Raek was standing in the middle of the room, a ridiculously undersized child’s riding cap perched atop his bald head. He was holding an elderly man under one arm in a headlock.
“Not so fast,” Raek said. “Can’t have you running to the Regulators until we get this sorted out. This hat is half the size of my head. Therefore, it should be half the price!”
Suddenly, a fat old woman popped up from behind the counter. She had wispy gray hair and a long-barreled Fielder tucked against her shoulder. Behind her, Quarrah saw an area enveloped in a cloud of impenetrable shadow. Perfect.
“Let him go!” the woman shouted.
Raek released the man, who quickly scrambled back behind the counter, cowering under the woman with the gun.
“Now, now,” Raek said. “I’m just trying to understand your questionable business policies. My apologies for the window. I didn’t like the way that customer looked at me.”
“Never mind that,” the old woman answered. “He was no customer of ours. Now, turn and get. Take the hat. I don’t care.”
With the woman’s focus on Raek, Quarrah advanced unseen through the racks of hats until she reached the end of the counter.
“Oh, I wouldn’t dare leave without paying,” said Raek. “It’s a fine cap, worth the asking price for someone with a smaller head.”
“Then pay what you want and go!” shouted the woman impatiently.
Quarrah shrank against the back wall, moving with absolute stealth behind the elderly couple. She knew Raek could see her clearly, and he seemed to double down on his distraction tactics. He ripped off the tiny riding cap and threw it to the floor.
“On second thought, it is a bit small,” he said. “Giving me a blazing headache. What about this one?” He reached out and grabbed one of the popular tricorn hats with a gaudy yellow plume stitched into the band.
Quarrah slipped into the pocket of shadow to see that Raek had done a fine job using it to conceal the door. As expected, the knob was locked, so she withdrew her picking tools and set to work.
Only a few feet behind her, Quarrah heard the old man’s voice in a panicked whisper. “We’ve got none left, Suze. I already pulled them all.”
With both hands tied up in the lock, Quarrah risked a glance over her shoulder. The nature of the Shadow cloud allowed her to see out, although she would be completely hidden.
The old man was fidgeting with a series of strings, each ending in a metal pull ring. Quarrah had seen enough of these to recognize it as a security alarm system. The strings would be rigged to a number of Light Grit pots at distant locations. Pulling them would break the pots and the Regulators could quickly respond to the millinery when they saw the bright detonations.
But the strings were already slack.
“Shut up, Carl,” snapped the woman with the Fielder. Suze, he had called her. “They didn’t even work the first time.”
Quarrah sprang the lock, her hands finishing the job by feel even while her attention was elsewhere. Didn’t work the first time? Quarrah thought. Had the millinery had a break-in before?
“Tell you what,” Suze shouted to Raek. “You keep perusing those hats all you want. Just let Carl outside. He’s got an important delivery to make.”
“Not until we get this sorted!” Raek shouted. “What about this hat? I like what it does to my ears…”
Quarrah swung the door inward on silent hinges. Raek seemed to have things under control, although she thought he was risking a lot in front of a loaded Fielder. Still, the millinery owners would be good Wayfarists employed by the Islehood. They weren’t likely to pull the trigger on a man who just wanted to find the right hat for his oversized head.
Quarrah moved into the back room, closing the door behind her so nothing would look amiss when the Shadow cloud burned out. She raised her left hand and snapped her fingers, igniting a small orb of Light Grit, which revealed her surroundings.
This was clearly a storage area, with hat-making materials stacked high along every wall. Bolts of fabric, stacks of leather, bundles of straw. She even saw a few finished hats with delivery tags hanging from their brims.
There was clearly not enough space here to house all the dragon shell—an observation Quarrah had made cycles ago while viewing the property from the outside. And since there was no upper story, a cellar was the only possible explanation.
She’d had a knack for finding secret spaces and hidden rooms since she was a young girl. The key was in looking for little details that were out of place—a wear pattern on a rug, accumulated dirt from repeated fingerprints on a wall. Or in this case, a floorboard with a nail hole, but no nail.
Quarrah worked her fingers under the loose board and pulled. It was part of a larger panel that lifted free to reveal a short ladder dropping into darkness.
People just didn’t know how to hide things from Quarrah Khai.
She moved down, using only a few rungs of the ladder before dropping nimbly to the dirt cellar floor. It was musty and cool down here. She could sense that the space was large, even though she couldn’t see anything, the faint glow from her Light Grit above doing little more than illuminating the spot where she stood.
Quarrah moved a few steps forward, feeling blindly with her feet. Then she raised her right hand and snapped her fingers. In a little burst of sparks, her second detonation of Light Grit ignited, illuminating the oversized basement cellar.
It was empty.
Rough timbers framed the low ceiling, with dusty wooden support posts standing between packed dirt walls. There were no boxes or crates, bags or barrels.
There was no shell.
“If you’re not early, you’re late,” said a familiar voice.
Hedge Marsool stepped out from behind one of the thick wooden posts. Quarrah’s hand flew to her belts, whipping out one of her mesh bags of Barrier Grit, holding it at the ready.
“What did you do with the shell, Hedge?” Quarrah asked.
“My people finished moving it out of here less than an hour ago,” he replied. “But I thought I’d stick around to say hello to you.” Sparks. He knew she was coming and he’d anticipated her move. How?
“How did you get down here?”
“Front door, lass,” replied the King Poacher. “We gave those pathetic shopkeepers little choice but to show us the way down.”
Of course. That was why Carl had already pulled the strings.
“You cut the signal strings,” Quarrah assumed.
Hedge nodded. “I left Drebsky upstairs to make sure those shopkeepers didn’t try to run for help before you got here. He said he’d warn me when you arrived, even though I assured him that was unnecessary.”
The man Raek had thrown through the window. “He was no customer of ours.” He’d been holding the old couple hostage! And now Raek was up there doing the same thing, playing right into Hedge’s hand.
“What did you do with the dragon shell?” Quarrah asked again.
“I hear your friend, Ardor Benn, is in a bit of a sour pickle again,” he replied. “Would you like to know what happens to him?”
“How would you possibly know?”
In response, he held up his gloved hand and Quarrah saw a thin glass vial delicately pinched between his fingers. “How quickly you forget.”
“It’s fake,” she said. No more time for tricks and lies. “Your Future Grit is nothing more than sugar water.”
She saw him swallow, his sharp apple sliding along his thin, scarred neck. It was the truth, and Hedge hadn’t expected her to call him on it so bluntly.
“And yet, Ardor claims to have uncovered all its secrets, mass-producing this Future Grit,” said Hedge. “You should really get your stories straight. Which is it?”
“Ard was rusing you,” said Quarrah. “He stole a vial off your belt, and I gave it to an expert, who confirmed the truth.” She narrowed her eyes. “It’s not real Grit. And you said it yourself… That’s not the secret to your success.”
Hedge Marsool beg
an to laugh, a painful-sounding crackle that originated somewhere in his scarred chest. He lowered the vial and raised his spike playfully, as if he wanted to spar.
“You wanna know what happens to Ardor Benn or not?” he asked.
Quarrah stared at him. Future Grit or no, the man had proven to know things in the past. “Humor me.”
“He is currently having a wee stroll with two Glassminds in the Northern Quarter,” said Hedge, “racking his tender brain for a way out of this. In a few moments, the Glassminds will grow impatient and he’ll be forced to lead them somewhere. He’ll settle on the storage room behind a soot-smudge tavern called the Puckering Lizard. Ardor knows the owner and he’ll hope to slip away as the Glassminds move in to investigate.”
“And will he be successful?” Quarrah taunted. “What do you say?”
“Oh, what do I know?” Hedge said melodramatically. He dropped the glass vial to the hard cellar floor and crushed it with the toe of his boot. In the dim lighting, she saw the flash of sparks under his sole, but just as she’d predicted, there was no detonation cloud.
Hedge smiled with only half his face. “I’m just an old fool with sugar water in my Grit vials.” He lifted his spike and dragged the tip down the length of the wooden post beside him. “Personally, I have no use for dragon shell. I just wanted to move it to a new location.”
“Why?” Quarrah asked.
“Payback.” Hedge spit. “For not properly securing my dragon.”
Quarrah looked up at him, trying to keep her expression impassive. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The dragon’s gone,” he said. “By the time my men arrived at dawn, Frush and Calo were dead and the warehouse in Helizon was a smoldering ruin.”
“She must have… broken free.” Quarrah didn’t think her words sounded very convincing.
“Broken free or set free.” He growled. “Ardor’s fault, either way. But I’d say we’re even now. And should he try to cross me again…” Hedge tapped the tip of his spike against his forehead. “I’ll know it.”
“How?” she said. “How do you know it all?”
Hedge sighed wistfully. “Just a feeling in my gut. I’d even call it an Urging if I were a religious man.”
“An Urging?” Quarrah shook her head. “You?” His ability to see the future was based on a gut feeling?
“I’ve been having them stronger and stronger for almost a year now,” said Hedge. “A tickle in the tummy. A whisper in the brain.”
“You think the Homeland has been telling you the future?”
“Homeland? Sparks, no.” Hedge chuckled. “It’s my own voice, dearie. Clear as a bell. Making me promises that I’d be a fool to refuse.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing mystical or secretive about it,” he said. “I’m just a man with a premonition.”
“No,” said Quarrah. “What you’re doing is more than a premonition. More than an Urging.” It was too specific. Too precise. And if Hedge’s predictions about Ard’s current situation were true, then he was in terrible danger.
“Would you like to know where I put the dragon shell?” Hedge asked casually. “If you hurry, you might find it. I moved it to the storage room in the back of the Puckering Lizard tavern.”
Quarrah’s mind reeled. She needed to get up to the shop and tell Raek. She needed to find Ard—
Quarrah bolted for the ladder.
Nothing useful ever came from a feeling unless it was chased to its resolution.
CHAPTER
24
Ardor Benn was getting used to the dramatic response that two Glassminds received while walking down the streets of Beripent’s Northern Quarter. Most of the citizens scattered. A few lingered awkwardly, staring unabashed. Certainly, no one spoke to them or dared approach.
“On your right, we’ve got Beetle’s Acquisitions.” Ard gestured to the first floor of a tall building. “It’s a decent place if you’re looking to sell back household items, or buy things used at a discounted rate—”
“Is this the location of the dragon shell?” Garifus asked.
“Well, no,” said Ard, “but I thought you might be interested—”
Garifus’s hand shot out and the whole shopfront of Beetle’s Acquisitions imploded. Glass broke, timbers cracked, and bricks crumpled.
Ard flinched, throwing up his hands against the debris. “Sparks! What was that for?”
“The next building you point us to will have the dragon shell inside,” said Garifus. “Am I clear?”
“Of course,” Ard replied. “But it might take a while to get—”
“We are seventeen blocks from the northern border of the city,” said Garifus. “Even at the dawdling rate we have been walking, it will take us no more than thirty minutes to reach the edge.”
“You really know your way around town,” Ard said, grateful that he hadn’t tried to kill more time by doubling back on his route to nowhere. “Did you spend a lot of time in the Northern Quarter?”
“I have never been on this street before,” Garifus admitted. “But I benefit from a perfected sense of recall.”
“I’m pretty sure you can only recall things you’ve experienced before,” Ard pointed out.
“Collective recall,” Garifus clarified. “The minds of the many have become one.”
Ah, flames, it was going to get progressively harder to lie to these Glassnoggins. Ard remembered a scripture about the Homeland. Something about how one could not whisper without all hearing, and none could act without the knowledge of all. He thought about what Nemery had said about Legien Dyer after his transformation. Garifus and the others had sensed his opposition to their ideals and their heads had illuminated to kill him with a thought.
“Alumay worries that you intentionally mislead us,” Garifus said.
Ard glanced at the Glassmind woman. She certainly hadn’t said anything aloud about it. “That’s hurtful,” Ard said. “I might get a little directionally turned around from time to time, but I know where we’re going.”
Oh, Homeland, where were they going? The plan had been to wander until Raek and Quarrah hatched a brilliant rescue plan. But what if no one had been at Tofar’s Salts to hear the news from the Prime Isle? Or worse, what if Trable had decided not to take the message at all? He had looked pretty devastated by Ard’s admission about knowing the shell’s location. Maybe he viewed this as a simple way to rid the Islehood of Holy Isle Ardor Benn.
Regardless, Ard couldn’t wait much longer. He had to decide on somewhere to take Garifus. He didn’t know the Northern Quarter as well as other sections of Beripent, but he had a few contacts there who might be able to provide him some desperate help.
What about that fellow in the cleaning business? The one with three toes. Oh, Raek would remember his name… Or there was Betnis Fawn. She ran a laundry service with a back room full of guns and Grit. No, wait. Betnis had threatened to cut off his kneecaps if she ever saw him again.
Pirel Gulwar! His tavern wasn’t far from here, and the man had given Ard many a free drink in exchange for a good story. Pirel had an enormous storage room behind the kitchen, where he always kept a stash of unlicensed Grit to sell to the right customers. If Ard remembered the room correctly, it had enough doors that he might be able to lead Garifus through one and slip right out another. Especially if he could convince Pirel to pull off a distraction.
Now that he’d decided, Ard found his heart beating at a rate that doubled his footsteps. He led Garifus and Alumay around a corner and three more blocks before he saw the building. The tavern’s name was burned into a wooden sign that hung above the front door.
THE PUCKERING LIZARD
“This is it.” Ard stopped long enough to point at the tall building. Pirel’s tavern only occupied the first floor, while the upper two were mostly rental rooms. “I’ve tracked shipments of dragon eggshell to this tavern, but I’ll have to speak with the owner to find out exactly where they’re storin
g it.”
“We will make sure he is compliant,” said Alumay.
“That shouldn’t be necessary,” Ard said. “I know him. And he’ll recognize me as an Isle so he’ll think I have authorization. But it might be best if you two stay out here—”
“You will not leave our sight,” said Garifus.
Well, it was worth a shot. Ard led his abnormally large companions onto the porch and pushed open the door to the Puckering Lizard.
It was a well-lit tavern designed for sociality, with three incredibly long tables that stretched nearly wall to wall. Ard counted ten people on the benches, sharing drinks or catching an early dinner. But all conversation stopped when they saw the new arrivals. Ard was framed in the doorway, flanked by towering Glassminds that must have looked like monsters.
“Well, I’ll be sparked… Ardor?” one voice called through the silence. Pirel Gulwar was wiping down the bar with a damp rag. He was a man who looked thin on all counts except his belly. His hair was long, but it was quite thin on top. From Pirel’s angle, Ard was sure he couldn’t see Garifus and Alumya.
“Isle Ardor!” Pirel let out a laugh. “I heard you was wearing the green these days, but I didn’t actually believe it.”
“I’m afraid the Lizard is closing early tonight,” Ard announced, stepping inside. The customers promptly rose, making for the back door when they saw the Glassminds following him in.
“What in the name of the Homeland?” Pirel screeched, holding out his rag like a shield and dropping to a crouch behind the bar.
“It’s all right, Pirel.” Ard walked over to him. “They’re with me. We’ve come for the goods. Where are you storing it these days?”
Pirel rose slowly from behind the bar, speaking to Ard, but unable to take his eyes off the Glassminds. “Usual storage room behind the kitchen. I can take you back.”
Ard held up a hand. “I think we can find the way.”
He led Garifus and Alumay into the kitchen, passing a watery-eyed cook who paused from cutting an onion to gawk at the Glassminds.
The Last Lies of Ardor Benn Page 40
