The Changer's Key

by Kent Davis

  “No longer training?”

  “Why, no. The Reeve have a very dim view of deserters. I feel fortunate that you were not executed upon your arrival. I suppose my intervention had something to do with it.”

  She searched for something to say. The silence dragged out.

  “Two wards dead. A priceless artifice shattered. Do you have any regrets?”

  She bared her teeth in a grin. “I regret nothing. Only that I don’t have you in this cage with me.”

  The metal chair scraped back. Fabric brushed against fabric as someone stood up.

  Swedenborg said, “Are you satisfied?”

  Wisdom Rool said, “Yes. I’ve seen enough.” Rool sighed. “Ruby Teach, it pains me that we should part. I had thought you would make a reeve, and a fine one at that. But alack alay, I must turn my eyes otherwhere. Your steel is too common for this work. We cannot have impurities cracking our tools at the improper time. Farewell.”

  His feet brushed against the stone floor, receding toward the door.

  Something snapped.

  Ruby yelled many things, until her throat was hoarse: pleas, promises, justifications, excuses. The lord captain of the Reeve did not respond or return. Eventually she found herself kneeling in the cage, fighting for air. Her breathing quieted until she was still again.

  Clapping. Glove on glove. Swedenborg was applauding, quite enthusiastically. “Well done, Miss Teach! That was quite a performance! I do appreciate you driving the lord captain away. He remains so interested in you; I find it ever so inconvenient.”

  Swedenborg’s voice crept closer. “We are alone together at last. Now, Miss Teach, put your arm through the bars again, please. I need a fresh sample. We are so close. The machine is almost complete. Please do not resist or attempt to do violence to me. I will simply be forced to secure you even more tightly. Do as you are told.”

  She put her arm through the bars. Swedenborg rolled her sleeve up quite gently, and the pinprick wasn’t so bad.

  So why did she feel as though she had lost something massive?

  The door to the laboratory closed, and she went back to counting breaths, like the old days in Fermat’s cage. The numbers eluded her, though, drowned out by reeves appearing through blossoms or horses falling into canyons. Gwath had always said that . . . but Gwath had never been imprisoned like this. Perhaps he would think fondly of her since she had just sent him a steed.

  Corson had blinded her. She was blind. Ruby tried to lock that away in the strongbox in her belly, but it kept creeping out and clawing at her insides. She barely kept it at bay.

  Keep busy. Ruby explored the cage. There was a pot for doing your business. It smelled of chem. Using her fingers, she found a keyhole in the door, but a careful inventory of her clothing revealed that in addition to her picks, anything hard or metallic, even the buttons, had been removed. She was barefoot. Ruby had grown strong in the past months, but not strong enough to bend bars. The simplest of latches was an unpassable barrier to a girl with no picks. Skillet had told stories of an infamous Sicilian thief who could open the most complex lock with just a thump of his fist. She tried it several times, but all she got for her trouble was a sore hand.

  A creak announced the door’s opening.

  Ruby stayed silent. She wouldn’t give the Swede the satisfaction.

  “Ruby Teach?” It was a hesitant voice, quiet enough so that she had to strain to hear it.

  Her stomach sank. “Evram?”

  “I am here to feed you.”

  “Evram—” Ruby said.

  “Please hold your face close to the bars near my voice. Doctor Swedenborg told me to remind you that you must be polite.”

  She did as she was told, pressing her face up to the bars. “Evram—”

  “Please do not speak. It will interfere with the feeding.”

  She opened her lips. Warm porridge filled her mouth, and it was gooey heaven. The whole trip back to Scoria she had been unconscious; she had no idea when she had last eaten. “More, please.”

  “Open.”

  The second bite was more magical than the first, and there was something else. A hint of honey?

  “Evram”—she pulled in a shuddering breath—“I am so sorry about Sleipnir.”

  His stifled sob filtered through the air and cut into her.

  “I didn’t know that Corson could stand up to Sleipnir. I panicked. She was so brave and strong. I thought she could protect me. If I had known that she would be in danger—” She stopped there. If she had to do it again, knowing what she knew now, would she have set the gearhorse against the reeve? A cold, practical voice down deep inside her said, “Perhaps.”

  Evram sniffed. “I know. You did not intend for Sleipnir to die.”

  His understanding made it worse. She reached her hand out of the bars, trying to find his. It was there, cold and a little bit limp. “No. Is that what happened?”

  He pulled away. “Yes. The party came back with her body on a wagon late last night. Doctor Swedenborg is examining her. He says the overcommand word is a highly unusual innovation. I have been allowed to assist in the autopsy.” Evram’s voice filled with pride.

  “Evram, are you in trouble?”

  “I don’t know. Should I be?”

  The words tasted like lead in her mouth. “You gave me the word, and I ruined something magnificent that you had made. Sleipnir was also important for the Reeve. Won’t Swedenborg be angry?”

  His hand came back and held hers. “Do not worry for me. I crafted Sleipnir. They told me what happened. You used her words, and she befriended you. Why would the doctor be angry if she worked perfectly to design?” He squeezed her hand once, and then was gone.

  Ruby lay back against the bars and stared into the distance. The black was endless, as if the blindness somehow extended her sight. Was it temporary? Forever? She had forgotten to ask. The quiet wound her in a cocoon, stifling all the rest of her senses.

  A single spark of hope kept her warm. She still had one friend. For that, she thanked Providence and Science and all the saints whose names she had never learned. But what was to come?

  CHAPTER 40

  Negotiation is the marriage of a fierce purpose to a useful lever. My favorite type of lever is a cannon.

  —Precious Nel, scourge of the Seven Seas

  The inside of the abandoned house was cool. Henry poured sweat. They had tied him to a chair and then left him with alla Ferra and her two seconds. Weapons drawn, Vera Medina stood ramrod straight at the edge of a beat-up table, and Alaia Calderon lurked against the doorframe behind him.

  Watching him as she ate, hunting knife laid across the top of a wooden plate, Petra alla Ferra gnawed fiercely and without apology on a haunch of venison. She cleaned it all—sinew, skin, cartilage—until the bone was pristine. She took out a handkerchief and cleaned her hands and face, never taking her eyes from his. She tucked the handkerchief away. “So. You have something I want.”

  “Yes. I can translate that journal.” The journal lay on the table, lock opened, button key necklace lying next to it.

  “Of course you can.”

  “But the more important question is will I?”

  She leaned back in her chair. “Young sir, I have spent a very long time learning all manner of methods to persuade folk to speak, and speak truthfully. Some of them I am quite certain you will not enjoy. It might be difficult for you to resist our questioning.”

  He chewed his lip. Suddenly all this seemed like a very bad idea. He had thought to offer his services in exchange for the safety of his companions, much the way Ruby had on the Grail. But this woman was a predator. She fed on fear. If he showed weakness, she would pounce on it.

  “I see that, and believe me when I say I do not relish the thought. But what if I could resist you? Or what if the woman in the mask could? Or what if either of us lies? You have no way to tell if what I say is the truth or not.” He took a chance. “Unless you have a chemyst with you?”

 
Alla Ferra still wore a smile, but it was a touch less catlike. “It has been long since I feared chemysts. When I was young, I thought they were godless demons.”

  “What changed?”

  “I grew older. A chemyst is just a woman or a man. Your Science is no more or less a godless pursuit than the works of the church, or even my uncle Remei’s goat farm. And that place stinks like Hades. I am simply the one paid to bring you in. My employer has tasked me with hauling you back and discovering what is in that journal.” She bared her teeth and leaned forward to play with the hilt of the knife. “If I must, I shall cut that information out of you. If you do not wish for that to happen, convince me that there is another way.”

  Henry closed his eyes for a moment. The images he saw there did not help his composure. He opened them back up. “I wager you have heard of Fermat.”

  The fingers stopped on the hilt. “Who has not? The Breaker of France, the Terror of the Inquisition.”

  “He is my mentor.”

  Behind him, Alaia cursed. It gave him the strength to continue. “You wish to become an enemy of his?”

  She shrugged. “If I must. We have had many enemies over the years. Tinkers, cardinals, princes of the fur trade, imams of Arabia. Coin is our friend, and our other friend is vigilance. They protect us from all manner of fairy stories.”

  “But must you make an enemy of him?” Henry asked.

  “What is my other option, boy?”

  Henry forced himself to smile, to try to do this as Ruby would, showing an ease that was not there. “What if we were partners?”

  Alla Ferra frowned. “Well, what if?”

  “You say coin is your friend.”

  “Indeed.”

  “What extra coin might you acquire if you could offer your employers access to not just the journal and me but a living version of the journal as well?”

  “Living, you say?”

  His pulse pounded in his ears. “My friends and I can take you to Ruby Teach.”

  “The famous girl?” Alla Ferra smiled. “Continue. I am listening.”

  Winnifred Black smelled.

  She smelled of sweat, and earth, and trees. But Athena had come to realize, in the hours strung up in the barn next to her, it was not an unpleasant odor. It might have seemed that way at one time, compared with the roses, jasmine, and orange of the salons and gardens where Athena had chattered and dueled. But Winnifred Black did not smell of tameness. She smelled of rushing rivers and steep stone. She smelled wild.

  And so, Athena realized, did Athena.

  “Miss Black?”

  “Call me Winnie, Athen. Prison is not a place for formality.”

  “Very well. Winnie.” The others were listening, but Athena discovered she did not care. “Might I ask you a question?”

  “Well, I do have many appointments and parties to get to, but since you insist . . .”

  Athena chuckled to cover her unease. “Well, I have noticed that among these mercenaries men and women tend to share fighting responsibility and such. In fact, the three leaders of this military company are female. This kind of equality has not been my experience in the upper reaches of polite society.”

  The woodswoman grunted. “You are perceptive indeed, Athen.”

  “Thank you, but that is not my question.”

  “Ask it, then.”

  But how to? Just do, she supposed. “How do you, an accomplished woodswoman in a vocation dominated, I perceive, by men, carve out your own place in society?”

  Winnifred Black chuckled. “I don’t.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I don’t, lad. I discovered long ago that they don’t want me, with my buskins and my knives and my baby, Cubbins, in their society. So I don’t live in it. I live on the edges, in the woods and alleys, and in company that don’t give a hoot for such truck. Much like I reckon these mercenary ladies do.”

  “Thank you, Winnie.”

  “You’re welcome, Athen.”

  “Call me Athena, if you please.”

  Winnifred Pleasant Black looked her up and down for a moment. “Why tell me now?”

  “Why not face my death with my true name?”

  A trace of a smile appeared. “All right then. Athena.”

  Athena was the next to be chosen.

  She had heard of the exploits of the sacred companies in the purges in Andalusia and Catalonia. Terrifying pictures haunted her mind as the guards hustled her across the waste-covered stretch between the barn and the little farmhouse. It had not been that long since they had taken Henry. Had he broken so soon? Or had his questioners slipped with their fierce instruments, ending the life of her friend once and for all? For he was her friend, no matter his own opinion on the matter. He was brave and intelligent, and she mourned his loss already.

  As they approached the door, she steeled herself to witness whatever gory remains of Henry their torturers might present her with.

  The door opened.

  She had not expected dessert.

  A warm fire glowed in the fireplace, and the hunter, Petra alla Ferra, her two assistants, and Henry Collins all sat about a large pan of creamy golden custard, flecked with a beautiful brown crust.

  The company leader pointed her heavy hunting knife at Athena. “Catalonian cream?” A chunk of sticky sweetness quivered on the flat of the blade. “It is Rafa’s specialty.” A brute of a man stood over a pot on the fire, brows knitted in fierce concentration over a tiny tasting spoon. “We eat to confirm our new friendship!” The woman and the girls had transformed completely. No longer grim, they were all smiles and cascading laughter. Athena had finally gone mad. It had only been a matter of time.

  Henry Collins looked up at her. He had a streak of cream across his upper lip. He winked.

  Petra alla Ferra pushed a dented inkpot and a feather pen across the table to Henry. “Just write the note and have your handsome witness sign it, and we are boon companions.”

  Henry picked up the feather pen and tapped it on his teeth for a moment. Then he wrote:

  Upon the rescue of one Aruba Teach, I, Henry Collins, commit myself and my companions—Athen Boyle, Cram Cramson, Wayland Teach, Winnifred Pleasant Black, her son, Cubbins, and the Woman in the Iron Mask—to the following: We will accompany Petra alla Ferra and her company to a location of her choosing, and we will deliver ourselves into the hands of her employer without resistance or complaint. Further, I will offer her any aid I can in the translation of one chemystral journal.

  By my hand and seal, this 7th day of May, 1719

  Ruby! Henry had, somehow, convinced alla Ferra to help them. But this was not an honorable woman. She was a mercenary. “You are a hunter of chemysts,” Athena said. “Known for it throughout the world. There is one in front of you, another in that barn back there. Do you expect us to believe that you will lay down your duty?”

  The knife swished under Athena’s nose and into the creamy dessert. “I do,” said Petra alla Ferra as she took another bite. “I do expect you to believe me.”

  “But why?”

  “Because, young lord, ‘duty’ is just another word.” She smiled. “My people and I are good at hunting chemysts. The best. We are also good at hunting murderers. We are good at hunting rebellious princes. Once we even hunted down a rogue actor. Now that was a challenge. We are skilled at this job, but if other opportunities arise . . .” She shrugged. “Besides, my task is the same. Bring the lot of you in. If this Ruby is as Henry says, then I will simply be doing a better job for my employer, and I stand in line for a nice, tasty bonus.” She toasted Alaia with a bladeful of custard.

  “How can we be certain of your intentions?” said Athena.

  Alla Ferra smiled. “You can’t. Nothing in this life is certain.”

  “Athen.” Henry put his hand on hers. It was warm. “Trust me.”

  She looked about. The hunters were still smiling, but their hands hovered above their weapons. She was bound. They had her sword. What use would it be to thro
w herself on them? And if Henry was indeed her friend, she had to trust him, no matter what lunacy he was up to. Besides, whether she and the others were officially captives or no, it seemed Henry had recruited a small army to aid them in getting Ruby back. It was a stroke of deft prowess.

  She turned to Henry. “Brilliant. Tactical mastery. I bow to your genius.” She cleared her throat and pointed at the letter. “Also, it is . . . Athena.”

  He raised his eyebrows. She nodded. He added an a.

  He signed it.

  Athena signed it.

  The Catalonians cheered. Then there were embraces and kisses in the Continental fashion, and Athena felt embarrassed and strange but, also, just a little, hopeful. At one point, alla Ferra gave her a strange look while reading over Henry’s letter; but it quickly passed, and Athena thought nothing more of it.

  The pact was announced, and the camp transformed almost instantly into a festival of sorts. There were backslaps and toasts all around. Save for Marise Fermat. Alla Ferra’s one condition on their new mission was that the chemyst had to stay in the mask. Henry had reluctantly agreed.

  Late that night, in the light of the dying coals, Petra alla Ferra found her.

  She plopped down next to Athena in the grass. “Boyle is an interesting name.”

  “Is it? I have always found it rather common.”

  Alla Ferra sniffed. “But Athen Boyle is less common, would you agree?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Athena, even less common.” Athena did not answer. “Since I am now your comrade-in- arms, rather than your captor, I feel you should know something.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Is your father’s name Godfrey Boyle?”

  “Yes, but what—”

  “That is also the name of my employer.” And with that, she rolled up to stand and walked into the house.