Casket of Souls

  “Last symbol,” Thero choked out. “Do they have it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Seals—the soul.” Thero coughed and black spittle speckled his lips and chin. His breath was rattling in his throat. Clutching Seregil’s wrist in a surprisingly strong grip, he rasped, “Find Illia’s—before he can—”

  “Before he can seal it with the final mark. I understand. But what if he does?”

  “She’ll die.” He coughed up a black gout and began to choke.

  Seregil got an arm under his shoulders and lifted Thero so he could breathe more easily. “Don’t die! You’re just getting the hang of all this.”

  The wizard managed what sounded like a chuckle, but he was shivering badly.

  Alec hurried in. “Micum’s gone for his horse. He’ll need our help getting Thero on it.”

  “What about the watchman?”

  “Micum said he’d deal with him.”

  They carried the wizard down and found Micum already at the back door with his tall grey.

  “Maker’s Mercy!” he exclaimed softly. “Get him over Stormy’s withers so I can keep a hold on him.”

  “We’re going to kill him!” whispered Alec.

  “He’ll die if we don’t get him to Valerius,” Seregil grunted, helping him sling Thero over the horse like a sack of grain.

  Micum swung up into the saddle and took a firm grip on the back of Thero’s coat. “I’ll come straight back.”

  “Where’s the watchman?”

  Micum winked. “Napping. What are you planning to do?”

  Seregil gave him a humorless smirk. “It’s time to drive our prey. Micum, as soon as you get Thero to Valerius, have him send a messenger to deliver this to Korathan.” Seregil gave him the phial with Eona’s name on it. “Tell him to close the city gates and arrest the other players. Atre still has Elani’s jewelry.”

  He put a hand on Thero’s shoulder. “Remember what I said. Don’t die.”

  Thero’s eyes were closed and more of the black liquid was dripping from his parted lips. But they moved and only Seregil was close enough to hear his parting words: “Save them!”

  Back in Atre’s room, Seregil and Alec set about putting things back where they’d found them. When they were done, Seregil set the leather case in the middle of the bed and took out the bottles that were still clear.

  “What are you doing?” whispered Alec.

  “These children can still be saved. The others can’t.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “It’s what Thero thinks. Here, you take one and I’ll take one.”

  They tucked the bottles under their belts inside their shirts and put the final things right.

  Seregil took a last look around the room. “Finding that case out should be enough to flush him.”

  “Where do you think he’ll go?”

  “Hopefully to wherever he has Illia’s elixir hidden. And I don’t think he has enough of these bottles to last him for very long unless he goes back to his Basket Street cache. In his place I’d gather up as much as I could. If he’s on the run, it will probably be some time before he can reestablish himself in—”

  Just then they heard the sound of familiar childish laughter from the street below.

  “Bilairy’s hairy codpiece!” Seregil growled, peering out between the curtains. “Out the back, quickly.”

  But before they could get downstairs they heard the sound of the front door opening. Hurrying to Brader’s chamber, they threw open a corner window and climbed down the splintery wooden drainpipe. There was no sign of the watchman or anyone else as they stole silently to the corner of the house and peered around. A link boy appeared in the street, lighting his own way. There was light inside the house now, too, and the sound of more laughter and women talking.

  Thinking it was safe, Seregil led the way to the front corner of the house in time to hear Zell chastising the watchman for falling asleep at his post. The man quickly resumed his duties, rubbing his head as he did so.

  “Do you feel a little bad for the other actors?” Alec whispered when Zell had gone inside. “I hate to think of the children in the Red Tower.”

  “We’ll deal with that when the time comes.” The fact was, Seregil was uneasy about that himself. He’d come to genuinely like the members of the company. That had probably blinded him to what Atre really was, he thought bitterly.

  Leaving Alec to watch the back of the house, Seregil slipped away through the back garden and circled around to their original hiding spot across the street. There he hid the bottles they’d taken from Atre’s room in his saddlebags and hunkered down in the shadows of a silversmith’s shop to await Atre’s reaction to the surprise they’d staged for him.

  The moon was sinking behind the clouds. Candles were lit inside the house, then one by one the windows went dark again as the occupants went to bed, and still no sign of Atre.

  Perhaps he was spending the night elsewhere. They hadn’t seen who had come back, and Seregil hadn’t noticed Atre’s voice among the others.

  Soon after, he heard Micum’s whispered “Luck in the shadows” from a nearby alleyway.

  “And in the Light,” Seregil whispered back.

  Big as he was, Micum scarcely made a sound as he materialized out of the shadows.

  “How is Thero?” Seregil whispered, barely loud enough to be heard.

  “I don’t know. Valerius is caring for him personally, though. Did you find Illia’s ring?”

  Seregil shook his head and Micum bit his lip in frustration. Clasping his friend’s shoulder, he put his lips close to Micum’s ear and caught him up on the night’s progress.

  The stars were beginning to fade and their cloaks were damp with dew when they heard the loud rattle and jingle of a carriage approaching. It rounded the corner pulled by a fine matched pair of white Aurënfaie horses, and although Seregil couldn’t quite make out the escutcheon on the door, the horses alone, together with the glint of gilt on the carved dolphins gracing the four corners of its roof, were enough to tell him that this was one of Atre’s more affluent and high-placed admirers. There were loud sounds of laughter and merrymaking as the coachman reined the horses to a halt in front of the house and they could hear Atre making his farewells as he alighted on the pavement. He paused a moment as the carriage rolled off, looking up at the sky and stretching, then put his key to the lock and disappeared into the house.

  Seregil gave Micum a crooked smile. “Here we go.”

  Atre wasn’t particularly drunk. He made a point of always keeping his wits about him, even when he went out carousing. Young Marquise Wentira and her friends had been quite amusing in their cups, though, and very generous.

  He lit a candle from the small night lantern in the front room and made his way up through the silent house to his bedchamber. Once there, he set the candle on the dressing table and pulled the night’s pretties from his coat pocket. Wentira’s silver locket was very nice, and contained a lovely miniature of her done on ivory, but she’d had it made for him and it was far too new to be of any use. Sweet-faced Lord Byris had unwisely parted with a gold ring set with a ruby that had been given to him by Prince Korathan. That one was best returned. If only he’d had it from the prince himself, what a prize that would have been, surpassing even the pieces he’d had from Elani. He held his right hand out to admire the amethyst ring she’d given him at their first meeting. He loved flaunting it under the noses of the nobles who used him for their amusement; they hadn’t the slightest idea that he held the heir to the throne’s life quite literally in his hand. She was a vibrant girl, with life connections far beyond her years. An elixir from her ring or the emerald brooch would sustain him for weeks. He kept them about his person at all times.

  They were so very tempting.

  Of the night’s take, only Duchess Nasia’s chain was of any use. He set it aside for his next visit to Basket Street and placed the rest of the jewels into the casket in front of him. Leaning back in the ch
air, he yawned and stretched his arms over his head, ready for a good day’s sleep.

  Taking up the candle again, he crossed to the bed, then stopped, frozen in shock at the sight of the open elixir case sitting in the middle of the counterpane. Trembling, he placed the candle on the stand by the bed and grabbed the case. Two bottles were gone. Two!

  He lit more candles and threw open the wardrobe doors. Everything appeared undisturbed, but he knew better. Tossing shoes and boots aside, he wrenched up the hidden panel beneath and pulled out the locked casket. It wasn’t locked anymore, and the phial containing Duchess Eona’s powerful soul was gone.

  Brader!

  Not bothering with a candle, he went to his cousin’s room and knocked softly on the door. After a moment Brader opened it. He was in his nightshirt, but his dark eyes were sharp and alert.

  “Come with me,” Atre whispered.

  He waited until they were safely in his chamber with the door locked, then rounded on the man, who was already taking in the disorder.

  “How could you be so careless?” Atre hissed, shaking with anger. “If you needed to drink so badly, why didn’t you say something before we went to the theater?”

  Brader’s expression was eerily calm. “It wasn’t me.”

  Atre’s disbelief was fleeting, giving way to a cold jolt of fear.

  He clenched his fists in rage, fighting down the urge to scream. “No one has ever gotten close enough to find my cache before. No one! And some of the elixirs are gone!”

  “I told you we should have moved on sooner.”

  “And I told you to kill them!” Atre snarled, pulling a battered old pack from under the bed and dumping the contents of the jewel casket into it.

  “I’d have to have found them, wouldn’t I?” That chilling calm was giving way to anger. “Damn you, Atre, you’ve brought this down on us again. On my children, my wife!”

  “What? For providing for all of you? For taking a third-rate pack of country mummers and making them the toast of Rhíminee? Or is that your conscience pricking you again? Tired of eating the souls of children, Brader?” Atre sneered as he pulled on a fresh shirt and sat down to pull on a pair of old boots. “Your precious family will be safe once we’re gone.”

  “You don’t know that!”

  “Get dressed, for hell’s sake! We’ve got to go.” Atre took an old brown tunic from the back of the wardrobe and pulled it on.

  “No.”

  Atre looked up in disbelief. This was a first. “How long do you think you’ll last without me to sustain you? Don’t tell me you finally mean to give up?”

  “Better that than deserting them. I can’t do that. Not like this.”

  Atre resisted the urge to cry out What’s so special about this family? But he knew better. He’d feared this day since Merina’s first child was born, perhaps even before that, from the way Brader looked at her. The man had abandoned other children, other wives, but it had changed him a little, every time, until he’d come to loathe the very thing that kept him alive to enjoy his women and brats.

  He stood and went to Brader. “But you can do this to me, cousin?” he asked sadly. “After all these years, these centuries we’ve shared, you just leave me to die? You know how much I need you. You came with me willingly, remember, and you loved this life of ours. The times we’ve had, cousin!” His tone was pleading, but his eyes were hard when he added, “Please, don’t make me threaten them. I still have my special little collection, you know.”

  The taller man closed his eyes for a moment. “I’ll help you get out of the city.”

  “I suppose that’s all I can ask of you. Now hurry and get dressed. We have to get to Basket Street before the sun comes up.”

  Brader thought he’d left Merina sleeping, but when he returned to the bedchamber he found her trembling beside the bed, clutching a dagger to her breast. A real one, not a stage prop. Tears were streaming down her cheeks but she looked like fury itself.

  He tried to approach her, fearing she’d harm herself, but she shrank back from his touch and raised the knife. “You monsters!”

  Brader’s heart lurched in his chest. “Keep your voice down!”

  “I followed you, Brader. I listened through the door and heard what he said. Do you think I’m a fool? All these years together, and you looking the same as the day we married. And all the secrets! You and he slipping out when you thought I wasn’t looking, and all the times whispering behind locked doors with your ‘cousin.’ Or is that a lie, too?”

  “No. That much is the truth.”

  “I thought—Maker’s Mercy, I even hoped you were just lovers, but it’s worse than that. All the times children began to die when we stayed too long in a town. I tried not to think about it, told myself I was seeing something that wasn’t there, but it’s true, isn’t it? What are you?”

  “There’s no name for it, as far as I know.”

  “You—you eat children’s souls? It’s monstrous!”

  “Maker’s Mercy, keep your voice down!”

  “Why? Will you eat my soul, too?”

  “No, but he will. And the children’s.”

  Her eyes widened in horror. “And you’d let him!”

  “He’s had a hold on me, through you, all these years. But after tonight he’ll be gone. He’ll give me what I need to protect you, but only if I help him leave the city. I’ll be free of him, and we’ll all be safe.”

  She held the knife out in front of her and hissed, “Safe? I never want to see you again! If you ever come near my children, I’ll tell them exactly what their papa does, and I’ll put this knife through your black heart! Get whatever you need and get out!”

  Her voice was rising dangerously again. He dressed and packed quickly and buckled on his sword. Then, heart breaking, he turned to her one last time, but the hatred in her eyes sealed his throat.

  She pointed to the door. “Don’t come back. If he kills us, our blood is on your hands.”

  He knew it was the truth. Shouldering his pack, he went back to Atre.

  As he always did.

  ALEC almost missed the shadowy figure slipping around the corner of the house. It wasn’t tall enough to be Brader. He smiled a thin hunter’s smile. Atre; even better.

  As the man ghosted silently away to the backstreet behind the house, Alec could easily have put an arrow in his back, but they needed him alive to lead them to Illia’s soul. There was no time to go for the others or his horse, so he had to chance an owl’s hoot. The figure was nearly out of sight when Seregil and Micum appeared silently beside him.

  “He’s alone,” Alec told them as they set out after Atre.

  “I wouldn’t wager on it,” Seregil murmured, looking around.

  It wasn’t easy tracking. The faint glow of the false dawn and the echoing empty streets made it difficult to stay close enough to keep him in sight. After a few blocks, Atre began to disappear between houses, walking through yards and jumping over low walls.

  “He’s not going toward Basket Street,” Seregil muttered.

  “Could be taking the long way,” said Micum, grunting as he heaved himself over a wall. He was a fit man, but even Sebrahn hadn’t been able to completely heal the scars left on the back of his thigh by the dyrmagnos.

  Seregil glanced up at the sky. “It will be light soon. Why would he chance moving around in daylight? Something’s wrong. Change of plan. Catch him.”

  With that, he took off at a dead run, vaulting the next wall with ease.

  “Go on, I’ll track you and catch up,” said Micum.

  Alec nodded and went after Seregil.

  Abandoning stealth, they soon startled their prey into full flight and gave chase. Atre was fast, but Seregil was faster, and managed to tackle him as he ran through a kitchen garden. The two of them tumbled together across rows of garlic and turnips, Atre struggling like a wildcat. His hood fell back in the scuffle and Alec saw that Seregil had captured Teibo, not Atre.

  “Bilairy’s Balls, I
knew it!” Seregil snarled, grabbing the boy by the front of his tunic. “Where is Atre?”

  “I don’t know!” Teibo cried, throwing up his arm as if he expected Seregil to hit him. “I don’t know what they’re up to, but when Brader said ‘run,’ I ran!”

  “Is Atre alone, or is Brader with him?”

  “I don’t know, my lord! They were both at the house when I left.”

  Seregil released him and stood up. “Should have known he’d use a jilt. Come on!”

  Doubling back the way they’d come, they soon found Micum.

  “What now?” he panted.

  “No sense being subtle. We’ve already been tossed.”

  The first hint of true dawn threw the eastern half of the city into black relief against the sky as they pelted south toward Basket Street.

  They were within half a mile of it, running along narrow Goose Lane, when a dark form stepped into the middle of the lane just ahead of them, long sword drawn, effectively blocking their way. There was no mistaking his stance; Brader was ready and perhaps even able to take on the three of them.

  “We don’t have time for this!” Micum growled.

  “Seregil, go!” Alec said, falling back.

  Micum drew his sword and charged Brader head-on while Seregil dodged right along the wall and kept going. Behind him the sound of steel on steel rang out.

  * * *

  “Luck in the shadows, and hurry!” Alec whispered, watching Seregil hurtle through the early-morning crowd.

  There were too many people in the street for Alec to risk his bow. Instead he and Micum drew their swords and rushed Brader together, expecting a quick victory, two against one, but the man surprised them both. He had youth on Micum and height on Alec, but it was more than that: he had Seregil’s skill and speed.

  People screamed and scattered as they fought. Maneuvering was difficult, making it virtually impossible to flank Brader. Instead they pushed each other back and forth, Brader mostly parrying their swings.

  He’s buying time for Atre, thought Alec, making an unsuccessful cut at Brader’s legs. Focused as he was on the battle, he was only dimly aware of the clatter of hooves and the shouts of the approaching bluecoats. Several riders burst from a side street. Brader took advantage of the distraction and dashed away in the direction of the theater. Alec and Micum started to give chase, only to have their way cut off by more bluecoats on foot.