The Rogue Knight (8 page)

The door opened, and the man motioned for them to pass through. The next room was also made of solid stone, but it was larger and softened by carpets, draperies, and cushioned furniture. The walls had so many doors that Cole wondered if the room was surrounded by closets.

A bespectacled gentleman, who was probably in his sixties, greeted them. Though not very tall, he had a gangly build with large hands and feet. Cole found his strong cologne distracting.

“Welcome, esteemed guests,” he simpered, rubbing his hands together. “You have visited us before?”

Joe shook his head.

The gangly man perked up at this news. “Newcomers! How marvelous. At Shady Lane, we pride ourselves on unparalleled discretion. We have four chief lounges. Your appearance will change each time you pass to a new room. To begin, you'll each enter your own changing room, remove your mask, place it in a trunk, lock it, take the key, and face the mirror. Once satisfied with your disguise, exit through the other door and follow the hall to the blue door. Any questions?”

Joe shook his head again. Cole wasn't sure he could picture exactly what the man meant, but he didn't want to be the only one to ask for clarification.

“This way,” the gangly man said, walking over to one of the doors on the right side of the room. “Young sir may enter the trident door.” A subtle trident symbol was embossed above a doorknob. The man opened the door, and Cole entered. The door closed.

Though he listened intently, Cole heard no further conversation from beyond the door. The changing room was soundproof, or close to it. Another door waited on the far side of the room. A full-length mirror hung on one of the side walls. A row of medium-size trunks hid the base of the opposite wall. Keys protruded from most of the locks. There were two empty keyholes.

Cole opened the leftmost trunk. He unhooked his mask, placed it inside, then shut the trunk, locked it, and removed the key. A trident and a swirly symbol decorated the key. The lock had a matching swirl.

Cole stood before the mirror. He looked exactly like himself, so he figured that whatever was going to happen hadn't started yet. Glancing around the room, Cole wondered if he was being watched. Somebody had to create the illusion. He didn't notice any peepholes. Maybe somebody was spying through the mirror, like in an interrogation room. Or maybe the illusion happened automatically. Could the mirror be magical?

As Cole gazed into the looking glass, his skin drooped and his hair thinned. His nose, ears, and lips expanded. His stomach gained mass and pooched out. Before he knew it, Cole was staring at a pudgy old man who bore no resemblance to him. The reflection moved when he moved, blinked when he blinked. If a disguise like this could become permanent, Ansel would never find him.

Looking down at himself, Cole found that he did not match the reflection. He appeared the same as when he had entered the room. But the figure in the mirror wore dapper clothes and had a very different build. Held in front of his face, Cole's hands looked normal, but in the mirror they were obviously older, with thicker fingers and liver spots. Evidently the illusion only tricked his eyes in the mirror.

Cole went out the door and into the hall. Thick fur coated the walls, ceiling, and floor. When he closed the door, the fur completely hid it. Feeling around through the fur, he could find no doorknob. The sensation of the fur against his hand didn't feel quite right; like brushing through spiderwebs. He pressed a palm against the fur. His hand sank until he felt the cool flatness of a stone wall. Swiping his other hand through the fur, Cole found it gave no resistance. The hairy walls were an illusion.

Cole picked a direction and walked down the hall until he reached a dead end. Doubling back, he followed the hall when it elbowed left, then reached a blue door, the only interruption of a furry expanse.

From the other end of the hall came a pale woman with silver hair and a jewel on her forehead. Somewhat taller than Mira, Cole supposed it could be her. Or Joe for that matter.

Cole waved at her.

She waved back. “Is that you?” asked an unfamiliar female voice.

Cole realized the woman could be anyone. He didn't want a spy to trick him. How could he confirm her identity without revealing himself? “What does my name start with?” Cole asked.

“C?”
the woman asked.

“You're M?” Cole checked.

She gave a nod. “You were a Sky Raider?”

“You once rode in a flying coffin.”

The woman giggled. “You sound so different.”

“You too,” Cole said. “I sound the same to myself.”

“Me too,” Mira said. “Should we go through?”

“After you.”

Mira opened the door.

C
HAPTER

 8 

RUMORS

T
he large room beyond the doorway contained several groupings of comfortable furniture. In one corner, a string quartet played an unfamiliar tune, their instruments expertly weaving melodies and harmonies. Two other doors led out of the room.

Cole immediately felt out of place. This looked like a party for sophisticated adults. He reminded himself that with his disguise, he didn't look like a kid anymore. Some of the others could be young too.

Excluding the musicians, he counted eight other people in the room. Two stood talking in a corner, three sat together on a single sofa, and three others huddled around a table. Of the strangest, one looked like a living statue carved from black stone, and another wore a purple robe and had the head of a parrot.

After passing through the doorway, Mira looked like a jolly Asian woman with a tall, elaborate hairdo full of combs. Facing him, Mira covered a giggle. Wondering what he looked like, Cole approached a mirror. He had the head of a warty toad with bulging yellow eyes. His military jacket sparkled with medals.

Cole couldn't resist a chuckle. The toad head was perfectly lifelike. It would be the best Halloween costume ever!

Mira joined the pair chatting in the corner. A bearded guy with an eye patch rose from the sofa and sauntered over to Cole. Nervous to begin the conversation, Cole reached out to shake his hand in greeting.

“No, no,” the man scolded gently. “No touching in here. You must be new.”

Cole lowered his hand uncomfortably. “Sorry. Nobody told me. First time.”

The man raised his bushy eyebrows. “Or you're feigning inexperience.” He leaned closer and murmured something.

“I couldn't hear you,” Cole said. “The music is a little loud.”

“It should be. Discourages eavesdropping. What song are you singing?”

Cole scrunched his eyebrows. How was he supposed to reply to such a random question? The guy was probably speaking in code. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Very well. What do you go by?”

“My name?”

“In the lounges I'm Hannibal. What do you go by?”

Cole hesitated. Should he make something up? Joe had warned him not to lie. “Nothing yet.”

Hannibal considered him for a moment, as if measuring his legitimacy. Cole found himself wondering what the man really looked like.

“Out with it, then,” Hannibal said. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm from out of town,” Cole said. “I just want news.”

Hannibal gave a chuckle. “Don't we all? Where did you come from?”

“Sambria, most recently,” Cole said.

“I'll believe that, since Sambria is just across the river. Where in Sambria?”

Cole paused. How could he keep the answer vague? “Lots of places. I've been on the move.”

“Any news from Sambria?”

Cole thought about what to share. “Four hundred legionnaires visited the Sky Raiders.”

“What were they after?” Hannibal asked.

Cole wasn't sure how much to reveal. He wished he could have practiced this type of conversation ahead of time. “I heard they asked about a slave.”

“One slave?” Hannibal asked.

“That's what I heard,” Cole said.

“Four hundred legionnaires?”

“Supposedly.”

“Did they find him?”

“I'm not sure,” Cole said. “I don't think so.” The man didn't seem particularly interested by his news. “How are things in Elloweer?”

“When was your last visit?” Hannibal asked.

“First time,” Cole said.

“Welcome,” Hannibal said. “The latest news is a disturbance up north. People are disappearing. Entire towns have been found empty.”

“Really?” Cole asked.

“It eerily matches your trouble with Carnag in Sambria,” Hannibal said. “But this only came to my attention two weeks ago.”

“Somebody took down Carnag,” Cole volunteered.

“I heard that,” Hannibal replied. “Any idea who did it?”

“I'm not sure,” Cole said. Was there anything he could share to sound less boring? “I heard some legionnaires were involved. What do people know about this new problem in Elloweer?”

“Very little,” Hannibal said. “Nobody who gets close ever returns. Our leaders are already beginning to panic. Like I said, the problem reminds everyone of Carnag. Forgive me for prying, but what brings you to Elloweer, Master Toad?”

“I'm . . . um . . . visiting,” Cole said.

“Surely you have some business here. Perhaps I can help. I have many friends.”

“I'm with people,” Cole said, trying not to give away anything. “I don't have business of my own.”

“Your affairs are private,” Hannibal said. “I understand. Should you wish to confide in me, I spend most of my time in this chamber. I expect to remain here for the next hour.”

“Thanks,” Cole said, unsure how well he had done. Should he have given up a big secret? Should he have pressed harder for information? The bearded man returned to the sofa. Cole hadn't noticed Mira leaving the room, but he no longer saw her. Everyone was engaged in conversation, so he decided to try his luck elsewhere.

He went through a door and entered a less formal lounge where people reclined on divans and huge pillows. Near one wall an attendant polished a counter, avoiding the food and drinks on display. In a corner, a man tapped a massive xylophone while a woman played a flute.

Once in the room, Cole could no longer detect any sound of the string quartet. Of the six other people in the room, only two were talking. One guy hovered near the food counter with a drink in his hand; an old woman napped on a divan; a plump man hunched over a circular ottoman, studying an arrangement of playing cards; and a coldly beautiful young lady sat regally in a huge armchair like an empress on her throne.

Crossing to one of the mirrors in the room, Cole found that he looked like a middle-aged Italian guy, short but muscular. Seeing the reflection helped Cole realize he didn't need to let everyone know this was his first time in a confidence lounge. As long as he didn't divulge important information, he could be anybody he wanted, act however he chose. He couldn't do much worse than his first conversation. Maybe he'd do better if he loosened up.

Surveying the room, Cole tried to relax. The guy playing cards struck him as the most approachable. Cole walked over and sat near him. “How are you?”

The man didn't look up from his game of solitaire. “Content. You?”

“Just looking for news.”

“I'm Stumbler. What are you called?”

“Dracula,” Cole answered for no good reason.

“Never heard of you,” Stumbler said. “What song do you sing?”

“Karaoke hits from the sixties, seventies, and eighties,” Cole tried.

The man looked up from his cards. “What nonsense are you talking? Go bother someone else before I complain to the management.”

Joe had warned Cole not to lie. Apparently, that included joking. So much for his experiment with relaxed improvisation. Cole decided to move on rather than risk really annoying Stumbler. He stood up to find the beautiful young woman staring at him. She wore a snug, glittering gown that reminded him of fish scales. She curled her finger, summoning him over.

As Cole drew near, he tried to remind himself that she could easily be an ugly old lady. Or even a grungy old man. He shouldn't let her looks intimidate him. He resolved to be more honest. Making up weird answers had gotten him nowhere.

The woman leaned forward and spoke in hushed tones. “I suspect the Rogue Knight might be the exiled Duke of Laramy.”

“Wow,” Cole said. “I have no idea what that means.”

“Should I speak slower?” she teased.

“I don't know any of those people.”

She blinked. “Surely you've heard of the Rogue Knight?”

“I haven't,” Cole said. “This is my first visit to Elloweer.”

She patted her hands together delightedly. “In truth?”

“Yeah. This is my first time in a confidence lounge.”

“I hardly believe you, but let's pretend. I'm Vixen. Where do you come from, Mr. Mysterious?”

“Sambria.”

“Distant parts of Sambria, if you haven't heard of the Rogue Knight.”

“Far from Carthage,” Cole said. “Who is this knight?”

“That is the question,” she said. “His identity is a matter of much debate. The Rogue Knight became champion of a small community east of here. He has an insatiable urge for dueling and a knack for winning. He started with minor towns, but he has moved on to great cities. None of this sounds familiar?”

“No,” Cole said. He wondered if what she was talking about had anything to do with the info they needed to help find Honor. It definitely didn't seem connected to Dalton or Jenna. He was tempted to cut her off and ask what he really wanted to know, but she seemed excited about this topic, so maybe if he let her discuss it, she would eventually get to something he cared about.

“The Rogue Knight shows no interest in settling down to enjoy the spoils of his victories. Six knights now follow him. Some say seven. They live like vagabonds. When the Rogue Knight unseats a champion, he sacks the alderman and grants all taxes to the common people of the town. No officials or nobility get a copper bit. Over a short span, the Rogue Knight has become quite the man of the people. As you might expect, his list of enemies grows quite long.”

“Shouldn't he be called the Rogue Champion?” Cole asked.

“One could make that argument,” Vixen said. “But none of the lords or champions of Elloweer wish to bestow that honor upon him. He does not behave like a champion. They say he robs travelers. Some cities have declared him an outlaw. He is wreaking havoc with our government.”

“You don't like him?”

“I would give my right arm to meet him,” she gushed immediately. “My opinions have not yet crystallized. I burn with curiosity. I agree with our nobility that the man is a scoundrel, but you must admit there is something horribly romantic about such boldness.”

Cole thought it sounded like the Rogue Knight had a groupie. “You know who he is?”

“Nobody has seen him without his armor,” Vixen said. “His helmet conceals his face. But he could be the Duke of Laramy. It fits. The duke was a vocal advocate of the common people, and he often flouted convention. They say he died, but what if that was a ruse to conceal his new identity?”

“So it's a theory,” Cole said.

“At the very least,” she replied. “At best it is a brilliant deduction. The Duke of Laramy was notoriously handsome.”

“Are there other theories?”

“Dozens. But here I am overflowing with gossip without asking after Sambria.”

“Carnag fell.”

“As we well know,” Vixen replied. “The slayer of the fiend remains unannounced.”

“I heard some legionnaires helped.”

She waved away the information like it was a bothersome fly. “Are you really so devoid of knowledge? Don't you know something juicy? Then we could truly talk.”

Cole leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “I heard that Declan, the Grand Shaper of Sambria, was chased out of hiding.”

“No!” she said. “How certain is this?”

“It's reliable.”

“Some have surmised that Declan would have passed on by now.”

“He's alive and well. He was hiding behind the Eastern Cloudwall.”

She gasped. “At the Brink? Absurd.”

“I guess there was space back there,” Cole said. “He found a way in and built a fort. A bunch of legionnaires flushed him out.”

“Declan got away?”

“Nobody knows where he went. But I heard they almost had him.”

“These are indeed novel tidings,” Vixen said. “Substantial if not scandalous. Very well, I owe you something remarkable. Since we've visited the topic of the Rogue Knight, I will impart recent developments that are not yet public.”