“You are saying…my mother was pregnant? And you killed her?”
“Quite so,” Edgar said proudly.
There was a sudden thud of flesh on flesh. Bodies thrashed and furniture crashed against the wall. Sharpel shouted and Edgar swore. Marten said nothing. There were more sounds of fighting, the crack of wood snapping, tearing cloth, grunts, and growling. It sounded like a pack of dogs fighting. The door opened and Sharpel shouted for footmen. A heavy body crashed against the chaise Lucy was hiding behind, shoving it backward. She pressed herself into the corner. There were more thuds and then Lucy saw Marten’s face. It was bloody, his mouth stretched in a rictus of rage. He picked his brother up by the front of his coat and shoved him back so that he held Edgar pressed against the wall, his arm a strangling bar on his brother’s throat.
“You deserve to be flayed alive,” Marten muttered.
Edgar thrashed from side to side. His cheek was split open and one eye was swollen shut. His nose was unnaturally crooked and blood ran over his lips and chin to stain his cravat. Lucy stared, trapped. She had nowhere to hide.
Edgar’s head turned, avoiding the next blow. His gaze locked with hers. His mouth opened. Marten’s fist connected again and Edgar’s head snapped back. Just then, hands gripped Marten and dragged him away.
Turgid silence fell, broken only by the rasping breathing of the two brothers. Slowly Edgar slid down to sit panting on the chaise. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his mouth. After a few moments, he stood, staggering slightly.
“It appears I must thank you, brother. For if you hadn’t gone rabid, I never would have discovered Lucy Trenton, hiding right here behind the furniture.” He gestured at her.
She rose defiantly, her chin jutting, even as her legs shook like plucked harp strings. Marten swore, anchored in place by two burly footmen. She looked at him. His eyes were haunted.
“Shall I call the Shields, sir?” one of the footmen holding Marten asked, glaring balefully at Lucy.
“Not just now, Whit. I’ll not let the king sweep her out of sight before she answers some questions.”
Lucy shivered at the brutal promise in his eyes as he spoke. And from the shadow depths of nowhere, the Koreion returned.
Chapter 27
Edgar withdrew to clean himself up, after having one of the footmen remove Marten’s cutlass and setting another to guard Lucy. Sharpel lounged against the mantel, his hooded gaze fixed on her. She sat rigidly in the chair she’d been pushed into. The silence was thick. Suddenly Sharpel spoke.
“You missed your appointment.”
Lucy’s head jerked around. Her legs twitched in reaction to the sensation of frantic bugs crawling beneath her skin.
“So I did.”
“I did tell you things would go ill if you did not cooperate,” he said, absently stroking a finger over his earpiece.
“True. But then, you didn’t get what you wanted, did you? So I’d call it a draw.”
“It’s not I who’s bound for the Bramble, though I should be more afraid of Edgar, were I you.”
Lucy smiled with bravura. “I’m not afraid of him. As for the Bramble, you’ll find yourself there sooner or later. And I’ll be waiting for you. There’s not enough sylveth in the world to make me forget you.”
Sharpel chuckled. “Such a shame. I do regret that I could not have dipped my nib in your ink. I’ll bet you’re a screamer. And that mouth of yours. Mmm. Hot, sweet, and sharp. Delicious. You could make a man beg. Am I right?” he asked, turning to Marten.
The footmen clutched at Marten as he growled inarticulately and lunged.
“My, high-strung, isn’t he? But then, perhaps I’ve underestimated your charms, my dear. Have I abused you by offering too faint praise for your prowess?”
“Certainly you will never have the pleasure of knowing,” Lucy returned tartly.
“How disappointing. Still, there is time before the Bramble ship departs. Perhaps Edgar might let me borrow you for a few turns of the glass.”
Lucy thought of her cipher and grinned malevolently. “That would be delightful. I should enjoy being alone with you.”
“Then I shall arrange it. With proper restraints, of course. I believe Edgar has just what I’ll need.”
He smirked at Marten’s string of epithets and Lucy felt a twist of uncertainty in her gut.
“Perhaps then I can convince you to tell me where you hid my property.”
Lucy’s lips peeled back in a death’s-head grin. “I seem to have forgotten where I put it. My memory is so fickle, you know.”
“I’m sure I can help you remember,” Sharpel purred.
“Do you think so? You’ll have to pardon my doubts. You seem so utterly forgettable.”
Sharpel crossed the room, bending over her. His breath smelled of wine. He reached out, stroking a gentle finger over her cheek and down between her breasts. Lucy cringed from his chill touch.
“I’m confident I could prod your memory.”
“I should think prodding goats would be more your expertise.”
Marten chortled. Sharpel ignored him, lifting his hand and brushing his thumb over Lucy’s lips. She forced herself to remain still.
“Such a foul little mouth. I wonder what other sounds I can extract from it?” His hand dropped to cover her breast. He pinched her nipple, softly at first, then harder. “Tell me, my dear, wouldn’t you like me to make you scream?”
Lucy feigned a yawn, covering her mouth delicately. He continued his assault, watching her intently, his arched brows taunting.
“Get your stinking hands off her, you bung-holed bastard,” Marten said in a low, harsh voice, struggling against the footman who gripped his collar.
“Take him out of here,” Sharpel ordered.
The footmen dragged Marten out and Lucy was left alone with her blackmailer. He wasted no time, grabbing her hair in his fists, hooking his thumbs in her mouth, and forcing it open, thrusting his tongue inside. Lucy squirmed and kicked out, but he yanked her hair hard, shoving his knee into her stomach to immobilize her. His teeth cut her lips and tongue as he ground his mouth against hers.
At last he drew back, triumph lighting his blue eyes. “You suffer or die by my mercy. If you don’t tell me what I want to know, I’ll cut off your feet and your hands and rip out your tongue so that all you can do is lie there while I ride you. And when I’m done, I’ll let every man who wants it have a prod at you. No one will save you; you’ll be the perfect whore.”
“Go hull yourself,” Lucy said hoarsely, unable to keep the horror from her voice. “Besides, I’m not your prize, am I?
He broke into a smile and Lucy shivered at its brutality and malice.
“Don’t make the same mistake that Edgar has. It suits me to let him think he is in command of this scheme, but he has no more power in this than you do. I planted these seeds before I first saw you and it is almost time for my careful husbandry to come to fruition. You cannot stop it, and though Edgar will certainly try when he finally realizes what he’s become a part of, he will fail utterly. But I want that box back. And I want it now.”
Lucy snarled, struggling against his grip. “Don’t you mean you want the contracts? How could you betray us to the Jutras?”
If he was surprised that she knew of his real interest in the box, he didn’t show it. Instead he focused on her second question. “Betray us? My dear girl, I am Jutras.”
Every muscle in her body went slack, her mouth dropping open. “What?”
“You think you are safe on this island and you do nothing to understand your enemies. Such arrogance. But the Inland Sea cannot protect you forever, not even for another month.”
“What do you mean? How?”
“How? By force of majick—yours and ours.” He stroked his finger over the cipher on his ear.
“How can you be Jutras?”
“My parents were captured in the taking of Aderilias. But my people are neither arrogant nor stupid. We are streng
thened with each country we claim. We give our captives a choice—fight and become Jutras citizens, or become slaves. My parents became picrit—warrior caste.” He tapped his chest. “As am I. When I was born, I was given to the vendri, a superior shaghi within the picrit.”
At Lucy’s look of utter confusion, he clarified. “The picrit vendri are spies. My parents were picrit daelies, common foot soldiers.”
“You’re a spy for the Jutras,” Lucy repeated stupidly. She couldn’t get her mind around the idea. She had known someone was conspiring with the Jutras, but to have a spy living here for years, plotting. Not to mention a warship full of them in the middle of the city. “Gods help us,” she whispered, beginning to comprehend that this really was an invasion.
“Do you think they will answer? These gods of yours—Chayos, Meris, Hurn, and Braken?” He looked up as if waiting. Then shook his head, bending back down so that his face was even with Lucy’s.
“They do not care, I think. So I will ask one last time—where is my property?”
Lucy clenched her teeth. “Go hull yourself.”
He shook his head. “It will make no difference to what happens to Crosspointe, but I will keep my promise to you. Enjoy your hands and feet and tongue….”
He bent and mauled her mouth again. Lucy gagged at the choking force of it, waiting for the cipher to erupt. But it was entirely quiescent; only the dreadful sensation of insects squirming beneath her skin remained. But that was caused by his ciphers, not hers. He lifted his head at last, letting go of her hair and wiping his mouth with a handkerchief.
“As I said, enjoy them while you still can.”
Before Sharpel could say anything more, Edgar returned. He wore a different suit of clothing. His left eye was swollen purple, and his lips were pulpy. A streak of plaster on his right cheek closed the wound there, and his nose looked like a squashed sausage. When he spoke, his voice was nasal and thick.
His gaze settled on Lucy’s bruised and bleeding mouth, before he gave Sharpel an amused smile.
“Marten’s in a dither.”
“I told you he’s got his cock in a knot over her.”
Edgar shrugged. “I’ll cure him of that right now. Come with me.”
“He’s Jutras!” Lucy shouted before Sharpel could stop her.
Edgar turned around, frowning. “Who’s Jutras?”
“He is. Your partner. He’s plotting an invasion and using you to do it.”
“Is he, now? How…curious.” He turned to open the door.
“I have proof. A document, written in Jutras. He made me steal it from customs for him. It’s here.”
Lucy pulled the parchment from her shirtwaist and handed it to Edgar, looking triumphantly at Sharpel. The other man only yawned and examined a fingernail.
“Where did you get this?” Edgar demanded harshly.
“I told you—he blackmailed me into stealing it.”
“Did he really? Sharpel?” Edgar said, flicking an eyebrow up. “Do you care to respond to Miss Trenton’s accusation?”
“Not at all. Last-ditch effort to escape her fate, I presume. I do wonder about the document. What is it?”
“A contract. And oddly, Miss Trenton, it only confirms my worst fears about your family’s rule. It’s signed by the Dhucala himself and is meant for your cousin the king. It promises that Crosspointe will give Pilot compasses to the Jutras in exchange for peace. That vermin would have the run of the Inland Sea.” He looked up from reading the document. “Thank you, Miss Trenton. With this I shall destroy the Ramplings once and for all.”
He tucked it inside his vest coat and motioned the others to follow. Lucy wanted to throw up. What had she done?
It took both footmen to hold Marten when they emerged from the room and he saw Lucy’s face. He lunged at Sharpel, swearing loudly. The other man ignored him, pushing Lucy after Edgar.
They wound through the burrow of passages, ending up at another sitting room. This one contained plain furniture and few embellishments. The floor was covered in a woven mat, and the planked walls were bare except for displays of swords and armor.
The Pilot Idron was waiting inside. He set his drink aside and rose as the small group entered. He was shorter than Lucy, with close-cropped dark hair and beard. He wore a suit made of soft green dosken with a cambric shirt beneath the long, draping blue robe that most Pilots affected. It was plain except for the Pilot’s brooch at his throat, which matched the heavy ring on his right forefinger. But even had he been dressed as a dockhand without any of the jewelry of his position, his eyes would have given him away as a Pilot. The brown disks were fractured with jagged threads of black, crisscrossing like cracks in porcelain. A few wandered out into the whites of the eyes. He looked haughtily at Edgar, his fingers tapping in annoyance.
“Good evening, Pilot Idron,” Edgar said affably, making no effort to explain the wounds on his face, or the blood trickling down Lucy’s chin. “My apologies for making you wait. I’d like to introduce you to Master Merchant Sharpel. My brother and his friend are merely here to observe. Please ignore them.”
“Observe what?” Idron asked, not bothering to acknowledge Sharpel.
“Let me show you. I know you’ll be quite interested,” Edgar said, bustling across the room and ignoring the Pilot’s protests. He pressed his hand against the center of a plain panel and the wood slid silently back, revealing a room reminiscent of a theater. There were rows of yellow-covered seats set in a descending semicircle on wide stone steps. They stopped about halfway down behind a four-foot drop to the floor of what appeared to be a stage. It was painted black, as were the walls and ceiling. In the middle of the lowered stage was a large basin. It looked like an oversized teacup without a handle. The rim was three feet high and six feet across and it was covered in a black fabric.
Edgar led the way down the center aisle, stopping at the top of the steps leading down to the stage. “Pilot Idron and Master Sharpel, please sit down in the first row so that you might see. You two sit over here out of the way,” he said to Marten and Lucy, pointing to the other side of the room. The footmen pushed them over there and thrust them into seats.
“I’m so sorry,” Marten whispered, and earned a cuff on the side of his head.
Pilot Idron remained in the aisle while Sharpel sat down.
“Master Thorpe, I demand an explanation. You indicated in your missive that we were to discuss a matter of urgent importance to my family, did you not? I have no interest in your little theatrical productions.”
“Indeed, Pilot Idron. This is very much of importance to you, as will become clear shortly. Do sit. It will not take long”
The Pilot hesitated and then complied with a loud hmph! and a tossing of his robes.
“Very good. We are nearly ready, then. Just one or two more details…”
Edgar descended to the stage, crossing to the rear and disappearing behind the curtain. He was gone several minutes and by the time he returned, Idron was boiling in his seat. But Edgar’s appearance was enough to surprise everyone into silence. Lucy felt Marten tense. His brother was wearing the knacker clothing they’d worn during the sylveth spawn collection. He pushed a small trolley cart before him, the items on top covered by a black drape. He was followed by two more footmen, who climbed up to stand in the aisle beside the Pilot. A snake of foreboding coiled around Lucy’s throat. The wriggling mass inside her scrabbled harder. He’d brought powerful majick into the room. She twitched and jerked. A low moan escaped her lips.
“And now for our final guest.” Edgar turned and gestured. Two more black-clad men emerged holding the arms of a struggling young man. He was pale, with straight dark hair and wide, full lips. He was angular and clean-shaven, his nose prominent. He was probably twenty years old, Lucy guessed, holding her breath, though she wasn’t entirely sure why.
Pilot Idron lunged to his feet. “Daniel! What is going on, Thorpe? I demand you release him at once.”
Edgar’s voice inside his mask
sounded eerie. “Oh, no, Pilot Idron. We may have need of your lover’s company, depending on how cooperative you prove to be. And your wife. She is dining upstairs even now with your daughter. I would despise interrupting them, but of course, business can never wait for personal pleasure.”
Pilot Idron sputtered, trying to push down to the stage area. The waiting footmen grabbed his arms.
“Oh, no. It’s much too dangerous down here without protective gear,” Edgar admonished. “You are far too valuable to risk. Now then, you are in a hurry and so I will not delay any longer.” He whisked away the black cloth covering the cart. Lucy leaned forward. There was a cage containing a glossy black rat and a small bottle of something silvery. The bottle itself was made of sylveth. And inside…The foreboding circled tighter. She wrapped her arms hard around her stomach.
“He’s Pale-blasted,” Marten muttered. And then, “How is it possible that he brought raw sylveth into Crosspointe?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Lucy reached for his hand, holding tightly, her mind revolting against what was coming next. Edgar would not be so stupid, so cruel…. But even as she watched, Lucy learned hewould.
He lifted the gate of the cage, putting his black-gloved hand inside and grasping the rat by the scruff of the neck. Lucy heard the animal’s outraged screeches as it clawed with its hind legs, its long pink tail whipping wildly. Unperturbed, Edgar removed the stopper on the small bottle, lifting it into the air.
“I know that you have all seen the effects of sylveth. But I’d like the memory to be fresh. Pilot Idron and Marten, do pay close attention.”
Lucy’s fingers tightened on Marten’s. Edgar was mad.
He tipped the bottle so that a drop fell on the rat’s twisting head. The transformation began instantly. A ripple passed over the animal. Suddenly its fur glittered like splinters of steel. It shrieked, a long, hideous note. Then the sound changed, turning deep and bellowing. Another ripple passed across its body, and now it doubled in size. Edgar was having difficulty holding on to it. He dropped it into the basin, standing over it to watch. Lucy could see the animal as it convulsed. Its legs lengthened and developed a dozen joints each so that they moved like tentacles. They were tipped with two-pronged claws with curving pincers that clacked noisily. The rat rose up on its spider-tentacle legs, its face squashed flat against a hard, round body. A halo of stiff bristles stood out from plate bone armor like lethal dandelion fluff. Its eyes were the size of Lucy’s hands and had turned a dull orange. It turned, examining its watchers. Its lips pulled apart, revealing two rows of short jagged teeth that stretched half the length of its body. Pink seeped down the length of its spines, turning black at the roots.
The Cipher Page 32
