by C. K. Brooke
His niece regarded it, apprehension written on her young face. “How much blood does it need?”
Gatspierre gave her shoulder a reassuring pat. Best to keep her as relaxed as possible just now. “Just a prick to the finger,” he promised. He reached into his cloak and extracted his razorblade. Meeting his niece’s eyes, he ordered her softly, “Hold out your hand.”
Dainy did so, biting her lip as she watched him raise the point to her middle finger. He punctured her skin, and her blood trickled out.
“Quickly,” Gatspierre muttered, grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand to the lock. He pressed her bleeding finger into the waxy Littemuse paper. Dainy removed her hand, and they watched as the paper absorbed her blood and turned a curious shade of light blue. A loud click rang through the deserted room.
The others stepped back as Gatspierre opened the door.
Peering inside, his heart slowed, and his jaw fell.
WHATEVER DAINY HAD BEEN EXPECTING, it had certainly not been this.
The dank vault which she, her uncle, and his advisor gazed into was no larger than a broom closet.
And it was empty.
Her shoulders fell. But of course, it had all seemed too good to be true. So there was no inheritance. Perhaps the New Republic had managed to seize it, after all. With a heavy heart, she realized she would no longer be able to help Selu, Aunt Paxi, Aunt Priya, or even herself. She was still a girl without means, a lowly innkeeper from Heppestoni, no matter what her lineage. To be a Ducelle meant nothing. Her family was dead, their treasure gone.
Sighing resignedly, she turned to her uncle, but was taken aback at the rage on his face.
“All of this for nothing?” he cried, and Dainy flinched. To her astonishment, he grabbed her by the front of her frock and shook her. “Where is it?” he demanded. “Where is the inheritance?”
“I—I don’t know,” Dainy told him, frightened by the sudden, unexpected madness in his eyes.
“My lord?” came Maxos’s alarmed voice.
Uncle Hessian’s knuckles blanched as he squeezed her collar, and Dainy feared he would tear the fabric. “I organized this whole quest,” he hissed dangerously, “spent fifty pounds of gold, went through all this trouble, just to open this vault. And now it is empty! Who did this?”
“I don’t know,” Dainy repeated tremulously. “Let go of me, Uncle Hessian, please.”
“My lord,” said Maxos again, placing an uncertain hand on the man’s shoulder, but Hessian flung it off.
“Without your inheritance, all has been in vain.” Gatspierre glowered at her. “I have brought the wrath of the Republic upon myself, and all for naught.”
Tears fell down Dainy’s face as Maxos tried to pry her uncle’s grip from her.
“Is that why you sought me?” she whispered, her vision blurring. “Only for my blood, to access my vault?”
“With what my useless sister promised me your inheritance was worth, we could have seized all of Jordinia!”
“Hessian,” Maxos gasped.
“You are of no use to me now, Eludaine,” said Gatspierre coldly, and Dainy’s breath lodged in her throat. “You are only a burden, one who shall surely make me a target to the New Republic as long as you should live. Therefore,” he shoved her backward into the empty vault, “you understand why I must do this.”
Dainy’s eyes widened. “No!” She lunged forward, but he thrust her back into the tiny room, throwing her down onto the hard floor. “Uncle Hessian! What are you doing?”
“Are you insane?” Maxos launched at her uncle. “This is your niece!”
Dainy leapt to her feet, but Hessian was already closing the door, Maxos climbing over him to stop him.
“No,” Dainy screamed, grounding her feet as she tried to wedge her hands in the doorframe.
“Think of what you’re doing,” cried Maxos, grabbing her uncle by the shoulders. “If you shut this vault, she shall never leave it. There is no Ducelle blood left to open the door, ever again!”
“My point exactly, Maxos,” panted Gatspierre, and heaved the door shut.
Dainy had no choice. She had to pull back her fingers, lest they be crushed. The door closed with a bang, and she was left alone in claustrophobic darkness.
The gloom closed in around her, with only the faintest trace of light peeking beneath the doorway. Surely, there was some other way out. Perhaps if she screamed, she would attract the attention of the staff.
She heard muffled voices, her uncle and Maxos shouting at one another, the shattering of glass, and then all fell silent. Panicking, her heart in her ears, she ran her hands blindly across the walls, knocking on the door.
“Somebody help me!” she cried, until her voice became so hoarse she could only cough.
No one came, and no one would. She was trapped, and there she would remain. Forever.
Her adventures had finally come to a close. First betrayed by her lover, and then by her own kin, Dainy’s life had become a nightmare in a single morning…and would soon be over.
She never should have left Heppestoni.
Falling down to her knees, she wept, thinking of Uncle Pascale. It didn’t matter that the man hadn’t shared her blood. He had been her true uncle. Not Hessian Gatspierre.
“Dearest Pascale,” she whimpered, head in her hands. “It appears I’ll be joining you soon.”
“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” MAXOS’S spectacles were askew over his nose. “Eludaine is going to die in there!”
“What do you care?” demanded Gatspierre.
“You lied. You led us all to believe this was for a reunion. Had I known you’d been scheming all along—”
“Out of my way, Maxos.” Gatspierre did not have patience for the man’s heroics. “We must leave before anyone suspects us.”
Maxos stood before him. “You are not leaving until we get her out of there.” He glanced at the vault, where they could still hear the girl’s muffled cries for help.
Gatspierre stepped around him, but Maxos grabbed him by the back of the cloak. At his last nerve, Gatspierre turned and threw the man down. Maxos’s head hit the stone, and he lay still.
Gatspierre peered down the stairwell, then took a step back, thinking better. It would not do to be seen by the treasury staff departing alone; they might inquire after his companions.
There was only one way to escape undetected.
He headed for the window at the end of the corridor. Pulling with all his might, he tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. It had probably been sealed for centuries.
He raised his heel and kicked in the pane, creating a spider web-like crack. He raised his foot again, kicking once more, and the glass gave, shattering.
Leaning out the open window, Gatspierre assessed his place of landing. There looked to be some shrubbery beneath him, just one story down. It would catch his fall. He could do this.
He leapt out.
The fall was startling. It ended painfully as he landed atop a mass of prickly brush. Cursing as a hundred tiny thorns pricked him, Gatspierre rolled onto his side and forced himself up. He brushed the dirt from his suit as he loped, limping slightly, back to the carriage that awaited him.
MACMILLAN RODE IN COSMITH’S WAKE to the treasury. The moment they arrived, they dismounted their horses and raced up the steps to the old stone building.
They did not make it past the doorman.
“State your name and business hereabouts,” the guard recited.
“Jonwal Harrington Cosmith. I need to see Eludaine Ducelle. She’s here, visiting her vault.”
“Sorry,” said the guard, “but you must be a vault holder or accompanying one to enter.”
Cosmith kicked the steps in frustration.
Macmillan grabbed his sleeve. “We’ll wait outside, then,” he said, and led Cosmith down the steps.
<
br /> On the lawn, Cosmith crossed and uncrossed his arms. He shuffled his feet, bent down, picked up a stone, examined it, and dropped it. He dusted off his trousers, and had begun fidgeting with the buttons of his blouse again when Macmillan finally snapped, “For God’s sake, Cosmith, can you not stand still?”
The man glanced up at the building apprehensively. “I don’t understand what keeps them. Are they not merely appraising a vault?”
“Perhaps it’s quite a substantial vault,” muttered Macmillan. “After all, Gatspierre’s staff said it contains the Ducelle inheritance. Which, of course,” he added coldly, “is why you’re here. No?”
Cosmith gave him a deathly glare.
They waited in bitter silence. No activity issued from the building. Finally, before Macmillan could call him back, Cosmith stormed up the steps and approached the guard again.
“What’s taking so long?” he demanded.
The guard shrugged.
“Something doesn’t feel right.” Cosmith shook his head.
“You are like a child,” Macmillan chided him. “Now get down here before you get us thrown from the premises.”
Cosmith did not move. “Can you please go in and tell her party we await them?”
The man stared straight ahead. “Sorry. I cannot leave my post.”
“Cannot leave your post,” mumbled Cosmith, shuffling dejectedly back down the steps.
Macmillan shook his head. Cosmith was pathetic. He couldn’t believe that he and Dainy had actually….
Feeling sick, he pushed the thought away. Into the afternoon, they waited. But neither the duchess nor her uncle ever emerged.
THE FIRST THING HE NOTICED when he awoke was how badly his head hurt. And no wonder, for he was lying atop a stone floor.
His memory then flooded back to him. He recalled Hessian Gatspierre’s rage, the look of terror on his niece’s face, the vault door closing and the sound of her screams….
Maxos Maxeos scrambled upright, fighting a wave of nausea. “Eludaine,” he moaned, fumbling for his spectacles. His head ached as he replaced them over his eyes and struggled to stand. Maxos made his way to vault two-three-two and knocked on the door. “Please, please still be alive in there.”
“Maxos?” came a faint voice. “Is that you?”
“Oh, thank God.” He groaned with relief. “I’m going downstairs to find help.” He pressed a hand against the door, as if to comfort her, then raced for the stairwell.
Once in the torch-lit hall, he rattled the gate, calling to the woman behind the desk. “Please, Madame, summon the guards! Something terrible has happened on the second floor.”
She looked up, alarmed.
“Lady Eludaine is locked inside her vault.”
The woman issued a call, and soon, a slew of sword-carrying men assembled before them. “Second floor,” she told them, turning the key in the gate. Maxos followed as they stormed up the stairs.
Eludaine’s renewed pleas for help rang across the floor as the guards approached her vault.
“Do not panic, m’lady,” said one. “The Häffstrom Guard shall find a way to free you.”
“Nay, you cannot release her, Soren, but look!” cried another, pointing at the door’s handle. “That vault is sealed by Littemuse Lock!”
The first guard’s eyes went round. He bent to examine the peculiar lock, tracing its waxy paper center. “Why, I never….”
“Has she any kin?” a new guard demanded of Maxos. “Someone we can summon?”
Maxos shook his spinning head. “All deceased. Surely, you can do something?”
The guard, Soren, looked at the others. Slowly, they all shook their heads. “This technology is beyond our expertise,” said Soren apologetically. “Blood locks are extremely rare. We have never dealt with one before.”
“So she is simply to die in there?” exclaimed Maxos unbelievingly. “Can you do nothing at all?”
When the guards remained silent, Maxos angrily pushed past them. “Worthless!”
He hurried downstairs again and outside, desperate to seek help elsewhere.
He found a pair of men loitering by their horses on the lawn, and was taken aback to recognize them.
“You two,” Maxos gasped. These men had gone to such lengths to recover the duchess before. Surely, they could find a way to rescue her now.
Spotting him, the lads rose to their feet. “Mr. Maxeos?”
Maxos wouldn’t waste time. “The duchess is in trouble. You must come at once.”
COSMITH GAPED AT MAXOS MAXEOS on the second floor of the treasury where he’d taken them.
“What d’you mean, trapped?” He rapped a hand against the immovable stone. “Dainy?” he called out, his heart racing.
There was a significant delay in her response, and Cosmith could hear the utter shock in her voice when she finally said, “Jon?”
“Yes, my love!” He tried to wedge his fingers between the door and frame. “It’s me!”
“But…I thought you’d run off!”
“Never would I do such a thing to you!”
“I’m here too, Dainy,” proclaimed Macmillan, stepping up beside Cosmith.
“Mac?” She sounded pleasantly surprised. “Are all of you here?”
“Just us,” replied Macmillan, speaking over Cosmith.
“Where is Selu? Did she ever return?”
“Yes, Dainy! Selu and I were abducted this morning by Damon DuBerre!” Squatting down, Cosmith tried to slip his fingers beneath the door, but there was hardly an opening.
“Who?” she asked.
“Abducted?” Macmillan gave Cosmith a look. “What is this cock-and-bull?”
Cosmith gritted his teeth. “Not now, Macmillan.” He turned to the slew of guards standing aimlessly around them. “Can you dullards do nothing to help us?”
One of the uniformed men shrugged apologetically. “That vault is sealed by Littemuse Lock. There’s simply no opening it without the proper blood.”
“Littemuse Lock?” repeated Macmillan blankly.
“Are you serious? There’s got to be something you can do!” Cosmith implored them. “Take a stick of dynami to the door, blow it down!”
“And blow up the girl along with it?” snapped the guard. “Are you mad?”
Cosmith growled in frustration.
“I don’t understand,” said Macmillan. “What is a Littemuse Lock?”
Cosmith leaned against Dainy’s door as Maxos and the guards explained the details of the rare lock to the young man. “My love?” he asked Dainy desperately. “For how long have you been in there?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, her voice going hoarse.
“When was your last meal?”
“Dinner last night.”
Cosmith moaned. “Have you nothing on your person for food or drink?”
“No, Jon.”
“I promise, we will get you out of there,” he avowed. He turned back to the guards. “Has anyone a hammer? An ax? A saw?” he asked wildly.
The guards traded dubious glances. “We’ll see what we can find,” one decided, and a group of them departed.
A thought occurred to Cosmith. “Mac.” He squeezed the young man’s shoulder. “Fetch Bos! The man fells trees. He may know how to take down this door.”
Macmillan stared at him. “This door is made of stone, you idiot, not wood.”
“But—”
“I am not doing your bidding, Cosmith. I’m staying here with Dainy. You go and fetch Bos.”
“No, I don’t want Jon to go!” Dainy fretted.
“I am not leaving her,” Cosmith growled.
“I just want to get out of here,” she whimpered, and the hopelessness in her voice broke his heart.
“I know, darling, I’m working on it.” Cosmith r
an his fingers longingly across the door jamb, still vainly seeking an opening. In a desperate attempt, he brought his forefinger between his teeth and bit down. A speck of blood dripped out where he’d torn his flesh, and he jammed his finger over the lock.
Nothing. The paper within remained unchanged.
In his periphery, Cosmith sensed Macmillan watching him. He turned, wiping the last drop of blood onto his trousers, and was unnerved to see an odd look on the young man’s face.
Something seemed to register with Macmillan as he stepped back. “You know what?” He shrugged. “I give up. You win, Cosmith. I am through with this competition.”
At first, Cosmith didn’t think he understood. But as Macmillan continued to back away, his expression empty, Cosmith’s insides boiled. “And this is how you leave us?” he said incredulously. “I thought you loved Dainy.”
“I thought I did, too.”
“You coward,” whispered Cosmith, unable to believe what he was seeing. Marley Macmillan, relenting at last? Could he have chosen a worse time?
“Jon Cosmith, calling me a coward?” Macmillan swiftly marched up to him again.
“Gentlemen,” warned Maxos, holding up a hand, but Macmillan would not be halted.
“Who left us to battle Visidair to the death?”
“I was rescuing Dainy,” retorted Cosmith.
“Only to win your gold!”
“I gave all of my gold to Selu!”
“You did?” came Dainy’s voice.
Macmillan looked taken aback, but the loathing promptly returned to his features. “Oh, you don’t actually believe his lies, do you, Dainy?” he bellowed through the door. “We both know he’s only here because he wishes to seize for himself whatever’s in that vault you’re trapped in!”
That was it for Cosmith. At this bogus accusation, he’d finally had it. Overriding Maxos’s warnings, he raised a fist and punched Macmillan in the face, his knuckles cracking over the boy’s freckled nose.
