by Lisa Shearin
I stopped and thought. Maybe that room wasn’t so empty. Rache said he was a jack-of-one-trade. That trade wasn’t dressing in the dark and climbing out a window. I’d be willing to bet he’d left something behind. Something he’d worn, something with his essence that I could use to track him.
I had to get into that room.
There was a ring of fancy golden keys hanging on Madam Camille’s belt. It was the only practical thing about her entire outfit.
“Mago,” I said on the barest breath.
“Um-hmm,” Mago responded without moving his lips.
“I have to get in Rache’s room. Keys are on her belt. Charm your way in?”
The look my cousin gave me said that question wasn’t worth dignifying with an answer.
Mago sauntered over to Camille, and bent his head close to her ear. A question, a nuzzle, and a discreet grope later, Mago walked back over and gave me the keys. I pressed my lips together against a smile. Not everyone in the family used cannons to get what they wanted.
Most of the clothes on the floor in Rache’s room were the girl’s. I guess she figured she could get them later. Rache just wanted to get out; he wasn’t worried about leaving anything behind.
He should have been. I found just what I needed.
A glove.
If I’d been wearing my own skin, I could have determined that it was Rache’s by using my seeker skills, but as it was, I recognized it as Rache by the scent. He still wore the same cologne, and it was on his glove.
At least one thing had gone right tonight.
“I’d like to interrogate—excuse me, I mean interview—any witnesses.”
I froze. Mago froze. And we both looked out Rache’s door and down the hall.
A goblin. Black armored and armed with enough bladed weapons to discourage anyone from asking any questions—and to encourage everyone to give him answers.
Oh crap.
“I’m certain that Masters Peronne and Wiggs would be glad to give you a statement,” Madam Camille told him.
Oh, hell no, we wouldn’t. I shot a glance to the window and thought that a three-story drop wouldn’t be all that bad. A turned ankle would be the worst that could happen, right?
“Recognize them?” Mago whispered.
“Nope. You’re the prince’s personal banker. Fix this,” I hissed.
“I manage the prince’s money, not the murders of the prince’s officials.”
“Money, murder—they’re related.”
The big goblin spotted us and smiled until his fangs showed, and in no way, shape, or form was it friendly. He had good reason to smile. His witnesses were a pair of elven bankers. Easily intimidated, easy pickings. Give him half an hour and he’d have us confessing to murder. I could read it off of him as clearly as if he were saying it. Symon was good at reading people. Nice gift to have. To this goblin we were just two elves who had been in close proximity to a newly dead goblin courtier. We were suspects. I could smell his suspicion from here.
“Gentlemen,” the goblin said, his voice deep and silky soft. “If I might have a few minutes of your time.”
Mago straightened his doublet and strolled down the hall to the goblin. I had no choice but to follow.
“But of course, we’d be glad to help in any way we can,” Mago said. “But first I need to know your name and rank.”
“I will be asking the questions . . . Master Peronne, is it?”
“Yes, it is. But I cannot answer any questions without first knowing to whom I am speaking,” Mago said, his tone cool. “When I report this to Prince Chigaru, I want to be certain that I can correctly recall any names.”
“Report?”
Mago bowed from the waist. “Mago Peronne, personal banker to His Highness Prince Chigaru Mal’Salin. I’ve come from D’Mai at the prince’s express invitation to oversee some pressing financial matters. We were to have our second meeting tomorrow morning. I gather that His Highness is unharmed after the tragedy at the hotel?”
“His Highness is well.” The goblin wasn’t happy with this little turn of events. Not only did he just lose his interrogation fun, now his name would be mentioned directly to the prince.
And to Tam and Imala.
The goblin responded to Mago’s bow with one of his own, though his was stiff and clearly reluctant. “Captain Sokanon at your service, Master Peronne.” When his head came up there was a sparkle in his eye that had nothing to do with being at anyone’s service. “Did you have the misfortune of staying at the Greyhound Hotel as well?”
“We did. A tragedy.”
“They’re going to stay here for the evening,” Madam Camille chimed in, “until they can make other arrangements.”
“I thought as much.” The gleam in his eyes said he knew a pair of bankers couldn’t be here for women. As a puny banker I took great offense at that.
The gleam in the goblin’s eyes turned into a grin on his lips. I knew what was coming. Oh crap, crap, crap.
“Then on behalf of His Royal Highness, Prince Chigaru Mal’Salin, I would like to extend the hospitality of the goblin embassy to you both.”
Crap and dammit.
I knew what this guy wanted, I knew that goblins hated Raine Benares with a passion, and I knew I couldn’t hold this glamour much longer. In fact, I’d never held one for this long. Yes, Tam and Imala were probably at the embassy, but they just as easily could still be at the hotel, or what was left of it. I knew for a fact that the elven embassy had subterranean levels with prison cells where the bureaucrats upstairs wouldn’t be bothered with any unseemly screaming. I let Mago know in no uncertain terms exactly how I felt. I pinched him. Hard. He stifled a yelp.
“I thank you for your generosity, Captain Sokanon, but Master Wiggs and I will be quite content here.”
“We’ll have to close the Grove for the night,” one of the watchers told us. “No overnight guests allowed.”
The big goblin clapped his black leather-gloved hands together in undisguised glee. “The prince would not want you turned out on the streets at this time of the night. Since you have a meeting scheduled with His Highness in the morning, I must insist.”
Yeah, I was sure he must.
The goblin addressed the watchers. “And should you have additional questions for these gentlemen, you will know where to find them.”
The street in front of the Satyr’s Grove was packed with people. I guess a murder dressed like a suicide made an interesting change from the entertainment offered in the district. Some of the finest restaurants in the city happened to be in the red-light district. I guess a man—or woman—could work up one heck of an appetite there.
The goblin captain had left some men behind to investigate and to bring Chatar’s body back to the embassy. The captain and his men would escort us to the embassy. It was obvious which coach we were expected to get into. Black and sleek with matching horses with coats so black that they absorbed the lamplight. I tried not to be obvious about it, but I was looking for some way, any way, any reason to avoid getting into that coach.
I spotted a reason. A reason to dive under the coach.
Taltek Balmorlan and Carnades Silvanus were getting out of a coach at the front door of a restaurant directly across the street. Mago and I were in the company of goblin embassy guards, being treated with exaggerated courtesy, and being helped into a goblin embassy coach.
They saw us.
Oh no.
Mago and I had run out of the Swan Song, never shown up at the tavern for Balmorlan’s Saghred demonstration, and now we appeared to be the goblin embassy guards’ new best friends. An embassy that the alive-and-well Prince Chigaru Mal’Salin controlled.
Our cover wasn’t just blown, it was royally screwed.
Chapter 13
The goblin captain sat on the coach seat opposite me and Mago. Now that we were inside a goblin coach going to the goblin embassy, apparently the captain no longer felt the need to be polite or even attempt to make small talk.
That was fine with me. I couldn’t spare the energy. I wasn’t even in the embassy yet, and I was trying to think of ways to escape. Though my most pressing concern was how to hold on to my Symon Wiggs glamour. Up until an hour ago, I hadn’t felt the weight; I sure did now. Just because I wasn’t physically carrying anything didn’t lessen the sensation that I was hauling Mago around on my back rather than sitting next to him.
I had to carry it myself; and if I dropped it, I’d drop my glamour.
That would be ill-advised to say the least. As long as I was glamoured, I couldn’t use my magic, but the Saghred couldn’t use me. That was the best reason I’d ever heard of to keep a death grip on Symon’s glamour.
I could trust Tam and Imala, but any and all other goblins were suspect. So until I got the lay of the land in the embassy, I’d hold Symon’s pasty skin around myself like the ultimate security blanket.
The outside of the goblin embassy looked much like the two embassies on either side of it, and was built with the same white stone as most of the government buildings on Mid. However, the black iron fence and gate were pure goblin. Taller than the coach we were in, the fence surrounding the embassy and grounds was made of intricately twisted wrought iron with the tip of every other post ending in a sharpened point.
A really sharp point.
The ones that weren’t an impalement waiting to happen were topped with a blazing red ball of flame that was far from natural. I could tell just from looking at it that anything that touched them would fry. At least that was my theory, but I wasn’t about to put it to the test. Apparently no one here was taking any chances that another attempt would be made on the prince’s life. We were going in through the front gates, gates that quite frankly, made me doubt that this was anything other than my painful death waiting to happen.
Woven in steel into the massive embassy gates and glowing with the same blazing red wards was the Mal’Salin family crest of two serpents battling for dominance, both surmounted by a crown.
To top it off, the banner of the House of Mal’Salin was flying over the embassy and every goblin guard was armed to the fangs and on high alert.
And we were going inside.
The gates closed behind the coach with a heavy—and rather unnerving—metal clang. An armed goblin guard opened the coach’s door and folded down the steps.
“After you, gentlemen,” Captain Sokanon said.
My feet were smarter than the rest of me; they’d decided that they weren’t going anywhere. Mago realized this and got out first. Then I had no choice. I stepped out of the coach, tripped on something, and damned near landed on my face. Strong, gauntleted hands gripped both of my arms, catching me, keeping me from falling, but taking their sweet time letting me go afterward.
I looked at those glowing gates and swallowed. I didn’t care that the goblins wouldn’t kill the prince’s banker and hopefully not his puny friend; I still didn’t like any of it.
“So we go in, hide out for the night, you meet with the prince, then we leave,” I muttered without moving my lips.
“That’s the plan,” Mago said.
I didn’t want to remind him that most plans I’d been associated with lately had gone to crap. He knew.
Mago and I waited as the embassy’s massive doors opened on eerily quiet hinges. The guards in the courtyard were completely silent. All I could hear was the crackle of wards on the gate. I think I knew how mice must feel in a room full of cats. Big cats. Hungry cats. We were elves and we had an armed escort into the goblin embassy two days after what appeared to be elves tried to blow up the prince’s yacht and an elven assassin tried to turn Chigaru into a pin cushion. And only mere hours after elven firemages torched the hotel the prince was staying at.
It didn’t matter that we hadn’t been involved in any of this. Well, not directly anyway. To these guards, two elves represented all elves. They wanted us dead and they wanted it to hurt. For the cherry on top of our situation, I had nothing but a boot knife to my name. What I wouldn’t have given for a pair of Nebian grenades. Not that those would have saved my bacon, but it’d give goblin guards a whole new respect for elven bankers.
The interior of the goblin embassy was pretty much what I expected. The drapes were heavy velvet, floor to ceiling, and they were drawn against any glimmer of light getting in. Goblins were nocturnal by preference bordering on necessity. In cities where there were large goblin populations, the shops and businesses owned by goblins or those catering to them were open during the day, but kept extended hours in the evening for the convenience and comfort of their patrons. During the day, the windows were kept shuttered against bright sunlight.
Soft blue lighting glowed from recessed pockets in the walls. Supposedly the color was soothing to sensitive goblin eyes. What furniture I could see was dark wood covered in dark fabrics. A line of chairs against one wall—presumably for people waiting to see an embassy official—was covered in a shade of red that was disturbingly close to that of fresh blood. The floor was black marble. Oh yeah, that was cheerful and welcoming.
And we were only in the entry hall.
“Kijika, turn up the lights for our guests.”
The goblin bowed. “Yes, Captain.”
“Is His Highness still awake?” Mago asked.
“The prince has given strict orders that he is not to be disturbed—for any reason.” The words were polite and so was the tone, but with goblins you had to listen to what was going on beneath and between those words. Mago and I received the message loud and clear: the prince may or may not have given that order, but Captain Sokanon had no intention of telling the prince we were here—for any reason. I had news for him: if anyone tried to force Symon Wiggs into a subterranean cell, they wouldn’t be dealing with a puny banker anymore; they’d have a very pissed Raine Benares and her Amazing Destructive Rock on their hands.
Mago knew and cleared his throat before I let my fantasy become reality right here in the embassy foyer.
“Are either Director Kalis or Chancellor Nathrach available?” I asked.
The guard raised an eyebrow at that, clearly surprised. “You are acquainted with the director and chancellor how?”
“Through our previous meeting with the prince,” Mago said smoothly.
“Are they in the embassy?” I persisted.
“The last report I received had them at the hotel continuing the investigation of the fire.” The goblin was only too glad to deliver that piece of information, which meant that it was more than likely true. Just our luck.
“But I know they would want our guests to be made comfortable.” He gestured to the imposing staircase, also made of black marble. “I will show you to your rooms. You may rest and refresh yourselves for a while. We will question you presently.”
They showed us to two rooms, on the second floor, right next to the guard station, and conveniently across the hall from each other. In other words, we were going to be watched like hawks, not allowed to talk to each other, and probably taken for interrogation one at a time.
Great. Just great.
“We appreciate your generous hospitality,” Mago said, “but Master Wiggs and I would prefer to be in the same room.”
“But each room only has one bed.”
Mago stepped up to me and slipped his hand in mine, intertwining our fingers.
Oh crap in a bucket.
My cousin gave the captain a dazzling smile. “The sleeping arrangements won’t be a problem.”
Realization dawned, and one of the goblin’s fangs bit into his bottom lip to keep from laughing. Two of the guards at the station didn’t try as hard, but at least they muffled their snickers with one cough each.
I looked anywhere but at Mago. In response, he gave my hand an affectionate squeeze. So help me if he tried to solidify this with a kiss . . .
“Understood, Master Peronne. One room it is. I will have refreshments sent up.”
One of the guards on duty unlocked the door, and then locked
it from the outside once we were inside. I’d have been shocked if they didn’t.
“Did you have to do that?” I kept my voice low. This was the goblin embassy; the walls most definitely had ears—and eyes.
Mago removed his doublet and tossed it on the entirely too prominent bed. “Yes, I’m afraid I did,” he replied in Myloran. “I won’t allow them to separate us.”
I raised an eyebrow at his language choice.
“Very few goblins speak or understand Myloran,” Mago explained. “They don’t feel it’s worth the bother.”
Good enough for me; I switched to Myloran. “I’m not saying your idea wasn’t brilliant, but—”
“It also stopped any further inquiry.” He flashed a quick smile. “There are some things those goblins wouldn’t want to know more about. This was one of those things.”
I sighed. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
I chuckled weakly. “Those goblins think it’s your pleasure, too.”
“Raine, you need to sit down.”
“I need to drop this glamour.”
“Then drop it. Hold on until the guards return with food, and then drop it. You can’t hold it forever.”
I nodded. He was right. “If things get ugly, I’ll need every bit of my power, and I’ll need rest to use it.” I glanced over at the bed. It didn’t have any drapes that I could pull to block the inside from view. Though I’d hide under the covers if I had to. As a kid, I used to think that bad things couldn’t get me if I hid under the covers. At least here, the bad things wouldn’t be able to see me. Yes, the majority of goblins in the embassy were loyal to Chigaru, but some of them had to be working for Sathrik Mal’Salin and Sarad Nukpana. That captain could be one of them. If so, he’d have a vested interest in keeping the prince from meeting with his banker.
I looked out the barred window. I’d been in a bedroom like this only a few months before, in Prince Chigaru’s hideout in the district of Mermeia called The Ruins. That time I’d officially been the prince’s prisoner. He had wanted me to find and use the Saghred for him. I snorted to myself. If he knew I was here, he’d probably want the same thing right now. Armed and armored elves patrolled the walls of the embassy next door. The wards and shields and number of guards told me they were on high alert. The goblins were putting on a similar display. Though the goblins were nocturnal with night vision to match. Their high alert at nearly two bells was more alert than the elves. And if all the lights suddenly got extinguished and the goblins were feeling playful, those elves were toast and they knew it.
