The Legend Of Eli Monpress (113 page)

But when she looked up she saw the man, still alive and standing in front of her. Her black claw was still lodged in the flesh of his throat, but though she could feel the demon pulling, trying desperately to get at the life just under the man’s skin, nothing was happening. Somehow, the demon could not eat him.

“How?” She didn’t know she had spoken until the word was out.

The man pried the black arm from his neck, and Nico saw the gouges from the claws already beginning to close. “I am king of myself,” he said simply. “My body is mine alone. Nothing can happen to it that I do not allow.”

He dropped his grip on her black wrist and raised his arm. Nico saw the blow coming, but she was too amazed to even move out of the way as his hand came down hard on the back of her neck. The last thing she felt were the man’s arms as he caught her, and then everything was gone.

T
he water over his head parted, and Eli sucked in an enormous breath. He sat there a moment, reveling in the joy of breathing, before Miranda’s face dipped down to fill his vision. She grabbed his head, checking his eyes and throat.

“You’re right,” she said. “He’s fine.”

Eli thought she was talking to him until he heard the water at his throat bubble in answer.

“Of course I’m right,” Mellinor said. “It’s my water.”

Miranda’s mouth twitched in a smile before returning to a stern line as she looked down at Eli.

“Turn him around,” she said haughtily. “I’m going to change out of these wet clothes and then we’ll see what the plan is.”

“Shouldn’t you include me in this conversation?” Eli said. “This is my neck you’re talking—”

His words cut off with a choke as Mellinor heaved sideways, spinning him dizzily in his watery prison. Eli
thrashed, but the water was like cement around him, and all he managed was to get a giant mouthful of cold, salty water down his windpipe as the sea spirit turned him completely around. He coughed loudly and spat out the water on the wall that was now five inches from his nose, filling his vision.

“There’s no cause for violence,” he said, still hacking.

“If you want to keep enjoying the air, you’ll keep your mouth shut,” Miranda said, her voice floating from the room behind him. “One more word and I’ll let Mellinor put you back underwater. Gin! Do you see Sparrow anywhere around?”

“No.” The ghosthound’s growl was muffled, and Eli realized he must be outside the small building they were in. Of course, there was no way the hound could fit
inside
.

“Stop him if you see him,” Miranda said, her voice dampened by the clothes she must have been pulling over her head. “I want him to ask Izo’s men to move us to a better location. I’ll need more room to properly contain the thief for tonight.”

Eli craned his neck, looking around at the small wooden hut with its low, easily scalable windows looking out onto quiet, sheltered back alleys. “This place looks fine to me.”

“Shut up,” Miranda and Gin said in unison.

Eli turned sullenly back to the wall.

“I’ll send Sparrow your way if I see him,” Gin said. “Hurry up, it’s already getting dark.”

Miranda made an annoyed sound and the room lapsed into silence, broken only by the soft shuffle of clothing.

Eli stared at the wall, listening with interest. From what
he could hear, Miranda was six, maybe seven feet away. Far too short for a break even in the small room, assuming, of course, he could get out of the water spirit, which he couldn’t. Kirik would be no use. The lava spirit’s burn was waterlogged, and Mellinor was the bigger spirit anyway. The sea would win for sure if it came to a fight.

Eli tried a few experimental movements, then stopped. The water was like a vise, pressing into him so hard he couldn’t even wiggle his fingers. He struggled a bit more, just on principle, before flopping down against the water to wait it out.

He’d been like that for only a few moments when he felt something brush his cheek. Eli jumped, lashing his head back in surprise. Or he tried to. All he managed was to wrench his neck into an awful crick. Eli winced and turned to see what had touched him. His eyes widened in surprise. There, standing right next to Mellinor’s water, was a man. He was dressed in dull brown with a bow over his shoulder and a quiver of very familiar arrows.

The man put a finger to his lips. “Don’t say anything,” he whispered. “My name is Sparrow, and I have an offer for the great Eli Monpress.”

Eli stared at the man, curious now. He wasn’t a Spiritualist, or even a wizard, Eli would wager. Even Great Spirits perked up when a wizard spoke, no matter how used they were to having them around, but Mellinor had remained perfectly still. Still, there was something very odd going on. For one thing, the man had to be standing right behind Miranda, but the soft sounds of her changing hadn’t even paused. The Spiritualist could be a little blind at times, but it wasn’t like she would just miss something like this. Even stranger, Gin hadn’t made a sound either. That made
Eli very cautious. Unless there were two men named Sparrow here, this was the one Miranda had asked the hound to look for, and any person who could sneak past an alert ghosthound was someone to be treated with respect.

Sparrow smiled as he watched Eli’s thought process and deftly flicked a card out of his front pocket. “Before you ask,” he said softly, slipping the card down Eli’s shirt collar, “no, they don’t know I’m here.” He leaned casually against the wall. “I’m something of an oddity, you see. I’ve been told I’m the opposite of a wizard, something completely beneath the world’s notice, or some such. I don’t fully understand it myself, but it’s dreadfully useful, especially when sneaking around a girl who relies on spirits to do her watching.” He glanced sideways beyond Eli’s line of vision to where Miranda was getting ready. “Unless I’m wearing something with some life and color to it, spirits can’t see me at all, so I thought I’d take advantage of my current drab attire to have a little chat with you. Of course”—he frowned—“the moment you speak, the jig is up, so things are going to be a little one-sided, I’m afraid. But I’m sure I can count on a man known for his curiosity to keep his mouth shut until he gets an explanation.”

Eli gave him a sour look, but nodded.

“Good,” Sparrow said. “You should know first that I’m not Spirit Court, and I’m not after your bounty either. I work for the Council of Thrones. Specifically, I work for the Council’s Head Wizard, and she’s very interested in you.”

Eli’s eyes went wide as coins, and he mouthed one word.

Sara.

“Who else?” Sparrow said. “I’m afraid things are about
to be very difficult for you, Mr. Monpress. Miranda’s on the warpath. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were standing trial before Banage within the month. However, it doesn’t have to be that way.” Sparrow leaned a little closer. “Sara has asked me to assure you that you will always be welcome in her department.”

Eli glowered and said nothing. Sparrow shrugged and gave Eli’s head a wet pat. “The offer’s there, when you’re ready,” he said, moving silently back toward the open window. “Just remember, the Council’s been planning your hanging since your bounty hit twenty thousand. It promises to be quite the event, but even this could be quietly forgotten if Sara wanted it to be. Think on that a bit. I’ll be in touch, should you need me.” He gave Eli one final smile before slipping quietly through the window, vanishing without a sound into the alley beyond.

Eli was still staring when Mellinor jerked beneath him, whirling him around to face Miranda, who was dressed in one of her standard riding suits, a deep blue one this time, with her red curls pulled up in a severe ponytail and a deep scowl on her face.

She folded her arms over her chest as Eli smiled at her. “What were you looking at just now?”

“Absolutely nothing of consequence,” Eli said.

Miranda’s look told clearly how much she believed that, but before she could say anything, Gin poked his head in the front door. “Sparrow’s headed toward Izo’s.”

Miranda shook her head and grabbed a handful of Mellinor’s water.

“Where are we going now?” Eli said, but Miranda didn’t answer. She just dragged him, water and all, out the door and into the dirt street beyond.

• • •

Miranda marched into Izo’s hall, leaving a wet trail on the grimy stone as she dragged a water-bound Eli behind her. Sparrow was already waiting for her. His drab clothes were gone, replaced by his usual finery, now a green silk coat covered with a short blue cape that set off his eyes in a way that was obviously planned. He looked impossibly smug, as always, but his expression was somewhat tempered by the sight of their prize being flung around like a wet towel. Miranda paid him no attention. She stopped when she reached the middle of the hall, slamming Eli down on his knees before Izo’s empty throne.

Sparrow leaned over. “Miranda, dearest,” he whispered. “Perhaps it is not the best idea to bring the object of a negotiation to the negotiation.”

“The only spirit I trust him with is Mellinor,” Miranda said through gritted teeth. “He’s not leaving my sight. And don’t call me dearest.”

“She can get very touchy,” Eli said, his voice somewhat burbled by the watery prison sloshing at his chin.

Sparrow gave him a dashing smile. “The greatest thief in the world. It is quite the honor to meet you, Mr. Monpress.”

Eli grinned back. Miranda glowered and snapped her fingers, giving Mellinor a nudge that sent Eli’s head back underwater.

“Don’t encourage him,” she said pointedly.

She let Eli bubble a bit before bringing him up again. “I told you,” she said quietly, glaring down at the thief. “You’re here because I can’t leave you alone, not because we like your company, so keep your big mouth closed.” She straightened up, pushing a stray curl out of her face. “Honestly, what part of ‘prisoner’ don’t you understand?”

“Oh, I understand,” Eli said with a wet grin. “I’ve just never been in agreement with the concept.”

Miranda rolled her eyes, but before she could retort, or stick him underwater again, the iron gate rattled as Izo entered the room. He was dressed far finer than before, with a scarlet silk jacket over polished chain mail and a black cape edged extravagantly in gold thread. Miranda grimaced. He looked like every tacky minor lord in the Council district of Zarin, which was probably his intent. He was grinning like a cat as he stalked over to his chair, flanked on one side by the thin man in black, Sezri, and on the other by the enormous brawler with the ever-present cape over his shoulders, the man called Sted.

“Well,” Izo said, settling down into his throne. “Well, well, well. Let it not be said that Izo doesn’t deliver. Monpress kneels before me while his pet swordsman lies unconscious in my infirmary. I hope you understand now, friends, the power of the Bandit King. I have given you the uncatchable thief on a platter, as promised. Now we’ll discuss the details of how you mean to hold up your end of the bargain.”

Miranda started to point out how they had been the ones doing the actual catching, but Sparrow cut her off.

“Of course,” he said, “we could not have asked for a better outcome, and the Council always keeps its bargains. We will leave for Zarin first thing tomorrow, and I will return personally to hand you your invitation to the Council within the month,
King
Izo.”

Sparrow looked up, obviously expecting a smile at this new title, but Izo wasn’t smiling. He lounged back on his throne, his eyes lidded and dark as he looked Sparrow over.

“No, no, pretty messenger bird,” Izo said slowly.
“That’s not how this works. I may be king, but I’ll always be a bandit, and bandits don’t get to be kings by blindly trusting the word of Council dogs. No member of the Monpress party leaves my camp until I have the writ from the Council acknowledging my kingship in my hand.”

“My lord,” Sparrow said, his voice buttery and soft. “That’s simply not possible. It would take two weeks at least for me to return to Zarin. Without Monpress, it could take months to convince the Council to act, even for someone as connected as Sara.”

“Then I will keep him for months,” Izo said. “But he’s not going anywhere until I get my price.”

“That’s unacceptable,” Miranda said. “Every moment the thief spends outside of the Spirit Court’s full security is a chance for him to escape. This isn’t some cat burglar you can just lock in a cell. This is Eli Monpress we’re talking about, the man who broke into, and escaped from, the great citadel of Gaol. Even if I stayed in your camp to guard him, I couldn’t promise I could keep him safely bound for months. If he doesn’t leave for Zarin immediately, we could all lose.”

“Miranda,” Eli said gently, “I’m touched. Praise from you is praise indeed.”

Miranda waved her hand, and Mellinor’s water went over Eli’s head again. She held it there until his face was blue. “Shut up,” she muttered, keeping her eyes on Izo. The Bandit King was leaning on his throne, scratching his scarred chin thoughtfully.

“I understand your complaint, Spiritualist,” he said. “But my terms stand. Monpress goes nowhere until he is paid for. If you want to get him back to Zarin, I suggest you convince your Council to move quickly.”

Sparrow smiled. “May I have a moment to discuss this with my colleague?”

Izo shrugged and waved his hand. Sparrow bowed in thanks before grabbing Miranda’s arm and dragging her back to the gate.