The Spirit Rebellion: The Legend of Eli Monpress: Book 2

CHAPTER 13

The crowd in front of the citadel was thinning, the conscripts getting their orders from a group of guards in full uniform at the gate and moving off in organized packs toward different sections of town. The peasant soldiers organized with remarkable efficiency, and Eli got the feeling that the duke called in conscripts fairly often. Eli waited until the coast was clear, lounging casually on a bench by a fountain in one of the little parks just off the main square while Josef waited tensely behind him with Nico. Eventually, the last of the conscript groups moved off and most of the uniformed soldiers trudged back into the citadel, leaving only a small knot of guardsman and a lone officer at the door.

Seeing his opportunity at last, Eli stood up and walked toward the square, Josef and Nico trailing along behind. Just before he stepped out into the open, Eli paused and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his demeanor had changed. His posture was perfectly straight, his shoulders square, his face intent and uncompromising. When he stepped out into the square he didn’t walk across the cobbles; he marched straight over the open ground to the broad steps at the front of the Duke of Gaol’s impenetrable fortress.

The knot of six guards and their decorated officer stood at attention at the top of the stairs before a heavy iron door. They pulled closer as Eli approached, gripping their spears suspiciously. Eli ignored the warning and walked until he was just shy of the first step. There, he stopped and planted both feet with iron stubbornness.

“If you’re here for the conscription,” the officer said skeptically, “you’re too late to avoid the fine. If you give your name to Jerold here, I’ll be sure the duke knows you showed up, but-”

“Don’t be stupid,” Eli sneered, tossing his golden hair. “I’m no conscript. I am the Spiritualist Miranda Lyonette, head of the Spirit Court’s investigation into the rogue wizard Eli Monpress. I heard that he struck this fortress last night, and I demand access to the scene of the crime.”

The guard just stood there, blinking in confusion. Whatever he’d expected the man marching across his square to say, this certainly was not it. “You,” he said slowly, “are Miranda Lyonette?”

“Yes,” Eli said, looking extremely put upon.

The guard looked at the guard next to him. “Isn’t Miranda a girl’s name?”

“How dare you, sir!” Eli cried. “I’ll have you know it is an old family name. Honestly, am I to be constantly hounded by the ignorance of others? A girl’s name, really.”

The absolute scorn in his voice did the trick, and the guard’s face went scarlet. “Forgive me, sir. I meant no offense. It’s just, well, do you have proof of your identity?”

“Proof?” Eli rolled his eyes dramatically. “You insult my name and then ask for proof? Honestly, do I look like I have time for this idiotic song and dance?”

“Anything will do,” the guard said. “Some sort of identification from the Court, or-”

“You know anyone beside Spiritualists who wear rings like these?” Eli held up both his hands, letting his gaudy glass rings catch the sun. “What do you want, a writ signed by Banage himself?”

“That would be good, actually,” the guard said as politely as possible. “I really can’t let you in without papers of some-”

Eli went positively livid. “You dare, sir! I just made the two-day trip from Zarin to Gaol in under four hours. Do you think I had the time to wait for those Court bureaucrats to give me papers? When you’re chasing Monpress, time is of the utmost importance! Already, the trail is getting colder, and for every second you waste I lose hours in the hunt for the thief. If you won’t let me in, then I will make sure your duke knows exactly who is responsible for letting his thief get away!” Eli looked about. “Where is your duke anyway? Bring him here at once!”

The guard blanched. “You see, the duke is terribly busy, and without proper identification, I’m afraid I can’t-”

“Afraid?” Eli’s eyes narrowed. “You’d best be afraid, doorman! Somewhere in that brick of a citadel is a spirit who saw how Monpress did what he did. Even now, that spirit is falling asleep. If it falls asleep entirely it will likely forget what it saw, and if that happens-” Eli paused for a deep, shuddering breath. “You don’t even want to know what I’ll do, but one thing is certain.” His eyes narrowed, pinning the guard captain with a killing glare. “Should that happen, I will make sure everyone, from Zarin’s highest seats of power to the Duke of Gaol himself, knows that you were the reason why.”

The guard bowed, his face pale and sweating. “Apologies, Spiritualist Lyonette; I never doubted you were who you claimed to be. But I’m afraid I still can’t give you access to the treasury without permission from the duke. If you could wait just a-”

“I will not!” Eli said with a flippant wave of his ringed fingers. “Powers, man, you’ve already been robbed blind! What are you afraid I’m going to do in there, steal your dust? Just show me and my assistants to the scene of the crime and I can get to work finding your thief, which I’m sure will make your duke much happier than you interrupting him with stupid requests.”

The guard was sweating profusely now, and Eli took his chance for the final push. “Listen very carefully,” he said slowly, twitching his spirit just a fraction so that the gaudy rings on his fingers glittered with malice. “If I lose the trail because of your delays, you will wish you’d never heard of Spiritualists. Do you understand?”

“Of course, Master Spiritualist,” the guard said, waving his men toward the doors. “Right this way.”

The pack of guards opened one of the great iron doors, and Eli, Nico, and Josef followed the guard captain into the citadel.

In the sky overhead, the wind that had been circling since Eli first stepped out into the square changed direction, blowing up the stone wall to the top of the citadel and through the window of one of the stubby towers at its crown. The tower was all one room, large and circular, with a long table at its center. A cluster of men stood around it, all dressed in the same drab uniform. Most of them looked like dressed-up farmers taken from their fields and thrust into uniforms, which was what they were. They were the conscript leaders, and they all wore the same quiet, obedient expression as they watched the head of the table where Duke Edward was pointing out markers on the city map carved into the table’s smooth, wooden top.

The duke was in the middle of laying out details about how he wanted the perimeter handled, but he stopped midsentence as the wind blew by.

“Is this about Hern again?” Edward said.

“Not this time,” the wind answered, blowing in circles above the farmer-generals. “Someone claiming to be a Spiritualist just bullied your idiot door guard into letting him and his assistants into the citadel.”

The duke scowled. “A Spiritualist? One of Hern’s cronies?”

“No,” the wind spun. “I don’t think it’s really a Spiritualist, either. Didn’t even look like a wizard to me. It was a yellow-haired man, said his name was Miranda Lyonette.”

The duke’s eyes widened. “Miranda?” He pursed his lips. “Considering Hern just sent word that he is escorting Miss Lyonette to the citadel as we speak, I find that hard to believe.” He scratched his beard. “Whoever it is, I’ll investigate myself. We can’t afford another contingency at this point. The situation is bollixed enough as it is. Speaking of which, any news from the spy?”

“Not yet,” the wind whispered. “I’ll go check again.”

“Thank you, Othril,” the duke said. “I trust you’ll notify me if anything else odd happens.”

“Of course, my lord,” the wind huffed.

Edward waved his hand and the wind flew off back to his patrol, shooting out over the citadel’s edge. When he was gone, Duke Edward turned back to his officers, all of whom had waited patiently through what seemed to them to be a one-sided and nonsensical conversation.

“Gentlemen,” the duke said. “It seems we have a rat in our cupboard. Those of you already assigned positions, please take your soldiers to their places. The rest of you, come with me.” He swept past the table and toward the door. “We have an intruder to catch.”

The officers saluted and went their separate ways, calling for their seconds to rally the conscripts as they trundled down the rickety stairs into the citadel proper.

The inside of the fortress of Gaol was not what Eli had expected. As soon as the guard led them through the iron doors, he’d looked eagerly for narrow halls, high ceilings, archer decks, thief catches, all the wonderful things highlighted on the poster. But the hall they entered was low and perfectly ordinary. Little hallways branched off of it leading to barracks, small offices, meeting rooms, and equipment caches. The walls were of uninspiring thickness, the architecture unremarkable, and there was only one portcullis, not five, as the poster had boasted. In short, it was a normal citadel built on a conservative plan, and perhaps a bit on the cheap.

Eli was supremely disappointed.

“This is the great citadel of Gaol?” he said, gazing around in disgust. “Where are the six-foot walls? The multitiered locks? Where are the booby traps? The poster promised traps in every room!”

The guardsman’s hairy face turned a bit red. “Well,” he mumbled, “that’s just advertising. Those posters of the duke’s were just a precaution. Tell the thieves how impossible it is and they just give up, right? Far cheaper than actually building some supercitadel. Anyway, I’d say it worked. We’ve had no trouble from thieves since word got around about how secure the fortress was.”

“No trouble until last night,” Josef pointed out.

“Well, that’s Monpress,” the guard huffed. “He hardly counts. Don’t worry, though; the duke’ll catch him, Sir Spiritualist, make no mistake.”

“Oh, certainly,” Eli said with disgust, eyeing the hallway, which had now widened out into a large common room. “How did the duke know it was Monpress, anyway?”

“Well,” the guard said, “who else could it be?”

“Who else, indeed?” Eli said, smiling, while Josef rolled his eyes.

The officer led them out of the common room through a flimsy doorway and into a hallway even smaller and drabber than the ones before it. Eli glowered at the man’s back. So far, the “thief-proof citadel of Gaol” was a monstrous waste of time. If not for the Fenzetti, and if he wasn’t so curious about someone impersonating him, Eli would have called the whole thing off the moment they passed the unlocked weapon cabinets. Only when they were almost to the center of the citadel did Eli finally spot something promising. Their guide had led them around a corner and into a small hallway set back from the main thoroughfare. Unlike the others, this hall was long and narrow, with a ceiling tall enough for archer stands to be placed over troops. Best of all was what waited at the end. There, at the far side of the hall, standing beside a large stone hearth and chimney, was an immense metal door. Its surface was perfectly smooth, without even a knob or handle. It was set flush against the stone without groove or crack, no way to get leverage at all. It stood black and impenetrable in the firelight as they approached, and Eli immediately began to perk up. This was more like it.

When they reached the fire pit the guard captain stopped and began to feel around in his pockets, muttering apologies.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said. “It’s something different every time.” He drew out a small sachet wrapped in white paper. He laid it in his palm, weighing it experimentally before lobbing the packet, paper and all, straight into the banked fire. The paper curled and blackened, its edges cracking as sweet-smelling smoke-Eli picked out cinnamon and thyme-rose in a white plume. Then, without warning, the fire burst upward in a full roar, blasting the tiny hall with a wave of heat.

“You again?” a flickering voice bellowed as the fire churned, but the guard just mopped a bit of soot off his balding head, completely unaware that the fire was speaking to him.

The flames slumped down sullenly. “I know,” it mumbled. “Open the door, close the door. I never get to sleep. It’s been years. I don’t know. No rest, no sleep, nothing but work…” The voice wavered like smoke in the wind and then faded as the fire dropped back to its usual size, leaving only the smell of burnt cinnamon. Somewhere below them, machinery began to grind and the great door in front of them rolled aside.

“There you are,” the guard said. “That’s the magic gate. Don’t understand how it works, but I suppose it beats pushing that slab open with your shoulder, eh?”

“Indeed,” Eli said, doing his best to convey the absolute disgust he was sure a Spiritualist would have felt at seeing a fire spirit used in that way. It wasn’t hard. He felt kind of sour himself. He didn’t know what kind of operation Gaol was running, but wizards who overworked their spirits deserved to be robbed blind. He only wished he’d been the one to do it. His thoughts drifted back to the terrified crates, but he forced himself to stop. Whatever was going on here, he didn’t have time to deal with it. Anyway, it didn’t matter. Once word got out that Eli Monpress had robbed Gaol, the Spiritualists would start showing up in droves. They would deal with whatever abuses were going on in Gaol. That would be his gift to the spirits, and it would have to be enough. Right now, he needed to find out who was taking advantage of his reputation before the situation got out of control. He had a suspicion, but for once he really hoped he was wrong; otherwise things were going to get very, very annoying. Just thinking about it made him feel tired, and he quickly turned his attention back to the task at hand.

The room beyond the treasury door was massive. It was perfectly square, with bright, mirrored lanterns burning high overhead that Eli suspected were also spirit powered, since he could see no way a servant would get up that high to light them. The harsh, brilliant light fell over what must have once been an impressive and large collection, but was now just a neat grid of empty shelves with only telltale holes in the dust to show there had ever been anything there.

“The entire holding of the di Fellbro family,” the guard said, almost teary. “Gone.”

“Not all gone,” Eli said, pointing across the room to where a large golden lion still took up half a shelf.

“Aye,” she guard said. “The thief left a few pieces. Some we think were too large for him to carry. Others, well, we honestly don’t know why he left them.”

Eli nodded and leaned closer. “Confidentially, friend,” he said conspiratorially, “how close are your men to catching Monpress?”

The guard’s face went red. “Hot on his heels, sir. I can’t tell you the details, of course. Security must be upheld.”

“Of course,” Eli said, smiling graciously. “Thank you, Captain, we’ll take it from here.”

The captain twisted uncertainly. “Actually, sir, I’m afraid I’ll have to stay. I couldn’t leave anyone, even a Spiritualist, alone in here.”

“Suit yourself,” Eli said with a shrug. “We won’t be long.”

The guard nodded and took a seat on the ledge of the hearth, but Eli had already stopped paying attention to him. He walked across the room to the lion and kneeled down to peer into its open mouth. Josef stood behind him, eyes roving over the empty shelves, while Nico wandered off toward the far end of the room, staring up at the high ceiling.

“So,” the swordsman said quietly, “think they’re actually close to catching the thief?”

“Not a chance,” Eli said, running his fingers over the lion’s mane. “He wouldn’t have let us in if they had a lead. For all they know, this stuff just vanished in the night. The guard’s probably sticking around because he’s hoping we’ll give him something he can use. Look here.”

His fingers paused their roving just behind the lion’s left paw, and Eli bent down almost to the ground, peering intently at the gold with a knowing smile. “Thought so, this is a fake. Actual Golden Lions of Ser have a tiny blessing to the volcano of Ser stamped into their left paws. This one has nothing.”

“It’s not real gold?” Josef said, drumming his knuckles on the lion’s head.

“Oh, no, it’s real gold.” Eli stood, brushing off his knees. “But whoever robbed this place wasn’t your common cat burglar. Look at the shelves, not a one out of place. Even the dust is undisturbed. This room seems completely secure, far more so than anything we walked through to get here. I’ve been on the lookout since we stepped through the door and even I can’t figure out how the thief got in, or got out again with what had to be a wagonload of priceless artifacts. However, I can tell that whoever did this was patient, educated enough to spot a fake, discerning enough not to want one, and very, very good. That narrows the list down quite a bit.”

“So you know who it was?”

Eli rolled his eyes. “Let’s just say there’s only one man I know who can pull a job like this, but if we’re going to find him, I’m going to need to see a list of the duke’s business contacts.”

Josef looked at him, thoroughly confused. “Business contacts?”

“It’s our only chance. He certainly didn’t leave a clue here.” Eli craned his head around, scanning the shelves. “Well,” he said cheerfully, “at least the Fenzetti blade is missing.”

“How is that a good thing?” Josef said.

“If the thief took it, we know it wasn’t fake.”

“Or wasn’t here to begin with,” the swordsman grumbled.

“No, no.” Eli shook his head. “If the broker said it’s here, then it’s here. Their information is always reliable; that’s why you pay through the nose for it.”

While he was speaking, Nico appeared beside Josef. The swordsman instantly stopped listening to Eli and turned his attention to her.

“Men with swords are filling the hallway,” she said quietly. “And someone is talking with our guard.”

Eli spun around. Sure enough, there was their guide at the door in deep, frantic conversation with someone Eli couldn’t see. As he watched, whoever it was ran off, and the guard took up position at the center of the door.

“The game is up,” Josef said, looking at Nico. “I’ll take the front. See if you can’t find another exit.”

Nico nodded and they broke, leaving Eli staring at empty space.

“What are you planning?” he whispered loudly, trotting after Josef as the swordsman ran for the door.

Josef didn’t answer. He reached the door and stared down the guardsman, who had turned to face them, a short sword held in his shaky hands.

“I am sorry, Sir Spiritualist,” he said, peering over Josef’s shoulder at Eli. “Orders from the top. The other guards are coming right now. I have nothing but respect for your organization, but please, surrender quietly.”

Eli stared at the guard as if he’d grown a second head before he remembered his cover story and snapped back into character.

“Surrender?” he shouted, beyond indignant. “I am here on the business of the Spirit Court! I am apprentice to the Rector Spiritualis himself, head of the Eli investigation! When it comes to Monpress, I AM the highest authority! And I demand that you tell those men to stand down and let us pass!”

Eli had himself in a fury now, and it was working. The guard was sweating bullets, but he still didn’t move. Behind him, the clink of metal boots on stone was deafening as the guards marched down the hall, filling their only escape with a wall of armed men, and not the conscripts from outside either, but professional soldiers.

Eli was about to start a new round of threats when Josef threw out his arm, cutting him off.

Josef looked down at the guard. “You seem like a nice fellow,” he said. “Sorry about this.”

Quick as a cat, Josef stepped forward, sliding inside the man’s guard and pinching his inner arm just below the joint of his armor. The guard cried out in pain, and his sword fell from his now-limp hand. The second it dropped, Josef spun him around and gave him a push. The man went flying into the hallway, straight into the first pack of guards. They scrambled to catch him, but the guard’s weight sent them lurching backward. By the time they recovered, Josef filled the door completely. He drew his swords and stepped into a defensive position, spinning the blades in whistling arcs, an enormous grin on his face.

The soldiers in the hall surged forward, swords drawn, and as they crashed into Josef, the swordsman did what he did best. He planted his feet and, with a great roar, swept his swords, one high, one low, into the crowd. The soldiers, trained to fight in formation, all held their weapons at the same height. Josef’s swords sang over and below them, past their defenses. The man on the far left had it worst. Josef’s swords slammed into his armor at the shoulder and the thigh, flinging him sideways into the soldier on his right. Josef carried the momentum, throwing himself into the sweep. His weight, the force of his blows, and the unexpected angle were too much for the men, and they smashed into the far wall, grunting in pain and surprise. Swords clattered to the stone as they tried to catch themselves, but it was no use. The moment they were off balance, Josef spun and slammed them again, with his leg this time, beating them against the wall and into the doorman, who’d just finished getting up.

What had been a coordinated charge was now a mess of men on the floor. Josef grinned and fell back to the door, not even winded. The second line of soldiers got their swords ready and were starting to push past their fallen comrades when a whistle sounded. It was a high trill, and the moment it went off, the guards began to pull back.

Josef fell into his defensive crouch, but the hallway was emptying rapidly until only one man stood at the far end. He was tall and thin, with neatly trimmed black hair streaked with gray, and a bored, slightly annoyed expression. His eyebrows arched when he saw Josef.

“So,” he said, “you’re our Spiritualist?”

“Depends,” Josef growled. “Who’s asking?”

The man fixed him with a cold stare. “I am Edward di Fellbro, Duke of Gaol.”

“The man himself,” Eli whispered, peeking around the corner. “Why is he here? Aren’t dukes supposed to lead from the back?”

Josef ignored him, tightening his grip on his swords. “Look,” the swordsman said. “I’m not going to bother feeding you a story. We’re just here looking for the thief, same as you. No need to get nasty. Just back off now before more of your soldiers get hurt.”

“Back off?” The duke chuckled. “You’re in no position to be giving orders, boy. But I have no mind to waste time and money forcing you out. Surrender now and I’ll let you keep your life.”

“And if I don’t?” Josef said.

Edward just smiled, a cold, thin smile, and moved his mouth, saying something Josef couldn’t quite make out.

From his place against the wall, Eli gave a little squeak. “Josef!” he cried. “Get back!”

Josef jumped backward a second before the hearth beside the treasury door erupted in a wall of white-hot flame. Almost before he could recover, two flat stones came sailing through the fire. Josef’s sword knocked the first one aside before he’d even realized what it was, but the next one clipped him on the shoulder, and he grunted in pain.

Eli jumped forward, grabbing the stone from where it had fallen and turning it over in his hands. It was a paving stone from the hall outside, and as he touched it, he could hear the rock babbling in terror.

“Josef, watch out,” Eli said. “He’s a wizard.”

“I guessed that,” Josef grumbled, rubbing his shoulder. In the doorway the flames were dying down, revealing the duke again. He hadn’t moved from his place at the end of the hall, only now he had a pile of paving stones in front of him. They were stacked neatly, leaving a large, bare patch on the floor around him. He smiled at Josef and casually tossed a paving stone in his hand.

“The offer of surrender is still open,” he said.

Josef opened his mouth to tell him exactly what he could do with his offer, but at that second, the duke saw Eli crouched on the floor, his blond wig askew. The duke’s pale, lined face went white as snow, and he opened his mouth in a shout that drowned out Josef’s comeback.

“Eli Monpress!”

Eli jumped and looked just in time to see every single one of the paving tiles shoot forward. They flew from the duke in a flock of loosed fury, flying through the air faster than stone was ever supposed to move. They flung themselves at Eli, and they would have done some terrible damage had Josef not grabbed the thief by his gaudy collar and tugged him down at the last second.

The paving stones whistled inches over their heads, but Eli barely had time to get some air back into his thundering lungs before he heard the duke’s voice roaring through the keep. “Spirits of Gaol! Your duke commands you! Crush the intruder!”

“Hold on now,” Eli said, looking up from his crouch. “You can’t just order a building like-”

The walls began to shake. In the hall, stones ripped themselves from the supports while dropped weapons picked themselves up off the ground. Everything, nailed down or not, began to lift and turn toward the doorway where Eli and Josef were crouching.

“Nico,” Josef said. “We need that exit.”

Behind them, the room was quiet. Out in the hall, things were beginning to speed forward.

“Nico!” Josef shouted.

At once, she appeared beside them, whether through her shadow stepping or just her terrifying speed, Eli couldn’t tell. She flung back her hood, her scraggly black hair standing straight up, her eyes bright as candles, and a familiar wave of fear washed over the room. She pushed Josef aside and turned to face not the hallway or the things flying down it, but the enormous treasury door. Her hand shot out, the silver manacle jerking and shaking on her wrist, and her fingers dug into the iron like it was river mud.

Deep in the stone under their feet, something screamed. Nico ignored it, digging her fingers deeper, her glowing eyes narrowing to slits as she spoke a command.

“Move.”

The enormous door moved faster than Eli had ever seen iron move. Bits of stone went flying as it surged forward, slamming itself shut with an impact that shook the keep.

For a moment, everything was silent, then there was dull clatter as the flying object collided with the now-shut door. The duke was shouting on the other side, but the sound was very far away. Then, all at once, the room began to scream.

Eli and Nico both slammed their hands over their ears as the terrible sound swept over them.

“What did you do?” Eli shouted.

“I closed the door,” Nico said, her voice thin and strained as she pulled her hood back over her head.

“I can see that,” Eli said. “My problem is with how you did it.”

“What?” Nico glared at him, her eyes bright as lanterns. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Oh, sure,” Eli said, rolling his eyes. “Solved the crazy wizard problem, but you can’t just do that to spirits!”

“You’ve told me to scare spirits before,” Nico said grudgingly.

“That’s different,” Eli snapped. “Giving spirits a little scare is one thing. It doesn’t hurt anyone and it moves things along, but that’s not what you did. You sank your fingers into that metal and gave it an order, and that, Nico, is not good. That door can’t say no to you when you’ve got your teeth in its throat. Giving spirits orders they can’t say no to is no better than Enslavement, and we don’t do that. Besides, now we’re trapped in a screaming, panicked vault that, as you mentioned earlier, has no other exit.”

Nico turned away, scowling. Eli grabbed her shoulder to turn her back around, but Josef stepped between them.

“Save it,” he said, sheathing his swords. “Let’s find a way out. Quickly. We’re losing structural integrity.”

He was right. Large streams of grit were falling from the ceiling as the stone arches that held up the vaulted ceiling fought to get free and crush the demon. Chunks of rock clattered down the stone walls, landing in a series of crashes that were only getting louder.

“We’re not finished,” Eli said, pointing at Nico. Then, without another word, they split to search for some way, any way, out.

“All right,” Eli shouted, scanning the shaking walls. “The thief got in, and he didn’t take the main door. I can promise you that. Look for something unusual.”

“Could you be more specific?” Josef yelled, staring blankly at the quivering wall.

“I don’t know.” Eli ran his fingers over the shivering, weeping rock. “Discolored stone, a corner out of place, anything that could mark a secret door or passage, maybe a bricked-over window. I’ll take a mouse hole at this point.”

“Can’t you just do something wizardly?” Josef said, dodging a chunk of stone that fell right where his head would have been.

“I don’t exactly think these spirits are in the mood to chat!” Eli shouted back.

Josef gave him a rude gesture just as Nico cried out, “Here!”

Argument forgotten, Eli and Josef ran over to find the girl standing in front of what looked like a perfectly normal patch of wall behind a toppled shelf.

“What?” Eli said, looking around frantically. “I don’t see anything.”

“Neither do I,” Nico said. “But listen, it’s not screaming.”

She was right. While the other stones were in full-on panic, the patch of wall in front of them, a little eight-brick square, was perfectly silent. Now that Eli looked, it wasn’t shaking either. It was a rock amid the chaos, and now that he saw it, he wondered how he could have missed it earlier.

He stepped in close to the stone and ran his fingers across it, very gently. It felt hard, like stone, but different-soapy and almost hollow when he tapped it. A slim grin crossed Eli’s face. He raised his foot and, taking aim, gave the wall a good, hard kick. A clean, sharp crack appeared down the middle of the block of wall, and the stone crumbled to dust, revealing a dark tunnel just the right size for a man to crawl through.

“What was that?” Josef said.

Eli waved him away, focusing instead on what was waiting inside the tunnel. A few feet in, leaned carefully against the tunnel’s wall, was another square of wall identical to the one he’d just broken, and stuck to it was a small, white card. Eli reached in and snatched the card between his fingers. There was no printing on it, no identification, just a sentence written in neat, masculine cursive.

Thought you would need this.

Eli cursed under his breath and shoved the card in his pocket. “All right,” he said. “Let’s move.”

“What was that?” Josef said again. “Is this a trap? Is it safe?”

Eli gave him an incredulous look. “Anything’s safer than this! Get in the tunnel! And watch that square. One whack at the wrong place will cause it to crumble.”

Without further hesitation, Josef crawled in, pressing himself against the wall to squeeze by the square of fake wall. Nico followed right behind him, buried deep in her coat. When they were through, Eli paused for a moment and dug around in his pockets, pulling out a large, white card printed with an elaborate, cursive M.

“First rule of thievery,” he muttered to himself. “Never waste an opportunity.”

With that, he tossed the card toward the center of the room. It swooped through the air and landed at the foot of the fake Lion of Ser. Eli nodded and ducked into the tunnel. Crawling on his hands and knees, he turned and, very, very delicately, lifted the square of fake wall. Behind them, the dusty remains of the old fake stones were already indistinguishable among the grit and rubble showering down from the ceiling. Satisfied that they wouldn’t be followed, at least not immediately, Eli gently plugged the entrance. The square of fake wall fit perfectly, as he’d known it would, and the tunnel plunged into darkness. Their path secured, Eli turned and made his way down the tunnel after Josef and Nico.

The tunnel ended unceremoniously twenty feet later in the ceiling of a wine cellar. Josef and Nico were already waiting when Eli jumped down, and Josef reached up to press the loose boards on the ceiling back into place behind him, leaving no sign that they’d ever moved.

Eli stood doubled over for a moment, catching his breath. When he’d coughed up enough dust to start a mortar company, he straightened and took off his gaudy red coat, which was now a dull, pinkish gray.

“Come on,” he said, shoving the balled-up coat behind an ancient wine barrel. “Let’s go.”

“We’re getting out, then?” Josef said, slapping the dust out of his shirt.

“Nope,” Eli said. “We’re going to get our Fenzetti.”

Josef gawked at him. “Are you mad? The duke knows you’re here. The jig is up. Only thing for us to do now is get out with our skins. Anyway, you don’t even know where the other thief is. How are you going to find him when there’s a whole duchy out there looking for you?”

“I know how to find him,” Eli said, taking off his wig and carefully placing the dusty blond mess into his pocket for cleaning later. “He certainly hasn’t left Gaol.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Josef said. “You said he was smart. Leaving seems like the smart thing to do.”

“Ah,” Eli said, smiling. “But you’re forgetting the first rule of thievery.”

“Which one?” Josef sighed. “You have a hundred at least.”

“This one is very important,” Eli said, stepping up to the cellar door and putting his ear against the coarse wood. “The last place a man looks is under his own feet.” He paused for a moment, holding his breath, and then opened the door with a flourish. “After you.”

Josef stomped out, followed by Nico. But as she passed, Eli caught the edge of her sleeve. She looked over her shoulder, her eyes still suspiciously bright.

Eli tightened his grip. “I’m sorry if I was rough earlier, but I meant what I said. I know you did it to save us, but you really can’t go around doing that to spirits. There’s a lot I don’t know about how you work, Nico, and I’m sorry I haven’t helped you like I should, but there’s a big difference between giving a spirit a little scare and giving it an order.”

Nico looked away. “I had to. Josef-”

“Josef can’t say this because he’s not a wizard,” Eli said. “What you did back there was as bad as any Enslavement, if not worse. At least in Enslavement there’s a battle of wills the spirit could maybe win, but no spirit can win against you. Demon fear is simply too strong. I’m being serious, Nico. Don’t do it again, all right?”

Nico clenched her fists. On her wrists, her manacles began to shake softly, but Eli held on to her coat until, at last, she nodded.

“Promise?”

Nico nodded again, and he released her sleeve. Josef was waiting for them on the other side of the door, arms crossed over his chest. “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Eli said and smiled. “Let’s get moving.”

Josef gave him a skeptical glare, but he nodded and let Eli lead the way out of the cellars. Nico trailed behind, her face hidden by the long hood of her coat.

The wine cellar was at the bottom of a warren of cellars that ran under the keep. Fortunately, the warren let out into the kitchen yard, which was where they made their escape, blending in with the mass of kitchen workers and other menials who were all gathered at the edge of the keep, presumably to watch the excitement. Whistles were blowing everywhere now, and hordes of conscript patrols were racing through the streets and toward the citadel. In all the confusion, no one noticed three more scruffy, dirty people, and they were able to duck down a less-fashionable side street without trouble. Once they were a block from the castle, Eli changed direction, guiding them through the winding streets seemingly at random until he came to a stop in front of a modest building that, if the sign outside was correct, housed a trading company.

“Wait here,” Eli said. “I’ll be right back.”

He flashed them a knowing smile and vanished around the back of the building. Josef, fed up with arguing, slumped back against the wall while Nico took her time brushing the dust off her coat. A few minutes later, Eli emerged from the front door carrying an enormous ledger and grinning like a maniac.

“Powers,” Josef said. “How much did you have to bribe a clerk for that bit of work?”

“Nothing,” Eli said. “Things are too hot for bribery right now, so I nicked it. I am the greatest thief in the world, you know.”

Josef rolled his eyes.

“Not like there was anything to it,” Eli said, flipping through the book as he walked. “I could have stolen the whole office for all the clerks cared. They were all pressed against the windows like it was going to be revolution in the streets. Gaol must be a boring place if this is all it takes to make the town go crazy.”

Eli flipped the pages back and forth and then stopped, tapping his finger on an entry toward the end of the book. “Here we go,” he said. “Fennelle Richton, masonry expert and antiques appraiser under contract with the Duke of Gaol for ornamental stonework, currently residing at the Greenwood Hotel. That’s by the docks, I think.”

Josef looked at the entry, which was one of hundreds that ran down the page. “How do you know this is our man?”

“Fennelle and Richton are the main characters in The Tragedy of the Scarlet Knight. It’s his favorite opera.”

“His?” Josef said. “His who?”

“You’ll see soon enough.” Eli turned on his heel and set off for the docks, Nico and Josef close behind them. In the distance, voices grew louder as the northern corner of the duke’s famous fortress collapsed in on itself in a great shower of rubble.