The Legend Of Eli Monpress

by Rachel Aaron

  “Wise man,” Monpress said, sipping at his own glass. “I only hope Eli can pick up a little of your forethought.”

  “Not a chance,” Josef said. “He’s categorically against considering the consequences of his actions.” He looked at the old thief. “You seem like a cautious man. How did you end up with a son like Eli?”

  “Oh, he’s been like that ever since I’ve know him.”

  Josef scowled. “That’s an odd thing for a father to say.”

  Monpress shrugged. “Well, you need to understand that I’m not actually his father. He showed up on my doorstep ten years ago very much as he is now. Smaller, of course, but every bit as ridiculous. I don’t know how he found me. I make it a point of not being findable— hazard of the business—but there he was, standing in the snow outside my mountain lodge, asking could I teach him to be a thief.”

  Monpress took a long drink from his cup. “I turned him away, of course, but he wouldn’t go. I don’t even know how he got up there. I’d bought the lodge for its seclusion, so we were miles up in the mountains, but the boy had no horse or warm clothing. It was like he’d just appeared out of thin air. I turned him away several times, but he was so insistent about learning to be a thief, I realized I might have to kill him to get rid of him. Whatever my faults, I’m not a killer. Besides, there was a storm lurking overhead, and I’m not so heartless as to send a boy out into the weather. So I acquiesced and let him come in, just for the night. He’s been my ward and apprentice ever since, and a sorry one at that.” Monpress smiled, swilling the wine in his glass. “Still, infuriating as he is, one can’t help getting attached to the boy, which is how I’m in the mess I find myself in today.”

  He raised his cup in salute and then downed the rest in one gulp. Josef scowled. He knew so little of Eli’s life before they met, but it wasn’t surprising to hear he’d been a thief’s apprentice, and even less surprising to hear he’d sweet-talked his way into it. But who had he been before he’d taken the name Monpress? Just as Josef opened his mouth to ask, a strange, soft sound on the roof drove all talk of the past from his mind.

  They all froze, listening. Josef motioned the others to stay quiet before leaning over to peer out the tiny, grimy window. Outside, he saw nothing but the same roofs and eaves he always saw. No strange movements, nothing out of place, just the last glow of the setting sun on the red tile. He was about to pass the sound off as something innocent, a cat maybe, or the house settling below them, when it sounded again, a low creaking, like something large was walking on the tile above them.

  Very, very slowly, Josef opened the window and climbed outside. It was a tight fit, but he made it soundlessly, getting both feet on the roof before slowly peeking over the edge at the roof of their hideout.

  The moment his eyes cleared the eave, it launched at him.

  Josef flew backward, skidding down the tile. His short swords were in his hands before he knew what was happening, and it was a good thing, because the blades were his only protection from the ball of shifting white fur, claws, and teeth on top of him as they both slid down the roof.

  “Oh, Powers ,” he growled through gritted teeth. “Not you again.”

  The ghosthound snarled, and Josef took the initiative, kicking the dog hard on the flat spot between his front legs. Gin yelped and jumped away, landing lightly on the roof’s peak just as Nico winked in from nowhere and grabbed his neck. Gin howled and kicked, tossing her into the air, but she turned in flight, landing neatly beside Josef, who was sheathing his swords.

  “Easy, puppy,” Josef said. “I’d love to make a coat out of you, but this isn’t exactly the best place.”

  As if to prove him right, the lamppost on the street below them began to flicker frantically and, a moment later, whistles sounded in the distance.

  “If you’re looking for Eli,” Josef said, “he’s not with us.”

  “I know,” Gin growled, keeping low against the tiles. “I’m not here for him.”

  Josef glanced at Nico, who repeated what the dog had said. Gin, meanwhile, was watching the evening sky through slitted eyes.

  “We need to move,” he said. “That wind is coming. Follow me.”

  With that, he hopped off the roof.

  Nico repeated this to Josef, who repeated it to Monpress, who was just climbing out the window to see what was going on.

  “We might as well follow,” the old thief said. “This hideout was blown the second you got out the window. We’ll be up to our necks in guards in a moment.”

  “Or worse,” Josef muttered, looking down at the tiles under his feet, which were beginning to rattle. “Come on.”

  He reached through the window to grab the Fenzetti blade, and they walked to the edge of the roof where Gin had jumped off. It was a two-story drop, but fortunately most of it was covered by a sturdy trellis. Nico climbed down first, then Monpress, who was remarkably agile for his age, and Josef brought up the rear. Gin was waiting at the bottom, and he led them around a corner to a large stone storehouse. It was an ancient thing, with great cracks between the stone overgrown with plants. Still, it was big enough for all of them, just barely, and they got inside just before the strange, howling wind passed overhead.

  “All right, dog,” Josef said, crossing his arms. “You lost us our hideout and nearly blew our cover altogether, so what do you want? Where’s your master?”

  Gin glared at him, then looked at Nico. “Don’t tell me you’re the only one who can understand me?”

  Nico shrugged, and Gin rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he growled. “Tell your sword boy that his second question answers the first. I’m here looking for Miranda. She went into town this morning and never came out. Then all the spirits started going crazy, so I decided to come get her. I know she’s in the citadel, and I smelled the thief in there as well. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. But even I can’t get into a castle crawling with guards and winds who do nothing but watch, so I sniffed you out, swordsman.” Gin wrinkled his nose. “Not that I could miss you. Do you even know what a bath is?”

  Nico repeated this, leaving out the bath comment, and Josef gave the dog a skeptical look.

  “We didn’t even know the Spiritualist was in town,” he said. “She certainly didn’t go in with Eli. She’s probably helping the duke. Catching Eli is her job, after all.”

  “It’s complicated,” Gin growled. “But she’s not with the duke. Miranda wouldn’t help anyone who treated the spirits this way. Common little spirits were never meant to be awake this long. It’s going to kill the town if it keeps up. Miranda wouldn’t put up with something like that to catch a hundred Elis. However, she is in the citadel, along with your thief, and I don’t imagine either of them wants to be there. So if you’re planning a rescue, then I want in.”

  Josef listened as Nico repeated the dog’s words, rolling his eyes when she got to the end. “If you just wanted to come along there was no reason to jump us.”

  Gin grinned, showing a spread of long, sharp teeth. “I figured my negotiating position would be stronger if I had your head in my mouth, but this works too.”

  Nico gave him a horrified look, and didn’t pass the message on.

  Monpress, however, was sitting back against the stones, stroking his neatly trimmed beard with a thoughtful calmness not usually witnessed in the presence of ghosthounds. “Dog,” he said, “you can understand what we’re saying, correct?”

  “Of course,” Gin snorted. “Human speech is the simplest form of communication.”

  The thief chuckled as Nico translated. “Well, then, if you’re willing to follow directions, I think we can come to an arrangement.”

  “That depends on the directions,” Gin growled. “Who are you anyway?”

  Nico answered that one. “He’s Eli’s father. He’s a thief too.”

  Gin gave her a sideways look. “He doesn’t smell anything like Eli.”

  Nico passed that on to Monpress, who laughed. “I’ll take that as
a compliment. I am Giuseppe Monpress, and I have many occupations. For the last few days, I served as a masonry and antiques expert. This morning, I was a thief. Right now, I’m simply a mentor trying to save his lost charge from his own cockiness. Does that answer your question?”

  “In a roundabout sort of way,” Gin growled, but he nodded just the same.

  “Excellent,” Monpress said. “As I was saying, I’m no wizard, but I can guess that the Duke of Gaol is the one controlling the town. If there’s one thing living in Gaol taught me, it’s that the duke controls everything within his borders, no matter how trivial. The man doesn’t know the meaning of the word delegate. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a personal contract with every paving stone in Gaol. This level of attention to detail has gotten him where he is, but it’s also a tremendous handicap, which we are going to use to our advantage. Look here.”

  He leaned over and began to sketch an outline of the citadel on the shed’s dirt floor with one of Josef’s knives, which Josef hadn’t even felt him take. “We’ll create a series of catastrophes, each requiring the duke’s attention. Mass destruction seems to play well to each of your strengths, so I don’t think this will be a problem. While the duke is putting out fires, I will locate and free Eli and the Spiritualist. Can you tell me where they are in the citadel?”

  Gin nodded. “Once I’m inside.”

  “You’ll be with me, then,” Monpress said after Nico translated. “Once we’ve set the first distraction, you’ll point me toward our targets. After that, you keep the attention off me while I do the extraction and then provide us with a quick getaway. You can run faster than a horse, can’t you?”

  Gin’s toothy grin needed no translation, and Monpress turned to Nico and Josef. “We’ll be depending on you two after we finish the jailbreak. Your job will be to cause enough flash that any report of prisoners going missing is lost in the noise, but not bring so much heat down that you become prisoners yourselves, or die in the process.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” Josef said. “Let me get the Heart and I’ll put a hole the size of a wagon in that outer wall. Maybe a couple. That should solve both the getaway problem and the distraction.”

  “I leave that to your discretion,” Monpress said, making a mark at the corner of the citadel closest to the river. “We’ll exit here, at the stables, so make your first hole on the northern wall. We’ll rendezvous at the northern border of Gaol. I’ve got one final hideout there. Nothing fancy, but it should last long enough for a simple switch. From what I’ve seen, the duke’s reach ends at the Gaol border, so all we have to do is cross the line and we’re free. Aside, of course, from the usual pursuing guards and whatnot, but I’m sure you have experience avoiding those.”

  “Tons,” Josef said, grinning.

  Nico frowned at the diagram. “It’s kind of a blunt plan.”

  “Circumstances have given me blunt instruments. You do your best with what you’re given.”

  Nico’s mouth quirked at that, and she seemed satisfied. Josef, meanwhile, snatched his knife back and stood up, settling the blade back into his sleeve. “I’ll need an hour to get the Heart and get into position.”

  “That’s fine,” Monpress said, standing up as well and dusting the dirt off his black, padded suit. “We’ll need full dark anyway, so that gives us just the right amount of time. I won’t be able to give a signal when we start. Can I trust you to be in position on time?”

  “One hour,” Josef said, walking to the rickety shed door. “We’ll be there.”

  He paused for a moment, listening. Satisfied the coast was clear, he opened the door and slipped out into the alley, Nico right on his heels like a little shadow. Monpress watched them go, a skeptical look on his face.

  “The girl I’m not worried about,” he said and sighed. “But I have to admit, the thought of our success depending on that swordsman’s ability to sneak to the river and back without causing a scene is not very reassuring.”

  Gin chuckled and settled down with his chin on his paws, his ears swiveling for any hint of sound. A moment later, Monpress sat down as well, and together they waited in silence for full dark to fall.

  CHAPTER

  17

  Eli felt like a wad of kneaded dough. His breath came in ragged hiccups, his muscles ached, and his vision was almost black. The duke had called the first rest seconds before he passed out, but Eli wasn’t sure he’d made it in time. Passing out still seemed like a valid option. Currently, however, he was awake, more or less, and being carried down a long hall suspended between the bulky arms of two enormous men. The duke ghosted ahead of him, a tall, dark shape among dark shapes.

  They’d gone down a dozen flights of stairs, and the part of Eli’s mind that wasn’t whimpering in the corner realized they must be deep underground. The air was old, dusty, and cold enough to make his teeth chatter by the time they finally stopped in front of a deep-set iron door.

  “My strongest prison,” the duke said, standing aside as one of the guards unlocked the fist-sized padlock. “Also, my only prison. As most situations can be solved via the strategic use of force, I normally find them a waste of time. This one, however, I had made especially for you, Mr. Monpress, just in case you lived up to your reputation.”

  As he talked, the guard got the door open and carried Eli through and into a low, wide room. The only light came from the duke’s own torch, but it was enough to make Eli wish he couldn’t see. The dark stone walls were covered in strange metal objects, most of them sharp. There was a rack of hand and foot manacles in various sizes, as well as racks of other things he vaguely recognized from some of the more horrible dungeons he’d broken out of, but he had never worked up the courage to study the implements closely. There was also a large, locked grate in the middle of the floor, almost like a drain, and Eli shuddered to think what that was for.

  But the guards walked past all that, dragging Eli to another iron door at the back of the room. This door the duke unlocked himself, standing in front so Eli could not see what he was doing and whispering something Eli couldn’t make out. The door opened soundlessly to reveal a cell the size of a large closet stacked with bales of dark-colored hay.

  Eli wanted to quip something about how nice it was of the duke to consider his comfort, but all he managed was a gurgling sound as the guards tossed him in. He landed on the hay with a grunt, the door clanging shut behind him.

  “One hour.” Eli could hear the duke’s smile through the iron. “Then we’ll begin again. Think on your answer.”

  Their footsteps faded away and the prison’s outer door slammed shut, leaving Eli lying in the straw in utter black silence.

  When he heard the outer door close, Eli sat up stiffly. His fingers went to his belt pocket and pulled out a small ring of heavy keys that had, moments ago, been in the guard’s pocket. He felt them in the dark, and a small grin spread over his face. They’d have to beat him worse than that to slow his pickpocketing.

  With a low groan, Eli pulled himself over to the door and set about looking for the keyhole. The duke had said one hour, but Eli wasn’t about to wait that long. In one hour he intended to be with Josef and Nico as they plowed a hole out of the city. However, those happy thoughts were quickly put out of his head as his finger ran along the door’s pitted metal surface from floor to ceiling, and found nothing. No lock, no hinges, just metal that jutted almost seamlessly into stone.

  Eli bit his lip. He had to be missing something. What he needed was a light. So he closed his eyes and reached down, prodding the lava spirit that slept in the burn on his chest.

  “Karon,” he whispered. Then again, a little louder. “ Karon. ”

  His chest warmed as the lava spirit stirred sleepily.

  “Could I bother you for a light?”

  The spirit mumbled sleepily, and a warm, orange light began to shine from under Eli’s shirt. Now that he could see, he noticed the door did have an opening, a small slit right at eye level, probably for guards t
o check on prisoners without opening the door. Otherwise, the light only confirmed what his fingers had found earlier. No lock, no handle, no hinges, nothing.

  “Come on,” Eli muttered, running his hands along the door’s edge, tapping it with his fingers. As he tapped, he felt the door move away. It was a tiny, stubborn motion, but Eli jumped when he felt it, and everything fell into place. Of course, he realized, rolling his eyes. The hunk of iron was awakened, and probably terrified loyal like everything else in this pit of a country.

  With a frustrated groan, Eli sat back and contemplated his next move. Something dramatic would be a nice change. Maybe he could get Karon to blow the door down in a shower of fire. He was turning this idea over when his nose caught the hint of something odd, a grassy, chemical smell, almost like lamp smoke. At once, the warm light from his chest went out.

  “ Powers , Eli.” Karon’s deep voice made his ears ring. “What are you doing, calling me like this? I could have killed us both.”

  Eli scowled. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re covered in oil,” Karon said. “I nearly set you alight.”

  Eli reached down in alarm, patting his shirt with quick hands. Sure enough, his clothes were slick with something that smelled faintly of grain. He grimaced. Lamp oil, cheap smoky stuff too, but when… He reached down to the hay bales and gave an enormous sigh. He remembered thinking they looked dark when the guards threw him in. Now that he had his hands in them, and was thinking of something other than getting out, it was clear they were drenched in oil. No fire spirits.

  “Fantastic,” he muttered, flopping back into the straw. No point in avoiding it since he was already covered. “What a fine mess.”

  Fine mess was a pretty way of putting it. Royally screwed was more accurate, or completely bollixed. Eli folded his arms across his chest. They still hurt horribly; so did his legs. Eli clenched his teeth. He hated pain. He also hated being trapped, but he had no one to blame but himself this time. He thought back to the duke’s words in the library, before the pain had become too much. He’d let himself get predictable. How many times had he gotten himself caught? A dozen in five years? Two dozen? He shook his head. Far too many, that was for sure.