still on the road somewhere.”
“But where?”
Dessidus had already thought this through, and said, “It wouldn’t make any sense for him to go to one of the remaining four walled cities. He must be headed to a smuggler’s town. The closest one to here is Sailor’s Rock. If he can get there, then he can take one of the ships off the mainland.”
“Then he can’t make it there,” said The Scholar. “Take your Black Riders, and go find him. Bring him and the girl back to me.”
“I will.”
“Don’t fail me, Dessidus,” said The Scholar. “And whatever you do, keep that girl safe. If she’s meant to die, it’ll be me who kills her.”
