The beer seller had his own old mare, which he spoke to in consoling tones as he hitched the wagon.
Once the wagons moved, there would be no place to hide.
Blades sat down on the curb.
To the girl, Spicy asked, “Do you have to leave now?”
“There’s a suppertime rush at the end of shift at the slaughterhouse. It’s also where I purchase meat at a discount.”
“How much for you to stick around for another ten minutes?”
She looked over at the beer cart apprehensively. “I work with him. He won’t want me to wait.”
Spicy upturned the coin purse and showed her a handful of money. “Is this enough?”
She gave him a look that was hard to read and then accepted the coins. She ran to the beer cart and some words were exchanged. Finally the beer cart moved off. The girl returned to Spicy wearing a broad grin. Then she got out her pan and stoked the coals in the stove.
“That’s okay, I don’t need any more food.”
“Well then, looks like I get to eat an early dinner.”
The girl prepared and ate a pair of tacos. Meanwhile Blades continued to brood curbside. Spicy felt a growing apprehension as he huddled by the wagon. Something was wrong. Goldbug must have been found out and captured. Spicy would have to sneak inside, but with Blades there it would be impossible.
Just as the girl got ready to leave, Blades stood up, went through the gates to the front door, and opened it. Without stepping inside, he called, “When she gets back, tell her I’m off to find a watering hole.”
He tramped past Spicy and vanished around the corner.
The girl waited for him to be out of sight before looking down at Spicy. “It’s all safe for you, mister nice-smelling goblin.” She got her cart moving and waved as she departed.
He was alone. Walking as if stepping across a bed of dry leaves, he passed through the gates and listened at the still-open front door of the Chemy House.
Laughter came from within.
Spicy peered inside. The entryway was a lobby with counters along its wall. Goldbug was leaning on one next to an older man with a hawk nose on a round face. The man was wearing one of the white monogrammed shirts. The rest of the bundle was next to him. A plate with a mostly finished sandwich along with a bottle and cup were set before Goldbug.
“Well, this has been a good trade,” the bald man said. “But it’s time I closed up. If you find yourself with any other misplaced deliveries in my size or that of my missus, be sure to drop by.”
Goldbug tossed back the remaining contents of his cup. “I will, sir. At least today won’t be a total loss.”
He staggered as he stepped from the counter. The bald man came around to help steady him. Spicy saw it even as he ducked back out the door—Goldbug’s hand slipping into the man’s pocket.
They met outside the front gates and hurried away.
“What happened?” Spicy asked. “What did you learn?”
“Alma and Foreman Blaylock were here. They went off with the Chemy House masters to test something. But the manager wouldn’t say where. He did say they they’d be back by nightfall. Soon.”
As they turned the corner, Goldbug examined his loot. It was a tiny brass box. It had a lid that flipped open. Goldbug fiddled with it and produced a spark. It surprised him so much he almost dropped it.
“A fire maker,” Spicy said. “A mechanical match.”
As Goldbug continued to play with the lighter, he managed to keep the flame alight. Spicy grabbed it and shut the lid.
“Best not attract attention. And you shouldn’t have taken that. We need to hang around and watch the place.”
Goldbug’s attention remained glued to Spicy’s hands and the lighter. Spicy gave it back. They found a place just around the closest corner by a handcart loaded with scrap wood, and just in time.
The round-faced man came running down the street and looked both ways. He stood in the intersection for a moment before returning to the Chemy House.
Goldbug busted up laughing. Spicy couldn’t help but smile even as his heart pounded.
Whistles and shouts went up from the sawmill. Workers emerged out on the street. The sun was low in the rusty haze.
“End of the workday,” Goldbug said.
“I have an idea.” Spicy rose to walk over to one haggard-looking man with a stooped back. His coat was flecked with white sawdust. “Where’s the nearest bar?”
The man gestured vaguely down the street in the direction he was heading. Then a confused look crossed his face as he took a good look at Spicy.
“A goblin needs to drink too,” Spicy said as he returned to their lookout point.
The workers trickled away. As they watched the Chemy House, Spicy kept an eye out for Blades in the direction of the bar.
Spicy could hear the loud clatter of hooves well before the horses came into view. Six riders appeared and turned down the cul-de-sac. Alma was one of them, her white hair tied back, the long braid bouncing and unmissable.
Spicy started to move to follow. It was getting dark and he felt confident he could approach the Chemy House without being seen. But Goldbug stopped him. More riders were coming, maybe a dozen men, carrying lanterns. Even in the poor light, the red capes of the elite Pinnacle guards were visible.
“What’s going on?” Spicy whispered.
Goldbug just shook his head. “Maybe I shouldn’t have stolen that lighter.”
The sinking feeling in Spicy’s stomach only grew as the patrol turned and followed after Alma’s procession. Spicy broke from cover and moved along the fence of the sawmill property for a closer look.
The red capes had surrounded the other six in front of the Chemy House. The city guards wasted no time in dismounting and began taking weapons away from Alma and her party.
A protest rose from one of the accosted men next to Alma. He was roughly pulled from his saddle and fell to the ground. The others were ordered off their horses. Alma shouted and spurred her horse on, but a pair of red capes had seized the animal by its reins. She climbed down as someone leveled a spear at her.
A guard produced manacles and began to secure the six. The other guards held swords and spears at the ready. Alma kept her hands raised until she too was shackled.
This was no business meeting, Spicy realized.
Alma and her new partners were being arrested.
Chapter Seventeen
“My duke?”
The chancellor’s voice faded in the shadows of the basement. There came no answer.
The man held a bright lantern aloft as he descended the stairs. It had been over a decade since anyone had dared come down these steps. The direct order given to all the palace staff and court officials had always been to never enter the basement.
But the chancellor believed that with such dire events unfolding, the archduke would permit the intrusion based on exigent circumstances. The archduke was finally slipping. With a swipe of a pen, the archduke could grant the chancellor temporary authority to act in his place.
The basement stank of the strange and expensive chemicals the archduke hoarded. Speculation within the court had never reached a conclusion on what it was all for. Divination, alchemy, or the manufacture of a mind-altering nostrum reserved for the highest nobles were all plausible, but the chancellor suspected none of these was the true answer.
But the truth didn’t matter. The archduke trusted him because he was wise enough to not ask questions on matters that didn’t concern him. And yet he had waited eight days since their last meeting for the archduke to emerge, and there were too many matters needing immediate attention.
Every time Pinnacle’s leader vanished to his basement, some wag would speculate that this time he would be found dead. In the back of his mind, the chancellor expected much the same, especially after how sick the archduke had appeared the last time he had been seen.
The air made his sinuses hurt.
The corners at the bottom of the stairw
ay were filled with clumps of dust and dirt. The chancellor raised a lantern and studied the darkness.
The large open room at the end of the corridor might have made an excellent wine cellar. He strode forward. The wide space was filled with strange contraptions that churned and hummed. A desk and table were covered with papers and books.
The chancellor leafed through one stack. The archduke’s tight script covered each page, along with diagrams and drawings and formulae that made no sense.
“My duke?”
He expected a corpse, or the archduke to be lying comatose on the floor, but saw no one. The basement was truly enormous and it would take time to search it all. But surely this laboratory was the focus of the archduke’s madness.
The chancellor picked up one of the notebooks. The contents appeared to be describing the dosage of some medicine. He flipped to the front and found a recipe with mixing instructions. Some of the listed quantities were struck out with new numbers added after. The paper of the notebook was browned with age, the corners curled.
He tucked the book under an arm and moved further into the laboratory. If the archduke was dead, most of this would surely have value. The chancellor had been approached on more than one occasion by agents of the other dukes who were eager to discover the archduke’s secrets.
The six tanks sat on a long table in the center of the room. A number of wires were fixed to the glass containers that ran down to boxes placed on the floor. The liquid inside the tanks fizzed like sparkling wine. Shapes floated inside. The chancellor leaned close. Each form had two arms and legs, large heads, and all the other features of a human embryo.
“By the Mother,” the chancellor whispered as he examined each in turn. He leaned closer.
One of the embryos shifted within the liquid.
The chancellor jerked back, surprised.
Something in the darkness sucked in air. The sound died before the chancellor could tell which direction it came from.
He raised the lantern and searched the darkness. “My duke?”
In the poor light, he couldn’t see far beyond the machines. The sound didn’t repeat itself. He knew he should leave. Decisions had to be made and the government would have to run under his counsel. The court was waiting. But the strangeness of the tanks continued to compel him.
He was a man of astronomy and the ocean and its creatures, or at least he had once been before climbing the ranks of the Pinnacle nobility. He had gone as far as anyone in his family had ever ascended. With the archduke sick, the chancellor was, in all practical purposes, the archduke. A signature away from a new height of power. But the chancellor felt the old curiosity he had once known when studying the nature of the stars or the movement of the tides, or even once exploring a troll cave with the marine watch. Those creatures lived in the water.
Was that what the archduke was growing? Trolls? The massive creatures were known for their fortitude and ferocity. Only fire would kill them.
He tapped at a tank. The embryo flinched.
“Fascinating.”
Rolling up his sleeve, he reached inside. The liquid was warm and smelled of oranges. He had almost touched the embryo when he heard motion.
A hiss broke the air even as the shadow rushed towards him. As it came into the light, the face of the archduke was visible, but his body was something only roughly in the shape of a human man, taller, slimmer, and deathly white. He bore a gaping wound in his stomach that glistened and dripped.
The chancellor’s lips quivered. “I didn’t touch it. I didn’t hurt it!”
“No, you didn’t,” the archduke hissed. “But you did read that which is forbidden to men.”
The last thing the chancellor saw was the archduke’s mouth open much wider than a jaw should have been able to. Then his master lunged. The chancellor’s screams echoed and quickly died, and the basement kept its secrets.
Chapter Eighteen
The officer leading the guards was speaking with Alma in a low voice difficult to hear. Spicy moved closer, wary of the large horses standing around. One tossed his head irritably when he got too close.
The manager Goldbug had stolen the lighter from emerged from the Chemy House. A guard seized him, leading him down to kneel with the others. Then two of the guards went inside. They came out a few minutes later and one shook his head at the officer.
“Where’s your partner Blades?” the officer asked.
“We left him here,” Alma said. “Look, if we missed a fine, we’ll be sure to pay it.”
One of her associates, the man who had been knocked down, spoke up. “This is a legal business you’re interfering with. We’re up to date on our operating license.”
“Ah, yes,” the officer said. “Selling ingredients to laundry houses and manufacturing perfumes. But what about your activities out on the beach? The explosions?”
Spicy strained his ears to not miss a word.
The Chemy House man blurted, “We have new processes to test. My good man, it’s part of our business. We can’t test those things here among flammable ingredients. Our neighbors wouldn’t put up with the possibility of a fire.”
“The city thanks you for being a responsible citizen. Who else knows about your transaction and your recent test?”
“Just us. We were most discreet. Lieutenant, is it? The manacles aren’t necessary. This has all been a huge mistake. Let me file an exemption with the city permit office, if there was a complaint. If there’s a fine, then we’ll gladly pay. And perhaps we can arrange to compensate you for bringing all your men out to the Foundry District.”
“Perhaps these matters can be discussed inside,” the lieutenant said. He gave a signal and some of his men escorted four of their prisoners into the Chemy House, leaving Alma and one slender man behind, still chained and under guard.
“That’s the foreman, Blaylock,” Goldbug whispered. “He oversaw the production of the bombs.”
Spicy hadn’t seen him sneak up. Three guards were standing and watching their two prisoners. He tried to figure out what the city guards might want with them. What did they know?
Then Alma seemed to look straight at him. Spicy flinched and backed further into the shadows.
From inside the Chemy House came muffled screams. A man burst from the doorway, blood on his face. He was limping. A guard caught up to him and grabbed him by his shirt. He was dragged back inside, pleading. A sharp cry of pain followed, and then silence.
Alma rose and tried to bolt past the guards. One punched her and threw her down. A second guard struck her with a small cudgel and she stopped moving. Meanwhile, Blaylock cringed and began to whimper.
The lieutenant emerged. “Get those two on a horse.”
His men complied. Alma and Blaylock were both hoisted onto one of the animals and lashed down. The lieutenant and three of his men mounted up.
One of the red capes emerged from the Chemy House. “It’s done,” he reported.
The lieutenant nodded. “You know what to do.”
With a wave, he cantered forward and his men and the prisoners followed. The remaining guard went back inside. A moment later, Spicy saw fire through one of the lower windows of the Chemy House.
The shadows in which Spicy was hiding were now illuminated. He and Goldbug retreated down to the intersection, where they watched the flames grow. The last of the guards emerged and climbed on their horses to leave. The house behind them was an inferno.
Spicy was speechless. Both he and Goldbug were mesmerized by the sight.
“What now?” Goldbug asked.
Spicy just shook his head. They had to leave, but he remained fixed in place.
The house was completely engulfed. A new rider rode up to look at the fire before galloping away. A distant bell began to sound minutes later.
“We need to get out of here,” Goldbug said. “We’ve been gone too long. Maybe the captain made it. We’ll tell him what we saw. He’ll cancel the mission. We’ll figure something else out.”
“It’s not over,” Spicy said.
“There’s no way we can bust them out of jail. Many thieves have died trying to rescue members of their crew.”
“We don’t know where they’re taking them. They also want Alma and Blaylock alive.”
Goldbug didn’t appear convinced. But before Spicy could say more, a hand grabbed him.
“Well, well, well,” Blades said. “Looks like our lucky gob has turned up in the craziest place. Tell me, my little friend, how is it that you found us all the way in Pinnacle?”
Chapter Nineteen
Blades smelled of sweat and his breath reeked of beer and onions. But his grip was firm.
Goldbug backed away. Blades didn’t appear interested. All his attention was on Spicy. He wore a savage grin. When he spoke, his words came out slurred.
“What does a man have to do to get away from your kind? And then you follow us here?” He looked up and squinted at the fire. “What did you do, you little devil?”
“It wasn’t us,” Spicy said. “It was the city guards. They arrested Alma and the foreman. The others, they took them inside. I think they killed them.”
“What are you talking about? What guards?”
“They just rode off. They wore red capes. They also seemed to know you were here. They said they followed Alma from some test.”
Blades took a long moment to think. Then he shook Spicy. “That doesn’t explain you. Or why you smell like flowers.”
A rock whizzed by, barely missing Blades. Goldbug had circled around the cart and held more stones. He flung another. It struck Blades in the shoulder.
Blades drew a knife. “Tell your friend to get out of here.”
Spicy raised a hand. “Goldbug, it’s okay. We’re just talking.”
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