Hours later I was still sitting on the dusty stone floor in front of the black door that stood between me and Tommer. I knew little of the boy except that he had loved the troubadour Bal Armidor, as I had, and that when I called for Jurors at the Rock of Rijou, he had picked up a coin, and in doing so he had saved not just my life but Aline’s too.
I can’t break you, I said silently to the door. I can’t melt you or drill through you or knock you down. How can something as small as a key be your undoing?
Duke Jillard sat a few feet away watching me. The others had gone back into one of the wider hallways to discuss ever more elaborate and unlikely means to save Tommer.
“It’s hopeless, isn’t it?” Jillard asked. “I have built an inescapable prison for my enemies, and now they have trapped my very soul inside it.”
There’s a way. There has to be a way.
The watch bell echoed through the dungeon, its pitch shifting slightly with each reverberation until the sound became an eerie chorus.
“Four o’clock,” Jillard said. “How long, do you suppose, before the assassin torments Tommer again with that infernal dust?” His eyes were full of anguish, mixed with the realization that he himself was responsible for everything that now transpired. He looked up at the narrow slits in the iron door. “I brought in a mage in on the first day of Tommer’s capture, an expensive one. Rumor has it he was the one who cast the spell that tore down the castle walls at Neville.”
“And what did he say?” I asked.
Jillard gave a hoarse laugh. “He said if I wanted him to tear down the walls of the palace he could, for a fee, do that.”
“But not this door?”
“Iron,” the Duke said. “Iron is the problem. It weakens the forces the mage draws on and makes them split apart.”
“How does that work?” I asked, not really expecting an answer. I hate magic.
“Who knows?” Jillard said. “They speak in riddles and poems, these mages and wizards. There are times when I find myself quite hating magic and those who wield it. I should have imprisoned the smug bastard, but cross one mage and you’ve crossed them all.”
It made sense, I supposed. There were few men who could work real magic in Tristia. Those who did had no doubt learned long ago the necessity of looking out for one another. Too bad the guards in the dungeon weren’t smart enough to do the same.
Wait . . . What if they were smart enough? I turned to Jillard. “The other watch-guards—how many are there?”
“Four in total,” he replied.
“One down in the dungeon—presumably dead?”
“Sir Toujean said so, yes.”
I got to my feet. “I need to see those remaining three watch-guards!”
“Why?” Jillard asked, rising as well. “I already told you—”
“Because you said you killed any guard who lost the key, and that you threatened to kill the others unless it was found.”
“I don’t see how that—”
“You said they found the key both times after it was lost. What are the odds that on two separate occasions something as small as a key was lost and then found again so quickly?”
Jillard looked at me as if I’d just failed to calculate the sum of two and two. “Since the guards did, in fact, find the key, then I suppose the odds are reasonably good.”
“That’s the point—they didn’t find it. Your watch-guards knew they would face death if a key was lost and not recovered, so they took steps to protect each other.”
Jillard’s eyes narrowed. “How?”
He still couldn’t see it. For all his cruel and cunning brilliance, the obvious answer had completely escaped him. “They had another key made.”
Shiballe’s cheeks jiggled as he shook his head. “Your Grace, I regret . . . I cannot bring you the watch-guards—they fled the city two days ago when they learned that Tommer had been taken.”
“Impossible! I’ll have them flayed alive for this—I’ll see their families—”
“You threaten too many people,” I said. “Death for this and death for that—your watch-guards played the odds.”
Jillard’s expression was defiant for a moment, then he crumbled. “Then that avenue is closed to us and my son will suffer and die for the shortsightedness of his father.”
I shared the Duke’s despair. If there was a third key, only the watch-guards would likely know about it. Damn the Dashini to a hundred hells for being willing to torture and kill a child. Fourth Law is child not being hurt. Ugh’s clumsy rendition of the Law echoed in my head.
I grabbed Shiballe by the arm. “Give me the key for the cells on this floor—now.”
“I will do no such thing!” Shiballe said, doing his best to pull away from me.
“If you’re thinking it might be used on this lock somehow, then you’re wasting—” Jillard started, but I held up a hand to stop him.
“It’s not that—I have a different idea. Tell Shiballe to give me the key.”
“Never! A Trattari with the keys of Rijou’s—?”
“Do as he asks,” the Duke said.
“Your Grace, this is a trick! Whatever lies he’s told you, he’ll just take the key to set the prisoners free, and then use the confusion to flee the palace.”
“And what if he does?” Jillard asked. “Will water no longer flow down to the ground when poured from a jug? Will day no longer give way to night? Will Tommer not die just as quickly? Give him the key, Shiballe.”
Shiballe reached into his robes and withdrew a chain of keys. He fiddled with them for a moment until he’d finally removed one. He handed it to me.
“I need the one for the chains in the cells as well,” I said.
Shiballe glanced again at the Duke, and then back to me. Hatred in the eyes is, sadly, an easy thing to spot. He pulled a second, smaller key from the ring and reluctantly handed it over.
“Wait here,” I said.
I ran back toward Ugh’s cell, the others following close behind me. As I arrived I could hear Ugh muttering, “Fourth Law is child not responsible. Child too stupid. Not know difference. Fifth Law is . . . shit . . . Fifth Law is—”
I opened the door to the cell and Ugh looked at me. “Hey, fucking tough guy Greatcoat. You come back? Join me here? Plenty of room. What is Fifth Law again?”
I knelt down and undid the cuffs locking his hands to the walls. “The Fifth Law is there shall be no unjust punishment,” I said.
He rubbed at his wrists. “Right, right. Fucking Fifth Law always problem for me.”
I put a hand on Ugh’s shoulder. “The key to the black door,” I said. “Where is it?”
Ugh’s eyes focused on me. “Is only two keys for black door. One is watch-guard’s. One is Duke’s. Go see watch-guard. He less likely have you killed for asking.” His eyes swiveled, and he saw Duke Jillard standing with the others outside the cell. “Ah. Too late, looks like.” He started putting his hands back in the cuffs.
“No,” I said, pulling his hands away to stop him from chaining himself again, “the other key.”
“What other key?”
“The one the guards keep in case they lose the watch-key.”
Ugh’s eyes narrowed for just an instant. He knows, I thought.
“Is no other key,” he said firmly. “Two keys. One Duke. One watch-guard.”
“There’s another key,” I said, and gently put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right. You will not be punished.” I turned and glared at the Duke to make my point. “Tell us, please.”
Ugh shook his head. “Even if other key, watch-guards no talk to rough men like me. Call us dogs.”
“But some dogs pay close attention, don’t they?” I said. “Some dogs know to keep an eye out in case there’s something they might need to know about one day.”
Ugh’s eyes drifted to the Duke. “No. Dogs sit in corner and shut up. When dog stands, owner kicks. Dog stands again, owner kills.”
“That won’t happen here,” I said. “I won’t let it happen.”
“Sometimes dog decides, better to die,” Ugh said. “Such dog not care about what happens to owner after.”
“It’s not him—it’s Tommer. The boy—he’s trapped down in the lower dungeon.”
Ugh’s expression softened. “Is no place for boy. Is place for . . . ugliness.”
“That’s right,” I said, “it’s not a place for a boy. We’ve got to get him out, Ugh. You and I, we have to get him out of there, now. We need the key.”
Ugh looked at me and snorted. “You talk to me like fucking horse, eh? Like you talk to crazy fucking horse. Mad beast covered in scars and hate and you make her think like man. Like man better than me. What you say? You say little girl in cage with horse is little horse. You say, Dam haf fal . . . something like . . .”
“Dan’ha vath fallatu.” I am of your herd.
“You think I am like horse, eh? You think boy is like me? Like he is my herd? He is rich. Father is rich. I have nothing. He is handsome. I am ugly.”
“He is scared,” I said. “He is in the dark.”
Very slowly, Ugh’s eyes began to fill with tears. “Fucking horse. Fucking horse not kill little girl just because you say Damhaf falato. Fucking horse better than me.”
“The horse isn’t better than you.” I said.
“Say it again,” Ugh pleaded, tears still streaming down his cheeks. “Say Damhaf—”
“Dan’ha vath fallatu.”
He pushed himself up from the floor awkwardly, his legs wavering as he stood. “Fucking horse. Horse no better than me. I go get fucking little boy then you tell horse, eh? You tell horse I save little boy.” He stumbled, then pushed past the others to enter the passageway. “Come on,” he said. “We get boy now. Fourth Law is child not get hurt . . .”
The eight of us followed Ugh through the passage, down into the main corridor and through a maze of passageways until I was sure we had circled back to the same place. I began to fear he was lost, but at last he turned into one and announced, “Here,” he said. “Is here.”
We were standing in front of the black door.
“You damned dog,” Shiballe shouted, “you worthless piece of excrement! We already knew where the door was, you fool! You’ve wasted our time for nothing.”
“You know already?” Ugh asked, turning to the rest of us.
“Of course we know,” Shiballe snarled.
Ugh looked to me questioningly and I nodded.
“If you know already, then why you fucking standing here?” He stretched up onto tiptoes and felt around on one of the little stone ledges near the top of the door. Turning back to me, he held out his meaty fist. When he unclenched his fingers, he revealed a six-inch-long iron key. It had nearly twenty different teeth of varying lengths and shapes. “Stupid people. Damhaf falato. We go get boy now, yes?”