Still crouched in the shadows atop the wall, Rémy looked down on the empty scene below her. Even with four guards, she could probably retake the airship alone, but doing that would no doubt condemn her friends to death before she’d have a chance to ransom it for their return. She imagined them now, being shoved roughly into a dingy cell in the lowest part of the palace. No, she had to free them first. Which meant getting in unseen. Now that most of the soldiers had left the courtyard, taking their torches with them, the light inside the walls was far dimmer. There were still lights burning, though — two torches on each wall, like the ones beside the great wooden door in the outer wall. For Rémy not to attract the attention of either the guards on the wall or the four standing at attention around the airship, she needed a diversion.
Lying flat on top of the wide wall, Rémy slowly pried out a piece of the crumbling stonework. At first she didn’t think it was going to budge — the wall was sturdier than it looked — but her nimble fingers finally managed to pull free a chunk the size of her puzzle box. Puffs of chalky dust floated away into the hot night air as she lifted it carefully onto the wall before sitting up. She chose a spot in the forest — close enough to the wall to be of concern to the sentries but far enough away not to be easily inspected from their posts — then drew back her arm and threw.
The piece of stone was swallowed by the night almost immediately, arcing in a smooth but invisible curve from Rémy’s hand into the jungle outside the palace walls. By sheer luck she must have chosen the sleeping place of a family of monkeys, because there came a sudden and terrible cacophony of shrieks, followed by the shaking of not just leaves, but the entire tree.
As she’d hoped, both sentries on that side of the palace were suddenly instantly awake, fervently searching the forest for a sign of something coming toward them. They were so intent on what was happening below them that they didn’t see her slip from her perch on the wall and descend into the shadows of the courtyard. Once back on the ground, Rémy moved quickly, keeping to the edges, as far away from the sentries on duty at the airship as possible. She made for the archway she’d seen Thaddeus, Dita, and J being dragged toward: the smaller one that led below the palace.
To get to it Rémy had to pass directly in front of the palace steps. She darted from one pool of shadows to another, stopping every few minutes to make sure she had made no noise. The courtyard seemed even bigger now that she was down on the ground — the fountain she had dismissed as old and disused was, she realized now, almost as big as the airship itself. The flagstones beneath her feet were carved from large slabs of marble, white and veined with lines of mineral that glimmered slightly even in the darkness. The palace itself was built of the same marble, carved and curved and in daylight, Rémy thought it quite likely, beautiful despite its age.
She reached the archway — which would be large enough to take a cart and oxen without its driver having to leave his seat — and slipped inside. The ground sloped down and away. Rémy descended the path, a solid iron gate blocking her way just a few feet inside. Beyond it, lights burned almost as brightly as if it were day, and Rémy quickly flattened herself against the wall as she realized there was movement there, too. Soldiers and servants bustled about beyond the barrier, moving barrels and sacks of food from one place to another — besides wherever her friends were being kept, this level was obviously storage for the rest of the palace, too. There was too much activity beyond the gate for her to pick its lock without being seen.
Cursing silently, Rémy looked around. A flight of stone steps curved upward and out of sight to her left. Since she seemed to have no other option, she dodged over and ascended them quickly — if anyone happened to be coming the other way, she’d be caught for sure, for the torch burning on the wall meant here there were no shadows big enough to melt into. Rémy sighed in relief as she made it to the next floor. The stairway opened out into a wide corridor, which led to many small rooms and antechambers. It was cooler here, she noted — the marble of the palace walls helping to quell the incessant heat, at least a little.
Rémy headed along the corridor, hoping to find another way down into the lower levels. This floor seemed to be the servants’ quarters. The few open doors showed her sparse, basic living arrangements of low beds and plain, dusty floors. Another room had rows of tables lined up almost like a schoolroom, except that each surface was piled with rich fabrics: silks and brocades, poplins and charmeuse. Rémy could imagine the room flooded with sunny daylight, filled with activity as the men and women who worked there sewed the jeweled man yet another extraordinarily beautiful outfit. For a split second she wondered whether any of the jewels they used to adorn his clothes would be kept in there, too, but despite the temptation to look, she forced herself not to investigate. Rémy Brunel was a thief no longer, but sometimes … just sometimes …
With a silent sigh, she moved onward, past door after closed door. A sound echoed ahead of her — footsteps, coming closer. Panicked, Rémy looked around, but there was nothing in the corridor to hide behind. She tried one door, turning the circular handle silently, but it appeared to be locked. Moving to another as the footfalls grew ever louder, she found that to be locked, too. She glanced over her shoulder, wondering if she could make it back to the flight of stairs, but realized that would be the height of folly — there was more light there, more chance that she’d be trapped between someone coming up and whoever this was, coming down.
Darting to the other side of the corridor, she tried another handle. This time the door gave and she slipped inside, finding herself in darkness. She leaned against the door, leveling her breathing, as the person outside passed, footsteps echoing into the distance without pause. Rémy sighed in relief.
“Who’s there?”
The voice made her jump. Rémy’s instinct was to drop to a crouch, and she did, staying near the door and hoping that the darkness was enough to conceal her. Rémy slowed her breathing — a circus trick she’d been taught long ago to help her calm herself on the wire — and prayed that whomever she’d stirred from slumber would drop off again just as quickly.
It seemed, however, that Rémy’s luck was running low.
“I know you are there,” said a man’s voice, deep and low, melodic. “By the door. Show yourself, please.”
Still Rémy said nothing. A strange sound echoed from the direction of the voice — a clank, followed by a rattle and the sound of something dragging itself through the darkness. Then the sound of a match being struck sent Rémy’s heart plummeting. A pale, flickering light bloomed into the room as the owner of the voice lit a candle.
Rémy stood, swiftly, her hand already back on the door handle, ready to run. The figure on the bed was still moving, legs swinging over its low edge as the man’s feet reached the stone floor.
“Wait,” said the figure, “don’t go …”
Something about the voice and the figure made Rémy hesitate, just for a second. She turned to look at the man, taking in the long, unkempt hair and beard.
She gasped.
“Desai!”