“You have to tell Raek what we just did!” Ard said, lying still for just a moment while he tried to orient himself. “He’s never going to believe that we pulled off a Drift Jump that large without his calculations.”
A handful of gunshots sounded from the hall below. If Ard and Quarrah had successfully made the jump, then it was possible that a skilled Regulator might be able to follow them up. Ard rolled onto his knees, shins throbbing from the landing. Quarrah was already on her feet, looking as lithe as a cat on the rooftop. She must have lost her high-heeled shoes in the jump because her bare toes curled around the shingles.
She stepped over and hoisted Ard to his feet. “We have to get moving,” Quarrah said. “The Reggies will reposition themselves outside to catch us as we come down.”
“I have to get moving,” Ard corrected. “Now that I’ve made it out of the concert hall, taking a hostage would only slow me down. Besides, I need you to stay behind and corroborate our story. Give me time to return as Dale Hizror.” He gestured for her to hike up her dress. “I’ll need my costume back.”
“What’s our story?” Quarrah asked, digging ungracefully in her bloomers, the chill night air causing her to shiver once.
“Ardor Benn caught you and Dale fleeing backstage,” said Ard. “He knocked Dale unconscious and stashed the body in the lounge before using you as a hostage. That’ll give me a reason to seem confused and disoriented upon my return. Then tell them that Ardor abandoned you up here once we came through the skylight.”
He accepted the vest, cape, and wig from Quarrah, tucking them under one arm as he drew the stolen Roller from his pants.
“You should be able to get down on the southeast corner of the building,” Quarrah suggested. “There’s a tiered outdoor balcony with a canopy covering. The support ropes should hold your weight.”
Had she noticed that when they’d come in? Ard was once again impressed with Quarrah’s ever-observant eye.
“Thanks.” Ard thought it was unusual for a captor to thank his hostage for her help. “Raek will have seen the commotion. He’ll have the escape carriage waiting.” Ard turned in the direction Quarrah had indicated, but paused. “Oh, and Quarrah. At least try to look scared when they come up to retrieve you. I doubt Azania Fyse has spent much time on rooftops.”
Quarrah nodded, but the message didn’t seem to sink in. She stood, balancing on the ridge of a gable, her bare feet as comfortable on the tiles as most people were on the dirt.
“Maybe sit down,” Ard suggested. “Scream a little. I’ll be back in a half hour or so. And by the way, you really did an exceptional job with the aria tonight.” He bowed to her in the fashion of royal courtship, her gorgeous figure silhouetted against the night sky. “Beripent’s rising star.”
Then Ard turned and dashed across the rooftop.
There is a beautiful elegance to the sounds of this place. The chatter of birds at dawn, and the rustling of wind through the canyons are almost like a symphony to my ears.
CHAPTER
14
Ardy!”
He awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright on the couch. The smell of fresh baked goods filled his senses, and morning light cast dusty rays through the window of the bakery’s upper room. Had someone shouted his name?
The door from the hidden entrance banged open and Elbrig Taut came tumbling into the room. “Sparks, Ardor Benn! Would you care to explain what you’re doing?”
“I think I was sleeping,” Ard replied. “And I think I was enjoying it.”
“Obviously, you were sleeping!” Elbrig cried. “But why were you sleeping here?”
Ard rubbed his tired eyes. That was a good question. Everything was a bit of blur after last night’s escapade in the Royal Concert Hall. Ard had successfully made it off the roof and into Raek’s waiting getaway carriage. They rode like there was a dragon chasing them—all the way to the Avedon apartment. There, it was a quick matter of applying some adhesive to his upper lip and cheeks and slapping on the artificial facial hair. He donned his wig and disguise, freshly tacking down the forehead, before racing back to the concert hall.
The whole thing went off rather smoothly. Dale Hizror was found puttering around the back patio, dazed and confused from a supposed blow to his head. Azania Fyse confirmed his story, and the two of them departed without an ounce of suspicion befalling them.
At the first opportunity, Quarrah had slipped away into the night. It was kind of unsettling for Ard to realize that, after all these cycles of working together, he still didn’t know where Quarrah slept at night. She assured him that she had a safe place where no one would bother her. The woman surely valued her alone time.
“I set you up in a spacious apartment with six windows, a double-wide hearth, and an enormous poster bed,” grumbled Elbrig. “And you choose to sleep here?” He was picking up Ard’s vest and shoulder cape, which had been heaped carelessly on the floor.
For years, Ard and Raek had shared lodging. Currently, it was a musty little place not far from the bakery. With Ard spending more time at the Avedon apartment, Raek was probably enjoying the place to himself.
“Put these on. You must leave at once.” Elbrig threw the vest and cape at Ard. Then he moaned in despair. “Look at the state of your shirt! You can’t sleep in those clothes, Ardy. They need a good pressing, and there’s simply no time for that.”
“Whoa, Elbrig,” Ard said, tugging on his vest. “What’s the hurry? Where am I supposed to be?”
“You’re supposed to be where you should have been!” cried Elbrig. “448B Avedon Street.”
“Why are you so worked up? It’s too early for this.” Ard had seen vigor and intensity from Elbrig on many occasions. But this was edging more toward panic.
“A visitor, Ardy!” he cried. “Dale Hizror has a visitor at his door!”
“Well, the visitor will have to wait,” Ard said, pulling on his long leather coat and tying on his shoulder cape. “Dale had a rough night.”
Elbrig reached out, grabbing Ard’s clean-shaven face with both hands and looking him straight in the eyes. “King Dietrik Pethredote!” he hissed. “The king of the Greater Chain is calling at your door, and you’re not there to answer it!”
Ard felt his stomach tighten with anxiety. Sparks, the king had left the palace to make a personal call? Last night must have really made the right impression.
“Did I lock the door?” Ard muttered. “What if the king’s Reggies force their way in?”
“We can hope he’s calling to congratulate you, not arrest you,” Elbrig said. “And if he were to let himself in, King Pethredote would find a perfect gentleman’s apartment.”
“Umm …” Ard scratched his chin. “Have you been inside lately?”
Elbrig’s expression instantly darkened. “What have you done to 448B, Ardy?”
“Nothing,” Ard said. “I didn’t do anything. But Raek may have moved a few crates of stolen Rollers into the apartment a few days ago.”
“What?” Elbrig’s hands balled into fists.
“We’re just storing them for a friend.” Ard crossed the room and dropped into a chair to pull on his boots. “Have you met Darbu? Solid Trothian. Barely speaks a lick of Landerian, but he moves product at an impressive rate. Said he’d swing by this morning and get the guns out of our hair.”
“Before or after the king?”
“Yeah, I can see how this might complicate things,” Ard said. “I’ll just keep the king on the front step.”
“It’s winter!” Elbrig moaned. “Oh, Raekon has ruined us!”
Ard reached down and snatched his wig and false forehead from the floor. He didn’t even remember peeling it off last night.
“What is this carelessness?” Elbrig cried, snatching the wig from Ard’s hand and placing it loosely on his head. “This hairpiece is a significant part of Dale Hizror’s identity. Would you leave your real scalp lying about like this?”
“I imagine if I did, I’d have other things to
worry about,” answered Ard.
“Hold still.” Elbrig took something from his pocket. It was a little bottle of adhesive and a fresh mustache and sideburns. Where had the ones from last night ended up? Did he leave them at the Avedon apartment?
Ard pinched his lips together as Elbrig used a tiny brush to paint below his nose. The stuff smelled awful, and Ard didn’t want to know what it was made from. Elbrig made a few stripes from his ear to his jawbone, and then dabbed a bit across his forehead, between his eyebrows, and across his temples. Elbrig capped the bottle and tucked it away. To speed the tackiness of the adhesive, he blew in Ard’s face, his breath smelling strongly of rosemary.
“Maybe the king won’t wait around for me,” Ard said, trying not to move his lips as Elbrig pressed the mustache into place. Missing this opportunity to build confidence with the king would be unfortunate. But getting caught with five crates of illegal guns would be more so. “It’s a twenty-minute carriage ride to Avedon Street.”
“You’ll need to do it in half that time and hope the king is a patient man,” said Elbrig, securing the sideburns and artificial forehead. “This meeting could be very beneficial for your ruse. I’ve got a horse waiting for you outside. Make up a good story about where you’ve been. And Homeland help us all if the king gets cold.”
Ard stood up and cast a glance over the room to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. His eye caught the chalkboard, and he suddenly remembered why he’d come to the bakery last night. He’d needed to be in his thinking space. He’d needed to scratch out some thoughts on his chalkboard. Only one word was written there now, but it reminded Ard why he hadn’t been able to fall asleep at the apartment.
GUNSHOT?
“Elbrig,” Ard said. There wasn’t time, but he had to ask. “We nearly got made last night. The Reggies knew I was going to be at the concert in disguise.”
“Yes, yes.” He shooed Ard toward the door. “Cinza filled me in on the whole thing.”
“Did she fire the gunshot?” Ard asked.
“Gunshot?” Elbrig cried. “What are you talking about?”
“When the Regulators moved to question me, someone shot a Singler and set the hall into chaos. Saved my skin.”
“It certainly wasn’t Cinza,” said Elbrig. “She only lingered long enough to hear that windbag conductor present you as the composer of the Unclaimed Symphony. Once the Reggies started pouring into the hall, she slipped out the back. She said the charcoal sketch of you was downright ghastly.”
“Raek didn’t fire the shot, either,” Ard mused. He’d asked his partner the moment he climbed into the getaway carriage.
“Well, perhaps it was King Pethredote,” Elbrig said sarcastically. “You should ask him. I hear he’s waiting to talk with you.” He shoved Ard toward the door.
Ard checked through the slot to make sure no one was in the bakery below. He scrambled through the false chimney, and crossed the shopfront, pausing just long enough to snatch a fresh cinnamon doughnut. He was rarely awake early enough to eat them warm. This was indeed a special day.
Ard found Elbrig’s horse waiting just outside. Stuffing the doughnut into his mouth, Ard leapt into the saddle and dug in his heels.
Ard rode so fast that he worried the hair might fly right off his face. He had a solid story in place by the time he reached Fariv Lane.
Ardor Benn was about to talk to the king! It was one of those days that he wished he could tell his parents about. They had always spoken of King Pethredote with the utmost respect and appreciation. He had improved life tenfold for the working-class citizen.
Ard’s father used to tell him of times before the crusader monarch—when taxes were double, and education for the common citizen was unheard-of. When the Regulation was a cesspool of crooked officers who enforced their own law. When Heat and Light Grit were so expensive that only the rich and noble could afford any.
King Pethredote was known for his Paladin Visitant. He was known for ending the war that King Barrid had started. But anyone with a glimpse at history could see that his influence went far beyond that. King Pethredote’s policies had done exactly what a crusader monarch was intended to do. Inter-island relations hadn’t been this stable in centuries.
Sparks, Ard’s train of thought was starting to sound an awful lot like the adulatory lyrics of the Unified Aria.
Ard turned onto Avedon Street and slowed his horse to a trot. He’d never seen the roadway so crowded! Outside his closed apartment door were at least twelve red-uniformed Regulators on horseback. And maybe a dozen more of the blue-coat street Reggies. A crowd of citizens had gathered, filling in the empty spaces like sand poured over a pile of rocks.
At the center of it all was a royal carriage, parked in the very middle of the street, creating an effective blockade. It was a gaudy thing, raised absurdly high, with painted wheels and decorated horses. The carriage door was open, and the step stool in place, but Ard saw no one inside.
Sparks. Had the king gone into the apartment and found the weapons? Had this whole thing turned into a setup? Nothing to do but move ahead and hope for the best.
Ard urged his horse forward, pressing into the crowd and forcing the citizens to make way. He was halfway to the carriage when he spotted the king. Good. He was still outside.
King Pethredote almost blended with the crowd. He wasn’t very tall, with a stocky build that had grown soft around the edges with age. His trimmed beard was mostly gray, matching the hair on his head. His skin was brown and somewhat wrinkled, but his blue eyes seemed to twinkle with a youthfulness. The man was dressed like a noble, with a heavy wool coat under a long red shoulder cape that nearly touched the ground. He did nothing in particular to stand out, but Ard knew immediately who he was by the way the crowd interacted with him.
The king stood among the citizens, shaking hands and exchanging brief words. The people around him were awed by his very presence. Pethredote commanded a certain reverence in the street.
This was the most powerful man in the Greater Chain. And he was calling at Ard’s door. Of course, this man was also the Focus of Ard’s ruse. But years of trickery had helped Ardor Benn to separate the person from the job. He had cheated plenty of honest nobles. Ard had full confidence that King Pethredote would rule just as effectively without a coat and crown of dragon shell.
One of the horseback Regulators saw Ard approaching and repositioned her mount to cut off access to the king. In response, Ard swung down from the saddle and proffered the reins to the Reggie.
“I believe His Majesty is waiting for me,” Ard said.
Her eyebrows raised with the acknowledgment of who he was. “Of course, Mr. Hizror.” She took his horse’s reins. “Go ahead.”
Ard ducked through the ring of Regulators until he reached the empty carriage. As soon as he stepped into sight, the king turned away from his adoring crowd to address the person he had come to see.
“Dale Hizror!” King Pethredote exclaimed, his arms wide in a warm gesture.
Ard did the only sensible thing and took a knee, head bowed low in respect. King Pethredote swept forward and took him by the shoulders, pulling him back to his feet. Ard stood face-to-face with the king!
For once, Ardor Benn had no words. He tried, but they came out jumbled. He took a deep breath to compose himself, remembering to subtly change the timbre of his voice to match Dale Hizror’s. “Apologies for my tardiness.”
The king grinned. “You cannot be late to an appointment you didn’t know you had.”
Wise words, and a forgiving schedule. Ard liked this guy already.
“You must be an early riser,” he continued. “I had been hopeful to catch you before you went out this morning.”
Early riser? Ard didn’t want to commit his character to such a terrible practice. “Actually, I didn’t even make it home last night.” This was the story he’d crafted on the ride over. “My dear fiancée was a bit shaken up after last night’s debacle. Understandably, she did not want to be al
one.”
“How lucky for you,” said the king with a roguish wink. “May we go inside?”
“In … inside?” Ard felt his heart skip a beat.
“This is your residence, is it not?” King Pethredote gestured to the door labeled 448B. Ard wondered for a moment how the king had found him. Probably Noet Farasse. The composer would have been quick to tell His Majesty that he knew the residence of the man who wrote the Unclaimed Symphony.
“It is indeed,” Ard said, with what he hoped was a confident tone. “But perhaps we would be better suited to converse in Your Highness’s carriage.”
“Oh?” the king remarked. “And why is that?”
Think, Ardor. Think of something clever. “Lately, the flue has been acting up. Drafting smoke back into the room something terrible. At times the place looks more like a tavern than a proper gentleman’s apartment.” Especially with five crates of guns lying around.
“Shouldn’t be a problem this morning, if you were out all night,” replied the king. Well, flames. One good story had to shoot the other one. That was the problem with making things up on the fly.
“Besides.” King Pethredote stepped over to the carriage’s open door and reached inside. “I’ve brought something to share.” He produced a bottle of scotch. “Too early for drinks?”
“Never,” Ard replied. But he and the king couldn’t very well stand around trading swigs from the bottle in front of the whole neighborhood. Well, at least he might get a good swallow in before being hauled off in shackles.
“Please.” Ard gestured toward the apartment door. “Let’s take this inside.”
Immediately, two palace Regulators were at the king’s side as they moved toward 448B. Ard absently withdrew the key, his mind running full speed while trying to think of any way out of this. The Reggies would probably perform a brief inspection of the room before the king was allowed inside. Perhaps Ard could use the element of surprise to knock them out, slam the door, and escape through the back window. That would be the end of Dale Hizror, and the ruse to steal the Royal Regalia would be back to square one.
The Thousand Deaths of Ardor Benn Page 24
