He stopped. He stared. He had changed. He was bigger. Much bigger. Everywhere, he was bigger. And covered with scales. Hard scales. Like a snake . . . or a great lizard . . .
And his feet and hands . . . sharp claws sprouted from his scaled fingers and toes. He reached up and touched his face. What he felt was strange to him. Bony ridges and horny protrusions and . . . fangs . . .
He thundered back to the hut. Very little of it was left standing. He shoved it aside, sniffing the air . . .
Chalco hadn’t moved from where he had left her. Blood leaked from her nose, her mouth, and from between her legs. He nudged her with a curved talon. She didn’t wake.
He raised his head and growled. He growled until his throat was raw and he coughed fire. The flames latched onto what remained of the grass hut. The fire became Chalco’s funeral pyre.
It was more than she deserved for wasting his seed.
He stood at the edge of the flames and watched the fire dance. When he tired of that, he turned away unsure what to do next. Unsure what had happened. Unsure why he had become what he had become, but an idea formed in his mind . . .
The masters would know.
The masters would confirm what he suspected.
The masters had always warned them about putting stones in their mouths. Hiding the stones from the masters in that way would lead to punishments worse than unmanning. That is what the masters had told them.
He wondered now what the masters had not told them.
He wondered now why he had let them become the masters.
He wondered now what the jungle would look like from the crown of the mountain.
From the crown of his mountain.
chapter 35
Lumist waited until Lord Ragget and Lord Arbassi had left the Infirmary before turning his head and searching for Theodora. She was a dozen or so beds away tending to another patient with her back to him.
“Theodora,” he called out softly.
She did not seem to hear him. He tried again, louder. “Theodora.”
“Quiet, you’ll wake the others,” a voice grumbled from somewhere nearby.
“Theodora!” Lumist said firmly, ignoring the reprimand.
She turned at the call and searched the room. Lumist struggled to sit up and she motioned for him to lay still. He fell back, wincing. The mere act of tightening his stomach muscles had sent red-hot pain shooting up and down his side. It reminded him of the pain he’d felt when Sir Merriday’s blade had cut his throat, but this time, rather than letting his life fall apart around him, he had to act. Ian’s life depended on him.
“Couldn’t survive without me for a few minutes?” Theodora asked as she returned to his side. She wore a mischievous grin.
“I need your help,” Lumist said. He reached out and grabbed her hand. “I need to be able to walk out of here today.”
Theodora shook her head. “I’m sorry, Sir Tunney, but . . .”
“Please, call me Lumist.”
A hint of pink touched her cheeks. “Lumist, do you understand that just hours ago you were on death’s door? It was all I could do to repair the damage and keep you alive.” She stroked his hand gently. “A few days of bed rest and you’ll be able to walk . . .”
“By then, it will be too late!” Lumist glanced over at the Arbassi boy, but he was still asleep. He gestured for her to move closer. “My friend was arrested for murdering the king last night.”
“You are friends with Lord Ian Weatherall?”
Lumist nodded. “Do you know him?”
“His cook, Gertrude, provides the infirmary alms for the sick. The nurses and I take turns picking up the leftover foodstuffs, and she always includes a fresh loaf of bread, or a meat-pie in the basket.”
Lumist raised an eyebrow. “She does?”
“I was greatly saddened to learn of King Henrik’s death,” Theodora continued. “But I think I was equally shocked to learn of Lord Ian’s arrest. He never struck me as a murderer.”
“I know Ian. He did not kill the king,” Lumist said. He quickly told her what he had just overheard. “I have another friend, Lord Glavinas Roth. He’s a powerful Yordician judge. He might be able to stop Lord Ragget’s attempts to manipulate the panel of inquisitors.” Lumist looked up pleadingly. “Theodora, I need your help.”
The lines at the corners of her eyes deepened with concern. “I’m sorry, but that wound needs time to heal and no amount of additional magic will speed the process. If you try to walk out of here now, you’ll be dead by the time you reach the front steps and I just can’t let that happen . . .” She paused and gave him a sidelong glance. “It wouldn’t be good for business. People would talk.”
“Are you making light of my condition?”
Theodora smiled weakly. “Perhaps a little, but you look so worried.”
“I am worried. Ian has saved my life twice now. I owe him.”
“I’ve saved your life twice too.”
“You have?”
She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Are you sure Lord Ian is innocent?”
Lumist noticed her clumsy attempt at changing the subject but decided to let her admission drop for now. “Despite what you may have heard, not all Gyunwarian men are blood-thirsty warriors.”
“No, I suppose not everyone can aspire to be like you.”
Lumist snorted. “Perhaps in my youth, madam. But before you lies an old man.”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t say old.” She sighed and suddenly fixed him with a severe stare. “If you can wait an hour and stay in bed, I’ll deliver a message to Lord Roth for you personally. That is the best I can offer and the least I can do for Lord Ian.”
“Can you bring me paper and a quill?”
“You haven’t heard my conditions yet.”
“Conditions? I thought waiting an hour and staying in bed . . .”
“One dinner,” she stated boldly. “Later, once you are well again. Dinner . . . and dancing at one of the fest halls. One of the nicer fest halls.”
“You want to dine with me?”
“And dance. That is my price.” She crossed her arms and tried to hide her smile behind a mask of seriousness. “I know it is rude to demand payment for a favor . . .” her smile peeked through. “But for years I have been intrigued by . . .” her face reddened slightly. “Let us just say, you impressed me at the tournaments with your prowess, but I find myself enjoying your company even more.”
Lumist felt his own cheeks redden. “Very well. Dinner.”
“And dancing.” She turned abruptly on her heel, but he could see her blush extend up to the tips of her ears. “I’ll have the paper and quill brought to you shortly.”
Lumist watched her walk away. She had a rather attractive figure and it had been a long time since a woman had flirted openly with him. Twenty years in fact . . .
A giddy excitement momentarily filled him, but as his thoughts turned inevitably back to Ian, he found himself wishing he had met her under different circumstances.
And wondering when she had saved him before.
chapter 36
Skirting around the Little Ryerton district and dodging roaming bands of well-armed Yordician men and women intent on roughing up any Gyunwarians they found out on the streets meant Edgar didn’t get to the Rose Theater until near dawn. He was tired, wet, filthy, hungry and not entirely sure he’d come out of the deal with Bolodenko on the good end. Sure, if he succeeded, the shadowy moneylender would owe him a huge favor but upon reflecting what he’d been asked to do, that was a mighty big ‘if’.
He picked the lock on the theater’s back door and slipped inside. The big old building was quiet now and draped in shadows quite unlike how he was used to seeing it. In the evenings, during the performances, the theater was so alive the building almost seemed to burst with energy. He used to hang around the outside from time to time before and after shows and pick a few pockets, but after meeting Josephine, she’d lured him inside. Not to steal, she
’d told him, but to enjoy a show.
He’d balked at first, but after watching her prepare for her role as the legendary Fallerian Sentinel last year, what with all the training and the fighting and then spying on her while she’d had her fabulous body painted gold . . . well . . . he couldn’t resist going in just once to see what the fuss was all about.
He’d fallen in love. With the theater’s spirit, the life, the lights, the music, the people, the show, the passion . . . but most especially, with its newest leading lady. She was mesmerizing up there. And when she had fought the hordes of darkness . . . it was like watching an elegant dance of death. He had tried to tell her a few times how he truly felt, but at the last minute, he’d change his declaration of love into a playful pass. It was just easier to have his lustful advances turned down. That way, she wasn’t rejecting . . . him.
Edgar checked a couple of back storage rooms where unused sets were kept for Josephine, but he only found Al, the old stagehand, laid out on a makeshift bunk. His snores fluttered his forked black beard and he clutched his broom to his chest like it was his lover. Edgar backed out quietly and paused to consider his options. Could she be upstairs in one of the small apartments? He grimaced at the thought. Occasionally those rooms were used for private entertainment, but so far, she hadn’t done any of that kind of work. Not that Neko Blood hadn’t asked. Apparently, he wasn’t the only man to have noticed the theater’s rising star and the offers for a night spent with her had risen considerably during the past year.
Edgar opened the door to the green room and froze. A young royal warden with a hint of a beard and mustache was stretched out on the lumpy sofa in the corner. From the looks of it, he’d been in a fight recently. His uniform was wrinkled, and a black eye marred his otherwise handsome face. An open book lay across his slowly rising and falling chest. Was he too late? Had a company of wardens already taken Josephine away? But if so, why had they left this one behind? Were they looking for someone else?
Was this one waiting for him?
His hand drifted to the hilt of Owen’s knife. His knife now. The damn thing was huge and heavy and not at all like the slender knives he was used to carrying, but he couldn’t just toss it aside. It was all he had left of Owen. That and the childhood memories.
The warden’s eyes snapped open. He saw Edgar. He saw the knife. He raised a hand as Edgar rushed across the room. “Edgar don’t!”
The voice confused him. He stumbled on the rug. Fell forward. Landed on top of the warden. The knife plunged into the sofa cushion next to the warden’s head.
“Jo?”
“Edgar, I’m so sorry . . .”
“Jo! No, I’m sorry . . . I thought . . .” He looked past the costume make-up and the fake beard and mustache and saw the real woman behind it all. He felt ashamed that it had taken Bolodenko’s words for him to see the truth. He should have known she wouldn’t have killed Owen in cold blood. He’d been a fool . . . and . . . “I shouldn’t have run off like that.”
“I shouldn’t have lied to you.”
“I know Owen tried to attack you first . . .”
Her brow furrowed. “You do?”
Edgar hesitated. How much did he want to tell her? Not much. He hated keeping secrets, but Bolodenko and his stone-faced men had roughed up her father quite a bit in the past. She might not appreciate the moneylender’s involvement.
“Yeah,” Edgar said. “When I took a moment to think about it, I figured that had to be the way of it. I know you both. You wouldn’t have killed him for no good reason and he . . . he was Owen.”
“I . . . don’t know what to say . . .” Josephine stammered.
Edgar suddenly became very aware he was still lying on top of her. She seemed to notice it too, but she didn’t immediately push him away. Was this a sign? Had she warmed to the idea of being with him?
Better to ask for forgiveness than for permission, his father always used to say.
He went in for a kiss. Her eyes went wide. Their lips touched. Goosebumps rose up and down his arms. She made some sort of muffled cry. Her hands went to his shoulders, but she didn’t exactly shove him off. She didn’t exactly pull him closer either. He thought he liked it. Except for the beard and mustache. He’d never kissed a girl with hair, fake or otherwise, all around her mouth.
When he came up for air, Jo didn’t say a word. An awkward silence filled the narrow space between them. Edgar licked his lips. Her lips had felt good pressed against his, but it wasn’t the passionate kiss he had long envisioned. Josephine’s brow furrowed.
“That wasn’t very good,” she declared.
They stared at each other. He burst out laughing. She could be so blunt sometimes. “No,” he admitted, “it really wasn’t.”
“If we do that again, I have a request.”
Edgar’s heart soared. She’d said, ‘if we do that again,’ not ‘we’re never going to do that again’. It took him a moment to realize she’d said something more.
“A request?”
Josephine nodded. “You must take a bath first . . .”
Edgar looked down at himself and realized he was still dressed in his blood and urine and mud and sweat and rain-soaked clothes. “Gods, Jo . . .” He jumped off her and paced to the far side of the green room. “Sorry!”
“There’s probably a tub upstairs still filled with water,” Josephine offered. “I doubt if the water’s all that hot, but . . .”
“Actually . . .” Edgar cut her off. “I have somewhere else in mind.”
An hour later, Edgar was lying in a huge copper tub filled with water almost too hot to stand. He had offered to share his bath with Josephine, but she had politely declined. Wrapped in a cloak he’d borrowed from the theater and proclaiming himself ‘Lord Stronghold’, he and Josephine had been shown to the Walpole’s best room. It was on the top floor and their northern-facing windows overlooked the hulking courthouse while their eastern-facing windows looked out over the city and the crescent bay beyond.
“Lord Stronghold?” Josephine called from the other side of the closed door. “When did that happen?”
“For gods-sake, Jo, I ain’t going to holler back-and-forth with you through the door. There’s a chair in here.”
“I’m not coming in there while you’re naked, Lord or no Lord.”
“The soap’s done made a bunch of bubbles. You ain’t going to see nothing unless you want to.”
“Even without the bubbles I wouldn’t see much of anything.”
“Shows how little you know.”
“Little is the key word in this conversation.”
Edgar rolled his eyes. “If you think it’s so little than what you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Prove it.”
“As soon as I walk in there, you’re going to stand up and start waving it around.”
“I ain’t going to stand up!”
“Or wave it around?”
“If I ain’t standing up, what would be the point of waving it around?”
“You promise?”
“Jo, you have my word.”
“And what’s that worth?”
“You can be so cruel sometimes! I told you a hundred times on the ride over I’m sorry for that kiss.”
“You promised me a long time ago you wouldn’t do that without being asked first.”
“I figured maybe you just forgot you wanted to ask me . . .”
Silence.
“You know, I think I’d prefer you say something like; ‘I forgive you, Edgar. And when you’re done in there, why don’t you come out here and we’ll give kissing another go . . .’ over your complete silence.”
Nothing.
“Jo?”
“What?”
“Oh, you’re still there.” Edgar sat up in the tub. “What are you doing?”
“I’m looking at something . . .”
“What?”
“Come out here and see for yourself.”
Edgar cl
imbed out of the tub and headed for the door trailing soapy water.
“Don’t come out here naked! Dry off and put some clothes on first.”
“We’d have more fun if I didn’t.”
“You might have more fun . . . then again I might just point and laugh.”
“There you go being cruel again.”
Edgar quickly toweled off. Just as Bolodenko had said, the gash in his side was closed leaving only the faintest of white scars. He pulled on a pair of fresh trousers, grabbed a shirt and padded out to find Josephine standing on the eastern balcony.
“If I turn around and find you naked . . .”
“I ain’t naked!” Edgar groused. He pulled on his shirt and boots and joined her on the balcony. She was holding a spyglass of sorts to her right eye. It looked vaguely like the one his father used to have only this one had a lot more wires and lenses and knobs and Edgar figured Jo’s father had to have made it. The man had been a genius when it came to quirky gadgets.
“I found Lipscombe,” Josephine said.
Panic clenched at Edgar’s heart. “With your spyglass?”
“Father called it his Farseeing Scope.” Josephine held it out for him. “Brace yourself against the railing first before you look through it. The magic can make you feel a bit dizzy.”
Edgar leaned against the balcony’s handrail and brought the Farseeing Scope to his eye. At first everything was a blur of color and then like a blink of an eye, the image corrected and cleared, and he found himself gazing at a spot of bluish-green water out in the bay. A fish leapt into the air and Edgar jerked back and immediately felt foolish.
“It takes a little bit to get used to,” Josephine said.
Edgar nodded and looked through the scope again. This time he found himself looking at one of the piers. Though they were many miles away, he could easily make out the individual weathered boards.
“Where’s Lipscombe?”
Josephine’s hand came up and she gently nudged the Farseeing Scope to his right. The images flashed past faster than Edgar could follow, and he felt a bit nauseous. Finally, she stopped, and Edgar found himself looking at a ship docked deep in the heart of Motre-liare’. A large wooden crate was being loaded into the ship’s cargo hold.
Stolen Justice Page 21
