Liar's Moon

by Elizabeth C. Bunce

  Durrel nodded. “Or break me out.”

  I shook my head. “Not enough resources.”

  “Then it looks like you’ll have to sneak me out. Fortunately I just happen to know the city’s foremost authority on sneaking.” There was a glint to his dark eyes, as if he found some part of this madness remotely amusing.

  “What do you want me to do, hide you in my skirts?” But even as I said it, the thought spiraled out, twisting itself into an idea.

  “There have to be plenty of ways. What about forging a pardon, or a transfer order?” I could tell he’d given this some thought, and no wonder. “You’ve been able to get inside my cell,” he added. “And this Karst fellow pretended to be a guard to get Temus out —”

  “That’s it,” I said. “That’s exactly it. We need a guard.”

  Durrel leaned against the cell door, arms crossed over his chest, and cocked his head at me. “It would appear that an overabundance of guards is actually part of our current dilemma.”

  “Oh, but I know one who owes me a favor. It’s almost perfect.” I knew I should leave quickly now, get our plan underway before — I wasn’t going to think about what came after before. And yet I didn’t move. “I don’t like leaving you,” I said. “Promise me you’ll be safe.”

  Durrel put a hand against my chest, as if to feel the flutter of my pulse at the base of my throat. “With you to protect me? How could it be otherwise?”

  My heart gave a little squeeze, but I shook him off. “This is serious. Once I leave here, you’ll be all alone, and I’m afraid that little knife won’t be much help against somebody like Karst. If he’s the man we think he is —”

  “Don’t worry.” Durrel brushed a strand of hair from my face. “Contrary to appearances, I have not spent my entire life locked in towers. I can wield a weapon to defend myself. Granted, I’d prefer a sword or a pistol, but you and I have had good luck exchanging knives before.”

  “Don’t remind me.” I didn’t consider any part of what had happened with Lord Daul to be lucky, but I had to admit, without Durrel’s dagger, that skirmish on the cliff would have had a different ending. “Anyway, you’re in close quarters. A knife is more useful than a sword.”

  “You see?” he said softly. “I feel safer already.”

  I finally pulled away from him and let myself back into the hallway, making sure I set the locks, just in case. Durrel had followed me to the door; I could barely see him through the high window. “Just — sit tight and wait for me. I will figure something out by tomorrow. I promise.”

  His fingers curled around mine on the bars. “I’ll be waiting,” he said, and though he tried to disguise it, I finally heard the fear in his voice.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  After leaving the Keep, I turned toward the city center and made myself walk straight to the Celystra as fast as I could. I had sworn I would never come back here, and this week I’d reaffirmed that vow — but today it had something I needed, something I didn’t want to waste time hunting down elsewhere. Something I was just mad enough today to go fetch from my enemy’s doorstep.

  It took two hours, but he finally showed up, ambling up the long High Street toward the temple complex, his green uniform almost aglow in the low, angled light. His partner walked beside him, looking hulking and gruff and mean, and the look he gave me had all kinds of ugliness in it, and promised all kinds of ugliness if he got his hands on me. I steeled myself to meet his eyes.

  “What’s this, then?” he said, a sneer twisting his thick lip.

  “Go on inside; I’ll take care of it,” Raffin said. His partner shrugged and swung open the tall side gate, iron ivy twined through stalks of corn, that led into the Greenmen’s headquarters. I suppressed a shiver as my eyes followed him inside.

  “All right, peach, you’ve got my attention. Should I change my uniform?” Raffin fell into step beside me. “Put on something a little more casual?”

  I made a face. “No, we’re going to need it.”

  “Sounds amusing. What do you have in mind?”

  I glanced around. The great temple building loomed over us, its green tile roof seeming to devour the entire sky. I felt breathless and a little sick here in its presence. “We can’t talk here.”

  “All right.” Raffin steered me across the street toward a bustling, polished tavern with big glass windows and tables outside. The place was crawling with green uniforms. I halted in the middle of the road.

  “You can’t be serious. A Greenmen’s bar? I’m not going in there.”

  “Suit yourself,” Raffin said, turning away from me. “But you’ll never know what I might have said.”

  It took a great deal of restraint to behave myself. “Oh, trust me. You’re going to agree. You owe me, Raffin Taradyce. First for that night of hilarity at the prison, and second for bringing the Inquisitor to my home.” I was surprised by the venom in my voice, but Raffin sobered.

  “About that,” he said. “I —”

  “If you’re so eager to make amends, then help me.”

  “All right,” he said. “What seems to be the problem?”

  I was already exhausted from this conversation. “I need help rolling Durrel.”

  Raffin gave a snort. “Not from what I hear, pet.”

  That was it. I smacked him, right in the jaw, right there in the middle of High Street, with a dozen Greenmen looking on, not even caring it was a hanging offense. “From prison, you idiot!”

  Raffin took the blow with equanimity, rolling backward on his heels and laughing, but he grabbed me by the back of my bodice and dragged me into the tavern as several men in green turned toward us, rising up from their benches.

  “Just a little dispute with my lady, boys,” he said. “Nothing to get your dander up.”

  I kept my head turned toward Raffin’s broad green shoulder, and for his part, he pulled me securely into a table far in the back near the noisy kitchen and the fires. Nobody else was stupid enough to sit near the ovens on a hot evening like this, so we had a fair amount of privacy. I took the seat that had my back to the Greenmen, but regretted it immediately. The presence of all those dogs of Celys, where I couldn’t keep an eye on them, made the skin on the back of my neck crawl.

  “Easy there. These men aren’t the type to notice it’s a lady slapping their friend around. Try to stay calm if you don’t want to make enemies here.” He was right, and I knew better. I took a deep breath and nodded.

  Raffin ordered a pitcher of beer and a plate of stew, but I shook him off when he asked what I wanted, waiting impatiently for the server to leave us alone. Finally he leaned over his food and said, “All right, let’s hear it. You’ve got some plan to spring our boy to freedom?”

  “I don’t know about freedom,” I said. “I still can’t prove he didn’t kill Talth.” But I explained about the Ferrymen, and Karst, and the murder of Temus inside the Keep.

  “Marau’s balls.” He poured himself a little more beer, his knuckles white on the pitcher’s handle. “So what’s this plan that requires my uniform?”

  I almost didn’t have to explain it. Before I got half a sentence out, he was sharp enough to catch on. Nodding easily, he said, “I’m in. Just say when.”

  I tapped my lip with the stub of my finger; he watched with distaste but made no comment. “I was thinking tomorrow. The guards would normally interrogate a prisoner during the day, right?”

  “Yes,” Raffin said slowly, stirring the broth of his stew with his knife. “But we’re less likely to be questioned about it at night. Better do it tonight. How many guards on duty every shift?”

  “Four during the day, I think just two in the evening, and they don’t pay very close attention up there.”

  “Are they armed?”

  “We’re not going to fight our way out!”

  He looked at me, eyes hard and narrow, and for a moment I saw the Greenman inside the uniform. I didn’t like it. “Are they armed?” he repeated coldly.

  “Not offic
ially. A couple of them carry blackjacks — big, nasty things with a shaft of iron in them. Mostly they subdue the prisoners just by intimidation.”

  “Well, that’s fine,” said Raffin, a grin breaking through his cool Guardsman’s mask. “Intimidation’s my favorite weapon.” He actually sounded pleased by the thought of ordinary prison guards trying to outstrip the Acolyte Guard in a contest of arrogance. “Now, who exactly will you be in this little masquerade?”

  “I can’t really be anyone else,” I said, although Tiboran knew a disguise wouldn’t go amiss. “They know me.”

  “We can work with that,” he said. “Now, when do you want to leave?”

  “Already?” For a moment I felt panicky. There wasn’t any time to waste, and the longer we delayed, the more danger Durrel was in — but what was I going to do with him after we got him out of the Keep? I couldn’t bring him home, and it wasn’t like he could very well go back to Charicaux or Bal Marse.

  Raffin was drawing patterns in the stew left on his plate. He leaned back casually, his long limbs thrown out like he owned the table, the bar, and the whole damn city. The Taradyce always had that air of entitlement, of ownership, and life in service to Celys certainly hadn’t tempered Raffin’s attitude any.

  “You could get in a lot of trouble for this,” I said. “This could finish you with the Guard.”

  He shrugged. “I doubt it. You and our boy do your jobs right, and nobody will raise a peep. Besides, what’s the worst they can do?”

  “Send you home to your father without refunding your commission? Have you arrested for treason? Torture —”

  “All right, enough! I said I was in; you don’t need to sweeten the pot for me, peach.” He took a swig of his beer. “I say we wait until Zet rises. That’s a couple of hours before midnight, at the beginning of the night shift. It’s also the time when we’re the least likely to be missed or noticed doing anything . . . untoward.” He gave me a critical look, then nodded. “I’ll meet you at Market Bridge at her moonrise and we’ll go from there.”

  I agreed, and after that there was no reason for us to linger there together, but neither of us moved.

  “How is he?” Raffin finally said, and I shook my head.

  “Still alive. I hope.” I watched him watching the strong drink in his cup, and I thought about the first time I’d seen him at the Keep docks, a few weeks ago. “You told me there were questions about Talth’s murder. Do you have anything to add to that story?”

  He hunched lower in the seat, his long arms spread behind him. “What have you learned?”

  It was madness to talk about these things here, in a nest of Greenmen, but what choice did I have? “Magic, at Bal Marse. Secret shipments in and out of the Ceid warehouse, on a disguised ship. Lord Ragn threatened by a Ferryman. Just a lot of pieces that don’t match up. What can you tell me?”

  Raffin had looked up sharply. “Lord Ragn? You can’t think he’s involved in this. I don’t like that idea one bit.”

  “I don’t either. Now you tell me what you know.”

  His head shook. “Nothing,” he said firmly. “But I’d say at least one of those things you’ve mentioned definitely bears closer attention. Ah, peach. I should go. Things to do before our little fete tonight.” Raffin rose to leave, throwing a couple of coins down on the table, but he hesitated. “You know, you should really be careful,” he said, and for the thinnest moment, he actually sounded serious.

  “What do you mean?”

  He watched me, his face impassive, before finally saying, “Girls who share Lord Durrel’s bed have an ugly habit of winding up dead.”

  My mouth dropped open and I stared at him. When I could speak again, I said, “Not that it’s remotely your concern, Guardsman Taradyce, but for the record: I’m not sharing his bed.”

  “Oh, you will be,” he said, sounding resigned. “You’re exactly his type.”

  “Really?” I said. “And how’s that?”

  He took a deep sigh and met my eyes. “Cosmically unmarriageable.”

  The hours until Zet’s rising were intolerable, and I thought I would kill someone if I had to wait much longer. I couldn’t help wondering what Durrel was doing right this minute, and then right the following minute. Was Karst coming back? Could Durrel hold his own in a fight? Karst was big and heavy, and Durrel was thin and weak from hunger and inactivity. Would my scheme with Raffin work, or was I making a bargain with a devil in a green uniform? It was an insane risk, but I lingered outside the Greenmen’s bar for some time, plucking coins from guards as they filed in and out. But eventually my hand started shaking, and I gave it up.

  I wanted to run straight back to the Keep and wait there, but realistically I knew it wasn’t any use. I couldn’t surveil an entire prison by myself; if Karst wanted in, he’d have to get there the same way as everyone else, by way of drawbridge or boat. I did make a stop back at Grillig’s rag shop, giving up another ten silver marks for a decent secondhand knife more suited to Durrel’s size than my little blade. After taking it to be sharpened, I found myself across town at Charicaux, and just stood in the shadows as the sun set and the moons rose, watching the hired guards patrol the property. I recognized some of them from my last visit, but tonight, Karst was not among their company. What was going on here? What was the connection between Karst and Lord Ragn? I’d thought that Karst worked for Ragn, but I was beginning to doubt that. It wouldn’t make much sense for Karst to threaten his own master. There had to be more between them. The incident with Temus suggested that Karst was a Ceid henchman instead, and I remembered Koya saying that the family wouldn’t wait for the king’s justice. Had they sent someone to get their own kind of justice for Talth? But why Karst, who claimed he’d killed Talth himself? And why Temus, if they were actually after Durrel?

  The hot, heavy sky grew thick with moisture. Scudding gray clouds settled in, obscuring stars and moons alike, and a wet, stormy fog scented the air. Hells — was Celys going to pick tonight for it to finally rain? Jobs were always harder (not to mention less enjoyable) in bad weather, and smart thieves usually packed it in when it looked like rain. The first fat drops fell as I trotted toward the Big Silver and the Keep, and it was pouring by the time I tucked myself against the arch at the base of Market Bridge. Somewhere in that clouded sky, the bright disk of Zet was waking up, but I couldn’t see her. Eventually I heard whistling, and Raffin appeared in the shadows, still wearing his Greenman’s uniform — this time with a wide, green hood and mantle pulled up to protect him from the rain.

  “Lucky weather,” he said as a crack of thunder shattered the sky. “Shall we get on with it?”

  “After you,” I said, and Raffin surprised me by grabbing my arm and dragging me out onto the landing toward the guards’ station. I stumbled along with him, wondering whether I should be worried. It was Raffin, but I was still trusting Durrel’s safety and future to a Greenman — and one who now had me in a grip so tight I couldn’t pull away.

  “You’re hurting me,” I gasped, but he ignored me, just whipped out his nightstick and banged the tip of it against the station door.

  “Open up in the name of the Goddess!” he bellowed.

  I heard a creak, and a cross, squinting face appeared through the bars. “What’s this, then?” It was the same ugly guard who’d been on duty the night of my arrest. I ducked my head, grateful for the brim of my hat for more than rain protection.

  “The Court of Blessed Inquiry has dealings with a prisoner in your custody. In Celys’s name, I demand to be let through.”

  The guard hesitated. “What about her?”

  Raffin pulled himself up to the limit of his very imposing height, leaning over the guard inside. “None of your concern,” he said. The guard finally ushered us through and cranked down the drawbridge (Greenmen had their own boats, but thankfully the Keep man didn’t ask why we hadn’t just sailed here). When he offered us an escort across the bridge, Raffin waved him away with a sweep of the nightstick.

&
nbsp; “Don’t bother,” he said. “I think I can find my way across.”

  He practically flung me before him onto the bridge, and I scurried ahead, trying to twist out of his grip. “What are you doing?” I said. The bridge was slick in the rain, and I half hoped Raffin would pitch into the river.

  He pulled close to my ear. “You’re Tiboran’s girl, so act like it. You’re a witness I’m bringing on my investigation.”

  “Do you treat all your ‘witnesses’ like this?” But I already knew the answer to that. His grip slackened a bit, at least, and finally we reached the island. Inside the Keep, the performance was much the same, Raffin imperiously demanding to be let through, and the steel in his voice and the green on his back granting us safe passage all the way up to Queen’s Level. I started to worry again. Would Durrel be able to pull off that air of dangerous entitlement on our return trip? At last we arrived at his cell door, and the guard on duty just stood there with us, staring pointedly at me. I glared back — until I realized he was expecting me to let myself in as I’d done often enough.

  “Well?” Raffin said, breaking the tense silence. “Open the door and begone.” And he swept a dismissive hand in the guard’s direction, as if brushing away a fly. Once we were inside the cell, I shut the door behind me by sagging against it with relief. It was dark inside, and the whole tower seemed to shake with every clap of thunder. Lightning flashed, and I saw Durrel, braced against the wall near the window, knife in hand, ready to lunge for Raffin.

  “Somebody call for a Greenman?” Raffin said cheerfully, and Durrel’s lunge turned into a clumsy embrace.

  “Boyo!” he cried. “By Marau, how did you — never mind. I think I’m having more fun imagining how you two got together than whatever it is you might actually tell me.” He reached a hand down, found mine, and pulled me to standing. “All right, you two miscreants, what’s your brilliant plan for getting me out of here?”

  Raffin had unearthed a candle and tinder, and was now surveying the cell with dismay. “It’s not seeming quite so brilliant at the moment,” he said. “By the gods, man, how did you end up in here?”