If the Interim Council wanted me to solve these problems, they’d better stay out of my way. I’d pop around and talk to Nast this morning before checking again on all my various chessmen in their positions. Then I’d figure how best to winkle out Corinthia Anastasia.
Ilona’s stolen child was within shouting distance of me right now. But I could not outrun that crossbow. And once I was within, behind obscuring walls, Surali and her people could do anything to me.
I needed a Blade handle, and a run.
Which led me to wonder where Mother Argai was. I should have asked the Street Guildsman I’d mugged for information about Corinthia Anastasia’s location.
At an easy walk, unhurried, relaxed, telegraphing no intentions at all, I approached the gate guards.
We were all Selistani here, dark-skinned people in a pale-skinned place. Even the whitebellies. Our country was never this cold-I had not seen snow once in my four years in Kalimpura, did not even know the Seliu word for the nasty stuff.
“Long way from home,” I said in their language. Our language.
The man with the crossbow rested the weapon in the crook of his arm and pointed it at me.
“Last fellow who did that to me met with an accident.” I smiled, my most raffish, wolf-toothed grin. “Permanently.” With any luck, they knew of my earlier foray. With more luck, they were smart enough not to try to kill me.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” said the other man. “They’re out looking for you around the city.”
“Shame I came around on my own then, isn’t it?” I flipped my short knife in my left hand, tossing it in small loops through the air. “But you’re not supposed to be here, either. Cold, don’t you think?”
The crossbowman snorted. “How these ice people can be abiding their city I do not understand.”
“We should all go home.”
“We all will soon,” said the swordsman with a glare at his friend.
“So where is Mother Argai? She stood watch the last time I was here.”
“You will need to be asking Lady Surali,” said the bowman, ignoring his fellow.
Interesting. And they were quite relaxed, given my previous interaction with one of their fellows. Had my chosen victim not returned? “As I am hearing the story, Surali has to have someone else hold her spoon right now. Not much with the leadership, is she?”
The crossbow steadied on me. “I shall not be pretending to take you prisoner,” the bowman said. “You are too dangerous. But if you are surrendering yourself, please to do so now. Otherwise move on.” He glanced over at Harun and the other Selistani protesters, huddled together. Someone had started a fire along the curb with broken-off branches. “And be taking your rabble with you.”
“That rabble is your people, too,” I reminded him. “For my own part, I am moving on. But please to be telling Mother Argai that Green was asking after her health.”
“Every word,” the other Street Guildsman replied cheerfully. “We’re to report every word.”
Every word. Hah! I had a few choice words for Surali, and for that matter, words for Mother Vajpai and for the Prince of the City. This did not seem to be the time to offer them.
With a nod to Harun, I turned my back to the crossbow and walked away. My shoulders itched, expecting a bolt. Not out of the question, depending on how angry Surali was, but those two had spoken to me easily enough. They were not sufficiently nervous for men with orders to kill on sight.
Opportunism came easily, though. Especially to an ambitious Street Guildsman.
Once around the corner, I indulged in a little opportunism of my own. I knew that at a minimum I should be speaking to the Interim Council, checking on Archimandrix, spying on Iso and Osi, and sorting out what the Rectifier had gotten up to since I left him, but I had to try to find Corinthia Anastasia. Despite my misgivings. And I was curious whether Mother Argai was being held against her will.
The idea of having my own Blade handle, here in Copper Downs with me, seemed a convenient way to solve so many problems.
Back to the walls for me. I boosted myself up again, as I had before, but this time my uncertain balance defeated me. My vault took me to the top of the wall and right over the other side into the Selistani embassy grounds. My right ankle trailed and caught, banging my too-sore shin against the icy stonework and twisting at the joint. I tumbled with a sharp, whispered curse before smashing to the ground.
A mere seven-foot drop, I thought. Flat on my back, without touching down properly. Only luck that I hadn’t hit my belly, and the baby. My shin was on fire. My ankle was complaining as well. At least I was wearing the right boots.
There was nothing for it but to keep moving. If I sat and waited for someone to investigate the noise, surely I’d be found. If no one came, sitting and waiting would be pointless anyway.
I hoisted myself up and trotted along the base of the wall. Small purpose in running the top of the wall. Too icy up there, and I didn’t trust myself to stay on my feet now in difficult balance.
Hoping that I hadn’t misinterpreted Mother Argai’s relative friendliness, or Mother Vajpai’s reluctance to take me on in a straight fight, I approached the back of the house. The plantings around the base of the walls were hummocked with snow, the stretches beneath the trees powdered thinner. I could do nothing about my tracks here-no one had ever taught me how to remain stealthy in this stuff-so I left off dodging and walked purposefully toward the arbors bordering a terrace at the back of the house. Skulking was so much more obvious. So long as no one looked too carefully, I might make it.
I paused again at the side of the terrace.
Now that I was out of line of sight of the windows, and could safely sneak along again, I felt much better. Listening for a count of thirty, I detected no sound of alarm. In fact, I detected no sound at all.
Was the house empty? That would explain both the churned snow and the upbeat guards. Perhaps Surali had put one over on me after all. That thought rekindled my anger.
The terrace was actually a built-up structure, I realized, topping a hollow space beneath with small windows peeking from behind the arbors. I eased up to a window and looked inside. Dark, so dark I could barely make anything out, but it appeared to be a tool room. Perhaps the space down there was for the gardeners? Or storage?
I’d take that.
Some work with my short knife and my arm strength forced the little window to pry open. It was hinged to swing up, a popular choice here in Copper Downs. I sniffed at the stale air within. Rust, a little bit of oil, soil, clay.
Definitely a garden shed. A very elaborate one, but a garden shed.
I wriggled through the window and dropped down into the darkness beyond. Carefully I pulled the glass shut behind me. Then I stalked with slow deliberation across the room to the door leading inward.
Locked, of course. From the outside. But the hinges were on my side.
That took more work, and the borrowing of a few tools along with a liberal dousing of oil, but I got myself out the door into a narrow, stone-floored hall. The lock was just a latch, so I undid it, stepped back in, and rehung the door.
No point in making Surali’s life easier later.
From there I followed the hallway into the depths of the basement.
The first person I saw was a pale-skinned scullion humming as she dragged a basket of linens to some basement laundry. Stone Coast servants, then. That probably pleased Surali to no end. It was possible that she would not be able to tell me from the other Selistani here, but I had already wasted too much time wandering to try the subtle approach.
Instead I raced up to the servant and cracked her against the wall. She started to squeal, until I stuffed my short knife butt into her mouth-no chance she’d bite my hand that way.
“Silence,” I said in my most flawless Petraean, straight from the Pomegranate Court.