The Laurentine Spy (13 page)

Two shook his head. “I told him about you.” His breath was shallow, sobbing.

He’s crying.

Saliel held him more tightly. “It’s all right.”

Two shook his head again. “I tried not to tell. But his eyes...” He clutched her arm. “I had to tell him. I couldn’t—”

“Hush,” she said, stroking his hair.

“I couldn’t lie. It was his eyes.” His fingers dug weakly into her arm. “You must understand!”

“I do understand,” Saliel said. “His eyes compel the truth to be spoken.”

“Yes,” gasped Two. The grip of his fingers loosened. “Yes.”

He sagged against her. His breathing slowly steadied, became less distressed. “How did he find you?” she asked quietly. “Can you tell me?”

Two shivered in her arms. “It was his valet,” he whispered. “Therlo. He was asking questions and...I panicked.”

Saliel smoothed damp hair back from his brow. “What did you tell the Spycatcher?” she asked softly. “How much does he know?”

Two struggled for breath. “At first he just asked...about me. Who I was... Where I came...from. What I was...doing here.”

Saliel cradled his head against her shoulder and stroked his hair. “Go on,” she whispered.

“Then he began...asking...other questions. He wanted to know...was I alone? I tried not to tell...but his eyes—” Two’s voice broke.

She rocked him gently. “You’re safe now. He can’t find us.”
Or can he?
She tensed. “Did you tell him about the catacombs? About this chamber?”

“No,” gasped Two. “He asked...at the end...but I couldn’t...speak...couldn’t...breathe.”

Saliel relaxed slightly. She held him while his breathing became calmer. When he was no longer gasping, she asked, “What did you say about us? Can you tell me? Please?”

“Nobles,” Two said. “I told him...nobles. You and One... He wanted to know...who...but I didn’t know.” His voice rose in distress. “He kept asking...
who
.”

“Hush,” Saliel whispered. “It’s all right.”

“No.” His voice was a faint thread of sound.

Saliel’s throat tightened so much that she couldn’t speak. She swallowed, hard. “What else did you tell him?”

“I told him...’bout the...Oceanides... How we found out.”

“Anything else?”

Two shook his head, panting.

“The Guardian?”

“Yes. Told him...’bout...Guardian.”

“But he knows nothing about the catacombs? Or the sewers? You’re certain?”

He nodded weakly. “Didn’t...tell him. Certain.”

The Spycatcher hadn’t learned everything. They were safe beneath the Citadel.

Two sagged more heavily against her. “Told him...’bout you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Saliel said.

“Sorry...”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said again. “We’re safe. All of us.”

Two groaned. “My chest,” he said in a faint, strained voice. “My chest...hurts.”

“You’re going to be all right,” Saliel said, holding him, rocking him gently. “The Guardian’s gone for a stretcher. We’ll take care of you.”

Two didn’t answer her. The candle flickered and the shadows drew slowly closer. His breathing became more labored. “What’s...your...name?”

“Saliel.”

“Saliel,” he whispered.

She shut her eyes at the sound of her name on his lips. It sounded as if he was saying farewell. “What’s yours?”

He gasped for breath. “...Rolen.”

“Rolen?”

He nodded.

She smoothed the damp hair back from his brow. “You’re going to be all right, Rolen.”

His panting became more desperate. “May I...see...your face?”

“Of course.” Saliel reached up and pulled off her hood.

Two raised his head slightly. His bloody mouth twisted into a smile. “Red...hair,” he said.

Saliel tried to smile back at him. “Yes.”

“Nice...”

He slumped back against her. She held him close. His hair smelled strongly of blood. “You’re going to be all right, Rolen,” she whispered, while tears slid down her cheeks.

Rolen didn’t speak again. His breathing grew harsh. And then it stopped.

Saliel drew back. “Rolen,” she said, shaking him. His body was heavy and unwieldy. “Rolen!” Her voice rose. “Rolen,
please
.”

He didn’t inhale and her fingers found no pulse at his throat. Saliel laid him back down on the table and cried, holding him. When she had no tears left she touched his face gently with her fingers. He looked far too young to die. “Goodbye, Rolen.”

She put her cloak back on and replaced the hood, but she didn’t pull on the gloves. Instead she sat holding Rolen’s hand, feeling the warmth drain from him.

The candle was close to burning out when the door from the sewers opened. Saliel turned her head. A large black figure stood in the doorway.

“Two?” It was One. There was hope in his voice.

She shook her head. “Dead.”

He closed the door and came to her in four long strides. His cloak swirled, and the flame flickered and nearly died in the draft. He opened her fingers and laid Rolen’s cold hand on the table and put his arms around her.

Saliel leaned against him. Hot, silent tears slid down her cheeks.

One didn’t say anything. He just held her close. She took comfort from his solid warmth, his strength, his nearness—and most of all from his kindness.

The door from the sewers opened again. One turned his head, but didn’t release her. “He’s dead,” he told the Guardian. His voice was low and rough, as if he’d been weeping silently too.

Saliel heard the Guardian sigh. She pulled away from One.

“The courtesans’ salon?” the Guardian asked in a gray, defeated voice.

“I don’t know how many of us he’s looking for,” One said flatly. “Me, we can assume. Other than that—”

“All of us,” said Saliel. “He’s looking for all of us.”

“Two spoke?” The Guardian seemed to stand taller.

She nodded.

The Guardian dropped the bundles he was carrying and came swiftly towards her. “What did he say? Tell me.”

Saliel looked at Rolen, lying broken and dead on the stone table. She reached out and took hold of his icy hand. “He said he panicked. He said the Spycatcher’s valet was asking questions and he panicked.”

“The man’s valet?” The Guardian sounded as if he frowned.

“Thurler, or something like it.”

“Therlo,” One said. “He was there, in the cellars.”

“His valet?” The Guardian nodded. “Good, it’s well to know these things. Go on.”

Saliel gripped Rolen’s hand tightly. “He said the Spycatcher’s eyes made it impossible for him to lie.”

“He spoke the truth,” One said grimly. “I learned that tonight.”

The Guardian’s head jerked back. “The Eye?” Fear was sharp in his voice.

“Yes.”

For a moment there was silence. The Guardian cleared his throat. “What else did Two say?” He turned to Saliel. “Tell me everything.”

“The Spycatcher knows that One and I are nobles, and that we meet with you. But he doesn’t know who we are, or where we meet.”

“He doesn’t?” The Guardian’s tension visibly eased. “Excellent. Today isn’t a disaster after all.”

Beside her, One stirred. “Excellent?” His voice held a dangerous edge. “Two is
dead
.”

“It could be much worse,” the Guardian said. His tone was defensive. “We can save this situation.”

“Two is
dead
,” One said again.

The Guardian lifted his chin. “He knew the risks.”

Saliel looked down at Rolen’s bloody, disfigured face. He’d known the risks—and been terrified of them. “His name was Rolen.” She tightened her grip on his hand. “He said he was sorry.”

The Guardian said nothing. He shifted his weight slightly. One’s hands closed on her shoulders, strong, comforting.

The Guardian cleared his throat again. “We must bury him.” He bent to the bundles he’d dropped on the floor. “In the catacombs.”

One’s fingers tightened slightly on her shoulders before he released her. “You have another candle?” His voice was flat, neutral.

The Guardian rose and laid a candle on the stone table. “I brought two blankets. One, help me wrap him.” It wasn’t a request; it was an order.

One hesitated.
He’s going to refuse.

Her shoulders tensed—and then One stepped toward the Guardian and picked up a blanket. He said nothing.

Saliel looked away. She lit the new candle and placed it in the holder. Then she drew on her gloves. Rolen’s body, wrapped in blankets, was bulky and featureless.
He doesn’t look like a person any more.

The Guardian had brought a stretcher. “Three,” he said. “Take the candle and lead the way.”

Saliel walked across the chamber. She opened the door to the storage room and then the concealed entrance to the catacombs.

The men came behind her, bearing Rolen’s body between them. She held the candle so they could see their way through the narrow gap. It was an awkward fit. Their shoulders scraped stone on either side. A shower of grit and pebbles fell to the floor in their wake.

Once in the catacombs the men stood upright. The gallery they were in was hewn from sandstone. Bands of natural color decorated the walls—pale cream through to rust red. The dead lay in niches carved into the stone. The intricate bindings were gone for the most part. Bones lay exposed beneath scraps of cloth. Eye sockets gaped and brittle fingers reached out for nothing.

Saliel hadn’t seen the catacombs for almost two years; the Guardian had ordered her to stop using a candle once she’d memorized the route. She held the candle high and looked around. The sight was both less and more disturbing than she remembered. The dead weren’t threatening. It was only in the dark or in her dreams—when her imagination reigned—that they became frightening. They didn’t scare her, but somehow the sight of them dragged her spirits down. These had been people once. They had laughed and cried and dreamed, been loved and mourned.
And now they are forgotten.

Passages opened from the chamber, five in all. “You have somewhere in mind?”

“To the left,” the Guardian said. “There’s a rock fall. We can bury him there.”

Saliel nodded and followed his directions. There was a rock fall a dozen paces into the passage. The men lowered the stretcher to the ground. Stones were hastily moved aside to create a shallow grave. Saliel said goodbye to Rolen silently and helped to cover him. They stood, and she found herself weeping again. It was somehow too dreadful for words that Rolen be left hidden beneath the rubble, with no marker to identify him.
He’s not alone
, she told herself.
Others share this resting place with him.
But still her silent tears fell.

No one spoke as they retraced their steps. Back in the chamber, Saliel placed the candle on one of the stone tables.

“What now?” One asked.

The Guardian leaned against the table. “Does the Spycatcher suspect you?”

One shook his head. “No.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

The Guardian turned to her. “And you?”

“I was able to lie to him. He thinks I’m Corhonase.”

The Guardian leaned slightly forward, as if examining her. The scrutiny made her uncomfortable. She twisted her fingers together and stood stiffly, grateful for the concealment of the hood. “I wonder why you can lie to him?”

Saliel shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Very well.” The Guardian pushed briskly away from the table. “It’s clear what must be done. You must both return to the Citadel.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

W
HAT
?
S
ALIEL’S LIPS
parted, but no sound came out. She sat down blindly.

“Why?” One stayed standing. He folded his arms across his chest. “If we go back, we risk losing any advantage we have.”

“I’m aware of that,” the Guardian said, his tone sharp. “But I received orders from Laurent yesterday. We must copy one of the Corhonase code books. The need is urgent.”

Saliel shook her head. “The Spycatcher is looking for us.”

“And doesn’t suspect you. Therefore you’re in no danger.”

“But—”

“You’re still scheduled to leave in four nights. That hasn’t changed.”

“I’m not worried for myself!” The words burst loudly from her. “One dare not return to the Citadel! He can’t lie to the Spycatcher!”

“He must return,” the Guardian said, curt. “It’s imperative the code book is copied.”

“But can’t you see how dangerous it is for him? If—”

One laid a hand on her shoulder, halting her. “Why is it imperative?” Saliel heard a clear note of warning in his voice. One wouldn’t allow the Guardian to dismiss his words. “Because Three is correct. If I return to the Citadel, I risk betraying us all.”