Dianthe’s brow furrowed. “What—”
Sienne used her invisible fingers to open her book to castle and backed away until she was in the hallway next to the safe. Swiftly she read off the summoning, swallowing more blood, until she felt the welcome jerk and pull of the spell, the dizzying drop, and blinked to find herself on the floor behind Samretto. Instantly she willed her book open to change. She was going to keep trying until it worked, damn it. “The safe!” she shouted at Dianthe, and began reading the spell.
Samretto cursed and gestured. Alaric flew toward the ceiling, flailing for balance. Then Kalanath was there, his staff spinning. “You will not win,” he said, “and I am sorry I ever felt compassion for you.”
“I liked you,” Samretto said. “I’m sorry to have to kill you.”
Kalanath whipped his staff around to catch Samretto under the chin, knocking him backward into Sienne, who lost control of change and had to scramble away one-handed to avoid his grasp. Kalanath pressed the attack, slamming into Samretto’s borrowed body again and again. It didn’t seem to hurt him, but Alaric dropped, landing more heavily than Kalanath had. Samretto snarled and gestured again, and Kalanath went flying, but Alaric was there, laying into him with his huge fists. Sienne scooted away farther and tried change again. They just had to keep him occupied—and pray he didn’t have so many precious possessions he had more than one secret place to hide them.
“Back away!” Perrin shouted, and Alaric flung himself backward just as a pearly gray shield sprang up around Samretto. Mariane’s body looked horribly beaten, and black blood poured from a wound low on her back, but it moved as smoothly as ever. Samretto threw himself at the shield, pounding on it once, then stepped back and summoned fire—not on the shield, but on Alaric and Perrin.
Sienne screamed and summoned the largest mass of water she could, which wasn’t enough. She did it again as the two men fell and rolled on the floor, trying to put out the fire. Sienne could hear Samretto laughing, not the horrible titter but something deep and sinister. She wished she could set him on fire, but the shield protected him, something she cursed Perrin for even as she knew it was the smartest thing he could have done.
Then Samretto’s eye fell on her, and suddenly the air was full of fire, and she incautiously gasped in surprise and sucked in a lungful of fire. She dropped and beat at herself with her good hand, trying not to scream. The fire, and her broken arm, hurt too badly for her to summon water. Then there were other hands, and someone threw a rug—the horrible smelly rug—over her, smothering the flames. She gasped, and tears came to her eyes from the pain, but the fire was out.
“I’ve got it!” Dianthe shouted. Sienne sat up in time to see her rush into the room, holding a prism made of bone and black glass that gleamed in the brilliant light from the lanterns and the fire. Something swept her off her feet, flinging her at the ceiling, but she flung the thing hard at the floor. It bounced.
All four of them dove for it, with Kalanath getting there first. “Break it, Sienne!” he shouted, tossing it toward her. It stopped midair, changing direction to fly toward the shield, and Sienne snatched up her spellbook and let the syllables of break roll off her tongue, sweet and oh so slow.
The shield popped. Samretto held up his hand to catch the reliquary. Alaric threw himself at the lich, bearing him down and making him miss his catch. The reliquary struck the far wall, bounced again, and rolled toward the fire. Samretto screamed and gestured just as the final syllables of break shot away from Sienne.
The spell struck the reliquary. The bone cracked all along one of the prism’s long sides. Samretto screamed again, a high, shrill sound that went on far longer than human lungs could sustain. Black mist poured from Mariane’s abused lips once more, filling the air and then dissipating into nothing. Mariane’s body sagged under Alaric, and he rose, stepping away from her with alacrity. He was breathing heavily. Sienne dropped her spellbook and closed her eyes.
“Is it over?” Dianthe asked.
“It’s over,” Alaric said.
“No, it isn’t,” Sienne said. “We don’t have the book.” She incautiously tried to pick up her spellbook with her right hand and hissed with pain, closing her eyes.
“Hold still,” Perrin said, kneeling beside her and resting one hand on her arm above the break. He muttered an invocation, and green light played along Sienne’s forearm, filling the air with the scent of jasmine and mint. Sienne took a deep breath and flexed her arm. It was the only part of her that didn’t hurt.
“Are you well, Sienne?” Alaric asked. When she nodded, he said, “We have to get out of here. It’s not going to look good if anyone finds us here, with Samretto vanished and Mariane very dead.”
“But we need the book.”
“Then let’s split up and search.” Alaric went back to the bookcases to resume his search. “Unless it was in with the reliquary.”
“There was just money in the safe,” Dianthe said. “We need his secret room, assuming—”
Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall, and Sienne turned in time to see a couple of armed women in the uniform of the Fiorettan city guard push through the broken door. “On the floor, all of you!” the heavier of the two shouted.
26
“This is a misunderstanding,” Perrin said, holding his hands up in a placating manner. “If you will allow us—”
“I said down!” the woman shouted, drawing her sword. “Invading this man’s home, stealing his goods—you think I won’t use this if you cross me?”
Sienne, who was still sitting, joined the others in lying face first on the floor. Now the awful rug smelled of fresh smoke and char as well as dust. One of the guards snatched her spellbook from around her shoulder, and she resisted the urge to protest, even though despair threatened to engulf her. Alaric was right that it looked bad. They needed someone who knew about the undead to prove they’d destroyed a lich, and the odds of these guards letting them contact anyone like that were low.
More footsteps sounded in the hall. “What happened here?” a man said. Not Denys Renaldi, thank all the avatars.
“They broke into this house and killed these people. Looks like they intended to rob the place, and the owners surprised them,” said their captor.
“That’s not true,” Alaric said.
“Shut up. You’ll have your chance to argue your case. Sir, did you see the safe?” The footsteps retreated.
“Sienne, quick, take the reliquary,” Alaric whispered. Sienne turned her head. The room was empty of guards. The reliquary lay about a foot from her face. She whisked it toward herself with her invisible fingers and tucked it into her belt pouch just as the footsteps returned. Someone leaned over her and fastened iron manacles on her wrists, binding her hands behind her.
“You’re not going to give us any trouble, are you, wizard?” the woman said.
Sienne shook her head. “We’re innocent,” she began, and the woman slapped her. Alaric growled a warning.
“So he’s sweet on you,” the woman said with a laugh. “Don’t worry, big fellow, we won’t hurt her. We’re not criminals like you lot.”
The woman hauled Sienne to her feet. Around her, more guards were doing the same for her friends. “Where are you taking us?” she asked.
“A nice little cell,” the woman said. “For now.”
Sienne let them march her out of Samretto’s house, which was surrounded by guards. She wondered if the enclave guards would still let the dogs loose if the city guard was roaming free. Probably not.
The guard station they were taken to was only half a mile from the enclave, but in a much more rundown area than Denys’s post. The guard post itself had a much seedier look to it, its gray brickwork crumbling and its front door sagging on leather hinges. Inside, the plaster walls were cracked, the paint peeling, and the front desk tilted as if two of its four legs were the wrong length. The woman at the desk regarded their little group with a complete lack of interest. “There’s only two cells free,�
� she said.
“They can share. They’re all such good friends,” the guard said with a sneer. “Downstairs, the lot of you.”
These cells looked much more like what Sienne had expected—cold, dank, dark, and rustling with some kind of verminous life. She made herself submit to being searched and her belt knife, boot knife, and pouch removed. She almost made a grab for the pouch, with its precious contents that were all the proof they had that their story was true, but remembered in time she didn’t want to draw attention to it. Then she shuffled into the cell with Dianthe and sat on the moldy bench as the guard locked the door on them.
Across the narrow corridor between the cells, Alaric gripped the bars as if he wished he could throttle them. “Is everyone all right?”
“I’m just fine, precious, thanks for caring,” a high pitched male voice said from the depths of the next cell over.
Alaric ignored him. “We’re probably here until morning, so let’s see if we can get some rest,” he said. “Tomorrow we’ll send to the temple of Kitane and see if we can’t get that divine, Octavian, to speak for us. He can testify that we were hunting a lich, and that we destroyed the reliquary.”
“Will that be enough?” Dianthe said.
“That, and the increased—”
“The ghoul presence in Fioretti will redouble,” Perrin said, overriding Alaric. “This will either be evidence in our behalf, or the guard will be too busy dealing with the renewed bounties to be overly concerned with our fate.”
“Shut up, people are trying to sleep,” a woman in the cell next to Sienne’s said.
“What if they won’t let us send a message?” Sienne asked.
“Then I will pray for a communication blessing that will allow me to speak with Octavian,” Perrin said. “Do not fear, Sienne, this is merely a temporary setback.”
“I said shut up!” the woman shouted.
Someone thundered down the stairs. “All of you, shut it or I’ll make you wish you’d never been born,” said the woman from the desk.
“Let me out and we will see who suffers,” Kalanath said, gripping the bars tight.
The woman looked him over. “You’re too skinny to be worth my time,” she said, and turned and went back up the stairs.
Kalanath blinked. “I have not been dismissed like that before,” he said. “It is strange.”
“Try to sleep,” Alaric said, clapping Kalanath on the shoulder. “I admit it seems unlikely.”
“I think there are roaches in here,” Sienne said, shuddering. “I’m afraid to touch anything. And this bench smells like old cheese.”
“It’s jail, Sienne,” Dianthe said. “It’s not supposed to be pleasant.” She sat on the floor with her back to the wall and tilted her head back, closing her eyes.
Sienne wormed her way around on the bench until she found a marginally less uncomfortable position. She curled up on her side and tucked her hands under her head for a pillow. Silence fell, broken only by the breathing of seven or eight people and the skittering of insect feet. It was not how she’d pictured her first night back in Fioretti. She’d hoped to spend it with Alaric. Now who knew how long it would be before they were free, before the ghoul problem was resolved—they would have to join in the hunt, not because of the bounty but because it was in one sense their fault—and before they found the book? If they even could. It was unlikely they’d be allowed to search Samretto’s things, even if they were exonerated of guilt in his death.
Dianthe let out a gentle snore. “Oh, for the love of Kitane, somebody muzzle her!” the irate woman exclaimed. Sienne grinned, and let the arrhythmic music of Dianthe’s snoring lull her exhausted body into sleep.
She came out of a dream of Alaric tickling her face with a feather to find the tickling was real. “Oh!” she exclaimed, sitting up fast and batting the roach away. “Oh, oh, that’s so disgusting!”
“They’re cleaner than we are,” said Sienne’s neighbor. Sunlight leaking through the narrow, barred window at the end of the row of cells revealed her to be a hard-lived middle age, her hair as messy as Sienne’s no doubt was and her face round and plump. She stood leaning against the bars as casually as if they were in the woman’s own home. “Cleaner, and more sociable.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Sienne said.
Dianthe came awake with a gasp, then shut her eyes as if even the wan light pained her. “Have they fed us yet? I don’t suppose there’s coffee.”
The woman laughed. “No coffee. You’ll have to do without.”
Dianthe groaned, prompting a stirring from the men’s side. “You have said the terrible word ‘no’ in conjunction with the blessed syllables of ‘coffee,’” Perrin groaned. “We cannot get out of here quickly enough.”
“Don’t get your hopes up, darling, the guards don’t care about the likes of us,” the thin man in the next cell said, rising and stretching like a cat. He had a silent cellmate, someone hulking and broad as Alaric, but a foot and a half shorter, making him look like an animate wall.
“I intended to wait to petition Averran until the day was rather more ripe than it currently is, but under the circumstances I hope he will understand my importunacy,” Perrin said. A confused frown crossed the face of the silent wall, as if he only understood half Perrin’s words.
Perrin sat cross-legged on the hard-packed earth of the floor and patted his vest. A look of chagrin touched his eyes. “They have taken my blessing papers.”
“Do they have to be rice paper? I have my notebook still,” Sienne said. “Though they took my pencil. I don’t know if they thought I might try to stab someone with it.”
“Averran once made footwear out of three lengths of canvas and a pair of forks,” Perrin said. “He understands improvisation.”
Sienne used her invisible fingers to send her palm-sized notebook across to Perrin, who tore a few pages out and ripped them into smaller squares. He settled them on his lap and closed his eyes, resting his hands loosely on his knees. “O great and crotchety Lord,” he said, “forgive the earliness of my appeal, for we are in need.”
“Is he a priest?” the woman exclaimed. Sienne shushed her, though she knew from experience Perrin could pray amid terrible distractions.
“We have performed a great service,” Perrin went on, “and have received what are traditionally the wages of a good deed, namely that it does not go unpunished. I must communicate—”
He broke off mid-sentence, and his tanned skin visibly flushed. “My Lord, are you laughing? I do not think—well, yes, I suppose it is somewhat humorous—actually, I have spent a most uncomfortable night without the promise of blissful coffee—” He went silent again, his lips pressed hard together. “Your mirth is less than salutary in these circumstances, o good and cantankerous Lord. Now, if you are quite finished—”
A sizzle of white smoke, a whiff of jasmine and mint, and Perrin opened his eyes. “He thought the entire adventure hilarious,” he muttered. “Sometimes I do not understand the divine mind.” He sorted through the papers on his lap. “Here, this one will allow me to communicate with one person. I hope the divine is willing to help us.”
Footsteps sounded on the stairs. “Breakfast,” said an older man in a guard’s uniform who bore a tray laden with bowls. He was followed by a younger man twirling a ring of keys on his finger. “Back away from the doors.”
Sienne obediently backed up to the wall, but stopped short of leaning against it. Some of the stains looked fresh and oily. She waited for the guard to set two bowls of porridge inside the door and lock it again before moving forward. The porridge tasted as oily as the walls looked, but she ate it without complaint; her stomach felt ready to mutiny from hunger. She couldn’t remember when they’d last eaten—they hadn’t had an evening meal before confronting Mistress Murtaviti.
Alaric downed his food in silence, his grim expression the only sign that he hated it. Kalanath ate swiftly, then took hold of the upper bars of the cell and started a series of chin-ups.
Perrin eyed him skeptically. “Your commitment to your exercise regimen is laudable, but I do not think I could maintain it under these circumstances.”
“I am bored,” Kalanath said. “When I am bored, I fidget or I exercise.”
“Very well. I will attempt to make contact with Octavian.” Perrin once again settled himself on the floor, closed his eyes, and clasped his hands loosely in his lap. Sienne watched him. Nothing happened. Kalanath went to the bench and began doing push-ups.
The older guard came thundering down the stairs again. He opened the cell opposite Sienne’s and gestured to the thin man. “Pay your fine, and you’re free to go, Larussi,” he said. “As usual.”
“Are you arrested often?” Sienne asked, unable to stop herself.
“I’m a familiar face around here, precious,” Larussi said with a wink. His stolid cellmate didn’t react to his leaving, just sat and stared at Sienne. “Goodbye, all, and here’s hoping your fines aren’t too stiff.”
Perrin opened his eyes and let out a deep breath. “I have done all I can,” he said, “and now we must wait to see what will happen.”
“Did he say he would come?” Dianthe asked.
“I have no idea. I did not, as it were, pay for a response. The blessing was to send a message only. But I hope I piqued his interest.”
Kalanath stood and stretched. “If that means you make him want to know our story, then I hope so too.”
Alaric, who’d been uncharacteristically silent, turned and paced the confines of the cell. It didn’t allow him much room for pacing. “Samretto said he normally drugged his victims,” he said. “I wonder…”
“Wonder what?” Dianthe said. “You don’t think—isn’t it a bit of a coincidence if he’d stumbled on the potion we’re looking for?”
“No more than if he had the right book. We were looking for a potion that went with a binding ritual, right? Someone has to have the book, and there’s no reason it couldn’t be him.”
Mortal Rites Page 28
