Durrel met his friend’s eyes, and I saw there all the long years of their acquaintance, their knowledge of each other. “I did not do this thing,” Durrel said, almost formally, and Raffin nodded once.
“That’s good enough for me. Peach, care to explain to our boy what your plan is? Or shall I do it, while you help me undress?”
For a moment Durrel looked perplexed, and then it was as if another flash of lightning lit up the cell. “Oh. Oh. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Absolutely, old boy. All for a good cause, and all that.” But I could tell he was having second thoughts. We were counting on his rank and name to get him out of here tomorrow, but there was really no guarantee that the rest of this plan would work. Raffin was taking a huge risk, and we all knew it.
“So the idea is that Celyn and I overpowered you and stole your uniform, is that it?”
“She’s half mad, but she’s so adorable, I couldn’t resist.”
I shoved his hands away before he could tousle my hair again. “You’re supposed to be interrogating him.”
“I mean, is that it?” Durrel said again. “You expect me to just — walk right out the front gates? Without being noticed? Shouldn’t I — I don’t know — hide in a wine barrel or get smuggled out in a food cart?”
“The best plans are the simplest ones,” I said. “The fewer moving parts, the less potential there is for breaking down.”
“She’s right,” Raffin said. “Better get on with it.” He shrugged out of his green tunic and passed it off to me. “Wouldn’t want to get blood on the Goddess’s sanctified raiment.” Cracking his knuckles, he said, “Make it look good, brother.”
“Oh, can I do it?” I said. “Please let me hit him at least once.”
Raffin made a face at me. “I liked you better as a runaway nun.”
“Play nicely, children,” Durrel said mildly, and we both shut up. He hastily climbed out of his own clothes as Raffin stripped off the green breeches and boots. I got to hold the nightstick, and it was so tempting to hit a Greenman with his own weapon that I almost scared myself. I had to lay it beside his uniform on the bed and step back a pace.
I checked out the cell-door window, just to make sure none of the Keep guards had gotten suddenly curious about the Acolyte Guard’s interest in Durrel, and when I was sure we were clear, I said, “Now would be a good time.”
Durrel took a deep breath, and before I was quite ready, slammed Raffin in the gut with his closed fist. Raffin gasped and doubled over, his eyes bulging. He stumbled backward toward the bed, but Durrel pulled him upright and hit him again, a round, solid blow to the cheekbone. Something cracked in Raffin’s face, and I flinched. Blood sprang from his nose, and Durrel wiped his knuckles on his bare leg. “Sorry, brother,” he said, surveying the damage. Raffin was crouched on one knee, breathing heavily, but he took Durrel’s offered hand and pulled him into an embrace. His words were slurred, his voice muffled, but I thought I heard, “You get to the bottom of this, understand?”
When Durrel finally broke away, I passed him the pieces of Raffin’s uniform, breeches, tunic, cowl, boots, the knife I’d bought. He wasn’t as tall as Raffin, and while he once might have been broader, he’d shrunk while in prison, and the uniform was ill-fitting. He’d never pass muster with other Greenmen, who paid a pretty coin to have their uniforms tailored precisely to fit — but on a stormy night in the Keep, it was all we had. He tugged the hood low over his face, but Raffin, holding his bloody nose, shook his head and winced.
“Leave the hood down,” he instructed. “You don’t want people to think you’re hiding.”
“But I am hiding,” Durrel said. “Won’t they recognize me?”
“No,” Raffin said. “No one ever sees the man inside the uniform.”
“. . . But stand up straight,” he and I said at the same time.
“Yes, milords,” Durrel said, giving the two of us a half-amused look. “Good now?”
I straightened the cowl, brushed a little straw off the green tunic’s shoulders. Raffin gave a dismissive wave of his hand and stretched out on the too-short bed, one arm bent lazily beneath his head, the other holding the balled-up remains of Durrel’s spare shirt to his nose.
“You two lovebirds clear on out,” he mumbled. “I’ll just have a little rest here, enjoy His Majesty’s finest accommodations.”
Durrel, now the picture of a very sloppy Greenman, lingered at the cell door. “Raffin —”
“Go!” It was almost a roar, muffled through the shirt and the possibly broken teeth. Durrel grabbed my hand and we got out of that cell together.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Outside the cell, rain drummed thinly on the Keep’s lead roof, sounding like hollow pistol-fire. Durrel followed me down the passage, but I stopped him. “Don’t slink,” I said in a low voice. “You’re a nob and a Greenman. You own the world, remember?”
Immediately Durrel stood taller, and the hand he rested on my shoulder was just heavy enough to signal his control without resorting to driving me forward at the point of his nightstick. We passed the guards’ station unmolested, and I led him down the stairs from Queen’s Level, feeling the tension in his arm. When we finally stepped out into the world, Durrel stopped in the arched doorway and sucked in a mouthful of wet air. Breathing out again, he had the ghost of a smile on his face.
“We did it.”
“Not yet we haven’t,” I said. “Try not to fall off the drawbridge.”
Across the river, we still had to pass through the bankside gatehouse. They never bothered me there, and I steered Durrel through as invisibly as I could, but the gatekeeper was in a chatty mood tonight.
“Did you get what you needed?”
For a split second, Durrel looked blank, and stood frozen, staring at the guard.
Fortunately the man took it as typical Greenman arrogance. “From your prisoner,” he said, his voice an obsequious squeak. “Did he confess?”
I opened my mouth to speak — which would have been pointless and stupid, since I was supposed to be an anonymous, worthless witness — when Durrel glared at the guard. “No,” he said in a curt voice. “Typical lying Sarist trash. We’ll need to persuade him more strongly. I’ll send a contingent here tomorrow to effect the transfer to one of the Goddess’s Inquiry Chambers.”
I couldn’t help flinching. Inquiry Chambers — he meant dungeons, the secret underground cells where the Inquisition tortured their prisoners in Celys’s name. But the guard nodded eagerly. “We’ll make sure the prisoner is . . . prepared, Your Grace.”
I felt Durrel’s sudden alarm, but he kept calm. “We’ll expect to see him in pristine condition,” he said firmly. “Anything less would be a grave offense to the Goddess. We would hate to present one of her children before her in anything other than the perfection with which she made him.” Never mind that Durrel himself had already beaten Raffin bloody. He lifted a hand, as if in blessing. “And I’m simply a humble guard, like you. The Court of Holy Inquiry thanks you for your devotion and duty.”
The gatekeeper hauled up the portcullis to let us back out onto the street, where we stumbled out almost on top of each other in our haste to leave the Keep behind us.
“Don’t run,” I murmured. “Just a nice, easy, brisk pace. We don’t want to call attention to ourselves.”
“All right.”
“But you can let go of me now,” I said gently. Durrel’s grip slackened and I rubbed at my shoulder.
“Now what?” he asked.
“Now we get you safe.” I pointed toward a narrow side street, where the only light was the reflection of the moons in the puddles. The rain had slowed and the sky was clearing, and we trotted down alleys and back streets, places nobody had any business being after midnight on a wet summer evening. When I finally judged us far enough away from the Keep, halfway to Markettown on the way to the Temple District, we paused to rest a moment.
Durrel sagged back against a wall. I’d forgotten he’
d had inadequate food and no exercise to speak of for the last few weeks and probably wasn’t up to hiking the span of Gerse. But he surprised me. Standing up straighter, he caught me bodily and pulled me to him — so suddenly I wasn’t immediately clear what he was doing. My face was against his scruffy neck, and I felt his chin rest gently atop my head.
“Thank you,” he breathed into my hair. “Celyn, thank you.”
And maybe because I was anxious or weary or spent from the day’s heaped-up crises, I didn’t move away immediately, just closed my eyes against the soft, damp wool of his tunic, listening to him whisper my name into the night.
Finally one of us came to our senses and broke away. Durrel lifted his face to the stars and scrubbed at his beard with his hands, as if washing his face in fresh air. “Gods!” he cried, and I wasn’t sure of everything that was in that low, rough utterance, but I could guess at some of it. “Do you do this sort of thing often?” he asked, his eyes bright but sober.
I swallowed my laugh. “You handled the guard back there nicely.”
“I didn’t want it to seem strange when Raffin’s cohorts show up tomorrow to get him out of there.”
If they show up. I said, “I’m sure he’ll be grateful. But for future reference, it’s the Court of Blessed Inquiry.”
“Ah,” he said solemnly. “I’ll have to remember that.”
“You do that.”
“Should we keep moving?” Durrel finally said, and I nodded, but we just stood there together, dripping wet in the moonslight, staring at each other. I meant to go, but I couldn’t seem to make my feet obey me.
And then I heard sounds — footsteps, voices — heading our way. “Hist!” I pushed Durrel deeper into the shadows, up against the building.
“What is it?” He barely mouthed the words.
“Soldiers, I think.” We were out past curfew, and though Greenmen had the run of the city at all hours, there was no sense tempting chance. “Damn it, I should have gone another way. Markettown is too heavily patrolled at night.” I tugged on Durrel’s sleeve and pointed toward the mouth of the street. He nodded silently, and together we stepped out onto the common road, turning the corner.
Straight into the Night Watch, heading toward us up the long stretch of roadway.
I skidded to a stop in the wet cobbles, and felt Durrel freeze behind me. Three of them, local heavies in their own dark doublets and red sashes. One sword, one cudgel, one pistol. I saw the look of stilted panic on Durrel’s face, and thought fast. Slipping my arm around his waist, I looked up at him sweetly.
“The Goddess’s blessings on you, good gentles,” one of the Watchmen called out. “What’s a servant of Celys doing abroad on such a foul-weathered evening?” I snuggled closer to Durrel, trying to make our purpose abundantly obvious.
But Durrel didn’t follow me. “Just — taking a walk,” he said stiffly.
“In the rain? After curfew?” The second guard put a hand to the hilt of his sword.
“Pox, they want to throw their weight around,” I said, my voice low. That was all we needed. “Don’t let them provoke you.”
I felt Durrel’s hand reaching for his knife. His breath came faster as the Watchmen drew closer. “I know that guard,” he whispered, his eyes fixed on the men. “He was there when they arrested me.”
“Are you sure? He won’t recognize you,” I said, praying I was right. “Just let them go by.” I held fast to him as the men caught up to us.
“Good evening,” Durrel said — like a cordial nob greeting his social inferiors, not like a Greenman.
“You’re a little far from your neighborhood tonight, Guardsman,” the Watchman with the pistol said. His words were friendly, but there was a challenge in his voice.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Durrel said.
“Of course, of course,” the one in the middle said smoothly. “It’s just unusual seeing one of your ilk down here at this hour.”
The third one, leering and fat, leaned closer to me. “Need any help with your prisoner, then? We’d be happy to take her off your hands.” And where he put his own hands next made it perfectly clear exactly what they’d be happy to do to me. I twisted away, willing Durrel to stay calm.
“Don’t touch her.” Durrel’s voice was cold as iron.
“Easy, brother, I meant no disrespect,” the Watchman said, his voice oily. “Just thought you’d be willing to share, that’s all, in the name of friendly coop —”
He didn’t get to finish. Durrel’s fist stopped his mouth and sent him reeling backward into his partners.
For a horrible moment, nothing happened — the five of us stood immobile, staring at one another. I think my jaw had dropped open in surprise. I felt it snap closed just as Durrel’s guard righted himself. I caught Durrel by the belt before he could strike again, and spun him the other direction. “Now you should run,” I said, shoving him down the street and taking off after him.
“Stop! Hold in the king’s name!” Behind us, the Watchmen swore and gave chase.
Pox, pox, pox! We flew down the street and around the first corner, dodging a parked wagon and landing squarely in a puddle that soaked us to the knees. I pointed toward the black hollow of an alley just ahead. Durrel skirted inside; I followed, nudging him onward. “Keep going, keep going, keep going!” Footsteps thundered up the street behind us, close on our heels.
I was sure our footfalls could be heard through the entire city, that the Watchmen would call for reinforcements from their Watch and the Guard and the Green Army, if any soldiers were convenient. We had to get off these open streets. There was a low wall at the end of the alley; I swung atop it and helped Durrel pull himself over, just as two of the Watch rounded the corner behind us. The wall might stop them; it depended on how motivated they were. Not much, on a night like this. I hoped.
An explosion cracked through the wet night air, and a chunk of brick came flying off the building above Durrel’s head. “Are they shooting at us?” he cried, but I yanked him onward when he tried to look back. We ran doggedly on, twining through streets and turning wild, random corners, until even I wasn’t sure where we were anymore. I saw the glint of water up ahead — one of the rivers. By Marau, if he’d led us back to the Keep —
It was the Oss, spread before us like a sweet, blue banner. “Which way?” Durrel said, looking up and down the long, empty riverside street.
“There!” I said, pointing to the footings of a wide stone bridge, just as Durrel said, “Here!” and headed toward an empty skiff roped to the pier.
“No,” I said, low and harsh. There was a hollow under the bridge that led along the river; the Watch would never look for us there.
“The boat is faster.”
“You’ve just broken out of prison, assaulted and robbed a duly sworn servant of the Goddess, struck a member of the Night Watch, and ignored a command to halt in the king’s name.” I took a breath. “Do you really want to add hijacking a boat to the night’s offenses?” I’d do my penance to Tiboran for that blasphemy later.
“But —” He looked desperately toward the water, his labored breathing turning into a cough. He held a hand to his side, bent almost double.
Gently I touched his back. “Trust me,” I pleaded. “Under the bridge with you, milord.”
He gave me a sharp look, but nodded reluctantly and followed me to the hidden landing beneath the bridge. It was almost dry, tucked under the span of stone, though the river lapped close to our feet. We squeezed together against the arched footings, catching our breath. Durrel couldn’t stop coughing, and hugged his knees to his chest, burying the sound in Raffin’s green breeches.
“What the hells was that?” I said. “You almost started a street war between the Night Watch and the Greenmen! If he’d shot you —”
“I’m sorry,” Durrel said. “But he had no right to touch you.”
I fell silent. I felt oddly warmed by that. It had been a long time since any man cared about my virtue.
“Well, thank you,” I mumbled. “I’m sure he got the message. But in the future, try to keep track of who’s saving who.”
He watched me silently a long moment before nodding. “Agreed.”
I peered out past the edge of the bridge, but the docks and the street were empty. “I think we lost them,” I said. “Still, we should stay covered for a while. They won’t find us here.”
“No, we should keep moving,” Durrel said. He started to stand, but another spasm of coughing pulled him back down again. “Damn.”
“Sit down,” I said. “You’re no use to anyone in this state.”
“I know. It’s just — all I’ve been doing for the better part of a month is sitting.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “That guard — I’ll never forget his face. And the thought of going back there —”
“I know.” There were three Greenmen I still saw clearly in my nightmares. “Well,” I said cheerfully, “look on the bright side. If he didn’t recognize you before, he will now.”
That teased half a grin out of Durrel. “That’s something,” he said.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
We sat under the bridge as Tiboran shifted from phase to phase. I’d figured out more or less where we were, and I plotted out a new route — quicker and more direct — to our destination. Eventually judging it safe to move on, we hastened into the night again.
“We need to get you out of that uniform,” I said. “They’ll have spread the word to look for a Greenman with a girl.”
Almost uncannily, Durrel’s panicked path had pulled us in the right direction, and we hit the Temple District within minutes of leaving the shelter of the bridge. I felt safer as soon as we stepped into the glow of the big tavern, but Durrel looked perplexed.
“Where are you taking me again?” he asked.
“The Temple,” I said.
“Temple? Which temple? I don’t need a church, Celyn —”
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