by Stina Leicht
“You speak as if you know a lot about babies.” Blackthorne moved little Lydia’s hands from his face, and she snuggled back into his arms with a yawn.
Mallory’s full lips curled into another sad smile. “In my line of business, babies are a—uh—hazard, you could say.”
“The spy business?” Blackthorne felt one side of his mouth tug upward.
“No. The other business,” Mallory said. “The one that pays my rent.”
“I thought you were a painter.”
The expression on Mallory’s face instantly reminded Blackthorne of Viktor Reini whenever he spoke to Colonel Hännenen. “Seriously? You’re going to tell me you didn’t know I was a cocksman?”
“Oh.”
“You didn’t?” Mallory hugged his ribs and began to laugh. “Oh, Mithras, my ribs. I can’t— It hurts too much. I—”
The baby started awake.
“I thought you were Lydia’s …” Blackthorne cleared his throat and attempted to soothe her back to sleep. “Business manager.”
Wiping under a bruised eye, Mallory said, “Lydia didn’t need anyone to manage her. In fact, she owned the building. I was her tenant.”
Blackthorne hesitated. “Only her … tenant?”
“Only,” Mallory said. “We didn’t share clients.” He paused. “Most of the time. I’ll admit, she did send me the occasional lucrative referral. But I only resorted to that when I didn’t have any other choice.”
A more complete image of Mallory’s existence began to emerge. “I see.”
“Not because I didn’t enjoy it,” Mallory said. “Men are simply more dangerous. Particularly men in power. And most of Lydia’s clients were very rich indeed. Not that there aren’t licenses for such things, but they’re extremely expensive for someone like me.” He shrugged. “That more than anything is the reason why events at molly houses are so often conducted in disguise.” He shrugged. “Between the two, I prefer women. They’re more fun.” He frowned and winced. “Most of the time.”
“Ah.”
“Anyway, Lydia was a good friend,” Mallory said. “I couldn’t let her baby die. Besides, she had a lot of feelings for you. She said you were more than you seemed. She was certain you’d take in little Lydia.” He gazed at the wall across from him. “She always was a good judge of character.”
“Oh,” Blackthorne said, not knowing what else to say.
Once again, he looked down at his daughter. She burrowed in his arms again in the search for a new position. She wiggled and twisted until she was lying on her back with her head cradled inside his elbow. She blinked up at him and smiled.
That warm feeling returned. At the same time, his ignorance of babies now loomed like a mountain. Even if I had thought to do so, leaving Mallory behind is impossible. I don’t know how to take care of her. He’s been doing so for months. “How—how old is she?”
“She was born on the thirty-first of March,” Mallory said. “She’s four months old today.”
Blackthorne blinked. “It’s the thirty-first of July?”
“It is,” Mallory said. “Since you wanted to speak in private, I assume you had something to talk about other than the baby?”
Whispering, Blackthorne said, “When I escape, I’m taking you and Lydia with me.”
Mallory asked, “And how do you propose to do that?”
“I don’t know,” Blackthorne said. “Not yet. Do you know if we’re still in Novus Salernum?”
“We are,” Mallory said. “In fact, this place is under the Warden Academy.”
Good, Blackthorne thought, feeling the tension in his shoulders loosen. “How far is your cell from mine?”
“I’m next door,” Mallory said. “They killed Tyra, and it’s my fault. If I hadn’t—”
“Who is Tyra? The Watch captain?” Blackthorne asked.
Mallory scowled. “No. Tyra was Lydia’s wet nurse. The Watch captain was Emily Drake, and if I ever see her again I’ll—I’ll—” He seemed to choke on his own rage. Then he clenched his fists until he got control of himself. “She’s the reason we didn’t make it to Greenleaf. She turned on me.”
“I see,” Blackthorne said.
They sat in silence for a few moments before Mallory ventured further. “Well?”
“We can escape,” Blackthorne said.
“How?”
“Let’s just say you aren’t the only one with a … past. That said, not only have I escaped before,” Blackthorne said, “but I’ve been planning on such an inevitability from the first day at the Academy.”
Mallory’s eyes widened. “You’re a—”
“Ex-Warden,” Blackthorne said. “You’ll need your strength. I won’t be able to carry you in addition to Lydia. And I’m not leaving without you.”
Mallory lifted an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t have expected such sentiments.”
You aren’t the only one, Blackthorne thought, and gazed into his daughter’s eyes.
She smiled and made a happy noise. Then she tightened her grip on his finger and began to gum it. For some reason, he didn’t mind the slobber.
“She really likes you,” Mallory said. “It would seem she’s as good a judge of character as her mother was.”
It would be nice to think so, Blackthorne thought.
The keys rattled in the lock.
“I’m glad we had this chat,” Mallory muttered with a fearful look on his face. “But I’m afraid it’s time for me to go.”
“Remember what I said,” Blackthorne whispered. “Cooperate as much as you dare. Whatever it takes to avoid more injury. I need you whole.”
Mallory nodded. “Don’t drop her on her head. Keep her warm, but not too warm. Keep her bottom clean. And feed her when she’s hungry. She’ll sleep when she needs to. The rest will work itself out. At least, until she’s old enough to walk and speak. After that, all the rules change.”
“Good to know,” Blackthorne said.
“Let’s hope we both live to see her become a woman,” Mallory whispered.
The door swung open, and a guard led Mallory away.
The director stood in the doorway, frowning at the baby in Blackthorne’s arms. “She’s sleeping,” Blackthorne said. “I would like more time with her if it’s possible.”
Frowning, the director nodded and slammed the door.
Baby Lydia jerked awake and squeezed up her face in what he could only assume would be a scream.
“Shhhh,” he said. “It’s all right. You’re safe. I’m here. I won’t leave you. I promise.” He held her tight and rocked her in what he hoped was a soothing manner. He didn’t think he’d ever felt so powerless and yet happy in his whole life.
Her expression relaxed, and she waved a hand in the air. He gave her his finger again, and again she grabbed it. She pulled it to her mouth, closed her eyes, and sucked. He thought she might be hungry, but she fell back to sleep.
THREE
Blackthorne said, “You said you’d bring Lydia today.”
“I thought we’d have a chat first,” the director said. “I have questions that remain unanswered. I have been generous. I’ve permitted you to meet your daughter. Now I would have your cooperation. Where were you last winter?”
“Archiron,” Blackthorne said.
“I rather doubt that,” the director said. “There is no evidence of your having been there.”
“How would you know? How many times do you think I’ve been to Novus Salernum?” Blackthorne asked. “Once? Twice? How about twenty times?”
The director’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.”
Blackthorne shrugged and told the truth. “You’re right. It was more like thirteen.”
“Where were you last winter?”
“Archiron.”
“You should reconsider your behavior. I do not believe it is within your power to deny me anything.” The director frowned. “I have your child. I understand nonhumans can become quite pliable when they perceive that their get are in danger.”
He�
�s only goading you. He won’t see her harmed. They need her.
“You’re thinking that I need her alive,” the director said. “And you’re correct. To study, if for no other reason. However, no one said her existence need be comfortable. It might be interesting to observe her with a malorum.”
Blackthorne’s hands curled into fists, and his heart beat fast. Think, damn it. He won’t hurt her. He needs her.
“One more time,” the director said. “And if I don’t like the answer, I’ll see to it that you’ll be sorry, I promise you.” His lips formed a thin line of anticipated satisfaction. “Where. Were. You?”
Hanging his head, Blackthorne considered a fresh lie. Something close enough to truth but not so close as to send the Brotherhood looking in a profitable direction. “Wyeth. I was in Wyeth.”
Wyeth was a port. Through Wyeth, one could access the Eledorean river systems or hire a Waterborne ship. The director would expect him to have sold those he’d helped to flee the Regnum. And he’d already decided that this would be the lie he fed to them.
“And where is James Slate?” the director asked.
Blackthorne didn’t answer. He had to at least feign resistance or he wouldn’t be believed.
“Do I need to mention that I not only have your daughter but your friend McDermott?” the director asked.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” the director asked.
“I can’t give you that information,” Blackthorne said.
“Why not?” the director asked. “I’m not interested in illicit slave trade. The tax revenue loss is of no concern to me.”
That was a lie, and Blackthorne knew it. The Brotherhood received a percentage of all recovered funds—and recovered slaves would most definitely result in a profit. Of course, being a lowly Warden without rank, he wasn’t supposed to know that, because the revenue in question was divided among the higher-ranked Wardens. The director was at the top of that particular financial equation. However, the highest-ranking nobility also received a percentage of recovered funds. And Warden Aurelius Aureus Severus, recognized son of Duke Aurelius Aureus Corvinus, would most certainly be aware of this fact.
Apparently, the director forgot that, Blackthorne thought. Or is he playing some other game?
“I have more important responsibilities,” the director said. “The Regnum is in danger from the malorum threat. That is our top priority. By giving us the swords, you have already assisted us in this endeavor—possibly more than you’ll ever know. There’ll be no charges against your Mr. Slate. That is, as long as you keep your agreement and produce more offspring.”
Blackthorne hesitated. This was important. He had to sell it. He also had to hope that the opportunity to get himself, baby Lydia, and Mallory out would come before the director could get a report back from Wyeth.
“Give me what I want, Severus,” the director said. “Do so, and you will have unlimited access to your daughter.”
“And I can see Mallory again?”
“Today, if you like,” the director said.
“He’s …” Blackthorne paused. He glanced away as if ashamed. “He’s in Wyeth. We meet in a tavern called the Red Boar.”
“Good. Cooperative. You always did possess a certain base intelligence.” The director moved to the door and knocked on it. “I will see you soon.” He exited the cell, and the bolt slammed back into place.
One day, I’ll kill you, Blackthorne thought at the door. Taking a deep breath, he conserved his rage. He would need the energy for what lay ahead.
Sometime later, a guard arrived with more food. The guard watched him eat before returning his boots and the greatcoat Blackthorne had taken from the dead Warden. It was apparent they were making ready to take him to what Blackthorne assumed was his next prison. He shrugged on the coat with exaggerated care and noticed someone had stripped it of insignia. Dishonorable discharge.
He almost laughed. The gesture was entirely for appearances; he knew they weren’t going to go through with an execution. He was glad to have the coat, regardless. After he had suffered the cold for so long, its heavy warmth felt luxurious. He slipped the spoon into his pocket and finished tugging on his boots. A pewter spoon wasn’t much of a weapon, but it would have to do. He’d have surprise, at least.
The guard left and relocked the door. Blackthorne waited and listened for footsteps indicating who would come for him next. If he managed to overpower the guard, finding Mallory would be easy. The problem would be in locating baby Lydia. Blackthorne had no idea where the director was keeping her.
It wasn’t long before he heard the guard return. He was accompanied by the wet nurse.
They’re bringing Lydia.
Blackthorne waited on the shelf while the guard opened the door. The wet nurse entered with little Lydia in her arms. When he accepted the child she turned and left. Quickly, Blackthorne laid Lydia on the shelf as far from the edge as he could manage. Then he jumped up and flung himself at the door before the guard could lock it again. The door slammed into the guard, knocking him back. The wet nurse screamed. Blackthorne launched himself at the guard, knocking him off his feet and onto the ground. Then he drove the handle of the pewter spoon deep into the man’s eye. The guard fought, clawing at Blackthorne’s hands. Blackthorne used all his rage to ram the now-slippery handle farther into the man’s eye socket. He didn’t stop until the guard’s struggles ceased.
The door at the end of the passage flew open. Blackthorne grabbed the dead guard’s knife and got to his feet. A second guard drew his knife and charged toward him. The wet nurse flung herself against the wall. Blackthorne ran past her, meeting the second guard a few feet away. The guard stabbed at Blackthorne. Blackthorne grabbed the guard’s wrist left-handed and ducked under the man’s arm. Then Blackthorne plunged his blade into the guard’s throat. Warm blood poured over Blackthorne’s hands. The guard choked and then went limp.
Glancing back, Blackthorne saw the wet nurse trembling with her back to the wall. Her eyes were wide with terror, and she didn’t seem to be inclined to move. He went to the door at the end of the passage. Pausing there, he listened.
No one. Not yet. He gently pushed the door shut and returned to the wet nurse.
“Please,” she said, and shook her head. “Don’t.”
He briefly checked to see that Lydia hadn’t rolled from the shelf. She was sucking on her fist and lying where he’d left her. He motioned for the wet nurse to enter his cell.
She started to cry.
“I won’t hurt you,” Blackthorne said. “Just get inside. Look after the baby.”
This time, she did as he asked.
“Blackthorne?” It was Mallory.
“One moment.” Blackthorne searched the dead guards for the keys. It wasn’t long before he found them and unlocked Mallory’s cell.
“Get Lydia,” Blackthorne said while he took care of the manacles on Mallory’s ankles.
Mallory nodded. His bruised face looked a little grey. As soon as he was free, he retrieved the baby. Blackthorne locked the wet nurse inside.
“Now, help me get these bodies out of the way,” Blackthorne said. “We haven’t much time.”
They dragged the dead guards into the other cell and stripped them of their weapons. Blackthorne offered Mallory a knife.
“I don’t know how to use it,” Mallory said.
“Take it,” Blackthorne said. “I need to know you have it. In case we’re separated. Neither of us knows what time it is. It could be dark out there.” Then he checked the bottoms of the dead guard’s boots.
Mallory swallowed. “Malorum.”
“Exactly,” Blackthorne said. “That blade is a Warden’s knife. It’s laced with silver.”
After Mallory accepted it, Blackthorne sat on the shelf and took off his right boot.
“What are you doing?” Mallory asked.
Blackthorne checked the guard’s boot and then made a few quick adjustments to the pattern carved into his own.
“They’ll be tagging us. If my boot prints have the same marks as theirs, they’ll have a more difficult time finding us.”
“Oh.” Mallory blinked. He set baby Lydia on the floor, measured his foot next to each of the dead guards’, and proceeded to steal the taller guard’s boots.
“Are you certain you want to do that?” Blackthorne asked. “The punishment for wearing Warden’s boots without being a Warden is—”
“They can only execute me once.”
“Point,” Blackthorne said. Then he helped Mallory tug the legs of his trousers over the tops.
“Their shirts are linen, right?” Mallory asked.
“I believe so,” Blackthorne asked. “Why?”
“Lydia will need fresh clouts.”
“The wallets, too. The sterling will come in handy,” Blackthorne said. For multiple reasons.
As it turned out, the shorter of the two had a wallet that was almost full. Blackthorne made Mallory take that one. “This, too,” he said, handing off a pistol. “Hide it inside your shirt. I can’t carry all these weapons. It won’t look right, not if I’m to be your guard.”
After accepting the pistol, Mallory swaddled baby Lydia with one shirt and then fashioned a sling out of the other. Once the baby was secured to his chest, he stood up.
Blackthorne raised an eyebrow in question.
“If we’re attacked again, I want both hands free,” Mallory said. “I might be able to do something other than stand there and gawp. Besides, she’ll make it easier to hide the weapons. And she’s more apt to stay quiet this way. Tyra said babies found being able to hear a heartbeat soothing. It worked the first time.” He glanced down at the swaddled bundle. “Don’t worry. I won’t do anything stupid. I don’t think I could kill anyone even if I had to.”
“Loop the manacles over your wrists,” Blackthorne said, grabbing a cadet’s tricorne from the dead. It would help with the disguise. He didn’t have time to put his hair into a regulation pigtail. “Don’t lock them.”
Increasingly glad he’d decided to take Mallory with him, Blackthorne checked the hallway before ushering him outside. Then Blackthorne locked the door behind them. There was nothing he could do about the blood in the hallway, but checking the cell might slow down pursuit. “There isn’t much time left. Follow me.”
