Sardelle would have preferred not to talk to Cas, since she was emanating displeasure as she stared out the window, but the drive up to the castle was not that long. Already, the old stone structure loomed above them. They needed to solidify their plans. First, she reached behind them with her senses, to make sure the women hadn’t woken up and escaped Tolemek and Duck. It would be hard to get in if three escaped captives were running up the street after them and screaming.
Fortunately, Duck, Tolemek, and the women had already disappeared.
“I hope Duck knows I wasn’t truly suggesting he take those women to a pub,” Sardelle said. “I suspect there would be much yelling and flailing.”
“I’ve heard most of Duck’s dates go like that. It should be a familiar run for him.”
Sardelle hoped that was a joke. Cas had a reserved and dry sense of humor under any circumstances, and she hadn’t even exhibited that since picking up the sword. Maybe this was a sign that she had found a way to deal with its influence. Now that she was aware that it could affect her, she would doubtlessly be more alert of the fact.
“We better put up our hoods,” Sardelle said. “I have the password. If they ask, your name is Martna Spranken, and your family owns vineyards in the southern hills.”
Cas’s expression grew dubious. It could have been because she doubted the information or because she was uncomfortable thinking about how Sardelle had come by it.
Yes, you’re welcome for that intel. You remember the name of your girl?
Sai Forgolen, her cousin.
It’s too bad you didn’t bring Tolemek. It would have been amusing to see him impersonating the third cousin, the chubby one with all of the jewelry.
“Halt,” came a distant call from ahead of the carriage, and Sardelle did not reply.
“Cas, can you tuck the sword under your seat cushion?” Sardelle asked. “If it will fit?”
Cas stared back at her.
“In case the guards look in on us. In fact, I’m certain they will.” Sardelle knew Cas had a pistol and dagger under her cloak, too, but those might be missed unless the guards searched them.
“They won’t see it,” Cas said, an odd, almost distant note to her voice. She tugged her hood over her head. “Just as they won’t see yours.”
“Uhm.” Jaxi, we’re positive Kasandral isn’t an intelligent being and doesn’t communicate with her, right?
I’m positive he isn’t intelligent. I’m not positive that there isn’t some kind of communication going on. He does a fine job of glaring at me across the astral plane.
Not heartened by the answer, Sardelle might have asked more of both of them, but the carriage halted. The door opened, the flickering light of lanterns brightening the cabin. Sardelle wiped her damp hands on her cloak and braced herself to create an illusion if necessary. As Ridge had pointed out more than once, she was not an accomplished liar.
“Names,” a guard with a clipboard asked, peering inside.
“Sai Forgolen and Martna Spranken,” Cas said, sounding bored. Maybe she had more experience with lies. Or was calmer because she didn’t mind shooting people who saw through her lies.
“Our cousin got sick and couldn’t make it,” Sardelle added, though she probably shouldn’t have. The guard hadn’t asked.
You are bad at this, Jaxi observed.
Hush.
The guard frowned at Sardelle. “Remove your hood, please, ma’am.”
Sardelle hadn’t had a good look at the girl she was replacing but did her best to create an illusion of her face atop her own. Fortunately, only one guard stood in the doorway, looking in. She only needed to fool him. She just hoped he hadn’t seen the girl before, or at least did not remember her well if he had.
She pushed back her hood and held her breath.
A few seconds dribbled past as he gazed at her. Far too many, she worried. She didn’t sense any dragon blood about him, not like that guard from the tower, but it was possible her illusion wasn’t good enough, that she—
“And you,” the guard said, facing Cas.
Sardelle rushed to create a second illusion as Cas reached for her hood. So far, the guard hadn’t said anything about the sword lying across the seat behind her. Was it possible he didn’t see it? As Cas had suggested? At least Kasandral’s sheath was keeping that pale green glow from oozing out tonight.
“You’re clear,” the guard said, stepping back. He waved them toward the wicket gate. “Fronzo is waiting inside. He’ll show you to the meeting room.”
Sardelle wanted to go to the dungeon, not the meeting room, especially if the queen was waiting in that meeting room, but they could figure that out once they were in. She pulled her hood over her head and hopped out. Cas followed her, that sword slung across her back again.
Sardelle walked briskly through the gate, not wanting to risk someone noticing and stopping them. She almost crashed into a mouse-faced man with spectacles.
“Fronzo,” she blurted, hoping she was correct.
He tilted his head and peered down at her. “Madam Spranken?” he asked uncertainly.
Damn, had he seen her before? That was the name she had given Cas, but if Fronzo thought she sounded more like this Spranken woman, Sardelle would go with that.
“Yes,” she said, working the illusion again in case the hood hid less than she wanted it to. “And my cousin,” she added.
Fronzo hesitated, and Sardelle surveyed the courtyard, hurrying to formulate a plan of action in case this all went awry right here. Numerous soldiers patrolled the walls, but plenty were posted around the yard and in front of the doors to the towers and main building. This would not be a good place to be discovered.
I convinced him you’re her, Jaxi thought at the same time as the man said, “This way,” and turned toward the main building.
Thank you, Sardelle replied, though she winced anew at the idea of tinkering with people’s thoughts. She wondered how those guards stationed all over weren’t noticing Cas’s sword.
He’s bending the light around him, the same way I do to keep from being noticed. Not as strong as an illusion, but it fools most eyes. Yours are an exception.
Again, I’m concerned that this sword is smarter than I thought.
Probably smart enough to object to your plan to stick him in his box and throw him to the bottom of the harbor.
We’ll worry about that later. How do we get to this dungeon, Jaxi? Assuming we can get away from our escort here.
“Fronzo, I need to use the lavatory on the way, please,” Sardelle said, hoping she didn’t risk raising his suspicions.
He sighed. “Of course you do.”
Is that suspicion? Sardelle couldn’t decipher his tone.
No, I think all of the women ask to use it, and he’s not surprised at all. If he’s annoyed, it’s because he has this duty tonight.
Oh, good. Their escort wasn’t suspicious; he was annoyed.
Fronzo led them past the stony-faced guards standing like posts on either side of the double doors leading to the interior. He turned left immediately and chose one of several corridors leading away from the large foyer, then jerked a thumb toward a short, dead-end hallway. Unfortunately, Sardelle did not see any promising stairways leading to subterranean levels, just an open door to a tiny room brightened by a candle.
“You can go first,” Sardelle told Cas.
Cas twitched an eyebrow but walked into the room.
How do we get to the dungeon from here, Jaxi?
I’m looking. I thought I had it earlier, but realized the door I found leads to a different dungeon that’s only near the dungeon where Captain Kaika is being kept. There are pamphlets in a holder on the wall. I think they take school children to this one for tours.
Lovely. Maybe there’s a secret door from that one to the other one? You said they’re close?
Yes, and I’m looking for that. You may need to bring the bloodhound down here to sniff it out.
The “bloodhound” exited the little room less than a minute after she had walked in. What kind of woman didn’t know how to spend at least ten minutes in the lavatory?
One that doesn’t care if her soul snozzle is impressed by how much makeup she wears.
I don’t know what you’re implying, Sardelle said as she headed inside for her turn, but I hope you’re finding a dungeon door while you imply it.
Not yet. I can see several guards in there with Kaika—and there are two other prisoners too—but none of them are being polite enough to leave, so I can get a chance to see how they do it.
Can’t you give them the urge to void their bladders?
A noise of disgust came through ahead of Jaxi’s words. You want me to tinker with a man’s bladder?
How about the part of the mind that responds to urges from it? It should be easy for the soulblade who plucked the information about the family vineyards from a woman’s memory in a mere three seconds.
When Jaxi did not respond, Sardelle did not know if she was searching for some guard’s bladder controls or steadfastly ignoring her suggestion and hunting for the door herself.
Kasandral would do it, Sardelle teased.
That’s not funny. Now, give me a moment to figure this out.
While she waited, Sardelle took her time using the facilities herself, including a thorough washing of her hands and face. Despite Jaxi’s comment, she hadn’t had an opportunity to apply any makeup in weeks, so she couldn’t pretend to check that. She did polish Jaxi’s pommel for her with one of the silky towels by the sink.
Oops, Jaxi thought.
Sardelle returned the towel to its holder. Oops?
It turns out that the part of the brain that tells a man he has to pee isn’t much different from the part that tells him to pee. It’s having the same effect though. I’m pretty sure he’s heading for the door.
I can’t believe that in your hundreds of years of existence, you’ve never made a man pee before.
Really, Sardelle, what kind of soulblade do you think I am? Besides, for three hundred of those years, I was buried under a mountain of rock. Bladders didn’t come in my direction very often.
Someone knocked at the door, and Sardelle jumped.
I’m almost out of time, Jaxi. You’ll have to tell me how to get down there soon. And Sardelle would have to figure out how to escape the escort, too.
I will.
Sardelle opened the door, expecting an impatient Fronzo. Instead, another woman wearing a hood faced her. It wasn’t Cas.
“Sister,” Sardelle murmured and stepped out, ducking her head, hoping the woman’s needs would delay a conversation—or a who-in-the-hells-are-you question.
“May the forest breeze always bring pleasant winds, Sister,” the other greeted and stepped inside.
To Sardelle’s relief, a response did not seem to be required. The woman closed the door without further comment. Cas, Fronzo, and another man in castle livery waited at the front of the short hall.
“I’m ready,” Sardelle said, though she was already thinking of other ways she could delay until Jaxi told her where to go.
I’ve got it. First floor, follow the hallway that parallels the king’s audience chamber, then turn into the corridor that runs behind it. There are a bunch of doors, and the one at the end leads to stairs that go up or down. Go down, obviously, then all the way through the faux dungeon. Pull on an iron ring dangling from the wall in the back. There’s a secret door that opens. Our buddy who is in need of fresh trousers left, but there’s another guard in there. Kaika is at the end of a row of cells. Presumably Puddles will be back before long too. You might want to stage your breakout now.
Aware of Fronzo walking ahead of her, leading the way to stairs that went up instead of down, Sardelle could only respond with, I’ll do my best. Thank you.
Do you need your escort to be overtaken with the urge to urinate as well? Jaxi asked.
The urge or the actual bodily function?
Well, I thought that with practice I could refine things.
But they were already up the stairs, and Fronzo was stopping in front of a door, one decorated with two more guards. Unless Jaxi could encourage the need for a group pee, Sardelle did not see how she was going to walk anywhere except into that meeting room.
“Password,” one of the guards stated as Sardelle and Cas approached.
She caught a sideways look from Cas, who probably wondered if this would be the time to fight. Not ideally. If the guards in front of the meeting room disappeared, their absence would be noticed as soon as that other escort came up with the other woman. Even if she spent several minutes in the lavatory, Sardelle knew it would take longer to find those stairs and figure out how to get Kaika out.
“The moonlight glistens on the calm waters of the harbor,” Sardelle said, using the term Jaxi had plucked from the real Sai Forgolen.
“That’s the old one,” the guard said, his voice irritated.
“What?” Jaxi?
That’s all the vineyard girl had floating around in her wine-sodden brain.
“Can’t any of you people remember your codes?” the guard asked. “Some secret organization.”
He turned to the door, clearly intending to go in and ask someone to come out and verify that Sardelle and Cas belonged. Except that they didn’t.
She threw a gust of wind at the door, slamming it shut as soon as the guard opened it. He frowned and started to tug, but then seemed to think something suspicious was going on. He whirled back toward Sardelle. She was already summoning the gust of air necessary to plaster him and his colleague to the wall.
Fronzo stirred. “What’s—”
Cas spun on him, slamming the hilt of her pistol into the side of his head. He stumbled backward, and she followed the attack with a palm strike to the nose and a kick to the inside of his knee. He wasn’t unconscious, but he crumpled. Neither Sardelle nor Cas had brought rope, but Cas cut strips off the hem of her cloak. In impressive time, she tied the man’s wrists behind his back and improvised a gag.
“Better tie his ankles too,” Sardelle said, her voice sounding strained in her own ears. Most of her focus was toward maintaining the battering ram of air that had the guards flattened against the wall. They tried to reach for their weapons, but she slammed their knuckles against the unyielding stone behind them. Holding them this way took a lot of energy, and she worried about the consequences. What happened when that other woman walked up the stairs? Or what if someone already inside the meeting came out?
“We dragging them somewhere?” Cas asked.
“We’ll have to. Here, come tie up these two. I’ll hold them.”
One of the guard’s lips curled back, as if he wanted to deny that she could do that. His lips were all he could move. The other one wasn’t fighting her power so fiercely. He was staring at her with his eyes round.
The room across the hall from that one is empty, Jaxi said.
Good, thanks.
The guard who peed is back, so you’ll have two to deal with down there.
Understood.
So long as they could get down there. Sardelle heard voices from the floor below and winced. The other “sister”? Keeping the guards pinned down was taking all of her concentration, so she could not check. She did manage to lower her hand to open the door behind them. A dark sitting room lay inside, a few chairs and tables just visible in the gloom, along with another door open in the rear. Sardelle couldn’t tell if it was a meeting room or the living area of a bedroom suite. It hardly mattered. She couldn’t imagine it or the door keeping those guards for long once they figured out how to escape their bonds.
“Done,” Cas whispered. “Someone’s coming.”
“I know.”
Again using the wind, Sardelle pushed one of the guards across the hall as she stepped out of his way. She wished she could shove them both in at once, but she lacked that kind of precision control. The headache that had blossomed earlier throbbed in sync with her heartbeat now.
I think it might have something to do with proximity to the sword, Jaxi said. You haven’t done that much today.
I don’t know—I haven’t rested much since last night, either. Besides, I haven’t been very far from that sword since we found it. She maneuvered the second guard into the room, pushing both of them to the far side before knocking their legs out from under them. Perhaps it was a vain hope, but she hoped they would have trouble moving across the room and thumping on the door to get attention.
A woman’s laughter floated up the stairs. “It’s always a delight visiting, Hasham.”
Someone inside the meeting room asked something, but the door muffled the words. That made Sardelle extra aware of how close everyone was and how unlikely it was that this kidnapping would go undiscovered.
“Can you knock them out?” Cas whispered as she dragged Fronzo across the threshold on his back.
“Not when they’re this alert.”
Cas did not say anything else, but Sardelle imagined her wishing she had Tolemek there. His knockout potions never failed to work. Of course, Sardelle could have done damage that would have caused the men to lose consciousness, but she was loath to beat them up any more than she had already. Whatever these people accused her of, she did not want any of it to be true.
As soon as Cas dumped her load and came out, Sardelle closed the door. She took a step toward the stairs, but the laughter came again, closer this time, and she sensed that woman was half way up already. She grabbed Cas’s arm and pointed the other way down the hall. She had no idea if there would be another set of stairs that would take them back down to the main floor, but they would have to chance it. As she and Cas ran in that direction, Sardelle focused on the locking mechanism of the door of the room that now held the guards. She melted it, hoping that would give them a few more seconds.
The woman and her escort had nearly reached the top. There wasn’t time to get to the corner. Sardelle grabbed a door, wincing when she found it locked. Cas grabbed the knob on the opposite side of the hall and shoved the door open, charging inside. Sardelle leaped after her, worried those coming onto the landing had spotted her, and also worried that they would notice the lack of guards.
“What?” someone in the room blurted. “Who are you?”
Cas glanced back, a question in her eyes. Sardelle didn’t know the answer—what to do with the bald, frail man in the middle of dressing. Sardelle grimaced at the idea of beating him into submission, especially when they had been the ones to barge into his room. She brushed the surface of his mind, hoping to find some tidbit that would give her an idea as to how to assuage his suspicions in a way that would let them walk out again in a minute.
He’s the castle bookkeeper, Jaxi said at the same time as Sardelle discerned that their appearance worried him, not because they were intruders but because they were wearing those cloaks which meant they were a part of the queen’s special group.
“Sorry,” Sardelle said, smoothing her features. She was not going to panic because she was in the middle of an infiltration that was growing less likely to succeed with each passing minute, not her. “I don’t think you heard us knock.”
“I—ah.” The bookkeeper glanced toward the door, but seemed more concerned by the trousers around his ankles.
“The queen sent us to inquire about...” About what? Uhm. “Funding for a special project.”
“Another one?” The man wrestled his trousers up to his waist. He struggled with his belt, and they were in danger of slipping down again. The burden of slim hips.
“Yes.” Sardelle tried not to make it sound like a question.
“To the Trim and Tight Landscaping Service again?” Sarcasm thickened his voice. He succeeded in fastening the belt and propped his fists on his hips, recovering his equilibrium.
Cas had stirred at the name of the company. Recognition? From the name, Sardelle was imagining some kind of sexual services business, but she supposed the queen wouldn’t need to hire prostitutes to service her sisters.
Those types of perks were not mentioned in the organization’s encyclopedia entry, Jaxi shared.
Good to know.
However, I haven’t yet had an opportunity to look over that pamphlet you took from the queen’s desk.
“How much does she need this time?” the bookkeeper asked.
“Five thousand nucros.” As Sardelle plucked the number out of the ether, she scanned the hallway outside. It was empty. She did not know whether to assume that meant it was safe to leave. They probably weren’t going to find safe tonight.
“The job was completed to the queen’s satisfaction,” Cas added.
“Glad to hear it. That’s been very expensive landscaping.” The bookkeeper waved them toward the door. “I’ll get to work on it.”
Sardelle nodded toward Cas, then strode out the door. They jogged down the hallway, Sardelle slowing down only enough to see if anyone was on the stairs and make sure the guards hadn’t escaped their prison yet. They were still there, wriggling their way across the floor toward the door.
Worrying they had already been reported as missing, Sardelle took the stairs three at a time. Jaxi guided her toward the audience hall and the hallway behind it. Twice, she and Cas had to duck into rooms or closets to avoid guards patrolling the building. If not for her senses, they would have stumbled right into them. At least none of these rooms contained bookkeepers or anyone else.
Jaxi’s directions proved accurate, and they found their way into a very tidy and dust-free basement dungeon. Sardelle headed straight for the back, searching the gloom for the iron ring.
“Are those brochures?” Cas asked as she walked past the entrance. As Jaxi had promised, a holder supported a stack of papers, and there was a chalkboard, as well as illustrations and photographs next to neat handwriting that described how the dungeon had once been used to house enemies of the nation.
Once. Right. “I believe they’re educational pamphlets,” Sardelle said. “To be handed to schoolchildren.”
“Must have missed that field trip when I was a student.”
Sardelle tugged on the heavy iron ring, the kind that might have once secured chains to the wall. It did not move. You’re sure this is the spot, Jaxi?
Yes, apply more muscle. Or get Cas to do it. Her little arms are surprisingly strong.
Sardelle glanced at Cas, but another question popped into her mind first. “You don’t know anything about the Trim and Tight Landscaping Service, do you?”
Cas nodded curtly. “One of several fictitious business entities that my father uses to send invoices and collect payments.”
“Invoices?” Sardelle couldn’t wrap her mind around the notion of receiving an invoice in the mail from an assassin.
“He’s an organized man. The fictitious names allow people to hire him without their household knowing about it. Sometimes someone within the family is a target.”
Sardelle was starting to wish she hadn’t asked. She tried twisting the ring instead of pulling it, and it gave slightly.
“That’s it,” she whispered, remembering the guards that would be in the real dungeon on the other side of the wall. “Ready for another fight?”
A sickly green glow spilled onto the stones. “Ready.” Cas had drawn the sword.
Sardelle hesitated. “We’re not eviscerating, beheading, or castrating anyone, remember?”
“If Kasandral can cut through dragon scales, I’m guessing it can handle iron bars.”
A logical argument, though Sardelle did not like the way the green glow reflected in Cas’s eyes.
I can handle iron bars too.
I have no doubt of that, Jaxi.
“Here we go.” Sardelle checked on the placement of the guards before tugging on the ring. She doubted the dark green cloaks would explain their presence down here.
She expected them to be in the same spot as they had been a moment before, but was surprised that they had moved away from the door entirely and drifted down one of three rows of cells. To check on Kaika? Sardelle tugged on the ring. They might not get a better chance to sneak in.
The stone slab swung open more quickly than she expected. Sardelle charged through, a barrier in place in front of her in case she was wrong, and someone with a gun was waiting. But she was assaulted by smoke, not bullets. The hazy air slipped around her shield, stinging her nose and making her eyes water.
“What’s—” Cas started to ask, but a muted bang came from down one of the rows of cells.
A figure strode toward them, smoke swirling. Sardelle lifted a hand, prepared to defend herself again. The person who marched out of the smoke was armed, with a pistol in each hand, but she lowered them.
“Sardelle?” Captain Kaika asked. Soot smeared her face, and a dark bloodstain marked her wrinkled shirt, the same one she had been in the day before, but she looked ready to chew up some rocks and spit them out rather than tumble onto a fainting couch. “Is that you?”
Sardelle pushed back her hood. “How did you know?”
“There’s a ball of clean air hovering around you.”
Sardelle wrinkled her nose. “Not that clean.”
Behind her, Cas coughed. “We came to rescue you, Captain.”
“Good, because until you showed up, I didn’t know where the door was.” Kaika peered back over her shoulder. “I was going to ask one of them, but, uhm, they’re going to be too busy digging themselves out of that rubble to chat.”
“How in all the realms did you get ahold of explosives down here?” Sardelle asked.
“Made them. If you’re ever running a dungeon, make sure you do a thorough search of the prisoners, and don’t dismiss any powders or liquids they’ve tucked away in dark places.”
“I shall keep that in mind.”
Kaika coughed a few times and wiped tears from her eyes—they were leaving clear tracks down her sooty cheeks. She grasped her shoulder where she had been shot, but all she asked was, “Did you bring a cloak for me?”
“Sorry, that would have been a smart idea, but we didn’t think of it. Also, we’ve been harried and rushed for most of our infiltration.” Sardelle stepped back into the show dungeon, waving for Kaika to follow. “Speaking of that, we should go. I’m afraid that noise will have been heard, and there have been other... disturbances as a result of our entrance too.”
Cas snorted noisily.
Kaika had walked out of the smoke-filled dungeon, pushing the door shut behind her, but she halted before taking another step. “I’m not leaving until I talk to the queen.”
“Talk? Or interrogate her?” Sardelle asked. “I don’t think either is a good idea. We’re seconds away from being discovered as it is, and she’s up there in the middle of one of her sisterhood meetings.” In truth, Sardelle hadn’t searched the auras in that room, so she could not say for certain that the queen was in there, but it seemed logical. If nothing else, she needed to hand out all of the pamphlets she had made.
“You know where she is? Perfect.” Kaika strode toward the stairs, her pistols still gripped in her hands.
Sardelle rushed to catch up with her, grabbing one forearm. “There are soldiers everywhere. You’ll be seen before you get to her.”
“Define everywhere.”
“All of the halls. We barely made it down here without being noticed. We had to hide multiple times. We’re fairly certain they let the news leak out that you were being hanged tonight, in order to ensure we—your allies—tried to break you out. They’re setting a trap, if they haven’t already.”
“I was to be hanged tonight?” Kaika lifted her sooty brows.
“Or at dawn. Apex was fuzzy on the details.”
“You find out where the king is being held yet?”
“We have a lead. Therrik thought he had been taken to a lighthouse.”
“Oh.” Kaika used the muzzle of one of the pistols to scratch her chin. “There are a lot of lighthouses in Iskandia.”
“Yes, it’s not a perfect lead.”
Cas jogged to the bottom of the stairs and tilted her head toward the door at the top. What had she heard?
Jaxi?
The guards upstairs haven’t been noticed yet, though they have thumped at the door a few times. The meeting is underway in the other room. They’re probably sacrificing some chickens or something noisy.
Is anything else going on?
There are a lot of soldiers on the ground floor, both inside and out. They might be setting that trap you were thinking about.
So, Sardelle thought, it would be hard to get out?
Remember that notion you had of shielding yourself and charging past legions of soldiers shooting at you?
Yes...
That could still happen.
Wonderful.
“She’ll know where he is,” Kaika said. “Without a doubt.”
Sardelle did not know if Kaika was trying to convince herself, or if she had heard something that verified their suspicions. Either way, there wasn’t time to ask.
Kaika spun toward her. “If we have to fight our way out of here, can you keep us alive? I heard you can stop bullets.”
“I would prefer not to fight, but I can shield us from fire, yes. Not indefinitely, mind you.”
Kaika nodded. “Good enough.”
“Wouldn’t you rather escape, let me heal your wound, and try to contact the queen another time?” Sardelle asked.
“No.” She strode up the stairs.
Sardelle followed while wishing she had a better feeling about all of this.
• • • • •
“We were outnumbered, at least twenty to one,” Ridge said, sharing his second or third tale with Private Gormen, who was now off-duty. After finishing his shift, the young soldier had returned with the promised atlas, and Ridge had double-checked his map and his memory. The atlas did not mention lighthouses, but seeing the contours of the coast helped him remember two more spots that could serve as out-of-the-way prisons. Now, he just had to figure out how to get out of this cell and up to the hangar, so he could grab that two-person flier and hope he wasn’t shot down by the city’s artillery weapons as he took off.
“Their airship was armored, with some shaman protecting the balloon too,” Ridge continued. “It was my first encounter with magic. Before that, I’d been like my mom, believing it didn’t exist. It’s hard to maintain that belief when an airship starts flinging bolts of lightning at your flier.”
“What’d you do, sir?”
“Started flying on top of their balloon, so they couldn’t target me. Crash and the Milkman—he’s retired now—flew under it, tried to find a way through that armoring and to their engines. When the shaman was distracted with them, I swooped down, did a strafing run on their deck. Flew right between the ship and the balloon. Managed to cut through some of the supports, too, so the back of the deck was dangling down, and the shaman was too busy trying not to fall into the ocean thousands of feet below to bother with me. About a hundred other Cofah wanted to shoot at me, but I snugged right up to the balloon, so they realized they were cutting holes into it with each shot. Finally, I took a nice handmade explosive, a gift from the artillery fellows, and tossed it at the tank delivering hydrogen to the balloon. Got out of there about half a second before the biggest explosion you’ve ever seen.”
The on-duty guard, who was stationed up the hall and out of Ridge’s sight, let out a low whistle. Ridge didn’t know if his storytelling was doing anything useful—wouldn’t it be easier to escape if the guards weren’t paying any attention to him?—but had some vague notion of establishing a rapport with the men. The bars on the cell door and the window were quite sturdy, so he could never escape without human intervention. He couldn’t bring himself to ask either of them for a key, both because it would be deleterious for their careers and because he was skeptical as to whether they would let him go, but with time, maybe he might find an opportunity to slip a key off one of their belts. Especially if he could get the on-duty fellow to come join him and Private Gormen for a drink—Gormen had brought a second bottle of beer when he had returned with the atlas.
“That was in the early days of Cofah airships,” Ridge said. “Back when we were all using hydrogen, before we realized it was too easy to blow up. There were even non-combat-related accidents where the gas simply caught fire through some crew error and took the ship down. We’ve all switched to helium now. As I saw on my last mission, the Cofah have fliers, too—they stole our design, the bastards. And some other weapons. Any future battles are going to be tough. They always had superior numbers, but we had our fliers, which are of course far more maneuverable than their plodding airships. Things won’t be easy going forward.”
Ridge resisted the urge to rail about the lack of fliers defending the city at the moment.
“Sir,” came a terse greeting from the out-of-sight guard.
The off-duty one’s eyes widened as he looked up the hallway, and he shifted the bottle of beer behind his back.
Had Colonel Porthlok come back to start his interrogation? It was late for that—it had to be nearing midnight. Ridge hadn’t expected more company until at least dawn. Maybe he had run out of time and should have been trying harder to find a key.
“This how you guard a prisoner, Private?” a gruff male voice asked.
Ridge slumped against the wall. He recognized Colonel Therrik’s voice before the man walked into view, glowering at Gormen.
“No-no, sir,” Gormen stammered. “I’m off-duty, sir. I was just...” He waved vaguely at Ridge.
“I asked him to keep me company,” Ridge said, hoping to keep Therrik from contemplating some punishment for the young soldier, not that he particularly wanted to draw Therrik’s ire toward himself. Whatever had brought the man here at this hour, it couldn’t be anything good. Maybe he wanted revenge for the beating he believed he had received at Ridge’s hands. “You know how needy I am,” he added. “I get terribly lonely if I don’t have anyone to tell my stories to.”
Therrik grunted, then jerked a thumb toward the exit. “Take your beer and get out of here before I report you.”
Gormen flashed a quick salute at Ridge—an action that made Therrik scowl—then darted around the big man. He looked relieved that reporting was all that Therrik had mentioned. Given his reputation for pummeling young privates and academy cadets, that wasn’t surprising. Ridge wondered if he was about to be pummeled. He almost joked that Therrik should be nicer to young people, so that he wouldn’t be the subject of vandalism so often, but clamped his mouth shut before the words could escape. As far as Ridge knew, Therrik had no reason to suspect he and Tolemek had been anywhere near his house. It would be better for his health if Therrik continued to believe that.
“I heard you were drawing on the wall in here like a three-year-old.” Therrik held a lantern up to the bars and stared at the map at the back of the cell.
“Now, Colonel, I take exception to that comment. I believe I have at least the artistic skills of a five-year-old.”
“You’re known for being delusional.”
Ridge looked at the map. “A four-year-old?”
Therrik’s face remained stony, his dark, dull eyes offering no hint that he appreciated the humor.
“You heard about the lighthouse too,” Therrik said, his hard gaze shifting toward Ridge.
Too? Ah, right. Therrik wouldn’t have sensed the information being plucked from his mind. But if he thought Ridge had some intel that he needed, did that mean he had come for an interrogation? An unsanctioned one? Or maybe Porthlok had secretly sanctioned it.
“I’ve been all along the coasts,” Ridge said carefully. “I don’t think I have any more information than you do, but I can only think of a few lighthouses that would make viable prisons, especially if someone wanted to hide someone extremely recognizable for the long term.”
“And you want to search them.”
“Seems like a logical approach. A lot of the problems we have would go away if King Angulus returned.” And his flier squadrons, but Ridge didn’t want to risk bringing that up again. He did wonder if Therrik had been back up to the hangar and had seen if any messages had been returned.
“I don’t suppose you would go away,” Therrik grumbled.
A few sarcastic comments floated to mind, but Ridge kept his mouth shut. Grumpy Therrik was an improvement over cruel Therrik, and he was waiting for the man to tell him why he had come. No need to distract him with clever repartee.
Therrik fished in his pocket. Ridge anticipated everything from brass knuckles to a garrote wire to some compact torture device. What he didn’t anticipate was a key, though maybe he should have. After all, torture implements would be easier to use without bars in the way.
“I’m out of beer,” Ridge said. “No need for you to come in.”
“I bet you swilled it without even thinking that it might be poisoned.”
“I would have thought that in a Cofah prison, but Private Gormen seemed genuinely interested in my tales.”
“I’ll bet.” Therrik shoved the door open.
Ridge tensed, all too aware that he didn’t have Sardelle to help him this time.
But instead of stepping in, Therrik stepped back. “Get out. Go find the king.”
Ridge looked from him to the key, noting a piece of tape around the fat end. This wasn’t the same key as the guards wore on the rings on their belts.
“Is this authorized?” Ridge asked.
“What do you think?”
“I’m not sure what to think. I figured you came to beat me into a pulp.”
Therrik’s eyes brightened, and his fingers curled into a fist. “I would be happy to do that. Maybe it would make your escape look more real.”
“Uh, that’s not necessary.” Ridge would have preferred to wait until Therrik left before venturing out—in the tight corridor out there, he would have to get uncomfortably close to the man to squeeze out of his cell. But he might not get another chance, or Therrik might change his mind.
Ridge took a breath and stepped through the gate. He noticed two things: that the guard at the head of the corridor was not there... and that Therrik grabbed him.
Ridge jerked his arm up in an attempt to block, but Therrik threw his weight behind the attack, his hands a blur. He knocked aside Ridge’s arm, even as he smashed Ridge into the bars beside the gate. Hard metal bit into his back, and his head clunked against iron. Ridge got his arms up to protect his throat, but all Therrik did was pin him there, his hands curled into Ridge’s uniform jacket.
“I don’t believe you bested me, you untrained chair jockey,” Therrik growled. “I can’t see it, but you better be the man those starry-eyed privates think you are.” Therrik shoved Ridge and let him go.
Ridge gripped the bars to keep from falling. He would love to slam a fist into that sneering face, but he was too busy trying to figure out what was going on to truly be angry.
Therrik thrust a finger toward his nose. “If you don’t find the king, don’t bother coming back.”
Without waiting for acknowledgment, Therrik stalked up the corridor. He slammed the door on his way out and did not look back.
Ridge couldn’t begin to figure out that man—and a big part of him wondered if Therrik was setting him up to be shot, letting him go so the MPs would see him as an escaped prisoner and unleash the hounds on him. But he willed his legs into motion, anyway. This might be his only chance to find the king. If he didn’t... Therrik wasn’t the only one who could make Ridge’s life miserable—or make it over—when he came back.