A captured cauldron, p.25
A Captured Cauldron, page 25
“Rory never said who Madam Mila’s inner circle was,” she said, “but someone else in that tavern has to know, right? We’ll just get a drink there and ask around.”
Just. As if it was a night of dancing and not a dangerous venture into a criminal hideout.
But as she hoped, Eli drank his coffee in two gulps and grinned. “See?” he said. “Who needs Rory? We’ve got you as our spymaster.”
Dawn wouldn’t go that far, but at least she wouldn’t have to visit the tavern alone.
She set Tom down on the floor and straightened the flower in her bristles. “Leave around nine?”
“Nine it is.” Eli scooped up Tom, then extended a hug to Dawn when she stood up. “Hey. I know I probably won’t be as good of a date, but I can dance and throw a punch with the best of them.”
Dawn smiled and punched his arm. “Knew there was a reason Ames kept you around.”
Hours later, they descended to the tavern, already in over their heads.
“Wait, so I need a fake name?” Eli asked. Dawn rolled her eyes.
“Yes, you need a fake name. You can’t just go in there and say, ‘Hey, I’m Eli Valenz, Scarrish adventurer-in-training—’”
“What’s your fake name, then?”
Dawn bit her lip. “Kerry.”
“Kerry?” Eli’s laughter bounced down the street. “Like Kerighin?”
Dawn tried to laugh along with him, refusing to admit the fake name had grown on her.
“Yeah, it was dumb.” She brushed off his words. “But you have to think of one, too.”
“Fine. Um…” Eli looked around. “Jerry?”
Dawn stopped in the middle of the street. “We are not going in as Kerry and Jerry.”
Eli threw up his hands. “You’re the spymaster here. You think of something!”
Dawn resumed her pace, hoping something would come to her as they walked—but the warm light of the tavern was fast approaching, and she had nothing in her head.
“I don’t know,” she rambled. “Corey?”
Eli gave her a sideways look—but at the door, Callia was already waving from her post.
“Kerry, wasn’t it?” she called. “Come on in, come on in. Got some good bards tonight.”
Dawn took Eli’s arm and pasted a smile on her face in return, not wanting to think too much about why Callia had memorized her name so quickly, nor what she could possibly do with that information.
They clambered into the booth in the corner, the same one Rory had led her to weeks ago. The place hadn’t changed; the cushions remained lumpy, the spider still toiled away by the lantern, and the wine…
Dawn took a sip and pursed her lips. Yep, still sour.
But next to her, her new partner-in-crime wasn’t making a move to soothe her nerves. He was just as anxious as she was—gaze darting around, leg bouncing, his cold beer slowly warming in the tavern atmosphere.
“All right, so who are we talking to?” he asked, watching everyone who came in. Dawn pushed his drink toward him.
“We aren’t talking to anyone until you try to act normal,” she said. “Take a sip or something. If you’re making me nervous, you’re going to make them nervous.”
He reluctantly acquiesced and took a sip. While he drank and tried to lounge back against the lumpy seats, Dawn observed the bar at a more leisurely pace. There were indeed new bards onstage, a pair of fiddlers and a drummer, catering to several drunken dancers reeling in wide circles. But the other patrons looked about the same. The orcs playing cards, the gnomes huddled in the opposite corner…
Ah. And Jasper the artificer, nursing his beer.
She leaned toward Eli. “That’s the guy we talked to. Goggles and artificer pin, on the other side of that column.”
Eli quickly pushed aside his drink. “Okay, let’s go—”
“Hold on.” She grabbed his arm. “We have to wait until he’s done with his first drink. That’s what Rory did.”
“We can’t.” Eli lowered his voice. “Look at him again. He’s gonna bolt any second.”
She let her gaze casually flit elsewhere first, then observed Jasper once more. He hunched forward over the table, spinning his beer mug, eyes flicking over every inch of movement in the tavern.
She’d be surprised if he even finished his beer before leaving.
“Fine,” she said. “Let’s go.”
She led the way over to Jasper, keeping her pace slow, her expression light. The artificer’s eyes flashed in recognition, but he didn’t bother accompanying it with a smile.
“Evenin’,” he muttered, adjusting the goggles on his forehead. “No Liddy today?”
Dawn gripped her wineglass tighter. Damn these Aphosians and their good memories.
“Not tonight, no,” she said. She didn’t dare sit down at his table yet—but while they were on the subject, she could dare a question. “Has she, um…been here recently?”
Jasper shrugged. “Not in the past week or so.”
Dawn nodded; Jasper sipped his beer. Eli nudged her, gaze urgent.
“So”—she aimed for a more direct tactic—“you hear about that demonstration in the Oasis next week?”
Another blunder. Jasper’s eyes narrowed immediately.
“Maybe,” he said slowly. “What about it?”
Behind him, an elf glanced back at her, and the orcs at a nearby table all stiffened. Dawn swallowed, cognizant of the hole she had just stepped in. They were all just as on edge as Jasper was, ready to leap up from their drinks at a moment’s notice. Even Callia was flashing nervous smiles and hurrying between tables faster than before.
Something must have happened—and she could use that to her advantage.
“What do you know about it?” She sat down across from Jasper and leaned in with a look of concern. “Liddy and her boss are just as scared as everyone else. I just got back into town, and I gotta know if a storm’s coming. For her sake, you see.” She checked Jasper’s beer—only half-full. She hailed Callia. “Another beer, please?”
That was the key—Jasper’s shoulders unwound as soon as his next beer was in front of him. As he wiped foam from his mouth, Dawn kept up her concerned facade, while Eli quietly took the seat beside her.
“Tell Liddy not to throw her wrench over it,” Jasper finally said. “It’s the rest of us that’s got to worry about it. So long as her boss is keepin’ in Cassius’ good graces, she’ll be fine.”
“Cassius?” Eli frowned. “What’s he doing?”
Jasper glanced at him for the first time, looking his plain merchant’s garb up and down. Dawn set a hand on Eli’s arm.
“Corey,” she said. “Potioneer’s apprentice.” Then, for her own satisfaction: “He’s very new to all this. Has hardly learned his level one’s.”
Eli kicked her under the table; she bit back a smile.
“Potions, eh?” Jasper scratched his beard. “That’s exactly what the demonstration is for next week. Problem is, someone stole Lady Freeheart’s invitation, and she’s making a sooty stink over it.”
Dawn froze in confusion. “Someone stole her invitation?”
Jasper nodded. “Stole it right from under her nose in Aphos,” he said. “Normally, I don’t give a damn fire blast who’s going to those things, but if it’s Cassius’ problem, it’s suddenly everyone’s problem.”
Dawn sipped her terrible wine. All well and good for Lady Freeheart to have lost her invite, but she needed the name of someone who still had theirs in hand. “Who else normally goes to those events?”
But Jasper was already rattling on, the beer urging him in the opposite direction. “Cassius sent folks to check all my workers’ bags today. Can you believe that?” He snorted. “As if any of us would want a peek at a potion we couldn’t afford in ten lifetimes. That damn man just doesn’t have anything better to do with his time. He hounded the wandmakers, then the markets, then the—”
Next to Dawn, Eli shifted impatiently. “Yeah, we hate that guy,” he said. “So, who else might be—?”
It was no use.
“And then,” Jasper barreled on, “he has the gall to tell everyone to be on their best behavior next week!” He threw up a hand. “Me ’n’ mine have never caused a lick of trouble for him. When that one giant spider got into the tunnels, who was first to take it down?” He jabbed a finger down onto the table. “Not him, that’s who. In fact, it was my older brother Nic who—”
In desperation, Dawn set her glass down hard. “Fascinating. Does Nic know anyone else who might be attending the—?”
Up onstage, the bard’s tune changed.
What had been a lightly rolling dance suddenly veered into something jangling and off-putting, almost out of tune. Everyone in the tavern straightened—then began to chug their drinks and rush for the exits.
Eli stiffened. “What’s that?”
“Damn, you are new,” Jasper muttered. “Cassius is coming. Best get out now.”
Dawn gripped her chair. She couldn’t leave—she had no information yet, nothing to go off of. “But—”
“Good evenin’.” Jasper clinked his mug against theirs, drained the dregs, then shuffled off along with everyone else. Eli tugged on Dawn’s arm.
“Come on, we have to go, too,” he muttered. “As much as I want to wait around here and punch him, we can’t afford to have him see us.”
“But we didn’t get any—!”
“We’ll figure it out later.” Eli’s nerves had vanished now that danger was approaching. He pulled her to her feet, his grip strong. “Let’s go.”
Dawn tossed back the last of the city’s worst wine—then slipped into the night with him, sour and empty-handed.
RULE 33:
APPLY BINDING AGENT
Dawn
Dawn couldn’t stomach the thought of delivering her failure straight to Ambrose that night—but it was her turn to wear the crown.
“I’m sorry, Sherry.” She stood in the doorway of her shop, her sniffles making an embarrassing echo in the empty nighttime street. Sherry held the wooden box that Banneker had built for the circlet, but she couldn’t bring herself to take it. “I can’t do this tonight. I can’t see him.”
What was she supposed to say to him? That they still had no invitation? That they were going to sneak in and hope for the best? He’d hate it, hate the idea of Eli risking himself like that again. And an angry Ambrose was a risky Ambrose—an Ambrose who would get caught trying to get himself out instead.
But Sherry didn’t take the circlet back. She stubbornly held the box out, eyes shining. “You have to. The only way we lose him is if we stop trying.” She pulled Dawn into a hug, her voice unsteady. “Sleep well and tell him we love him.”
When she left, Dawn closed the door and clicked open the box. The circlet gleamed up at her, freshly polished and resting in a bed of blue velvet. She toyed with one of the crystals. What would be worse—the heartache Ambrose would get from her news, or the heartache of her not appearing at all?
As the pain in her chest sharpened, a hesitant knock sounded right behind her.
“Dawn?” a voice called.
The sharp pain twisted and cut. That was Rory, inches away from her.
Dawn gripped the box tight. She couldn’t do this, not now. “Not tonight.” She took a ragged breath. “I—I want to talk to you, just… It’s a bad time.”
“I know it’s a bad time,” Rory continued, the door muffling her words. “But if you open the door for just a second, I can explain myself.”
“I can’t…” Dawn wiped her cheek. She wasn’t sure how much she could—or should—tell Rory anymore. “The plan isn’t… It’s not working, and I have to tell Ames that—”
“That’s why I’m here.”
Something slipped under the doorframe and poked Dawn’s heels: a piece of paper, neat and pristine, with a golden kraken insignia shining at the top.
She bent down and read the text.
As one of Madam Mila’s most valued clients, you are invited to the exclusive—
Dawn snatched up the paper with trembling hands. The invitation. Lady Freeheart’s invitation.
It hadn’t been taken by some random thief. Rory had descended into Aphos and stolen it from right under her mother’s nose.
She yanked open the door. “It was you—”
Her words cut themselves short. Gods, Rory had never looked so handsome as she did at that moment. Warm light from the streetlamps caressed her face, and her hair fell over her forehead as if she had run her hands through it a hundred times on the way here. And her eyes, pleading and lovely, couldn’t have been further from the calculating coldness of Madam Mila’s portraits.
A hundred words prepared to pour from Dawn’s chest—but Rory’s came rushing out first.
“I know Ambrose isn’t a pawn,” she said. “I know he gossips with you while you work, and you write to him about every little thing. I know you once got caramel apple in his hair when you were thirteen and he didn’t talk to you for three days. I know he’s the best at what he does and you’re even better, and you—” A desperate smile spread across her face. “I have never once thought of you as anything less than magnificent. You’re incredible, and beautiful, and the best terrible dancer I’ve ever seen, and I…” She gestured to the invitation in Dawn’s hands. “I want you to get your best friend back, and I want to be standing by your side when you do.” She gulped in air, eyes shining. “If you’ll have me.”
Dawn gave a cracked laugh. She had started crying at some point in the speech, and it was all she could do to keep her tears from falling on the invitation.
“Of course I’ll—” she tried, but before she could finish, Rory leaned down and kissed her, letting her words melt into pure relief. Of course she wanted this grinning, reckless, thieving vigilante by her side. She had wanted it from the start.
When she finally pulled away, she kept a firm grip on Rory’s waist, not daring to let her slip back into the night.
“It’s my turn to talk to Ames tonight,” she said. “Will you stay with me?”
Rory dropped one more kiss on her forehead. “I’d love to.”
In her excitement, the dreamscape built quickly around her—her own wand shop, morning light blazing across the glass cases in a spray of rainbow caustics. She threw open the door, like she had just done for Rory, and looked for Ambrose out in the street. “Ames?” she called. “Ames, you here—?”
“Over here!” he called in a strained voice. “Over—oh, son of a wood-eating…”
She turned to find him behind her front counter, reaching for the wine bottle she traditionally kept on the top shelf. His hand went through it once, twice, and he cursed again, slouching against the shelves.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I thought I could get it down for you.”
“I…appreciate the thought?”
But before she could ask for details, he walked straight through the counter and wrapped her in a hug.
“Sherry told me about what happened with Rory,” he said, her hair muffling his words. “I’m so sorry.”
She held back a laugh. “There’s no need to be sorry, Ames—”
“She lied to you.” He pulled back, frowning. “I know she was trying to help, but to think that—”
“Really, there’s no need to be sorry.” She squeezed his hands and grinned. “She just secured us our invitation. We’re breaking into the demonstration and getting you out.”
Ambrose blinked. “You’re serious?”
She couldn’t help it—she bounced his hands up and down and began to chant. “We’re getting you out, we’re getting you out—”
Ambrose laughed and hugged her again, far tighter than before. But when he stepped back, he was back to his serious self once more.
“If you’re truly going to be there…” He ran a hand through his wild, overgrown hair. He clearly hadn’t bothered to trim it in weeks, nor was he paying attention to the sky-blue stubble dusting his jaw. “If you really do have access… I’d like to try talking to everyone at once. Soon. Do you think Banneker and Grim can boost the circlet’s magic?”
She forced herself out of her celebratory state of mind and back into a semblance of thinking. “I can ask,” she said, mentally running through what she knew of the enchantment. “We probably wouldn’t have very long to talk, with more people in a dream. Maybe twenty minutes at most—”
“I can make that work.” His gaze unfocused, then snapped back into place. “Yes, I can make that work.”
Dawn hesitated; she hadn’t seen this sort of Ambrose since their apprenticeship finals. “What are you working on down there?”
He gathered himself and shook his head. “I’ll tell you when we’re all together. I promise.” He forced out a smile. “In the meantime, will you take care of yourself?”
Dawn reached up and rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “Like you’re one to talk.”
He winced. “I’ve been meaning to shave it.”
“Don’t, it’s cute.”
“I’m quite sure it isn’t. Please don’t tell Eli—”
Dawn laughed. “But he wants you to grow a beard!”
“Precisely.” He took her hands once more. “You’ll talk to Banneker and Grim tomorrow?”
“We’ll throw a whole dream party just for you.”
His smile tilted. “For once, I cannot wait.”
RULE 34:
ADD FINISHING TOUCHES
Ambrose
Ambrose had never worked so hard on a potion in his life.
He had three cauldrons going at all times, the ink stains on his hands dripping from the heat. He either inhaled his meals in one bite or left them to sit for minutes or hours or days—he had a foggy sense of time without Nat, windows, or a real sleep schedule. Even Cassius glanced at him sideways when he came to survey his handiwork.
This wasn’t exactly what Dawn would call taking care of himself, but if it got him and Nat to Rosemond Street, it would be worth it.
