A Business of Ferrets (Bharaghlafi Book 1) (28 page)

While he sat on the steps, the picture of a lazy dullard, he watched the Temple Watch on their rounds. One of the men looked familiar; it was Dedemar. Donkey remembered that Ferret had persuaded the Fytrian Temple Watchman to spy on the Ghytteve. Suddenly, Donkey realized Dedemar was coming toward him up the great stone steps. He rose, retrieved his broom and—the image of someone caught at his loafing—went back to work. As Dedemar approached, the guard regarded Donkey with a frown of concentration. Donkey moved into the Temple Watchman's path, gaped at him, then said, in the blankest tone imaginable, "Ma sent you flowers."

Dedemar's eyebrows shot upward and his lips shaped a silent 'o.' "Do more than gawk, foolish boy," he said aloud, making exasperated shooing motions. "Move along."

With idiotic delight, Donkey mimicked Dedemar's gestures. When he made to push by, Donkey refused to budge. Dedemar seized the boy's shoulders, shook him, and said, in a whispered rush, "Windbringer grant you are cleverer than you appear. There was coffee in the morning tribute: a 'gift' from the Ghytteve; it was poisoned. Warn the High Priest."

When Dedemar released him, Donkey shrank away as though cowed. "Ferret," he whispered as the man passed, to reassure him; Dedemar made no sign. As soon as the Temple Watchman had gone, Donkey went inside. Kerigden must be warned.

***

Owl's restless sleep worried Cithanekh. The Healer had said the boy should sleep quietly 'til morning; but through the long afternoon, Owl tossed more and more fretfully. The young lord smoothed the boy's hair, but nothing calmed him.

Owl thrashed against the young lord's restraining hands. "Oh Arre, no!" he cried.

"Owl, Owl. Be easy. You'll hurt yourself," Cithanekh pleaded; but when the boy showed no sign of relaxing, Cithanekh grew resolute. He shook him gently. "Wake up. You're dreaming."

Owl's eyes fluttered open, were wide and sightless, blinded by images. Then, he focused on Cithanekh's face. "I dreamed," he whispered in the toneless voice Cithanekh had learned to dread. "Arre's in danger. Rhydev Azhere set a trap for her. He wants Elkhar to kill her."

Cithanekh shivered. "Gods, Owl. What should we do?"

"Tell the Emperor," Owl said softly. "Have him send a few of the Imperial Guard to Ycevi's Upper Town house. If they're fast, they can warn Arre." The strange tonelessness had faded from his voice. Owl looked very young and frightened. "Please hurry, Cithanekh. There isn't much time."

"Owl," he protested, "we dare not."

"We
must
. Trust me."

Cithanekh rose, then looked down at his friend, hesitant, biting back questions.

"There isn't much time," Owl repeated. Cithanekh gently squeezed Owl's foot through the covers, willing some meaning into the touch; then, he went out.

Chapter Thirty—Rescue

Word of Sharkbait's capture spread outward like ripples on a pool. The news reached Rhydev Azhere's man, Ghorran, well before the Ghytteve litter bearers had gained the safety of their Upper Town house. Ghorran nodded with satisfaction and set the stage for the next act of his master's elaborate plan.

A seedy man accosted Arre as she headed toward the Palace. "Lady Arre! One of Ferret's friends sent me."

Arre paused. "Oh? Couldn't Ferret come herself?"

"The waterfront's on the brink of riot. It's madness there. I couldn't find Ferret, but Khyzhan told me you'd want to know this: Sharkbait's in bad trouble. The Ghytteve took him."

Images, clear and definite, filled Arre's inner vision: an Upper Town house, and its location; Sharkbait, bound to a chair; Elkhar, satisfied and lethal; and a knife, heated to a baleful red, resting in a brazier. "Merciful God," Arre whispered, horror in her voice. "Let me get help."

"Lady, there's no time; and if we're not quick and careful, they'll kill him, certain. The Ghytteve expect naught of trouble. You and me, and Khyzhan's others—happen it's enough."

"Others?" she asked, looking for reassurance.

"Aye: a scatter of his bravos. And I know he's still got eyes out for Ferret; happen she'll join us before we move."

Arre hesitated; the habit of caution was strong. But the image of the glowing knife seared away indecision. "Come, then," she said, turning unerringly in the direction of the Upper Town house. Her informant, without another word, followed.

***

Though the afternoon was fast fading, the Palace gardens were still bright with courtiers. Mouse sighed. She had found Venykhar, but now he was discussing business: a courtier with a commission. She wanted to get away from all these nobles, to hide in the Ykhave apartments; but the old lord had warned her about wandering through the Palace corridors alone.

"
Hsst!
Amynne!" The furtive voice startled her; it was Cithanekh. He relayed Owl's warning, giving careful directions to Ycevi's Upper Town house. "Can you get word to the Emperor? Owl said there wasn't much time," he ended anxiously.

Mouse glanced around the garden; the Emperor wasn't there, but she recognized one of his Imperial Guard. She nodded. "I'll tell him—but Cithanekh, you go to Kerigden. Ven said Arre was with him, earlier."

Indecision knit his brow. "If they're watching me," he began; and then he recalled an inconsistency. No one, not even Myncerre, had seen him leave the Ghytteve complex; there had been no guards on duty in the hall. What with the deaths, banishment and injury, Ycevi's complement was thin. It was possible no one was assigned to watch him, especially since Ycevi might easily expect the warning she had delivered last night still to be strong in his mind. "All right; I'll risk it." He sketched a farewell and faded into the milling courtiers.

Mouse walked over to the Imperial Guard and tugged at his sleeve.  "I'd like to speak with the Emperor. He said I might."

The guard had no specific orders, but he had heard accounts of the young Ykhave's exploits; it was likely the Emperor had told the girl she could seek him out. "Come, then," he told her and led her into the labyrinth of the Palace.

***

Ferret stirred. It hurt to move. She groaned. It hurt to breathe. She opened her eyes and found herself nose to nose with another denizen of the waterfront: a rat. She started. It hurt to do that, too, but the rat scuttled off. Cursing, she sat up. She was in an empty warehouse, smaller than the ones Sharkbait typically used for his headquarters. It was dim; the air was musty, tainted with smoke. Cautiously, she got to her feet; the world spun sickly, pain stars stinging in her vision.

"What, leaving already?"

The voice made her jump—a bad mistake. Ferret sat down quickly to keep from falling over. "Clearly not," she said when she could manage speech. "Khyzhan?"

The Master Thief came near, a lamp in one hand. "Who else?"

"It was you, then, who pulled me out of the brawl?"

"Who else?"

She shrugged—and winced. "Sharkbait, or one of his men. I thought I heard his voice."

Khyzhan set the lamp on the floor and sank down beside her. The odd shadows on his face made his expression harder than usual to read. "Watch out for yon Sharkbait. He's flash, Ferret."

"I know. Noble. Happen it's not worth aught to him. Did he turn the mob?"

The Master Thief nodded, then added pensively, "I could envy your Sharkbait."

The comment surprised a painful laugh from Ferret. "Envy? But why? It's not as if he were rich or powerful. Did you see him? Is he all right?"

"Happen it's not wealth or power I crave, Ferret," Khyzhan remarked. "But never mind. He's not all right. He turned the mob well enough—he's slick, and you'd set it up nicely—but after, he ran afoul of the Ghytteve."

"
Gods
," Ferret responded. "Was he alive? Do you know where they took him?"

"Yes. They took him to a house in the Upper Town. Ferret, you can barely walk. You canna mean to go after him!"

"Happen I've no other choice."

"Wash your hands of him."

"Dinna be ridiculous. Where's this house?"

Khyzhan didn't answer. Finally, he turned both palms upward in an odd, relinquishing gesture. "I'll take you. Come on."

***

"Cithanekh Ghytteve," Kerigden greeted him, surprised. "If you're here about the tainted coffee—"

"What? No. Is Arre here? It's urgent I find her."

Kerigden shook his head. "She left a quarter of an hour ago." At the younger man's look of pain, the High Priest gripped his forearms. "What is it?"

"Owl dreamed. She's in danger: a trap. Azhere is trying to force Elkhar Ghytteve to kill her. Owl told me to see that the Emperor sent his Guards to the Ghytteve Upper Town house; I gave that message to Mouse, and she sent me to you."

The High Priest rummaged in his desk, then produced a large scroll. Before he unrolled it, he struck his table cymbal and sent the acolyte who answered his summons to fetch Squirrel and Donkey. Then he turned his attention to the map—a map of the Maze, Cithanekh realized as he came closer to look.

"There," Kerigden said, pointing to a passageway.

"Oh. The underground way? I could take you—but they always bar the cellar door from within the house."

"A barred door is no problem if my Lady is with me," he said calmly. "Can you take us there without alerting Ycevi or her minions?"

"Who knows? For all I know, I was followed
here
. I'm willing to try."

Just then, the two boys hurtled in at a dead run. "Lead the way, Cithanekh," Kerigden said. "There's no time to waste."

***

The knife in the brazier heated slowly. Elkhar watched it, ugly anticipation in his expression. Using a padded glove, he removed the knife from the coals and went to Sharkbait's side. He lowered the glowing point toward the sensitive skin of his wrist. "For whom are you working?"

Sharkbait was silent. The heated blade hovered above his wrist, scorching it with its nearness.

"For whom are you working, Antryn?" Elkhar asked again. This time, when Sharkbait did not answer, he pressed the flat of the blade hard against his wrist. Sharkbait gave a strangled cry, fighting his own rebellious voice. "For whom are you working?" Elkhar purred.

Sharkbait said nothing.

"Useless resistance," he remarked. "I can be far more persuasive, Antryn." He replaced the knife in the brazier. Elkhar fingered the fabric of Sharkbait's shirt meditatively. He tore the shirt from neck to hem and peeled the rags back, exposing Sharkbait's chest—and his healing knife wound.

"Ah. Cyffe's signature." Elkhar poked his knuckles into the still-tender flesh and twisted ruthlessly. Sharkbait's face knotted in pain. "Perhaps I should rephrase my question: Who are your allies, Antryn?" When Sharkbait did not respond, Elkhar fetched the knife. The pain was worse this time; Sharkbait did not bother to stifle his screams. It continued to get worse for an interminable span; and though he shrieked in agony, he managed to keep his tortured voice from shaping names.

***

Owl lay against the pillows and tried to summon back his dream. The dream had been so confusing, full of pieces of different endings; he felt as though he had been shown an instant of decision, fixed in time but surrounded with hundreds of branching choices. He breathed deeply, stilling his thoughts. As he drifted, images scoured his eyelids: a glowing knife; Elkhar, eyes vivid with triumph; Sharkbait, bound, contorted in agony; a stealthy figure scaling an ivy covered wall; a brief, violent scuffle in a wide, Upper Town street. Then, a haze of silver muted the searing quality of the visions, though they continued to spin past his mind's eye with dizzying speed. Elkhar and Ferret, dancing the feint and lunge of a desperately unequal knife fight; the Lady and several of her bodyguard, cornering Kerigden, Cithanekh and Squirrel against an iron-bound door; two
hentes
of Imperial Guard; Ycevi opening the veins of Cithanekh's wrists; Myncerre's face twisted with pain; Arre, her odd colored eyes open and lifeless; Donkey, weeping; the Scholar King obdurately holding out the black wand of death-judgment to Ycevi before the full Council; Rhydev Azhere, smug and knowing.

"No!" he cried aloud; his eyes snapped open. He sat up. Waves of dizziness pounded him, but urgency overrode his nausea. If the Lady caught Cithanekh there by the door, she would kill him; he knew it with the same unshakable certainty that he knew his own name. He fought free of the entangling bedclothes. With his injured wrist restrained in a sling, movement was awkward. He struggled into a dressing gown and went to his bedroom door. It was unlocked. "Lady!" he cried, making for her library. "Lady!" He had to delay her, to buy time for his friends. Somehow, beyond his panicky need, his mind spun tales to tell her:
anything
so long as it kept her here, away from Cithanekh, away from Elkhar. It had to be enough! There had to be a way to prevent what he had seen. There might still be hope. There
must
still be hope.

***

As Arre and her informant neared the Ghytteve's Upper Town house, her steps slowed. The garden wall would not be hard to scale, she thought. Her keen ears caught the muffled sound of a man's screams.

"Antryn! Oh God, Antryn! Where are you?" The cry—a fair approximation of her voice—startled Arre; she turned in time to see her informant sprinting away. Half-seen movement spun her back to face assailants scant moments before they struck.
Trap!
she thought, preparing to fight. But she was outnumbered, and they were ruthless. A blow to the head sent her into darkness.

***

Ferret and Khyzhan froze in the shadows; there were too many Ghytteve. The scuffle was brief and decisive. The two thieves exchanged glances while the Ghytteve bound the unresisting Arre and disappeared into the dark garden.

"Six," Khyzhan breathed, "not counting those inside. Long odds, Ferret."

She bared her teeth in a feral grimace. "The only kind I play, Master."

Khyzhan unwrapped a length of fine cord from his waist, then fitted together the pieces of a metal grapnel and tied it to the cord. The implement hissed through the air, landed with a faint thump and slithered to its hold. He pulled hard; it held. He gave the rope to Ferret. "Try the attic window. It's shuttered, but happen it's not barred."

She grit her teeth against the pain of her abused ribs and scaled the wall of the house. Not only was the attic window not barred, the shutters were weak with dry rot. She braced herself between the inadequate window ledge and the overhanging gutter with one hand, while she worked the shutters open with the other. She slipped into the large, airless attic and gave the sleepy dove's coo which passed for "all clear" among Khyzhan's thieves. A moment later, her Master joined her. He dismantled the grapnel and coiled his cord. By the fitful candlelight which came up from the hall below, they fastened the shutters from the inside before, stealthy as training and care could make them, they crept to the stairway that led to the rest of the house. A hoarse cry, like a warning, drew them down.

***

"Owl!" Myncerre intercepted him. "You shouldn't be up."

"I must speak to the Lady. Myncerre, I
must!
" His manner was thick with urgency. "Please, Myncerre. Let me see her."

"She's going out, now. She'll see you when she returns."

"No. Now!
Now!
It must be
now!
She's in danger; I dreamt it!" As his voice spiraled upward in panic, he began to cry; the Lady appeared in the doorway.

"What's this?" she demanded.

Myncerre spread her hands. "He's hysterical. He says you're in danger."

"I heard that," she snapped. "Bring him inside. Owl, control yourself and talk sensibly."

Myncerre herded Owl inside. The Lady stood nearby, clearly fidgeting; two of her bodyguard exchanged impatient glances. As the library door clicked shut, Owl began the performance of a lifetime. If he just cried and babbled, she would send him to bed in disgust. He had to tell her
something
with enough truth in it to hold her attention; but he couldn't betray his friends, or alarm her into immediate action. "I—I had a dream: a terr—
terrible
dream. Rhy—Rhy—Rhydev—" He lapsed into sobs.