A captured cauldron, p.26
A Captured Cauldron, page 26
The only times he dared retreat to his bed were the times he thought the others might be able to contact him. He napped for a half hour here, a few minutes there, hoping the darkness would turn into friendly faces.
And two days later, the friendly faces appeared—all of them.
The merchants had clustered into The Jumping Ogre, taking over a long table at the back of the tavern. The table groaned under the street’s favorites—cheese rolls, fruit pies, stews flanked by stacks of crusty bread…
Ambrose walked into the tavern to find them already digging in.
“Who wants a roll?” Sherry stood and held up a platter. Banneker reached for one; she swatted his hand away. “Not you, you’ve already taken three. Eli?”
She tossed one to Eli at the end of the table. He took a bite and grimaced. “It hardly tastes like anything.”
Ambrose cleared his throat. “If you don’t want it, I’ll take it.”
Eli whipped around. “Ames!”
He scrambled out of his seat as fast as he could, but the others were closer. They all piled onto Ambrose at once, smothering him with hugs, cheek kisses, and loud babbling in his ear.
“Look, I think we’ve got about a half hour in this dream,” Banneker rambled, “and we’re all gonna have wicked headaches tomorrow, but it’s worth it for you.” He grinned. “I’m liking the beard, by the way.”
Eli hummed in agreement and kissed his scratchy jawline. “Keep it, please keep it—”
“No.”
“But it’s so handsome,” Sherry cooed; he wriggled away.
“Someone help me,” he tried weakly—but in truth, he was fighting back tears. They were all here—even Rory, sticking tightly to Dawn—and he wanted nothing more than to simply sit and ask them about their days. To chat with them for hours, then retreat back into the welcoming quiet of his potion shop.
But the minutes were already slipping away, and he couldn’t indulge in anything beyond staying close to Eli’s side, holding his hand in a tense grip.
“I must thank you all for coming,” he said. Everyone stepped back and fell quiet for him. “I have an idea for how both Nat and I can escape during the demonstration while giving Aphos the brew they want…”
His eyes fell on Rory. She did look like Madam Mila, didn’t she?
“…and making your mother terribly angry in the process,” he finished.
Rory grinned. “We’re all ears.”
The night before the demonstration, a potion bottle sat in a silk-lined box, polished and perfect and completely ready for Cassius.
“One true illusion potion and the entirety of my research.” Ambrose pointed to the journals stacked neatly next to the box. “The brew achieves sight, smell, and sound, as you have already seen, along with touch and taste for relevant illusions. You’ll also find that your archivists can easily follow the instructions inside to duplicate my work for their records.”
Cassius took the box and journals, his smile lofty and smug. “I see you learned what was best for your self-preservation,” he said. “Madam Mila and her guests look forward to seeing your work tomorrow.”
Ambrose maintained a straight face and a steady posture. So did he.
As Cassius swept off, a servant approached with a tray of food. To his constant disappointment, it wasn’t Nat—it hadn’t been ever since his failed astral outing.
“Here,” the servant mumbled, then quickly scurried away. When she slipped out, a breeze slipped in, and the door caught a moment before closing.
Ambrose’s stomach grumbled—he had accidentally ignored the last meal brought to him—but something forced him to freeze in place. A distinct sense that he was being watched in the empty room.
He waited several seconds, surveying the air around him. Then, when nothing appeared, he ventured a small, “Hello?”
Someone in the room cursed.
“How did you know?” Nat whispered harshly. “I thought I was doing a good job of being sneaky—”
Fear and relief seized him all at once.
“What are you doing?” he hissed, searching the air frantically for any sign of her. “Where are you? How long have you been invisible?”
A hand tugged on his sleeve.
“About fifteen minutes. Why?”
He grabbed her shoulders, glaring at what he approximated to be her eyes. “That potion only lasts for thirty minutes. If you want to escape now, you need to leave immediately—”
“Escape?” she said. “I just wanted to bring you some raisin cakes.”
Raisin cakes, fresh and warm from the kitchens, suddenly piled themselves onto Ambrose’s dinner tray.
“I saw they hadn’t given you any in a week,” she continued, “and the trays almost always came back full. Don’t tell me you’ve been eating my stash of candy instead.”
“Nat,” he said, gripping her shoulders tight. “You’re invisible. What on earth are you doing? Why aren’t you leaving?”
He could feel her tilt her head; strands of hair that never stayed in her ponytail fell onto the back of his hand. “I’m not leaving you behind, Mr. Ambrose.”
Ambrose blinked back tears. Gods, he didn’t deserve her. He didn’t deserve any of them.
“Get to the demonstration tomorrow,” he said.
“I’ll try—”
“You must.” He swallowed. “Promise me you’ll be there.”
“Okay, okay! I will. I’ll be there.”
“Good.”
Footsteps haunted the hall once more—the other servant, come to pick up the tray. He let go of Nat’s shoulders and immediately lost all sense of where she was.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
RULE 35:
INFILTRATE
Eli
The morning of the rescue, Eli found himself leagues outside of the Scar.
Rosemond Street had taken no chances on their cover. They had ridden into a neighboring village the night before, disguises and devices in tow, then joined the city-bound crowd of travelers the following morning.
“Remember not to say much when you get to the entrance,” Rory said, coaching Sherry, Grim, Eli, and Dawn from within their gilded carriage. She gestured with Banneker’s forged invitation as she spoke—a perfect match to Lady Freeheart’s. “You’re rich and important. There’s no need to be polite, understood?”
“I can do that,” Sherry said confidently. Dawn threw her a skeptical look. “What? I can!”
Next to her, Grim rolled their eyes and shifted the bejeweled belt across their hips. Eli could barely recognize the pair; they had already donned their costumes and wolfed down their enchanted disguise desserts. Undercover butter buns, Viola had called them. Respectfully, Eli thought she should workshop the name—but there were bigger things to worry about at the moment.
“Now, after you show your invite at the entrance,” Rory continued, “stick to the middle of the group and act like you know where you’re going. The guards out front won’t bother checking faces or names, but you don’t want someone like Cassius looking too closely.”
“What about those dogs that caught you at the Grapevine entrance?” Grim asked, nodding to Eli. “Kid’s gonna be walking in with half our inventory strapped to ’im. They’ll sniff him out in a second.”
Rory waved a hand. “They don’t have those dogs here—just their wands to check invitations. Half of Madam Mila’s guests use her illusion devices just to hide their wrinkles. If Aphos tried checking them over with a guard dog, they’d get migraines from all the barking.”
The carriage slowed to a halt; Eli’s nerves spiked.
“Stopping at the crossroads, ma’am,” the driver called. “Just like you asked.”
Rory reached for the door, then paused. “Earring check?”
They all quickly touched their earlobes, ensuring Grim’s mind-linking earrings were all in place. Eli checked both of his studs—light gold, almost blending in with his ears. He generally preferred a nice dangling quartz, but they would’ve stuck out against his servants’ attire.
“How about you?” Dawn turned to him, her smile unsteady. “You have everything? Teleporters, invisibility potion, wand—?”
“Checked a dozen times, got it all.”
She gave him an overly tight hug. “You can do this.”
Eli returned the gesture with just as much force. “See you soon.”
Dawn took Rory’s arm, and with a twist of the copper teleporter in her hand, they both disappeared back to the Scar. Eli slipped out of the carriage and took his place on the sideboard as Sherry and Grim’s servant. As soon as he settled in, Sherry flipped up the window.
“You all right out there?” she whispered.
Eli grinned. “What did Rory say about being polite?”
“Right, right, sorry.” She paused. “Wait, I wasn’t supposed to apologize, was I—?”
Grim sighed and flipped the window closed for her.
The carriage bore them not to the main elevators of the Scar, but to the southern ones, where the chasm narrowed. In snobbish fashion, they abandoned their carriage and hired a palanquin on the ground floor, throwing about coins like they meant nothing in order to ride to Aphos in style.
“You know how many cheese rolls those talons could’ve bought us at The Jumping Ogre?” Grim grumbled to Sherry once they disembarked. “Or how many good northern ales—?”
“That’s quite enough,” Sherry whispered back. “We’re here.”
Eli gazed up at the entrance. There would be no slipping into an abandoned winery or broken-down forge this time—Madam Mila’s guests were far above that. No, this entrance bore the grand illusion of a fine Scarrish hotel, replete with stone columns and balconies dripping with flowers. It would have fit right in amongst the government square or the posh Myrtle Plaza up in the northern quarter—if it weren’t for the subtle carvings of krakens along the tops of the columns.
“Welcome, welcome.” A guard in a fine silk waistcoat held out a gloved hand. “Your luggage, if you please?”
But Rory had coached them well—the man didn’t expect anything like luggage to sully his perfect white gloves. Grim drew themselves up to their full height, elbowed Eli out of the way for good measure, and placed the invitation and another talon in the guard’s hand.
“I see, I see.” The guard flicked a wand over the paper, its writing perfectly aligned with Lady Freeheart’s stolen invitation. Eli stiffened. In his own head, he hadn’t yet ruled out the use of force when it came to getting inside. If the man gave them so much as a sideways look, he would gladly clobber him, run in, down the invisibility potion early, avoid every single guard in Aphos…
“Very well.” The guard handed back the invitation and pushed open the golden doors. “Enjoy your stay.”
Eli barely suppressed a sigh of relief. No clobbering necessary.
Sherry and Grim gave the guard stiff nods and proceeded forward, Eli following close behind. Once they moved into the marbled lobby, he expected the illusion to give way to the rough-hewn tunnels he had seen before—but even the real tunnels here had been gussied up for Aphos’ richest visitors. They strolled along smooth obsidian paths, past golden braziers shaped like krakens.
“Goodness,” Sherry muttered, veering a little too close to one of the braziers. “Are these wax-casted, do you think—?”
Grim quietly pulled her back to the middle of the pathway.
Before long, others joined them in the tunnel—people draped in half-capes and furs, gold thread glittering in the kraken light. Eli didn’t dare look the well-dressed visitors in the eye, but did manage a few subtle nods in solidarity to the servants following along. The other guests’ presence wasn’t unwelcome—the growing crowd allowed Sherry and Grim to blend in more seamlessly—but his time in the crowd was rapidly coming to a close.
You recall what Nat’s supposed to look like? Sherry asked, looking straight ahead and keeping her lips pursed. Grim adjusted their cloak.
Gray half-orc, ponytail, one tusk, dark clothing, they responded. Nat was their responsibility today, leaving Ambrose entirely to Eli. Just the idea of it made his chest tighten, so he quickly diverted his thoughts to the next part of the plan. That was all that mattered—the next step, and the step after that, and the step after that…until he reached Ames.
Hopefully.
Rory, we just passed the statue, he said, frowning at the wrought-iron kraken curling its tentacles up and around the ceiling. I’m ducking out at the staircase ahead, right?
Yes, Rory’s voice floated in, far thinner than Sherry and Grim’s due to her distance. The path narrows there. Duck into the stairs like you’re making space for the others, then take the potion before the guards pass.
Eli glanced back down the tunnel; a pair of guards strolled at the end of the glittering group, no doubt making snide remarks behind their gloved hands. He’d have fifteen seconds at most before they passed.
Got it, he said, then stuck his hand in his pocket and angled himself close to the upcoming staircase, an alcove of black marble winding up into the shadows. True to Rory’s word, the tunnel did indeed narrow just before it, clustering the guests closer together while the servants scrambled to make the appropriate space for their employers.
A picture of the perfect servant, Eli ducked into the staircase and bowed to Sherry and Grim as they passed—then retreated up into the shadows and drank the invisibility potion in one gulp.
He pressed himself against the wall, willing himself to sink into the darkness, for the magic to work faster. One second passed, and his feet vanished. Five more seconds, and he could barely see his hands. Ten more seconds—
“That everyone?” one of the guards muttered. Eli froze, his heart thundering. The guard next to him toyed with her gloves and looked up into the staircase. For a moment, she stared directly at the curved wall Eli was hiding behind, her expression unreadable.
“Looks like it,” she finally said, and continued on with her partner. “Hey, did you see that stupid little hat that one countess had on, with all the feathers? What’d she do, nap in a chicken coop?”
Eli waited for them to pass, a hand on his pounding chest—then slipped down the staircase and followed them without a sound.
Between the guards’ constant gossip and the guests’ low murmurings, there was plenty of noise to muffle his footfalls, letting him focus on keeping a safe distance from others in the tunnel. Avoiding servants darting in from alcoves, keeping away from dust and pebbles that might betray his steps…
When he reached the blinding light of the sinkhole, he had to press himself against the wall again until his eyes adjusted.
Now that he was seeing the Oasis from below, rather than above, he could soak up every detail of the place. It wasn’t a normal Scarrish sinkhole, with thin stairways and treacherous footholds. This one had been terraformed by illusions into a peaceful beauty. Waterfalls trickled down from the top, gathering in a crystal-clear stream that ringed the edge of the floor. By the guests’ platform, the central base had been built up into an intricately carved dais, dappled with light streaming through the land bridges above. And all around them, ivy spread luxuriously along the walls, and blooms spilled over the uneven ledges.
Eli hated that it was one of the most beautiful places he had ever seen.
He ripped his eyes away from the lush greenery, only briefly glancing at the platform where Sherry and Grim gathered with the other guests. He no longer needed to follow them. His goal was on the other side of the sinkhole, behind the columns that lined the outer path: the control panel for the shield, hidden behind a patch of carefully cultivated ivy.
Not that Rosemond Street would be blasting in through the top of the sinkhole, as he had once hoped—that was still too risky, given the teleporting sentries—but a disabled shield, however brief, would stoke the ire of one man in the Oasis.
One particular, ornery man who needed to look away from Ambrose for just a second.
“I don’t care if you already made a round. Do another one,” a voice snapped. Eli slowly inched toward the voice—there was Cassius, hovering like an angry wasp in an alcove.
“I will not have anyone sneaking into this event,” he continued, his gaze boring into the poor officer in front of him. “Do another invisibility sweep while I get the potioneer.”
“On it.”
After Cassius stalked off, the officer placed a finger on her bracelet—a circle of chunky blue stones overpowering her wrist—then unclipped a wand from her belt.
All around the outer path, fellow guards touched their own bracelets and dug out their wands.
What are they doing? Grim asked. They slouched on the platform with the others, looking for all the world like a curmudgeonly merchant waiting for the show to start—but they’d caught the guards’ movements immediately.
Invisibility sweep, Eli answered, sweat beading on his brow. He should have expected something like this after his failure in the throne room. He should have asked for some sort of deterrent from Banneker or Dawn—
It isn’t too late to back out into the tunnel, Banneker called. Eli looked up at the edge of the sinkhole—it was impossible to tell through the gauzy shield, but he knew the artificer was there with Dawn and Rory, looking down at them. If you head out now—
I’m not leaving, Eli snapped. Dawn, you got eyes on these wands?
A pause; Eli thought he saw a tiny shift beyond the shield.
I’m looking, she said tightly. They’ve got a low radius. Strong, but short, probably twelve paces. Give them a wide enough berth and you can get past them.
Sweat trickled down the back of his neck in time with his short, nervous breaths. If even one of them caught him…
You can do this, Dawn said. We trust you.
He curled his hands into fists, then let them go, releasing a long, slow breath. He could do this—he didn’t have a choice.
