The Palace Job (21 page)

Tern was becoming curious about the word Loch was using. That kind of thing could be handy.

Again, Kail gestured for them to get moving, and everyone was quickly inside. Inside turned out to be a gorgeous room with marble floors and gold scrollwork and expensive paintings. Tern looked at an Imperial vase and guessed it to be from the Liu dynasty, which would be nearly enough for Tern to retire on. She glanced at Icy, who caught her stare and nodded.

"We're here," Loch finally said, looking around the room. Tern had expected her voice to hold a triumphant edge, but instead she sounded resigned.

"This is our contact?" Tern asked.

"Gosh!" said Dairy.

"Besyn larveth'is?"

"Looks like," Desidora murmured.

"Put Hessler on one of the couches," Loch said. "I'll bring back the owner."

A side door blew in off its hinges, and Tern spun to see gem-studded security golems the size of ogres, holding enormous crystal swords. "Unnecessary," came a voice from behind the golems. "Unluckily for you, the security isn't
quite
as poor as it appears."

The crystal swords shimmered with scarlet light, and the golems stepped forward.

Nine

"Today's discussion: security," intoned the dragon in the puppet show that morning. "With today's debacle, the Republic has lost an airship complete with wind-daemon, and three dangerous prisoners have escaped justice."

"If I could just start," the manticore butted in, knocking the dragon aside as the crowd laughed, "I think
debacle is
a very loaded term. We've got people assigned to their jobs, and they're doing their jobs, and it's very presumptuous to judge how they're doing."

"Well, any time you lose a ship," suggested the griffon, "you have to wonder whether things are being done prop—"

"Silence!" steamed the dragon, driving the griffon back with alchemical flames, and the crowd applauded. "We're here for a civilized discussion!"

"But I think that this event, when taken within the context of the earlier escape, points to an overall lack of performance by the Learned," shouted the griffon from the edge of the stage, hiding from the flames.

"Wait, now, you can't play politics with national security!" The manticore jumped onto the griffon, its stinger flashing, and the griffon howled and tried to buck it off. "And I'll have you know that the leader of the task force, a justicar with a shady past and a reputation for playing loose with the rules, was appointed by the
Skilled.
They're the ones who should be answering for this."

"But that isn't true!" cried the griffon. "Justicar Pyvic has an excellent reputation and —"

"Let's not get off topic!" the dragon proclaimed, belching a puff of fire that stopped both of the other puppets in their tracks. It raised a claw toward the manticore, and the griffon took the opportunity to run to the other side of the stage. The crowd laughed derisively. "What do you have to say about Warden Orris's resignation yesterday?"

"Totally unrelated," the manticore said promptly, "and if you listen to what he has to say, you'll know that." The manticore yanked on a leash, and a goat puppet was reluctantly dragged onto the stage. The crowd hooted.

"...proud
of what we've accomplished," said the goat in the whiny whistling voice that signified a cheap recording crystal, "but now is... and now I intend to spend more time with my family. I know that others will continue this important work." The goat broke off as the manticore's jaws clamped down on it and tore off its head. The manticore then snatched up the body and shook it violently, throwing small candies out into the crowd.

"There you have it!" declared the manticore with a burp.

"But the timing," protested the griffon, only to be knocked down by the manticore's giant bat-wings.

"I honestly don't know why we're even having this discussion!" boomed the manticore. "This is the Skilled Party's fault for putting this Pyvic fellow in charge, and if you want to play the partisan blame game, Warden Orris has already resigned. Why can't you people let a good man retire in peace?"

"Strong words!" boomed the dragon. "We'll keep you informed of any updates on this fast-breaking story!" It threw more candy out to the crowd while intoning the ritual words. "Remember, everyone,
it's your republic!"

"
Stay informed!"

"You're clever," said the man behind the golems, "and have gone to a lot of trouble. I appreciate that. Just a few years back, that pass phrase would have gotten you inside undetected. Sadly for you, the inner wards on my household were upgraded recently. Now, I could order my large metal friends to spray your liquefied organs across this very nice sitting room... or you could tell me where you learned the word."

"From my father," said Loch, stepping to the front of the group and staring past the golems to the man behind them. "He told me on my thirteenth birthday, in case I ever needed to speak with his friend, Lord Cevirt."

"Kill," said the man, and the golems clanked forward, swords raised.

"What?" shouted Tern.

"I'm just a university student!" cried Hessler weakly from the couch.

"It's the truth," said Loch said, voice level as the golems advanced.

"I very much doubt that," said the man, "since I am Voyant Cevirt, and I only told one man that phrase. And his daughter is a beautiful blind girl who does not much resemble you."

The golem nearest Loch lifted its sword overhead. Loch could see herself reflected in the shining crystal of the blade. She didn't move, but instead asked, "And his other daughter?"

"Hold."

The golems froze in place.

From around them stepped a small man, Urujar in complexion with closely cropped hair. He was wearing the traditional robes of the Voyancy, which snapped around him as he came past the golems to Loch.

"My friend's
other
daughter," said Voyant Cevirt, "is dead." Loch smiled crookedly. "I very much doubt that."

It was the smile that convinced him. He stepped back, his eyes wide, then moved in with a darting birdlike movement. "Isa?" he asked softly, looking at her as though searching.
"Aitha,
is that you?"

"Uncle," said Loch, "I need your help."

"Anything!" he cried, and lunged forward to pull her into a hug. "Isa, you're alive! You don't know how I've... Have you talked with Naria yet? We can set you up with—"

Loch pushed him back gently. "Uncle, I need a way into Archvoyant Silestin's palace," she said flatly, "and access to your private vault and security room."

Cevirt blinked.

"Mister Hessler?" said Dairy. "Isn't the contact supposed to know he's the contact?"

"I don't know, kid. I'm still picking up the fine points of all this."

"Patrol," Cevirt called back over his shoulder, "standard formation. Recognize guests." The golems clanked off, swords sliding back into sheaths, and Cevirt looked past Loch. "I need to speak with Isa in private for a moment. There's a small bar in the next room. Please make yourselves comfortable."

He walked off without another word. After a moment, Loch followed.

She followed him to a much smaller room, where he closed the door after her, pressed a glowing red crystal on his desk, which hummed and turned green. He gestured at a chair, and she sat.

"I forced an inquiry," he said, sitting. His arms rested on the desk, and his fingers were steepled, the index fingers tapping idly.

"So I gathered," said Loch.

"They determined that you deserted." The fingers tapped faster. "I refused to believe it."

"That was awfully nice of you."

"I refused to believe," he continued, "that Isafesira de Lochenville, who had snuck off to join the army against her father's wishes, would desert in the middle of a war."

"So you pulled a few strings."

"I protected your family name!" His palms slammed down on the table. "Your father and mother were dead! Your sister was blind and orphaned and didn't need her older sister's reputation as a deserter hanging around her neck! I assumed you had died," he grated, eyes flashing with anger, "and so, yes,
I pulled a few strings."

"And now," said Loch, "here I sit."

"You okay?" came the voice as the darkness faded to a gray, and then to vague shapes, and finally to Captain Melich's ugly and concerned face.

"No?" Pyvic tried. He sat up slowly, wincing as knives of pain stabbed through him. "No." He recognized the shabby drawing of a human body, complete with old graffiti, on the far wall by a shelf. "How'd I get to the justicars' infirmary?"

"By stretcher," Melich deadpanned, sitting down on the edge of the bed and poking at Pyvic's shoulder. Pyvic winced at the sudden pain, and Melich made a face and tightened a bandage. "We found you out cold in the grass near the border. Apparently when the wind-daemon tore the ship to shreds, bits and pieces landed everywhere. You got lucky." Melich squinted. "Real lucky."

"Wind-daemon?" Pyvic tried standing, caught his balance on the edge of the bed, and settled on leaning. "I thought there were magical protocols to stop them from getting loose."

"Not enough, apparently. It had to be abjured by a cadre of local priests."

"Oh, so it worked out fine, then." Pyvic let go of the bed and rolled out his shoulders. It hurt like a bitch, but at least the room had stopped spinning.

"Pretty much had to back a wagon up to the treasury and fill it up, though."

"I get the impression there's a report I should be reading."

"There's a report you should be
writing,
Pyvic." Melich lowered his voice. "What went wrong up there? The prisoners are gone. The only other survivor is a helmsman who was knocked out cold early on."

"Same thing happened to me," Pyvic said, and sighed. "My guess? We got played. Prisoner Loch wasn't Prisoner Loch. They used me to get up to Heaven's Spire, which is where they wanted to be the whole time."

Melich winced. "Might want to clean that up in the report."

"It's the truth." Pyvic shrugged, then winced. His shoulder was going to be sore for awhile. "If Orris hadn't deserted, I'd have had an observer on the ground to confirm that it was Loch."

"So the entire hunt was a wash?" Melich asked.

"Well, I met a woman," Pyvic noted. "Where's my sword?" Melich reached under the infirmary bed and handed Pyvic's sword over. "The woman isn't Loch, is it?"

"I wasn't sure at the time, but I wanted to feel her out. Anyway, she didn't look like..." Pyvic trailed off, sighed, and brought the sheathed sword up to gently knock himself on the head.

"She didn't look like the woman you arrested, thinking she was Loch, who was most likely set up just like you as part of the plan to get up to the Spire?" Melich finished innocently.

"I guess they
did
give you the captain's bars for a reason," Pyvic muttered. "By the way, how's the death-curse case going?" "Jyrre closed it." Melich smiled wryly.

"Keep the politicians off me as long as you can," Pyvic said, hooking the sword scabbard onto his belt. "I've got to talk to the helmsman."