“Yes,” she said, coming up to him.
“What house?”
“MarnMountain, 547.”
“When did you leave?”
“Three months ago.”
“Your spymaster?”
“Jeltok. Old Jellie, we used to call him.”
He nodded, wheezing a laugh. “Oh, I know.” Getting up, he strolled to the fire, glancing back at her curiously. His sparse hair was graying; he was older than most of his rank. Shrewder too, she thought, with sudden misgivings.
He coughed and spat into the fire, rubbing his chest. “Your mission?”
“Surveillance. On a man called Galen Harn. A keeper.”
His face glimmered with interest. “And?”
She sighed, sitting suddenly in the only chair. “Watchman, I’ve come a long way. I’m hungry and cold. And I’m on your side. You don’t need to treat me like a prisoner.”
For a moment he was still. Then he nodded, went to the door, and yelled. Carys took off the crossbow and laid it carelessly on the floor. It was no good to her here anyway.
The man came back. “Food’s coming. I’m sorry—force of habit. Welcome home, Carys Arrin.”
She looked up at him and smiled.
22
We have been used by one of our own.
He has mocked us all this time.
Litany of the Makers
RAFFI CROUCHED DOWN behind the remnants of the wall. “No sign of her.”
The Sekoi was silent, biting its nails.
Raffi put his hand in his pocket and touched the globe; it was almost warm and he pulled it out in surprise, but the glass was dull and dim. He held it to his eyes and stared in, trying to see something; then tried with his inner eye, but saw only darkness. It was the first real chance he’d had to examine it; Galen always kept it close. But it told him nothing.
The Sekoi looked up abruptly. “Listen, small keeper. I think we should go.”
“Go?” Raffi was blank. “Go where?”
“Anywhere. Out of here.” It knelt up, and he saw the pupils of its eyes were black slits in the dimness. Its hand caught his arm, the seven long fingers clutching tight. “All my instincts say this is a trap! She’s gone to them. She’ll bring them here! For us! Don’t you see, Raffi, I don’t think we dare trust her.”
A tiny pang of terror went down Raffi’s spine. He said hoarsely, “I can’t believe she’d—”
“She already has! Long before she met you!” It sprang up, a lean, agitated shape. “My people know of these Watchhouses. They take children young, feed them, teach them, train them. For years. How can all that be taken out of her? She is the Watch, she thinks like they think, hunts like they hunt. She’ll have seen things you can’t imagine—have practiced cruelties and spite. Her sorna—her soul—will have been changed by that! Don’t trust her, Raffi!”
Raffi sat still, though its fear terrified him, made him restless. “Yes, but what about Galen?”
“Galen is lost! And they’ll make him talk.”
“He wouldn’t.”
The Sekoi sat down. “He will,” it said softly. “Everyone does, in the end.”
Raffi couldn’t answer. The helplessness and doubt swept over him again; he had no idea what to do. They should go, should run, and yet . . . part of him wanted to stay, to believe she’d come.
“We need to get to the Crow,” the Sekoi urged. “The Crow was a great power. If he lives, he can help us. But we need to go now, Raffi, before she brings the Watch and they take the map and the globe! That’s all they need!”
Raffi stared at it. Then he got up again and gazed down the dark, empty street.
“THIS IS ALL VERY INTERESTING,” the castellan said, refilling her cup. “So this man Harn has knowledge of this relic . . . you didn’t say what it was, by the way.”
Carys smiled. “No. I’m not completely sure, and besides that—”
“You want to keep it secret.”
“My orders are to be as discreet as possible.”
He nodded. “I see. But look, Carys, we can get any information you want out of this man by our own methods. Not that he’d be much good to you afterward, of course. ” He sipped the sweet wine and looked at her. “Wouldn’t that be easier?”
She pulled a face. “In a way it would. But it would break my cover—I’ve worked hard to be accepted by them, and now I think they trust me. No, I think it would be best if I helped him to escape.” She raised an eyebrow. “If you agree, of course. He’s your prisoner.”
He paused a moment, stoking the fire with fresh coals, then turned and picked up the insignia, dangling the silver chain over his fingers. “Who am I to stand in the way of the Watchlords?” He handed it back to her, and she slipped it on, feeling the cold discs slide against her skin. “But there’ll be a price.”
She looked up sharply. She’d been expecting this.
“How much?”
“Half. Half of the reward for the keeper, and the others, and half of whatever they give you for finding this relic.”
She thought briefly. “All right. I’ve no choice.”
“Nor have I. We need to work together.” He rubbed a hand through his stubbly gray beard. “Now. This escape will need to be convincing.” He thought for a moment, then stood up and went out, and Carys finished the wine in one gulp. Picking up her crossbow, she loaded it quickly and swung it under one arm. Then she picked some bread off the tray and crammed it into her pocket. When he came back she was waiting by the fire.
He looked pleased, and she knew he had his own plans ready. “The Watch must watch each other first.” That had been Jellie’s first lesson—all her life she had seen it; even in school, child had spied on child, reported anything, competed for the honor of it. She’d been one of the best. Now they’d be watching her, but that was all she had expected.
“We’re ready. Here are the keys.” He handed her a small ring. “I’ll show you a postern gate which will be guarded by one man—shoot at him and he’ll fall. It would be helpful if you missed; I’m short of men as it is.”
She took the keys. “How did I get these?”
“You’ll have to serve up that story. After all, you’ve been trained for it.” He coughed again, a raw bark. “I’ll be glad to get out of this rat-hole. The smog gets to you.”
“You’re leaving?”
“I hope so. I hope to buy promotion to some comfortable village. Somewhere the sun shines.” He laughed harshly. “When I get the money.”
Their eyes met. She smiled wryly. “Thanks for the food. Now show me the way.”
GALEN PULLED HIMSELF UP as the key rattled in the lock. With both chained hands he pushed the long hair from his face, and winced as the light fell over him.
“Galen!”
She was inside in seconds, crouched by him. He stared at her. “Carys!” Then, convulsed by fear, he grabbed her. “Is Raffi here? He’s not been caught?”
“No. No, he’s fine. Keep still!” She was unlocking the chains; they slithered off and he rubbed his bruised wrists with relief.
“But how did you get in here? What’s been happening?”
“I’ll explain outside.” She tugged the chains through the straw and grabbed his arm. “There’s no time now. Follow me close; don’t speak. Do what I do. Please, Galen!”
He looked at her as if he would say something, then nodded. She helped him up, but he pushed her off. “I can manage.”
“Good.” She put her head around the door. “Come on. This way.”