Part 3 (2/2)
Miranda jerked back. ”The Rector Spiritualis does what is best for the harmony of the Spirit Court,” she said coldly. ”Eli Monpress's rising notoriety threatens the good reputation we've spent the last several hundred years building.”
”More valuable than gold indeed.” Coriano smirked. ”Can't have Monpress playing the wolf when the good Rector Spiritualis is busy trying to convince the world he's leading a flock of sheep.”
”You will not find me a docile lamb,” Miranda said flatly. ”Will you help us, or am I wasting my breath?”
”Oh, you're not wasting anything,” Coriano said. ”This has been quite a charming chat. Sadly, I'm afraid I can't offer you my services this time around. I have a prior engagement. Besides,” he smiled, ”I don't think our methods would mesh.”
”What kind of prior engagement is worth jeopardizing your good standing with the Spirit Court?” Miranda scoffed. ”Master Banage has spoken so highly of your services, he would be most disappointed if you didn't help me now.”
”How dreadful,” Coriano said and arched his scarred eyebrow. ”In that case, let me give you some advice, as one professional to another.” He leaned in close, lowering his voice to an almost inaudible whisper. ”Don't underestimate Monpress. He's a wizard, true, but not as you are, and he's been doing this for a long time. That twenty thousand bounty he carries isn't an exaggeration. Monpress has stolen enough gold from the Council Kingdoms to live like a king for five lifetimes, but the only records we have of him spending it are on setups for ever-larger thefts. Some of the world's best bounty hunters have chased him for months and caught nothing but stories, others simply vanished. This has led some experienced hunters to dismiss him as a wild chase, but that is because they have failed to understand Monpress's only constant: his pride in his vocation. Eli Monpress is a true thief. He steals for the joy of it. He doesn't make a show unless he wants you to see, and he never runs before he's gotten what he came for. He may act the charming fool, but he has a goal to everything he does. Find out what he really wants, and then position yourself so that he has to go through you to get it. Make him come to you. That's the only way you'll catch him.
”Now,” he said, holding up the bag of money, which Miranda hadn't seen him take, ”I've told you how to find him, so I'll be taking the payment as agreed.”
He stood up in one smooth motion and bowed courteously, slipping the bulging coin purse into his pocket. ”Forgive me, ladies, I must hurry to my next appointment. I'm sure we'll meet again.”
He left the way he had come, disappearing as quietly as a cat behind the empty bar. Miranda gave him to the count of twenty before pus.h.i.+ng her chair back with a clatter and stomping out of the decrepit tavern.
”Complete waste of time,” she muttered, shoving the dirty blanket out of her way. ”For all the information he gave us, I might as well have interrogated the door a few more times.”
Marion followed meekly, eyes on the dusty corners in case any other mysterious swordsmen were waiting to make an entrance. ”What did he mean 'a wizard not as you are'?”
”How should I know?” Miranda said, marching down the creaking stairs. ”I don't think he understands what comes out of his mouth any more than we do. We'll just have to expand the search. There's got to be something I'm missing. Whatever Coriano says about Eli's skill, Monpress can't do what he's doing without a spirit's help, and he can't use spirits without leaving some trace. He's been lucky so far, but as soon as I can figure out his gimmick, I'll wring his-” She stopped short.
The street outside was just as empty as it had been when they'd arrived. Gin was where they had left him, slouched on the ground. His large head rested on his paws, one of which had something squirmy pinned in the mud beneath it.
”You have a visitor,” he said, tail twitching. ”He didn't want to wait until you were done with your meeting, but I convinced him otherwise.”
”Gin,” Miranda said through gritted teeth. ”Let him up.”
The ghosthound lifted his paw, and Miranda hurried to help the man. Even covered in mud, the royal messenger's livery was recognizable. He wobbled a bit, like his knees wouldn't support him, and Miranda had to position herself between him and Gin before he could get his message out.
”T-the Master of Security s-sent me to f-find you, lady,” he stuttered. ”A letter just arrived from the king.”
Miranda's face lit up. ”A letter from the king? How long ago?”
”Master Oban sent me as soon as it came,” he said, keeping his distance from the Spiritualist and her monster. ”Ten minutes maybe? Twenty?”
That was all Miranda needed. She hooked her arm over Gin's nose and he lifted her up onto his waiting back.
”Lady!” Marion cried. ”Where are you going?”
”To the castle, of course!” Miranda shouted. ”Eli's made his move, and I'm not about to let him get away so easily this time.”
Marion opened her mouth to say something else, but the ghosthound dashed behind her and Miranda swept the girl up onto his back. Gin whirled, patterns flas.h.i.+ng wildly over his fur, and dashed up the hill, pouncing in silent bounds toward the castle.
The moment the ghosthound was out of sight, the neighborhood started pouring out of its hiding places. Men, women, and grubby children flooded the muddy street, and the royal messenger found himself surrounded by gawking, dirty people. One look at the knives some of the men wore in their boots and the messenger decided it was time to return as well, and he followed the ghosthound up the hill toward the castle at a dead run.
CHAPTER 7.
Oban, the Master of Security, was waiting for them at the castle gate with a roll of parchment in his hand.
”Lady Miranda!” he shouted, running toward them as Gin slid to a stop.
”Is that the letter?” Miranda hopped down.
”Yes.” He shoved the parchment into her hand. ”Read it quickly.”
She shook the paper open and read, muttering along as she went. ”King is safe... Send riders to the Council... Mellinor shall pledge an additional thirty-five thousand to Monpress's bounty”-her eyebrows shot up-”and five thousand in cash-these demands are ridiculous!” She shook her head as she finished reading. ” 'Raise a white flag from the second tower when you receive the new bounty notice from the Council and await further instructions.' Why that greedy little thief, what is he playing at?” She thrust the note back at Oban. ”You said the king wrote this?”
”Yes,” Oban said, ”under much duress, we fear.”
Miranda gave him a flat look. ”He has very good handwriting for a king under duress.”
”Oh, this isn't the original.” The Master of Security ran a nervous hand over his bald head. ”It's a scribe copy.”
”Well, that won't do.” Miranda put her hands on her hips. ”Where is the original? I need it now.” Time was precious. If she got it soon enough, the faint, weak spirits in the ink might still remember the ink pot they'd lived in. That would give her a direction at least, maybe even a relative distance, but only if she got to them before they fell asleep completely and forgot that they'd ever been anything except words on a page.
The Master of Security blanched. ”I'm afraid I can't get it, lady. The situation's, um”-he clutched his hands-”changed.”
”Changed how?” Miranda's eyes narrowed.
”Go to the throne room, and you'll see.” He sighed. ”They don't know I let you see the note, lady, but I couldn't let you go in there without some information at least. Good luck.” He bowed slightly, then whirled around and disappeared into the stables.
”He stinks of fear,” Gin said, his orange eyes on Oban's retreating back.
”Do you know what this is about?” Miranda asked Marion, who was still working her way down off the ghosthound. The girl shook her head.
Miranda stared up at the white castle, which looked much more forbidding than usual. ”Ears open, mutt,” she muttered. ”Be ready if I call you.”
”Always am,” Gin huffed, sitting down in the middle of the stable yard.
Miranda nodded and hurried up the castle steps, Marion keeping close behind her.
The entrance hall was quiet and empty. Miranda frowned, glancing around for the usual cl.u.s.ters of servants and officials, but there was no sign of them. She quickened her pace, trotting across the polished marble to the arched doorway that led to the throne room. As she rounded the corner, what she saw stopped her dead in her tracks. The entire servant population of castle Allaze, from the stable boys to the chambermaids, was crammed into the great hall that led to the throne room. They were crowded in, shoulder to shoulder, filling the hall to bursting.
Miranda stared bewildered at the wall of backs blocking their way. ”All right,” she sighed, slumping against the wall, ”I give up. What is going on?”
Marion hurried forward, tapping the shoulder of a man at the back of the crowd wearing a blacksmith's leather ap.r.o.n to ask what was happening.
”Didn't ya hear?” the man said. ”Lord Renaud's back.”
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