The Spirit Rebellion: The Legend of Eli Monpress: Book 2 tloem-2

by Rachel Aaron

  Smiling slightly, Alric took the message and carefully slid it under a stack of other finished papers. Powerful as she was, the White Lady could not read minds. He had no proof that the disturbance in the report was Monpress’s demon. There was no physical description, no witness reports. All he had was a dire message and a request for aid, and following up on such things was his job. If he never let on to his suspicions, how was she to know that the accidental elimination of the Monpress demon was less than accidental? He just had to make sure he put the right agent on the job. Someone strong enough to take on a demon of that size and a good enough swordsman to deal with her guardian, not to mention prideful enough to take on the Heart of War. But at the same time, he needed a man ignorant enough not to realize whom he was fighting, and whose loss wouldn’t be a crippling blow to the League when the Lady took her vengeance.

  Fortunately, he had just the man in mind.

  Smiling slightly more than was appropriate, Alric summoned a runner. The dour man appeared instantly, stepping into Alric’s office through a narrow slit in the air. It opened soundlessly, a cut in the fabric of reality from one place to another, in this case, from the common room to Alric’s office. Instant travel was yet another of the niceties of League membership, a necessity when you had to travel around the world on short notice, and one that League members designated as runners were particularly skilled at.

  Alric smiled at the runner as the cut in the air closed behind him. “Bring me Berek Sted.”

  The runner raised an eyebrow. “Sted, sir?”

  “Yes,” Alric said. “And if he drags his feet, just tell him he’ll finally get to test that bloodthirsty sword of his.”

  If possible, the runner’s face grew even more sour. “Yes, Sir Alric.”

  The runner vanished, slipping through a new slit in space so quickly even Alric didn’t see it open. Five minutes later, the enormous man with his sash of hideous trophies and a great, jagged blade worn naked at his side walked into the room.

  “Ah,” Alric said, turning to face his guest. “Just the man I wanted to see.”

  Sted didn’t answer. He sat down on the heavy bench in the corner, glowering at Alric while the wood creaked under his weight.

  “I have a job for you,” Alric said. “A demon has appeared in Gaol. Most likely a girl. I want you to investigate.”

  “A girl?” Sted’s voice dripped with disgust. “I don’t fight girls.”

  Alric gave him a flat look. “I realize you’re new to the League, but try to remember that what you’re fighting is the thing inside the girl. Demons take the body that serves their purpose.”

  “I don’t fight girls,” Sted said again. “Send someone else.”

  “This is not open for debate.” Alric’s voice was as cold as a dagger in a snowbank. “If you want to keep your League privileges”-his eyes flicked to the sword at Sted’s side-“I suggest you learn some discipline.”

  Sted narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. Alric let him stew a minute before continuing.

  “Killing the girl may not be simple,” he said. “She travels with a protector, a swordsman who wields a famous awakened blade.”

  Sted grinned and slapped the sword at his side. “Couldn’t be better than mine.”

  Alric’s thin mouth twitched. “This sword has had many names, but it is best known by the name it took for itself, the Heart of War.”

  Sted’s eyes widened. “The Heart of War, the real Heart of War? Why didn’t you say that earlier?”

  “This isn’t a pleasure trip, Sted,” Alric snapped. “Your mission is to eliminate the demon girl and secure the seed inside her quickly and quietly. Avoid confrontation with her companions if at all possible. Even spirit deaf, your membership in the League gives you a sense for demons. If she’s active, you should be able to find her easily enough.”

  “Aye, aye,” Sted said, standing up. “Quick and quiet. Got it. I’m ready now, so go ahead and open me a door to Gaol.”

  Alric turned back to his ledger. “You’re a fully initiated League man,” he said. “Open it yourself.”

  Sted grumbled a long string of curses. Then a moment later, Alric heard the unmistakable soft sound of the cut in reality, and the grumbling vanished. When he glanced over his shoulder, the room was empty. Alric turned back to his ledger with a smile. Either way this gamble played out was good for him. If Sted lived up to his brutal reputation, Alric would have the Monpress demon out of his hair for good. If the girl or her swordsman defeated him, well, that wasn’t really a loss either. He wouldn’t have to put up with Sted’s insubordination anymore, and, while the loss of the sword would be lamentable, Slorn could always make more.

  That thought cheered Alric up immensely, and he set to work sorting through the rest of the day’s business with a smile.

  CHAPTER 15

  The man Eli was looking for was not at the hotel he’d been listed under in the ledger. However, the desk clerk, after a little cajoling and a few carefully palmed coins, pointed Eli toward the docks where Mr. Richton was due to set sail for Zarin that afternoon.

  “Are you sure this is our thief?” Josef asked as they walked down the curiously empty street toward the river.

  “Positive.” Eli grinned from under the brim of his large hat. It was his compromise, since his wig was dirty now, but he might as well have gone bareheaded. They hadn’t seen a soul since leaving the clerk’s office, a fact that was making Josef very nervous indeed.

  They made their way along the back alleys to the dock the clerk had mentioned. There was only one ship moored on the long wooden jut, a large, respectable-looking trade vessel running low in the water, heavy with cargo.

  Josef looked at it skeptically. “Kind of a slow getaway vehicle.”

  “Not if no one’s looking for you,” Eli said, jogging out onto the dock.

  On the deck, barefoot sailors were tying off ropes and doing the final work of getting the barge ready to go. One of them, a large river man in a black shirt and red scarf, who seemed to be the leader, looked their way just long enough to glare.

  “Shove off,” he grunted.

  “Now, now,” Eli said, smiling warmly as he walked up the plank from the dock to the ship’s deck. “Don’t be so hasty. We’re here to see Mr. Richton. It’s very urgent.”

  “Oh yeah?” The man straightened up slowly. “Name?”

  “Gentero,” Eli said without missing a beat.

  The sailor gave him a funny look, but he nodded and walked across the deck to the small cabin at the prow. He knocked once before sticking his head in. A few seconds later he waved them over.

  “Mr. Richton says go in,” he announced, going back to his work.

  Eli thanked him, but the sailor didn’t notice; he was busy tying off the rope he’d been working on when they arrived and grumbling about bloody merchants and their inability to keep a bloody timetable.

  Eli, Josef, and Nico walked across the deck to the cabin. Without bothering to knock, Eli pushed the wooden door open, and the three of them ducked inside. The cabin was small, but very well decorated. A colorful, gold-tasseled rug covered the plank floor and bright, mirrored lanterns anchored in the corners above flip-out seats filled the room with warm light. Bright paintings of exotic city skylines were nailed to the walls, making up for the lack of windows. A large desk was built into the wall directly across from where they stood, and sitting at it, dressed in a well-cut navy coat, was a handsome, older gentleman. Silver streaked his close-clipped fox-red hair and neatly trimmed beard, but his face was only lightly lined. He wore silver-rimmed spectacles low on his hooked nose and behind them, his quick, brown eyes missed nothing as he turned to face them.

  “Gentero,” he said thoughtfully in a soft, urbane voice. “The trickster. Wrong opera, but quite appropriate.”

  Eli shoved his hands in his pockets. “I never liked Tragedy of the Scarlet Knight, anyway.”

  “No,” the man said, closing the fold-down writing table where he’d been
working. “You never had any taste for subtlety.” His eyes flicked from Josef to Nico. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

  Eli sighed. “Nico, Josef, meet Giuseppe Monpress. He is, for lack of a better insult, my father.”

  The man stood up and held out his hand. “Pleasure.”

  Josef just looked at him. “I thought we were here to find the thief who robbed the duke ahead of us?”

  “We are,” Eli said. “That’s him.”

  “Bit of a family business,” Monpress said, sitting down again.

  “You’re the one who stole the duke’s treasury?” Josef said.

  “What bits of it were worth the taking,” Monpress said. “Quite honestly, when you factor in the setup costs and expense of fencing such well-known artifacts, I’m not sure I made any money at all on this venture.”

  “Then why did you do it?” Eli said.

  The tone in his voice made Josef hesitate. He’d never heard Eli sound quite that sharp. Eli, however, wasn’t paying attention to him or Nico. His focus was entirely on the smiling man sitting at the desk. “You never pull a job without running the numbers three times through. You used to say that anything less than fifty percent profit wasn’t worth the breath to talk about. So why did you rob Gaol?”

  Monpress gave him a dry look. “You mean, why did I take your target?”

  “However you want to put it,” Eli said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Because it was made for you,” the older Monpress said. “Come, you must have realized that this whole fiasco-the citadel, the bragging, the posters plastered on every wall for two hundred miles in any direction-was all bait in a trap for you. Of course you did, and yet here you are, ready to waltz in like an idiot, just like always.”

  “Traps aren’t a bother if you go in with your eyes open,” Eli said through clenched teeth. “It was a challenge. And I still don’t understand why you felt the need to impersonate me.”

  “I did nothing of the sort,” Monpress said. “I only robbed them. They decided it was you. And no wonder, with the way you carry on. I mean, a challenge? Did you listen to nothing I taught you? Thievery is about finesse, about getting in, getting out, and being long gone before anyone thinks to check the safe. It’s not about having your face on every wall or being so well known that any noble with a budget shortfall can lure you into his lands.”

  Eli shot him a murderous glare, and the older Monpress took a deep breath. “I don’t know why we’re even having this discussion,” he said, his voice calm again. “Like it or not, I still feel an obligation to watch out for you. I headed for Gaol as soon as I saw them putting up the posters in Zarin. The whole thing was so obvious that I knew it was only a matter of time before you came running. I had hoped to be done with the whole affair well before you crossed the border. After all, challenge or no, even you wouldn’t bother breaking in when there’s nothing left to steal. I thought if I couldn’t stop you from taking the bait, I could at least disarm the trap.” His eyes narrowed. “Obviously, I forgot how quickly you can move when your unfortunate flair for the dramatic makes you take leave of what little sense you have.”

  The two men glared knives at each other, and for a moment Eli looked as if he was about to turn on his heel and march out. Then he shook his head and shoved his hands in his pockets. “You know what?” he said. “I don’t care. I don’t even know why I was surprised to find you here. You always were a meddling old man who never knew when to leave well enough alone. But it doesn’t matter. That ‘thief-proof’ citadel was a joke I wouldn’t want to be known for breaking into anyway. However, we are here for something other than just the joy of breaking in. I need an item from the duke’s collection, a Fenzetti blade.”

  Monpress looked appalled. “That thing? Why? Fenzettis are impossible to fence.”

  Eli smiled secretively. “Let’s just say I have a buyer who’s already paid in full.”

  “A buyer?” Monpress said, theatrically impressed. “That’s a first for you. I was beginning to side with the popular opinion that you eat everything you steal.”

  “That’s one of the nicest things they’ve said about me.” Eli grinned. “Are you going to give us the Fenzetti or not?”

  Monpress stood up with a long sigh and walked to the far corner of the cabin. He lifted the plush carpet to reveal a hidden hatch, which he yanked open.

  “After you,” he said, nodding to the narrow ladder descending into the hold below.

  After a skeptical look, Eli went first, then Josef and Nico. Monpress came down last with a lantern, which he hung from the hook on the low ceiling. The hold took up most of the ship’s lower level. It was just tall enough to stand in and it was packed absolutely full of goods. There were bolts of fine cloth, casks of wine, enormous spindles of thread, wooden bowls, porcelain, all stacked in open-top boxes stamped with Gaol’s label.

  Josef looked around in disbelief. “Wait,” he said. “If being a merchant is just your cover, where did all this stuff come from? Is it stolen too?”

  “Powers, no,” Monpress said, laughing. “It’s all purchased from the duke’s own shops. Every stitch of cloth or drop of wine on this vessel has been paid for in full, and then paid for again in tariffs, and insured.”

  Josef shook his head. “Sounds expensive and troublesome.”

  “For certain,” the old thief answered. “But it’s all part of a properly executed job. I stole the best of Gaol’s family treasures, all of which are easily recognizable, and all of which the duke is probably searching for quite adamantly at this very moment. However, the Duke of Gaol is, before all else, a businessman. Even in crisis, the last things he’d want to search are his own insured goods.”

  Monpress reached over to the pile of cloth beside them and lifted the top bolt. There, nestled between the folds of burgundy damask, was a beautiful set of gold plates.

  “White Tower Dynasty,” Monpress said. “Probably older than Gaol itself. Lovely design, too. I think those are my favorite pieces.”

  “Hiding stolen goods in purchased ones,” Eli said, trying not to look impressed. “Classic. I have to say the insurance is a nice touch. Even if you did get stopped, the duke’s guards wouldn’t do more than a cursory inspection for fear of breaking something.”

  “First rule of thievery,” the elder Monpress said, laying the cloth down again. “Always hide where it costs money to find you.”

  Josef burst into laughter, and Eli shot him a sharp look. “It wasn’t that funny.”

  “No, no,” Josef gasped between laughs. “It’s just that I see where you get it now.”

  “Really?” Monpress smiled, gripping Eli’s shoulder. “I’m so happy to hear he remembers some of what I taught him. If he can only learn to control his flamboyant nature, he might actually make a good thief someday.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eli said, ducking out of the older man’s grasp. “I’m already the greatest thief in the world, or haven’t you heard?”

  Monpress gave Eli a serious look, killing the mirth in the room. “If you were actually any good, I wouldn’t have heard,” he said quietly. “If you were actually the best thief in the world, no one would know you were a thief at all, even after you’d robbed them blind.”

  “What?” Eli said. “You mean like you? How many months did you play merchant to set this up? You had a tunnel into the treasury, so I’m guessing at least three. In the last three months I’ve stolen the Golden Horn of Celle, the original painting of the Defeat of Queen Elise, AND the King of Mellinor.”

  “Three months?” Monpress smiled. “That would have been a feat indeed, considering the posters went up only two weeks ago. And for your information, the tunnel was already there, one of the duke’s many cost-cutting measures to save stone. All I had to do was cut the initial entry into the treasury and make the fake panels, which took about two days. I spent the next three moving everything before the duke found out.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter
,” Eli said. “The point is that the jobs I pull are-”

  “I know, I know, very impressive. ” Monpress sighed. “Your exploits are reported far and wide. But what do you have to show for it? You’re hunted by everything that cares for gold, and yet look at you. Threadbare coat, worn boots, you look like a common cutpurse. It’s embarrassing to watch you drag the name Monpress through the dirt and not even making a good living at it. If you wanted fame, you should have chosen another profession, or have you forgotten the most important rule of thievery?” His eyes narrowed. “A famous thief is quickly a dead one.”

  “Sorry if I don’t put too much faith in that one,” Eli said, crossing his arms. “I’ve been famous for years, and I’m still alive. My head is worth more than you’ve stolen in a lifetime, old man.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t count on that,” Monpress said quietly. “I get by. But unlike some, I don’t feel the need to turn every theft into a carnival.”

  “Uh-huh,” Eli said. “A few hundred thousand more and my bounty will beat Den the Warlord. I’ll be the most wanted man in all of the Council Kingdoms, and they still won’t be able to catch me.”

  “Well,” Monpress said icily, “that will be a red-letter day indeed.”