The Hawk And His Boy (32 page)

“Welcome to the Court of the Guild!” said the Silentman.

There was no answer. The lamps seemed to dim and the room grew even colder than it was. The Silentman shivered and pulled his cloak tightly around his shoulders. The little box was heavy in his lap. He strained his eyes but he could not see anything in the gloom. But then he blinked and there was the figure. Just like before. It stood in front of the dais. He could have sworn, a second before, nothing had been there. Damn Dreccan! The advisor’s words had slipped into his mind and taken root. The figure was short and thin, shrouded in a cloak. The face was hooded and covered in shadow.

“Welcome to my court,” said the Silentman.

The figure bowed its head but said nothing.

“I trust you’ve found your visit to Hearne profitable—that is, if you’re not from our city? I hope you haven’t minded the wait. These jobs can be difficult, you know, arranging all the details and—”

“No apologies are necessary,” said the figure. The voice was low and muted. There was something peculiar about the sound, as if it were coming through water from a long way off. An obscuring charm, thought the Silentman to himself. A powerful one, too. Well, I won’t grudge him that. After all, I use them myself.

“This is the appointed day,” continued the figure. It paused and its head turned from the Silentman to Dreccan and then back. “Where’s the box?”

“Right here,” said the Silentman. “And our gold?”

“First the box. Was it found where I said it was?”

“Precisely,” said Dreccan. “Right where you said.”

The Silentman nodded. “A child could’ve waltzed in and lifted it.”

“It took a great deal of skill,” said Dreccan hastily, “our best men. And not without danger. Sadly, we lost one on the job.”

The hooded face turned to him.

“Was the box opened?”

“Of course not,” said the Silentman. “We followed your instructions to the letter. The Guild’s about business, sir. When we accept a contract, we keep our word. We’re known through all of Tormay for—”

“Put it on the steps.”

Feeling somewhat disgruntled, the Silentman placed the box on the dais steps and then retreated back to his chair. The little fellow obviously did not trust them. The figure crouched over the box but did not touch it. The hood lowered until it was almost touching the carved hawk’s head on the lid. And then, the figure sniffed sharply. It straightened up.

“What have you done?!” said the figure.

“What do you mean?” said the Silentman. “We’ve got you your box, haven’t we? Where’s our gold now?”

“Your gold?” said the figure. “Curse your gold! You’ve opened the box!”

“You must be mistaken,” said the Silentman. “No one’s opened the blasted thing.”

“The box has been opened, and what was once within is now gone. You’ll not get your gold!”

“Here now,” said the Silentman. “How do I know you’re telling the truth and not just trying to swindle us out of our gold, hey? What about that? I wasn’t born yesterday!”

“Fool! I would happily give you the wealth of the entire world for what was once in this box. I would have filled this court with gold. But you have brought your doom upon you. You and this accursed city!”

“Doom?” said the Silentman, alarmed at these words. “What do you mean by that?”

“Death,” said the figure. “Death, and something worse. Unless you can do one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Bring the person who opened the box. Bring them alive and you yourself shall live.”

The Silentman gulped and mopped his forehead. The person who opened the box?

“Certainly,” he said. “Anything you want. Anything at all.”

“It isn’t what I want. My wants are nothing. It’s what my master wants. And he is coming.”

“Oh, he is? And when do you think—”

“Find the person who opened the box. Quickly, for you do not know what you have done. The power that was inside the box is beyond your imagining, the power to destroy, the power to bring to life in a single breath. The power to preserve. Do you not know that all of Tormay is as dross in comparison to what that box held? Find the person who opened it. My master is coming soon!”

The Silentman opened his mouth to say something—he was not sure what—but the figure was gone. The lamplight flared and the shadows in the court retreated.

“Ronan,” said Dreccan, after what seemed like a long silence.

“Find him!” The Silentman pounded his fist on his chair. “Find him now!”

“And what of the boy?” said Dreccan.

“What do you mean?” said the Silentman. “The boy’s dead. Ronan killed him.”

“But you heard what he said.”

“What are you babbling about? I want that gold!”

“The power to destroy.” Dreccan’s face was pale in the lamplight. “The power to destroy, the power to bring to life in a single breath. The power to preserve.”

When the Silentman spoke. His voice was slow and tired.

“Then maybe it isn’t just Ronan we need to find.”

This story continues in

The Shadow at the Gate
.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to Jen Ballinger for copy-editing this book. Also, thanks to Daichi Ito for designing the cover, and Bryan Ballinger for drawing the map. I greatly appreciate the time and honesty of my test readers: Jaemen Kennedy, Frank Troya, Wayne and Jessica Collingwood, Scott Mathias, Dave Palshaw, Rob and Sandra Kammerzell, and the various long-suffering members of the Bunn family (David, Michael, Jodi, Benjamin, Micha, Megan and, of course, Jessica).