The Goblin War (16 page)

Cogswhallop knew her too cursed well. “Have you heard anything about—”

“Still no word,” said Cogswhallop. “It’s a big Realm. It takes time, even for Finders, to search every corner of it.”

If Tobin was well and free, he should have contacted his family by now.

But there was no reason to think he was dead, and if he wasn’t free, or well, there was nothing she could do about it.

So put your mind to what you can do.

“How dangerous will this be?” Makenna asked, gesturing toward the hole in the floor. The scraping sounds that emerged were too soft to call the attention of the guards—she could barely hear them from where she sat. A human who didn’t know the Stoners would never believe how quickly and quietly they could work.

“At this point? About as dangerous as a stroll in the park,” Cogswhallop told her. “In fact, getting you through the palace park and into the city will be more dangerous than bringing you out of the palace itself. Since the Bookeries had permission to copy the library, they’ve made themselves right at home. There’s a whole network of goblin tunnels through the palace now. Getting a human out is a bit harder, but not much.”

The gleam in his eyes hinted that he wanted to surprise her, so Makenna obediently changed the subject. “Is that how you know what went on at the Hierarch’s meeting?”

“Aye. There’s not much in the palace we can’t look in on now. Least, nothing that takes place in a room with books or documents in it.” It was warmly familiar, being briefed by Cogswhallop.

A round, lumpy face emerged from the sewer shaft. “Big,” the Stoner announced, and held out a hand to Makenna.

Stoners weren’t much for talking, but Makenna valued them nonetheless. She had to search among her remaining buttons to find one made of rock. The Stoners were willing to be paid in tokens, a symbol of the larger trade between her and all the goblins she defended, but they had no interest in wood or bone or copper.

She finally found one, carved from mottled jasper, and the Stoner nodded approval as she handed it over.

The shaft was four feet long, and large enough for her to wiggle through, though Cogswhallop had her take off her button vest before she did so. Makenna discovered why when she slithered through the ceiling of a largish culvert and fell onto her back in the stream of cold water that flowed down its bottom. At least the . . . mud, she told herself firmly, that lay beneath the shallow current kept her from bruising.

Cogswhallop dropped neatly onto her stomach and then leaped to the drier stone above the water level before she could roll over.

“There, that’s kept your vest clean,” he said, and grinned at her snarl.

The culvert ended in a round room whose ceiling was lost in the darkness above. Makenna was more interested in a pool of clear water in the center, into which a chain of buckets splashed and then rose, dripping, to carry water up to the palace.

The drier part of the room was filled with a small mob of smiling goblins.

“You can wash up here,” Miggy told her. “We’ve got clean clothes for you, and the Stoners have already widened their access to the main tunnel. We’re getting good at this!”

“What main tunnel?” Makenna asked, shedding her muddy clothes. Most of the male goblins turned their backs, but they’d fought together too long for any of them to pay much heed to modesty.

“The Hierarch’s escape tunnel,” Miggy told her proudly. “It’s supposed to be this big secret, but it was on the builder’s drawings, and half the servants know there’s supposed to be one, though they don’t know where it is. The Bookeries paid the Stoners to open a shaft into it from this room. They’ve been using it to get in and out of the palace for over a month now.”

He didn’t bother to add that the humans didn’t have a clue what was going on under their noses; they never did.

The boy’s shirt and britches were more ragged than those she’d shed, but dry and clean. They were cut like the garments she’d seen on some of the laborers, as she’d ridden through the teeming streets of the low town behind Tobin’s brother.

Raised in a small village, then exiled to the emptiness of the great northern woods, Makenna hadn’t dreamed so many humans could be crushed together in one place. It wasn’t as if she’d never been in a town before—though she’d been so young at the time, all she really remembered was looking up at the big clock tower. Riding into the greatest city in the Realm, she had found the noise, the looming buildings, the stench of so many people sweating and working and pissing in one place, horrifying. The cramped cell hadn’t been much better.

Emerging from the stone-lined tunnel into the quiet woods of the palace park was like balm to her battered soul. The setting sun gleamed red and orange beneath a dense scatter of clouds, and Makenna blinked at the brilliant light. Somehow she’d expected darkness, though it had been morning when they’d arrived and she hadn’t been locked up long.

“Won’t those who bring my dinner raise the alarm?” A polite woman had brought her bread, cheese, and soup soon after the cell door had been locked behind her, and later returned for the tray.

“They likely will,” Cogswhallop said. “But by the time they finish searching the palace, we should have you out of the park. By the time they’ve searched the park, you should be well out of the city. Assuming we can get you off this tier before the alarm is raised.”

This tier held not only the tame woods and gardens that surrounded the palace, but also the army barracks and several great halls of government—which were now releasing a number of clerks, who had worked through dinner and wanted to get home before the sun set.

The goblins brought her a worn leather satchel, the kind messengers carried, and a short cloak with a hood that wouldn’t look out of place on a chilly evening. Its folds helped to conceal the fact that Cogswhallop’s small body filled the satchel almost to overflowing.

“I’m too old for this,” he grumbled, trying to arrange the satchel’s flap so he could look out without being seen.

“Then let Miggy come with me.” Makenna was watching the crowd of clerks heading toward the great gate.

“That loon! He couldn’t possibly guide you.”

“Should I change my face?” she asked. “There’s a spell I could try—”

Cogswhallop frowned. “How long would it take? And how sure of the spell are you?”

“Only a few minutes to cast,” said Makenna. “But I haven’t tried it since I was a child.” And then it had usually failed.

“They don’t have any description of you,” Cogswhallop said. “Or a reason to be looking, so likely we’re best off doing this fast. Unless you want to stand around gabbing till all that changes?”

For the first few minutes of her escape, Makenna didn’t need guidance. It was simple to step out of the trees onto the path, and no one gave her a sideways glance. Of course, that was what the guards at the gate were there for.

“Why not over the wall?” she murmured to Cogswhallop. The guards appeared to be paying more attention to their conversation than to the clerks who streamed past them—several of whom, Makenna noted, had already raised their hoods. “Or under it?”

“The wall around the palace is like the great wall in the north,” Cogswhallop murmured back. “Or rather, like the great wall used to be. The priests who created it poured it chock-full of magic, and since this wall surrounds their church, the priests maintained their spells. The Stoners can’t damage it, trees tend not to grow near it—and if one does, it’s cut down right quick. If anything bigger than a fox tries to burrow under, the guards seem to know about it. We haven’t tried to put anything bigger than a cat over it, but I expect the same thing would happen. Some sort of warning spell, near as I can figure. Mind, only the wall around the palace grounds is spelled like that, just as this is the only gate that’s both locked and guarded at night. But for a human . . .”

They were nearing that gate now, and the guards didn’t look very alert. If Makenna’s goblin sentries had been that careless, she’d have had sharp words for them at the least! The thought gave her courage, and she lifted her head and strolled through the gate as if she had every right to be there. The guards didn’t even notice her.

“. . . for a human, the gates are easier,” Cogswhallop finished. “Especially with guards who’re such great ninnies!”

“It would be different if the alarm had been raised.”

The light was dimming, and Makenna picked up her pace, as many others on the street were doing. The high town, which held the wealthier citizens’ homes and a few expensive shops, didn’t assault her senses as the low town had, but it still held too many humans to suit her. On the plus side, the fact that her satchel was talking to her was lost in the general hubbub. The bad side was that the high town was built on steeper slopes, and its roads and stairways formed a twisting maze.

“Take this street to the left,” said Cogswhallop. “I think. Why they didn’t put their gates in a line, with a straight road up to the palace, I’ll never understand.”

An old history lesson came back to her. “The streets and gates were offset deliberately, to slow down any army—like the barbarians—who might be trying to reach the palace.”

“And that hasn’t happened for how many centuries?” Cogswhallop demanded. “Seems to me they should have got round to fixing it. Go down those stairs on the right, Gen’ral.”

They missed several turns and had to retrace their steps, but without Cogswhallop’s directions she wouldn’t have reached the next gate before dawn. Jeriah had led her through those tangled streets so swiftly and easily, Makenna hadn’t realized how tricky it was. Or maybe the young knight had known a quicker route. He’d spent some time in the city, assigned to the army here and later serving the Hierarch. Evidently he’d had time to learn his way about.

But Cogswhallop had the essentials down. There were no guards posted at the gate between the high and low city tiers—and though it might be locked later, it wasn’t even closed now, despite the fact that darkness had fallen.

The moon was almost full, but it only emerged from the clouds at irregular intervals. The streets of the high town had been well lit, with lanterns beside most of the doors and gates. In the low town, only an occasional torch illuminated a tavern sign. And the bursts of conversation and laughter coming from those doors would have identified them anyway.

An encounter with a drunken human was the last thing Makenna needed, so she crossed to the other side of the street whenever she spotted one. There were still people moving through the streets despite the darkness, but they hurried about their business, eager to get home behind locked doors.

The streets here were broader, running over gentler slopes, easier to navigate. Still, Makenna felt she’d been walking for miles when Cogswhallop’s whispered directions brought her in sight of the last gate.

Makenna had started toward it, trying to convince herself that running would look too suspicious, when a small shape emerged from under a step and raced over the cobbles toward her feet.

At first she took it for a rat, though country rats never ran at people like that. She was backing away, ready to kick, when the moon made one of its fickle appearances and she saw that it was Daroo.

She knew the young goblin too well to think he’d expose himself in the open street for a prank. She swooped down and tucked him into her cloak, even as his father hissed in alarm.

“You young whelp! I told you and your mother to wait outside the city. What are you—”

The tiny body trembled against her arm, lungs heaving for breath.

“You can scold him later,” Makenna told her lieutenant crisply. “Daroo, report.”

“The gate’s guarded!” Daroo gasped. “They’ve orders to look for you, mistress. A good description of all you’re wearing. Well, of your button vest, and they know your hair’s cut short and you’re dressed like a boy. They’re stopping anyone who goes near that gate, just to take no chances.”

It was too late even to take off the distinctive vest. Turning around and heading in the other direction would look suspicious too, so Makenna kept walking down the street, but now she drifted toward the shadowy shops on the other side.

“How do you know this?”

“Jeriah,” the goblin boy replied. “About being in the city, Fa, Mam decided—”

“That would be the same Jeriah I told you not to go near?” his father asked grimly. “And you promised you wouldn’t involve yourself in any more of his schemes?”

“What did Jeriah say?” Makenna asked. She was almost opposite the gate, but there were still handfuls of people about. No reason for the guards to pick her out, as long as she didn’t try to go through.

The guards had concealed themselves in the shadows of the great arch. She would never have spotted them in time.

“When they found you gone, they sent for Jeriah,” Daroo told her. His breathing had slowed, but his light body still quivered with tension. “He acted all surprised that they hadn’t thought to put charmed iron around your cell. Master Zachiros, he said you’d lived in the country all your life, and that you’d get out of the city as fast as you could. Brallorscourt, he wanted to search the palace, but Master Zachiros sent guards straight to all the gates with a good description of what you look like. And he only saw you for a moment! He’s got keen eyes, that one.”

“And you were listening to this,” said his father, “even after I forbade you to meddle in human schemes, because . . . ?”

“I’d just gone to visit him,” said Daroo. “I wasn’t spying. Though if I had been, I wouldn’t have had to run so hard. He had to tell me all about it, and then tell me how to get to this gate fast enough to warn you off.”

These guards must have reached their posts in the time it had taken Makenna to go from that last gate to this one, or she’d have been intercepted an hour ago. But their only orders were to arrest someone trying to pass the gate. If she didn’t stare, didn’t do anything to call attention to herself . . .

“Hey, boy! You in the cloak. Let’s have a word with you!”

Everyone else on the street turned to look at the guard who’d shouted. Makenna took to her heels without a backward glance.