“That’s far enough,” she said. “You will soon understand why. Leave them there and return to me.”
Einar and the consuls did as they were told. Unsure of their fates, the woman and boy huddled together. As the boy started to cry, the woman smoothed his hair and spoke softly to him. Einar found the similarity striking.
Again, just like a mother and child, he thought.
Serena turned toward the nearest of her envelopers. “Go,” she said simply.
Widening its undulating wings, the enveloper streaked toward its victims. Its speed was amazing. It quickly wrapped its body around them. Then the screaming started.
Einar could see nothing of the woman or the boy, save for occasional glimpses of their boots. He guessed from their muffled screams that they must be struggling, but it was impossible to tell.
As the enveloper’s deadly embrace held them fast, Einar looked down at the victims’ feet again. Despite his years of experience with the craft, he felt himself becoming sick. Realizing that he should never show such weaknesses to Serena, he again called on the craft to help steady his legs.
Blood and other body fluids started running to the pathway. The two pairs of boots seemed to somehow lose their shape, and their tops slowly turned earthward. The enveloper finally released its grip. Einar watched as the woman’s and the boy’s stripped bones rattled to the walkway amid their wet clothing and flopped-over boots. Nothing else remained.
“Now you understand,” Serena said.
“What we just witnessed,” Einar breathed. “That is how they take their sustenance?”
“Yes,” Serena answered. Raising one hand, she bid her creation to join the others. The enveloper immediately obeyed.
“But surely we cannot feed so many,” Einar protested. “Despite your dislike for the Valrenkians, we still need them.”
“Yes,” Serena answered. “For the time being the envelopers will hunt the surrounding sea. But soon they will leave us. Then they will have all the food they could possibly need.” Serena turned back to look up at her creations. “Protect,” she said simply.
The thousands of dark beings flew upward to start patrolling the skies over the island and the sea. As they went, their undersides perfectly matched the night-so much so that in mere moments, they had disappeared from view. Einar suddenly recognized that the small specks of white on their underbellies had been simulated stars. Mightily impressed, he shook his head.
“Will they be so well hidden during the day?” he asked.
Serena nodded. “Their topsides will take on the appearance of the sea, the ground, or the fortress,” she answered, “depending on the terrain over which they fly. Their underbellies will take on the sky’s ever-changing look, be it day or night.”
Einar looked up again. Although he knew that they were up there, the envelopers were nowhere to be seen. He had to admit that he felt safer, knowing that they were overhead. A quick smile graced his lips. Should theJin’Sai ’s forces approach, they would never see the monsters until it was too late.
“All of the envelopers will accompany you on your journey,” Serena said. “When added to the creatures already awaiting you, your work will be well protected.”
Her words stunned Einar. “But mistress!” he protested. “Who will protect you from the Conclave’s forces, should they attack the Citadel?”
“Your loyalty to me is admirable, but do not fret,” she answered. “The Heretics have plans to grant me another form of protection. You will also take the Vagaries scroll with you. Your destination is the last place on earth that the Conclave will think of searching for it. To them, it will be hiding in plain sight, as it were.” She turned away from her lead consul and looked out over the sea.
“I am tired,” Serena said. “I will retire.”
Einar bowed. “Your Grace,” he said reverently.
After nodding to him, Serena levitated from the guard path, her gown billowing as she went. Einar watched her land on the inner ward, then walk away.
Looking up again, Einar used the craft to augment his eyesight, trying to find the envelopers. He stood there for another full hour, dutifully searching the skies.
He never found one.
CHAPTER X
“ARE YOU READY TO SEE THEM?” LOTHAR ASKED. “BECAUSEthey are so choice, at first I considered keeping one or two for myself. Especially the one called Mallory. They’re all a bit dirty and thin, but that can be easily rectified. I’d bet that they’re all virgins-yet another selling point. Before we talk price, you can check if you want. I’m sure the guards would be happy to help.”
Lothar confidently put his feet up on his desk. His highly polished shoes shone in the candlelight. Then he took the cigar from his mouth and blew softly on its lighted end. Tobacco bits clung to his fat lips, adding to the gluttonous impression.
The woman sitting across from him was trying to remain nonchalant. But she knew that Lothar was in the catbird seat. She hated the fat jailor, but her brothel in Bargainers’ Square needed fresh replacements. Unless she got them, she would soon be out of business altogether. Her remaining girls would have no place to go, and for that she would be sorry.
Worse, Lothar understood her plight. He was a regular visitor to her house of ill repute. He knew how few girls remained because of attrition from the orb, and that she had lost many customers. In turn, she knew his price would be even higher than usual. Even so, she refused to be bullied.
“I might not want all eight,” she countered. “It will depend on their ages, general appearance, and how outrageous your price is.”
Smiling, Lothar reached out to pour two glasses of wine. Just then they heard a distant scream filter down the hall and through the office doorway.
Soon begging and sobbing started, their sounds so faint that neither she nor Lothar could tell what the victim was pleading for. Then they heard a harsh slap. Things went quiet again. The woman across the desk looked hard into Lothar’s face.
“That had best not be coming from one of my prospective purchases,” she said skeptically. “Are you sure that your guards aren’t taking liberties?”
“Quite sure,” Lothar answered. “But they are interrogating a lady debtor who refuses to give up the last name of her family’s opposite side. She’s rather attractive, as it happens. Anyway, once we have the name, only then may the guards use her as a pastime. My rules about such things are specific. Any guard who breaks them is subject to death. But they also need to feed the inner man occasionally. You of all people should know that a slice off a cut loaf is never missed, eh?” Taking a sip of wine, he smiled at her like he commanded the entire world.
Ignoring her wine, Mary of the House of Broderick glared back at Lothar with hatred. She was a madam-that much was true. But she was no killer, torturer, or extortionist. Unfortunate conditions dictated that she must do business with him, so she would.
If there was such a thing as a madam with a conscience, it was Mary. Sold by uncaring parents into the trade at the tender age of twelve, over the years she had learned firsthand how to run a prosperous bordello. But even when times were good, it was a closely run thing. Her personal turning point had come six years ago, after being cruelly abused by a customer.
As she lay in bed fighting for her young life, the doctor summoned to her side had told her that although she would live, she would never bear children. Her madam had taken pity on her. She allowed her to stop servicing clients and took her under her wing, teaching her the trade firsthand.
Mary had sworn a solemn vow right there and then. Whenher girls had earned enough to pay off the price of their purchase, they could leave freely. Years later in her own establishment, some of her girls chose to leave, and some did not. But no matter their preference, she was always fair with them. In her own strange way she loved them like they were the children she’d never had.
She could have gotten her girls directly from the street, as did her competitors. But she knew how badly Lothar’s prisoners were
treated. She wanted to help as many as she could, before they met even crueler fates at his hands. So she did business with the greasy jailor, despite how much she loathed him. His high prices cut deeply into her profits, but it was worth it.
At forty Seasons of New Life Mary was still a handsome woman, even though her previous years in the trade had stolen the bloom from her cheeks. Dark red ringlets fell to her shoulders. A stylish hat sat cocked to one side atop her head, its diaphanous veil hanging down before her face. Wishing to keep as much of her anonymity as possible, she wore it every time she visited here. Her conservatively tailored dress and equally fashionable shoes made her look more like the wife of some respected burgher or barrister than a bordello proprietor. She liked it that way.
Lothar took another sip of wine. Bluish cigar smoke left his wide nostrils to drift toward the ceiling.
“Now then, do you want to see them or not?” he asked.
Always wary where Lothar was concerned, Mary thought for a moment. “Eight girls taken in one fell swoop?” she asked. “Who are they? Where do they come from?”
Lothar scowled. He had had enough of this choosy, retired whore.
“Since when do you care about pedigrees?” he shot back. “You’re not running a charm school! Sometimes I believe you’re going soft! I don’t know who they are, and I don’t care! Stop wasting my time! Do you want to see them, or do I contact your competitors?”
Knowing she had no cards left to play, Mary nodded.
“Good,” Lothar said. “Let’s go.”
Swinging his feet off the desk, he stood. Mary retrieved her heavy purse from the floor. The kisa inside it jangled together enticingly. Mary winced. The fat jailor smiled.
Lothar escorted her to the doorway. Mary squared her shoulders and started following him down the dark hallway. She had taken this walk before, and always for the same reason.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to prepare herself for the kinds of things she would encounter along the way.
From her place near the cell’s far wall, Mallory looked down at the empty dishes. Although the food and water had been evenly divided, there had been very little for any of them individually. The bowls had all been licked clean; not a drop of water remained. If their sustenance didn’t improve, what magical powers they had remaining would soon be gone.
She suddenly winced as the pain came again-sharp, stabbing, humiliating. She still hurt in secret places where the guard had probed her. Even so, her exhaustion was so great that it easily rivaled her discomfort. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the dank wall.
She suspected that the hour was late, but there was no way to be sure. All the girls other than she and Ariana were huddled together in one of the cell’s corners, fast asleep. A brutish guard paced back and forth on the other side of the barred door. Other than his footsteps and the squeaking rats, this part of the prison was quiet.
Mallory trudged across the room to join Ariana. Her friend was again sitting on her knees, staring at the latest symbols and numbers she had scrawled across the wall. The piece of charcoal she held had become much smaller, prompting Mallory to wonder what they would do when it was gone. She gently placed one hand atop Ariana’s shoulder. Ariana turned her dirty face up to her.
“How goes it?” Mallory whispered.
Sighing, Ariana ran one forearm across her brow. “Don’t get too excited,” she warned, “but I may have it.”
Mallory eagerly went to her knees to look at Ariana’s calculations. Then she groaned inside when she saw that the tightly spaced numbers and symbols stretched for more than three feet.
“Can it be shortened?” she asked.
Unsure of her answer, Ariana pushed her tongue against one cheek. “Perhaps,” she answered. “But I’m not the one to do it. Only a fully realized wizard or sorceress could shortcut this mess. For our use, I’m afraid it must stand as is.”
Mallory understood Ariana’s concern. In order to master a spell, one had to commit the formula to memory until recalling it was second nature, and then activate it in a split second. Ariana’s work would be difficult for Mallory to absorb, and time was running out. The other way to perform a spell was to recite the formula verbatim, in the form of an incantation.
Hearing footsteps, Mallory looked to the door. The guard passed by without looking in. She turned back to Ariana.
“Have you tested it?” she asked.
Ariana shook her head. “No,” she answered flatly. “I didn’t dare.”
“Why not?”
“The other girls’ gifts aren’t as strong as ours,” Ariana said. “You and I are the only two who might succeed. Either of us will only have enough strength for a single try. After that we may never have enough power again.”
“Worse yet is the sound it is sure to produce, should it work,” Ariana went on. “This place is very old. Everything is covered in rust and grime. If I were to test it just as the guard happened by-well, you get the picture.”
Sadly, Mallory had to agree. “What do you suggest?” she asked.
Ariana thought for a moment. “We should reverse roles,” she said.
Mallory looked surprised. “Why?” she asked.
“I am the one who wrote the spell, not you. I know it better. If it works for me, then you can perform the part I was to do and entice the guard. I know it’s not what we agreed on, but it seems the only way.”
For several long moments, Mallory considered Ariana’s suggestion. “Do you think you can do it?” she asked.
Ariana sighed. “There’s only one way to find out. But I can summon only enough energy to try once, so I’ll do it by incantation rather than memory. That way has the greatest chance of success.”
Ariana thought about what was at stake, then looked Mallory in the eyes. “You’re our leader,” she whispered. “What do you want me to do?”
A concerned look came over Mallory’s face. She stared back at the other girls. All six were fast asleep. Even Magdalene, their resident troublemaker, was out. Mallory looked back at Ariana.
“If there was ever a time to try, it’s now,” she whispered. “The girls are all asleep, so they won’t react and make any noise. If you succeed, we’ll wake them. If you fail, they don’t have to know.”
Standing, Mallory looked to the door. “Wait for my signal,” she said. “It will come when the guard is farthest away.” Ariana nodded her understanding.
“Good luck,” Mallory said.
“And you,” Ariana answered back.
Mallory waited until the guard passed by again, then she quickly tiptoed to the door. Placing her face against the dirty bars, she watched him walk away for as long as she could. When she lost the angle on him and he slipped from view, she waved one hand. Concentrating with all her might, Ariana started whispering her calculations. Remembering what Master Duncan had so often told her, when she reached the end of the formula she closed her eyes, then envisioned what she wanted to happen. With her heart in her throat, she cocked her head to listen.
Squeaking as they went, the rusty tumblers in the door’s lock started to turn over.
Knowing that the spell was only halfway finished, Ariana held her breath. Eutracian locks always turned over at least twice before they released. She winced as she heard the tumblers scrape again, even louder this time. In the quiet of the prison, they seemed deafening. Terrified, Ariana shot a glance at Mallory.
Mallory heard the guard’s footsteps abruptly stop for a moment, then start again. They came faster now, growing louder with every step.
Racking her brain, she hurried to the rear wall, then grabbed up the tin pot in which the gruel had been served. Putting a vacuous look on her face, she started absentmindedly scratching the pot against the wall, as if the relentless boredom had finally overcome her and she needed to do something, anything, to alleviate it. The scratching didn’t sound altogether like the rusty tumblers, but it was all she could think of.
As the curious guard stopped before their door
, Mallory kept on with her mindless scraping. Out of the corner of one eye she saw him grab the door bars, then peer in as he searched the cell. Ariana kept her face to the wall. Mallory held her breath.
The guard finally sneered at Mallory’s foolishness. After what seemed an eternity, he let go of the door. Mallory blessed the rusty hinges that had kept it from shifting at his touch. Saying nothing, the guard turned, then continued his patrol.
Wide-eyed, Ariana looked at her. Mallory let go a sigh of relief.
It was time to wake the others. They hadn’t a moment to lose.
Mary’s dread grew as she followed Lothar down the torch-lit hallways. Today’s walk was in an unfamiliar direction. She had never visited this part of the prison before.
The dingy cells along the way held prisoners of both sexes. Some had been imprisoned for so long that their clothes were mere tatters and their bodies had wasted away to slumping sacks of bones. Mary lowered her head as she tried to ignore the pervasive stench of human waste.
Many of these wretched souls had gone mad. Some pointed, laughed, or howled insanely as Lothar and Mary walked by. Others, their eyes wide with terror and hopelessness, lunged at the bars. Still others sat huddled in their cell’s corners, babbling incoherently. Signs of physical torture showed plainly on their bodies.
Mary was comforted to know that her two most trusted girls back at the bordello knew where she was, in case Lothar tried something unexpected. That was always the case when she visited here. Even so, as she traveled deeper into this wretched place, she became more frightened.
Her mouth suddenly dry, Mary clutched her purse so tightly that her knuckles went white. She was about to tell Lothar that she wanted to go back when he stopped before a wooden door at the end of the hall. It was made of massive oak planks and was fortified with iron cross braces.
Lothar dropped his cigar and crushed it beneath one shoe. He smiled.
“Just a little farther,” he said. “I promise the trip will be worth it.”
He produced a brass key from his vest pocket and shoved it into the door’s keyhole, then turned it over.
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