The Spirit Rebellion (34 page)

The duke’s look narrowed to a glare. “I’d said you were driven, but now you prove to be delusional as well. One million in gold? You’d be worth more than any four kingdoms put together. The Council would never allow such a bounty. A sum like that could destroy the balance of power on the continent. It’s an impossible goal.”

“Perhaps,” Eli said and nodded, “but an impressive one, nonetheless.”

“But you have yet to answer
why
,” the duke said. “Why set such a number for yourself?”

Eli paused, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against his knee. “A bounty is a unique thing,” he said. “Some overly nice people would say that a man’s life is priceless, but as you so eloquently pointed out, things are worth what
people will pay. In that way, a bounty is like a price tag, isn’t it? And who doesn’t like large numbers? Especially when applied to one’s self.”

The duke tilted his head, his brow furrowing from effort to decide if Eli was being facetious. In the end, he must have decided it didn’t matter, for he walked across the room and stopped in front of Eli with a patient smile. “Well, whatever you claim your reasons to be, your goal is tragically to die unfulfilled when I turn you in for the bounty.”

“Come on,” Eli said, scooting to the front of his chair. “Surely with all the money flying around, actually turning me in for the bounty would be superfluous.”

“But I must turn you in,” the duke said. “If I start selling your stolen treasures without turning you in, everyone will think we’re in league together. Once you’re caught, however, I can claim your treasures as my own. Finder’s rights. Also, that fifty-five thousand, minus taxes, will just about cover the expense of catching you.”

“Are you sure you should be telling me this before I tell you where I keep my treasures?” Eli said. “I mean, when you put it that way, I feel absolutely no inclination to help you. Shouldn’t you at least pretend to offer me my freedom? Keep the carrot dangling?”

The duke gave him a withering look. “I do not lie, Mr. Monpress. Such fawning embellishment wastes my time and yours.”

“Then I hope you have something spectacular planned,” Eli said. “Because I can’t think of a single reason why I should go along with you.”

“Oh, you will,” the duke said. He fixed Eli with a slow, cutting smile, and waved his hand. The second his fingers
moved, the chair Eli was sitting in threw itself backward. Eli hit the wall with a thud that knocked his breath out, but he didn’t bounce off it. The moment he touched the stone, the blocks changed shape. The stone moved like living clay, wrapping around his legs, arms, waist, and neck, pinning him spread-eagle to the bare wall of the study. He was still trying to blink the spots out of his eyes as the duke walked over and pressed a gloved hand against his shoulder.

“I have a great deal of experience with bringing objectors around to my point of view,” he said softly. “You see, Mr. Monpress, everyone has something they find intolerable. All you have to do is discover what that is, and then, whether it’s a Great Spirit or a man, it becomes your willing servant.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Eli said, gasping against the stone’s chokehold, “but I’m afraid life as a thief has made me remarkably tolerant.”

“That’s all right,” the duke said. “Life as a duke has made me remarkably patient.” He gestured at the stone. “We’ll start with the simplest, physical pain.”

Eli sucked in a breath as the braces holding him in place began to move slowly and inexorably away from one another, stretching him in all directions.

“The stretching is a slow buildup,” the duke said calmly, a connoisseur explaining the intricacies of his art. “The pain will become greater and greater as the joints are stretched past their limits, disjointing the shoulders, knees, elbows, possibly the hips, though most never get that far. I don’t normally go to these lengths. Most people find even the idea of pain intolerable, but I try to keep in practice.”

Eli grunted in reply, panting as his arms stretched farther. The stone crushed into his skin as it pulled, stretching him like taffy. He could feel his sinews pulling, his bones creaking at unnatural angles until he had to clench his teeth to keep from whimpering. The duke saw this, and gave Eli a pleasant smile.

“We can stop at any time,” he said. “Just tell me what I want to know and this will all be over. Otherwise, the pain will continue to grow until you pass out. When that happens, we’ll rest an hour and then start again. Just remember that this situation is completely within your control. One concession, that’s all it takes.”

“You know,” Eli said, gasping as something in his shoulder began to make a horrifying creaking sound, “for someone who claims to have studied me as long as you have, you don’t know me very well. If you’d paid any attention, you’d have stuck with the carrot. Being bullied just makes me more stubborn, and life with Josef has made me very blasé about pain.”

“We’ll see,” the duke said, resuming his seat by the window. “I can wait.”

A moment later, the something in his shoulder snapped, and even Eli’s clamped teeth couldn’t stop the scream that came next.

“Sorry about the cramped conditions,” the elder Monpress said, passing Josef a bottle of wine and a set of mismatched cups. “This place was never meant to hold more than one person.”

“We’ve been in worse,” the swordsman said.

They were crowded into an attic with a sloped ceiling that Josef had to almost double over to fit under. He and
Nico were sitting shoulder to shoulder on the wrapped Fenzetti while Monpress sat opposite, cross-legged on top of the trapdoor.

They’d made it to Monpress’s hideout with relatively little trouble. Once the soldiers captured Eli, the streets had emptied to nothing. Now they were waiting for dark, and while, technically, everything was going according to plan, Josef couldn’t shake the feeling that the situation was rapidly spinning out of control. For one, they hadn’t received a signal from Eli. Whenever he’d let himself get caught before, he’d always sent a signal of some kind. This time they’d gotten nothing. It could be because Eli couldn’t cajole the spirits in Gaol like usual, but Josef had a bad feeling about it.

Monpress, however, was keeping busy. He’d already changed clothes from his somber merchant outfit to what looked to Josef like a set of ragged black pajamas. The cloth looped and tied in a dozen places, held close to the old man’s surprisingly lithe body by an intricate network of straps. Once he was dressed, Monpress began slipping tools into hidden pockets with a silent efficiency that impressed even Josef. In addition to two small knives, he had a host of crooked hooks, pliers, straight pins, and other metal objects Josef recognized from Eli’s thief tools but couldn’t put a name to. He was wrapping his feet in padded cloth when Josef finally gave up and asked him what he was doing.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Monpress said. “I just took a large chunk from my schedule to keep Eli out of trouble. Yet here I am, Eli in jail, and myself trapped in an attic with no treasure at all for compensation. So, I’m going to do the only thing I can do to mitigate my losses. I’m going to spring him.”

“Wait,” Josef said. “Don’t bother. I’m going for the Heart as soon as it’s dark. I’ll just get him then.”

Monpress looked at him skeptically. “You’re going to beat an entire army with one sword?”

“No,” Josef said. “The sword is for the wall. I don’t need the Heart to fight common soldiers.”

“Is that so?” Monpress chuckled. “I hope you don’t mind if I try my way as well? Just for variety’s sake?”

“Do what you want,” Josef said. “Whatever happens, we’re getting out of here tonight.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Monpress said, pouring himself a glass of wine from the bottle in Josef’s hands. “Drink up; it’s a good bottle. Be a shame to waste it.”

Josef eyed the bottle skeptically. “No, thanks. I’m sure it’s good, but I don’t drink when I have to fight.”

“Wise man,” Monpress said, sipping at his own glass. “I only hope Eli can pick up a little of your forethought.”

“Not a chance,” Josef said. “He’s categorically against considering the consequences of his actions.” He looked at the old thief. “You seem like a cautious man. How did you end up with a son like Eli?”

“Oh, he’s been like that ever since I’ve know him.”

Josef scowled. “That’s an odd thing for a father to say.”

Monpress shrugged. “Well, you need to understand that I’m not actually his father. He showed up on my doorstep ten years ago very much as he is now. Smaller, of course, but every bit as ridiculous. I don’t know how he found me. I make it a point of not being findable—hazard of the business—but there he was, standing in the snow outside my mountain lodge, asking could I teach him to be a thief.”

Monpress took a long drink from his cup. “I turned
him away, of course, but he wouldn’t go. I don’t even know how he got up there. I’d bought the lodge for its seclusion, so we were miles up in the mountains, but the boy had no horse or warm clothing. It was like he’d just appeared out of thin air. I turned him away several times, but he was so insistent about learning to be a thief, I realized I might have to kill him to get rid of him. Whatever my faults, I’m not a killer. Besides, there was a storm lurking overhead, and I’m not so heartless as to send a boy out into the weather. So I acquiesced and let him come in, just for the night. He’s been my ward and apprentice ever since, and a sorry one at that.” Monpress smiled, swilling the wine in his glass. “Still, infuriating as he is, one can’t help getting attached to the boy, which is how I’m in the mess I find myself in today.”

He raised his cup in salute and then downed the rest in one gulp. Josef scowled. He knew so little of Eli’s life before they met, but it wasn’t surprising to hear he’d been a thief’s apprentice, and even less surprising to hear he’d sweet-talked his way into it. But who had he been before he’d taken the name Monpress? Just as Josef opened his mouth to ask, a strange, soft sound on the roof drove all talk of the past from his mind.

They all froze, listening. Josef motioned the others to stay quiet before leaning over to peer out the tiny, grimy window. Outside, he saw nothing but the same roofs and eaves he always saw. No strange movements, nothing out of place, just the last glow of the setting sun on the red tile. He was about to pass the sound off as something innocent, a cat maybe, or the house settling below them, when it sounded again, a low creaking, like something large was walking on the tile above them.

Very, very slowly, Josef opened the window and climbed outside. It was a tight fit, but he made it soundlessly, getting both feet on the roof before slowly peeking over the edge at the roof of their hideout.

The moment his eyes cleared the eave, it launched at him.

Josef flew backward, skidding down the tile. His short swords were in his hands before he knew what was happening, and it was a good thing, because the blades were his only protection from the ball of shifting white fur, claws, and teeth on top of him as they both slid down the roof.

“Oh,
Powers
,” he growled through gritted teeth. “Not you again.”

The ghosthound snarled, and Josef took the initiative, kicking the dog hard on the flat spot between his front legs. Gin yelped and jumped away, landing lightly on the roof’s peak just as Nico winked in from nowhere and grabbed his neck. Gin howled and kicked, tossing her into the air, but she turned in flight, landing neatly beside Josef, who was sheathing his swords.

“Easy, puppy,” Josef said. “I’d love to make a coat out of you, but this isn’t exactly the best place.”

As if to prove him right, the lamppost on the street below them began to flicker frantically and, a moment later, whistles sounded in the distance.

“If you’re looking for Eli,” Josef said, “he’s not with us.”

“I know,” Gin growled, keeping low against the tiles. “I’m not here for him.”

Josef glanced at Nico, who repeated what the dog had said. Gin, meanwhile, was watching the evening sky through slitted eyes.

“We need to move,” he said. “That wind is coming. Follow me.”

With that, he hopped off the roof.

Nico repeated this to Josef, who repeated it to Monpress, who was just climbing out the window to see what was going on.

“We might as well follow,” the old thief said. “This hideout was blown the second you got out the window. We’ll be up to our necks in guards in a moment.”

“Or worse,” Josef muttered, looking down at the tiles under his feet, which were beginning to rattle. “Come on.”

He reached through the window to grab the Fenzetti blade, and they walked to the edge of the roof where Gin had jumped off. It was a two-story drop, but fortunately most of it was covered by a sturdy trellis. Nico climbed down first, then Monpress, who was remarkably agile for his age, and Josef brought up the rear. Gin was waiting at the bottom, and he led them around a corner to a large stone storehouse. It was an ancient thing, with great cracks between the stone overgrown with plants. Still, it was big enough for all of them, just barely, and they got inside just before the strange, howling wind passed overhead.

“All right, dog,” Josef said, crossing his arms. “You lost us our hideout and nearly blew our cover altogether, so what do you want? Where’s your master?”

Gin glared at him, then looked at Nico. “Don’t tell me you’re the only one who can understand me?”

Nico shrugged, and Gin rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he growled. “Tell your sword boy that his second question answers the first. I’m here looking for Miranda. She went into town this morning and never came out. Then all the
spirits started going crazy, so I decided to come get her. I know she’s in the citadel, and I smelled the thief in there as well. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. But even I can’t get into a castle crawling with guards and winds who do nothing but watch, so I sniffed you out, swordsman.” Gin wrinkled his nose. “Not that I could miss you. Do you even know what a bath is?”