Seth shook his head. “Morgan knew you’d done something. She always said so.”
“Aye, but she never figured out what, did she? And you’re not going to tell her. It’s between us, I said.” He grinned suddenly. “Ah, here we are.”
They’d stepped out into a close, dilapidated circle, ringed all about with sagging dwellings, that had probably once been open and airy. Seth stared at the building in the center—made entirely of stone, it was narrow and angular in front, wide and curved in back, with the sharp pointed spire he had seen in so many other places. He slumped a little. “Another Ninist vestry? But they’re all over the city.”
Roger wagged a finger at him. “Wait before you judge. The best discoveries are those that look simple, eh? Or I’m no true Halfen. Now come on.”
The door was heavy wood, but it was half rotted; Roger could probably just have kicked it in, but instead he opened it slowly and carefully, easing around the edge and inside before he’d even gotten it halfway. Seth slipped in after him, and Roger closed the door behind them, then folded his arms behind his head, craning his neck to take a look at the room. Seth looked too, with more curiosity than he wanted to admit; as many Ninist vestries as he’d seen, he’d never actually been inside one.
If there had been tapestries or other decorations in the vestry, they’d long since been stripped or stolen; only the wooden rows of seats remained, here and there slightly crooked. The back of the vestry was more stone, curved into the shape of a semicircle, but the statues set into the circle were made of marble. Their size was more or less true to life, but they stood on great pedestals, so they would tower over any man who stood near them. Seth looked at the first one on his left, a boy about his age, dressed in fancy robes a bit too big for him, with a stack of books under one arm and several scrolls in the crook of the other. His hair was long and loose, as if he hadn’t time to tend to it, and his eyes tilted slightly off to the side, as if something over Seth’s shoulder had caught his interest. The sculptor had been no amateur; the details stood out even after so much time, down to the keen look in the boy’s eyes, the lock of hair that had fallen down into his face. But then Seth darted a glance around the rest of the circle, and frowned. “This was supposed to be a Ninist vestry, wasn’t it?”
“And so it is,” Roger said, looking over at him. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
Seth waved a hand at the statues. “It’s called Ninism because they have nine gods, right? But there’re only seven statues.”
Roger laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “Not to worry; that’s as it should be. I forget only swindlers and thieves have cause to know about Ninist traditions nowadays.” He thumbed at his chin. “They’re not strictly gods, but there are nine—nine of them, and nine statues.” He gestured to a low doorway at the center of the circle, with steps leading down. “The other two are down here. Come on—I’ll show you.”
But Seth lingered, looking up at the marble faces. After the boy came a man and woman in fine robes, with crowns upon their heads, and then a tall, imposing man hefting his unsheathed greatsword high. On his other side was a mild, retreating woman in plain dress, and then a man in full armor, his head bared to show an earnest, youthful face. On the far right was what looked to be a holy man, garbed in flowing, ornate robes, his long hair pulled back and tied at the base of his neck. But Seth still liked the boy best, with his clever face and abstracted air. “Who are they, then?” he asked Roger. “Who are they supposed to be?”
Roger screwed up his face. “Hmm, let me see … That one you’re eyeing there’s the Magician—I remember that—and then the King and the Queen are easy, and then—the Knight? No, that’s wrong, the Knight comes later.…” He frowned and then suddenly snapped his fingers. “The Warrior! That’s it. Don’t know why you need a Knight and a Warrior, but nobody asked me. So that would make this young lady the … Maiden, I believe.” He smirked at Seth. “Or so they say, at least.”
Seth tried to ignore that as implacably as Morgan would have. “All right. Then … maybe this is the Knight?”
Roger followed his gaze. “Aye, that’s right, and then the fellow at the other end’s the Apostle. Which leaves two to go, as I was saying.”
Seth still couldn’t stop looking at the statues. “So they … they founded Elesthene?”
“That’s the story.” Roger paced around the circle. “The greatest earthly kingdom that ever was, with this very city as its beating heart. But they all went on to win a much better one—the kingdom of eternity. And after that, they never died—or so they say.”
“So what happened to them, if they never died?”
“Well, they just … stayed on, didn’t they? You couldn’t pray to the Ninists’ god—he was far too important to care about you—but his favorite servants were always about, in one sense or another. If you followed one of them faithfully, perhaps he or she’d intercede for you.”
“What if they didn’t?”
Roger shrugged. “Then it was hellfire for you—until the day the Ninists’ god raised up the penitent and cast down the soulless forever, at least. Don’t ask me when that was supposed to be—always one day, one day.”
Seth frowned. “That’s all they were for? You spent all your time praying to them, and maybe they’d say something nice about you to their god?”
Roger laughed. “Well, they might’ve been immortal, but they weren’t all-powerful—they had their own problems, some more than others. The Niniad tells all about their lives when they were human, and you’d almost feel sorry for some of them, if you didn’t know they found eternity in the end.”
“Eternity,” Seth repeated, staring into the Magician’s face.
“Hmm.” Roger twitched his nose. “Well, not for your boy there. Not quite, anyway. You’ll understand in a moment, if you’ll just follow along.” He pointed to the doorway again. “Come on, this way.”
They descended the steps at last, single file, Seth close behind Roger. They came out into a small circular chamber, like a miniature of the one upstairs, with a low, stifling ceiling. They were belowground, but light filtered in through holes in the ceiling—which was funny, because Seth hadn’t noticed any holes in the floor above. Perhaps they were set behind the statues.
Roger had spoken true: the last two statues were here. It seemed a crime to hide them underground—these were the most beautiful of the lot, a woman so fair it made your heart hurt and a man nearly as handsome, both endowed with a dignity of bearing and expression that couldn’t help but command respect. Seth took a step forward almost without realizing it, then turned to Roger in bewilderment. “Why do they pick these to hide?”
“Because nobody calls on these two,” Roger said. “Not now, and not then, not even at Ninism’s height. These were always to be feared, and warded away. But they had to be recognized all the same, so they were always given their place down below.”
“But why did nobody pray to them?” Seth asked.
Roger was clearly enjoying this. “Because nobody would ever want to pray to two such bad ones as these, my boy.”
Seth started back. “They’re … bad?”
Roger faced the statues, grinning his slender grin. “The Traitor,” he said, jerking his chin at the man, “and the Whore. Enemies to the seven, and to all of us, besides.”
Seth looked at them again, but he couldn’t see anything about them that was so bad as Roger said. The man held his chin a little too high, perhaps, and an imperious frown sat on his lips, but his eyes, marble though they were, were not haughty or cold, and they looked you right in the face. And the woman … Seth had seen whores enough, though few were either shrewd or simple enough to try to do business in Sheath. Some looked … properly lascivious, as Roger might say, but most just looked tired, and more anxious than Morgan. But this woman was entirely different. She didn’t beckon—didn’t even seem to know she was being looked at, and though she looked up, her gaze seemed turned somehow inward. Her clothes were simple enough, an
d her finest ornament was her long loose hair. She had a sweet face, gentle eyes, and a beautiful, beautiful smile.
“I don’t understand,” Seth said. “If we’re supposed to think these are the bad ones, why make them so beautiful?”
Roger shrugged. “They’re lust and ambition, my boy, and you’d be hard-pressed to find two things that call more strongly to most men. Easy to resist something that turns your stomach, but when a thing is beautiful, who’s going to stop to ask whether it’s good or bad? You clutch at it either way, don’t you? Just as your boy up there did.”
“He did?” Seth asked.
Roger knelt, poking at the stone between the Traitor’s feet. “Oh, he did. He might have been a prodigy, but he was also a boy, just as you are.” He flicked his gaze to the woman. “All his magic couldn’t save him from one of her smiles, and soon he cast his spells only on her word, neglecting even the king who had been his friend. That’s the story, anyway.” He finished whatever he was doing, and smiled. “Course, lust and ambition have been friends to my kind for as long as men have breathed, so we like to leave messages for one another in places like this. If there’s a Ninist vestry still standing, it’s more than likely there’s a smuggler or thief knows it better than its faithful ever did. Have a look.” He stepped back and let Seth see what he had done.
There had been a thin layer of dust on the stone, but Roger had smoothed it away, revealing a set of shallow, etched markings. Seth knelt to make them out: there was a circle, and within it, five lines, one that ran diagonally from the left edge of the circle to the bottom, and four longer ones that extended from the top down.
“It’s a hand,” Roger said, laying his thumb along the diagonal line and his fingers atop the others. “See?”
“I see,” Seth said, cocking his head. “What’s it mean?”
Roger patted the mark affectionately, then took Seth’s hand, placing his fingers against the raised front of the pedestal the statue perched on. “Just apply a bit of pressure there, and maybe you’ll find out.”
Seth pushed, and realized something was moving: the part of the pedestal between the statue’s feet could slide away, revealing a hollow cavity underneath. There was a box inside, a plain rectangle of unvarnished wood.
Seth reached out, pulling the box free. It wasn’t locked, only held closed with a simple latch. And when he opened the lid, he found … nothing. It was empty.
He let the box fall from his hands, listening to the soft clatter as it hit the floor, inches away. “That’s it? An empty box?”
Roger grinned. “It’s only been empty for the past day and a half or so,” he said. “Before that, it held this.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cut ruby bigger than a man’s eye. It sparkled in the low light, richer than blood.
Seth lurched back on the heels of his hands. “Gods,” he said breathlessly. “Sweet gods, Roger, why didn’t you just show that to start with?”
“And tell the tale out of order? Come on, boy; that wouldn’t have done at all.” He tossed the gem aloft, then caught it out of the air with an easy flick of his wrist. “Besides, what’s the point if you don’t understand where it came from?”
“But I don’t, really,” Seth pointed out. “I thought you were going to tell me what that symbol meant?”
Roger pocketed the ruby again, then tapped his chin. “Eh, was I?”
“Isn’t that why you brought me here?”
“I brought you here so you’d make that face when I pulled out the stone. And you didn’t disappoint me, that’s for sure.”
Seth groaned. “Come on. You told the story this far, now finish it. Or I won’t follow you around again, or listen to your stories.”
Roger held up his hands. “All right, all right, this once … Don’t tell anyone, though, you hear? I’m only supposed to tell my apprentice.”
“But you’re always saying how you don’t want an apprentice and you’ll never have one.”
“Aye, I know that. Why do you think I settle for showing off to you instead?” He sighed. “That’s a finger-sign—one of our ways of leaving messages for one another. I suppose that one best means take what you will.”
Seth raised an eyebrow. “Some thief gets away with a gem like that and just leaves it for anyone to take?”
“Did I say it was that simple?” Roger laughed. “We thieves are notorious for … forgetting to mention things, after all. When a fellow leaves a mark like this, it means he’s pulled something off, but it’s too hot for him to fence—he’s being watched, perhaps, or else there isn’t a half-wit in the sewers who wouldn’t recognize it if he tried to sell it, or the hunt to reclaim it is so fierce, he daren’t pull it out of his pocket even in his own chambers. So he stashes it instead. The mark is to say he’s decided the damned thing is more trouble than it’s worth, and he hereby washes his hands of it, and invites you to have better luck, if you can.” He tapped his fingertips together, staring at the mark. “Perhaps it’s better to say it means, Take what you will, and don’t say you weren’t forewarned.”
Seth picked up the box again, turning it over in his hands. “If it were me, I’d just hide it without making any marks on it at all. Then I could just come back for it.”
Roger winked at him. “That proves you’re no true thief, my boy—it proves you’re not thinking to the future. There was so much dust on that thing when I found it, I reckon it’s decades old—whoever stole it in the first place is probably dead. But even so, it’s like he’s speaking to me, saying, Well, my man, here’s a story for you: once there was a fellow so clever, he got his hands on a treasure like this and never got caught, and that fellow was I myself. See if you’re ever so lucky. And here I am in awe of this mysterious fellow, who might’ve died before I was ever born. But if he’d just hidden it away like you wanted … Well, it was still here, so we know he wasn’t able to come back for it. And then his legacy would’ve died with him. What’s the fun if nobody knows how clever you are?”
“I’d rather be clever enough to sell it,” Seth said, wrinkling his nose. “How are you going to?”
“If it’s as old as it looks, it should be safe enough—no doubt everyone’s forgotten about it by now.” He grinned. “And don’t forget I’m a swindler, not a burglar. We could sell a man’s own piss back to him without him so much as smelling anything funny.” He took the jewel out again, turning it over in his hand. “First step, though, I want to figure out what it is—where it came from, if I can. That means I’d best head to Kratchet’s, ask him if he knows of any fine gems that went missing ten or twenty years ago. Gods know he’s a dodgy little rat, but if anyone can tell me, it’ll be him.” He cocked his head at Seth. “Want to come?”
Seth shook his head. “Kratchet’ll be even less inclined to talk to you if I’m around—as far as he’s concerned, saying anything to me’s as bad as saying it to Morgan.” And the man made him nervous, but he didn’t need to tell Roger that. “Besides, Marceline hates me.”
Roger laughed. “What, the monkey? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of her.”
“I’m not afraid,” Seth said. “I just … should probably get back to Morgan, that’s all.”
“As you like.” Roger shrugged, putting the ruby back into his pocket. “Doubt she’ll have any secrets to share with you, though.”
CHAPTER TWO
It wasn’t that Marceline didn’t feel any guilt about stealing from her own sister, but Cerise did work at a grocer’s, and that meant she ate a sight better than anyone of her means had a right to. Halvard was always giving her scraps, some choice bit or other he hadn’t been able to sell that day. He said it was because it was useless to let it go to waste, and because his books had never been kept in better order, but Marceline was willing to bet it had more than a little to do with the fact that Cerise was pretty, and people liked to give pretty people things. But Marceline had never been pretty, so she’d had to find other ways of getting her hands on things.
&nb
sp; There were five fresh eggs—those must’ve been from Halvard—and they were tempting, but Marceline knew from experience that she’d only break them, no matter how careful she tried to be. She reached for the rolls instead, tucking several into the sack she’d brought from Tom’s. They were so soft, and still faintly warm, and it was an effort not to stuff one into her mouth right then, but she forced herself to finish her pilfering first. She fingered the grapes longingly but decided to leave them be—they’d just get squished on the way back to Sheath. She took the two apples she found instead, and some strips of salted beef, and she was just about to reach for a wedge of cheese when she heard a very familiar sigh, wrought out of only the finest world-weary exasperation.
“I can’t believe you,” Cerise said, hands on her hips, as if this weren’t a common enough occurrence. “Will you never learn?”
“I don’t know what it is I’m supposed to learn,” Marceline said, resisting the urge to stick out her tongue.
“Not to steal from your own flesh and blood, perhaps? You can start there.”
Half my flesh and blood, Marceline didn’t say. “If I am your blood, then you ought to be more openhanded with me.”
There was that sigh again. “I have told you, half a hundred times if I’ve told you once, that you’re welcome to sit down and eat with me anytime you please. But when you slink in here and empty my stores so you can feed it all to that thieving old man without so much as a by-your-leave…”
“Tom’s got to eat same as anyone, and he’d be a mess if I didn’t help him,” Marceline insisted. “And I give back to you, don’t I? I pay you back when we have money.” She and Tom, like most Sheathers, generally went through dry spells followed by windfalls when their schemes panned out, and Marceline didn’t see anything wrong with taking a little extra from her sister when times were lean, as long as she shared the spoils, too.
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