by Ben Cassidy
Kara grunted as she pulled Dutraad up onto the bed. She pushed his legs up onto the mattress, then took a step back, panting from the effort.
The man was still unconscious, snoring softly through his nose. His arms and legs were tied with drape cords, his mouth gagged with his own belt.
Kara turned to the four-poster bed and pulled the curtains shut on all sides. She glanced warily at the door behind her.
It was closed. No sounds came from outside.
The Soulbinder wasn’t on Dutraad. Kara knew that for certain. He had mentioned that this was his private room. She suspected that she wasn’t the first young maiden he had escorted up here.
She also suspected that if Dutraad was going to keep the Soulbinder anywhere, it would be somewhere in here.
The desk. It was a logical enough place to begin.
Kara pulled on the drawer. It didn’t budge.
Locked.
Kara frowned. She reached for the lockpicking tools she had hidden in the sleeve of her dress.
She had a lot of ground to cover, and not a lot of time to do it in.
Maklavir could feel his heart thumping in his chest. He hurried down one of the halls of the house, his cape fluttered behind him.
Everything was happening right now. Kara was searching for the Soulbinder. Kendril and Joseph were probably dragging an unconscious Bronwyn out through the falling snow towards the stable.
Everyone was doing something.
Everyone except him.
He turned a corner in the hall. He wasn’t even sure where to go. Back to the main hall? Try to re-join the festivities like nothing had happened? What if, Eru forbid, he ran into Bronwyn again? Or Dutraad? But somehow Maklavir couldn’t bring himself to plod out to the stables, either. Something told him that the business with Bronwyn would get much uglier before the night was done.
He was feeling guilty enough for lying to the woman. Truth be told, he had no stomach to watch her be…questioned.
So he continued to walk at a brisk pace, not knowing where he was going.
As he turned another corner, an armed guard stepped out in front of him.
“Excuse me, sir,” the man said in a not-too friendly tone of voice. “Do you need some assistance?”
“How did you know?”
Bronwyn gave a small, mocking little laugh. “Please, Kendril. I knew there was a Ghostwalker involved. Then I recognized your friend Maklavir in the main hall. Ashes, he was even using his real name. How stupid do you think I am?”
“Stupid enough to walk into a room with me and think you’d walk out,” Kendril snarled. There was a gleam of steel as he flicked his knife out into his hand.
“Not a dagger,” cried Bronwyn. She splayed one hand against her supple bosom. “Whatever will I do now?”
Joseph gave Kendril a warning glance. “Kendril—”
“Not now,” the Ghostwalker snapped. He took another step forward. “Bronwyn, I swear by everything that is holy—”
“Swear what?” Bronwyn pushed herself back against a bookshelf by the door. “That you’ll kill me?” She held up her hands. “I’m unarmed, with no way to defend myself. Just a poor, innocent maiden.”
Kendril lifted the knife. “I won’t ask again, Bronwyn.” He stepped forward, his eyes simmering with cold fire. “Where is the Soulbinder?”
She flickered her eyes at him. “Oh, you have such a one-track mind, Kendril. No imagination at all. And certainly no manners. Didn’t your mother ever teach your not to point your weapon at a lady? The Soulbinder is in a safe place.” She gave a conciliatory smile, and pointed with one delicate white finger towards the ceiling. “Upstairs.”
Kara tore the last row of books off the shelf, kicking through the pile on the floor. She knocked twice on the empty back of the shelf. Despite the chill in the room, she was sweating. Dutraad’s wheezing snore from the curtained bed was starting to drive her crazy.
The room was a disaster. Kara had done a shoddy, hurried job of dumping out every drawer and cabinet in sight. Half the locks she had forced open, or picked so shoddily that it seemed the work of a child. It looked more like a common ransacking than the work of a professional burglar.
She kept looking over her shoulder, expecting the door to the room to burst open at any moment. Any noise she was making in here, which was a lot, was undoubtedly drowned out by the commotion of the party downstairs. Kara could hear the sound of a waltz thrumming through the floorboards of the room even as she searched.
And besides that, Dutraad would undoubtedly not be disturbed even by his own servants in his private room.
And yet still, Kara found herself glancing back towards the door.
She moved towards the wall behind the desk. There was a large painting there, a venerable looking man wearing clothes that hadn’t been fashionable for two centuries.
Kara stared at it for a moment, her mind whirling. It was obvious. Too obvious.
Then again, she was out of less obvious choices.
She grabbed the frame of the painting, then lifted it off the wall. She set it down on the floor by the desk, then glanced up.
There, in an alcove of the wall, was a strongbox.
“Just taking a walk.” Maklavir straightened and tried to look as dignified as possible.
The guard motioned with his chin back down the hallway. “The party’s back down that way, sir. Perhaps I can help you find something?”
Maklavir sensed rather than saw another guard step in behind him. His stomach tightened into a ball. “I say, my good man, I think you’re overreacting here a little bit. I’m just stretching my legs.”
The guard grinned. One hand moved down towards the hilt of his sword. “Whatever you say, Mr. Maklavir. Perhaps we could talk this over somewhere a little…quieter.”
Maklavir felt the movement of the second guard behind him. There was a quiet rasp of steel being drawn from a sheath.
He swallowed hard, forcing his panicked mind to think clearly.
It occurred to him then that he might be in a spot of trouble.
“You know I love these little games of ours, Kendril,” Bronwyn purred. “But I really can’t stay. This whole business with the Soulbinder is far too important, I’m afraid.” She lifted her head and gave a teasing smile. “But then, I imagine you know that already, don’t you?”
Joseph stepped out from behind the billiards table.
Kendril moved within three steps of the young woman. He brandished his knife menacingly. “I think you’d better take us to the Soulbinder now, Bronwyn.”
She gave a harsh, tinkling little laugh. “Please, Kendril, you’re sounding stupider and stupider every time you open your mouth. How will you get past Dutraad’s guards? Are you going to fight your way through with that?” She glanced down contemptuously at the dagger in Kendril’s hand.
The Ghostwalker scowled. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Take us to the Soulbinder.”
She smiled. “What a delightfully awful trap you’ve sprung here, Kendril. You get points for daring, certainly, but certainly not for clear and forthright planning.” She crossed her arms. “Please think, my dear handsome boy. If I knew this was a trap, then why did I still walk in here?”
Joseph and Kendril both paused.
The door to the room flew open.
The female assassin stepped into the room. A long curved knife was in each of her hands. Her white half-mask glinted chillingly in the candlelight.
Kendril took an instant step back and raised his dagger. The weapon looked paltry in comparison to the assassin’s long knives.
Joseph reached for the handle of his rapier that wasn’t there.
“Truth is,” said Bronwyn casually, “I set a pretty decent trap myself.”
“Vesuna’s blood.” Kara swore softly as she fiddled with the strongbox lock. Her lockpicking tools scratched and clicked as she fiddled with them.
The strongbox was firmly locked. Kara knew she could unlock it. But it w
ould take time.
And time was one thing she didn’t have.
She turned back to the four-poster bed behind her.
The strongbox was locked. It needed a key. And the key had to be somewhere.
Kara moved swiftly back to the bed and ripped back the curtain.
Dutraad was still sleeping soundly, drugged by the sleeping powder she had slipped into his drink.
Kara took a breath, then started rummaging through the unconscious man’s pockets. After a few seconds she discovered a small ring of keys, overlooked before when she had been searching for the Soulbinder. She pulled the keys out and glanced over at them quickly.
One caught her eye. A small, brass key, about the right size and shape….
The thief allowed herself a smile, then turned back to the strongbox.
There was a knock at the chamber door.
“I say, said Maklavir indignantly. “Do you know who I am?” He backed against a table that was set against the corridor’s wall. Several lit candles were set onto its surface, sleeved in crystal like all the other candles in the manor.
“Actually,” the first guard said with a sneering grin, “I know exactly who you are.” He pulled out his sword. The blade flashed in the candlelight. “Now, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Your choice.”
Maklavir moved his hands behind his back and fumbled them near the candles. He glanced back down the corridor.
The second guard was moving up. His sword was in his hand as well.
“Now, gentlemen,” said Maklavir nervously, “I think there’s obviously been some sort of mistake here—”
The first guard grinned evilly. “You can say that again, barrister. Looks like we’ll have to do things the hard way after all.”
Bronwyn crossed behind the assassin to the open door.
Nobody moved. The jaunty waltz music from the main hall drifted down the hall into the candle-lit room.
Bronwyn looked back over her shoulder. “I believe the two of you have already met Nadine here?”
Kendril stared hard at the assassin in front of him. Even without the mask that covered half of the beautiful woman’s face, he recognized her. It was the same assassin he had chased on the rooftops, the same one that had attacked Maklavir and him in the library.
So she and Bronwyn were working together. Of course.
Kendril cursed silently.
Bronwyn smiled sweetly at him. “I thought as much. Unfortunately, I can’t stay and play any more, but Nadine will be happy to oblige.” She flipped back her long black hair, then gave an unconcerned nod towards the black-clad assassin. “Be a dear, Nadine, and kill them both.”
Nadine leapt forward.
“Sir?” The knock came again, more insistent this time. “My lord, are you all right?”
Kara didn’t know who was pounding on the door, and she didn’t care. All she knew was that the tone of voice was conveying concern, the kind that would pause for only a few deferential moments before kicking the door open.
She dashed to the door and slammed down the wooden bolt into the locked position.
The door jostled, banging roughly as it failed to open.
Kara heard the faint sounds of weapons being drawn out in the hallway. She turned back into the room.
“My lord?”
The bolt was a simple room lock. It wouldn’t hold out against a determined battering for long.
Kara stumbled forward, tripping in the long white dress that she wore. She swore under her breath, then tore away the bottom hem of the skirt to free up her legs.
There was not much point in looking pretty now.
A jarring crash sounded from the door, accompanied by the splintering of wood.
Kara kicked the painting out of her way, then inserted the brass key into the strongbox lock.
It fit perfectly.
The door rattled again from another solid hit. Kara heard the bolt crack. She instinctively knew that it wouldn’t survive another blow.
She swung down the handle of the strongbox, then threw open the iron door.
Maklavir was pushing his luck. He had seen the look that was on the guard’s face before. Usually from cuckolded husbands discovering him in the act of—
Well, suffice to say he had seen it before.
“Barrister.” The first guard stepped closer, his blade pointed at Maklavir’s chest.
The second guard strode forward as well.
Maklavir tried desperately to think. He had been in tight spots before. Well, perhaps not this tight, but still tight.
The key was to act quickly and stop overthinking, he thought.
So what would Kendril do?
Maklavir felt the heat of the candles behind him, close to his twisting fingers.
“Grab his arms,” the first guard ordered.
There was a spark and sudden hiss from behind Maklavir.
Both guards tensed, their swords raised.
His course set, Maklavir managed a polite smile. Mortal danger or not, there was always time for a witty remark.
“Catch,” he said, then threw the lit grenade at the first guard.
The dagger was no match for the assassin’s long knives.
Kendril fell back, trying to get the billiards table between him and the assassin.
She came at him in a blur, both of her knives slashing through the air.
Joseph leapt at the woman from the side. Weaponless, he grabbed for her left arm.
Kendril tried to shout a warning when he saw what his friend was attempting.
It was too late.
Nadine side-stepped the clumsy attack, then slashed Joseph’s arm with one of the knives.
The scout fell back against the billiards table with a cry, then collapsed to the ground.
It wasn’t much, but it was an opening. Probably the only one Kendril would get.
He hurled the dagger at the woman in front of him.
Without even turning she deflected the spinning blade with her own long knife.
Kendril’s dagger ricocheted and flew into the corner of the room, far out of his reach.
He took a quick step back, then felt the wall behind him. There was nowhere else to go, and now he was weaponless.
Nadine turned to him with a chilling smile.
The strongbox was empty.
Well, not entirely empty. A few pieces of paper, probably deeds or wills, A small bag of coins.
But no Soulbinder.
The door to the room flew open.
Two armed thugs, mercenaries hired by Dutraad, entered. One held a flintlock musket, the other a halberd. Both wore swords at their belts.
The man with the musket turned to Kara, his gun half-leveled at her. “Where’s the Baron?”
The voice was suspicious, but uncertain. The guards had seen her come upstairs with Dutraad. They apparently knew enough to know that something was wrong, but they hadn’t shot her yet.
It wasn’t much, but it was something to work with.
“There!” Kara pointed to the curtained bed. She fell back against the fireplace, a look of terror on her face. “It was terrible! They tied him up, and threatened to kill me, and, and—”
The guard with the halberd ran to the bed.
The guard with the musket came closer to Kara. His face showed his blatant confusion. His eyes caught sight of her torn dress, then the open strongbox. “How--?” he started to ask.
The second guard pulled back the curtain on the bed. “He’s here!” he called.
The guard with the musket turned his head to look at Dutraad, unconscious and bound on the bed.
Kara made a split-second decision.
She was feeding off the guards’ confusion, but she knew they wouldn’t be confused for long. It would only take them a few moments to get their thoughts straight, and then they would realize that no one had fled through the only door to the room, the strongbox door was wide open, and Kara had locked the door from the inside.
In sh
ort, they would realize in a matter of heartbeats that Kara was the only real suspect.
She only had a few moments. And she had to make the most of them.
The guard with the musket turned his head back. He started to say something.
Kara took two steps forward and kneed him hard between the legs.
The first guard instinctively caught the smoking grenade, and almost dropped his sword in the process. It took him a moment to realize what he was holding. He froze, his eyes wide as saucers.
Maklavir hated violence in all its forms. It was so…uncivilized. In certain situations, however, he had come to the realization that even violence had its uses.
The situation he was currently in, for instance, was certainly one of them.
Maklavir grabbed a shield of arms that was set onto the hallway wall and ripped it out of its fastenings.
The second guard backed up several steps, a natural reaction from a man who saw a live grenade within twelve feet of him.
The first guard turned and swung back his arm to throw the sputtering grenade as far down the corridor as he could.
Maklavir brought the shield down with both hands on the back of the man’s head.
There was a dull clang, and the man collapsed to the floor like a sack of grain.
Maklavir vaguely hoped the poor fellow wasn’t dead, though more, if he was honest, out of the sheer principle of the thing.
The second guard froze, torn with indecision. His eyes were still on the grenade.
Maklavir turned, then kicked the explosive device down the hallway towards the startled man.
The grenade rolled and bounced down the hall. It stopped right at the second guard’s feet.
The man threw himself against a door. He dropped his sword and covered his face with both hands.
Maklavir swooped down and snatched the unconscious guard’s sword off the ground.
The matchcord on the grenade reached its end. It sputtered, then fizzled out.
The second guard lowered his arms. He stared in stupid awe at the dud grenade.
