The Last Knight (22 page)

“All right.” Her eyes fell to the vial of lilac water. “If nothing else, it will get you out of here. You can sleep in the stable with your cart. Benno, put a guard on the stable door. We don’t want Master Gelantry’s ‘enemies’ to sneak in.”

The guard chuckled. I tried to look insulted, but the relief broke through. “Thanks, lady. Though you got a bargain. That’s the best lilac water this side of Crown City, and—”

She snorted, and gestured for the guard to lead me out. I went to the stables peacefully, my hands shaking with the narrowness of my escape. I’d been prepared to be locked in a dungeon cell, waiting for morning to be thrown off Lord Gerald’s land. I’d even thought they might take me to the sheriff…
in the morning.
Who’d have thought the murderous bitch would be merciful? It didn’t matter. I’d be inside the wall tonight, and that was all I needed. That, and a way to find Sir Michael, get him out, and delay pursuit until we were safely away.

But I was inside. My plan had worked.

In the stables I encountered Chanticleer and Tipple, comfortably housed in two big stalls. I didn’t stop to chat with them, for fear they’d give me away. I had a bad moment when Chanticleer poked his big head over the stall door and huffed at me, but he didn’t neigh, and no one heeded it.

The grooms pointed to a corner by the tack room, where they’d put my donkey cart, and told me to stay out of the way. But after a while I got up and wandered down the long row of stalls, stroking horses’ noses, and apologizing for not having any treats. I wanted the horses to become accustomed to me, so they wouldn’t get nervous when I roamed about tonight.

Chanticleer and Tipple came to me eagerly, but they acted more bored than abused. Their coats gleamed, and they’d put on a few pounds—actually, they looked better than they had when we were caring for them. I accused them of getting fat and soft while their masters worked, and they snorted.

When we left it would be on these horses, for I knew Sir Michael would refuse to leave them. And it would be all but impossible to get two horses out of the keep. I didn’t know how to get Michael out—or me, for that matter. I decided not to tell Michael I’d found them…assuming I could find him. Assuming he was alive.

The grooms took me into the kitchen to eat dinner with the staff. It was one of those cavernous rooms with a fireplace you could roast a whole cow in, but I was more interested in the door. It opened with a simple lever and latch, but there was a thick bolt in the center. I could slide a sharp probe past the door and work the bolt back, but that would take time, and the kitchen door was clearly visible from the outer wall where the guards patrolled. As was the front door, which was probably even more secure. I doubted there would be other doors in a keep this old—every door was a place they’d have to defend if the wall was breached.

The staff was large for a keep this size, maybe thirty servants. The guards ate elsewhere. I noticed that about a quarter of the servants were simple ones, and the memory of the corpse in the burying grove promptly cost me my appetite. Lady Ceciel was dangerous. I mustn’t forget that. Ever.

I flirted with several maids and sold three bottles of beauty cream. I thought about trying to bribe someone to leave the kitchen door open, but I didn’t dare.

Back in the stables, I pulled the donkey cart into a stall and prepared for the job, which mostly consisted of removing everything that could either jingle or catch the light. I was already carrying all my lock picks, and a few other useful items. The only thing that presented any difficulty was money. I pulled my purse from beneath the seat of the donkey cart—the closest thing to a hiding place I had—and shook it. It was fat as a pregnant sow, and undoubtedly jingled. I’d done rather well these last few days. I sighed, extracted a handful of gold roundels and tucked them into every pocket, compartment, and fold of my clothing, one in each space so they couldn’t rattle. With a little ingenuity I stowed away nine of them, and put the rest back under the cart seat. If I found a way to take the horses, maybe I could take the money, too. Taking the horses began to look more appealing, though I still didn’t see how I could manage it. Never mind. Worry about getting out after you’ve gotten in.

I rolled myself into a pile of blankets and listened to the grooms finishing their chores. They exchanged good nights with the guard at the stable door as they left, but I wasn’t worried about him…much.

I found a knothole in one of the wall planks, and watched the grooms enter the keep through the kitchen door. They probably slept in the kitchen—lower servants often did. The question was whether they used the privy on the other side of the stable midden or something indoors. And if they used the outside privy, did they leave the kitchen door unlocked?

The sunset faded and moonlight took its place. The setting Green Moon was just a sliver, but the Creature Moon rose in full, golden glory, and the sky was clear. Why is it never overcast when you need it?

Through my knothole, I watched the windows go dark until only the light in Lady Ceciel’s herbarium remained.

I tucked my boots under my belt and slipped down the corridor to the loft ladder. Several of the horses roused as I passed, but my afternoon’s work paid off—none of them made a fuss. I climbed to the loft and made my way to the big portal at the end, where hay and straw were lifted in. The rustlings of the mice were louder than my footsteps. The guard at the other side of the building would never hear a thing.

The big loft doors were latched shut. I opened the left one a crack to give me a view of the keep—still dark, except for the tower windows. I closed that door and opened the other to peek at the outer walls. The guard stood on the parapet, a bit above me, almost twenty feet away, looking over the countryside. I shrank back, but I left the door open. I needed to observe him for a while.

I watched for over an hour. Listening to their quiet calls, I learned that there were four guards on the walls at night. The guard on the stable side walked up and down his stretch of parapet every ten minutes, and was usually out of sight of my end of the stable for at least a minute—longer if he stopped to chat with the guard at the stable door.

I also learned that the guards’ attention was fixed on the killing ground, and the forest and fields beyond it, which was good.

The lights in the tower windows shone steadily, which was bad. Wasn’t the woman ever going to sleep? Given the excitement I’d seen in her face this afternoon, perhaps not, but I had a lot to do in that keep tonight!
Go to bed, lady
.

I resolved to give her another hour, but soon my patience came to an end.

I waited until the guard walked out of sight, then I slithered out the portal and hung by my hands. The hardest part was hanging by one hand while I reached up to close the door as much as I could. It would still be open a crack, but it had been open a crack for some time now and the guard hadn’t noticed.

It was only a five-foot drop to the cobbles, but that’s a long way in stockings. I landed rolling, as best I could, and then rolled back to put the stable between me and the guard on the wall. Now that it had begun, my stomach shook with the combined fear and excitement that was the reason I quit burglary…and also the reason I regretted quitting, just a little.

I must be out of my mind to be doing this. It was definitely time to get clear of Sir Michael…after I saved him.

The guard’s steps paused. He stayed where he was for five slow counts, so I risked a peek. He was behind the stable, no other guards in sight.

I took a deep breath, scuttled silently for the privy, and darted inside, ignoring the familiar stink. No one shouted. I put on my boots and then (when else would I have a chance?) used the facilities. When I left I let the door slam behind me, not too loud, not too soft, just another servant. I walked toward the keep without looking at the wall. I could feel the guard’s eyes on my back, and a drop of sweat rolled down my spine. But no alarm sounded.

I approached the kitchen door. If it was locked I’d kick it and swear, as if someone had barred it behind me. Then I’d probably die, if the guard had the wits to wonder why I set off around the keep instead of waking someone to let me in.

My hand trembled as I reached for the latch, but it lifted easily and the door swung open. Nobody bolts a door they’re planning on using in the middle of the night when they go to the privy.

I slipped into the kitchen and was greeted by a cacophony of snores. The low flames popping in the fireplace revealed more than twenty sleeping forms. The better servants would have rooms…on the top floor? Above the kitchen? Imagining the noise a couple of maidservants would make if they woke and saw me peering into their room, I wished I knew.

I removed my boots and tucked them into my belt again before walking to the door that led into the rest of the house. As I passed the cellar stairs I hesitated—if there were dungeons in this keep (and there probably were) they’d be down there. But in most old keeps the dungeons have been made into wine storage, or filled with vegetable bins or firewood. Servants went down to the cellars all the time, and I couldn’t see the men and women I’d met at dinner nodding and wishing the prisoner a cheery good morning on their way past—not without gossiping about it. I hadn’t heard a peep about Sir Michael in Cory Port in all the days I’d sold wrinkle cream there.

Of course, if he was dead the servants wouldn’t be likely to know about it.

No. She wouldn’t dare. Not yet. He wasn’t dead, but he probably wasn’t in the cellars either.
So where was he?

Not in the kitchen, that was certain. I tiptoed on, breathing easier when I had closed the door behind me.

Outside the kitchen I walked down a long hall, opening doors as I passed them. On my left was a laundry, a chain of storerooms, and a small dining hall—one that would seat only twenty guests in comfort.

A service door on the right led to the great hall. Moonlight streamed through the narrow windows, and an unseen draft stirred the hanging banners. It felt very empty, especially when you noticed that the dais at the far end held no great carved chair. I remembered the thing falling into the murky water of the
Albatross
’s bilge, and felt a twinge of guilt. For what, I couldn’t say—certainly not for Lady Ceciel’s loss.

Halfway down the hall, corridors stretched to the left and right, and I paused again. Michael wouldn’t be in any room on the ground floor—too public. But then, I didn’t think he’d be tucked in an upstairs guest room either; it was just the better chance of the two. What if she had him in a cave in the woods or some such thing?

The thought struck me so forcibly I stopped in mid-step. Now
that
made sense. Outside the keep, away from the servants—all she’d have to do was send a guard to feed him…and I could find him by following the guard! When they threw me out tomorrow, I’d hide the donkey cart, double back and watch to see who went where! It would be much easier to break him out of some isolated shack than the keep itself. I could go back to the stable and forget this whole risky idiocy…and if I was wrong, I’d never get inside again.

Don’t assume people are going to do the intelligent thing. Jack Bannister’s cynical voice rang in my memory. Even smart people do stupid things. That’s how con artists make money.

Jack was the one who taught me about crime, about people, and in the end, about life. He’d been a cheat, a liar, and a son of a bitch, and there were times when his final lesson still hurt—but he was usually right. I was here; I might as well search the place.

I was two thirds up the stairs when I heard footsteps coming down the gallery toward me. Step-click, step-click.
Hackle!

My stockinged feet thumped on the stone as I raced down the stairs, skidded around the newel post, and shot for the door under the stairway. I had assumed it was a storeroom—and for once I was right. Shifting in carefully amid stacks of buckets and brooms, I left the door open a crack and watched Hackle stump down the hall. He carried a lamp and looked perfectly at ease, if a little grim. The click of his peg leg was almost lost in the drumming of my own blood in my ears. This kind of fear was the reason I
quit
burglary.

I bet his bedroom wasn’t on this floor, either. That settled the question of where to start searching—if Hackle was tramping around, I wanted to be as far away as possible. And it wouldn’t hurt to make certain that Lady Ceciel really was involved in her workshop.

The route up to the third floor was familiar from my visit this morning. The hall that led to the lady’s tower was dark—had the lamps been lit, I might have missed the dim glow that fanned out from under a door halfway down the hall. A brighter glow flared beneath the door of the tower room, but I knew the tower windows had been the only ones alight on this side of the building. So she’d moved a lamp into another room…or that room had no windows.

There were a thousand explanations, I told myself as I crept down the hall, but my heart leapt with foolish hope. A hope that grew when I reached the door and saw a thick bolt—on the
outside.
But why was the bolt open? Because someone currently inside wanted to be able to get out. I looked for the hinges—but the door opened inward. I hesitated a moment before lying down to look through the crack beneath, since it left my head perfectly positioned for a kick, if someone opened the door unexpectedly.

The stone floor was hard and cold. I could see very little: the hem of a woman’s skirt, and the backs of a pair of flat-heeled shoes—the sort worn by women who spend a lot of time standing. Beyond the lady I saw nothing but furniture legs, but I knew it was Lady Ceciel because I heard her voice.

“…for the lateness of the hour, but it took most of the day to finish this batch. It’s quite a complicated process.”

Who was she talking to? I looked past her skirts as well as I could, but I saw no other feet. Please, let it be Michael! The furniture creaked.