“Of course.” Lisha smiled dryly.
“But this place is crawling with things I didn’t believe in, so I’m sort of at sea in a leaky kettle. Maybe there was some kind of prophecy that seemed to refer to us.”
“And then it became apparent that you weren’t the prophesied Outsiders after all,” Lisha suggested.
“That’s possible,” I mused. “But maybe a few fringe groups still think we’re worth killing just in case. The Assassins’ Convention, which I seem to have walked in on, took place some time after we fell from grace in the eyes of the king.”
“We need to find out more about this prophecy, if it exists,” said Lisha, rising and starting to pace the room. “I wish we could get Garnet and Renthrette out of there. I worry that. .”
“What?” I asked, since her voice had trailed off into nothing.
“I don’t know,” she said, unsure of herself. “It’s just a feeling, an uneasiness. I don’t like the idea of them getting too. . involved with the court in Phasdreille.”
“If you say the word,” I answered with a dry and knowing grin, “they’ll jump back into line like their tails are on fire and you have the only bucket of water in the world.”
“I don’t know, Will,” she said, “but I hope so.”
She sat down again and stared at the tabletop as if her mind was miles away.
“I wish Mithos and Orgos were here,” I said suddenly. It was the first time I had said it, and I was rather surprised by it. It was as if my private anxiety had been skulking through the jungle of my head for days, always a few feet from the path I was on, and had chosen this moment to ambush me.
“I think they are still alive,” she said, looking at me in that compassionate but penetrating fashion of hers which always made me feel like she’d walked in on me as I was getting out of the bath.
“Based on what?” I demanded. I hadn’t intended to sound hostile, but I did not want to be patronized by groundless hopes.
“I just feel it,” she said. “Or rather, I do not feel they have died.”
“Why would you?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps I wouldn’t,” she said. “But we have been together a long time and I think their passing might register in me somehow.”
Her eyes held mine throughout this curious speech. I hesitated only a second.
“That is the stuff of stories, Lisha,” I said. “Brothers, friends, twins, parents, and daughters all die daily, and their loved ones are none the wiser till some grim-faced messenger arrives at the door. I’d love to think we were all connected by some sort of spiritual bond, some connection, but I have seen no evidence for it, and plenty to the contrary. I don’t believe it.”
“You are right not to,” she said. “I don’t believe it either. I merely hope that it might be true. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but I feel it nonetheless.”
I shrugged, unconvinced, and began feeling depressed as a result. She smiled a little, as if this endeared me to her or reminded her of something she liked in me. Though she was the one talking fancifully and I was the cynical realist, she managed to make me feel, as usual, like a child. I smiled again and she clasped my hand impulsively.
“I am glad you got here,” she said. “I needed to hear a voice of skepticism in this curious place. But now you must go back. I cannot come with you, and I feel that some of our answers still lie in the city. I will move in what limited way I can and gather information from the few safe sources available to me, but I have no wish to be hounded to earth and executed as a goblin spy.”
“Where should I begin?”
“With the prophecy, I suppose, though how you will go about that without putting yourself in danger, I do not know. Beware of trying to sour the city for Garnet and Renthrette too quickly. They may turn against you.”
“Again.”
“Quite. In fact,” she added, “now that I think of it, it might be better if you don’t tell them I’m here.”
“You want me to lie to them?” I said, pleased by the idea.
“No,” she insisted. “I just want you to keep what you know of my presence to yourself. For now.”
I grinned. One day I would get some real mileage out of this, her trusting me over them. Still, it was unlike her to mislead her friends.
“I just think it might be for the best,” she added. “For them, I mean. We’ll tell them soon.”
“We don’t need to,” I said.
She ignored that.
“Be careful, and bring me word through Rose,” she said. “I will send her to the bridgehead gate two days from now and every day thereafter. If I can, I will come in the coach; otherwise, you should give her any letters for me that you have. I think she can be trusted, and I do not think she can read. Leave no writings in your quarters as long as you are in the palace. I hear the general practice of being a courtier involves a good deal of spying just to see who is on the way up and who on the way down and out. I have no doubt that servants are paid to bring stray letters to their masters. Don’t get caught up in the factions of court life, Will. There are too many daggers in such places, and you can’t protect yourself from all angles.”
“It’s a good thing we know who the enemy is,” I remarked.
“Indeed,” she said.
I spent the night on the floor of Lisha’s room and left as close to first light as I could manage. I journeyed back to Phasdreille by means of the same carriage in which I had left, but Rose, alas, did not make the return trip with me. I arrived at about nine o’clock, passing the barbican sentries with a nod which they returned with the smiles of men who thought they knew what I’d been up to all night, and made straight for the palace and my room.
My sword had come back from the smith, but instead of the notched blade having been reforged, they had just cut the end off and then ground down what remained. It was now less a short sword than long knife. I was irritated enough to have a word with the nearest guard, who pointed me to the armory next door. I marched in like I owned the place, slammed the sword down on the counter, and asked what the hell that was supposed to be.
“It’s a fine sword,” said the duty officer.
“It was a fine sword,” I said, “before you idiots chopped three inches off the end. Now it’s a bread knife. Can’t you make it like it was?”
“Longer, you mean?” said the officer, blankly. “How?”
“I don’t know; I’m not the smith. Melt it down, add more steel, and beat it out again,” I suggested. “Isn’t that how these things work?”
The officer looked confused, but he went back into the forge. When he didn’t come back after a couple of minutes, I went in after him. I noticed two things right away. The first was that, though the smithy was large, with several furnaces and anvils set up, there was only one person working, and all the other hearths were cold. In fact, they looked like they hadn’t been used for ages. The second thing I noticed was the way that the smith in his leather apron studied the sword with the same blank look the duty officer had given me. These people were clueless.
“I could weld a setting for some diamonds to the hilt,” said the smith, sauntering over, “or I can give you a new one.”
“Oh,” I said, taken aback and rather pleased. “Fine. Yes. I’ll take a new one.”
Since I seemed to be the only person in the city who didn’t go about with a wheelbarrow full of diamonds, it seemed the smart choice.