Lhind the Thief (33 page)

I had not seen anything like a magic book in that room, nor
had I felt anything with strong magic, aside from the mage. She couldn’t have
had a book with her, though.

That meant the book had to be somewhere else, and now was
the time to search, before that precious pair went looking for their blood
victim.

I was about to try the nearest door when I heard the snick
of a lock behind me. The duchess’s room! I picked up the tray again, bowed my
head, and scurried down the second staircase a heartbeat before she got the
door open.

Downstairs, I entered a beautifully tiled vestibule, to be
waved at by an older woman in livery. “Are you mad?” she whispered, her eyes
wild. “You know she hates servants here, especially with
that
.” She glanced at my load of dirty dishes, placed a hand on my
back, and nearly shoved me through a narrow doorway I hadn’t seen.

I found myself in a narrow hallway of plain plaster, that
smelled of stale cabbage. From the other end came kitchen noise. Propelled
through by another exasperated shove, I managed not to drop my tray, though it
was a near thing. I reached a long prep table, where a pair of brawny teenage
boys in Wolf Gray livery took my tray and began plunging the dishes into a huge
water barrel. Magic flashed, and the dishes came out dripping but clean.

I picked up the empty tray, turned around to make another
try for upstairs, when I glanced at the bread room and stuttered to a stop.

Sporting a red cap, his hair neatly braided, was Hlanan. He
motioned a couple of pages, who were carrying little cakes, looked up, and in
the most natural way, exclaimed, “A page! Just what I need for the berry
toppings.”

He’d gotten rid of his canvas locksmith apron and
scrounged a baker’s apron from somewhere, which he’d pulled over his grubby
green tunic and brown riding trousers.

“They are searching for you,” I breathed, the moment we got
inside the bread room.

“I know that,” Hlanan whispered back, motioning the other
pages out.

“For blood magic,” I added.

His eyes widened, and it was his turn to stumble to a stop.
“I didn’t know that.”

“I overheard—”

“I found out—”

We spoke at the same time, then he said grimly, “Blood
magic? You had better go first.”

As he motioned to bowls and containers of ingredients, I
handed them off and told him as quickly as I could what had happened.

He threw ingredients together in a gigantic bowl, stirring
with a wooden paddle. “This is what I found out,” he murmured, glancing once
over his shoulder. “She’s been hiring locals left and right. Soon’s I
discovered that, I came straight here, and all I had to do was mention baking
and a harassed steward pushed me in here.”

“Why is she hiring so many people? They are going crazy in
there.”

“I noticed. Understaffed, and a terrible lack of facilities.
I overheard some grousing from a couple of guards sent to chase chickens for
dinner. She’s pulled in all her mercenaries not on contract, to this city.
Headquarters in this house. I think they are all eating here, as she doesn’t
want the Liacz force, or the locals, knowing how many of them there are. The
king of Liacz issued an order limiting how many armed followers any noble can
have.”

“What can be the purpose?” I asked, and then pointed to the
bowl. “Is that a big mess, or do you know what you are doing?”

“Of course I know,” he said with dignity. “Spent a very
memorable summer as a pastry prentice, just before I got snatched by the galley
slavers.” He flashed a quick, distracted glance behind. “Stir the berries in
after I get the sugar and the cream cheese blended,” he said in a
self-important voice, as someone entered and dumped down more cakes, steaming
from the bake house. “Then you decorate the top of each
cake. . . . She’s gone. As for Morith’s purpose, I suspect she’s
going to make a try for the empty throne of Namas Ilan—”

“Hlanan, she is hunting for
you
. To
use your blood
.
You have to get out of here, and let me—”

“Not leaving without you,” he said evenly.

“She doesn’t know who I—”

“Berries are in that container over there. Stir them gently,
or they break and turn the icing purple.” I knew from his change in tone that
someone new had entered. Lightning flickered in the window, then the entire
house shook under a crash of thunder.

Hlanan gave the topping a last stir, then motioned for the
berries. As he gently blended them in, he said over his shoulder to the two
kitchen helpers about to depart. “I need to see to the pastries. You two can
top these cakes here, while the new ones cool. All you do is dip this spoon
like this, and use this spoon to drop the topping onto the cake, then you
swirl . . .”

In three steps, the little cake was perfectly topped. He
demonstrated with three more cakes, set them on a plate, then handed a spoon to
each page. He picked up the plate and started toward the door. “Eat the
failures and hide the evidence,” he said kindly, as the pages brightened. “But
do hurry. You’ll have a horde of hungry soldiers howling soon.”

Another crash of thunder rattled the windows, followed by a
sudden roar. The rain was here.

Hlanan bore his plate out into the kitchen, moving with an
air of purpose. I trailed him. He looked around, then spotted one of the
servant halls beyond a swinging door. We slipped inside, and he held the door
shut.

He pulled off the red hat and we looked at each other. His gaze
searched mine, eyes flicking back and forth, as if he wished he could hear my
thoughts. He passed his free hand over his face, fingers tense, then dropped
his hand. “We need to find that book.”

“Before that mage does her demonstration,” I said, and then
the truth hit me, sudden as the thunder shaking the house. “You don’t mean to
search. You mean, go take it.”

Hlanan’s face was bleak in the shadowy light. I could feel
him poised to action, to risk, no throw away his life, to prevent a greater
evil.

“At least let me try,” I said, pointing at my page’s outfit.
“I can poke my head in, see what faces us, and then we can figure out how to do
it.” I reached to take the plate of cakes. “This will be my excuse to go
upstairs.”

“All right,” he said, relinquishing the plate. “And while
you do that, I will scout a bit. The duchess cannot be in two places at once.”

I didn’t see what use that would be, as the book was our
goal, and we were pretty sure we knew where it was. But I would have agreed to
anything, as long as he stayed away from the duchess and her sanguinary plans
for him.

I ducked through the door, mentally opening the pinhole as I
made my way to the backstairs.
Faryana?

That book must be
captured and destroyed! I will help you. Call to me the moment you see it.

I ran up the front stairs to the main hall. Hlanan vanished
in the direction of the back stairs.

When I got to the next floor, I found the hallway deserted,
and all doors shut. I listened at the one where I’d first seen the duchess and
the mage. No sounds.

I pulled my lockpicking tool from my stash, used it on the
old-fashioned lock, then cracked the door open, ready to fling my plate of
cakes if anyone charged at me—but the room was empty. And there on the
sideboard were the trays, with dirty dishes still uncollected. Better than
cakes! I set those on the sideboard, picked up one of the empty silver trays,
and kept going, wondering which doors to try.

I found them by the feel of magic, a cold tingle that made
me shiver in spite of the hot, breathless air that the storm battering the
mansion had not begun to cool. I sensed the magic from around the corner and
down a hall I hadn’t seen before.

I paused at the corner and took a quick, furtive peek—and
recoiled. Before a thick door stood a pair of heavily armed Wolf Grays.

Before I could dither more than a few fast heartbeats, the
clatter of approaching footsteps emerged out of the muted thunder and the
distant roar of rain.

I sprinted to the other end of the hall opposite the
stairway, and ducked behind the sideboard under the round window as a new pair
of burly Gray Wolves appeared, dragging a starved-looking, bruised, filthy
young man between them, his hands tied behind his back. This had to be the
prisoner who was about to be sacrificed. His greasy hair hung before pain-hazed
eyes.

My heart tried to crowd up into my throat, and I forced
myself to pop up and run behind them. When they halted at the door, I lurked
behind the largest guard, holding my tray. I formulated an excuse—
Someone sent me to collect dishes
—as one
guard gave a double-rap at the door.

The door opened and a guard peered out, then motioned the
three in. She scowled at me, then looked inside at the duchess. “There’s a page
with a dish tray.”

“Who sent a page?” came the impatient voice, tight with
anger or stress.

“The steward thought there were dirty dishes to collect,” I
mewed.

“The morning parlor, idiot,” the duchess yelled from inside,
and the door closed in my face.

But not before I’d seen past the drooping head of the
prisoner: two guards; the duchess, wearing riding clothes of gray and red, with
vambraces on her forearms, and a gold-handled dagger at her trim waist; the
purple-robed mage, and in her hand, a slim book.

Did you see that,
Faryana?

Yes. If you see it, I
can see it. Can you get closer?

I can’t get in—
oh,
wait.

I knew where the magic room was, now. Beyond it lay the
second garden. And though the storm still pelted down, it was the front of the
building, facing the street, that was getting the worst of it.

I sped downstairs, clutched my tray against me as an excuse
to pass unmolested through the kitchen, and used it as a rain canopy as I
splashed out into the garden. The shoes were promptly ruined, so I kicked them
off and ran barefoot.

Keeping below the sight of the windows, I ran along until I
found the wall below the window of the magic chamber, then I peered up past my
tray. No convenient tree, but the wall was festooned with aromatic honeysuckle,
its tiny flowers glimmering against the dark ivy leaves it fought for precedence.
The ivy, tenacious in its grip, seemed to be winning the silent war.

What to do with the tray? There was no help for it. I had to
leave it behind. Shoving it into a bush in case someone came prowling around, I
rubbed my hands, tested the ivy, and finding it firm, I swarmed up as quick as
a cat.

The magic chamber had a bank of windows, the outer two of
which had been set slightly ajar for air. Easing up to one, I peered inside.

The mage’s voice was clear in the heavy air, a deliberate,
sonorous roll of ancient-sounding words as the guards held the prisoner pressed
to a table, his neck exposed. The duchess had pulled her knife. It seemed that
she wanted the pleasure of slitting the prisoner’s throat when prompted.

My skin crawled . . . and my cap nearly flew
off. The hank of horse hair flapped around my face as I forced my hair to
still.

She’s creating the
boundary
, Faryana said.
Let’s break
it.

My magic was all natural, which meant I drew by will on the
same mysterious force that these mages called through their words and signs.
Under Faryana’s direction, I squinted into the room, perceiving a faint
greenish shimmer around the table where the sacrifice victim lay. Imagining a
sword made of sunlight, I cut through the shimmer . . .

The mage faltered, frowned, and the muscles in her neck
tightened. I ducked before she could look up. I counted to five, then
cautiously lifted my head again.

“The lightning must be interfering,” she said. “Are you
certain you will not wait for this demonstration?”

“We’re here. And I’m bored,” the duchess replied. “I want to
see if this thing is worth what I paid to get it.”

The mage began again, her voice even slower, her
pronunciation crisp, her signs carefully drawn in the air, so carefully I
perceived a faint train of greenish light trailing in the air after her hand.

Once again I imagined my sun-sword, and drew a circle around
her hand.

The mage lowered the book, frowned, then once again, I
sensed she was about to look around. “The magic breaking my spell originates
from that window.”

“So it is the storm, then?” the duchess asked.

The mage didn’t reply. I counted to five again, looked
up . . .

Right into her astonished face. Then her eyes narrowed
angrily.

She’s going to strike
you,
Faryana cried.

I could see that. Quick as thought, I hummed under my
breath. The only way I can explain voice-cast is to compare it to singing a
song. You hear the proper notes, and match your voice to them.

“
Silence
,” I said,
just as her lips parted. Though I’d heard very little from her, it had been enough
to get her own distinctive personal range, and pitch my voice to smite straight
to her nerves.

Her face suffused with color, then contorted with anger and
fear. Her mouth worked, but her voice was frozen.

She is still dangerous
,
Faryana said.

“Still as stone,”
I
commanded.

The duchess’s face appeared at the window. Her eyes widened
in fury. She slammed the window casement open so hard that it crashed into the
wall, sending glass flying, and snatched at me.

I ducked out of her reach, my hands clutching desperately on
the ivy.

She yelled over her shoulder, “Get that brat out of the
tree!”

As she did, I lunged up, reached through the open window,
and snatched the book out of the mage’s hands. Then ducked down again, the
duchess’s hands grasping a hair’s breadth from my head.