The Last Knight (24 page)

She had changed me.

M
ichael froze in the doorway. The rigid set of his shoulders made my neck prickle.

“What is it?” I tightened my grip on Lady Ceciel and peered around him. Lamps mounted on the walls cast their light over shelves of bottles, pots, and arcane paraphernalia. There was a cheery fire in the hearth, and a stuffed raven perched on one of the roof beams, its outstretched wings forever frozen in place. The room was empty of any threat that I could see, but Michael didn’t move.

He seemed more focused than when I first found him, but he wore a cold expression that made him a stranger…a stranger I didn’t particularly want to know.

“What’s wrong?” It came out sharper than I meant it to.

“Nothing.” Michael took a deep breath and stepped into the room. “There’s nothing wrong.”

Looking at the sheen of sweat on his face, I wasn’t inclined to believe that, but he was speaking and moving again, so I decided to leave well enough alone.

I tied the lady to a table leg and then checked the windows. The parapet was lower than the tower, so a guard looking up would see nothing but a few feet of ceiling, unless someone stood in the window and looked out.

I told Michael that, and he nodded absently. He was wandering up and down the herb rack, choosing the jars he needed. Suddenly he froze again, looking at a half-empty bottle. I was about to go to him when he shook himself, and went on picking out ingredients.

He carried them over to one of the tables, and I hurried to clear a space for him, but even when I finished, he just stood there, his arms full of jars, staring at a thick pile of notes.

When he looked at me his face was pale again, his eyes dark with anger and pain.

“You brew, I’ll burn,” I told him.

I burned every scrap of paper in that room in the big fireplace, ignoring the tears rolling down Lady Ceciel’s face.

Michael appeared to be intent on his work, but his face grew more human, more himself, with every page I laid in the flames.

When the papers had been reduced to ash, I poured the potions out of their bottles and onto the floor, till they ran over our feet in shimmering floods. I hesitated when I came to the bottle that had frightened Michael. It looked like all the others—the label held a list of ingredients and the directions—two doses daily. The writing was in a different hand than on most of the bottles, but there were several labels with different writing. I looked at Michael and caught him staring at the bottle in my grasp.

“Well?” I asked.

His expression changed again. “Dump it.”

So I did.

I told Michael to gather up everything he needed, and went back to the cell to grab some blankets. Then I folded all the glassware into them and smashed it. Lady Ceciel flinched at every crunch.

By the time I finished, the herbarium had been demolished—even the dried herbs, which I’d not dared to burn lest the scent alert the guards, had been ruined by the moisture on the floor. Michael was eyeing a pot of murky liquid dubiously. “It needs to cool.”

“Will it work?”

“Hanged if I know.”

We looked at the lady again. She sneered at us.

“She won’t drink it,” I said. “She’ll spit it out, or dump it on the floor.”

A smile I didn’t like at all touched Michael’s mouth. “Wait a minute.”

He went out, returning only a moment later, which meant the object he carried must have come from his cell. It was a funnel, made of reddish wood with a curved spout, and my stomach lurched as I realized its function. Michael set it on the table, holding Lady Ceciel’s eyes with his own.

“Cut her free, Fisk, and stand behind her with your hands around her throat.”

I did as I was told, trying to conceal that my hands were trembling again.

Michael picked up the potion. “I’m going to ungag you now. If you try to scream, Fisk will throttle you unconscious, and we’ll pour the stuff down you. If you drop it on the floor, I’ll brew another batch—and next time we won’t give you a choice.”

Lady Ceciel’s throat rippled beneath my hands as she swallowed.

Michael’s eyes were alive with mockery, and I knew he was quoting her when he said, “We can do this the hard way or the easy way—the choice is yours.”

If he was bluffing, he was better at it than I’d ever suspected, and worry tightened like wire around my heart. I wasn’t surprised when Lady Ceciel took the jug and drained it.

We tied her hands and gagged her again, and then destroyed the equipment and herbs Michael had used. The last thing Michael did was put the funnel on the fire. The red glow illuminated his thoughtful expression, and some of the tension eased out of his shoulders.

I turned to Lady Ceciel. She no longer glowered defiantly, but she didn’t look beaten either. She looked…relaxed?

“You think it’s working?” I asked Michael.

“One way to find out. Lady Ceciel, if I remove your gag, will you promise not to scream?”

She made encouraging sounds.

“Nod if you won’t scream.”

She nodded.

Michael untied the gag and pulled it out of her mouth. I was ready to grab her throat, but she didn’t scream. She looked pleasant and amiable, an expression I’d never seen on her face. I was willing to bet the guards had never seen it either.

I met Michael’s dubious look. “It’s a dark night. Maybe they won’t notice.”

He frowned. “How are we going to explain this, Fisk? Even if she agrees, they’re going to wonder why she’s letting us go in the middle of the night. You
are
going to let us go, aren’t you, Lady Ceciel?”

“Yes, of course.” She smiled.

“So we’ll think of some excuse.” I began to pace. “Say…say I offered to show her some arcane herbal something or other. Something that requires blood sacrifice by moonlight.”

“Nothing to do with herbalism requires blood sacrifice, by moonlight or otherwise,” said Michael.

“You may know that, but I’ll bet the guards don’t. Especially the way she practices herbalism. And that gets all of us out. You can take her back to Lord Dorian and repay your debt.”

Michael frowned. “It gets you and her out—where do I fit in?”

“You’re the sacrifice,” I told him. “Lady Ceciel, would your guards believe you’d practice human sacrifice?”

She looked confused. “Yes, of course.”

Sir Michael snorted. “You won’t get any information from her—not without a lot of patience. But it might work, Fisk.”

“It might not.” The more I saw of Lady Ceciel’s vacuous expression, the crazier our plan sounded.

“Have you got a better idea?”

I shook my head.

“Then we’ll try it.”

Only a lunatic would have agreed to this lunatic plan…so I shouldn’t have been surprised.

I had to tie up Sir Michael, and we both agreed that he should be bound tightly, since the guards would notice if they checked the ropes. He didn’t like the idea of being gagged, but I told him it would look suspicious otherwise. Actually I didn’t think that mattered in terms of the guards, but he was such a rotten liar I didn’t dare leave his tongue free.

Managing Lady Ceciel would be hard enough. This wasn’t going to work.

We were halfway down the hall before I remembered I should turn out the lamps in the herbarium, and we had to go back. The second time we passed the cell door, Michael stopped and thumped his elbow against it. He looked at me commandingly.

“All right, but we really don’t have time for this.” Despite my grumbling I was rather relieved. I liked the crazy Sir Michael better than the ruthless one.

I entered the cell. Hackle’s eyes were closed, his face slack, but he roused when I touched his shoulder, and after a moment his eyes focused. He scowled at me. His pupils were the same size.

“He’s fine,” I announced, bolting the door behind me.

I had to lead the way, for Sir Michael didn’t know the keep’s layout, and Lady Ceciel did nothing but smile and nod. We were almost down the main stair when I remembered something else.

“Lady Ceciel, where’s your bedroom?”

“Yes?” She smiled.

Michael turned on the step, brows raised.

“They’ll never believe she’s going out at night, in early Oakan, without a cloak. M’lady, where’s your room?”

“Oh, yes.” She smiled.

Michael snorted with laughter. I glared at him.

“Can you point to it?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Point to your room. Point to your bedroom, Lady Ceciel.”

After a moment she pointed back up the stairs; no surprise. In the gallery I asked her to point again, and she directed us down the hall.

We crept down the corridor in silence. I still didn’t know where the upper servants slept, but ladies’ maids frequently slept near them. We might be able to fool the guards, but a personal servant? Not a chance.

We were acting too fast, not thinking things through, not planning enough. But if I stopped to think, my nerve would fail.

My employer, curse him, appeared to be enjoying himself.

We reached the end of the corridor. “Where’s your bedroom? Point to your bedroom, Lady Ceciel.”

She pointed back the way we’d come. Michael choked. I was glad he was gagged.

“Lady Ceciel, when we pass your bedroom door, point to it. Can you do that?”

“Yes, of course.”

Michael choked again. I swore.

We went back down the corridor, and Lady Ceciel stopped at a door not far from the gallery.

“This is it.” She smiled.

I went in first, checking quickly for a maid. None, thank goodness. I hustled Lady Ceciel inside, and Michael followed.

It took only seconds to take a cloak from the wardrobe and wrap it around her shoulders. I pulled the hood over her head, shadowing her silly expression. A definite improvement.

We were about to leave when the jewel box on her dressing table caught my eye. I looked at Sir Michael. He glared at me.

“Mno,” he said, as distinctly as he could.

“Look, we’re going to have to leave all our money with the donkey cart. She’d be more than recompensed.”

“Mno!”

“Not to mention all the gear we’ll have to replace. And our clothes. And weapons.” I flipped up the jewel box lid. It was empty. “Curse it.”

Michael snorted.

“That reminds me. Lady Ceciel, why did you sell the tapestries and your jewels?”

She looked confused. “Yes, of course.”

I moaned.

I extracted the story from her, bit by bit, as we went down the stairs to the entry hall.

She’d sold the tapestries for money.

She’d given the money to Lord Gerald.

Lord Gerald had agreed to let her be baron, and not have to marry anyone.

That a liege would put a multiple murderess in charge of a barony and a smallish town surprised even me. “Ruthless bastard,” I muttered.

Sir Michael was frowning.

“Yes, of course.” Lady Ceciel smiled.

I dashed into the dining hall for a sword from one of the wall displays, and we emerged from the keep a perfect picture of prisoner and captors—Sir Michael walking in front of us at sword point, and Lady Ceciel clinging to my arm.

The Creature Moon was still rising. Unbelievable as it seemed, I’d been in the keep only a few hours. A wind had come up; it ran cool fingers through my hair, and ruffled Lady Ceciel’s hood. I hoped fresh air didn’t diminish the drug’s effect. I hoped the drug didn’t affect her so strongly that she fell down the steps. I hoped Michael could manage, with his hands bound behind him.

This wasn’t going to work.

I shut the great door behind us and turned to face the guards. The guard on the parapet stared at us. There was a gate guard, and he stared at us, too, his hand on his sword hilt.

This wasn’t going to…
Hang it!

“Ho, fellow.” It was my best fake noble accent. “Fetch out some horses for your mistress, myself, and this carrion. We’ve craftly business in the wood tonight.”

The guard looked dubious, as well he might. It took all my concentration to maneuver Lady Ceciel down the steep stair without skewering Michael.

When we reached the bottom, the gate guard was standing there. His sword wasn’t drawn, but you could tell he was ready to go for it. “M’lady, is—”

“Are you deaf, fellow? I asked for horses. I’ll take that big gray I saw in the stables this afternoon. The lady will take her favorite riding horse, and we’ll mount this man on the smallest horse you have—and I don’t mean my donkey. He’d slow us up too much.”

“Lady, do you want me to get the horses?”

“Yes, of course.” She smiled.

I patted her hand, and babbled about the power of sacrifice by moonlight.

The guard looked even more dubious, but he could see I didn’t have a knife at her ribs, and she was clutching my sword arm. She could certainly have hindered me long enough for him to run me through.

He called up to the parapet guard, to pass word to fetch the horses. Then he turned back to watch us…intently…with most of his attention on Lady Ceciel’s face. Not good.

“I hope you remembered to bring a sharp knife, lady. And a needle and thread for the stitches. After all, we only have to sacrifice the fellow’s fertility—pity to kill him.”

Michael spun to face me with a startled squeak. I lifted the sword with a flourish,
really
glad he was gagged.

“Oh yes,” said Lady Ceciel vaguely.

The guard decided he didn’t want to know more and retreated to the gate, leaving me to babble about the Green Moon drawing the fertility up into the leaves and other such nonsense. Lady Ceciel nodded, and Michael stared at us in frozen silence.

Chanticleer’s neigh sent Michael spinning around, but Chant’s neigh was loud enough to turn heads over half the barony. The big gray was prancing with excitement.

“He hasn’t had much exercise lately,” the rumpled-looking groom apologized. “Are you sure you want him, sir?”

“He’ll do well enough.” I took the reins and hauled his head away from Sir Michael, whom he was sniffing with great enthusiasm. Michael ignored him, but a sheen of tears brightened his eyes. I was
very
glad he was gagged.