He spun, gilt-trimmed coat swishing around his legs. “You think I’m naive.” His cheeks reddened. “Foolish.”
“Look, if we do things the way you want to do them, you’re going to be killed!” My throat suddenly ached. “And I don’t want you to be killed. Or am I not allowed to say that?”
When he spoke again, his voice was steady and quiet. “I have to go. If you don’t want to come with me, I understand. Thank you for everything.” He stuck out his hand. “I hope we can part as friends.”
I sighed. “As if I would just leave you.”
“And why shouldn’t you?” He swallowed. “I’ve brought nothing but trouble to you and your family.”
I paused, considering his words. I’d promised to take him to Casteria, and here we were. Why shouldn’t I cast off and turn Cormorant right around? Akhaia wasn’t my country. This didn’t have to be my fight. But as I looked at him, everything that had happened since we met came flashing back, starting with me opening the box and ending with his words on Nemertes Water. We’re stronger together than apart. Don’t you think?
I couldn’t leave him to face the Black Dogs alone.
Shrugging, I said, “Have it your way. Fee, let’s get the sails ready. Kenté, untie us.”
Markos’s voice wavered. “Really?”
“No, not really.” I swatted his outstretched hand away. “You can be thick sometimes. Did you think I would just shake hands and leave you to go up there alone? And get yourself killed, most likely,” I added.
Kenté glanced out the window, where amber rays of late afternoon sun slanted low over the city. “If we’re doing this, best make our move now.”
I knotted a scarf around my hair. “We’re doing this.”
“What’s the plan?” she asked.
“Not ending up dead.” The rest we could figure out on the way.
As we hurried up the dock, I examined the cutter out of the corner of my eye. She seemed deserted, which made me nervous. I looked back at Cormorant, my love for her plucking at my heart. I hated leaving her unattended. Maybe Fee should stay behind—but no. If there was trouble, we’d need all the help we could get.
“Tell me everything I need to know about the shadowman Cleandros’s magic,” I ordered Kenté, as we stepped off the dock. The busy street was dotted with market stalls and buckets of fresh fish.
“It’s still afternoon. We need to get to Markos’s sister before the sun goes down.”
“What happens after—Oh.” I realized what she meant. “You’re saying if it’s dark, he’ll know when we open the box. Can you tell if he’s already opened it?”
“It’s not like that.” She pursed her lips. “It’s not my magic. For him, it’s like—like a bubble popping in the back of his head. Markos, for example. He would have known the second Markos woke up.” She glanced at him. “You ought to be grateful. Caro probably saved your life when she opened that box. After the magic was broken, he couldn’t sense you anymore. He didn’t know where you were.”
“Can you feel every piece of magic you’ve ever made?” he asked.
“I daresay I can if I try. I’ve left them all over the place. There’s one right now in the corner of Bollard House’s best sitting room. I put it there to cover the shards of a vase I dropped last week. I might feel that when I’m strong enough.”
“Strong enough?” Markos asked.
“When it’s night. In the night, I can feel things around me. The shadows. People sleeping. Their dreams and fears. Sundown is when my powers start to come alive, but the darker it gets, the more everything … shifts into focus.”
“Why are you asking all these questions?” I demanded of Markos. “I thought you knew all about shadowmen, being from Akhaia.”
“Very few people know all about shadowmen. They mostly keep their own secrets.”
“Your father had a shadowman at his court,” I pointed out.
“I don’t know what Cleandros did for my father.” His face assumed a guarded look. “I’ve come to suspect he was particularly talented in the magic of sleep—for one, look what he did with the boxes. But it was more than that. After I turned eighteen, my father permitted me to sit in on his council meetings. I saw things happen that I found … strange. A man would express strong opposition to something my father suggested, but then he would suddenly … I don’t know, give way.”
I stared in horror. “You think Cleandros controlled their minds?”
“Not controlled, exactly. A tired man is confused. Forgetful. Susceptible to suggestion. I don’t claim to know everything about the magic of the shadows, but I know that, above all, it’s about trickery.”
I turned to Kenté. “Have you ever done that?”
She smirked, sunset light sparkling on her nose ring.
“Have you ever done it to me?”
She ignored the question. “What Markos says is essentially correct. A shadowman cannot set a man on fire. But he can manipulate his dreams to make him believe he’s on fire. Riddle me this: Which is more dangerous?”
“It seems to me a useless magic,” I said, “if you can’t even do it in broad daylight.”
“I certainly stowed away on your boat easy enough.” She pressed her lips together, and I saw the thin line of sweat above them. “He’ll start out weak, but as it gets darker, his powers will grow. Until midnight, when they’re at their strongest. We must hurry.”
“But you’re a shadowman too. You can fight him.” At least I hoped she could.
“Don’t forget, I have no training.”
As we wove through the streets of Casteria, I felt naked. Foreboding crawled down my neck, making my heart beat faster. We had seen nothing of the Black Dogs, but they might be anywhere, watching us.
The oldest estates in the city were built into the side of a hill, across which the streets ran in tiers. Every now and again, a set of steps led down through the cluttered houses to a small dock or private beach. The nicest houses were smashed right in alongside the hovels, the only difference being that they had a stone gate or a garden with sculpted trees.
Markos came to a halt outside a peach-colored house, nodding at the lions’ heads on the gate. “This is the place.”
He stepped onto the front walk, but I grabbed his jacket, hauling him back. “Were you going to just stroll up to the front door?”
“Right.” He grimaced, looking a little sheepish. “Let’s do things your way.”
“Keep walking. Don’t even look at the house,” I whispered without moving my lips. The street was empty, but I didn’t know who watched us from behind the curtains of those houses. “There’ll be a back door, for servants and tradesmen.”
We skirted the edge of the garden and ducked down the next alley. There, as I’d suspected, we found the back entrance, an unassuming wooden door.
I tried the knob. Unlocked.
The door swung inward, revealing a kitchen with a massive brick oven. The fire had not been lit. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw that the wallpaper was peeling. Dirt from many muddy boots had dried on the floor, and a stale smell lay over the place. Meeting my eyes, Markos shut the door softly behind us.
I didn’t think it mattered. “Markos, no one’s lived here for days.” I nodded at the moldy cheese on the table. “Look at the food.”
“I’m telling you, she’s supposed to be here!” Blade drawn, he moved down the hallway, peeking in the doors. Finally he shook his head. “There should be servants—a whole household. My family owns this house. And they dare just up and leave?”
I was wary of the mess on the shelves. Porcelain dishes lay shattered everywhere. This place had been turned over. I carefully swiped my fingers over the shards of a broken wine bottle, rubbing them together.
“I don’t like this,” I murmured. “I don’t like this at all.”
Markos slapped the wall. “Those were meant to be loyal men. I suppose that’s what you get, hiring Kynthessan servants …” He glanced at us. “Sorry.”
“Perhaps they heard the news about the Emparch.” Kenté studied the mess. “And fled in fear.”
“We have to search the house.” He straightened. “Look for a chest. Large enough for a child.”
It didn’t take long. The other doors led to a small library, a bedroom suite, and a root cellar that was completely dark except for the dim glow of one dirty window. We found no Black Dogs hiding in the closets, to my relief.
“It’s not a very big house,” I said. “For an Emparch.” I had expected something more grand. Bollard House was easily twenty times the size.
“It’s only a fishing retreat.” Markos rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What do we do now? If the servants took her with them, how am I going to find her? Gods damn me, I wish we’d chosen any other manner of escape. Anything but these cursed boxes.” I laid my hand on his sleeve, but he shrugged me off. “I can’t—” His voice broke. “I can’t bear not knowing what happened to her.”
Fee whistled from the kitchen.
I burst through the door. “What’s—”
She nodded at a wooden chest, in the back corner next to a sack of potatoes. We’d missed it the first time. Someone had thrown soiled dishtowels on top, nearly concealing it from view.
Sweeping the towels to the floor, Markos pulled out his sword and hacked at the leather straps holding the chest shut. The first strap gave, snapping. He sawed easily through the second, and bent to grip the chest lid.
Outside the window, the sky over the rooftops of Casteria blazed sunset orange. One last bright beam hovered on the horizon. As I watched, it winked out.
“Markos, wait!”
He opened the box.
Huddled inside was a little girl. For one frozen, horrible moment I thought she was dead. Then her thin shoulder moved, and she uncurled herself.
Her eyes went round. “Markos!”
I swallowed down sudden emotion at the way his smile lit up his face. He lifted his sister from the crate, clutching her hard to his chest. She wore a gauzy nightgown spangled with stars, and had the same jet-black hair as Markos, except hers was stick straight. The poor thing had bruises up and down her arms.
She looked up at him as he brushed straw from her gown. “I had the worst dreams.”
Markos’s eyes met mine over her head. He knew what he had done. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely.
Kenté stared at Daria like she was death come to snare us. “He’ll have known instantly. We have to go.”
Markos hoisted his sister out of the box, setting her on the table. “Daria, this is Caroline. You must do everything she says. If she tells you to run, you run. If she says hide, you find a small place and crawl into it. Do you understand? If she says to duck—”
“I duck.” The girl rolled her eyes. “I’m little, not stupid.”
“Daria. This is serious.”
“She can’t run in that.” I gestured to the floor-length nightgown. “She’ll trip.”
Markos made a face. No doubt he desperately wanted to make a comment about how I was always spoiling nice things, but he took the knife I offered and cut off Daria’s gown at her knees.
I tried to remind myself that my part in this adventure was to be the one with knowledge of pistols, knives, and generally unlawful behavior. But it was hard when my heart wanted to get all warm at the gentle way he dealt with his sister.
A door hinge creaked. My breath catching in my throat, I ran into the hall.
Diric Melanos braced his arm across the front door, blocking it. He wore a navy blue coat, strapped with gun belts. I didn’t doubt he had at least ten weapons on his person.
“You must be the wherry girl,” he said, a grin crawling across his scarred face, “that I keep hearing so much about.” Boots falling heavy on the floor, he stepped down from the threshold.
Cleandros the shadowman entered, trailing black robes with gilded stripes. I’d only ever heard his voice, but I knew him at once. He was not as old as he sounded—there were only little tufts of gray in his dull brown hair. He looked altogether mild mannered and boring, like a teacher or a clerk. Several pendants dangled about his neck on long chains.
The rest of the Black Dogs trickled in behind him. Five—ten—fifteen men, armed with cutlasses and pistols.
My whole body hummed with danger. We were like the crabs in the traps floating in the harbor.
Stuck.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Daria looked back and forth between Cleandros and her brother. “That’s Father’s friend.”
“He’s not our friend,” Markos said, hands on sword hilts.
Cleandros surprised me by ignoring him. “One whom the shadow has called, I greet you,” he called to Kenté. Then he nodded to Captain Melanos. “Kill the Emparch, the child, and the river rat. But bring the shadow girl to me.” He focused on Kenté again with a smile that felt like spiders on my neck. “What are you doing away from the Academy? Does the headmaster know where you are?”
She lifted her chin defiantly, but her voice wobbled. “I don’t answer to your headmaster.”
“What’s your name, girl?”
Kenté looked down her nose at him, which was a very Bollard thing to do and also a good trick seeing as the shadowman was taller. “Never mind.”
I didn’t like being called a river rat, nor did I like the shadowman’s tone. I drew my weapon. So did Diric Melanos, only his was a Bentrix volley gun. It had five barrels, and I had to assume all five were loaded.
He waggled a finger at me. “Don’t even think about it.”
Why shouldn’t I? Oresteias are bold. We don’t take kindly to being murdered. After all, hadn’t my grandfather fought off bandits with only a knife and an old frying pan? I had two shots and two daggers. That was four men I could take out before they cut me down.
Markos was thinking along the same lines. Jaw twitching with anger, he drew his swords and stepped in front of Daria.
“Well?” Cleandros turned to Captain Melanos. “Tell your men to kill him.”
“That bunch of riffraff? Please.” Markos sneered. “Try. I shall enjoy cutting their heads off, but none more than yours.” He drew himself up, and in that moment I saw the Emparch he would be.
Diric Melanos’s eyes swept from Markos to Daria. “What about the little girl?” he asked. I reckon killing children didn’t go along with his swashbuckling image of himself.
“I took you for the terror of the seas,” Cleandros snapped, “not a sniveling weakling.”
Kenté pressed close to me, whispering, “Get ready to run on my mark.”
The pirates’ lantern whisked out. The room went dark, but not very. I could still clearly see everyone—Markos brandishing his swords, Cleandros and Captain Melanos, and the pirates arrayed behind them with cutlasses drawn.
Sucking in an unsteady breath, Kenté took a step back.
Cleandros laughed. “All you can manage, is it?” He fingered something around his neck. It was a locket, an odd-looking brass one with eight or twelve sides. “An admirable attempt. With training, you could be very powerful. Come, child, I’ve already told you, you’re not in any danger. Indeed the headmaster will be very pleased with me for bringing him such an intriguing recruit.”
“I won’t abandon my shipmates,” she declared.
His fingers moved. “So be it.”
Cleandros disappeared.
I fired at the spot where he had been, only to hear oily laughter from the other side of the room. I took an uneasy step back and fired my second pistol, accidentally hitting a pirate in the thigh.
That’s when they rushed us.
Markos sprang in front of Daria and me, his blade blocking the nearest Black Dog’s cutlass. He spun through the men, ducking and slashing. It was clear he was accustomed to using two swords at once, because they moved like they were part of his own arms.
“Kenté!” I yelled, pulling a cushioned bench over on its side. She grabbed Daria, and we dove behind it. With shaking f
ingers, I reloaded, while Daria crouched on the floor beside us. “Stay right there,” I ordered. I popped back up, pistols in both hands, and fired.
Diric Melanos spotted me. Lunging between two of his men, he seized me, wrenching my arm as he dragged me out from behind cover. I struggled, kicking out at any part of him I could reach.
With a shrill squeak, Fee launched herself in the air. She landed on his shoulders, knife between her teeth.
He swatted at her, but her bare toes dug in.
That was diversion enough for me. Luckily Pa taught me how to throw an elbow. It met Melanos’s chin with a good hard smack. He swore. I wrestled free and grasped Daria by the arm, yanking her up.
Suddenly Markos cried out, touching his hair. His fingers came away bloody, as uncertainty rippled across his face. Cleandros must have either swung or thrown a dagger. How was Markos supposed to fight him when he was invisible?
“Let’s go!” I scrambled backward down the hall. We needed to get out of there.
Blood running into his eyes from a deep cut on his face, Diric Melanos raised his gun.
Many men favored a Bentrix volley gun for their handsome carved bone handles and ability to fire five rounds of shot at once, but Pa only ever carried a one-chambered flintlock pistol. He said the volley guns were inaccurate.
The shot scattered in all directions, ricocheting off the walls and splintering a mirror. None of the bullets hit us.
One of the Black Dogs dropped, blood spurting out of his leg. I shook my head. Fool. You couldn’t fire a gun like that in close quarters. He was going to kill us all.
My eyes seized on the cellar door, and I remembered that dingy window, up high. If we barricaded the door behind us, it might buy us more time.
As I wrenched open the door, a damp, earthy smell rose up from the cellar. I pushed Daria down the set of flagstone steps set in sod. Something blurry ran past me, bumping my arm. I tightened my fingers on my pistol, until I realized it was Kenté, half-wreathed in shadows. Fee joined us, her knife dripping blood.
Booted footsteps echoed on the floor of the hall behind us. Dropping to my knees, I aimed my pistol at the door.
Song of the Current Page 18
