Thrusting his hands in his pockets, Hob looked Hazel in the eye.
“Thank you, Your Highness. You didn’t have to vouch for me.”
Hazel did her best to sound breezy. “Don’t be too flattered. I’m just trying to get rid of you.”
He pulled on his cap and grinned. For an instant, Hazel felt like she was glimpsing a younger Hob, one who had yet to start mining or sit séyu. She liked knowing he was still in there.
“Oh, I know,” he said. “But no one’s ever done anything like this for me.” For a moment, words failed him. “I won’t forget it.”
“You’re very welcome, Mr. Smythe.”
The three walked east toward Tùr an Ghrian, stopping by the tower’s base to gaze out at the sea. Over the ocean, the sky was the color of slate and rumbled with distant thunder. Below, the harbor teemed with warships. They were black and predatory, with witchfire burning on their decks and the flags of both Impyrium and the Faeregines flying from their masts.
To the north by Kirin Point, the Lirlander Embassy looked dark and abandoned. The road leading to it was barricaded. Five warships were moored nearby, their cannons leveled.
A light caught Hazel’s eye. A merchant galleon with a Lirlander Seal was moving slowly across the harbor as a skiff guided it toward a pier. Bells pealed as dockworkers made ready to receive it. Hazel’s gaze returned to the blazing white Seal. They were at the heart of all this trouble; they were why Violet was in council at this very moment.
What’s wrong with the Seals? Why aren’t they working?
The regiment fired another volley.
“Did you learn anything new today, Mr. Smythe?” said Sigga.
Hob turned from watching the soldiers. “What?”
“About the Cataclysm, buried cities, forbidden technology. The reasons why things are the way they are.”
“I guess I did. What did you learn, Agent Fenn?”
“A bit about dwimorleeches. I already knew the rest.”
Hazel frowned. What was going on between them? Some inside joke or game was under way. She would ask Sigga about it when they were alone.
“You know,” said Sigga, “there are sniper units in the guard. Specialists. You’re good enough. I could put in a word.”
Hob looked seriously at her. “I’ve shot two people,” he said. “Two men in a raiding party that attacked Dusk a few years ago. If anyone deserved to die, they did, but I still have nightmares about it. I don’t think I could take a life on someone else’s orders.”
Sigga smirked. “I guess I have learned something else, Mr. Smythe. You’re sentimental.”
Hob side armed a stone far off the cliffs. “Maybe I don’t want to end up like Private Finch.”
Private Finch. Hazel recalled her visit with that poor soldier missing half his face. She pictured the photographs upon his table—one of the deceased Sergeant Beecher, the other of the handsome young man he used to be. And she’d asked him who it was! She cringed inwardly. Rascha had been right—it wasn’t for Hazel to play detective. Still, something had always bothered her about the private’s story.
Why hadn’t those thieves taken any Seals?
It wasn’t just that they hadn’t stolen a Seal; they hadn’t brought anything to smuggle them out. Why would criminals go through all that trouble only to overlook a detail like that?
A moment later, Hazel’s heart skipped a beat.
CHAPTER 19
A STOWAWAY
There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact.
—Sherlock Holmes, Pre-Cataclysm detective (fictional)
Hazel exclaimed so suddenly a bee might have stung her. Merlin sensed her excitement and trembled like a mouse.
“Are you all right, Your Highness?” asked Sigga.
Hazel wasn’t sure. Her mind was racing, arranging bits of information, and testing their fit.
“When did you read that article?” she asked Hob. “About that theft in the Workshop?”
“January.”
“Did it say when the theft took place?”
“December.”
Hazel’s eyes widened. She turned back to the galleon.
“What is it, Your Highness?” said Sigga.
“We’ve always assumed the imposters tried and failed to steal some Lirlander Seals,” she said breathlessly. “But what if they weren’t? What if their mission actually succeeded?”
“What mission, then?” asked Sigga.
“To smuggle something into the vault,” cried Hazel. “Something small—something that could drain the magic inside. Remember what Rascha said? The Seals in the vault are linked with Seals on ships so we can control them from here. If one in the vault stopped working . . .”
“So would its twin at sea,” Sigga muttered. The agent stared down at the trade galleon. Hazel had never seen the Grislander look so astonished.
“You think the stolen dwimorleech is in the vault?” said Hob.
“Yes!” cried Hazel, hopping up and down. “Think about it. Private Finch said the imposters didn’t bring anything large enough to carry any Seals they managed to steal. But they could have been hiding something. A dwimorleech was stolen just weeks earlier. Master Montague said it was immature, which means it was probably easy to conceal. Once the imposters snuck it into the vault, they could leave it behind to feed in peace and quiet. If that creature has been draining what’s inside the vault, then ships have been crossing demon waters with deactivated Seals. Lord Kraavh has been telling the truth. The Lirlanders may have attacked those ships, but they haven’t broken the treaty!”
“But wasn’t the vault inspected after the break in?” said Hob.
“It was,” said Sigga. “But that was to ensure nothing had been taken. If the dwimorleech was small, the imposters could have hidden it anywhere.”
“And we just saw that those creatures can camouflage themselves,” said Hazel.
Sigga nodded, but looked preoccupied. Hazel’s gaze swept over the warships surrounding the Lirlanders’ Embassy.
“There’s a war council going on right now,” Hazel said impatiently. “We have to stop it. If the empress declares war, those ships could start firing. Once that happens, it won’t matter that it was a misunderstanding. We have to tell them!”
Sigga held up a hand. “Just a moment, Your Highness. We need to think this through.”
“I have thought it through!” cried Hazel. “I’m right! You know I’m right!”
“I think you are,” said Sigga calmly. “But bursting in on a council meeting is not the best way to address this.”
“Why not?”
“Because whoever’s behind this wants to discredit your family and start a war between Impyrium and the Lirlanders. Whoever did this might be in that room.”
“Is Lord Hyde on the war council?” asked Hob.
Sigga nodded.
“It’s got to be him,” said Hob. “At the May Ball, all the Hydes paid their respects when Lord Kraavh visited their table. What if they’ve made some secret alliance with the Lirlanders? What if they’re provoking the empress into declaring war so that we’re the ones that break the treaty? If the Lirlanders win, they’d be free to rule the seas while the Hydes rule Impyrium.”
“It’s a possibility,” said Sigga. “But you’re assuming the Lirlanders would be content with that arrangement. Once the treaty’s gone, what’s to prevent a demon like Prusias, Tök, or Ahriman from deciding they’d rather rule Impyrium themselves?”
“So, what are you suggesting?” said Hazel.
“A third party could be involved,” said Sigga. “Some group that stands to benefit if mehrùn and the Lirlanders go to war.”
Hazel gave Hob an apologetic glance. “I hate to say it, but could it be muir? There’s been so much unrest.”
“I don’t think so,” replied Sigga. “Even if muir have grievances, I can’t believe they’d be foolish enough to think a war with the Lirlanders would benefit them. Within a year, they’d be dead or enslaved
.”
“Then who could it be?” said Hazel.
“I couldn’t say for certain, but it’s most likely a mehrùn with an agenda that has nothing to do with politics. But our first priority is to ensure that a war doesn’t break out. Your Highness, send a zephyss to Lady Isabel and tell her to meet you in your tower. No questions, no delay.”
Hazel conjured a little bulb of golden light and whispered her urgent message. When she’d finished, it zoomed off down the gray beach.
“Why Isabel?” said Hazel.
“We need Violet to open the vault,” said Sigga, leading them toward the palace. “Isabel’s our best bet for getting her out of that council without drawing undue attention. If one of the culprits is in that room or suspects anything is amiss, they could do something desperate. For example, one of those ships could open fire on the embassy. We must defuse things very carefully.”
Thirty minutes later, a breathless Isabel arrived in the triplets’ common room. Her black hair was windblown, her cheeks red. Her bodyguard came in behind her and closed the door.
“Tell Agent Rey to step outside,” said Sigga.
“What?” said Isabel. “Why?”
“Please,” said Hazel. “I need to talk to you.”
Isabel caught sight of Hob standing by their breakfast table. “Why is he here?”
“Just do it!” said Hazel impatiently.
“Okay,” said Isabel, removing her shawl. “Agent Rey, please wait outside.”
Once he left, Sigga shut the door and Hazel explained her vault theory. To Isabel’s credit, she didn’t interrupt or ask questions. When Hazel finished, Isabel gave a low whistle.
“You’re a genius.”
“Never mind,” said Hazel. “We have to get Violet out of that council to open the vault for us. If we ask the empress or Uncle Basil, they’ll stop the proceedings and whoever did this might suspect we’re on to them. You have to convince Violet. She’d never come if I ask her. Bring her to the sitting room across from Founders.”
“I’ll think of something.” Isabel ran off. Hazel sighed in relief. If anyone could pull Violet from that meeting it was Isabel.
But Hazel’s optimism declined as they waited in the sitting room across from Founders Hall. She paced anxiously, poking her head out now and again. But there were only guardsmen posted in pairs along the corridor.
“Where could they be?” she grumbled.
“Patience,” said Sigga.
“War could be declared any minute!”
The Grislander shook her head.
“How can you be so certain?” asked Hazel.
“They keep transcripts of such meetings, Your Highness. If you don’t speak up, you’re not on the record. The council has fifteen members who will have prepared very eloquent, very lengthy remarks to stake their claim on history.” She checked her watch. “They’ll be in there for hours.”
Footsteps echoed in the hallways. Hazel jabbed her head out to see her sisters walking swiftly toward them, bodyguards in tow. The twins stared straight ahead, perfectly in sync down to the swing of their arms. Neither spoke or acknowledged the other.
When Violet reached the sitting room, she nearly poked Hazel in the eye.
“How dare you use Isabel to lure me out of that meeting! Have you lost your—?”
“Lower your voice,” Hazel pleaded. “Just listen a minute.”
Violet stepped closer, so that she towered over Hazel. Her voice was icy calm. “Don’t ever interrupt me. Don’t ever tell me what to do or summon me from a council. Not now. Not ever. Do you under—?”
“Shut up.”
Hazel was trembling with honest rage. For once, Violet was going to listen to her. Her sister looked stunned.
“I’m trying to help,” said Hazel. “And if you’re too proud or stupid to accept it, we’ll end up at war. So you’re going to stand there, and shut up, and do exactly what I tell you to do!”
Five minutes later, a pale but composed Violet led them into Founders Hall, where a dozen guardsmen stood before the Lirlander Vault. She marched straight to the man with a black and gold armband. He bowed.
“Good morning, Captain,” said Violet. “I need to access the vault.” She showed him her nautilus key.
The captain was taken aback. “Yes, but protocols have changed. I wasn’t told anyone planned to access the vault, Your Highness.”
“That’s because no one planned to.”
“I’ll have to contact—”
Violet showed him her signet ring. “Unless you intend to contact the empress, there is no one whose authority exceeds my own. You will obey my order this instant, or I’ll ask the Red Branch to intervene.”
The captain’s gaze drifted from Violet to the three notorious figures behind her. He cleared his throat. “Of course, Your Highness. Guardsmen, part ranks.”
Walking forward, Violet inserted the nautilus and turned it clockwise while whispering words of command. The heavy slab began to move.
Sigga ordered everyone, including Violet, fifty feet back. Even at that distance, Hazel needed her glasses due to the blinding light spilling forth from the vault’s interior. Her heart was beating like a bird’s as she clutched Merlin. The excitement and anxiety were overwhelming. What if she was wrong?
She glanced at Hob, who stood to the side, shading his eyes with his cap. He watched the door intently, his mouth twisted into a frown. Seconds later, the grating ceased. Sigga was silhouetted against the doorway, a dagger in her hand.
“Omani and Matthias, stand in front of the Faeregines,” she called. “Captain, if anything but me tries to exit this vault your men are to shoot it.”
Stepping up to the threshold, Sigga conjured an orb made of swirling shadows and lobbed it forward. The light within the vault dimmed so that it was no longer blinding. Unsheathing her other dagger, Sigga stepped inside and disappeared from view.
Ten seconds passed. Twenty. The guardsmen were perfectly still, their carabines trained on the opening. Everyone stared at the vault in expectant silence. It was too much for Hazel.
“Is it in there?” she cried.
“It is, Your Highness. Captain?”
“Yes, Agent Fenn?”
“Give the boy out there a gun.”
“Do you need me to send in my men?”
“No,” said Sigga firmly. “Just the boy.”
The puzzled captain was not pleased. He thrust his carabine at Hob.
“I’m toward the back,” Sigga called. “Watch your step, Mr. Smythe. No sudden movements.”
Raising the carabine to his shoulder, Hob walked forward. Like Sigga, he paused on the threshold before disappearing inside.
Isabel whispered in Hazel’s ear. “What is in there?”
Hazel could not answer. Her entire being was tense. Why had Sigga told Hob to watch his step? What was on the floor? How big could these things grow?
Crack-crack-crack-crack-crack!
The gunshots made Hazel jump; the ensuing screams nearly caused her to flee. A series of inhuman, ululating cries seemed to be coming from a dozen throats. Isabel gripped Hazel’s arm.
The screams trailed away into strangled moans that ended with a final gunshot. Milky liquid dribbled from the rounded archway like rain running off a roof. It pooled on the floor and overflowed into the hall. Sigga appeared in the doorway, wiping her dagger clean.
“The danger has passed,” she said, and looked to Violet. “Your Highness, please take the steps we discussed. Follow them to the letter.”
Violet lifted her chin. She’d had enough of taking orders. “I’m not doing anything until I see what’s in there.”
She walked boldly toward the vault until she reached the pooling, pearly liquid. Clamping a hand over her nose, she stood on tiptoe to peer past Sigga. She promptly spun around on her heel.
“It will be just as you ask, Agent Fenn. Captain, no one enters or leaves this room until you receive a direct order from the empress or myself. Is that clear?” r />
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Violet made swiftly for the exit with Omani Kruger. As their footsteps receded, Hazel ventured toward the vault. Like Violet, she soon had to cover her nose. There was a rotten, meaty smell, like a decomposing animal.
Sigga sheathed her knife. “Just a peek.”
Hazel was trying very hard not to gag. “Where’s Mr. Smythe?”
“Collecting himself.”
Hazel heard a series of violent retches within. Peering past Sigga, she spied Hob spitting up whatever remained in his stomach.
The Lirlander Vault was much bigger than she imagined, perhaps eighty feet deep and thirty across. Seals covered the walls and even the high barrel ceiling.
With their radiance veiled, Hazel could see the Seals weren’t perfectly round or even white. Rascha had said they were fashioned from dragon scales, but they looked like pure gold with whorls of rose and platinum. No two were alike. Each had a name chased in runes above unique, intricate patterns that encircled the Faeregine sigil.
Hazel almost wept when she beheld them and sensed their magic. Mina I had crafted every Seal herself and no one could match her spellwork for sheer beauty. The Lirlander Seals were poetry in form and function, irreplaceable treasures.
And a monster had been devouring them.
She gazed about the vault at the dwimorleech. It bore little resemblance to the master’s specimen. The entire vault looked like it was choked with tree roots. Dozens of twisting, vascular limbs draped the walls and ceiling. Some were fastened upon Lirlander Seals; others hung down to the floor where they coiled like dead pythons.
Most of the limbs protruded from a huge, fleshy mass attached to a far corner where the wall and ceiling joined. But not all. Smaller masses had formed in different areas of the vault, each with their own limbs and feelers. They were connected to one another via bluish cords, but each possessed numerous eyes and perhaps its own brain. From their wounds, it appeared Hob had fired upon the largest mass, while Sigga dispatched the others with her blade.
“It was nearly invisible when I came in,” said Sigga. “Excellent camouflage. I didn’t even see it until I was ten feet in and brushed an arm.” She gazed round at the swollen monstrosity. “I’d say he’s grown a bit since they smuggled him in.”