Harp walked cautiously up to the wall. The red stones of the outer wall were still intact, and there was no sign of the plaster that secured the tiles to the wall. It was as if the mosaic had never been there at all.
“Why would they trap the wall?” Boult asked.
“To keep anyone from breaking through it from the outside?” Verran suggested, walking up behind them.
“To keep anyone from throwing rocks at their precious artwork?” Liel said.
“It doesn’t matter why, just don’t touch any more walls,” Harp said. “Or anything else.”
“What were you trying to show me, Harp?” Boult asked. “Before I distracted you with my exploding wall trick?”
Harp pointed at the line that ran between the tiles. “I wondered if that was a trap. Having seen that, I’m going to say yes.”
They continued the search of the gallery, but there were no levers to be found. When the group reassembled, they were dusty and disgusted by the atrocities immortalized on the brightly colored walls. But the hall below them was still filled with water.
“Any other ideas?” Harp said. “Did Cardew ever mention the water in the palace?”
“No, but I heard him tell Tresco that they couldn’t get to the Torque,” Liel said. “And with the Torque disrupting spells in here, I imagine that even Tresco would have had difficulty in getting rid of the water.”
“Harp,” Kitto called from the other side of the gallery. “Look at that one.”
Kitto stood in front of a mosaic showing a serpent with the head of a bird and ram’s horns. It clutched a black key in its hooked beak. Surrounded by blue water, the creature was swimming down through a shaft of sunlight to a familiar-looking arched doorway and the silver lock in the center.
“That’s the door to the palace,” Kitto said, pointing to the image of the doorway. “And that’s the creature that’s carved on the panels outside.”
“Maybe you can open the door from the inside, if you have that key,” Liel said.
“But we don’t have the key,” Verran pointed out. “And we know it’s not hidden on the gallery, because we just searched. And the door is still underwater. Maybe we should leave and look for a way to the surface.”
“Without the Torque?” Liel asked.
“Unless you have the key, and you’re not telling us,” Verran snapped.
“Are you feeling all right?” Harp asked Verran.
“We’re not getting anywhere,” Verran said, a whine creeping into his voice. “I want to go back to the boat.”
“It isn’t over yet,” Harp said patiently. “We have to try and see it through.”
Verran stalked away, and Liel raised her eyebrows.
“He’s exhibiting some powerful magic,” Harp told Liel quietly. “I don’t think he knows how to control it. I’m concerned about him.”
“He’s not going to be able to do magic inside the palace. I couldn’t make a stone glow, not against the force of the Torque.”
“I can do it,” Kitto said.
“Do what?” Harp asked. “Make a stone glow?”
“Pick the lock and open the door. You know I can.”
“Yes, you’re amazing,” Harp agreed. “On the safety of land! By the time you swim down to the door, you’ll barely have enough air to get back up.”
“I can do it, Harp,” Kitto insisted. “You know I’m a good swimmer.”
“Why don’t we try to open it from the outside?” Harp asked.
“The niferns aren’t just going to sit and watch me,” Kitto pointed out. “Listen. They’re going crazy out there.”
The scaly dogs were making more noise than they had been, and it sounded like a large pack had amassed below the balcony. They were making scratchy, yelping sounds, and getting louder with every passing moment.
“I’ll go see what they’re doing,” Verran said, and he walked outside onto the balcony.
“Besides, we checked the door from the outside,” Kitto reminded Harp. “There was no lock remember?”
“He’s right,” Boult said.
“Then let me swim down and try,” Harp said.
“You’re not as good of a swimmer as me,” Kitto said honestly. He loosened the clasp on his cloak and let it drop on the ground around his feet. Kitto leaned down to unlace his boots. “And besides, you’re kind of old.”
“I’m not old!” Harp protested.
“You know I’m right,” Kitto said, pulling out a cracked leather case that held his lockpick tools. “No one does locks like me.”
“If it’s sealed with magic, then you may need a magic key,” Harp said petulantly. Kitto ignored him and emptied the contents of his backpack on the ground. He began stuffing large pieces of rock from the remains of the railing into his pack.
“What are you doing?” Harp demanded as he racked his brain for a way to keep the boy on dry land.
“Making sure I’ll sink,” Kitto said, looking up at Harp with his crooked little smile.
“Harp’s right,” Liel agreed. “The lock itself is probably enchanted.”
“Then I get down there and can’t open it. I’ll just swim back up.”
“Or drown trying,” Harp said darkly when Kitto had finished filling the bag with rocks. “Which is what it looks like you’re planning to do.”
“I need both hands free,” Kitto pointed out, shutting the clasps on the backpack, and struggling to lift it onto his shoulders.
“I don’t like it,” Harp insisted.
“I can do it,” Kitto said.
Verran came dashing into the room, sword in hand. “Whatever we’re doing, let’s hurry. There are four Jumpers headed our way.”
“How close?” Boult demanded.
“They’re at the top of the causeway,” Verran told them. “They’re nearly at the palace.” “Just let me try,” Kitto urged.
Harp relented. “Don’t be stupid about it. If it won’t open, give it up. And come help us fight.”
Kitto nodded and swung his leg over the railing where he paused for a moment. Harp felt a rush of protectiveness and opened his mouth to stop the boy, but Kitto was too quick for him.
“See you soon,” he said and pushed off the ledge. Harp heard a splash as Kitto hit the water.
“I hate Cardew,” Harp said under his breath. Tresco may have been the mastermind of the situation, but it was that arrogant miscreant Cardew that had brought them to their junction. “If anything happens to Kitto, I’m going to personally gut Cardew and feed his heart to a scaly dog on a platter,” Harp said viciously.
“Welcome to the Land of Revenge,” Boult said sounding surprised at the intensity in Harp’s voice. “It’s a beautiful country. I myself have a villa.”
“Even if anything doesn’t happen to Kitto, let’s paint your villa in Tresco’s blood.”
“Red is a charming choice,” Boult agreed as they drew their swords.
Even as a child, Kitto had been a good swimmer, the best among his three brothers. They would race each other across the wide river that ran through the valley near their homestead. It was a lazy river, filled with silt from the salt flats up north in the high country. When Kitto swam in it, he always felt as if the water was resisting him, and that no matter which direction he went in, he was swimming against the current. In mid-summer the salt deposits were so thick that he and his brothers could float effortlessly on the surface and not sink. It made Kitto feel as if nature itself were comforting him.
Although the sparkling water in the palace’s entrance hall was untainted by salt or grime, Kitto had the same sensation now. If he stopped swimming and just let go, he felt he would float to the surface despite the heavy backpack and the rocks that were quickly dragging him to the bottom of the hall. Kitto had expected the water to be cold, but it was surprisingly warm. Almost like bathwater.
Kitto felt inexplicably sleepy, and he told himself that it must be part of the spell’s effect. As he swam down, he forced himself think about the hardest locks he’d ever sprung. Like the hair-trigger lock on the red lacquered
