The Chocolatier's Wife (77 page)

He
heard
a
step
outside,
so
he
threw
his
hat
over
the
cold
light
and ducked
under
the
desk.
He
buried
his
head
in
his
arms
as
he
heard
the flitter of
wings
rubbing
together.
A
sprite
of
some
sort,
he
thought;
he could
hear
the
creature
darting
around
the
study,
and
then
he
sensed
light.

He
buried
his
face
more,
hoping
that
if
it
saw
him
it
would
not
be
able
to identify him.

“Oomanzs?”
the squeaky voice said.

He
risked
a
peek,
and
could
see
its
shadow
on
the
wall,
dancing
around the
cold
light
it
had
revealed.
He
could
see,
in
the
glass
of
a
framed
picture, a
sickly green body.
I
didn’t know Lavoussier had
a
Skellitt sprite.

“Oomannzs?” He
saw
the
shadow
dart
and
covered
his
face
again. Skellitt
sprites
were
larger
than
most
sprites,
more real.
They
didn’t
travel in
groups,
either,
and
from
what
he
remembered
they
were
like
little
slaves to
the
person
they
chose.
A
creature like
that
requires
its
owner
to
have some
sense
of
magic; ‘tis
what
it
feeds
off,
I
believe. I
shall
have
to
ask Tasmin.

“Oohmanzs!”
he
heard
in
his
ear,
and
the
creature
flittered out
of
the office.

“Bloody
hell!”
The
only
thing
on
the
desk
was
the
cold
light
and
Andrew’s dossier.
He
reached
over to
shut
it,
pausing
abruptly
when
he
saw
the
last paragraph.
He
shoved
it
in
the
drawer,
running
out
into
the
hall.
The
sprite would be coming back
with guards soon.

He
needed
a
left.
Yes.
There.
Now,
another
left.
The
approaching
guards’ boots
thu
d
ded
loudly
on
the
stone
paving, so
he
unlocked
a
room,
threw open
the
window,
and
ran
back
out.
He
threw
himself
behind
some
crates, waiting
for the
guards
to
discover
his
escape
route.
While
they
were
in
the room
he
ran
for
the
store
room
door
he
wanted.
It
kept
them
busy
just
long enough so that he managed to get inside, holding his breath so he would not
sneeze
from
the
dust.
He
hoped
he
remembered
the
rooms
right,
but
as he
searched
he
got
worried.
Where
was
the
trap
door?
They’d
lowered
the barrels
down into the hallway from
this room,
he was sure of it.

“Oohmanzs!
Oohmannnnzs!”
The
sprite
was
throwing
itself
against
the store room
door.

“Shut
up,
you
damned
thing!”
a
guard
said,
echoing
William’s
thoughts precisely.

“Nay, I
think it’s
trying
to
tell
us
something.
Do
you
have
the
key
to this?”

“I
think.”

“Come on,
come on,
then!”

The sprite came through the keyhole, attacking him.

William swatted
at
it.
“You
are
little
and
I
don’t
wish
to
hurt
you,”
he hissed at it.

There.
There
was
the
dip
in
the
floor
that
marked
the
hand
grip
for the
door.
The
sprite
alighted
on his
shoulder
and
bit
his
ear.
Ignore
it.
‘Tis nothing.
But
it
did
hurt,
and
the
sprite
seemed
determined
to
take
a
chunk from
his
lobe.
He
grabbed
its
small
skull
in
his
thumb
and
forefinger,
with pressure
enough
to
make it
let
go.
He
saw
an
empty
sack
and
threw
the sprite
inside
and
tied
it
tightly.
Now,
the
sprite,
blinded
and
hobbled
by
the sack, bobbed about close to the floor,
still attempting to fly
and attack.

He
found
the
outline
of
the
trapdoor
and
lifted
it
up
as
the
key
began to
turn
in
the
lock
of
the
door. He
slid
under
the
hatch
and
hung
there, suspended over the floor
by a few feet more than he remembered.

He
closed
his
eyes
and let
go.
You
learned
to
roll when
you
fell,
being on
a
ship, and
though
it
did
not
feel
good,
when
he
got
up
he
was
certain dancing was not co
m
pletely out of the question for
the night.

Still,
he
did
not breathe
freely
until
he
had climbed
the
wall
and rejoined
the
main
road
briefly before
slipping
into
an
alleyway,
using
the full
darkness to
disguise
him
as
he
hurried
back
to
the
party.
The
whole time
he
could
swear
he
heard
soldier’s
boots
racing
down
the
cobbles
after him.

William,

This
is a
letter you
will never
see.
It
is a
prayer
and
a
hope that
I
write, but will never
reveal.
I
do not know you.
The Pandora
Chase
is over,
yet
still I
cannot
rest.
Why
do I
l
ie
awake,
and
wonder if
you
live?
Why,
in the
darkest hours of
the night,
do my
fears
prey
upon me?
I
do not love you.
I
do not love you.
And
if
you
died I
would not care.
So why
can
I
not sleep? Why
do I
pray,
over and
over,
God bring you
home?

Yours,
e
ventually,

Tasmin

She
did
not
see
William leave,
though
she
did
see
him
later,
shamelessly flirting
with
a
woman
who
wore
her
hair
in
deep
lavender
ringlets.
She could
not
tell
if
it
was
a
dye
or
a
wig,
but
it
was
oddly
stunning,
especially over
the
woman’s mask
of
plain
white.
He
was
pulling
roses
from
behind her ears,
making
them disappear and
then reappear a
different color.