Spirit’s End: An Eli Monpress Novel

by Rachel Aaron

  “Right,” Sparrow said. “In you go.”

  “Down there?” Eli said, leaning over to peer into the abyss.

  “ ’Fraid so,” Sparrow said. “I suggest you get climbing, because in another five seconds I’m just going to push you and be done with it.”

  Eli gave him a nasty look that was sadly lost in the dark. Finding the ladder with his feet, he started to climb down. But just as his head was about to vanish through the hole, he felt Sparrow’s cool hand close on his shoulder.

  Eli froze, waiting. For one long second, he thought Sparrow really was going to push him, but nothing happened. Instead, Sparrow’s smooth voice whispered in his ear.

  “She offered me a deal, too,” he said. “I took it.”

  “Really?” Eli said, keeping his voice calm. “How’s that working for you?”

  It was too dark to tell properly, but Eli got the distinct impression Sparrow was baring his teeth. “I just spent two weeks chasing a girl, a dog, and a bear-faced man through howling wilderness. Before that, I spent nearly as long trying to lay a trap for you in a city full of savages. I almost died both times. This was nothing out of the ordinary. How do you think it’s working?”

  “Right,” Eli said. “I get it. You don’t like it here. But why are you telling me? I have absolutely no intention of taking up Sara’s offer.”

  “Neither did I,” Sparrow said, patting him on the shoulder. “Keep that in mind, Mr. Monpress.”

  Sparrow’s grip vanished after that, and Eli resumed his descent. It was so dark he couldn’t see an inch in front of his face. He navigated by touch alone, climbing the rough metal bars down, down, down, until, after thirty rungs, his feet hit stone.

  The sound of his boots hitting bottom must have been the signal Sparrow was waiting for, because as soon as he stepped down, Eli heard the metal door fall shut.

  “See you tomorrow for breakfast.” Sparrow’s voice was muffled as he stomped on the metal again, locking it in place. “Meanwhile, enjoy the company.”

  “Company?” Eli shouted. He held his breath, but no answer came. Either Sparrow was waiting to see what he would do or he’d left too quietly for Eli to hear. Both were likely. Gritting his teeth, Eli turned away from the known enemy to face the unknown.

  What kind of company had Sara arranged for him? Probably something to keep him too busy to escape, pit of snakes or something of that sort. Well, Eli smirked, he’d dealt with pits of snakes before. He just needed to—

  A soft scrape cut his thoughts off cold. The sound was very close, maybe a foot away. Eli dropped to a crouch without thinking, his hands going for Karon’s burn before he remembered it wasn’t there. Dropping his arms with a silent curse, Eli put his back to the wall. He was staring into the inky black, ears straining as he considered his very limited options, when a light flared.

  He blinked at the sudden brightness, covering his eyes. When he could see again, he dropped his arms and risked a glance to see who, or what, had caused the light.

  Etmon Banage was sitting on the floor across from him, a candle flame flickering in the air above his palm. “Eliton?” he said softly, blue eyes going wide.

  Eli cursed again, loudly this time. Why couldn’t it have been snakes? As the Rector Spiritualis started to get up, Eli flopped back against the metal rungs and wondered what he’d done to deserve his horrible, horrible luck.

  After dropping the thief into the second half of this impromptu family reunion, Sparrow turned to more pressing matters. He jogged back to Sara’s office at the chamber’s heart, dropping his speed to nothing the second it was in sight. His footsteps became like cat feet, and even his breathing slowed to a whisper. Utterly silent, Sparrow removed his garish coat and hung it on the railing, leaving him in only a plain white shirt and brown trousers.

  Without his coat to announce his presence, none of the dense clusters of technicians so much as glanced at him as he let himself into the lower level of Sara’s primary tank. Usually, when he entered the more delicate areas of Sara’s operations, the wizards made a great show of snubbing him. They hated that a spirit-deaf criminal had better access to Sara, greatest wizard of the age, than they did. Now his presence didn’t even draw a sideways look, not even when he walked directly behind them. Their obliviousness was almost enough to make Sparrow smile. His curse was the joy of his life, sometimes.

  Unseen and unnoticed, he walked right down the middle of the room, passing workbenches filled with glass decanting pipes and trays of empty crystal spheres. Everything here was spotlessly clean, from the polished metal walls and floor to the white coats and gloves of the wizards to the sanded tables themselves. Sara’s wizards worked in pairs; one held a glass pipette filled with a tiny amount of water so blue it almost seemed to glow. The other held an empty glass ball just below the pipette’s sharp mouth, catching the blue water as it dripped. As each drop fell, the wizards whispered together.

  “Quiet, quiet, quiet.”

  The words sounded more like droning than human speech, but the wizards always looked so intense while they said it that Sparrow suspected there must be a great deal of mental effort involved. That seemed to be the case with most wizardry, actually. Yet another reason to be glad he didn’t have to worry about any of that nonsense.

  He wound through the gauntlet of droning wizards to the heavy, padded door at the room’s far end. Sparrow pulled the handle gently, opening the heavy contraption just enough to slip through. The door didn’t make a sound as it swung, but Sparrow knew better than to congratulate himself on this. This door was Sara’s, and it wouldn’t have made a sound if he’d kicked it off its hinges. Any noise at all was anathema for the door to the Quieting Room. Beyond the silent door there was nothing but darkness and a set of padded stairs leading down. Sparrow followed them, his soft boots falling as silently as everything else.

  From the doorway, the Quieting Room looked little bigger than a closet, but it went down forever, digging deep below the cavern’s floor into the heart of the black granite outcropping that supported the citadel above. It was also dark, nearly as dark as the space between the tanks with the same stiflingly, oppressive feel. Sparrow suspected the two were related, but he’d never gotten curious enough to risk the lecture Sara would give him if he asked. Instead, he used the quiet to his advantage, creeping down through the dark until the stair opened up into a second, smaller cavern about the size of a large bedroom.

  Unlike the cavern above, which was irregular, this cave was perfectly round, ringed in on all sides by smoothly cut stone. Its ceiling was smooth, too, save for the hole that let in the spiral stair, but this cave had no floor. Instead, a pool of water filled the room to its edges, the liquid black in the dark, sinking down farther than Sparrow could see.

  The spiral stair stopped just above the water, and at its base was a small, suspended platform held inches above the pool’s surface by the stair’s thick, central support. Below the platform, the water’s surface was still as glass. Stiller than anything in nature had a right to be, except for one part.

  Sara was kneeling at the platform’s edge with her hands hovering just above the water’s surface. Beneath them, the water was bubbling, and the commotion showed off its true color, a deep, deep blue. Such a motion should have sent ripples through the entire pool, but the rest of the glassy water didn’t so much as wobble as Sara lifted her hands, bringing a small ball of water up with her. She cupped the water in her hands, moving it gently as a mother with a new baby to the hinge-lidded silver bucket sitting on the platform beside her.

  She lowered her hands into the bucket’s wide mouth, letting the blue water fall before snatching her fingers back and closing the bucket’s lid as fast as she could. She snapped the latch shut and reached for a metal wire that hung from the stairs above. Threading the wire through the hooks on the bucket’s sides, Sara began to murmur commands. The wire obeyed, curling itself around the bucket before it began to rise into the dark, the thin wire curling in on itself to preve
nt any jostle from touching its precious cargo.

  Sara watched the bucket rise until it vanished, and then she turned on her heel, fixing her glare on Sparrow.

  He flashed her his best smile and sat down on the stairs.

  Sara’s glare intensified, but she didn’t speak. Instead, she walked to the edge of the platform and reached out to pull a lever set into the stone wall. At once, the cavern’s silence was broken by the hushed scrape of metal as a protective sheet emerged from the walls. The metal slid into position like a thrusting knife, sliding under the platform to cover the pool with a protective shield. Only when the metal cap was safely in place and the water completely separated from the air above did Sara turn to face her servant.

  “The Quieting Room is not a place to play, Sparrow,” she said, her voice cutting. “Are you even aware of how much damage you could cause?”

  “I’m very well aware,” Sparrow said, resting his elbows on the stair above him. “You tell me every time. Of course, if you would stop hiding down here every time you got angry, I wouldn’t have to come after you.”

  “I’m not angry,” Sara said, grabbing the ledger from its hook on the wall to record the water she’d just sent up. “Just disappointed.”

  Sparrow shrugged. “Why? It wasn’t like you were expecting him to come running into your loving arms.”

  “No, but I had hoped he would show a hint of interest,” Sara said, pencil scratching furiously. “I’d hoped that my son would have enough natural, inborn curiosity to at least listen with grace before saying no. Even the Lyonette girl showed some enthusiasm about learning the secrets of the world before turning me down. If he can’t exhibit more interest about magic’s inner workings than a closed-minded, hide-bound Spiritualist, I fear there’s no hope for him at all.”

  “Maybe it’s not as bad as you think,” Sparrow said. “There is always the chance Mr. Monpress is sentimental enough to let his abandonment issues stand in the way of his rightfully inherited curiosity.”

  “Powers forbid,” Sara said, slapping the ledger back into place. “If I have to play mommy, this is going to be a very long week.”

  “If that’s how you feel, why did you put them in the same cell?” Sparrow said. “Banage is only going to make things worse, you know. And then there’s the part where you’re leaving two of the most powerful wizards in the world alone together.” He shook his head with a tsk. “Sounds like a recipe for disaster on all fronts.”

  “It was the best of a few bad options,” Sara said defensively. “I have only one cell capable of holding a wizard of Eliton or Etmon’s power.”

  “And only one cell that Alber doesn’t know about,” Sparrow added. “Really, Sara, it was very unmotherly of you to lie to the boy like that, acting like Whitefall was already on board with your plan to fake an execution and hire the world’s most notorious thief.”

  “It was necessary,” Sara said with a shrug. “I didn’t have time to get Alber’s permission. I’ll bring him around later, after I’ve got Eliton well in hand. Did you drop the hints like I told you?”

  “I did,” Sparrow said. “He is fully informed that there will be no audience for his escape until at least tomorrow. But do you really think that will be enough to keep him in? Not to cast doubt on your skill as a jailor, but Eli Monpress has a reputation for being difficult to contain.”

  “I’m well aware of my son’s prowess,” Sara said proudly. “Just as I am equally aware of his near pathological need for attention. Monpress will stay put until he’s sure his escape will draw the proper level of attention, and by that point I’ll have brought him around.”

  “And what of Whitefall?” Sparrow asked.

  Sara shrugged. “I’ve taken care of the witness. Alber can live in ignorance a little longer.”

  Sparrow shook his head. “You can lock up soldiers all you like. Whitefall always finds out. The man is a hunting hawk when it comes to secrets in his castle, and he is not going to be happy you kept this from him.”

  “What do I care about Alber’s happiness?” Sara said. “He can rage all day, but in the end, the truth is that he needs the Relay, which means he needs me, and I need Eliton. And it’s not like this secret is hurting him. I only need to keep Monpress’s capture quiet for a day, two at most, just enough for me to gather the proper leverage to make him accept my ridiculously generous offer.”

  “I don’t know if any leverage will be enough,” Sparrow said. “He loathes you quiet openly.”

  Sara shrugged. “He’ll come around. Eliton’s a thief at heart, and all thieves have their price. Fortunately, I have the feeling my leverage is about to improve dramatically. A little birdie told me that the Lyonette girl has been using her newfound power as Rector to investigate certain very large spirits.”

  Sparrow nodded as expected, face neutral, but alarm bells were sounding in his mind. Knowing Sara, she’d probably gotten the information from an actual bird, and he wasn’t about to go chasing bird tips again. Never trust an animal with a brain the size of a walnut to make an accurate assessment.

  “Word is that she’s calling down the West Wind itself,” Sara continued. “Considering the Spirit Court’s position—the Rector imprisoned for treason, its membership split, and a Spiritualist not three years out of her apprenticeship holding the reins—you’d think the girl would be focused on Court matters, not poking after spirits who’ve been stable for hundreds, maybe thousands, of years. I want to know what emergency has upset her priorities.”

  “Which means you want me to find out,” Sparrow finished.

  “What else do I keep you for?” Sara said with a shrug.

  “How is this going to help with the Monpress problem?”

  “Eliton’s proven on several occasions he has a soft spot for spirits, and the Spiritualist girl,” Sara said. “I’m sure you’ll find something we can use. Now, I suspect the girl’s behavior has something to do with the events in Osera and the disappearance of her sea spirit, but I can’t be sure. The Relay point I had you plant on her isn’t responding anymore, so I’m afraid we have to do things the hard way. Go find out as much as you can about what’s going on. I’ll expect a full report tomorrow morning.”

  Sparrow could feel his body tightening with long-checked anger. “And it didn’t occur to you that, after months on the road, followed by a war in Osera, I might not be up for sneaking around the Spirit Court?”

  “It did,” Sara answered, leaning over to glance at the water record again. “But I don’t much care. I ask no more of you than I ask of myself.”

  Sparrow crossed his arms over his chest. “And what if the standard you set for yourself is inhuman?”

  “Then I would be dead,” Sara said. “Which, as you can see, I’m not. Now stop complaining, and don’t even think of shirking. Remember”—she reached into her coat—“I can always find you.”

  As she spoke, she drew a small, round object out of her inside pocket, and Sparrow’s chest began to constrict. Between Sara’s fingers was a Relay point. It looked like all her others, a small glass sphere on a chain, but where the other points were blue, this one was a deep, deep crimson. Her fingers tightened on the glass as he watched, and suddenly it felt like someone had dropped a weight on his lungs. The pain sent spots dancing across his eyes, and it was all Sparrow could do to keep from doubling over.

  “Really, Sara,” he said, fighting to keep the effort out of his voice. “A threat? We’ve been together almost ten years now. I thought we were past all that.”

  “So did I,” she said, rolling the red orb between her fingers. “But then you started complaining again. I ask very little, Sparrow. Just that you do your job. If that proves too difficult, I can always give you back to Alber. Now that the war’s done, he’s running short on favors. I’m sure he’d love to earn some back by offering his family another chance at the head of the only man to kill a Whitefall and live.”

  “I’m very aware what a treasure my head is,” Sparrow said, his voice gro
wing thin as he fought the pain. “No need to twist quite so hard, Sara dear.”

  “Apparently, I need to twist harder,” Sara said. “You’re still here.”

  Sparrow stood with effort. “Just on my way out.”

  Sara nodded and finally slid the orb back into her pocket. Sparrow steeled his face against the rush of relief as the pressure on his chest vanished, determined not to give her the satisfaction of seeing him wince. Instead, he smiled as wide as ever and started up the stairs, slipping out the door as quietly as he’d entered.

  The wizards outside took no more notice of him as he left than they had when he’d come in, but Sparrow took no joy in their ignorance this time. His mind was wholly focused on the lingering pain in his chest. It wouldn’t be too much longer, he told himself as the pain finally began to fade. He’d been patient for a long, long time now, playing his role, waiting for his opening. Now, at last, he was almost there. Banage had always been Sara’s weakness, the chink in her cold, logical armor. Her son was even worse, and now they were both here, together.

  Considering how edgy Sara became at their mere presence, going so far as to use her control over him for the first time in years for a relatively minor disobedience, it wouldn’t be long before something pushed her out of her usual caution. Soon, very soon, one of the Banages would do something to make Sara angry enough to forget what she should never forget, and when that happened, Sparrow would be there.

  By the time he made it back to where he’d left his jacket, Sparrow was smiling again. He pulled on the glaring yellow coat and yanked the collar up rakishly before shoving his hands into the magenta-lined pockets. Then, whistling, he started down the suspended walkway.

  With every step, the plan in his mind grew clearer, simpler, the pieces clicking into place. By the time he reached the turnoff that led to the service door, his usual exit when Sara sent him to spy on the Spirit Court, everything was set, and he passed the turning without so much as a glance. Instead, he headed up the stairs toward the citadel proper.