The Fall of Ventaris (41 page)

“May the Father of All shine his light into your deepest hearts, to banish the darkness, reveal all secrets and expose all lies.”

“We receive His light with joy,” they answered in unison. The radiant then withdrew, and the guardsman and servants followed on his heels. The tower door slammed closed, and she was alone with the Atropi.

The women were not finished with their prayers. They joined hands and stepped to a window, where the breeze rustled through the flowers the maid had placed. “To the East, whence He comes,” the one in green said reverently. She tore off a blossom and threw it out the window.

They moved to the opposite. “To the West, where He sleeps,” said the woman in red, tossing another blossom into the night. Then to the next. “To the South, which never forgets His light,” said the one in brown, dropping a blossom over the sill. Then, at the northernmost window, they all said, “To the North, which awaits His victory.” They put no blossom out the window, but turned and went back to their chairs.
 

Green poured tea, and Duchess smelled the slight scent of orange. Red offered a cake plate to the others, and Brown passed out napkins. They sipped and nibbled, and for awhile the only sound was the rustle of wind through flowers. Duchess scarcely dared to breathe.
 

“A warmer night than usual,” said Brown, setting aside her cake plate.
 

“Ventaris be praised,” Red replied. “Was it last year that was so cold? Or the one before that?”

“Last year, it was,” said Green, in the tones of a practiced contradictor. “I thought the tea would freeze before we’d drunk it!” The others nodded, and Duchess had the feeling this was a conversation they’d had many times before and would have many times again.

The talk meandered through reluctant cloth factors and shifty customs officers, silk and satin, apprentices and assistants, while the candles burned and wind pushed the scent of flowers about the room. Duchess tried to follow their talk, but soon lost the thread of the conversation. She tried to get a better look at the cask. Was it locked? She saw no keyhole, but from this angle she couldn’t be certain. She could almost certainly tickle the lock, but that would take precious time she wasn’t sure she had. She restrained herself from fidgeting. The weavers were less than ten feet away and might hear any rustle, no matter how slight.
 

The talk went on and her perch grew less comfortable. Even the thick pad could not entirely shroud the hardness of the wooden beam beneath her. Using a trick Tyford had taught her, she quietly flexed her muscles without moving her limbs, to keep herself from cramping.
 

Ninth bell rang out, and it was time. Out of her pocket she drew a thick piece of cotton cloth, which she gripped in her teeth while her other hand slid into her pack. Out came the small skin, bulging with water.
One day
, Jadis had said,
not before and not after
. Tremaine had told her that on the evening of the Fall, ninth bell signaled the presentation of the dress, and so she must prepare the seeds Jadis had given her now and no later. She was still a bit skeptical — how could seeds, even if they grew in a single day, ruin a dress? — but she was committed. She did not think the First Keeper would betray her, at least not in this.
Faith
, he had urged, and indeed that was all that was left.

Moving with all the care and deliberation she could muster, she uncorked the skin and squeezed a thin trickle of water onto the cloth. This was the crucial moment. If she spilled even a drop the Atropi would look up, spy her, and her whole scheme would unravel. After beam-walking with a cup of water in each hand, pouring a bit into cloth was simple. When the cloth was wet she put away the skin and brought out the bag of seeds. She loosed the drawstring, stuffed in the wet damp cloth, and closed the bag once more, tucking it away in her tunic. She offered a prayer to Mayu that whatever magic was contained within would not fail her.
 

Then it was back to waiting. The Atropi could talk endlessly about cloth, it seemed. Once again her mind wandered and she found herself wondering where Lysander was now, and if he’d gotten into the district safely. Then she heard something that snapped her attention back to the women’s talk.

“...that bit of nastiness with the Domae girl,” Green was saying, fingering her teacup with wrinkled hands.
 

Red looked uncomfortable. “I didn’t like the idea from the beginning, you’ll recall. It was a stain on us and, frankly, on the guild. A mistake, plain and simple.”

Brown set down her cup with a
click
. “Now let’s not start all that again. That needle’s been threaded, for Ventaris’ sake.”

“What I don’t understand,” said Green, pulling off a corner of cake, “is why Gloria ever licensed her in the first place. All that fuss over some prophecy.” She shook her head and put the cake into her mouth.

“The damned prophecy! Who paid for
that
, I’d like to know!” Brown waggled a crooked finger. “Not the Domae girl, that’s for certain. Those facets don’t give away their scrolls to the likes of her.”

“Could it have been Gloria herself?” Red asked. “As an excuse to do something she wished to do anyway?”

Brown shook her head. “Rebecca says no, and she would never lie to me.” And now Duchess knew why the Atropi had removed their dress from its hiding place. Like the guildmaster, the women had their own spies. “Tremaine was in a foul mood the day the Domae got her license, not what you’d expect if she was behind the whole thing.”

“Unless she was
pretending
to be upset,” Red pointed out.

Green snorted. “She’s no actor, that one. If she looked upset she
was
upset.” There was silence for a long moment, and then she said, “I’m starting to think Ferroc might have been behind it. She’s been gaining support for years, and it would be just like her to do something that would set Gloria against us, perhaps so she can make her own move.”

“She was behind the theft at our shop, most like, in hopes that we’d blame Tremaine.” Red added, in worried tones. “It’s said she’s dipped her fingers in the Grey, if you know what I mean.”
 

“She’s
on
the Grey,” Brown snapped, “or I’m a Shallows whore.” Duchess smiled, wondering if Minette knew one of her girls was working in Garden. “Probably used some foul connection to the facets against her other guild sisters.”

“Perhaps,” Green mused, “but in any case what’s done is done. And I agree that we were...
hasty
...in contacting Amabilis. The man may wear a radiant’s robes, but he’s as shady as the evening. If I’d known he was going to send those thugs after the Domae girl...well, the whole thing was just unseemly.”

Red nodded. “Whatever this Domae girl was, she’s now our sister. We can’t make any more trouble without dishonoring the guild.” The others murmured agreement, and Duchess suddenly felt...small. Not only had the Atropi no idea who she was, they even seemed a bit sorry for what they’d done. When she’d cooked up this plan with Tremaine, she’d envisioned three hags in a tower, casting spells and plotting their next move against her. Instead she’d found three old women who didn’t even know Jana’s name, let alone her own. She was on a quest for vengeance against a foe that wasn’t even aware she existed.

And this talk of Ferroc was disturbing in its own way. The tailor was used by the Grey, but now Duchess wondered if she in turn
used
the Grey. The information she’d shared about Gloria Tremaine and the Atropi last summer...was it all part of a scheme to set one against the other? Or was Duchess seeing shadowy motives where there were none?
 

The only certainty she had now was that she had to go on. After all the planning, did she have any other choice? The Grey was still buzzing with the news of the Brutes’ attack upon Jana, and if Duchess let that go unanswered, she might as well hang up her cloak. The Atropi had given her fledgling business a slap, and Duchess’ only choice was to strike back. Hard.

*
 
*
 
*

Below, the Atropi sipped tea and chatted, and Duchess noticed that sometimes this one or that one would nod off for awhile, while the other two continued the conversation. Between the dryness of her mouth and the weight of her tired eyelids, she found herself wishing for a bit of that tea, or perhaps a cake from the snack tray.
 

Tenth bell sounded, and then eleventh, and as last bell drew near she began to feel the familiar tightness of fear in her belly. Had Lysander made it into the district with his cargo? Even with his silver tongue, bluffing his way into Garden with such unusual baggage was risky at best.
 

When the screaming came it was terrible, like a hundred babes all squalling at once. Brown and Red started, and Duchess nearly fell from her perch, although Green napped on, undisturbed. The yowling rose in pitch and volume, and Duchess was surprised at how human the cries sounded. She’d heard many a cat-fight — in the Shallows there were more stray cats than she cared to count — but this was like all of those fights happening at once. The sound was music to her ears. The Atropi, minus Green, pushed out of their chairs and hurried to the west window.

“Ventaris’ mercy!”

“...like someone’s being murdered...”

Duchess smiled in the dark, exultant. She tensed, waiting to see what the Atropi would do. If they simply dispatched servants to see what was amiss she was done, but if they...

Red leaned out of the window to shout, but Brown silenced her with a gesture. “They’ll never hear us from up here. Let’s go down and see what in the name of the gods is going on. I’ll bring the key.” She picked up a candle and moved to the steps. “And wake her up,” she snapped, indicating Green. “How she can sleep though this I will never know.” Red roused her sister, who blinked and looked around as if she had forgotten where she was.

“What is that awful...?” Red helped her to her feet. “Where are the guards?” Her sisters ignored her and began to descend the stairs, and Green followed as quickly as old bones allowed. Duchess listened to the sound of their hurrying feet, the rattle of the lower door opening, and the bang of it slamming to. She was alone.

She moved until she was hanging from the beam by her arms, to make the drop as short as possible, and then released. She landed as Tyford had taught her, but staggered on legs that were stiff and sore from beam-sitting and nearly sent the tea tray crashing to the floor. She moved to the cask, bringing forth the pouch Jadis had given her, which didn’t feel any different since she’d inserted the wet cloth. She lifted the lid of the cask, which swung noiselessly on gilded hinges to reveal a dress, folded neatly.
 

She almost laughed aloud. Red and black, just as she’d guessed, with the collar and sleeves picked out in red stones. She couldn’t tell if the design was anything near what she and Castor had invented, but with luck little enough of it would survive for Tremaine to notice. With exaggerated care she lifted a fold of the cloth, smooth and cool as the autumn breeze through the windows, and nestled the pouch inside. The bag was nearly as black as the dress, which she hoped would protect it from discovery. In any case, she could do no more. It was now in the hands of the gods.
 

She went to the window and looked out. A cluster of lights appeared from the direction of the yowling, no doubt the Atropi and sundry guards and servants out to investigate. Soon enough the cats would disperse and she must be gone when they did. She took a final look around the chamber to ensure she’d left nothing behind, and only then remembered the pad, lashed to the rafter above. She hesitated a moment. Would it be found? She imagined it was dark up there even during the day, so no one was likely to discover it before tomorrow night, after which it would no longer matter. Besides, she had no time to climb up after it. Offering another prayer to Mayu she crossed the room and trotted down the steps, one hand trailing along the wall and the other near her dagger.

At the bottom she moved quickly to the door and pulled...locked. She sighed; naturally the women had taken time to lock it behind them. How else to protect their precious dress? She bent to the lock, picks in hand. She’d tickled the lock once; the second time was even easier.

The cats were silent, having either been chased off or beaten to death, which meant the Atropi were even now on their way back to the tower. She slipped around and took the long way back to the wall, using flowerbeds and trees whenever possible to provide cover. The guards were probably still getting back to their posts but there was no point in being careless now, not when escape was so close. She slipped over the wall like a shadow and was gone.

*
 
*
 
*

Lysander wasn’t there.

She tried telling herself that he’d had to play so much by ear this night that she could scarcely blame him if he’d had to change his plans. But a voice in the back of her head whispered that Lysander had left her there on purpose, just as she’d left him at the baron’s party. She shushed that voice. He’d released the cats, after all, and she could scarcely expect more from him. The tightness in her chest was just leftover tension from the tower, she was certain.

The cats had roused every blackarm in the district, and she had to be extra careful to avoid them, so she took longer getting back to the sewer opening. If she were caught she’d have no plausible way to explain her presence in Garden at night, which could mean her head. Lysander was no doubt already on his way back to the Shallows, which left her only way home back through the tunnels, and past the pit.
 

She wished she could pretend that the voice she’d heard had been merely an echo, but she knew differently.
Fool
was not what she had said but what she had
heard
, and unless echoes worked differently in the Ossuary, the word had been spoken by He Who Devours. Her first journey through the sewers, on her way back from House Eusbius, had made her suspect He dwelt beneath the city, and her second had confirmed it. Her secret admirer, if Jana’s cards were to be believed, although that papery whisper from below made her feel anything but admired.