by Jordan Rivet
Mica lost sight of Danil and the other watchman as her own opponent changed tactics, pitching back into the nearest crate and crushing her against the rough wood. Mica gasped as pain exploded in her back. The watchman staggered sideways and slammed her against another crate, the crash reverberating through the warehouse. Mica dug her knives deeper into his shoulders, using them like claws to keep from being thrown off his back. Blood gushed over her hands. She could feel him weakening. But not soon enough. He slammed her back again, and one of her ribs cracked, sending a flash of agony through her.
She couldn’t hold on much longer. She clenched her teeth and twisted her knives even deeper. The Watchman shuddered violently, his hair going pure white and then black as jet. Then he collapsed to the ground.
Mica landed on top of the body, pain lancing through her side. She couldn’t pause to examine her injury. She yanked her blades free, noticing as she did that the watchman’s face had changed one last time in death, becoming uglier and more ordinary. The lantern jaw had slumped into a weak chin, and the hair had gone thin and gray. She turned away from the Mimic’s body, trying to shake the impression that she had just killed two people instead of one. One was enough.
Danil was on his knees with his big hands around the mousy-haired watchman’s throat. He was squeezing with all his strength, his eyes shot through with pure terror. The enemy was already dead.
Mica grabbed his arm.
“Danil! It’s done. We have to go.”
Danil didn’t move, his eyes still wild with fear and shock, sweat and dirt matting his curly hair.
Shouts came from the other side of the warehouse. The place was far from empty, and they had made a lot of noise. They had seconds before they were discovered.
“Danil, it’s me.” Mica shifted to her own face and stuck it close to Danil’s. “It’s Mica. You can let go now.”
He blinked at her, his eyes slowly clearing, and at last his grip loosened. He dropped his former jailer’s body and shuffled back, staying on the ground himself. That was when Mica noticed that his leg now ended a few inches below his knee.
Horror rose in her chest, but she clamped down hard on it. They weren’t out of danger yet.
“They’re coming closer.”
Danil looked up at her, his face bloodless. “Go without me.”
“Not a chance.” She looked around at the grisly scene, an idea coming to her. “I need you to trust me.”
She squeezed her jaw into a lantern shape, adopting the chosen features of the man she had just killed. She took his City Watch jacket and then rolled his corpse into Danil’s crate and slammed it shut. She grabbed Danil’s arm and twisted it behind his back just as half a dozen guards charged around a corner into their aisle.
“Quickly!” Mica shouted in the watchman’s voice. “The sneak who attacked us is wounded. Catch him before he escapes!” She shuffled through the pool of blood on the floor, trying to hide the trail that led straight to the crate. Danil helped as much as he could while making it look as if he was struggling against her.
The guards started toward them. “The prisoner—”
“I’ve got him,” Mica barked. “He’s getting away. Move your striking feet!”
Four of the men ran off, but the last two remained behind. Mica bit back a curse as the pair headed up the aisle toward them. She and Danil couldn’t take both with their injuries.
“How do we know you’re really Benson?” asked one of the guards (thin-faced with straw-blond hair and plain clothes).
Mica gave an impatient snort and changed her face to that of the full-lipped woman she’d followed out of the rooftop bar.
“Happy?”
The guards came nearer. “We’d better put the prisoner back until—”
“He’s still needed.” Mica changed back to the lantern-jawed watchman’s face. It would all be over if the guards looked inside Danil’s crate and found the body. “You don’t want to make him angry, do you?”
The guards exchanged glances, and Mica prayed she’d guessed right about the fear their gravel-voiced employer instilled. He had certainly sounded like the angry type.
“I guess not,” said the thin-faced blond after a minute. “I’ve made that mistake before.”
The pair reached them, eying the blood spreading across the aisle and the mousy-haired dead man. Mica hoped they’d be too distracted to notice that Benson had shrunk a foot since they last saw him. The second guard, who was young and swarthy, knelt to attend to the strangled watchman.
The thin-faced blond took Danil’s other arm. “I’ll help you with this one.”
Mica had no choice but to accept. She and the guard dragged Danil down the aisle, struggling to support his weight. How soon before the thin-faced guard realized she wasn’t nearly as strong as Benson had been?
“Who attacked you?” he asked.
“Young lad,” Mica said. “Jumped me from the catwalk.”
“How’d he find us?”
Mica grunted noncommittally, and the other man gave her an odd look. She wondered if Benson was normally more talkative than this.
“His Lordship won’t like it when he hears about this,” said the guard. “He has been so careful.”
Mica’s breath caught.
“Have you seen His Lordship lately?” she asked. Say his name. Say his name. Say his name.
The thin man snorted. “Do I look like I go to the pub with him?”
They were almost to the cleared space Mica had seen from the catwalk, where that poor woman had been made to scream. This might be her only chance to find out who was pulling the strings. She needed something more to go on.
“Who else do you think knows about this place? If that attacker got in . . .” She trailed off, hoping it would encourage the guard to keep talking.
“Didn’t I say how careful he is? I reckon His Lordship’s own nephew doesn’t know what he’s up to.”
Mica stumbled. It couldn’t be Lord Ober. He wasn’t the only lord at court with a nephew. On the other hand, he was powerful enough to pull this off, and Mica had personally seen him show an interest in both potions and Talents. But she had thought he respected Talents, even though many of the other nobles took them for granted. She didn’t want it to be him.
Fortunately, the thin-faced man hadn’t noticed her stumble, seeming to think that their prisoner had tried to jerk away. He gave Danil a rough shake.
“Doesn’t matter, does it?” he said. “With that spoilt princess making noise up at the palace, I reckon he’ll ship the whole operation off to his own island. It was going to happen anyway.”
“When will he ship—?”
“It’s about time!”
They had reached the cleared space at the center of the warehouse, where the owner of the gravelly voice was waiting for them by a table spread with shiny metal instruments. The space was a grotesque imitation of Quinn’s workshop, with vials of liquid, piles of finely chopped ingredients, and stacks of books and parchment. A second table dripped with blood, and beside it was a shelf with a row of jars containing human body parts. Mica tore her eyes away from the gruesome display to concentrate on the man responsible.
He was old, with thick, white eyebrows and a horribly scarred face, as if he’d been splashed over and over again with hot oil. Mica recognized him. She had bumped into him in a crowded inn back in Gullton, not ten feet away from Lord Ober.
The man’s piercing blue gaze flickered across her as if it were a tongue of flame.
“That is not Benson.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mica released her grip on Danil and hurled herself into the old man without a thought. He was only a little bigger than she was, and she managed to shove him backward into the table full of metal instruments. They hit the ground hard, the instruments crashing down around them with a riotous clatter. Mica almost dropped her impersonation as the impact jarred her injured ribs.
“Grab him, you idiot!” the old man shouted at the thin
-faced guard.
Before he could reach her, Mica lurched over to the shelves, snatched up a jar holding a floating eyeball, and chucked it at the guard. He shrieked as the glass broke, and the eyeball slithered down the side of his face. Danil wrenched out of his grip, teetering on one foot.
The thin guard scraped frantically at the putrid liquid drenching his clothes, no longer paying attention to his prisoner. But the old potioner was getting up, reaching for his vials of poison. They couldn’t fight that.
“Let’s get out of here!” Mica pulled Danil’s arm over her shoulder and hauled him toward the front of the warehouse.
They hobbled down the aisle as fast as they could. Rattling noises came from the crates, weak voices asking what was going on out there. Behind them, the old potioner shouted for more guards, his gravel voice poisoned with pure rage.
“The others,” Danil grunted as he struggled along on his surviving foot. “We have to save them.”
“We’ll come back for them.” Mica couldn’t slow down. They were almost to the door. “And we’ll bring the whole striking Imperial Army with us.”
Danil didn’t argue. Footsteps pounded as more guards converged on them from the corners of the warehouse, where they’d been searching for the intruder. Too many. They were too close.
The locked door loomed ahead of them.
“Brace yourself!” Mica shouted, and she and Danil threw themselves at the door.
It burst open under their combined weight, and they tumbled out into the pouring rain, Mica barely keeping her friend from pitching into the mud.
“Keep moving,” she said. “Just a little bit farther.”
They rushed away from the warehouse, taking frequent turns through the warren-like district to throw off their pursuers. Shouts chased them through the dark. Every second, Mica was sure they would be caught. Still, she noted the twists and turns, adding them to her mental map so she could find the warehouse later. She was going to rip that gruesome operation wide open.
Eventually, the rain drowned out the sounds of pursuit. They continued on through the muddy streets, not daring to slow down. They were almost to a main road, but Mica couldn’t tell if they were still being followed. They needed to disappear.
She pulled her friend into a darkened doorway.
“Can you impersonate? We can’t outrun them forever.”
“I think so,” Danil said. “But my leg won’t—”
“I know.” Limbs could be stretched and thickened into a whole host of shapes, but they couldn’t be replaced. Their pursuers would be looking for a one-legged person. Mica thought for a moment, still holding off the paralyzing horror at what had been done to her friend. There would be time for that later.
“Do that small, chubby lady.” She ripped off her cloak and fastened it around Danil’s waist as he shrunk into a much shorter and rounder woman. The skirt fell all the way to the ground. “That’ll cover it well enough.”
Mica changed into her lean old soldier form, threw away the bloodied City Watch coat, and looped her arm around Danil’s waist. With luck, they’d look like an ordinary couple out for a midnight stroll. In the rain. She winced. No time to do better than that now.
They limped out to the main road, joining the late-night traffic and doing their best to look inconspicuous. Most passersby kept their heads down anyway, those who weren’t swaying drunkenly. Mica steered Danil toward the palace, trying not to glance back too often to see if they were being followed.
As the fear of being caught faded, she began to feel the pain in her cracked rib more intensely. She bit back a groan, knowing Danil was in far worse shape than she was. She wished she had something to give him.
She stopped. The potions! She had left the package of potions from Quinn’s shop on top of the smaller warehouse. Dare she go back for it? She was less worried about the cost than about the potions causing problems for Quinn. What were the chances they’d be discovered tonight?
As if in answer, the rain fell harder than ever, making it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead. Mica doubted anyone would be searching the top of the warehouse roof tonight. Besides, if Mica had anything to say about it, they’d be tearing the place to the ground by sunrise. She hoped Lord Ober, if he was really behind all this, was ready for the wrath of the Talents.
Mica held onto that wrath as she and Danil struggled through the dark. It kept her pointed toward her destination, even as the adrenaline of their narrow escape wore off. She was beginning to shake, and not just from the anger and the cold and the pain in her rib. Over and over again, she felt the thud as she landed on Benson’s back, the hot rush of blood over her hands, her blades twisting deeper. She had never killed a man before. She was supposed to stop bad guys by sneaking around and gathering information on them, not by ripping into them with steel claws. Mica wondered if Jessamyn had felt this way when she killed that Obsidian captain to save her life.
“Mica,” Danil said, perhaps sensing her tremors. “You did the right thing. They were monsters.”
“I know,” Mica said shortly. But she squeezed her friend a little tighter, her lean arms around his soft shoulders. “We’re almost there.”
She couldn’t take Danil directly to the palace in case his presence tipped off “His Lordship,” so she brought him to Peet’s flat, resuming her own form as she knocked. The Blur was at the door an instant later. He ushered them in without question and helped her settle Danil on his bed.
“I’m glad you caught me here,” Peet said as he dug through a pile of clothes on his floor for something Mica could wear that wasn’t covered in blood and mud. “I only just returned from visiting Edwina at her inn.”
The young Talent held out a shirt, trousers, and a plain red coat. Mica turned herself back into a man briefly so she could change her clothes in the tiny room.
“I know where Edwina’s husband is,” she said as she tugged the shirt over her head. “Along with all the other Talents.”
“Not all of them,” Danil said, lifting his head from the bed.
“What do you mean?”
“They shipped people out sometimes. After they finished.”
“Finished what?”
Danil’s face went dark. “You’d better hurry, Mica. They need to be stopped before they move anyone else.”
“The princess will help us.” She put on the red coat. “Will you be okay here for a little while?”
“I’ll look after him,” Peet said. “Maybe I’ll make us a midnight snack.”
“Thank you, Peet.” Mica paused at the door. “Before I go, Danil, did you ever hear who was behind . . . everything you went through?”
“There was a lord, a powerful one, I think.” Danil propped himself up on his elbows to speak to her, rainwater still dripping from his curls. “They were always careful not to say his name. I can identify a few of the guards, though, and the potioner is called Haddell. I’ll never forget that as long as I live.”
A tense silence beat between them. Mica felt horror bubbling within her again at what her kind, merry friend had endured. Horror—and rage.
“We’ll stop him,” Mica said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Mica ran the rest of the way to the palace, wearing Peet’s face and red hair as well as his clothes until she got to the gates, where she turned into her favorite scullery maid. She tried to keep out of sight anyway. It was late to be running through the palace corridors, and she couldn’t afford to be stopped and questioned. The rain had washed the blood from her hands, but she felt as if everyone she passed could see it on her, see right through her. She pushed away the distress and focused on the rage.
Mica reverted to her own face when she reached Jessamyn’s chambers. Banner must have seen the urgency in her expression because he stepped out of her way as she ripped open the small door set in the larger one and burst into the sitting room.
“Princess Jes—”
Lord Ober was standing in the princess’s chambers.
Mica swallowed everything she had been about to say as she met the lord’s eyes. He nodded at her, looking as pleasant as ever. Jessamyn leapt up from her couch, her eyes igniting.
“Can’t you see I’m busy, Micathea?” she hissed. Then in a much more jovial voice: “You must excuse her, my lords. I’ve no doubt there’s a perfectly good explanation for this boorish intrusion, which I will hear later.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” Lord Ober said. “Far be it from me to get in the way of an Imperial Impersonator. Go right ahead and say what needs to be said, Miss Micathea.” He smiled kindly at her. Mica had a sudden urge to slice off that fine specimen of a nose.
Every part of her was screaming to confront Lord Ober, but she couldn’t do it like this. She had no proof the warehouse was his. All she had to go on was the brief reference to a nephew and his interest in Talents. Danil had claimed the name of the nefarious mastermind had never been said aloud. The guards and the old potioner must have been all too aware that one of the Talents could escape. She had to be careful here, even though it meant holding back her fury.
“Forgive me, it can wait.” Mica dropped into a deep curtsy, pasting on a calm mask. As she stood, she realized Lord Caleb was standing over by the window, watching her with a slightly bemused expression. That was why Jessamyn had said lords plural. Mica couldn’t help looking Caleb over, trying to gauge how much he knew. Was his mysterious ability connected to a mad potioner who kept eyeballs in jars?
Jessamyn cleared her throat, forcing Mica to turn away from the young lord. The princess jerked her head toward the tapestry on the far wall, and Mica had no choice but to cross the antechamber and enter the servants’ corridor. She immediately pressed her ear to the door to listen to the discussion on the other side.
“I hope your Impersonator is serving you well, my princess,” Lord Ober was saying. “She came highly recommended.”
“She has disappointed me less than some.”
Lord Ober laughed, the rich sound all too similar to his nephew’s laugh.
