The Spirit Rebellion (29 page)

“Promise?”

Nico nodded again, and he released her sleeve. Josef was waiting for them on the other side of the door, arms crossed over his chest. “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Eli said and smiled. “Let’s get moving.”

Josef gave him a skeptical glare, but he nodded and let Eli lead the way out of the cellars. Nico trailed behind, her face hidden by the long hood of her coat.

The wine cellar was at the bottom of a warren of cellars that ran under the keep. Fortunately, the warren let out into the kitchen yard, which was where they made their escape, blending in with the mass of kitchen workers and other menials who were all gathered at the edge of the keep, presumably to watch the excitement. Whistles were blowing everywhere now, and hordes of conscript patrols were racing through the streets and toward the citadel. In all the confusion, no one noticed three more scruffy, dirty people, and they were able to duck down a less-fashionable side street without trouble. Once they were a block from the castle, Eli changed direction, guiding them through the winding streets seemingly at random until he came to a stop in front of a modest building that, if the sign outside was correct, housed a trading company.

“Wait here,” Eli said. “I’ll be right back.”

He flashed them a knowing smile and vanished around the back of the building. Josef, fed up with arguing, slumped back against the wall while Nico took her time brushing the dust off her coat. A few minutes later, Eli emerged from the front door carrying an enormous ledger and grinning like a maniac.

“Powers,” Josef said. “How much did you have to bribe a clerk for that bit of work?”

“Nothing,” Eli said. “Things are too hot for bribery right now, so I nicked it. I
am
the greatest thief in the world, you know.”

Josef rolled his eyes.

“Not like there was anything to it,” Eli said, flipping through the book as he walked. “I could have stolen the whole office for all the clerks cared. They were all pressed against the windows like it was going to be revolution in the streets. Gaol must be a boring place if this is all it takes to make the town go crazy.”

Eli flipped the pages back and forth and then stopped, tapping his finger on an entry toward the end of the book. “Here we go,” he said. “Fennelle Richton, masonry expert and antiques appraiser under contract with the Duke of Gaol for ornamental stonework, currently residing at the Greenwood Hotel. That’s by the docks, I think.”

Josef looked at the entry, which was one of hundreds that ran down the page. “How do you know this is our man?”

“Fennelle and Richton are the main characters in
The Tragedy of the Scarlet Knight
. It’s his favorite opera.”

“His?” Josef said. “His who?”

“You’ll see soon enough.” Eli turned on his heel and set off for the docks, Nico and Josef close behind them. In the distance, voices grew louder as the northern corner of the duke’s famous fortress collapsed in on itself in a great shower of rubble.

T
he citadel shook and rumbled as bits of it collapsed. Edward, Duke of Gaol, ignored the stones clattering to the floor around him, staring instead at the smooth surface of the closed iron door to his treasury. He’d heard of Monpress’s demon, of course, but dismissed it as another rumor, one up there with tales of Monpress’s ability to turn invisible. That said, to see it in action himself, in his fortress, was a well-deserved lesson in making assumptions.

Even now, minutes after the initial wave, the demon panic was still flooding through the air. The shouts of people outside echoed down the shaking halls, tiny and distant under the rumbling of the terrified stone. The duke ignored them. He simply waited, patiently, with his hands crossed behind his back. The moment the demon panic began to ebb, he opened his spirit.

At once, every stone was still. The duke’s will filled the castle, crushing all resistance, stomping down on fear.
He laid his hands firmly on the wall beside him, feeling every stone in the castle as they lay subservient before him. Only then, when he was certain he had every pebble in the citadel’s full attention, did he give his command.

“Clean yourself up.”

The fortress obeyed. Stones jumped off the floor and refitted themselves into place. Cracks mended themselves, and he felt the citadel groan and shake as the collapsed northern corner shuddered and then rebuilt itself. When the duke lifted his hand from the stone, there was no sign there had been a panic at all. Even the scuff marks on the stone from Josef’s fight with the soldiers were gone.

The duke shook his hands with a sigh and turned to face his gawking officers, who’d come running in the moment the citadel stopped moving.

“It’s a miracle,” one of the young guards whispered.

“No,” the duke said. “It’s business as usual.” He glared at the soldier. “I’m not just some wizard, boy. I’m the Duke of Gaol. Everything here is mine to command, the stones, the water, the winds, and you. Don’t ever forget that. Now”—he pointed at one of his officers—“you, take your men and get the courtyard under control. I want the conscripts back in position by the river and everyone else in their houses. Full lockdown. I don’t want to see so much as a stray cat on the streets, understand?”

“Sir!” The officer saluted and motioned his men down the tunnel.

Edward looked over the remaining soldiers. “The rest of you, stand by. I have one final problem to attend to, and then”—he smiled—“we’re going thief hunting.”

The soldiers saluted and stood at attention. Satisfied, Edward turned back toward his treasury. Out of
everything in the castle, only the treasury door remained out of place. It alone was still bashed and dirty, and still stubbornly closed. The duke walked forward slowly, deliberately, letting his open spirit go ahead of him as a warning, but the door did not move.

“Why?” the duke asked softly. “Why so willfully disobedient?”

“I can’t help it, my lord,” the door shuddered. “She ordered me closed. I must obey.”

The duke leaned in, his voice very low and very cold. “Whatever Monpress’s girl can threaten is nothing compared to what I’m about to do to you if you
do not open
.”

The door gave a terrified squeak and began to thrash in its track, but no matter how it fought, it could not roll back.

“Please, my lord,” it panted. “Mercy! She struck something deep, I’m afraid. A strange mix of demon fear and wizardry. I’ve never felt anything like it! Please, just give me a few minutes to overcome the fear and I swear I’ll obey. I beg you, my lord!”

The duke waved his hand. “Time is a luxury I do not have.” He glared at the stones on either side of the door. “If you cannot open, then I’ll find something that will.”

He snapped his fingers at the wall beside the door, and all at once, the mortar began to crumble. Stones popped themselves out of their sockets and landed in a neat pile on the floor. Robbed of its support, the door began to wobble. Duke Edward stepped back and motioned for the blocks to keep coming. The door held out for an impressively long time, but soon, as more and more of its supporting structure was removed, not even its will was
enough to stand against gravity. It fell with a long, tragic cry, crashing to the floor in an enormous cloud of dust.

The duke turned to his soldiers. “Get some rope and take this hunk of metal outside. Set it up at the center of the square where the rain can hit it. We’ll see what a few years of rust can do for its temperament.”

The soldiers, spirit deaf and not quite understanding what was going on, ran to obey him. At his feet, the door began to sob, a terrible, squealing metal sound, and something made a little crackling noise at the duke’s elbow. Edward looked over and saw his fire, the fire that connected all the hearths in the citadel, flickering hesitantly.

“My lord,” it crackled. “Don’t you think that’s a little harsh? He was wounded by a demon, and—”

“Would you like to join him out in the yard?” the duke snapped.

“No, sir,” the fire answered immediately.

“Then don’t say another word.” The duke straightened up, watching as the soldiers came back with the rope and began looping it around the heavy door.

“If it can’t serve as a door,” the duke said, “then it can at least serve as an example. Disobedience will not be tolerated.”

“Yes, sir,” the fire whispered again, but the duke was already off, walking over the poor sobbing door and into his empty treasury.

The cracks and broken stone had been repaired here as everywhere, but the shelves were still in disarray. He put them back with an impatient wave of his hand, noting that the false Lion of Ser and a few of the other cheap pieces were still in place. There was, however, no sign of
the thief’s escape. Duke Edward walked in a slow circle, scanning the wall, running things over in his mind, but he got no further than he had this morning when he’d first investigated the crime scene. He’d been sure before, but he was now positive that the first robbery had not been Eli’s work. So why had Eli come?

Pride was the obvious answer. Monpress was a prideful man. He might have come looking for clues as to who would impersonate him. Yet that seemed too simple an explanation. If his studies had taught him anything, it was that Monpress never did anything simply. Also, it was too fast. The robbery had only happened this morning, which meant Monpress must have already been in town. That made him smile. His bait had worked. At least that part of the plan had stayed on track. His smile faded, someone had sprung the trap early, and he meant to find out who. Still, today’s events had convinced him that the situation was salvageable. Monpress was in town. He’d probably been planning his own heist when he heard about the impostor and came to investigate. That certainly matched what he knew of Monpress, but still, something was off.

Edward walked in a slow circle around the room. Eli’s exit bothered him. The thief was known for his flash, and the demon trick with the door had certainly been flashy, but after that, nothing. He’d vanished just as smoothly as the thief last night. He briefly entertained the idea that the two thieves might be in league, but he dismissed it almost as quickly. Monpress wasn’t the kind to share glory.

He was still walking and thinking when he spotted something white on the floor. He stooped to pick it up, turning it over in his hand. It was a card, marked the same as all his others, with the fine, cursive
M.
Smiling,
Edward slid the card into his coat pocket. Cocky to the last, that was Eli. He couldn’t bear to leave any credit unclaimed. But as he straightened up, his eyes caught something else out of place. There, straight ahead, the wall was uneven.

Edward stared at it. He’d ordered all the bricks to square themselves when he’d righted the citadel. Was this more disobedience or just simple incompetence? He stepped in for a closer look, brushing the crooked stones with his fingers. As he touched the smooth cut surface, his eyes widened, and several mysteries clicked into place.

Othril blew in through the front door of the citadel, pausing to stare at the sobbing bulk of the treasury door as the guards struggled in teams of twenty to drag it down the steps. After a moment of gawking, the wind hurried on. It was best not to question things like that, and he had news for the duke that could not wait.

He found the duke in the treasury, which wasn’t surprising, staring at the wall, which was. Othril circled uncertainly overhead. Interrupting the duke while he was working was never something that ended well, but neither was withholding a time-sensitive report. He was still warring between those two bad choices when the duke made the decision for him.

“Othril,” he said, pointing at the square of wall in front of him. “Look there and tell me what you see.”

Othril swooped down to the duke’s level and stared at the stone. “Nothing,” he said. “I see nothing at all. Why?”

“Nothing,” the duke said. “I thought so.”

He reached forward and grabbed the stone. The blocks crumbled in his grasp like flaky pastry, revealing a tunnel.

A tremor of panic shot through Othril. It had been his job to inspect the castle. His job to find anything untoward. The duke was not forgiving of failure. Fortunately, Duke Edward looked more annoyed than angry.

“It’s a mash-up,” he said, picking up a large chunk of the fake wall and crumbling it in his hands. “Tiny specks of stone and sand too small for consciousness, and thus below the notice of awakened spirits, bound together in brittle glue and then stamped to look like a wall.” He paused, shaking his head. “It’s actually brilliant in a simplistic way. How else would you hide a tunnel from a wizard who knows every spirit in his castle than to make something those spirits can’t see? Not Eli’s work, of course. Far too subtle. Still,” he sighed, “one can’t help being a little impressed by such a simple and effective escape.”

“Yes, well,” Othril said, “about that. I came to let you know that the spirits have reported in and we’re ready to move into position.” The wind paused. “Do you still want to go ahead with the plan, my lord? If you’re certain he’s not Monpress, perhaps we should wait.”

“No,” the duke said, standing up. “We’re absolutely going ahead. Monpress is in town, and he’s also looking for the impostor. This may well be our chance to catch two thieves for the price of one.”

“Monpress is here?” Othril said, astonished. “But I haven’t—”