The Blackthorn Key (13 page)

No lanterns hung in the streets. City regulations forbade them after nine p.m. There were torch boys you could
hire to light your way, but that obviously wasn't an option for us. We traveled instead by the half-moon, which cast the city in a foggy silver glow. Fortunately, my home wasn't far, just three streets away from Tom's. We dodged behind the clattering cart of the night-soil men, bolted through one more alleyway, then hopped a stone fence, and we were outside Blackthorn's workshop at the back.

“How are we going to get in?” Tom said. “I thought the Guild Council took your key.”

They had. Except they didn't know about the key Master Benedict kept hidden, and I hadn't told them where to find it. At the back corner of the house, a column of cracked brick led up the side of the chimney. I dragged my fingers along it, feeling for the symbol. I found it, etched near eye height on the left side, camouflaged by the brick's natural pattern.

Tom cocked his head. “Isn't that a planet?”

He was right. This was the symbol for Mars. I wondered why Master Benedict had used it to mark his key. I was still thinking about it when a frenzied fluttering burst in front of my face. I jumped. Tom gave a little squeak I didn't know a boy his size could make.

My heart started up again when I saw it was just a pigeon. It flapped its wings and landed next to me. In the moonlight, it took me a moment to recognize her. “Bridget!”

She cooed.

I knelt and scooped her into my hands. She nuzzled against my fingers. “What are you doing out here?” I said.

Tom pointed upward. “Look.”

Right above us, at the edge of the roof, the door to our pigeon coop swung open in the breeze. I cursed. Whatever idiot the Guild Council had sent to feed the pigeons hadn't latched it behind him. All our birds would be gone. And out in the wild, Bridget could have been hurt.

She wriggled in my fingers, alarmed by my voice. I stopped swearing and stroked her feathers to calm her. She still managed to look offended.

Tom looked around nervously. “We can't stay out here all night.”

Right again. I cradled Bridget in one arm and pulled on the brick with the symbol of Mars. It slid outward, scraping on the masonry. Behind it was a small nook. Inside was the key to our house.

When I went to the back door, however, it was already unlocked. The same idiot who'd lost our birds hadn't even
secured the house when he left. I was about to start swearing again, but when we went inside, I couldn't find my voice.

Our workshop had been ransacked.

A low fire left burning in the oven in the corner gave enough light to see the damage. Pots and cookware were scattered across the benches. Books, flipped open, had been tossed aside like garbage. The ceramic jars were overturned, leaving rainbow powder starbursts on the floorboards. Even the ice vault in the floor was open, the precious chipped chunks left exposed to melt.

It wasn't until Bridget made a strangled cry that I realized I was squeezing her.

Tom tugged on my sleeve. “We need to go.”

I couldn't. Against Tom's urging, I went forward, trembling, into the shop. I expected bad. I got even worse.

Half the jars were off the shelves, some tipped over, some shattered, herbs and powders blown everywhere. Here, too, the books were torn apart, pages fallen across the room like an ink-stained blanket of snow. Even the stuffed animals hadn't been spared. Every one was sliced open, straw sprayed over the rest of the mess.

My shoulders shook. The horrible, hateful monsters. Were they going to destroy everything I cared about? For a
moment, I wanted to collapse. But I didn't break my promise. I just wiped my eyes and stamped the swell back down, let it fuel the anger inside.

My master's sash lay in the corner, partly covered in blackberry leaves. I dropped the key on the counter and put Bridget there, too. I picked up the sash. It still smelled faintly of Egyptian incense, reminding me evermore of him. I shook the leaves away and wrapped it around my waist. It held me tight.

I hadn't returned for this, but I wasn't going to leave it. Not now. I tied it on over my shirt. Then I searched through the wreckage, fingers sifting through multicolored grains, until I finally spotted what I came for, hidden on the floor under a mound of cinnabar.

My puzzle box. My birthday gift from Master Benedict. Mine.

I held it, letting its weight press into my palm. For one small moment, it felt like everything was all right again.

“Should she be eating that?” Tom said.

I turned. Bridget, on the counter, was pecking away at a pile of fine white crystals.

“Bridget! No!” I ran over. She marched away, flapping her wings.

I dipped a finger in the powder and touched it to the end of my tongue. I tasted sweetness, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was only sugar. Harmless, thank goodness. Though I imagined what Master Benedict would say if he caught me feeding valuable sugar to a pigeon.

That's when it hit me. It
was
valuable.

Sugar, blackberry leaves, saltpeter, cinnabar . . . apothecary ingredients traded for a fortune at the market. Even if the burglars didn't understand what all the goods were worth, we had jars of powdered gold and silver, obvious prizes to take. Instead, we stood in a king's ransom scattered like sand.

Then I realized something else. It was the
dry
ingredients that littered the shop. Powders, minerals, leaves. All of them. Not one of the jars left on the shelf contained something solid. And none of the jars with liquid had been touched.

Books torn apart. Stuffed animals shredded. Dry goods dumped.

Whoever had ransacked the shop hadn't come here to steal. They were
searching
for something. Something specific, hidden by my master. Something so valuable, they were willing to throw away hundreds of pounds' worth of ingredients to find it.

And they could read the labels on the jars.

I jammed the puzzle cube under my master's sash and picked up Bridget. “We need to go.”

Tom sounded exasperated. “That's what
I
said.” He half jogged toward the workshop door. I followed him, then ran straight into his back.

Bridget squawked and ruffled her feathers. I stepped back. Tom stood frozen in place. “What are you—” I began, but he held his hand up, eyes wide.

Then I heard it, too.

A SLOW CREAK, FROM THE
stairs to the second floor. A foot on the dirt. A voice, low and rough.

“Who's there?” it said.

I pulled on Tom's shirt. We ducked under the second display table, the one farthest from the light of the fireplace.

Footsteps came to the door, slowly, cautiously.

“Master? Is that you?”

He took another step forward. I could see a boot, covered in muck and fine white grains, a shred of parchment stuck to its heel. The leg of his breeches, gray wool, was tucked inside.

He came closer, and I could finally see his face. The light was dim, but it was enough to place him. Close-set eyes, sloping brow. Red hair, muscles. About sixteen years old. This time, no blue apron.

It was the apprentice. The one who had been in the shop this morning. The one who'd blocked out half the window, who'd laughed when my master had hit me.

I pushed farther back against the legs of the table. I prayed that the fact that I could barely see Tom cowering at the other end meant we were still in shadow. I also prayed that Bridget wouldn't make a sound. She nestled against me, trembling. I wondered if she could smell my fear.

Another voice came, whispering from the workshop. “Wat? Where are you?”

“In here,” the apprentice replied.

The second man came into the shop. “Did you leave the back door op—” He gasped.

I knew that voice. I knew it well; I knew it before he stepped into view.

It was Nathaniel Stubb.

He gaped, aghast, at the mess. “Wat! What in the Nine Hells have you done?”

“What I was told to do,” Wat said, sounding annoyed. “Look for the bloody fire.”

Stubb cracked Wat on his ear. “Do you not understand what this is worth?” His eyes bulged. “Is that
saffron
? You idiot!”

Stubb scrambled to the end of the counter and tried to pluck the golden strands of saffron crocus from the vermilion it had mixed with. He didn't see the look Wat gave him. Or the way the boy's fingers gripped the handle of the broad, curved blade in his belt.

“Have you even found anything?” Stubb said. “Or are you just destroying this shop for the sake of it?”

Wat ground his teeth. “It isn't here.”

“It has to be here. If you hadn't killed Benedict so quickly, he would have told you where it was.”

The words pierced my heart like an arrow. Part of me already knew that Stubb had had something to do with my master's death. Hearing it made it hurt all the same.

“It wasn't my fault,” Wat said, sullen. “He'd already poisoned himself before I could get anything out of him.”

“Because you gave yourself away.”

“I didn't!”

Stubb looked scornful. “Yes, I'm sure Master Apothecary
Benedict Blackthorn chewed madapple by accident.”

The madapple. I'd forgotten all about it. Now I remembered the black, kidney-shaped seeds scattered around the glass jar in the workshop, just before I found my master's body. I'd thought maybe the Cult of the Archangel had taken them, to use on future enemies. But Master Benedict had poisoned
himself
.

My mind raced. Why would he do that? To spare himself from the torture Wat was going to put him through, like the Cult's other victims? Or was it more than that? Wat had wrecked my master's shop searching for something. Had Master Benedict poisoned himself so he couldn't tell the boy where it was?

I thought of the hidden message my master had left for me in the ledger. I'd left the page back at Tom's place, stuffed under the mattress of his bed. It occurred to me that that was probably the best idea I'd had all day. Because whatever they were looking for, the secret to finding it had been given to
me
.

It was as if Stubb had heard my thoughts. “Why didn't you at least stay to question the apprentice?” he said. My chest turned to ice.

Wat folded his arms. “He doesn't know anything.
Blackthorn hated him. He wouldn't teach that boy how to wipe his own backside.”

In the darkness, I put my hand to my cheek.
You are useless
, Master Benedict had said, and he'd hit me. But all the time, he knew Wat was watching.

Master Benedict had struck me in front of Wat to
save
me, to throw the boy off my trail. The cruel sting of the memory evaporated, leaving an aching emptiness inside.
Oh, Master
, I cried out to him.
Why did you stay when you knew they would kill you? Why didn't you come with me instead? Why didn't you take my hand and run?

“I don't care what Benedict thought of his apprentice,” Stubb said. “The boy might have seen something, heard something, read something. Find him and question him. Then get rid of him, same as the others, whether he knows about the fire or not. We can't risk keeping him alive.”

I felt like I was frozen. I think Tom had stopped breathing, too.

Wat shrugged. “Fine,” he said, and he moved to go.

“Not now, you fool,” Stubb said. “How are you going to find where he went in the middle of the night? Do it tomorrow. Finish checking the books.”

Wat scowled. “Do you have any idea how many books this old man had?”

Stubb brought his hand up to strike the boy. “Watch your tongue.”

They locked eyes. For a moment, I was sure Wat was going to pull his knife. Instead, slowly, he reached down and took a leather-bound tome from the floor. He slapped it on the counter, puffing a cloud of orange powder into the air. Stubb coughed. Wat smirked, then started flipping pages.

Stubb returned to the saffron, trying to rescue as much of it as he could. Both of them were facing away from us. That wouldn't last forever.

We needed to get out of here. Now.

Stubb was blocking the door to the workshop. The front door, behind me, was bolted shut. Maybe I could slip that open and unlock the door while their backs were turned. I almost crawled out from under the table before I realized I'd made a terrible mistake.

The key. I'd left the key to the shop on the counter.

It was still there, dull gray iron in a pile of sugar. I cursed. I might be able to crawl around the far side of the room without getting spotted, but getting to the counter unseen
was never going to happen. There was only one way out.

I needed to get Stubb away from the workshop's door.

I tried to think. A corner of the puzzle cube tucked under Master Benedict's sash poked into my stomach. I shifted, trying to adjust it so it would stop. Across from me, Tom curled up even tighter. He looked so scared, I thought he was going to cry. I knew exactly how he felt.