“Then stop wasting it.”
She went straight for the portrait on the far side of the wall, taking it down to reveal a lockbox embedded in the wall.
“You seem to know what you’re going for,” Asti said. He went through the drawers of the desk. Account books, ledgers. He started pulling them out.
“I had something of a plan, yes,” she said.
“I’m certain,” he said. “I’m still waiting.”
She started working on the lockbox. “Waiting for what?”
“The drop of the feather, as it were.”
She chuckled. “Ah. Right, of course. Waiting for the sudden, inevitable betrayal.”
Thumbing through the ledgers—a lot of information on accounts and finances. Nothing that specifically said Andrendon, not that he saw. He took off his suit coat and removed the knapsack that was hidden underneath. He put the paperwork in it and kept digging through the drawers.
“You’re not looking for money,” she said.
“Sure I am.”
“Someone looking for money would be far more interested in this lockbox.”
“And someone looking for information of collusion or treason would be interested in these ledgers and journals.” Asti put a journal and more papers in the sack. No need to look right now—take it all, get away, sort through it later. Saint Senea, watching over the Righteous Outlaws, would hopefully guide him to what he needed. The rest of the saints could fret over the absolute mess they had made. There was nothing subtle or quiet about this gig. They might still get away with a strong lead and no direct chase, but there was no chance that Henterman wouldn’t know what happened tonight.
“Just once,” Dad would say back in the day, “I want a gig where you slip in, steal something, and your marks don’t know anything happened for months.”
Tonight was not that night.
“That depends on the nature of the treason, my dear,” Liora said. With a flick of her wrist, she opened up the lockbox. “I still have the touch.”
The lockbox revealed a tiny, ugly statue—green jade with six arms.
“The blazes is that?” Asti asked.
She gingerly removed it from the box. “I’m given to understand it’s an sacred idol to a forbidden religion.”
“It’s a tazendifol.”
Asti looked up to see Lord Henterman standing in the doorway, at least half a dozen armed men behind him.
“Nathan,” Liora said sweetly. “You’re supposed to be playing your hiding game.”
“Yes, of course. I had hoped, ever so hoped, that my instincts were wrong. But as soon as he arrived, I knew you were some kind of charlatan.” He looked over to Asti. “So, you’re the, what . . . lover? You’re certain not a cousin, with the looks you were giving her earlier. Not even in the northern archduchies.”
“An old friend is all,” Asti said. He slid the last journal into the knapsack.
“Why don’t you both put everything down,” Henterman said. “And then these boys will see you out.”
“Nathaniel,” Liora said in her sweetest honey tone. She moved closer without getting herself in arm’s reach of him. “I know you’re probably cross, but I can explain everything to you. This man—this man here has blackmailed me to help him.”
“Really?” Henterman asked. “How did he?”
“Saints, Nathan, use your eyes. You don’t even recognize the handyman who tried to kill me the other day?”
“What?” He moved a bit closer to Asti. “Hands away from the desk and that sack, hmm? And what is that stench?”
Asti raised his hands up. A scent to make the saints cry had hit the room. That meant at least one thing was probably going to plan. He just had to buy some time. “How about you get your hands away from the west side, huh?”
“West side of what?” Henterman asked. He peered closely. “Well, I’ll be damned and blazed. You do look like that Crile fellow.”
“The West side of Maradaine, you clod,” Asti said. “The Andrendon Project?”
Henterman just gave him a blank look.
Now Asti wanted to kill him. “The Creston Group? You and your cronies buying up land in North Seleth, murdering people for it!”
“I—what?” He looked back at Liora. “You’re telling me he ensorcelled you, when he’s clearly quite addled in the skull.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” Asti said.
“I have no idea what you’re on about. I do know that you will leave the idol and the papers alone, and these men will then thrash you quite liberally. Perhaps you’ll live.”
A bird cry pierced the air outside the window. That was all Asti needed. He grabbed the knapsack and hurled it at the glass. It shattered the window, falling to the ground below.
“Now, that was silly,” Henterman said. “We’ll just go fetch it. After the thrashing.”
He snapped his fingers, and four of the men moved in on Liora, grabbing her wrists. She didn’t make any attempt to resist immediately.
“Come on, lad,” Henterman said to Asti as the other men started moving around the desk. “You’re stuck in here with at least eight of us. You’ve hardly a chance.”
“I kind of like those odds,” Asti said, pulling out two knives. These guards didn’t worry him. Even the beast wasn’t pulling at the chain right now. “Let me show you something about thrashing.”
Liora spun, and pulled the two men holding her wrists into each other. As soon as they collided, they let go of her, and she bounded onto the desk and grabbed the rope. Asti took the cue from her and jumped up to the rope as well.
“Get them!” Henterman shouted.
She and Asti were back up through the hole in the ceiling before anyone could even grab them, and moving back through the crawlspace.
“Was this your plan?” Asti asked her.
“Not entirely—I was hoping to have a few more minutes to get some distance, but we’ll make do.”
They emerged from the trapdoor into the wardrobe. They could hear plenty of shouting—Henterman’s guards were coming up, as well as Henterman giving instructions to go up to the Lady’s quarters.
“All this for a silly idol,” he muttered. “I hope that’s the proof you need.”
“It’s definitely what I need,” she said, admiring the ugly thing for a moment. She went over to her rack of clothing and pulled out a satchel. She was the very image of complete calm, despite the urgency of the situation.
“Well, what do you suggest now?” Asti asked. He had hoped for something better than “fight their way out”.
“Now?” She looked up at him, absolutely no tension or stress in her body at all. She gave a slight smile and said, “I’m going to leave, and you’re going to cover my escape.”
“Why the blazes do you think that?” he shouted. He didn’t understand why Liora was standing there so calmly. Then she looked over at him, her cool, gray eyes locking onto his.
“Asti,” she said in a clear, sedate voice. “Nine. Saint Crellick. Nine. Serve the Brotherhood.”
And then, in an instant, the beast awoke, and the chain was gone.
Everything went red.
Chapter 27
IN THE COVER OF darkness, Verci and Almer had slipped around the grounds—or as much as Verci could “slip” anywhere with a cane and a braced foot—to the study window, while Pilsen stayed with the carriages. There were several other drivers from other nobles, and a handful of armed grounds men there. Normally they would have had a sharp eye all over the grounds, but Pilsen was engaging them with an epic, fascinating tale of daring and adventure that kept their attention. There was even a song.
“That’s the window,” Verci said as they approached.
“And that is definitely bileworth,” Almer said, looking at the plants growing up the side of the wall.
“And you have an idea for that?”<
br />
Almer reached into his satchel and pulled out the deadhand device Verci had given him for the meeting with Liora. “This thing of yours is pretty blazing clever,” he said, pouring a couple of liquids in the top of it. “I’ve got a dozen different ideas how to use it. Some of them even properly medicinal.” He pushed it toward the wall and pulled Verci back.
“Now?” Verci asked.
Pilsen handed a kerchief to Verci. “Try not to breathe anything for a minute.”
Thick yellow smoke poured out of the device, hiding the wall—and the bileworth—from sight completely for a moment. The smell of it hit Verci like a punch in the gut, and before he could cover his face with the kerchief, there was a second wave of newer, viler stench.
“What is that?” he asked Almer, holding in the contents of his stomach by pure force of will.
Almer was holding a scarf over his face. “That’s a pretty toxic smoke, is what it is. And when it hit the bileworth . . . woo.” He started hacking up a storm, pulling Verci a few more steps back as he did. As his coughing subsided he added, “I wasn’t quite prepared for that.”
“There’s no way this isn’t noticed inside the household,” Verci said. His eyes were starting to burn as well, so he took a set of goggles out of his pouch and put them on. He had brought them in case circumstances forced him to swim in the lake—unlikely, but he preferred to be prepared. He was certainly glad he had them now.
“Is this why you say a gig is ‘skunked’?”
“I will hurt you, Almer.”
The smoke started to fade away and drift off toward the tiny lake in the center of the houses. The bileworth had blackened, turning into shriveled strands of nothing.
“I’m just saying, I’ve been subjected to all sorts of horrible smells since working with you boys.”
“Which you’re the source of half the time,” Verci said. The path to the window above was clear, and there were a few lamplights shining. “Let’s see if this works.”
He reached into his satchel and pulled out the modified crossbow he had made, with a grappling claw and pulley at the front of its shot. He aimed it at the eave above the window and fired it.
The claw latched on. Verci tested the hold—strong enough to take his weight—tied on one end of the rope around his belt. “You can manage on your own if there’s trouble?” he asked Almer.
Almer pulled a bunch of vials out of his own pack. “I throw these and run like a sinner. And you’re on your own if I have to.”
“Fair enough,” Verci said. He strapped his cane to his back and started the climb—his broken foot screaming at him. If it wasn’t for that, he probably could manage without the rope. At least he had the option to balance out his shortcoming with his gear. He just wished he didn’t have to do this with additional difficulty.
“Wasn’t there a signal?” Almer whispered from below.
Right. He needed to let Asti know he was getting in position. He made the bird call and kept climbing.
Just before he reached the window, something came smashing out of it, plummeting to the ground below.
Verci’s heart stopped cold for a minute, looking down to Almer. Bit too dark to see clearly what it was.
“What the blazes?” he whispered down to Almer.
“It’s Asti’s pack!”
“Just the pack?”
“Loaded with papers.”
Verci made a quick assessment. Asti wouldn’t do that unless there was trouble—the kind of trouble that meant getting the papers out of the place was more important than getting himself out. Which probably meant he needed rescuing.
“Take it and run if I’m not back in two clicks,” Verci said.
Verci pulled himself up to the window—just in time to see Asti’s feet slip through a hole in the ceiling, and a few of Henterman’s guards start to climb up the rope behind him. A decked-out swell—surely, Henterman himself—shouted some orders to his men, who ran out of the room.
Henterman stalked over to an open lockbox in the far wall. He scowled at the empty box, and slammed it shut.
Asti was up a level, and he needed help. Verci climbed up to the next window.
This was a grand bay window—a huge amount of glass, giving Verci a glorious view of the wardrobe and bedroom of Lady Henterman.
At least three guards were dead on the floor, and Asti was in a mad, furious fight with five more who had come into the bedroom. He was—Verci had never seen anything like it. He had never seen a man fight like that, not even Asti. Every move was perfect, like a dance where only Asti knew the steps, and everyone else was struggling to keep death at bay.
Everyone but Liora, who was sitting calmly on the bed, changing her shoes.
Asti killed two more guards, nothing but empty rage in his eyes. Liora calmly stood up, taking a bag with her.
Verci didn’t know what was wrong with Asti, but he was sure it involved this horrible woman.
He pulled himself up a bit higher, pulled out his walking stick and smashed the window.
That, at least, startled her.
“Oh, the brother,” she said. “I should have expected.”
Verci bounded into the room, landing on only his good foot. “The blazes is this?”
“This? This is me leaving.” She gave the hole in the window an intrigued regard. “You’ve given me a new option, though.”
“Asti, what’s going on?”
Asti gave no indication that he heard Verci, instead continuing on with the business of murdering guards.
“Work it out yourself, Verci dear. I’ll be off.”
She went to the window. Verci brought his walking stick into her chest. She caught it with one hand with an almost callous disregard.
“You’re not leaving,” he said.
“This is dreadfully boring,” she said. Turning to Asti she said, “Kill him, Asti.”
Asti had just gutted the last guard present, and without missing a beat, he leaped onto Verci with both knives. Verci barely had time to get the cane up to block Asti. The pure force of the savage attack sent Verci to the floor, where he struggled to hold back the knives.
“It’s been a pleasure, gentlemen,” Liora said, going out the window.
“Asti,” Verci hissed out. “It’s me.”
Asti paid him no mind, his eyes were empty. Instead he kept trying to bring the knives down into Verci’s chest. Verci held him off for a moment, but he couldn’t keep it up too long.
“I don’t want to—” was all Verci said before one slash sliced his arm. He cried out, and instinctively brought the stick up into Asti’s jaw. That gave Verci the opportunity to push him off and roll up onto his feet. His broken foot screamed out, and Verci felt one of the springs on the brace snap. He couldn’t put any weight on it now, and balanced on just the good foot.
Asti came back at him, furiously, with his knives. This time, Verci stayed on the ready, blocking the attacks with the cane.
“Wake the blazes up, Asti,” Verci shouted.
Asti gave no sign of awareness—it was like he had become a mindless machine, his brain a gearbox that was just winding through its cycle. And that cycle was bringing the knives closer to Verci’s throat, and he wasn’t fast enough to hold Asti off for much longer. He certainly couldn’t run.
He could release the spring knife on the cane. That and a quick twist would drive it into Asti’s neck. That would end it quick.
Even with the cold steel of Asti’s knives bearing down on him, staring at his brother’s empty, soulless eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to do that.
“Look at me, brother,” he pleaded.
“You aren’t going anywhere, Anaphide, or whatever your name is.” A man in a bright red suit—presumably Lord Henterman—came striding into the room, but the look on his face showed that he expected to see a completely different
scene than several guards dead on the floor.
Asti suddenly broke his attack on Verci and launched at Lord Henterman. The nobleman didn’t have a chance to react before Asti was on him, the knife just half an inch from his throat.
And then something in Asti snapped. In a moment, he went from an empty stare to a frightened animal. Hands shaking, he stepped away from Henterman, staring back and forth between him and Verci. Panic and fear in his eyes, Asti dove out the window.
“What—what the blazes is happening?” Henterman bellowed.
Verci couldn’t run, and he probably couldn’t fight. Only one option left.
“Lord Henterman, sir,” Verci said, bowing his head as he regained his composure. “Captain Krennick Trent, Druth Intelligence.”
“What?” Henterman stared about in disbelief. “Why . . . how?”
“I deeply apologize, my Lord,” Verci said. “I had tracked a pair of rogue agents engaged in an infiltration of you and your home. I had hoped to extract them without incident, but. . . .”
“But clearly that failed, Mister Trent!” Henterman snapped at him, gesturing at the dead guards. “We are quite neck deep in ‘incident’!”
“Indeed we are, my Lord,” Verci said, limping over to the man. That required no show. His foot was in agony, and the rest of his body was no better. “Especially since one of these rogue agents was your wife.”
“My—she was—”
“She was—had been, rather—one of ours. Liora Rand, now disavowed. I’m afraid I’m not cleared to tell you more than that right now.” Verci was glad he could wrap this con up in some truth. “That other man was her former partner in the service.”
“Ha!” Henterman shook his head and went to sit in a chair. “You know, I had . . . do not think me a bag of rocks, Captain. I knew something was not quite right with my wife, that she wasn’t what she said she was. And that ‘cousin’ of hers! But I can’t imagine!” He sputtered a bit more.
“I understand, sir.”
“The sister!” Henterman shouted, jumping to his feet. “She must have been in on it as well!” He charged off. Verci struggled to keep up. If Helene was still in the house—and Verci had no reason to suspect she wasn’t—it was going to be challenging to get her out safely. And given how badly things were going, Verci was not about to abandon anyone.
Lady Henterman's Wardrobe Page 33
