He knew what lay at the end of the narrow passage, even though he’d been there only once, centuries before. No guardsman went there of his own accord.
It was a room with no name, just the guardsmen’s symbol, a six-pointed sun, painted in gold leaf above the arch of the door. The door itself was covered with another black iron gate strong enough to keep out an army of thieves—which was no doubt why it thoroughly interested Miru-kai.
“I had no idea this was here,” said Mac. “What is it?”
“One of the guardsmen’s many secrets,” Miru- kai responded, sweeping a hand before him like a showman revealing a three- headed calf. “Behold a treasure trove, my demon friend.”
“Treasure trove? I’m in charge of the place. You’d think I would have known about it,” Mac grumbled.
“It’s not Castle business,” Reynard said, his voice quiet. He gripped the stock of his musket tight, trying to hide the fact that his hands were shaking. “This belongs to the guards.”
He shouldered past Mac and Miru- kai to reach the iron grille. It wasn’t fancy, just a crisscross of black metal bars set into the gray Castle stone. The top of the grille was tipped with spearheads. The lock was as big as his fist and firmly in place. He let loose a relieved breath. “There’s been no theft here.”
“Look more closely.” Miru- kai’s dark eyes challenged him. “There is no dust on the lock. The grit beneath the gate has been recently disturbed, I think. And look,” he added, bending to pick up a sliver of something bright. “A fragment of painted pottery, yes? The edges look clean and fresh, as if this was broken mere hours ago. These are not begrimed with the grit and dirt of years.”
Reynard stared at the shard. Like the symbol above the door, it had been decorated with gold leaf. Like the symbol, it held great significance to the guards. A sick anger filled him all over again. He grabbed the fey’s wrist so hard, he felt a shifting of bones beneath his grip. “Perhaps because you broke it yourself? Do you know what a broken urn means?”
“No, what?” Mac asked, but Reynard’s attention didn’t waver from the fey.
The muscles under Miru-kai’s eyes tensed from pain. The dark fey curled his upper lip, baring teeth sharp as a vampire’s. “I did not do it. This door is warded with magic, as well you know. I cannot cross its threshold. I can’t even pick the lock. Not with the wards in place.”
“Then who got in?”
“Cockroaches go everywhere.”
“A cockroach broke that urn?”
Miru-kai jerked his arm free. “With proper instructions, a minor demon could have wormed his way inside. That has always been the weakness of great sorcerers. They set wards to keep out powerful enemies, not the village scoundrels.”
“And no scoundrel has attempted this lock before?” Mac asked pointedly.
“Not one with the right mentor.” Miru- kai gave his cuff a sharp, irritated tug. He locked eyes with Reynard for a long moment, glaring his displeasure. After a few heartbeats, the fey looked away. “Every thief here has tried it at least once.”
“So this villain is more clever than the lot of you.” Reynard gave the lock a vicious pull, but it held fast. Now frustration as well as alarm vibrated through his blood, making his ears pound. He kept his face away from the others until he could smooth it into its customary cool lines. “You’re saying this thief set a distraction by turning the phouka loose and then thoughtfully locked up this room behind himself?”
“Well planned, don’t you agree? Without me, you might have missed the whole event.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Reynard. “None of this makes sense. No one would ever think to look here for a robbery. Why would a thief need a diversion?”
Mac folded his arms. “Why did you tell us about this robbery, again? Just because we’re such good guys?”
Miru-kai smiled. “Perhaps there’s a touch of professional jealousy involved. I’ve always wondered what treasures gather dust behind this door.”
“I’d guess you already have the catalog,” Mac said affably. “If this door is warded, how do we get in to see what’s been taken?”
“You are head of Castle operations, are you not?” Miru-kai asked Mac. “I believe you have a master key that will work even on this door. Ordinary keys to the Castle will not.”
“How do you know?” Reynard asked. There were only nine keys, and he knew where most of them were— but not all.
“They’ve been tried,” Miru- kai responded. “It will take a master key, or—”
Reynard turned quickly to Mac, cutting off the prince. “Do you have it with you?” He hated the eager desperation in his voice.
Mac’s gaze slid to Miru-kai. “Take him aside.”
Reynard raised the barrel of his musket with a mix of impatience and dark satisfaction. “Walk back down the corridor until I tell you to stop.”
Miru-kai raised his hands with an aggrieved huff. “Such thanks I get for my assistance. I would not have taken you for such a boor.”
“Farther.”
The prince turned and walked with exaggerated strides, making sure Reynard saw each one. The fairy prince had missed his calling as a comic—but Reynard wasn’t in the mood. He’d sooner plant his boot in the prince’s backside.
“Farther.”
A flare of white light washed the corridor for a heartbeat. The magic of Mac’s key had unlocked the wards. Reynard blinked tears away, blinded by the sudden brightness.
Miru-kai turned. “Did it work?”
Mac pulled on the gate. It swung open on silent hinges. The heavy wooden door behind it surrendered to a shove from the demon’s bulky shoulder. Both Reynard and Miru-kai hurried forward.
There were torches inside the chamber, casting the same eternal, flickering glow as those in the Castle’s corridors. Reynard took a step into the chamber, his boots scraping on the marble mosaic that covered the floor in a pattern of dark and light squares. The space was octagonal, the stone ribs from each corner making a high, domed vault above them. From floor to ceiling on each side were rows and rows of narrow stone shelves filled with pottery urns.
“What the heck is all this?” Mac asked softly. The mysterious atmosphere of the shadowy room demanded low voices. “And why didn’t I know about it?”
“Each urn holds someone’s essence,” Miru- kai said quietly, entering the room behind them. “A life. A soul. Call it what you like. The old guards keep it a secret because what you see in this room makes them vulnerable.”
“Be quiet!” snapped Reynard, suddenly furious. He felt violated, invaded. “This isn’t your information to share.”
The prince ignored him and looked at Mac instead. “When the guardsmen—the old guardsmen, not your new men—arrived at the Castle, they surrendered their souls for safekeeping. It made them immortal, but it chained them to their duties. That is why they cannot leave for more than an hour or two before their powers begin to weaken. Once separated from their soul vessel, the guardsmen slowly begin to die.”
“Why?” Mac demanded.
“A very clever system.” Miru-kai went on. “Man and urn must both be in the Castle. The magic that holds them together fades in the outside world, and in a matter of weeks the guard is dead. Man in one dimension and urn in another hastens death from weeks to days. I suggest you get busy, Captain Reynard, and find your pot.”
Mac flushed with anger. “Whose stupid idea was this?”
“Those who created the guards wanted to keep them obedient. Those men who leave their post perish.”
Mac turned, staring at Reynard in bewilderment. “Seriously?”
Reynard gave a single, stiff nod. “I came to this room like all the rest. I did what was necessary. It was required of us.”
Thunder gathered in Mac’s face. “Who was doing the requiring?”
