by Rachel Aaron
“Mellinor,” she said, “could you flood this cell?”
“Theoretically,” the water answered. “It’s dry, but I could probably get enough water out of the air to do it, but I thought we weren’t going to risk the powder.”
“We’re not.” Miranda grinned and clunked her heel against the bucket.
She felt the water’s attention flit down to the floor, and then Mellinor heaved a sigh like a tide. “Miranda, be reasonable. I don’t think that thing is buoyant enough to float, let alone support you. Even if it did, I’d be turning the cell into a pool of toxic sludge. One slip and you’d be paralyzed forever.”
“That’s just a risk we’ll have to take,” Miranda said. She patted her chest where the water’s glow was the brightest and gave her spirit a confident smile. “If any water can float this bucket safely to the top, it’s you.”
“Flattery might work on the dog, but it gets you nowhere with me,” the water grumbled. “I’ll try, but only if you understand that once we start, we can’t stop. I can’t just send the water away again if it has nowhere to drain.”
Miranda flipped the keys over in her hand. “All you have to do is get me to the grate. I’ll take it from there.”
“All right,” Mellinor said. “Brace yourself.”
Miranda stepped into the bucket. “Ready,” she said.
“The undersides of your wrists are clean, so I’ll use those.” Mellinor’s voice was moving through her, collecting at her hands. “Roll up your sleeve and hold out your arm.”
Miranda did as he asked, holding her hands out in front of her. What happened next was painless, but almost too intense to watch. The water spirit poured from the clean skin of her lower arms, flowing out of her pores like milk squeezed through cheesecloth. It hit the ground with a great splash, sending a splatter of the poison dust onto her skirt. Miranda closed her eyes and thanked whatever luck there was that she’d chosen the dress with thick, long skirts. Under her feet, the bucket groaned as water flowed around it, yet it did not start to float. Mellinor was completely out of her now, and she pulled her arms back, carefully holding them away from the parts of her dress that were still dry and dusty. The water kept rising as Mellinor pulled moisture from the air, the tiny specks of water too small to have consciousness, and into his body. When the water was less than a finger’s width from the lip of the bucket, the wooden slats beneath her feet finally began to wobble. The bucket left the ground with a pitch that made Miranda scramble. After that, she braced herself against the stone with both arms, using the straight walls as a guide as Mellinor gently floated her bucket up.
Even with Mellinor’s glow, the foaming water was filthy and foul smelling. Balancing became more and more difficult the higher they went, as the bucket began to bob on the swirling current. Miranda flailed her arms, keeping upright by pushing herself off the walls, first one way, then another, as the waves took her. Just when she’d finally gotten the rhythm of it, the game changed. She felt wetness in her boots. When she looked down between sways, she noticed about an inch of water on the low end of her makeshift boat.
Miranda gasped and jerked away, causing the bucket to pitch, and she almost fell in completely. She caught herself at the last moment, bracing against the wall as the water kept rising. Now that the water had found a way in, more and more of it was pushing up through the bucket’s cracks. Miranda bit her lip. Another moment and it would be up to her ankles. It was time to take a risk.
The grate was right above her, though still a foot out of reach. Before she could psych herself out, Miranda jumped. She jumped straight up, toppling the sinking bucket with her momentum. For a moment, her reaching hands caught nothing. Then her fingers slammed into the iron bars of the grate and she held tight.
“Mellinor!” she cried, grabbing the bars with her other hand as well and pulling her legs up. “Stop the water!”
The water stopped instantly, and for a moment Miranda hung there, gasping for breath as she clung to the bars. Only a moment, though, and then she was on the move again, pulling herself along the grate until she was right beside the iron padlock. It took several tries to find the right key, and then a great deal of pushing once she found it, for the lock was trying its best not to give in. But, in the end, purpose overwhelmed even spirit determination, and the lock snapped open. Unfortunately, in her hurry to get out, Miranda had neglected to determine which direction the grate opened. As it happened, it opened inward, something she found out very quickly when the grate swung down, taking her with it.
She yelped as the grate swung wildly, slamming her against the wall and knocking her breath out. But the hinges hadn’t been oiled in a while, and the grate, after its initial bout of movement, creaked to a halt, leaving her startled, upside down, and dangling mere inches above the foul water.
“Miranda,” Eli whispered frantically. “Are you all right?”
“More or less,” Miranda groaned, pulling herself around the grate. She climbed up the lattice of iron bars and then, with a final heave, onto the stone floor of the prison itself. The moment she hit flat rock, she flopped over, gasping, and didn’t move for at least a minute.
“Well,” Eli said, his voice floating through the dark, “at least it’s never dull, being with me.”
“Shut up,” Miranda gasped, pushing herself upright. Mellinor’s light was dimmer, thanks to the gallons of filthy water he had commandeered, but it was still enough to see by. As she’d expected, she was in a prison, though a strange one. It was all one long room with a wide variety of equipment, from a selection of manacles to things she didn’t recognize and didn’t want to, bolted to the walls. There were not, however, any cells she could see.
“Where are you?”
“Turn left,” Eli said. “Your left. I’m the door at the far back.”
Miranda turned as he said and found herself facing what she’d thought was an iron wall. Looking closer, however, she picked out a small rectangle cut at eye level and, peering out through the gap, a pair of familiar blue eyes glittered in the dim light.
“Hello,” Eli said. “Mind letting me out?”
Miranda stumbled over to the door. It didn’t seem to have a lock or hinges or a handle or anything normally associated with doors.
“I see why you had to give me the keys,” she said, running her finger along the smooth door crack. “I suppose the door isn’t in a talking mood?”
“No more than anything else in this country,” Eli said with a sigh.
“We’ll need to knock it down, then,” Miranda said. “Wait here.”
“Like I could wait anywhere else.”
Miranda ignored him, walking back over to the pit where Mellinor was still swirling. She knelt by the edge and peered into the water, which was already looking clearer.
“Losing the sediment?”
“As much as I can,” the water rumbled. “This stuff feels awful. It’s all slick and heavy, and whatever personality it had before is long gone thanks to the processing. I see why they use it to kill rats.”
Miranda grimaced. “Glad I didn’t fall in it. Think you’ve got enough water to knock down a door?”
“That depends on the door,” Mellinor said, swelling up in a wave and looking where she gestured. It studied the door for a moment and then vanished back into the pit.
“Tell the thief to get ready,” he called, his watery voice echoing up from the bottom of the cell.
“I’ve been ready,” Eli called back. His voice was farther away now, and Miranda guessed he was pressing himself against the back of his cell. “Just do it.”
Mellinor gushed and thundered, but right before he erupted in a geyser, Eli cried “Wait!”
The water stopped and Miranda groaned in frustration. “What?”
“It occurs to me,” Eli said, “that the duke was probably prepared for me, a trapped and notorious wizard thief, to do something desperate, like Enslave the door holding me in. Before you knock it down, you might check for traps.”
“Traps?” Miranda said. “What kind of traps could he have against Enslavement?”
“Humor me?” Eli said sweetly.
Miranda shook her head and walked back over to the door. She didn’t see anything, just the iron wall of a door set into the stone. Still, she ran her fingers along all the seams anyway, just to be sure. She was about to tell the thief he was being paranoid when she felt something unusual at the very top of the door. A thin bump, almost like a wire, ran up from the top of the door to the stone ceiling. Standing on tiptoe, she followed it with her fingers until she hit a loose brick in a wall that didn’t have any bricks. Frowning, she reached up gently with both hands and gave the brick a tug. It came away easily, revealing a large metal tin attached to the wire she’d followed. She lifted the tin down gently. It was heavy in her hands and sloshing with a liquid she could already guess wasn’t water. Sure enough, it was full to the brim with a black, inky substance Miranda recognized from when Mellinor’s water first touched the powder in her cell. It was the poison, and from the look of it, very concentrated. If Eli had Enslaved the door or opened it or busted it down in any way, this stuff would have drenched him, paralyzing him completely. A good thief catch, she had to admit, much better than burning oil or anything that could kill or disfigure. The best bounty depended on him being alive and recognizable.
Very, very carefully, Miranda emptied the tin in the far corner of the prison, standing back as the black liquid pooled in a low spot on the stone. When it was all gone, she went back to Mellinor and told Monpress to get in position.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he called back.
Miranda gave the signal and the water burst up in a geyser, shooting out of the pit before turning in midair, like water in a pipe, and barreling straight for Eli’s cell door. It hit the iron like a hammer and the metal squealed, but didn’t give way. The water wasn’t finished, though. Mellinor gathered himself in the door’s cracks, pushing his water between the stone and the metal. With no hinges, the door depended on its resolve to stay upright, but no resolve was strong enough to hold with water in every crevice. It clung for a few moments more, and then, with a defeated squeal, the door fell forward, crashing to the ground.
Almost before it hit, Eli jumped out. He was dirty and pale, his short black hair standing up at all angles, but he was beaming as he grabbed Miranda’s hand and gave it a vigorous shake.
“I knew I could count on you,” he said, clasping her hand tightly in his. “I always told Josef, if there’s one Spiritualist with her head on right, it’s Mira—”
He was interrupted by the clink of a lock closing. Eli looked down. The hand that was shaking Miranda’s now had a manacle around its wrist, the other end of which Miranda was fastening around her own. It was one of the manacles from the rack on the wall, and she locked it in place with a key from the key ring he’d given her before tossing the entire ring into the pit of her former cell.
“Eli Monpress,” she said, grinning like her ghosthound, “you are now under the authority of the Spirit Court.”
Eli looked down at his wrist, wiggling his hand against the tight, sharp, metal band. “That was a dirty trick.”
Miranda didn’t stop smiling. She held out her hand, and Mellinor blasted himself against the prison’s outer door, popping the hinges. The door fell over with a squeal of metal on stone, and Mellinor returned to Miranda, leaving the excess water he had gathered to drain away back into Miranda’s cell.
Eli watched as the keys vanished under a layer of filthy, poisoned water. “A very dirty trick,” he grumbled as she dragged him out into the hall.
“I don’t want to hear it,” she said, walking quickly and quietly, using Mellinor’s light to guide her. “You’re the master of dirty tricks.”
“I thought you were above all that,” he said, letting her drag him. “And you know it’s not going to work.”
“Maybe not for long,” she said, “but if I can keep you under control for even an hour, it will be worth it.” She came to a stop at another door, a wooden one this time, blocking the entire hall. It was locked, of course, with a padlock that looked very similar to the one on her cell.
“Well,” Eli said. “I doubt your little spout spirit there has enough water to bash this one in. If only we still had the keys.”
Miranda silenced him with a jab to the ribs and pressed her ear against the door. She could hear shouting on the other side, shouting and guard whistles. They didn’t seem to be coming her way, though. She bent down lower to examine the lock when the door rattled softly. Miranda jumped, slapping her hand over Eli’s mouth as she pressed them back into the wall. The door rattled again, and there was an almost inaudible click as the lock popped open.
Miranda dampened Mellinor’s light to nearly nothing and then reached up to grabbed an unlit torch from the wall bracket above her. She brandished the torch like a bat as the door opened. The moment a head came into view, she braced herself and brought her makeshift weapon down with all the force she could muster.
A second before it would have conked his head, her target dodged. He spun, a shadow in the dark hall, grabbing her arm as he went. She barely had time to gasp before she was on the floor with her arm wrenched behind her and the stranger’s knee in her back.
“Well,” a cultured voice whispered just above her head. “Eli, what are you doing, letting the lady go first?”
The pressure vanished from Miranda’s back, and she felt the chain jerk as Eli rolled over on the floor beside her.
“ Letting her go first? ” the thief sputtered. “Whose idea do you think this was?”
The man, whoever he was, ignored Eli completely, and a black-gloved hand swooped down to help Miranda to her feet.
“Apologies, my dear,” he said kindly. “The boy never could learn manners.”
Miranda took the hand gingerly, very confused, and lifted her head to see a tall, thin man in late middle age with a handsome, cultured smile wearing wrapped clothes in varying shades of black.
“Giuseppe Monpress,” he said, before she could ask. “You must be Miranda. Gin has told us all about you.”
“Gin?” she said, her voice rising in a rush of hope. “Is he here? What do you mean you’re Monpress?”
“It’s not a terribly uncommon name,” the man said. “And your hound is currently making a fine distraction running circles around the duke’s men. Now”—he took her arm, the one that wasn’t chained to Eli, whom the man seemed to have forgotten—“we should hurry. The duke’s a clever man. He’ll tear away from the ruse soon enough. We’ve got a little time before Josef and Nico’s cavalry shows up, however. Meeting you here has put me ahead of schedule.”
“Well, good for you,” Eli said, elbowing his way between them. “I, however, am in a hurry to miss my date with the duke, so if you don’t mind…”
He made a series of gestures toward the door. The older Monpress shrugged and, gesturing for Miranda to go ahead, let Eli lead the way up the narrow stairs to the maze of tunnels that ran below the citadel, speaking up only to correct the thief when he was taking them in entirely the wrong direction.
CHAPTER
18
Josef and Nico snuck through the empty streets. Above them, lights flickered behind the wobbly glass windows in the upper stories of the lovely houses, but Josef and Nico saw no one. Though it was still early, all the restaurants were dark and closed, same with the taverns, and even the inns. Whatever command of the duke’s had cleared the streets earlier was obviously still in effect, and now that Eli was caught, even the patrols were off the streets, leaving Nico and Josef to run in the shadows behind the watchful lamps and toward the dark river and the docks beyond.
“At least the paving stones aren’t trying to trip us anymore,” Josef grumbled, stomping harder on the cobbled street than was strictly necessary. “I guess Eli was right when he said the spirits couldn’t keep it up forever.”
“Or they just aren’t looking for us,” Nico sa
id. “Spirits are famously bad at finding nonwizards. Humans all look the same to most spirits.”
“Lucky us,” Josef said, hopping up the stairs toward the tall bridge that was the only way across the river. They kept to the back line of storehouses, ducking behind crates and barrels until they reached the dusty, neglected warehouse they’d slept in the night before. Josef flipped the rusty lock with impatient fingers. He could almost feel the Heart inside, waiting for him. The door opened with a groan, and they slipped inside.
With the docks empty, there were no fires burning in the braziers outside. Without the ambient light, the warehouse was ink black, forcing Josef to stop at the threshold and let his eyes adjust. Nico went on ahead of him, striding confidently into the dark. That was typical. The dark never seemed to slow her down, which was why he jerked to attention when her soft footsteps stopped.
His hand dropped to the sword at his hip. He could just barely see Nico in front of him, a spot of darker shadow gone completely rigid. Keeping one hand on his sword and the other on the dagger in his sleeve, Josef crept forward until he was pressed against Nico’s back.
“Someone’s here.” Her voice was scarcely more than a breath.
Josef stared over her shoulders, but he saw nothing but shadowy outlines and dusty beams. She pointed at the darkness ahead of them, and Josef squinted. He could make out details now, the edges of crates, the forgotten tools lining the walls, and, directly ahead of them, the dark, solid shape of the Heart of War leaning against the corner, right where he’d left it. He was about to ask Nico to be more specific when something shifted in the dark, and then he saw it as well. Sitting on the stack of crates beside the Heart was an enormous, dark shape. At first Josef thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, that the shadows were stretched out, for no man could be that large. Then the shape jumped down, landing on the wooden floorboards with a crash that rattled the building to its foundation.
Josef stumbled, gripping the hilts of his sheathed swords, white-knuckled as the dark figure stretched out his hand, pointing one long finger, not at Josef, but at Nico, who was trembling in front of him. The man, for Josef could now see it was a man, smiled, his teeth glinting in the dark, and spoke a command.
