The blue flames, p.41
The Blue Flames, page 41
The woman cleared her throat and tapped her fingers on the seat. “Well, that may be somewhat difficult . . . considering I make my home in Harroway. Or what’s left of it.”
“Harroway!” Tyrus cried.
“I came here in search of my daughter. She’s been missing since the mass arrests. I thought Riva might know where to find her. No luck there, unfortunately. So no, I am neither an Entrian nor a priestess, which means I won’t be able to hold my own when it comes to casting enchantments. I can drive a pair of horses, however.”
“That’s good enough for me,” Kaden said. “When is she supposed to be moved?”
“Nine o’clock tomorrow morning,” Tyrus answered.
“Fine. We can meet here half an hour ahead of time. Doctor, can you convince the guards that Emma is one of them? One of the coach drivers, perhaps?”
“That should be easy enough.”
“I’ll put myself under a shroud, then wait to cast the lightburst until you’ve set foot outside the house. Emma, once the commotion starts, the guards already in the coach should hurry out. If they don’t, you shout a warning that the prisoner is escaping. That should get them moving. Once I secure Riva inside, I’ll tap on the roof. Then you drive like the Devil is behind you. I’ll try to put a shroud around the coach as well, but my nerves may be too worn by then.”
“Understood.” Emma glanced back at Tyrus. “I’ll need directions to your home.”
“I’ll write them down.” He reached inside his pockets for pen and paper. “I may be delayed a few days in following you. I am sure to be taken to the hospital once they find me unconscious. They may even keep me there for questioning. I will write a note to my wife telling her that I have hired you to our household staff. Give it to her. She will see to it that you have a room in the servant’s quarters. You can take Riva there to recover until I arrive. Say she is your daughter, but not in such a way that you are caught in the lie.”
Emma raised an eyebrow. “Should be easy enough.”
Suddenly, there was an earsplitting crack outside the window, as if a bolt of lightning had sliced through the sky directly above them. The ground shook for a moment. The occupants of the coach stared at each other in horrified dread, then scrambled out and looked around.
The glass walls of the Diamond Court had cracked. A long, sinuous fissure had cleaved the domed structure almost in half. As Tyrus’s mouth fell agape, a sound like a barrage of rifle shots filled the air. Every pane was being split, fracturing as though invisible ice picks were chipping away at the glass, accompanied by loud creaks and high-pitched groans. He didn’t know what kind of power could do such a thing, but if the glass was meant to fly outward once it shattered, it would cause untold damage in every direction. Not to mention grave injury.
Farther down the street, people came rushing out of their shops and homes to investigate the noise. Some of them screamed. The six guards in the entry room of the jailhouse raced outside and looked up, equally stunned.
“Colonist witchery!” one of them said. “They’re taking revenge on the court!”
The creaks and groans grew louder. A constable ran down the street, shouting for everyone to take shelter inside and stand back from the windows. Tyrus ordered the guards to do the same—a command they willingly obeyed. As soon as they’d gone from sight, the doctor hurried to the other side of the coach where Emma and Kaden stood. He spoke as loud as he dared above the noise of breaking glass.
“This is our chance! I will tell the guards the Colonists are surely coming for her, and that we must take my coach at once to the boat! Emma, take the reins!”
She hurried to the front and swung up into the seat. Tyrus handed her his address.
“Get her there as quick as you can! Don’t stop for anything! When you arrive, say I forced you to flee the city in my coach because of the danger! It won’t be a lie!”
“Right!”
Tyrus stepped close enough to Kaden to spare himself from shouting. “I gave her something for sleep, so I will have to carry her out in my arms. The guards will accompany me, so as soon as you see me put her into the coach, cast the lightburst. And before the light fades, you must strike me as hard as you can. Draw blood. It has to look real.”
Kaden looked reluctant but finally nodded. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“Please. Do not thank me. It is forgiveness I need.”
Riva’s father reached into his cloak and drew out an emerald crest jewel. “Give this to her when you can. And tell her I’m sorry.”
Tyrus nodded as he accepted it. Kaden took a few steps back and glanced around. The street was empty. He raised his hand, preparing to cast a shroud around himself, and locked eyes with Emma.
“I hope you find your daughter soon.”
Emma nodded. “I hope yours will be all right.”
Another great crack tore through the sky. Kaden disappeared beneath the shroud. Tyrus hurried inside the house.
The plan went off without a hitch. In five minutes, the coach was speeding northwards out of the city with the sleeping Entress inside. Half a dozen armed guards blinked the lightburst out of their eyes too late to see what had happened, and with the glass edifice threatening to burst at any moment, there was no time to investigate. They found the unconscious Dr. Tyrus with a bloody welt on his brow and quickly carried him inside the house.
Kaden took cover in an empty alleyway before removing his shroud. Seconds later, the Diamond Court shattered with a noise that could be heard for miles in every direction. Shards of glass rained down over the entire city, leaving no corner untouched.
They could not have wished for a better distraction.
Chapter 40
Prodigal
After his rebellion in court, Ink thought for certain he would spend the rest of his life in prison. As the guards hauled him towards the waiting jail coach, he could see no escape, no way to even cause a diversion now that all eyes were fixed on him. He hung on their arms, tried to kick at them and wrench free, but they only held him tighter.
In the end, it was his big mouth that saved him. The crowd was furious. They shouted at him and shook their fists and shoved forward. The guards made a valiant effort to hold them back—some even attempted shield enchantments—but it wasn’t enough. Two Entrians broke past the line on one side, then three more on the other. For a moment, eight pairs of hands were grasping at his father’s coat. Ink tried to shove them away. One raised a threatening pistol into the air. And then, for a split second of scuffling and cursing, Ink felt no one clutching him at all.
He took full advantage of the moment and dove forward under the jail coach. By then the crowd was surging against the guards on all sides. Some even climbed onto the coach to stop it from taking the traitorous boy out of reach. Those few who actually saw Ink make his escape were not near enough to grab him. Neither could they shout loud enough above the angry clamor to warn others. In the ensuing chaos, Ink snuck into a section of crowd which stood just far enough from the Diamond Court that they hadn’t been able to see him testify, and therefore could not identify him by face—at least not for the brief instant he raced past them.
He broke clear of the throng farther up the street. There the pavements were lined with the spectators’ wagons and carriages, countless in number and all unattended. He looked for one with a luggage compartment big enough to hold him. Of course, the constables were sure to come searching through the vehicles. That meant he would need to find one he could latch from the inside using the lockpick in his boot.
After another minute, he found such a one. Almost as soon as he had settled inside and secured the lock, he heard voices shouting in the distance, which he assumed to be those of the guards. They were soon overtaken by a great noise of cheering from the massive crowd. Ink's heart sank as he lay there in the dark. No doubt the Elders had made their final pronouncement on Riva’s sentence. She had not escaped her fate after all, and there was certainly nothing he could do to save her now.
He guessed it was half an hour before he felt the carriage shudder forward over the cobblestones. He had no idea which direction he was headed towards, or how long he might have to stay in his hiding place. It made no difference. He would make it back to Riverfall, no matter what it took. He still had the money he’d stolen from the foppish Entrian lords on the airship, so that was something at least. It was probably just enough to get him to Mastmarner.
Of course, there was another path he might take. He had his liberty again, and without the Wickwire Watch, he was probably safe enough from the Spektors on his own. His grandfather had warned that he would not escape their notice now that his “eyes had been opened” to so many secrets, but if he kept his nose in his own business from now on, they weren’t likely to give him any serious trouble. He hadn’t even seen a Spektor since Harroway. All in all, it seemed he was free to continue the search for his parents—once he could get out of Entrian Country and come up with a new disguise.
The prospect was tempting. But only for a moment. If Seherene, with all her methods and resources, had not yet been able to find them, there was little chance he could do any better. And besides that, it would mean abandoning the rest of the Colonists to whatever fates had befallen them. And he would not further prove any resemblance between himself and Coram. Or Marlas.
When the carriage stopped, and the voices of the passengers faded away, Ink hurried out of the compartment and found himself in a quiet, narrow street. The Diamond Court was nowhere in sight, nor any of the familiar towers and turrets of the central district of Ciras. Still, he didn’t feel he’d traveled far enough to let his guard down just yet. Word would be spreading of his betrayal and escape. Both constables and Colonist-hunters would be on the hunt for him now. Madara had probably wasted no time ordering his name added to the warrant lists. Perhaps it would even be put above Caradoc’s.
It didn’t take long to find another driver who would carry him—properly this time. The man did give him a curious look, owing to his age and ill-fitting clothing, but accepted the money and turned his team of horses to the north. Ink lowered the shades over the coach windows but still fought against closing his eyes for as long as he possibly could.
When he woke, the sky had grown dark. As it turned out, the fare he’d paid was only enough to get him as far as Ramminburn—a small, unassuming town on the southern bank of the Ceridwen River, and still several days from Mastmarner. Traveling on foot might take him a fortnight. Perhaps even longer if the weather turned bad again. As he stood looking at the twinkling lights of the shops and houses, the driver took pity on the shivering boy and handed down his scarf. Ink thanked him, then watched the coach turn and head back towards Ciras.
He was starving. Starving and freezing with pockets now empty. It was just like old times. He almost laughed at the thought, but it was hard to laugh on an empty stomach. The wind was also so cold that his ears had begun to turn numb. With a sigh, he wrapped the scarf over his head like a shawl and trudged through the snow towards town. It was time to put his old skills to proper use again. Even if he couldn’t get enough coin for coach fare, he could at least buy himself a decent meal. Maybe a warm hat and a pair of gloves. Then he would continue north.
It was difficult not to think of all the comforts he’d left behind, and painful to consider that his gallant speech in defense of Riva and the Colonists had been for nothing. Still, he couldn’t deny the colossal satisfaction he’d felt giving the Entrians a piece of his mind. And maybe it had done good. Maybe he’d planted the smallest seed of a doubt in their minds, brought them to question their methods and abilities. Plus, there was the added benefit of knowing how much his escape would enrage them—especially Pallaton and Madara. That alone was worth the cost of losing his fine clothes and splendid meals. He certainly wasn’t going to miss having any more chats with the old lady.
His only real regret was losing Seherene. She probably hated him now, not that he could blame her. At any moment she might turn up on her horse, flanked by a small army of Colonist-hunters and readying her belt of throwing knives. The thought so terrified him that he quickened his pace along the road.
It wasn’t until he reached the main street that he realized the difficulty of being a pickpocket in Entrian Country. It wasn’t that anyone would be able to read his mind or sense his intent. It was his obvious identity as a down-on-his-luck Cassrian. In his oversized coat and thin scarf, he stood out like a sore thumb, earning stares from practically everyone he passed. The pavements were also well-lit by lamp posts bearing enchanted flames, which meant there was little chance of making himself invisible in the shadows.
He stopped and sat on the steps of a closed haberdashery to rest and rethink his strategy. A little ways down the street, a small group of people exited a pub, laughing with bright eyes and flushed faces.
“I declare!” one of the ladies cried. “That was the best wine I ever tasted in my life! Simply extraordinary!”
“Did Kalvus say he’d just got it in today?” the man beside her asked.
Another man with a large mustache nodded. “Apparently, the seller makes it himself. Kalvus thought he was only a common peddler at first, but as soon as he got a whiff of the stuff, he couldn’t turn it down.”
Ink stood from the steps, hurried across the street, and followed several feet behind them.
“He should have kept him on as a regular supplier!” the woman said. “Did the seller at least leave an address? We must get a few bottles to keep at home.”
“No, he left nothing at all, not even a name, which probably means he didn’t come by it honestly. ‘Trade secret’ was all he would say about its origins. And he only sold Kalvus a single case before leaving town.”
“Perhaps we ought to track him down ourselves,” the first man said. “Which way was he going?”
“North, I would assume. Chap mentioned something about saving his last batch for Mastmarner.”
Ink stopped dead in his tracks. Then he turned, raced back to the pub, and barreled through the door. The customers looked up with a start. A few wrinkled their noses at his appearance. A man in a fine suit with a handlebar mustache had just finished pouring two glasses of wine for a young couple at a nearby table.
Ink hurried over and reached for one of the glasses. “’Scuse me, mates. Just checking something.”
Disgruntled cries rose up around him as he took a swig. He hardly heard them over the rush of euphoria. They were drinking Cestriae. The Colonists’ home brew.
“Here now!” the server said. “You’ve got some nerve!”
“So they tell me,” Ink replied with a grin. He set the glass down again and rushed back towards the entrance, waving at the customers as he went. “You enjoy that, now! Ain’t likely to see it again any time soon!”
Out in the street, Ink broke into a run, his eyes sweeping the pavements and storefronts as he went. A man who looked like a common peddler? Who still had a case of Cestriae to sell off? To Mastmarner, no less? There was only one person who could possibly fit that description.
“Chester!” he cried. “Oi! Mr. Fortescue! You still here?”
He kept calling until he reached the end of the street, which also happened to mark the end of town. Here the path was now earth instead of cobblestone and bent away to the north along the river. Ink followed it, but soon began to slow his pace. Chester might not have followed the road even if he had come this way. He could have crossed the bridge to the Ceridwen’s far bank and doubled back towards the south. There was no way to know for sure, short of finding a trail of empty bottles. With a curse, Ink yanked the scarf tighter around his ears and hurried to the top of a small hillock nearby. From there, he spied a small collection of tents farther down the road. It looked like a vagrant camp. With renewed hope, he plunged down the hillock and raced towards it.
Most of the occupants were asleep, either in their tents or under threadbare blankets, but a few were still huddled around campfires, talking quietly amongst themselves. Ink made for the nearest group.
“Beg pardon,” he said, somewhat out of breath.
An old man missing several teeth glanced up at him. “Evenin’, young master. What’re you doing out here? You lost?”
“I’m looking for a man named Chester. Chester Fortescue. D’you know him? Tall. Really oily hair. Fondness for pinstripe suits. Haulin’ a crate of wine—if he hasn’t drunk it already.” As he spoke, Ink stepped over and around the sleepers, trying to get a look at their faces. He even grabbed the hat off one man’s face who was using it to block out the firelight, waking him in the process. No Chester.
The old man shrugged. “Sorry, lad. Don’t sound familiar.”
“Why don’t you sit down for a spell?” said a woman with disheveled gray hair. She was also missing a tooth. “We got some good broth here.”
“You can have my bread roll,” the old man said, holding out a gray lump. “Can’t chew the thing, anyway.”
Ink grabbed the roll and held it aloft in a kind of salute. “Thanks very much! I’ve got to be off again. Can’t let him get too far away. Cheers!”
He bit into the bread as he turned and dashed up the road. It was mostly stale, but he didn’t care. Behind him, the vagrants shook their heads and exchanged baffled mutters.
After five minutes of jogging, Ink slowed to a walk. He was warm now—almost too warm to need his coat and scarf any longer—but he also knew the feeling wasn’t likely to last long. He blew out a weary breath as he looked around. The only source of light was the waning moon and its reflection on the river. Small chunks of ice floated along its outermost edges.
Damn. He’d lost the trail, if he’d even been on the right one to begin with. Chester had probably crossed the river. Or worse . . . perhaps it hadn’t really been him who’d sold the wine to that pub. The Colonists had dropped off several crates in Burgess Valley only a few months ago. Someone might have been looking to sell the excess. Ink halted and put a hand on his waist. Best start looking for a place to bed down for the night. He might return to Ramminburn and look for an empty stable or barn. Or search around here for an unoccupied cave. Then again, with the entire Entrian nation soon to set their bloodhounds on his trail, it would probably be better to sleep high in the branches of a sturdy tree.
