by Rachel Aaron
“Go ahead, Spiritualist,” she said, her pale face impassive. “The lamp’s more for you than for us.”
Had that sentence come from Eli, Miranda would have brushed it off as bluster, but the strange glitter in Nico’s eyes left no doubt in her mind that the girl spoke the truth. With a muttered thanks, Miranda slipped by, pressing herself against the grimy wall to make sure she didn’t brush the strange, moving coat again, and hurried into the adjacent cellar where Eli was already popping the next door.
After that, Miranda kept as close to Eli as her pride could bear, desperate to stay in the tiny circle of light. The next door led to another cellar, which led to another. Sometimes they would walk through a short tunnel, crossing under a road, Miranda guessed, and then it was on to another door and another person’s hoard of vegetables. Mostly, the cellars were pitch black, but a few times they would open a door to see light streaming through the floorboards above their heads. When this happened, Eli would close the shutter on his lamp and they would scurry to the next cellar like mice in a larder.
One room, however, was nearly disastrous. After a long series of dusty, empty cellars, Eli had picked up the pace. Then, after finding a door that wasn’t locked at all, he opened one right next to cook picking out vegetables for supper. They all froze in the doorway, and Miranda was sure their game was up. However, nothing happened. Minutes passed, and the cook just kept sorting through vegetables, singing in an off-key, nasal voice, not a foot away from them. Finally, she finished picking her potatoes and, still singing, tromped up the ladder, her swollen ankles wobbling unsteadily as she swung her armful of tubers in time to her song, and Miranda realized the cook was sodden drunk.
“Thank the Powers for cooking wine,” Eli said when the cook closed the door behind her. “Let’s go.”
After almost half an hour of navigating the endless maze of doors, the cellars took a noticeable turn for the affluent. The floors shifted from hard-packed dirt to laid stone, and there were wine casks and brandy stores as well as the standard potatoes and beets.
“Getting close now,” Eli whispered, lowering the shutter on his small lamp until it gave off only a splinter of light.
As they passed from cellar to cellar, Miranda began to wonder how they would know the castle door when they saw it. Every cellar they entered now seemed to have two or more locked doors leading off it. It wouldn’t surprise her if the nobles had their own network of secret tunnels down here, running from house to house to facilitate liaisons and any other secret activities the rich indulged in. As each cellar led to another just like it, she began to get the panicky feeling that they were lost in the underground maze of passages, going around and around in circles forever. Then, Eli opened a triple-locked door, and Miranda realized she needn’t have worried.
At the end of the next cellar was a heavy iron door. It was the same size as the other cellar doors, but the stone wall it was set in looked both older and sturdier than the walls around it. At the door’s center, set so deep Miranda could have stuck her finger up to the first knuckle into the grooves, was the seal of House Allaze.
Josef snorted. “I thought this was supposed to be a secret entrance.”
“Secret from outsiders, yes,” Eli said. “But you don’t want some maid or delivery boy coming down here and opening it by mistake.”
“No chance of that.” Miranda shook her head. “How do we get it open?”
“Leave that to me,” Eli announced. He reached into the small leather bag he wore under his valet coat and pulled out two small glass bottles filled with clear liquid. “Two weak acids,” he said, holding the bottles up, “used in metal working to etch patterns. Normally, it would take either of these a month to go through that much metal. However, these particular bottles of acid happen to hate each other.”
“Hate each other?” Miranda frowned. “How did that happen?”
Eli swirled the bottles innocently. “I might have played the gossipmonger a bit too well. You see, acid spirits, though volatile and dangerous, aren’t very bright. They are, however, very quick-tempered.” As he spoke, the liquid began to slosh. Just a little at first, so that Miranda thought it was because of Eli’s swirling, but by the time he finished speaking, the acids were practically boiling in their bottles.
“Now,” Eli said, shaking the bottles violently, “we just have to get them good and mad, and—” He hurled both bottles at the door, landing them smack on top of each other. The glass shattered, and the acids fell on each other with a roar, sinking through the iron door like boiling water through fresh snow.
“A good fight does wonders for them!” Eli shouted over the din of the spirits’ war.
“That’s horrible!” Miranda shouted back. “Using a spirit’s feelings like that, it’s abusive!”
“Not at all.” Eli looked hurt. “I’m treating them like living things, which is a lot more than I can say for the blacksmith I bought them from. Look, it’s even waking up the door.”
The acids’ fight was indeed getting the door’s attention. It squealed and ground on its hinges, trying to get away from the brawl that was eating through its core. The din was deafening, and Miranda clapped her hands over her ears. Eli cringed at the worst of it, but otherwise seemed content to watch the show. Josef just stood there, watching the door with bored interest. Nico crouched closer to the hissing metal than Miranda would have dared, staring in fascination as the hole in the door grew wider.
Finally, the acids fought themselves out, leaving a warped, melted hole in the iron just large enough to fit a small fist through. The door whimpered, and Eli rubbed it gently, whispering apologies and promising to have it recast as soon as possible. Whether he meant it or not, the words seemed to put the door at ease, and as it drifted back to sleep, Eli reached his hand through the melted hole and popped the lock on the other side.
“Swordsmen first,” Eli said, swinging the door open.
Josef put his hand on his sword hilt and eased his way into the black tunnel.
“All clear,” he whispered, and the rest of them hurried through the doorway, mindful of the spots where the last remnants of the acids were still steaming.
The hall on the other side was smaller than the cellar it joined. In fact, it was barely larger than the door itself. They walked single file, with Josef leading the way, absently twirling two knives in his hands. Miranda went next, followed by Eli, with Nico trailing behind as usual. For her part, the Spiritualist kept to the absolute center of the hall, as far as she could get from the cobwebby walls. Here and there, small roots had pushed through the ceiling, and she realized they must be under the palace grounds. Unseen things scuttled in the dark behind them, making Miranda’s skin crawl. Apparently, Josef didn’t like the scuttles either because he stopped suddenly, causing Miranda to nearly run into him.
“What now?” she whispered, regaining her balance.
Josef threw up his hand to silence her. She glowered at the command, but said nothing. Behind them, something skittered again, and Josef turned on his heel. Miranda didn’t see the knife leave his hand, but she heard it hit. A squeal erupted behind them, and the skittering stopped. Eli whirled around, holding his lamp high. The light fell across their dusty footprints and, right at the edge of the glow, was a squirming, dying rat with Josef’s knife sticking out of its side.
“Getting paranoid?” Eli muttered, lowering the lamp. “It’s not like you to kill the wildlife.”
“It’s not paranoia.” Josef walked over to reclaim his knife. “Have you ever seen a rat act like that?”
“What are you talking about?” Miranda said.
“Rats are scavengers and foragers,” Josef said. “This one’s been following us since the first cellar. What kind of rat leaves a cellar full of food to follow people into an empty hallway?”
Miranda hurried over to the dying animal and hovered her hand over its head. Sure enough, she could feel the faint echo of Renaud’s spirit slipping away as the rat’s movement stilled.
She snatched her hand back.
“Josef’s right,” she said.
“If he has control of the rats, that could be a major problem,” Josef said, looking at Eli. “Even you can’t sneak past rats.”
“He can’t control all of them,” Miranda said, rubbing her hand on her skirt. “Controlling lots of small spirits is harder than controlling one large one.”
“He wouldn’t need to control all of them,” Eli said thoughtfully. “Rats talk among themselves, and two wizards aren’t exactly inconspicuous. Two or three informants would be enough.”
Josef pushed past them and began walking in quick, impatient strides down the dark hall toward the castle. “We’ll just have to assume Renaud knows we’re down here,” he said. “And that means we need to be somewhere else.”
Miranda hurried after him. The dark, dirty tunnel was the last place she wanted to face another of Renaud’s mad spirits. The swordsman set a grueling pace, not running but walking so fast they might as well have been. The tunnel around them was growing lighter or rather, less dark. She still couldn’t see anything beyond the lamplight, but the tone of the darkness was shifting to something friendlier, more human. Even so, the tunnel seemed to go on forever, and Miranda’s legs were beginning to ache. The gardens hadn’t seemed this long when she was aboveground. As the tunnel went on and on, she started to wonder if this wasn’t some new trap they had stumbled into.
At last, she saw real light up ahead. Josef slowed his pace a fraction and then came to a complete stop. Eli held up the lamp, revealing a wrought-iron gate kept closed with a simple chain and padlock. The chain had rusted long ago, and Josef was able to reach through the iron bars and yank it off without difficulty. The gate swung open with a creak, and they piled into the final room of their journey.
“Great,” Miranda said, “more potatoes.”
“Ah,” Eli countered, “but these are royal potatoes! We’re here.”
Miranda looked around skeptically. The stone cellar, with its bins of root vegetables and its cold, earthy smell, was uncomfortably like every other wealthy cellar they’d tromped through. On the opposite wall, dim light shone through the cracks of a squat wooden door. Eli blew out his lamp and set it on the lip of the potato bin. He put his finger to his lips and then, slowly and silently, opened the door.
The hallway beyond was lit with indirect firelight from the room at its end. Distorted voices echoed up and down its length, and Miranda could make out the shadows of servants as they sat around the hearth. Eli craned his neck out as far as he could, then pulled back, grinning.
“All right,” he said, brushing the last bits of cobweb off his valet’s jacket, “time for phase two. Ready, Nico?”
The girl nodded and pulled her coat tighter.
“Wait,” Miranda whispered. “What’s phase two?”
Eli shook his head and put his finger to his lips before stepping out into the hall. Miranda made a rude gesture at his back and crept after him.
CHAPTER 19
Something’s not right,” Josef muttered.
“You’ve got a point,” Eli said, thunking his slab of bread against his wooden plate. “This bread’s two days old at least.”
Miranda hunched over her stewed beef and said nothing. The three of them were crowded around a small table in the kitchen surrounded by a crowd of servants who were all eating their dinners with determined efficiency. So far, phase two had consisted of sneaking into the kitchens and blending in with the other servants for the dinner rush. No one had noticed them, but they weren’t getting any closer to Renaud, and, even worse, Nico was nowhere to be seen.
“We’re wasting our time,” Miranda grumbled, shoving her plate away. “There was no need to get food as well.”
“Nosunse,” Eli said around his enormous mouthful of beef. He swallowed with gusto. “A servant who rejects food? Now that would stand out. Besides, why let it go to waste?” He took another bite.
“They have only two guards at the door,” Josef went on, ignoring them both, “and no one checking the servants. The cooks didn’t even look sideways at us.”
“Maybe they don’t know we’re here,” Eli said. “The spying rat we caught could have been the only one. Or maybe they know we’re in the castle, but they weren’t expecting us to come to the kitchens. Or maybe my plan is actually working. The whole point of breaking in at dinner was to catch the shift change so no one would notice three newcomers.”
“Or maybe they’re just incompetent,” Miranda said, remembering how the castle had reacted when she’d arrived for the first time. “Renaud may be in charge, but Mellinor is still Mellinor. Common sense seems to be as forbidden as wizardry in this country.”
“You have a point,” Josef said, leaning back in his chair and pretending to drink while he scanned the room. “But this was too easy even for incompetence. Mellinor may be slack, and I don’t know about Renaud, but Coriano isn’t someone who would leave an opening like this, not unless he was planning something.”
“Coriano?” Eli wiped his mouth with a greasy napkin. “Didn’t he run off?”
“He’s a swordsman; he only retreated. Besides”—Josef dropped his hand to where the carefully wrapped Heart of War was leaned against his leg—“the Heart can feel his sword. They’re calling to each other.”
“Josef,” Eli said patiently, “for the last time, you’re not a wizard. You can’t hear a damn thing that sword is saying.”
“I don’t have to hear him to know what he wants,” Josef growled. “You’re just mad you can’t talk to him.” Josef flashed Miranda a conspiratorial grin. “It’s the only spirit we’ve found that won’t talk to Eli.”
“Who’d want to talk to a spirit that chose you, anyway,” Eli muttered, reaching for his spoon to finish the last of his impromptu dinner. “He must have horrid taste.”
“Enough,” Miranda said, shoving Eli’s bowl out of reach before he could take another mouthful. “We’re wasting our time. What are we waiting for, anyway?”
A chorus of screams erupted from the kitchen, and Eli’s face broke into an enormous grin. “That.”
A crowd of cooks poured screaming out of the kitchen, followed by a thick plume of white smoke. The servants at the front tables started to panic, screaming “fire.” The soldiers ran forward, shouting for order as the servants rushed the doors to the kitchen gardens. While the overwhelmed guards yelled and tried to keep people from trampling each other, Eli and Josef calmly got up and jogged toward the now unguarded door to the upper castle. Miranda watched the panic in shock for a moment and then stood up and stomped after the thief.
The main hall of the servant level was even more crowded than the dining room. Alarm bells were ringing up and down its length, and the smell of wood smoke and burning tar hung heavy in the hazy air. Servants seethed from the dozens of interconnecting hallways like ants out of an overturned hill, shouting and shoving as they rushed the exits. Eli let them surge past him, nimbly working his way upstream along the wall. Only when a platoon of guards carrying buckets appeared at the far end of the hall did he change course and duck down one of the small connecting corridors.
“I can’t believe it!” Miranda whispered fiercely as they half walked, half ran down the narrow hall. “You started a fire just so you could get past some guards? Do you ever consider the consequences of your actions!?”
“We didn’t start a fire,” Nico’s voice said calmly.
Miranda jumped and whirled around. At first, she saw nothing but the empty hallway filled with hazy smoke, dark except for the sputtering wall sconces set at wide intervals. Then, Nico appeared from the shadows a foot behind them, as if she had emerged from the wall itself, looking very pleased with herself.
Miranda refused to be intimidated. “What did you do?”
“Nothing bad,” Nico said. “I just let the furnace know what I was, and now it’s trying to burn down the castle.”
“You deliberately terrified a fire spirit?” Miranda gasped
. “That’s horrible!”
Nico crossed her arms over her chest, her brown eyes perfectly calm. “I didn’t terrify it. I introduced myself. It was the furnace’s decision to try and kill me by burning everything. Don’t worry, though; it’s a slow, fat spirit. The servants will have no trouble holding it back, if they can get over their own panic.”
“Don’t you dare blame the furnace,” Miranda said. “Spirits are panicky by nature, fire spirits especially. It’s our job to protect them from things like this, not scare them witless.”
“Your job, you mean.” Nico turned away. “Don’t assume that everyone thinks like you.”
Miranda’s face reddened, but before she could retort, Nico vanished into the shadows as suddenly as she had appeared.
“How does she do that?” Miranda said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“She’s always been like that,” Eli said, giving the Spiritualist a little push down the hall. “Didn’t I tell you she didn’t need a costume?”
Miranda shook her head and let him jostle her down the corridor. They had gone only a few steps when Nico popped back into view, making Miranda jump again.
“I forgot to tell you,” she said to Eli. “Renaud is in the treasury. I overheard the valets complaining about it when I was getting in position. He’s been in there since last night, apparently.”
Miranda’s eyes went wide. “The treasury? You’re sure?”
Nico shrugged. “That’s what I heard. Apparently, he’s been spending all his time staring at a support pillar.”
“Well, there’s no accounting for taste,” Eli said. “Maybe he’s never seen one before. I don’t think he got out much.”
“You’re sure it’s a pillar?” Miranda’s voice was pleading. “Are you sure you didn’t mishear?”
