Desai, who was in the process of trying to stand up, looked up at her with sharply narrowed eyes that suddenly widened in recognition.
“Rémy Brunel! What in the name of Shiva are you doing here?”
Rémy was across the room in a second, standing angrily before her old friend as he got slowly to his feet.
“We came to look for you,” she hissed furiously, “but we were attacked by the soldiers of this palace and the jeweled man who commands them. They have taken Thaddeus, J, and Dita — they are here, somewhere below our feet even now. And now I find that you, our friend, the man we came to find, are in league with the monster who took them and stole the airship!”
Desai blinked at her with hooded lids. “Believe me, Miss Brunel, at this moment I am as much a prisoner as they.” He raised his right arm, and the clanking sound Rémy had heard minutes earlier came again.
It was only then that Rémy saw the chain. It was thick and heavy, attached to a cuff that circled Desai’s arm — an arm that, she saw, was far thinner than the last time she had seen him. The other end of the chain was fastened to a ring set fast into the stone floor.
Rémy glanced around the room. It was as bare as the others she had seen, with the exception of a small table standing close to the bed, on which was a pile of paper and an ink pen standing upright in its well. Desai’s chain was just long enough to allow him to move between the bed and the table, but no farther.
“What is happening here?” Rémy asked.
Desai gave her a faint smile. His hair had grayed even more since their last meeting. “The ‘Jeweled Man,’ as you call him, is the raja of this palace and he wants what I have up here,” he tapped his forehead with one thin finger. “Or rather, his right-hand man, Sahoj, does. They intend to keep me here until I give it to them.”
Rémy fumbled beneath her shirt. She’d foregone her customary corset since reaching India — in the heat it was just unbearable — but wore her usual black shirt and the belt in which she still carried the tools of her former trade. She pulled out her pack of lock-picking tools, folded neatly in the small leather case that Gustave had given her a lifetime ago.
“Sit,” she ordered, indicating the bed, and then as Desai did so, she knelt before him and took his right hand. The skin around the cuff was raw, and she tried not to agitate it further as she worked on the lock.
“Tell me more about the jeweled man,” she whispered as she worked.
She glanced up to see Desai looking away into the shadows, a thoughtful frown on his face. Then he looked at her with a slight smile, as if to dispel what had caused the frown. “It will take a long time to explain. Perhaps it should wait …”
“Until we have escaped this place? Mais oui. Later, then … voila!” she whispered triumphantly as the cuff slid undone under her fingers. “You are free, my friend. Now, let us see about the others, yes?”
Desai stood, rubbing his wrist. “There is another way down to the cells. We will need to go through the kitchens — they have their own access, so that the cooks may easily deliver food to the guards for the prisoners.”
Rémy frowned. “There are still many people up and about. You are sure we will not be seen?”
“Oh, I am absolutely sure we will be seen,” Desai said grimly, “but I have known this place for a long, long time. There are people who will be willing to help. But Rémy — getting to our friends, getting them out of their prisons, even, that is one thing. But getting out of the palace? That is quite another. As soon as the alarm has sounded, we will be trapped. And you may be able to scale the walls, my dear, but I guarantee you that such a feat is beyond me.”
“Ah — but that is why we will retake the airship,” said Rémy. “In the air we will outrun them without any trouble.”
Desai frowned again. “Airship. You used that word before. I have not heard of such a thing. What is it?”
Rémy grinned. “You will see. Another of the Professor’s inventions, Desai, and one that meant we could follow you here, to this place. Now, are you ready? We are wasting time with all this chat!”
Desai turned and grabbed a sheet from the bed, holding it out to her. “Wrap this around yourself. Cover your head, also. My face is known here and prisoner or not I am not much to remark upon. But yours is not and will not go unnoticed.” He nodded as Rémy did as she was told. “Good. Now, follow closely and be alert.”
Once out of the room, Desai walked quickly to the end of the corridor, and Rémy stayed as close to him as she could. They saw no one as they turned the corner and entered another corridor, this time where the doors were more widely spaced. Ahead, noise floated to them along with a glow that partially dispelled the nighttime gloom. There came the rattle of what sounded like pots and pans, and the occasional shout of an order or the hiss of steam rising.
Rémy pulled her makeshift cloak more closely around her face as they entered the kitchens. There were people everywhere, working diligently as they chopped vegetables or stirred huge pots of richly scented sauces. Rémy’s heart pounded, expecting one of the cooks to see them at any moment and raise the alarm. But when one man did look up and see Desai, his eyes merely widened for a moment before he bowed his head in what seemed to be a mark of respect.
Desai took no notice, hurrying through the kitchen, passing bench after bench of foods being prepared and spices being crushed. Despite their situation, Rémy’s stomach rumbled — the brace of rabbits she’d caught earlier in the day had remained uncooked, and she was very hungry. She thought about slipping out a hand to snag a carrot as she passed, but thought better of it.
Her companion came to an abrupt stop as another cook stepped out in front of him. At first Rémy thought that Desai was about to be challenged, but instead the man offered the same nod of respect the first had given. This time Desai responded in kind — they obviously knew each other. Desai leaned forward and spoke rapidly into the man’s ear. The cook’s gaze flicked to Rémy’s for a second and then back to Desai before nodding quickly and turning. Desai looked over his shoulder at Rémy. Evidently they were to follow.
The cook led them to another circular flight of stairs, also lit with a burning torch. They descended quickly and found themselves on the lower level, though this area was far darker than the one Rémy had failed to gain access to earlier. Passageways led in two directions, left and right, and both were lined with the sturdy doors of many cells. Silently, the cook pointed left. Desai clasped his arm firmly in thanks, and without another word the man had gone, vanishing back up the steps to resume his work.
Desai and Rémy moved quickly along the passageway. Rémy glanced in through each of the barred doors as they went, searching for Thaddeus, Dita, and J. Some of the cells were empty, but others held pitiful-looking prisoners, thin men with protruding ribs and long, straggly hair, who all seemed as if they had been there for a long, long time. Desai glanced left and right, seeing but passing on just as quickly.
They found their friends in neighboring cells: the soldiers had separated Dita from Thaddeus and J and imprisoned her beside them. J and Dita were kneeling on the filthy floor, grasping each other’s hands through the bars. Rémy, still concealed by her “cloak,” felt her heart leap in relief at the sight of Thaddeus with his back against the cell wall, his forearms resting on his drawn-up knees.
Thaddeus barely showed any interest as Desai and Rémy appeared in front of him. He merely glanced up at Desai before dropping his gaze briefly to Rémy and then looking away again. A second later, though, his double-colored eyes flashed wide with recognition and he scrambled to his feet.
“My god! Desai! What are you —? How —?”
“No time, my friend, no time. Rémy, quickly, can you free this lock?”
“Rémy!” Thaddeus exclaimed again as she threw off the sheet and stepped forward, once more reaching for her lock picks.
Rémy smiled at him through the bars. “You didn’t think I’d leave you behind, did you? Where you go, I go. Don’t you know that by now?”
Thaddeus smiled back, fixing her with a look of such intensity that she found her heart leaping again, though for an entirely different reason.
“Can’t you get Dita out first?” J pleaded as she turned her attention to the lock. “I ’ate ’er bein’ in there alone.”
“Better for us to get out first, J,” Thaddeus said softly, moving to the bars and looking down the passageway. “That way if there’s trouble, you and I can deal with it while Rémy frees Dita.”
Rémy caught J’s nod of agreement in the corner of her eye as she worked. These locks were more difficult than the one on Desai’s cuff. She cursed under her breath as the barrel refused to turn.
“How long?” Desai asked, his quiet voice strained as he, too, kept an eye out.
“I will be as quick as I can,” Rémy murmured calmly, keeping her concentration entirely on the lock.
“I’ll be back,” said Desai. “Be quick, Rémy. You must be the swiftest you have ever been, my dear.”
He vanished up the passageway. Rémy half expected to hear the sounds of fighting echo out of the darkness that flowed into his wake, but there was nothing but silence. Still she worked, rotating the barrel again and again, until, at last —
Click.
She heaved a sigh of relief. The door opened, creaking on its rusted hinges so loudly in the quiet that she winced. Thaddeus grabbed the bars to hold it still, waving J out ahead of him as Rémy swiftly moved to the lock on Dita’s cell. The little girl wrapped her hands around the bars, eyes wide as she watched Rémy’s nimble fingers get to work.
Desai returned a few minutes later. “If we are quick now, we will have a clear route to the outer courtyard,” he told them. “But we must be fast.”
“I have to find the jeweled man — the raja you spoke of,” Rémy said, her eyes fixed on the second lock.
“What do you mean?” Desai asked, appalled. “We have to leave, Rémy. We are vastly outnumbered, and —”
“He has my puzzle box,” she told him, still concentrating, twisting the barrel, testing the lock. “I can’t leave without it. I must get it back.”
Desai made a sound in his throat. “Whatever he has taken from you, Rémy, I guarantee it is not worth the risk.”
“It is to me,” Rémy said. “I must have it back, Desai. I must. You take the others and go — get the airship. You said yourself, I can scale these walls. I’ll follow once I have it.”
“You must be joking,” said Thaddeus. “Rémy, that’s crazy. They weren’t looking for you before, but once the alarm is raised …”
“I will not leave without it, Thaddeus,” said Rémy, “I will not. Understand?”
“Then I will stay, too.”
“No,” she told him, “I will be faster — safer — on my own.”
“You will be the death of me, Rémy Brunel,” Desai muttered.
“Is that so?” she answered tartly. “And here I was thinking I had freed you once already tonight.”
Desai sighed. “All right. Give me a moment. But we are running out of time!”
He vanished again, moving up the passageway and back toward the stairs that led to the kitchens.
“D’acccord, d’accord,” muttered Rémy, still working on the lock. It clicked suddenly, the door springing open more quietly than the first one. Dita slipped out, and J instantly clasped her in a brief, powerful hug.
Thaddeus was at Rémy’s side as she straightened. He took one of her hands and squeezed it. “Please don’t do this,” he said softly. “Let it go, Rémy — let the puzzle box go. Only this morning you were saying you thought it was all a trick.”
Rémy gave him a faint smile and squeezed his hand back again. “But what if it is not a trick? What if it really can tell me where my brother is?”
Thaddeus opened his mouth to reply but by then Desai was coming back along the passageway. He wasn’t alone — with him was the cook Rémy had encountered earlier. He was carrying a silver tray bearing small bowls of food that smelled delicious enough to have Rémy’s stomach rumbling, despite their plight.
“Go with Arund,” Desai told her, picking up the sheet and thrusting it toward her. “He will help you. Now, the rest of us must go, or we will all be caught again.”
Rémy squeezed Thaddeus’s hand once more, and then let go. Seconds later, she was following the man she now knew as Arund. Rémy thought he was taking her back to the kitchen stairs, but instead they hurried past them, down another darkened passageway to a different set of steps entirely. Arund didn’t pause as he led her up them. These went higher than the first two flights she had encountered, and when they emerged, it was on a very different type of floor. Where the servants’ level had been dusty stone, this was a sparkling-clean mosaic of black and white marble tiles, spread with intricately woven carpets. The walls were adorned with colorful tapestries and paintings, and unlike the empty corridors directly below, ornate furniture stood here and there against the walls: wooden cabinets carved with intricate scenes of the jungle, backless chairs draped with more of the rich fabrics Rémy had seen in the tailors’ room on the floor below.
Arund moved quickly and silently with Rémy close in his wake, her cloak wafting in the breeze they created through the otherwise still and silent halls. Then, suddenly he stopped and turned, picking up the silver jug from his platter and holding it out to her. Rémy hesitated for a second, confused, and then took it, careful not to spill any of the water contained within while still holding her cloak closed. They moved off again, turning a corner, and as she glanced up, Rémy saw a large door at the far end of the corridor, its hammered gold gleaming in the fiery lamplight, flanked by two guards.
At first Rémy thought the platter and jug were for the inhabitant of the room behind the door, but instead Arund greeted the two soldiers and held up the silver tray. It only took a brief glance for her to see the grins on the men’s faces. Arund drew them away from the door until he could place the platter on an ornate table a few feet away. He beckoned to Rémy, taking the water jug from her when she moved closer and then waving her back.
Stepping away, Rémy found the guard’s shoulders turned away from her, intent on their welcome mid-shift snack instead of on their posts. She knew it was the only opportunity she was going to get. Arund ignored her, laughing and joking in whispers with the guards as she moved silently backward until her back was against the door.
And then, in another moment, she was through it.
The room inside was dark, no light visible apart from the pale wash of moonlight through the large window at the far end of the room. Even so, Rémy could make out the shape of a huge bed at the center of the space, its canopy hung with heavy, opulent cloth. Rémy crept closer, her eyes adjusting to the renewed dark. The room was airy, far bigger even than the kitchen she had seen downstairs. Compared to the servants’ quarters, this was a different world, a world full of beautiful wonders, the colors of which she could only imagine in the gray-toned hue of night.
Rémy crept toward the bed and the tangled mass of sheets that lay at its center. As she moved closer, she saw that it was indeed the jeweled man — seeming, as such men so often did, far smaller and less significant in sleep than in life. But he wasn’t what she was interested in. All Rémy wanted was her puzzle box.
Beside the bed stood a table, cluttered with trinkets that gleamed even in the faint light. And there, discarded like a toy, was her puzzle box. She picked it up, careful not to dislodge any of the other items on the tabletop, moving slowly and silently as her fingers gripped its whorled surface.
A sound echoed through the window — it was just one shout at first, but then it was a violent tide of noise: yells, screams, the echo of rifleshot cracking against stone, the sound of booted running feet pounding against the dirt.
The jeweled man’s eyes flashed open, and they looked straight at Rémy.